“To you,” called Pheston, smashing his hammer into the back of the demon’s helmet, making the armoured warrior stumble forwards in a daze.

Friedrich brought his shield down through the air, striking him on the chin. The magical shockwave knocked the brute’s helmet off and he pivoted away, falling to the ground. Unable to see clearly, the demon sank his nails into the soil and tried to pull himself away from the two warriors.

“All yours,” said Friedrich, as Pheston grinned smugly.

He walked up to the demon and stamped on his back while drawing his hammer high. With a grunt, he swung it downwards and smashed it into the demon’s head, crushing its skull and splattering its brains across the ground. Pheston wiped his hammer on the grass, but there was still a bloody smear upon it. He decided it was clean enough for the time being and twirled it around a couple of times while looking around.

“Good job, Vigr,” he said to his hammer before turning to Friedrich who was already climbing up a ruined stone wall. “See anything?”

The young man perched himself atop the bricks and looked down the hill. “Nothing,” he confirmed. “I think we’re in the clear.”

“Good,” said Pheston, sounding satisfied. “Now get down from there and go catch us some lunch.”

“It’s your turn today,” said Friedrich as he dropped from the wall.

“My old bones are playing up. You want an old man like me to go do your dirty work?”

“That may have worked on me three months ago, but I’m not falling for it anymore. You’re in better shape than I am, old man.”

Pheston chuckled. “Ah, the jig is up. I think we’re close to a lake so I’ll see if we can get a snappajaw. What we don’t eat, we can carry with us until dinner and it’ll even keep us fed tomorrow morning.”

“Mmm, snappajaw,” groaned Friedrich, rubbing his stomach. “That sounds delicious.”

“Come on, lad,” said Pheston, jerking his head and leading the way past the ruined tower that sat in the centre of the hill.

The three months Friedrich had been trapped in Keldracht had passed shockingly quickly. He had finally mastered the art of counting the days, something he had relied heavily on Pheston for until a couple of weeks ago. The number of hours in a day here were similar to home, but there were different telltale signs that marked the passage of time, the most notable of which was the changing colour of the holes in the sky that emitted light.

As grim as this plane was, he had gotten used to the way things worked here. Hunt for food, find somewhere safe to camp out, kill any demons on the prowl and then move along. As repetitive as the routine seemed, it was never dull. He was still seeing new and evermore bizarre creatures wherever Pheston led him.

He stilled missed home and was eager to find a way back to Eradrel, but Pheston was good company in the meantime. Of course, he still missed Marina and Teleri and longed to see them again. As accustomed to this new life as he was, he was still determined to find a way home, but he didn’t bring it up to the old smith who was constantly pessimistic about the prospect of escape.

“I love a good trier, but it ain’t happening, Friedrich,” he would say.

“You’ll see,” Friedrich would reply.

The Mercian didn’t have any real plan, but he believed that inspiration would strike before long. He had faith that Jorren would not want to see one of his beloved Mercians trapped in a demonic hellscape forever. Whether there was help sent for him or he discovered an escape on his own, Friedrich was convinced that his faith would pay off.

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Pheston led the way through the wilderness, scaring off a couple of skinny scaled demons that he called inedibles. Friedrich hadn’t needed to ask why considering how scrawny the reptilian creatures were. Normally, Pheston would have picked them up and bashed them with his hammer to see how far he could send them flying, but he must have been in a kinder mood today.

As the pair walked, they engaged in idle chitchat as they often did. “Let’s say we go home today,” said Friedrich. “What would be the first thing you would do?”

“Easy!” shouted Pheston, much louder than he intended. “Drink three beers and a woman.”

“You would drink a woman?” chuckled Friedrich.

“Shut it, lad. You know exactly what I mean. Travelling with two beautiful lassies, I have no doubt you do.”

Friedrich shook his head. “No matter how many times you sneakily rephrase it, I’m telling you that I have never bedded either of my companions. We’ve got much more important matters to attend to.”

“You’re a liar, Friedrich, and I will make you confess eventually. You probably have a sprog or two back home.”

“I don’t!”

Pheston laughed heartily. “I’m just winding you up, Friedrich. Don’t be such a sensitive little girl.”

Friedrich wanted to retort, but a large body of the familiar green water came into view. Over the last couple of months, Friedrich’s stomach had indeed become accustomed to it as Pheston said it would. He still didn’t much like the taste of it, but it had kept him alive and that was all it needed to do.

“Bet you there’s a lot of snappajaws just waiting for us,” said Pheston, looking giddy as he twirled his hammer. “I can’t wait, my friend. I can’t wait.”

The old man talked about food a lot. It was second only to talking about his claimed success with the ladies in his youth. Friedrich had learned that Pheston had seven children that he knew of, yet he still talked more about food than he did his past life. The young Mercian wasn’t sure if it was a case of out of sight, out of mind or if it was too painful to talk about all the years he missed out on, but anytime Friedrich broached the subject, it was swiftly shot down again.

“Oh, my aching bones!” decried Pheston as he walked to the water’s edge before clutching his back. He hobbled over to the grass and sat down again, looking smug.

“Me being here has made you lazy,” scoffed Friedrich as he started walking along the waterfront, searching for any telltale signs that a snappajaw was nearby.

“I’ll be right here, Friedrich,” said Pheston smarmily. “I’m sure a moment’s rest will have me right as rain.”

Friedrich walked alongside the trees until he reached the far side of the lake where a large, scaled snappajaw was sleeping. It was an unfathomably ugly creature, but it was the only creature Friedrich had encountered in Keldracht so far that tasted good. Most of the others were either disgusting or barely satisfactory.

He reached for the minotaur mask and placed it on his face. The sleeping snappajaw hadn’t noticed Friedrich’s transformation, much to his delight, but the one lurking in the water behind him had. The long reptile lunged for his meaty calf, eager to taste the otherworldly mammal, but Friedrich moved aside just in time as the sleeping one stirred.

Friedrich grabbed the hungry snappajaw by the two halves of its jaw and tugged, breaking its bones. He threw it onto the grass and grabbed its long tail while the first snappajaw scurried across the grass at an alarming pace. The Mercian flung the lurker over his shoulder and slammed it into the charging beast, winding it. He released his makeshift weapon and leapt onto the back of the stunned snappajaw.

The Mercian shoved his fingers in the reptile’s eyes, making it roar in pain. As he was about to deal the killing blow to one of his two meals, he spotted something across the lake that made his heart stop for a second. There was a horde of armoured demons fighting a lone burly man, who was swinging his hammer wildly at his foes.

With a furious grunt, Friedrich ran from the two snappajaws, rushing to Pheston’s aid. Before he was even halfway to his target, he saw a hammer fly through the air and land in the lake, sinking out of sight almost instantly. An enraged Pheston yelled and threw punches at his foes, but he was surrounded and subdued before being dragged away through the trees as Friedrich ran at full pelt.

The minotaur rushed into the trees, looking for any sign of Pheston or his attackers. To his relief, there were drag marks and he followed them back to the plains, but suddenly his mask fell from his face and he stood as a human. Friedrich watched as a wagon surrounded by a dozen demon-riding grecks and manned by two more demons carted away a caged old man who lay unconscious within the iron bars.

“No!” screamed Friedrich. He turned into a fox and hurried as fast as he could after the demons, but they were outpacing him.

Before long, they disappeared from sight, leaving the golden fox standing alone on the road. Friedrich turned back into a human and fell to his knees, feeling utterly defeated. It should have been him. Pheston was meant to be catching the snappajaws and Friedrich should have been the one attacked.

The young man beat the ground with his fists, yelling with each punch. He threw himself back and wiped the sweat from his forehead before standing up and heading back into the trees. He was going to track the old smith down and set him free, but first, he needed to find something.