The Huntress, grandmother of humans, patron god of motherhood, Lycanthropy, wolves, painful truths, and balance, stood in front of Ashera. Diana faceplanted into the dirt so hard that Ashera thought she evaporated. Power washed over them, instantly filling the reserves on Ashera’s belt, though it avoided the Soul Sphere.

The image of the Huntress, burned itself into Ashera’s mind –and would have melted her eyes if they were still flesh– as it was, Ashera could smell cooking flesh, and fell to the ground alongside Diana.

“Daughter of woe, lady of ashes, you are the preparer of Geruvah. Slay her fiends, Lily’s eye and your human empathy will guide you to them. There you must remember the antithesis of Geruvah’s guardians and feed them their bitterest pill, the thing that their souls yearn for but can never receive from her. But know this, when you have cleaved through her thralls and stand with your blade in Geruvah’s chest. Call out her name three times. That is the herald by which you will announce her executioner. Brightest soul, have patience, the call may take ten thousand years to reach his ears, and ten thousand more for him to answer. You must endure. Do not allow your fingers to slip or all will be lost.” Said the Huntress.

Light covered the world, and as suddenly as she had come, the Huntress was gone. Ashera scrambled forward, drawing a dagger and carving the Huntress’ words into the dirt while they were fresh in her mind.

Ten minutes later Diana handed her a ledger, with the divination already inscribed in its cover. The book was bound with thick hide and was made of strange parchment –that Ashera would later discover was human skin– an unimportant detail compared to the oath of a Goddess.

She called the High Queen of the Seraphim by her first name. Ashera shivered. Marveling at how she had managed to stick her nose into the face of every deity she had spent her life avoiding.

Why me? Dieties rarely showed themselves, yet Ashera had met three in as many months. Diana folded her arms, tucking her clenched fists into her elbows.

“I have served the Huntress for eighty years and she has never shown herself…” Diana whispered .

Ashera thought back to when Loki refused to answer, at least a demon didn’t torture your best friend to death…

“Wanna trade lives?”

Diana jerked her head to the side, confused by the proposal. Ashera caught Diana’s arm, guiding her back to waiting Lycans.

“It’ll be simple, you’ll just resurrect me, oh and my whole family can’t forget them, not sure how you’ll convince my husband to stop being a demon, or forgive him for crucifying me, or cheating on me with a succubus-”

“You’ve made your point.” Diana growled, interrupting Ashera, but Ashera wasn’t done.

“Don’t forget, your god has to abandon you first. Loki knew there was a demon in Ellin but didn’t warn me, in fact he waited two years before talking to me. I didn’t need a manifestation from Heaven, a letter would have been fine. Ellin forest is pretty hard to search, but a messenger or an answered prayer would have been enough. Something like, hey Ash, you’re sleeping next to a demon.”

Silence. Diana stared at the ground, eyes hooded. Fully understanding the depth of her fuck up. Wishing she could take back her thoughtless words. Ashera yanked her to a stop, planting a bone dry kiss on her cheek.

“Muwah! You’re forgiven.”

Whiplash nearly broke Diana’s soul. “What?”

Ashera shot her a knowing smile, whispering into her ear. “I’ll never forget what the pain of death. How my lungs burned, my body failed completely, muscle after muscle refusing to obey, I couldn’t even scream. There is no way in life or death I would hold a grudge against you for being snippy after your own crucifixion.”

Is that the right word? It happened in a wagon’s secret compartment, but wagonixion sounds like a bad martial arts trope and secret compartment ixion is too wordy. Ashera thought.

Her intrusive thought was obliterated by Diana throwing herself into Ashera’s arms, tears flowed freely, coating Ashera’s neck. “I’m sorry! Thank you for saving me.” Diana cried.

Ashera patted her back, letting her cry her way to catharsis, whispering soft affirmations in her ear. By the time Diana was finished it was growing dark, the only light cast from a cannibal fire. Wolves knawed on horse bones, cracking them open so supping at the marrow. Six horses remained, considerately left alive for Ashera to pull her loot wagon.

Why aren’t they eating the people… Lycans eat dead humans all the time, they even hunt some humans. A Lycan is the one who told me young orphans make the most tender steaks.

Seeing her confusion at the cannibal fire, Cassian spoke up. “After the soul has departed a body is only meat, but cannibals… These were thralls, no longer human. The demon you hunt corrupted their hearts, she broke anything pure that remained within them. Especially the girl, she fell hours before you slew her. Tis a shame you could not free her from the flesh prison she became–”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“That’s enough Cassian.” Ordered Diana, feeling Ashera’s body tense as Sara was mentioned. “We are leaving, I must communicate the Huntress’ prophecy to the high priestesses and seek their council. Ashera, thank you for freeing me from damnation. I hope we meet again, as friends.”

The fickle nature of the Huntress was well known to Ashera, but the prophecy was not a warning, it was a weapon that forecast Geruvah’s demise. Greater demons were closer to ideas than corporeal beings, and the Huntress’ words gave her the key to their locked souls, she knew how to break them open and scatter their existence. Reincarnation, possession, and rebirth would all be inaccessible then, their only freedom would come at the tip of Ashera’s daggers.

“We will always be friends Diana, I will not disappoint the Huntress. My whole being is devoted to the mission she gave me, for it is the mission that kept me in this world.”

Diana nodded, swallowing hard as she recalled her priestess instruction back in Ansit’s landing. There, in the Huntress’ grand temple she had learned many sacred secrets, like how to bless a mage’s unborn child, or deliver children, the true nature of demons, why Oathinao was doomed, and how undead came to be. Vampires must give you their blood, zombies must bite then kill you, draugr are born from coalescent darkness, and revenants are created when a soul awakens to a singular purpose. A desire that drives the body beyond hunger or thirst or life itself, an obsession as well as an addiction. Should a revenant ever forget their purpose, they would cease to exist.

Don’t forget Ashera. She thought, waving goodbye as her pack jogged into the night. Human skin became a lustrous coat of fur, her arms lengthened, her legs thinned, shifting into her lupine form to run faster. They would run through the night and day to reach the high priestess, the Huntress had broken every tenet and taboo to bless a revenant.

—

A sigh of relief escaped Ashera’s lips, she trusted Diana to keep her word, but a dozen wolves and three Lycans still put her on edge. Howls sung their travels to the moon, giving Ashera the perfect nighttime echo-mark to navigate away from.

Channeling mana to her silver eye, Asher picked up Lorelai’s trail, guiding the wagon through the glimmering night, no longer obstructed by mortal limitations.

Days passed, with Ashera only stopping to water and rotate the six horses, she pushed them hard, hoping to close the gap with the crimson fog. Soon she found the road to Gerscav and her pace skyrocketed, encountering dozens of refugees. Merchants carried their wares, weapons, armor, and most covetously, food. Farmers –fresh from their fields and covered in dirt–, drove their wagons slowly, often pulling off the road to sell their harvests to the refugees. Half the wagons, scores every hour, were empty farm wagons, returning home to gather the next load. No one traveled alone, and all bore weapons to compliment their hollow faces. Ashera saw several families chewing on grass, their clothes hung on skeletal frames.

Survivors of a siege.

Rumors of the dark skinned Songhaians liberating Juyoma reached Ashera’s ears.

Lies, and trickery. Oathinao is a proving ground for Songhaian warriors, no Ansit deploys more than their youngest warriors to help us. And who can blame them? We lost this war when the capital fell. Thought Ashera.

Her bandaged eyes drew disapproving glances, but her ever deepening sneer chased away any gawkers. These people were being baited, given hope so the demons could torture them later, extracting their suffering like a farmer plucks an apple. Pain was their bread, agony their salt, and woe their dessert. Hell had deliberately lifted the siege, Ashera was sure of it, just as they had feigned retreat at Takioomi, whichever archdemon was leading them knew how to break humans on a continental scale.

Siege a city, starve the people to the point of cannibalism, retreat from an allied force, let the city repopulate, let them enjoy real food, then return and siege them again. Ashera whipped the reins of her horses, driving them past a group of humans who the crimson mist clung too. She wanted to stop, yank the carriage to a halt and kill them all.

But there were too many. Half of all Juyoma’s refugees were covered in the crimson mist, like spiritual bloodstains it collected near their mouths and stomachs, confessing their crimes to her silver eye–

“Gaaahhhh! Please no! Let me leave! I’ve done you no- Aaaahhh!”

Ashera pulled back on the reins, slowing to watch twelve armored footmen stab a pleading refugee. Their armor was emblazoned with two black roses, crossed in an X, the crest of Juyoma, a homage to the lovers who drowned themselves in Lamenter’s lake so their parents could not marry them off to foreign nobles.

Crimson mist covered the pleading man, proving that he had indeed done someone great harm, Ashera felt no pity for the man. He was reaping the rewards of his borrowed survival. Checking his progression to a thrall, he was nearly gone, six pounds of human flesh was all he needed to leave his humanity behind. Four of the footmen alternated stabbing him, expeditiously executing the man.

“Move along!” Shouted a man with red lacquer on his breastplate –an inquisitorial agent– brandishing a tattered scroll. “We have a warrant for this spy!”

The crowd of people that had stepped off the road to avoid the conflict scattered, loosing interest so quickly that Ashera wondered if the man had cast a spell.

No magic, this must be a normal day for them.

Hands caught Ashera’s arm, yanking her to the edge of her seat. On reflex she resisted, planting her feet she channeled mana through her body, strengthening herself. Twisting in her seat she punched the footman in unarmed face, breaking his nose and sending the man sprawling across the highway. Onlookers scattered, no fear in their eyes. Yep, just another day.

Vesper’s dagger appeared in Ashera’s hand, standing on the wagon’s bench. “Touch me again and you’ll be lucky to lose a hand!”

A woman traveling alone would be easy prey for disreputable guards, a fate Ashera had no intention of repeating. Tristan had been her only, and would remain so, even after she sent him straight to Hell. Twelve footmen surrounded her wagon, taking hold of the reins at the horse’s mouths.

Their captain –the man with red lacquered armor– knocked on the side of her wagon, pointing to a symbol painted there.

“Miss, where did you get this wagon?” The Captain asked.

Ashera weighed her odds, twelve footmen wasn’t a guaranteed win, especially with an inquisitorial agent involved. She could use the wagon to ward them off, that would buy her the seconds she needed to kill a couple, her illusions would take another, but that left eight of them. Too many for her illusions to fight, she would have to escape and leave all of her plunder behind, all of her weapons and resources that were meant to help her kill Geruvah.

Without the horses my speed will halve…

She shrugged, then bore her teeth at the man. “A pack of cannibals invited me for dinner, they were terrible hosts so I killed them and took what I wanted.”

The Inquisitorial agent recoiled as if she had struck him, wincing as Ashera admitted her crime. Farmers pulled off the road, keeping a wide berth between the brewing fight and their wagons. Laughter, unfiltered and loud, burst from one of the onlookers. Face turning red with fury the agent spun on the source of laughter, ready to order the man beaten. When his eyes saw the white haired man with silver lined clothes he went white. Face deflating as he saw the Inquisitor laugh.

“What do you find so funny Inquisitor Gaheris?” He asked.

“She is telling the truth. Every last word. How is old Shin?” Gaheris asked, his glowing white eyes meeting Ashera’s silver.

She jerked away in pain, closing the eye and covering it with her hand. Mana circulated through Gaheris’ eyes in the same way she circulated it through her silver eye, creating a feedback loop as the spells resonated.

Ashera reached into her dress, retrieving the empty reserve and holding it out for all to see.

“Shin is dead. Though not before he told me you were the cause of his bad habits.”

Mouths dropped at her accusation, all twelve footmen pressed forward. Spears aimed at her throat.