The flames arch and plume into stretches and pillars, burning away the entire forest around them. The leaves above are now in sparks, littering the sky as a fiery wind snatches at the cracking branches, and the cobblestoned road they were on crumbles apart as another wave of flames surges from beneath. At this the horses rear and neigh agitatedly, but they quickly ease back into composure. The picture settles, lit ashes its paint; there stands the figure again, double-bladed scythe in hand, ember dripping from the tips. Across from him are silhouettes resembling orc warriors, three of them already felled and left lying in burning puddles of blood. There are two still standing, brandishing their greatswords at their opponent. A child cowers behind them, kneeling on the ground, trembling but limply frozen in shock.
The scythe grows distorted, shortening and thickening into a giant warhammer. Then its user charges forward, quickly swatting one of the warriors to the side, sending him flying out of the flaming scene, the pillars crashing apart, the blazing trees scattering. The remaining orc turns and grabs the child in his sprint, and the now-hammer-wielder gives chase with an inhuman screech. Then the flames collapse and fade.
Greufard has a firm grip on his axe, ready to swing at the approaching flames though now they are gone. He recomposes himself. “That was my second time. Clearly it shows the past, but why does it only appear when you both are…? I can hardly believe no one noticed that ball…cloud of ash. It-…” He trails off, relaxing but still gritting his teeth. “How was it so coincidental that we were shown something that can directly tip us off? And twice in a row at that?”
“Now we somewhat know why the orcs became aggressive lately. Not much can be explained on the flames, but we are simply utilising them since we can. As you stated, the clues are coincidentally appropriate with our task. We must carry on.” Iacy says over her shoulder, beckoning for Greufard to retake the lead. “Let’s hope there are more. The better we know about the situation at hand, the less disoriented we’d be. Eitherhow, I didn’t ask this yet, but how are you tracking this killer, I wonder? Might you have already known about this? Is that why you headed straight for the forest?” She holds up a hand before he could answer. “I’m prying, forgive me, I shouldn’t. As you shouldn’t. Let us use what we can, and get this over with before another is slain.”
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“I…” He continues riding and they follow. “I truly have no knowledge about that hammer either. That weapon-change. I’d have told you otherwise. But everything makes sense now,” He settles into a long silence before flinching. “Oh, pardon my thinking, it’s a lot to register, but in some of the previous cases, there were huge heavy dents in the ground, like something pummelled it, or crashed onto it with a lot of force. A scythe couldn’t have done that, so now it makes sense. It’s just…” He shuts his eyes, falling into his thoughts again.
Iacy catches a look from the knight and stares at him, then she slowly nods and turns back to Greufard. “Maybe something kept him from switching his weapons when you fought him. An enchantment that is on you, perhaps? No? There is much that cannot be explained, so maybe even your presence might have something to do with it. Perhaps it is a weakness whenever in proximity with a person he failed to defeat. Does he have other weapons that he can conjure up?”
“Never. It has always been that strange scythe. It’s actually…a pickaxe, isn’t it? I…” He shakes his head with an exasperated sigh, throwing off the thought. “It’s an impractical weapon. The blades are too long, the pole too, and yet he always moved with ease. Magic, I can fathom. Magic would be very helpful, but alas…”
“Born-with Abilities can be considered Magic as well. You’re Mankind; are you adept in Soul-sourcing?” Iacy briefly turns to the knight before turning back to wait for Greufard’s response. “That’s what it’s called, isn’t it? I trust that I can rely on two Soul-sourcers to be at the front, while I will be at the rear with my spells. Now that we know our target can change his weapons whenever he wishes, and with that speed…” The goddess retreats into her pondering.
Greufard slows his mount down to pace with the knight’s mare. “Sir Diastre, if my memory is faithful? Ah, I just-…I’m not professionally trained like knights are,” he tells the knight, “but I can Sharpen my axe midcombat. Again and again if it dulls off. Might be I can do it quicker than others, since I did fight my-…him…several times, after all, and survived. But I’m slow in casting Screens; I prefer to dodge or parry than rely on defences. You too? So it is of great comfort to have a proper professional by my side; it’s just to let you know. Oh, and a proper mage too. Divine luck indeed. This is the final task, yes? It is. Well, mine, anyway. This time, for certain.” He resumes his lead as Iacy returns to the knight’s side.