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Today couldn’t get any weirder.
At least that’s what Malum, Commander of the Fortress City Of Exultia, Novik, King Of Argent D’Nur, the Princess-Commander and carrier of a Holy Mother Wraith’s Soul Thira, Commander Valen, Valen’s son Marok and a few other older, battle-hardened Sentinels thought.
They all sat in the main conference hall of the Sentinel-Controlled City of Cantoth.
Stools had been placed around the large, circular, wooden table thought only some of the Sentinels, those too shaken by today’s events, had taken their seats.
The others either leaned against the stone-and-metal walls, stood or paced back and forth like restless animals in too small cages.
The yellow-amber light of sconces in the walls, the large brazier hanging from the ceiling and the fire-pit placed in a round hole in the table’s centre illuminated the room in a constant soft, warm light. The table’s rivets gleaming in it faintly whenever the flames flickered in a non-existent draft of air.
Novik, one of the few sitting, glanced up through his hands, which were over his face, at the Healer present.
“And you truly do not know how long this will last?” the old kind asked. Shock, a bit of despair, maybe, and frustration still evident in his voice despite the event that caused all of this having passed hours ago.
“None, my liege.” The Healer - a young man with his short, blond hair in an undercut, communication glasses hiding his eyes and wearing the standard issue uniforms of non-battle Sentinels – said. Rue in his voice.
“Thought the energy appears to be…‘fading’ in a sense. Slowly, but steadily.”
“Then how long are we stuck like this, Healer?!” One of the sitting warriors, a man named Hynron, barked at the Healer who flinched from the gruff tone and volume of the Night Sentinel Captain.
“A-About seven Fa’, Captain Hynron.” The younger one stuttered slightly, his index finger starting to tap his belt in a quick rhythm, betraying his increasing nervousness.
“But it could also be less than that. Six to five is also very well possible…“
The man’s voice had gotten quieter and quieter, until he eventual stopped, as Hynron’s face had darkened into an utterly pissed expression.
“Calm down, old friend.” Hnyron’s longtime friend - and, in his Unit, second-in-command – Alkin cut in before his friend could throw one of the silver goblets on the table infront of him across the room (or at his opposite’s head).
“Thank you, Healer Ger’in.“ Novik‘s voice was calm yet you could hear the slight frustration still in his voice. “You are dismissed. Return to your duties, but monitor the situation closely. Should anything change unexpectedly you are to inform me immediately.”
The icy tone of the king’s voice left no room for disobedience. Especially on the last word.
“U-Understood, your Majesty.” Just barely remembering to salute, radial side of his fist to his heart, the Healer practically bolted out of the hall.
“Hold your tongue, Captain.” Novik eventually said with a glance at Hynron once the doors closed behind Ger’in. “I do not appreciate rudeness. Even if the current situation is…delicate, to say the least.”
The Captain ground his teeth, audibly, and forced “As you wish, my lord.” out through his teeth.
“All of this is my fault-“ Thira’s voice echoed slightly as she looked at her father, having stopped pacing near the metal throne of the king to look at Novik. “If I didn’t have-“
“You did nothing wrong, my daughter.” Novik’s usually stern voice softened withing moments of switching from talking to Hynron to talking to Thira.
“You have been through a lot over the past few months. The Invasion of the Dark Realm hasn’t spared even the strongest of souls, you especially, given your…state. Let us count ourselves fortunate that the event has only rejuvenated us, and not killed us.”
~***~<|>~***~
‘The event’ in question had happened during the early hours of morning, moments after dawn, when many Sentinels usually started their drills and preparations for the new day and potential new threats.
Thira had been training with Valen and Commander Amej of Vahl Nahd, when something – no one knew what – had triggered some of her memories from the time in which she had been Prince Ahzrak’s prisoner causing the Wraith inside her to manifest and her, unconsciously and in panic, send out Energy (dubbed ‘Wraith Energy’ by some).
Said energy had distributed itself all across the Barracks and had ‘rejuvenated’ some Sentinels including Novik, Valen, Hynron and Alkin.
Novik’s hair had regained some of it’s old darkness, turning a darker shade of black than before while Valen had lost some of his scars while part of his prosthetic had been damaged due to part of his arm regrowing.
Hynron, on the other hand, had regained his more…feminine features and his once-short cut hair had grown out, forming a long, fiery red main falling over his shoulders and into his face. He looked like a slightly older version of himself shortly before he had undergone surgery to become, physically speaking, male.
Alkin’s left eye, previously taken by a Pinky Rider’s arrow, had recovered it’s ability to see and some old scars along his face and chest had faded due to the ‘Wraith Energy’s’ influence.
Thought Malum, Valen, Novik, Alkin and Hynron weren’t the only one’s affected:
Rhodius (an older veteran who had started loosing muscle mass to be come more similar to his past self which had been slimmer than the ‘current’ Rhodius), Kel’gen (who was one of the Sentinels that had participated in the final assault against Hell and Ahzrak alongside Thira, Valen and the Slayer had lost his goatee), Frenorus (a non-battle Sentinel-Sholar who just wanted to visit Cantoth - and maybe try to have a talk with Thira and/or, possibly, the Slayer) and Quren (an older woman who, despite being a fighting Sentinel, had turned to the stove and supplied deployed warriors with rations; she had started losing her, quite noticeably, large belly to match her more athletic, slimmer younger self).
~***~<|>~***~
Some of them had been affected more. Rhodius and Quren especially. The two were, aside from Novik, the only one’s sitting. Both holding buckets, occasionally coughing up blood and letting it collect in the pails.
The Healers had theorized that, since they used to have less body mass, muscle mass or otherwise, in the past the energy tried to replicate that state of their bodies by removing excess biomatter, hence the bloody coughing.
The veteran and cook couldn’t agree more.
They looked bad.
Pale, blood on their chins (or in his beard, in Rhodius’s case) and dark circles under their eyes from countless nights spent dreaming nightmares about demons, the Hell Dimension, infernos of flames, oceans of blood and untold deaths and destruction reigning over Argent D’Nur.
“So it is true.”
They all turned to the speaker. The former Kreed Maykr’s Assistant – or rather ‘Kornelious’ as some of the children he visited in secret from time to time living in Cantoth’s lower districts called him because he “looked like one” - hovering just past the doorway.
“What else does it look like, Maykr.” Rhodius mumbled into his beard before starting into another coughing fit, blood dripping with wet *Plick!*s into the metal bucket in his lap.
“Apologize, for his rudeness, Maykr. What doe we owe the…honour?” Novik’s voice was controlled. After the Kreed Maykr’s betrayal and the ensuing event his opinion of the Maykrs had dropped quite a bit. Yet he retained his professional friendly-ish ‘King-mask’. Why make an enemy of a, at least partial, ally?
“I believe, your Majesty, you already know why I am here.” ‘Kornelious’ replied in a tone just as ‘friendly’ as Novik’s. “The Kahn Maykr wishes to inquire if the current…state of everyone in this room may affect the energy sent to Urdak.”
“As long as we don’t have another *Cough!* damn *Cough-! *Cough!* ‘Kreed-Incident’ nothing- *Cough! Cough!* will happen to your *Cough! Cough!* oh-so-precious energy supplies, Maykr. ‘Ya can be- *Cough! Cough!* sure of- *Cough! *Cough!* of that.” How Quren got anything out between coughs was anyone’s guess. ‘Kornelious’ dipped his head slightly.
“Acknowledged, Cook Quren. I assume this information is correct, Lord Novik?”
“It is…If I may inquire, the Maykrs do not, possibly, know how to…fasten the decline of the ‘Wraith Energy’?”
“As far as I am aware, we are not. This kind of energy was previously unknown to us, despite permeating the entirety of Argent D’Nur. Do you wish me to inform the Kahn Maykr of your request?”
“No. No need.” Novik sighed. “Yet I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Liaison Of The Maykrs.”
“What now?” Marok spoke up from his position leaning on the left side of the double door’s metal frame. He was here in solidarity of his father, to support Valen.
“Now, we wait.” ‘Kornelious’ clasped his hands together behind his back. “It is the only thing we can do, right now, I am afraid.”
Hynron looked like he wanted to strangle someone, evidently very uncomfortable in his past body, only stopped my Alkin’s hand on his biceps.
“Great. Just- GREAT!” Hynron barked. “What’s next?! The Slayer turning into a Wintherin?!”
Kel’gen and Marok scoffed at the same time.
“Yeah right.” The Sholar previously leaning against the wall next to Marok, crossed his arms. “And I’m a Wraith Son.”
Everyone knew he meant it in a humorous way but, with Thira in the room, the phrase “Wraith Son” took on an entirely new meaning. One no one in the conference hall wanted to think about.
Novik glanced at Thira out of the corner of his eyes, she’d gone stiff at the young Sentinel’s words but, once noticing her father looking over to her, forcefully relaxed her tense shoulders and body after, a moment.
The silence that followed Kel’gen’s statement was…uncertain but, at last, Marok broke it:
“Speaking of the Slayer - or others, really – has anyone else been affected by the…Wraith Energy besides you?”
“No.” Novik replied calmly. “Not that we know of.”
At the last part the black-bearded king glanced at ‘Kornelious’.
“I can confirm that you, Lord Novik, Commander Valen, Commander Malum, Captain Hynron, Sentinel Alkin, Sentinel Rhodius, Sentinel Kel’gen, Sholar Frenorus and Cook Quren were the only one’s affected by the Wraith Energy.“
“Comforting.” Hynron grumbled before taking a sip of his wine. The dark red liquid sloshing around in his goblet by the force of him handling the silver cub.
“Thank the gods.” Valen, despite himself, mumbled quietly. Yet everyone in the large room heard the legendary Commander.
“So, anyone got a DataTablet?”
They all looked at currently-female Hynron.
“What could you possibly need a DataTablet for now??” Malum asked.
“Playing a game, Commander? I’m not going to go outside looking like-… this and I certainly don’t want to die of boredom until the effects of that stupid-ass energy run out.”
Malum didn’t dignify Hynron’s statement with a response, instead turning to Novik.
“My Lord, have you, by any chance, checked if anyone else was affected besides us? Just to be sure- not that I don’t trust your judgement.” He added the last part hastily, just to be safe to say on the king’s good side.
Before Novik could reply the doors to ethe hall flew open. Marok, still standing next to the doorframe, would have been crushed by the door’s left wing had he not caught the wooden surface just in time.
Healer Ger’in was standing in the thresh hold, looking like he’d seen Ahzrak himself wandering Cantoth’s streets.
He was out of breath, sweat beating on his forehead, hair wet from sweat, face red, panting heavily and steadying himself on his thighs.
“I- *Gasp!* The- You need to- *Pant!* Important-“ he struggled getting words out between greedy gulps of the crisp mountain air coming from the conference hall’s vents.
Novik, having stood up from his throne abruptly, was by the young man within multiple large, swift steps, steadying the Healer with a hand on his back.
“Easy, Healer.” He spoke calmly. “Calm down. Breathe. Take your time, then tell us what has happened.”
Ger’in nodded weakly, still gasping for air as he struggled to stay on his feet.
After multiple Sha‘tar Ger’in had calmed down enough to tell them what happened, despite still breathing heavily.
“The- The Slayer- he…he’s- he’s gone!”
Deathly quiet.
“What do you mean with ‘gone’, Healer?” ‘Kornelious’ spoke up finally, breaking the silence. “Did the Slayer leave to the Hell Dimension again or-“
“No! I- I mean no… I just wanted to check on him since- since he came back from- from the- the Hell Dimension *Gasp!* in-injured and- and-…My team and I just wanted to check on him and he wasn’t in his chambers-! Gods so-so much b-blood…”
No one dared move for a moment.
“Rhodius, Quren you stay here. Alkin: look after Hynron. Ger’in: rest, you need it. Everyone else follow me.” Novik’s voice was like velvet covered steel when he finally spoke.
No one objected. Ger’in let himself be walked over to one of the stools, sat down there and promptly, once Novik’s steadying hands left his shoulders, collapsed forward with his upper body. Rhodius and Quren were both shaken by another coughing fit while Hynron looked like he wanted to object his King’s words but was stopped by Alkin’s grip on his upper arm tightening.
“Come.” The old kind urged as Malum, Valen, Marok, Thira and the once-Kreed Maykr Assistant followed him out of the conference hall into the winding stone hallways of Cantoth past the door’s threshold.
They rushed through the hallways. Past confused Sentinels standing at each intersection they crossed. Past Sholas carrying parchment scrolls and leather-bound books. Past a group of off-duty Sentinels. Past Carriers with DataTablets held in their hands. Past Scientists arguing about notes or carrying complex plans of both war machines and life-saving technologies.
They all looked at the hurrying-past group with confusion but, noticing their obvious urgency, stayed out of their path.
Finally, after a multitude of dizzying twists, turns and elevator rides they reached the set of wooden, metal-lined double doors in the deepest part of the towering Sentinel Barracks piercing Argent D’Nur’s sky.
Now, thought, they were slightly ajar, a glimpse of light from the inside of the rom seeping into the torch-lit hallway beyond. When Novik hesitated for, in her opinion, too long, Thira pushed the doors open so that everyone could step inside.
The room beyond was spacious and round like the conference hall had been. The carefully stacked on-top of one another grey stone blocks had seen better days, being covered in scratches, bullet holes (some still had the metal projectiles in the) and more-or-less fresh, dark scorch marks from countless trial runs of weapons and machinery most people would never even dare ley their eyes upon. A large workbench dominated the wall opposite of the entrance doors, it stretched almost the entirety of the room. An assortment of mechanical parts, metal scraps, wrenches – as well as strange, unknown instruments - nails, rivets, papers and the occasional splash of oil, small tub of (engine) grease and small pile of gunpowder covering it’s surface. A large energy-window above it let the late afternoon’s sun’s light into the room, bathing everything in a warm, strangely comforting, glow. Another workbench, this one rectangular, covered in almost the same assortment of previously stated items took up the room’s center.
A door, not unlike the one they just come through, to the left of the main-door lead, as everyone knew from the plans they helped design themselves, to the sleeping quarters which were rarely used.
Another door, this one too the right, led to the bathing chamber (which was, at least slightly, used more often than the bedroom; thank the gods for that). Steam rose idly from the inside of the chamber.
But what set the complex of room’s apart from it’s usual appearance was the copious amount of blood covering the floor, parts of both wooden, metal-reinforced tables and part of the walls.
“By the gods…” Valen mumbled as he took in the scene. Bloodied handprints were at the edges of the workbenches, crimson footprints lead across the entirety of the main-room from one door to another and to the doorway of a small balcony to the right of the door leading to the bedroom.
“It seems the Slayer was affected by the Wraith Energy as well, Lord Novik.”
Marok had to noticeably force himself not to comment on the Maykr’s statement.
“Spread out.” The old king looked around with noticeable worry on his features. “See if you can find the Slayer, or any trace of where he might have gone to.”
“Understood.” Thira replied, walking further into the main-room. Her interest in particular were the bloody handprints at the workbenches edges, as if someone had tried to steady themselves, and the chaotic assortment of…(mostly) repair parts on the table tops.
“Seems like he got surprised by the energy’s effects.” The Princes-Commander mumbled.
“Seems like it.” Malum, having joined Thira by the workbench, agreed. “And by the looks of it…his physical statue differed quite a lot from the one we know.”
“Not surprising.” Thira said, glancing at Valen out of the corner of her eye who just walked through the bedroom door’s thresh hold.
“He’s built like one of the ancient warriors of the Golden Age. Doubt he would have looked like that…in the past? During his ‘youth’? I believe you know what I mean.”
“Mhm…” Malum took one of the papers off the desk. It showed altered schematics of the Shield Saw. They were, from what he could understand, finer and seemed to offer a faster turn-rate of the saw and better blocking capabilities of the shield.
“These are quite well-drawn.”
Malum nearly jumped out of his skin, not having heard ‘Kornelious’ approach (or rather float towards them).
Neither Thira nor Malum replied, both not very found of the Maykrs after everything that had happened.
“’Accidentally’ deleting requests for more energy and ‘accidentally’ disabling the Ship’s warning systems regarding the Slayer was quite unfortunate of myself, don’t you think?”
Both argenta stared at him.
“What?”
“You…disabled the Kreed’s ship’s systems? To- what? help the Slayer?”
“I accidently mistyped. There is a difference. If that allowed the Slayer to break free from the Teather’s influence then this was the ‘unfortunate’ outcome of a series of accidents.”
Marok, having looked over the table in the room’s center, couldn’t help but smile.
“Seems as if not all Maykrs are mindless drones.” He muttered, turning over what appeared to be the inner workings of a crossbow (maybe even those of the Ballistic Force Crossbow – nicknamed by some ‘BFC’).
The Sha‘tar ticked by quietly as the group looked through the room, careful not to break anything (or too much). Eventually they all met up again in the main-room’s center around the workbench situated there.
“Has anyone found anything of importance?” Novik asked.
“No, safe for a few quite well-made weapon schematics that is.” Malum grinned slightly.
Valen shook his head with a sigh.
“Now’s not the time for jokes, old friend, but I also did not find anything of interest except some bloody handprints.”
“Well,” Marok started. “I got this.” He held up a thick, leather-bound tome. What could be seen of it’s pages yellowed by age and countless hands turning them countless times.
“Haven’t looked it through yet, though.”
The King too the book without a word, Marok handing it to him, and flipped it open. His eyebrows shot up basically past his hairline.
“What is it?” Malum asked.
Novik turned the book so everyone could see the contents contained within it.
The open double-page showed Argent D’Nur drawn in startling detail from a view as if someone stood on a space station, looking down onto the planet beneath on one side. On the other, in unknown characters, in loopy, tidy handwritten text covered the parchment in straight, neat, lines and paragraphs. Notes had been written into the margins of the pages and arrows pointed from certain words to parts of the drawing.
“I am…unfamiliar with this…‘language’.” ‘Kornelious’ said after a moment of scanning the pages. His ‘face’ seemingly scrunched in confusion and intrigue.
“If the Maykr doesn’t know what this stuff means I doubt anyone knows.” Malum grimaced. He didn’t like secrets. They complicated things in his opinion.
Thira narrowed her eyes but also said that she had no idea either what the text could mean. The Wraith inside of her did not provide her with it’s (her?) knowledge. If it had any, that is.
“So it’s just useless scribbles.” Malum crossed his arms. “Didn’t think the Slayer as one who’d doodle around in a book during his time off.”
“That’s not random characters next to a drawing, Commander.” Marok said suddenly. “Call me crazy but that could be the Slayer’s native tongue.”
Everyone stared at the young Sentinel for a few good moments.
“I mean” Valen started. “it’s a valid possibility. Remember the language the Slayer spoke in half-mad when he was found? This” he gestured towards the pages with his prosthetic arm. “could very well be that same language, simply written down.”
“It could be.” ‘Kornelious’ muttered more to himself than anyone else.
“The Slayer is on a, to him, unknown planet. It’d be logical for him that he’d write down every bit of information he learns about Argent D’Nur as a form of orienting himself in an unfamiliar environment, culture and terrain.”
“Good to know that.” Malum said. “But that still doesn’t answer the question of where he is.”
“The old armor is missing.”
They all turned to Thira who, in tern, was looking at an alcove in the stacked stones behind the workbench following the room’s curved wall.
“The armor the Slayer wore when he was first found just outside Sentinel Prime’s castle is not here.”
“…Correct…” Novik glanced towards the bathing chamber. “If he reverted back to the state he was first found it than it would explain all the blood…and why his current armor is strewn so…haphazardly…through the bathing chambers.”
As the rest of the group glanced inside the room - previously basically filled with hot, white steam from the water in the central, set into the floor, washing basin – they saw nothing else but sheer chaos:
The basin was leaking water, it spilled over the rim, just narrowly being stopped from flooding the room by the barely-keeping-up sewage system around said rim… Crimson blood mixing with and staining the clear, thanks to Sentinel Energy disinfected, waters. Steam rising in soft streaks off the nigh-boiling pool’s surface… And olive-green and silver pieces of armor strewn haphazardly across the room’s floor without a care in the world. The fur cape was even half-submerged in the bathing basin’s water.
Everyone stared speechless for a moment.
Then ‘Kornelious’ cleared his throat (did Maykrs have throats?) and spoke:
“Allow me to summarize the…situation: The Slayer was affected by the Wraith Energy and seems to have reverted to his ‘past’ self shortly after he appeared on Argent D’Nur. He’s wearing the armor he had when he was found and is not able to be found anywhere-”
“I…think I know where he went.”
Everyone turned to look at Malum this time.
The Commander of Exultia was crouching near the archway leading out to a small stone balcony. A trail of bloody footprints lead outside onto the stone contrition, the crimson shape of a hand was present on the intricately worked stone balustrade.
The prints were significantly smaller than that of any grown Argenta; about the size of someone in their late-teens.
“What am I not surprised.” Valen muttered to himself before addressing the others louder: “ I suggest that we follow this…trail.”
“Agreed.” Thira supported.
“I suppose.” Novik said finally.
They filed onto the small stone balcony with quite a lot of difficulty, the Maykr having to hover above them to make room for everyone.
As they looked onto the sprawling city of Cantoth below, it’s copper-colored ceilings gleaming in the late-afternoon light as if polished they noticed, just barely (and thanks to ‘Kornelious’ inhuman sight), that the trail of footprints started on a slanted rooftop underneath them and continued past it to an unknown point.
“So. How are we going to get down there? Jumping?” Malum asked.
Valen groaned, running his flesh hand over his face. “We take the normal way down, old friend. Not jumping.”
~***~<|>~***~
Their journey through Cantoth was unusual. As most of the group – Novik, Thira, Malum, Marok and Valen – walked the cobblestone streets ‘Kornelious’ hovered in the above them, sharing where the footprints of the altered Slayer lead from one rooftop to another.
Of course, pedestrians stared. Some more open than other. It was a strange sight to see after all. Their King, two Commanders, one of them one of their kind’s most legendary warriors, the Princess-Commander herself and one of the rising stars of the Night Sentinels as well as a Maykr Angel walking through the streets seemingly unbothered.
Oh if they knew…If they only knew…
The group finally came to a halt at a towering cliff of one of the many mountains surrounding Cantoth. They took an elevator upwards to a large, lush once again, forest. The leaves of countless trees alongside the sun’s warm light formed dotted shapes on the grass-covered grounds.
“Where does the trail lead now??” Novik loudly asked ‘Kornelious’; making sure that the Maykr heard him.
“I do not know!” came the response promptly. “It seems to end here! I suggest we continue in the same direction as we did over the past Vak’tar!”
“Alright!”
As ‘Kornelious’ floated back down until he hovered only a few centimeters off the grass the group continued their trek. Until they eventually reached the cliff they just got up on.
The forest parted around them into a small strip of meadow before the mountain’s stone cut off abruptly.
…
There, underneath a particularly old, gnarled grown tree, it’s thick branches reaching up into the sky, sat the Slayer.
The bright green armor of his looked strange to the group unintentionally hiding behind a few bushes. It’s sleeves ended at the middle of his upper arms. The plating over the abdomen having long since been ripped off, showing the well-built abdominal muscles and an ugly, three-fingered claw mark crossing over it. He wore a pair of black, leather-like gloves barely reaching wrists. The exposed skin of the abdomen and arms slightly toned. A thick belt in a lighter shade of green with a multitude of pockets held bright green pants up. Metallic-black kneepads were fused with the combat boots in the same color.
He still wore a helmet. Now, thought, it wasn’t the round, olive-green one the Slayer was infamous for, but rather a box, grey-ish colored thing with a grill over the mouth and three smaller ones, one on either side of his face next to the ‘main’ grill and one on top of the strange-looking piece of equipment.
The Slayer was leaning with his back against the tree’s rough bark, legs bent, a thick book with a metallic cover propped up on his knees. Pen in hand he was…
“…writing?” Thira’s voice was barely audible.
The scene was surreal. The Slayer- the Bane of Hell, the Unchained Predator, the fear of all of Hell - the Doom Slayer for crying out loud – was calmly sitting underneath a tree, late-afternoon sun shining down on him, writing in a book he’d probably taken from the library without a second thought.
“Please tell me you see this too.” Malum muttered. “Otherwise I am going to jump of this cliff right next to us.”
“You are not hallucinating, Commander.” ‘Kornelious’ said quietly. “The Slayer is, indeed, sitting underneath a tree writing.”
For a while no one moved. They all just watched this legendary warrior sit and write. He, oddly, wrote with his left hand. Most Argenta were righthanded; writing with the left hand was a rarity for their kind.
“I’m going to talk to him.” Marok finally declared.
“What?!” Valen hissed. “Are you out of your mind, young Sentinel?? We have no idea how he might react to you if you spoke to him! For all we know he could tear you apart for seeing him like this.”
But Marok hadn’t listened to his father. He got up, stepped out of the undergrowth and started walking towards the sitting figure underneath the tree.
The Slayer didn’t pause his writing. Didn’t acknowledge the approaching Sentinel. Didn’t do as much as turn his head.
“Greetings!” Marok’s voice seemed to echo in the quiet of the forest. The young Sentinel nonchalantly plopped himself down next to the silent warrior who was just that: silent.
The Slayer still didn’t react. He simply continued writing; or whatever he was doing.
Up close it was also evident that the Bane Of Hell had…‘shrunk’, for lack of a better term. He was at least one and a half heads smaller than Marok.
“I didn’t expect you to be here out of all places.” The young an said. “You don’t exactly strike me as the type to sit down somewhere and start- what? watching birds?”
The Slayer’s pen paused for a moment, then continued.
Marok kept talking. He explained to the Outlander why he suddenly was his past self, who else was affected by the Wraith’s energy and how they had changed. But he also talked about how the Sentinels had been destroying the last pockets of demonic influences across all of Argent D’Nur and Colony Worlds like Hebeth. How the Trans-Dimensional Barrier had been repaired, stronger than before and with more security measures around and built into it.
It was hard to tell if the Slayer was listening or not. The visor of his helmet, still being a shade of grey like the rest of the helmet but with a faint blue-ish tint to it, hid his features fully.
Marok stopped talking after a while, instead turning his gaze to the abyss a few steps away from them. Underneath them, past the cliffside, Cantoth gleamed in the late-afternoon’s light, completely at peace.
The young warrior closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying a breeze sweeping through the valley. Memories of days such as this one surfaced in his mind. Of days spent training under Argent D’Nurs grueling hot sun. Of accidentally besting his father in simulated strategy games. Of helping his mother with preparing a snack or two. And of sitting on a campfire with his parents while the stars twinkled above them.
The rustle of fabric drew his attention back to the present. He opened his eyes again, glancing to the side just in time to see the Slayer grasp the sides of his helmet and take it off in one swift motion.
The face underneath wasn’t the one he, or those of the still-hiding group, had expected. Or known for that matter.
Instead of the scarred, weathered facial features, the pitch black hair and dark brown, night-black, eyes the face underneath had significantly fewer marks. He looked to be about Marok’s age; early twenties. The still short cropped hair was bright blond with light, red-ish or brown undertones. It almost seemed to glowed in the late afternoon’s light.
The eyes, though, were the most striking part. They weren’t the dark-brown everyone knew but instead a deep, iridescent blue. It was like staring into twin sapphires.
The Slayer looked down onto Cantoth before closing his eyes for a moment, exhaling barely audibly.
“By the gods you look different.” Marok said, voice quiet.
Behind the bush Valen resisted the urge to facepalm.
The Slayer opened his eyes again. He glanced at Marok for a moment before turning his attention back to the book still balanced on his knees.
For a while no one dared make a sound. Thought Marok cough a glimpse of the book.
The page he caught sight of had a similar layout as the one from the book he had found back in the Slayer’s private quarters.
A drawn image on one page - in this case on the left - with describing text on the other one, here the right page.
“What’s an…‘ap-ple’?”
The twin sapphires of eyes fixated the younger Sentinel.
“Uhm…” Marok was suddenly very interested in a stray leaf above them.
“Me and a few…friends had let some…recordings from when you were found be, uhm, sent- to us and- *Clears Throat* decided it was, uhm, fun trying to translate them. I- only know a few phrases.”
The Slayer didn’t move for a long moment. Then closed his ees for a moment and ran one of his gloved hands over his face.
“Of course you’d think it’d be fun.”
Everyone stared. The Slayer didn’t move an inch. The leaf gently landed on the ground.
“…You spoke…”
The Slayer gave Marok a flat look.
“…a full sentence.”
The Slayer raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’ he seemed to ask.
“You spoke a full sentence.”
The Slayer blinked down at his own hands.
“Hm. I did. Feels weird after so long.”
His Argenta was heavily accented but still understandable. Just barely. But understandable nonetheless.
“You- how?? We thought you didn’t know Argenta!” Marok stared at the shorter man.
“Vocal cord damage.” Was all the Slayer said. His voice deep and rough from disuse. “Had at least a couple demons try clawing my throat out.”
He paused for a moment.
“Doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Just took me a while to learn your language.”
“No shit…” the younger warrior muttered. “Argenta is a complicated language. And you just- what? learned it from listening to us?”
“How else?”
The chirping of a couple birds filled the silence as the young Sentinel and the Bane Of Hell stared at each other for a moment. Marok looked shocked. The Slayer had a, not calm exactly but neutral, mien.
“Can I- ask a few questions?”
The Doom Slayer turned back to the book, answering Marok with a “Mhm…”.
“So, uhm, firstly: what’s an ‘ap-ple?”
The shorter man glanced at Marok, not looking up from writing in the book.
“It’s pronounced ‘apple’” He started. “and it’s a fruit from my home planet.”
“That would be…?”
Instead of answering the Slayer flipped to one of the first pages of the book. It showed a planet in a view in the style of the drawing that Argent D’Nur had been in. The planet itself seemed to have been mostly water with a multitude of differently colored landmasses - some in browns and yellows, deserts or drier areas evidently, some in different greens, more lush, foliaged areas. A singular moon, in contrast to Argent D’Nur which had two celestial escorts, was drawn on a thin oval line going around the spherical shape of the planet.
“The others can come out too.”
Marok’s gaze snapped from the finely drawn image to the Slayer.
“How do you-”
He got interrupted by Malum, Valen, Novik, Thira and ‘Kornelious’ coming out from their hiding spot behind the forest’s undergrowth.
“Apologize, Slayer. We did not mean to eavesdrop.”
The Slayer gave the Maykr the slightest of nods as Kornelious and the others grouped themselves around the tree.
“So that is where you are from.” Malum said, glancing over the Slayer’s shoulder. “Doesn’t match the rumors.”
At that Exultia’s Commander got a breathy sigh from the blond-haired man.
“What happened to it…?”
It took Thira a second to realize what she just asked. The Slayer’s face darkened. Silently he turned to the next page.
It still showed his home planet and it’s moon, but now it was cracked. Sigils and Pentagrams glowing deep red and orang crisscrossed the entirety of the planet, chucks of it drifting away into the painted abyss of space. Smoke and dark clouds hung in the atmosphere and parts of the world even seemed to have partially melted into an indistinguishable mass of hot glowing rock. The once-white moon was shattered into countless pieces, rotating on an irregular axis around the main planet and nothing but a shell of it’s former self. Parts of reality itself seemed to fold and bend and break around the planet as the energies of the Dark Realm permeated and destroyed it. Erased it.
“It was one of the first worlds Hell ever touched.” The venom in the Slayer’s voice made everyone freeze. “It was one of the first dimensions ever destroyed…”
He glared at the picture, the previously simmering hate now a blazing inferno in his sapphire eyes.
“So that is why you fight…”
Everyone turned to Novik, even the Slayer, who’s eyes fixed on the old king.
“Partially.” The Outlander’s grip on the tome tightened until the leather creaked under the strain. “It’s one of the reasons.”
“What are the others, if I may ask?” Valen, standing next the Slayer forced himself to stop comparing the glyphs on the Slayer’s homeworld with the ones he’d seen on Argent D’Nur before the invasion was stopped.
…could Argent D’Nur have ended up the same way if it weren’t for the Slayer?…
The man in question remained silent for a long while. So long, in fact, that Valen was starting to think he’d offended the Outlander.
But, finally, the reply came: “Gotta back up for that.”
~***~<|>~***~
“Everything started on Phobos.” The Slayer began. “One of the moons of the planet you call ‘Hebeth’, our name for it ‘Mars’.”
He turned a page, showing the red planet in question and it’s moons, more large rocks really, orbiting around the planet.
One moon was marked both in the Slayer’s native tongue and in Argenta. ‘Phobos’ was written in surprisingly neat, loopy, handwriting.
“A company called the Union Aerospace Corporation, or ‘U.A.C.’ for short, got an exclusive mining contract with the government of my home country - the United States of America, mostly rereferred to as ‘USA’ or ‘US’ – to mine Phobos…They also secretly experimented with Portal Technology.”
“You did not have SlipGate technology?” Marok asked incredulously. Thira elbowed him in the ribs. The Slayer shook his head in answer, what might have been a scoff escaping him.
“Stuff like that was thought to be fiction by my people. But the UAC somehow made it work.”
Malum snorted, then immediately covered his mouth.
All eyes turned to him.
“Apologies.” The Commander muttered. “Please continue.”
The Slayer, turning back to the book on his knees, turned another page silently. It showed some kind of laboratory facility and people from his species in white coats around what appeared to a primitive, half-baked SlipGate Generator. Wires were exposed. Cabels connected in a chaotic tangle to the SlipGate Generator (if it could even be called a SlipGate Generator, that is).
“Problem was they didn’t secure the SlipGate Connection like you do with the Trans-Dimensional Barrier.” The Outlander continued.
“Not that they knew they had to.” He added. What might have been a slight, slight grin in another lifetime on his lips for just a moment.
He paused.
“The accidentally punched a hole into the fabric of reality and allowed Hell to get into our dimension.” He voice seemed to darken. Hands tightening on the book.
Another pause - he closed his eyes and sighed quietly.
“From there on everything get’s blurry. I only remember that me and my company, a unit of the US military, were sent to investigate…something…I was the only survivor.”
Silence fell over the forest, not even the birds seemed to want to chirp even a single note.
“Spending eons in Hell messes with your memory.” The Slayer taped the side of his head with an index finger.
“A couple years later I got sent up there again to stop a demon that somehow survived. Still have no idea how.”
He turned the book’s pages again. Showing the previously depicted facility from the outside on the moon’s surface; strangely it was underneath a kind of glass dome.
Now it was in ruins. Flames licked into the space inside the cracked dome from inside the complex. Smoke billowed out of damaged buildings and red lights were drawn, captured mid-flash, painting everything in a red hue.
“When I returned” the Slayer continued. “earth was in ruins. Hell used the time I was on Phobos dealing with that surviving demon to invade earth. Billions died.”
No one knew what ‘earth’ was but they could guess that it was the name of the Slayer’s home planet.
“After that everything is…fading again…”
“Undoubtedly.” Novik said. His face scrunched up in concentration, brain working through countless scenarios of what this information could mean to the Argent D’Nur as a whole and their fight against Hell’s forces.
The Slayer, thought, remained quiet. Simply staring at the book. Unmoving.
Then his grip tightened again. Parts of the leather groaned, twisted and cracked as his facial expression constricted into a seething snarl. A vein on the right side of his neck bulged out noticeably.
Moments later he calmed down, face smoothing into an eerily blank mask of emotional absence.
No one spoke, put off by the sudden change in emotions.
“That isn’t all though, is it?” Thira eventually asked. She stood next to Novik, eyeing the Slayer like he might combust at any moment.
“No.” The Slayer’s voice was hard as steel. Seething with rage and hatred.
Yet he was startingly careful as he unbuckled the bright green hardened plates of his suit covering his chest and pulled something out.
It was, at first glance, nothing but a small scrap of paper. As he turned it around it’s true nature was revealed: a photo.
The left side was almost completely ripped off, only showing part of a green jacket of sorts and white shirt underneath. In the pictures center a young woman, maybe a bit younger than Thira, stood with her shoulder toward the camera wearing a dark-blue vest with a white overall underneath holding a young child. No older than four. She had long, light brown hair, darker brown eyes and light skin. The boy had a tuft of bright blond tousled hair and the same eyes as the woman; possibly her son.
“I see. Novik said. “So that’s how it is…”
“What?” Marok asked. “What’s ‘how it is? Can someone explain, please, sirs?”
The Slayer stared at the picture, not reacting to Marok’s question.
The woman and the boy were smiling at the camera - the child, dressed in a dark blue jacket, steadied himself on the woman’s arm completely unbothered as he was, probably, upsetting the woman’s center of balance.
“…her…name was Emily. His…Billie.” The Slayer’s voice was low. Ice cold. Rage suddenly gone from it.
The icy tone unsettled the people present more than his hate filled expression previously.
“She was my wife. He, my son…”
Marok and Thira stared. Eyes wide, mouth’s slightly open (in Marok’s case, at least - Thira had more respect). Valen, Malum and Novik didn’t look surprised, having guessed that something more personal was at play since the beginning. ‘Kornelious’, thought, looked oddly…contemplative. No doubt cataloging every bit of information to be sorted through by a Bishop or the Kahn herself later.
“…she died in my arms…”
…
No one dared as much as breathe.
“A week later I found one of Billie’s arms.”
The Slayer didn’t look up from the picture. Closing his eyes he slowly breathed in and out multiple times. Grip tight on the paper. Neck-vein bulging again. Forehead scrunched in either concentration or fury. Maybe both. Then he opened his eyes again and continued.
“Demons killed them and the rest of my family. As revenge. Because I stopped their first invasion on Phobos…”
He bared his teeth. Not bothering with hiding his emotions for the sake of those around him anymore.
“They basically disemboweled my wife…” He outright growled. Voice seething again. Grip tightening again.
“They tore my four-year-old son to pieces…!”
His hands balled into fists around the picture.
“When I realized why I almost at some lead myself.”
Valen’s face darkened.
“…But decided not to…in favor of revenge…”
Carefully he released his bone-crushing grip on the picture, not wanting to damage it.
“Went to the main portal used for the invasion, went through and blew it to fucking smithereens behind me.”
The vein bulged further dangerously. The group could partially hear the Slayer grind his teeth.
“…I saw my home dimension shatter into nothingness in the split second I was in that portal…”
Thira’s and ‘Kornelious’s’ eyes widened.
“What…?” they both asked quietly in unison.
“…it got completely destroyed. Wiped off the face of the Multiverse as if it never existed!”
The Slayer glared daggers at nothing. As if demons might jump out from the shadows at any moment and attack them.
“How??” Marok suddenly blurted out. “How is it possible for an entire dimension to-to vanish?! That’s physically impossib-“ He stopped when the Slayer glared at him.
“I fight because I want to make them pay…” the Outlander glowered.
“Make them pay for every single tear they took from me…Pay for every single drop of blood they took from me- from anyone…Pay for the family they took from me…For the wife and son they took from me…the life…
…
“Pay for the dimension the took from me…Pay for every single life they ever took from anyone-‼”
He stood up, leaving the book and pen behind in the soft grass underneath the tree.
Turning, everyone froze. Rage and hatred emanating from the Slayer crashed over them like a tidal wave, locking their muscles in place with utter, primal, fear.
Fear of a predator who finally decided to Stop. Playing. Games.
“And I won’t let anyone stop me from doing so.” He growled. Twin sapphires of eyes boring into the group before him. Fists balled so tight the knuckles had bleached into a paper-white color, leather of his gloves straining painful-looking around his hands.
“Not even a god…”