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The earth in Emon is soft and malleable, warmer than the dirt in Whitestone, true soil instead of rock and clay. The grass is full and green, well-watered by the late summer rain. Good for the local farmers- less so for anyone trying to sneak around.
The demons around here have grown lazy. The cloven hoofprints in the undergrowth are scarcely covered over- Percy isn’t much of a tracker and even he can follow them through the forest brush. Laziness, or a trap- as a gambling man, Percy has equal money on either.
Demonic flames lick against his jacket, and Percy turns, firing off three pistol shots in rapid succession. The demon shrieks as the bullets bury themselves in its chest, and its wings flap once, twice before it falls to the ground, sickly green blood pouring from its body.
Percy nearly does not sense the second demon swinging for his head. He just barely ducks out of the way, and the demon is prevented from tearing at his face only by the pair of daggers now sticking out of the side of its neck. The blades drag down from the jugular, ripping ugly gashes in the demon’s hide, and Percy is both relieved and annoyed by the familiar face standing behind his fallen quarry.
“Percival,” the half-elf says. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Three more behind you.” Black smoke curls out unbidden from between Percy’s joints, and he aims a shot just past Vax’s shoulder.
“As scintillating a conversationalist as ever.” A great pair of raven’s wings explode from Vax’s back as he whirls around, daggers slicing through flesh as easy as dancing.
Vax has one truly tremendous gift, and that is his grace. He looks more like a creature of divinity from Percy’s childhood prayerbooks than the wicked beast he truly is. Vax spins through the air with ease, leaving torn bodies in his wake.
Where Percy fires, only viscera remains, nasty green stains on the forest floor, messes of fangs and claws. The boy who should have died in Whitestone recoils in horror, but the rest of Percy prefers it this way, his enemies so shattered that nothing is left behind.
The smoke does not dissipate from his form until well after the demons are good and dead. Vax sits on the ground, wiping the blood from his daggers. His empty eye sockets glow beneath the cloth mask tied around his head. “You still with me, Percy?”
Percy takes a deep, shuddering breath. He pulls his shadowy magic back beneath his skin where it belongs, and sightless eyes peer out from the glass lenses of his mask. “Yes,” he says, his voice thick and rough.
Vax nods. “It’s been a while. I thought you might have finally gotten yourself killed.”
“I was in Wildmount. Following a lead.” Necromancy. A foul business. “And what have you been doing, then? You still haven’t cut your hair.”
Vax ignores the jab and the question in favor of inspecting his blades. “I had a vision,” he says.
“A vision.”
“The Burning Legion draws ever closer to our world.”
“Oh, really?” Percy says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve been saying that for years.”
“But we’re not their destination. We’re just standing in the way.”
Percy takes an old, ratty handkerchief from his pocket and begins cleaning the barrel of his gun. He understands Vax’s obsession with the Legion, this infinite demon army- Vax’s revenge has no target. His enemy has no face, not like Percy and the Briarwoods. Vax has turned his blades on the immortal armies of hell, and he won’t stop until his body finally fails him.
Percy has no such inclination. When the Briarwoods and their associates are dead, he’ll put the barrel of his gun to his temple and serve penance. It’s as much as he deserves.
“There are more like us,” Vax continues. “Protecting their worlds from the Legion’s domination. We could join them.”
“I have my own business to attend to. You know that.”
“But after,” Vax presses. “You could do so much more. We both could.”
Percy doesn’t respond. He cleans his pistol until he can see his beaked mask gazing back at him in the reflection of the cold metal. Orthax’s remains mutter in the back of his skull, chiding him for even considering it. As if this would change anything, wretched boy, it whispers. You could slay a thousand thousand demons and their numbers would ever remain the same.
They are both silent for a long time. “You look like shit,” Vax says. The non sequitur makes Percy snort suddenly, surprised. “I mean it. You’re not taking care of yourself.”
“I hadn’t noticed. I fear my vanity has abandoned me.”
Vax stands and reaches out a clawed yet still delicate hand. “You don’t have to be alone, Percival,” he says.
He doesn’t mean for his words to be cruel but they wound Percy like an old, yellowing bruise. Percy spent his youth with his family around him on all sides like the walls of Whitestone Castle itself, and he lost it all. He doesn’t know how to be anything but alone anymore.
Percy exhales and smoke pours out from his mouth, wreathing around his mask. “If you help me destroy those I have sworn vengeance on,” he says, “I will owe you a great debt. I aim to repay my debts in full.”
Vax takes Percy’s hand in his own and squeezes gently. Percy cannot recall the last time someone showed him such affection. “Vampires, was it? Never killed a vampire before.”
“It’s ugly work, but no more or less rotten than this.” Percy nods towards the demonic corpses at their feet.
“Well. Whatever the adventure is, I’m happy to do my part in ridding this world of such foul beasts.” Vax lets go of his hand and returns his daggers to his belt. “Tell me where we’re going and I will follow.”
“North. To Whitestone.” Percy holsters his gun. “I’m heading home.”