Primordial gods were born of the void—beings of chaos and order. After those gods, we, the people of Tuatha De Danann, arrived. To create life and many worlds, we created Truths or Laws and carved out our existence among the primordials’ sanctuary. It was only after catastrophe struck that we realized there were greater Truths above our own.

~Dagda, the All-Father, Chief of the Gods

An Elder Dryad stepped out into the clearing; his three-meter height allowed him to stand taller than most of the younger trees and saplings. Even the sunlight had little impact on his corrupted body. The oozing robe on his body dripped, as if melting, and those drops hissed as they burned into the living grass, sapping it of vibrancy. Its thin stature was closer to that of a vine than a tree, and the woven fibrous materials that made up its limbs moved with less rigidity than expected.

“We only want the boy.” Its voice carried through the clearing, and the strangely nimble finger on its right hand pointed towards Crow. Its other hand gripped a wooden scepter, which was thicker than its arm and had a crystal orb captured in the rigid vine-like claw at the top. “No harm will come to him.”

“You expect me to believe those lies?” Crow asked calmly. “My father might be many things, but he does not lie.”

Father turned towards him, and he could see the rage settling from white-hot into a cold one. He simply nodded, acknowledging his son’s words. With their method of silently communicating, Crow knew father was conveying much more than that. Pride, honor, and maybe proclaiming that Crow was a man worthy of his respect from this day forth. Crow stood taller, chest out, and his killing intent grew with his resolve.

“Even the boy sees through your falsehoods. Why do you want my boy, dryad?”

“You think Mugna can hide everything? We know his worth, and we’ll take—”

“Try it, and you’ll die. You and your dogs aren’t my opponents. Do you know why I hold dryads in contempt?” Conall asked, and his eyes roamed across the clearing, seeing the Elder and roughly fifty or more dryads encircling them. Some weren’t strong enough to stand in the light and were used to fill the gaps at the tree line. “You all lack honor! Look at all of you, here to kidnap a child that doesn’t even have his Source open. This is the definition of trash. You are not worthy of acknowledgment or praise. I dare you to deny it.”

The Elder Dryad slammed the bottom of his scepter into the ground, and a dark miasma slowly covered him and his surrounding area.

“You want to anger us? This is—”

“Shut up!” Conall put away the mundane battle axes he was carrying and withdrew two more that Crow had only seen a handful of times. Each haft was crafted from dark wood and curled near the bottom handle, but the ax blades were the centerpiece. Both glowed a deep dark red color, like that seen in coals of a dying fire. “Go on. Deny that you are trash, willing to kidnap children.” He spat out again, not giving the dryads any way to save face.

Many of the dryads wailed softly, but none would speak before their Elder allowed it. The tense standoff only ended when a clear, crystal-like voice carried over from deeper in the woods. Crow could see an ethereal glow heading towards them.

“The Maddox clan. Still this arrogant,” she said as the bluish-white glow stepped to the edge of the forest. She remained in the shadows of the trees, refusing to let the sunlight touch her.

“Finally, the real culprit arrives. A hellspawn like you, wanting to steal a child, dares to call me arrogant? Pfft.” Conall laughed, but the laughter was as cold as his eyes. “Never thought I’d see a White Lady on our lands. I assume Gideon sent all of you?”

“What’s a White Lady?” Crow asked, his eyes followed her as the glow dissipated. Immediately he felt his tongue grow thick, and his eyes bugged out as they locked onto the lady’s ethereal beauty.

“A dead fae that had its body taken over by something beyond the grave. Most fae are harmless, even as creatures of chaos. But that doesn’t mean they can’t scheme—prepare for anything.”

“Your father is correct, but there are always ways to bend the rules,” she replied sweetly. Her charming face was bewitching, and her slim, graceful body was nearly celestial. Almost as if timed, the dryads chose that moment to shuffle forward.

“Barnes, protect the boy. Son, aim for the eyes and knees,” Conall grinned, the glow on the red-bladed axes intensified with his fighting intent. As the dryads swarmed, he hacked them down as fast as they arrived. Arrows rained down out of the forest. The dryads tried to locate where they came from, but more and more of them fell as every shaft struck true. Small explosions echoed through the battlefield, a gift from a specialty arrow that Barnes’ created. The wooden skin of the dryads blasted open, making it easy for Crow to exploit.

Crow did what he could, but he lacked his father’s power and Barnes’ arrows.

“Boy, keep your head. You aren’t their match, but you are a distraction. Keep up the suppressive fire,” Conall called over, feeling the flow of the battle. It was one thing he couldn’t teach Crow, but something he would learn through countless fights. Wooden splinters blasted outward from every strike, some of which had already stabbed him in multiple locations. Green blood oozed out of their compromised bodies, and as the dryads—or their limbs—became lifeless, the corruption within curled off them and broke apart into dust before dissipating into nothingness. All it left behind was dead flesh and bone that had reverted back into whatever it was before it became corrupted.

Crow understood his primary role. Enlightened, he renewed his rate of fire, trying to do anything to keep them off his father. Barnes assisted everywhere, even striking down the dryads that approached Crow’s rocky stronghold. Through it all, they mostly ignored the White Lady—Crow trusted his father’s assessment, and the other two trusted their knowledge.

“You dare wipe out my people?” The Elder Dryad charged forward and tried to stomp Conall to death, but Crow’s father had already moved before the stump-like foot landed. Everything swayed from the impact—trees tumbled over, their roots broken by the rippling surface.

Crow stumbled, his arrow going wide and striking the ground near the White Lady. The two looked at each other, and he couldn’t help but see the glowing ball of energy forming within her dainty hands.

Conall didn’t waste the moment. He’d already whistled and pointed at the Elder Dryad’s knee before rushing forward. Everyone knew what the White Lady was doing and realized there wasn’t much time left. A muffled explosion, greater than the others, struck the back of the large being’s leg, nearly severing it from the Elder Dryad’s body. Conall blurred before his dash ended by slamming into the dryad’s unharmed leg. Unexpectedly, the leg bowed to the snapping point.

The Elder Dryad roared in pain, and its damaged leg took most of his weight, which lasted less than a second before it snapped and his large body twisted and fell. Instead of falling back into the woods as Conall expected, the weight had shifted forward, and somehow, it landed in the clearing. Its head smashed onto the rocks Crow sheltered on, forcing him to leap up and out of the way.

No matter how it played out, the fact the Elder Dryad died was not in question. Its head had split open, and the tainted green blood sprayed the area before the bark on the three-meter length body wilted and curled. Before the corruption had time to dissipate, Conall had finally recognized the danger the White Lady posed.

The entire clearing was littered with body parts and dead or dying dryads, but all eyes were now on the White Lady. Barnes had finally stepped out of the woods on the far side of the clearing, his bow already releasing arrows at the dead fae. Conall rushed at her. Despite the current situation, he didn’t sense any actual danger from her. Every sense in his body said she was harmless, but his eyes were telling him a different story.

“What is she doing?” Conall yelled out to Barnes.

“Not sure, but it can’t be good.”

Crow stood up, carefully wiping the Elder Dryad’s blood off his face.

“Should have taken the offer,” the White Lady’s sweet voice held a tinge of provocation. The corner of her mouth twitched, and her eyes squinted to see past the glow of her spell. Nimbly, she dodged the arrows and wove through the trees to prevent Conall from using any of his close combat skills.

She only stopped when she launched her spell. Only it didn’t target Conall or Barnes—she sent it at Crow.

Seeing his son in danger, Conall stopped holding back, and one by one, the stars on his Shield flared up. Five out of nine stars glowed as fiercely as his Shield. The axes in his hands caught fire, but the flames were blood red. Along each wooden haft, letters appeared spelling out two words. In his left hand was Mayhem, and in his right was Slaughter.

The glowing yellow and red power caused Crow’s father to look like the embodiment of Hell’s Seven War Gods, the guardians that protected the underworld depths from being plundered and preventing the dead from escaping.

All that power and Crow realized it wasn’t enough. None of those things could increase his Old Man’s speed, so there was no way for him to intercept this attack. Crow had no way to dodge, and he realized one lesson at that moment. Never assume the weak are harmless.

“You damned monster, stay dead!” Conall’s bellow contained enough power to force the White Lady to stumble backward, and the trees once more swayed. It was the first time any of them had seen fear on the White Lady’s face—oddly, it was the ax Conall threw in retaliation that set her fear off. Nothing had put her on edge this entire fight until she recognized what Conall had been wielding this whole time.

The blood-red ax chopped through her spine and pinned her to the tree behind her—firmly embedding itself into the solid wood. She recognized her opponent far too late—fleeing wasn’t even an option anymore.

She’d escaped from the underworld and had long lived near the River of Souls. Had even become the concubine of an underworld general, and she should have recognized those red-bladed weapons far sooner. Her eyes stared at the letters on the weapon sticking out of her body and shivered. Thousands—maybe hundreds of thousands—of souls talked about this man and the blood-red axes that had cleaved the souls from their bodies. Blood Metal could only form through slaughter, and once formed, the items would become Soul-Linked to its wielder. It was how she knew this was the same man they talked about, barely daring to even whisper his name.

“Soul Reaper…” She gasped, fear finally taking control. “Heavens, help us. That boy wasn’t my clan’s calamity. It was you. A true ungodly monster.” She couldn’t help but stare in horror as the man approached her. He chuckled at her growing awareness of his past.

Struggling, she tried to unpin herself from the tree, but the approaching demon’s ax held firm. Even now, she didn’t feel the Bloodifre within the weapon burning away the fae’s lifeforce, weakening the connection her soul had with it.

“Arrgh! Pa-papa, t-the pain—” Crow’s body arched backward violently, and his arms flung out to the side as he rose into the air. An alarming amount of energy flowed around the clearing, creating a rotating cyclone that flooded into the boy. The volume and rate of absorption startled both Conall and Barnes.

Light flooded out of the boy’s eyes and shot into the sky, announcing to anyone nearby that a Source Awakening was in progress. The light was a beacon and a warning. Anyone that interfered with the will of the heavens would get struck down without mercy.

“Go, I got him,” Barnes called out, approaching the boy but not directly interfering.

Conall’s rage reached a new high. No child awakened their Source before the age of fifteen because their bodies and minds had to be tempered to survive the awakening. Even then, only those with a high level of talent would awaken naturally at fifteen. On average, most of the younger generation awakened their Source between the ages of seventeen and twenty. Crow started training at four, so Conall was confident his boy would survive. It was up to Crow to succeed in his awakening—those that failed rarely got another opportunity.

“You!” Conall’s cold voice penetrated the White Lady’s soul more than any of his bellows. When his hand reached out, Mayhem flew back into his hand. But the White Lady was mostly spirit, and she partially merged with the tree, preventing her from falling to the ground. He could see her labored breathing and knew she suffered from the full power of his unleashed Shield, but he didn’t want her to die. Not yet. He didn’t understand how this was an attack, but he recognized why he didn’t sense danger. She hadn’t used an attack, not really.

“What trickery—” Conall stopped talking and glanced back at his son before turning back to her. His thoughts cleared, and his rational thinking once more brought him answers he didn’t like. “What the hell have you done?”

“Oh, does the fool understand?” The White Lady sneered weakly, feeling she was not long for this world. “You were right. Because this body is fae, it couldn’t harm the boy, but it could assist him. Now that he has awakened early, the Heaven’s will take notice. What do you think they’ll do to a boy that has both awakened his Source early and find out he is unfated? There is time—not even the Heavens will act this fast.”

“Why?” Conall rasped with his face nearly against hers. He knew he could shred her soul, but he needed answers.

“Before the boy’s name day, a witch who owed our clan head a favor, sensed the boy, but nothing since. It took time before his message could reach our patriarch. Our clan specialized in Soul Arts, but the White Lady spell only works on females.”

“What did that witch say?” His voice was getting softer and softer.

“The boy would either be our clan’s calamity or savior. Clan head would’ve locked your boy away in our prison realm if he had come with me.”

“That’s a lie. Since you know he’s Unfated, you know very well that you can’t control him. You would kill a child on a vision of the future that can’t possibly be predicted? They played you as fools. Unfated means that they could not scry his future or past. Lie to me again…”

“I’m already dead, Soul Reaper. Yes, I know who you are, and I’ve met many of your victims in the underworld. You can’t threaten me.”

“Now who is the fool?” Conall whispered, not wanting his son to hear this. Even in his current state, he was sure the boy would remember things. “Those souls were my earliest victims, and my abilities were a bit crude. You ever wonder why there were no more victims in the last thirty years?”

A shiver ran through her as she looked at this blood-red demon before her—axes ablaze and hair floating in the heat as if it were aflame. It was true; it was as if the butcher had stopped killing, but she figured the demon stopped climbing the tower. Seeing his eyes, she could see that was a naïve thought.

“I’m a true Soul Reaper now. Not even my enemies may enter reincarnation, because I destroy them so thoroughly there is nothing left to send to the underworld. A weak soul like yours? My breath could shatter it.”

“W-wait!” The White Lady panicked, but Conall’s dead eyes never flickered. His ax blade pressed against her chest and the blade sliced through bone and flesh like it was a rotten log. He pushed until its edge rested against her very existence.

“Y-you-you know I’m a mother too!” She pleaded pathetically. “I never wanted to harm the child. This was for his own—Ahhh! STOP!”

Her screech shook the souls of the dryads still nearby, and as one, they all turned and fled.

“You harmed my son. Your life is already forfeit. Since you won’t talk, I’ll make sure whatever ability you just used never comes to light ever again.”

Before her wasn’t a god of war, but one of death. She regretted far too late.

“Clan head, you damned fool! You awoke a true ungodly monster.”

“Pleading to the heavens won’t save you. Not even the underworld can protect you now.”

“B-blood Ember Sect. They were the ones that told us!” The White Lady blurted out, not even caring if it implicated her clan. Death by the Blood Ember Sect was a mercy compared to the bastard standing in front of her. “Take your son to Oiche. No one will touch him there—hell, its like you said, they can’t even scry him. If you leave the northern continent, no one will find trouble with your clan or your boy.”

“You are a Bard. I can sense it on you. The bloodline of a Druid, and you still act this way. Did you know that child over this is also a Bard? Do you even know what you might have done to the entire Druid Order? I already have a vendetta against the Blood Ember Sect. One of their elders is that boy’s grandfather. They aren’t long for this world, and not even this scheme will stop me. Which clan do you belong to?”

His soft voice echoed in her ears, and she knew this demon would not be touched by emotional pleas or begging. Nothing would sway him, but he might grant mercy. She’d already felt it. This man in front of her could destroy her soul—she did not doubt his words.

“Promise me you’ll give us a way out, and you won’t destroy my soul.”

“This isn’t a negotiation. You are a Bard who specializes in awakening the Source. Druids pride themselves on their history, so tell me, do you think it will take much for me to figure out which clan you belonged to?”

“A mistake, it was all a mistake,” she babbled incoherently. They should never have targeted the child—she was foolish. She’d spent too much time in the underworld, making her forget children were protected by karma. Schemes against them brought severe consequences. They were fools to think they understood the whims of fate—especially when targeting an Unfated.

“Rulaney clan,” she whispered harshly and felt her soul shake with her betrayal. A flare of pain the likes of which she hadn’t felt since she was mortal tore through the essence of her existence. Her soul was shattering. “Y-you—I told you…why?”

The ax pressed forward without mercy.

“Because you targeted my son, an innocent child, and harmed the Druid Order. You don’t deserve to be reborn.”

Slaughter ignited, and Bloodfire devoured the remaining soul fragments while the fae’s withered body tumbled to the ground. Not even a wisp of her soul escaped—one less monster in this world, and one less soul for the underworld to use against them.

The red light faded, and the axes disappeared into his Shield. Soul Reaper slumbered once more, and in his place was a man whose calm demeanor brought security and peace to those around him. Souls felt at ease in his presence, which directly opposed the red demon that existed moments ago.

“F-father?” Crow’s body was on the ground, his body curled up in pain, and his eyes leaking tears. Everything he’d just seen, he burned it into his memory—it was the final lesson his father would give him. Ironic that the last lesson and the first were the same—rules are made by those with power. It was this lesson that stopped Crow from asking if his father was going to leave.

Crow never lacked intelligence, and the White Lady’s words allowed Crow to piece together parts of the big picture. His father filled in the rest. Grandpa Gideon was behind all this, the evil man that stole his mother away. He knew that the Blood Ember Sect lied to force the Rulaney clan to take action.

“Blood Ember Sect, remember them. In the future, do not let them know who you are—”

“They have mom, right?”

“Yes. You are smart enough to realize what happened here. I will kill the elders of the Rulaney clan. The rest I’ll leave up to you to handle however you wish,” Conall sighed and hugged his son tightly to his chest.

“I’m sorry, boy. Now that your Source is open, a calamity is coming for you, and I…” Conall paused, feeling emotion overwhelming him. “I won’t be here to help you weather it. You know why this is true, and it hurts me to the bottom of my soul to leave you behind.”

“Don’t worry, papa,” Crow said, calling him papa, something he hadn’t done in years. “I promise I’ll grow strong, strong enough to fight. I’ll work harder than anyone. I’ll help you reunite our family. No one will stop us then.”

Conall laughed and tousled Crow’s hair, while Barnes stood off to the side, locking everything to memory.

“Do that, and I’ll be waiting for you,” Conall told him. “Now rest. You don’t want to be awake for the changes your body is about to go through.”

Crow shuddered as the pain rippled through him. His Source pulsed, sending crazy amounts of mana through his entire body. It didn’t matter what his father said. There was no way he could have remained awake anyway. His consciousness faded, and he welcomed the darkness—his pain faded away before his eyes fully closed.

Three days later, he woke up in the clan’s healing house in Oiche. Crow turned to find his father, but only Luthais and Barnes were there. Both stood over him with sorrow and pity in their eyes.

Crow knew his father had already left.