Book of Mors: Summoned

Arc: Getting a Soul Weapon

Chapter 21, Part 4: Duchess

The Summoned Linked Chapter: 10

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"I dare you to say that again, you ignorant little shit," bellowed Ariel, the features of her small face scrunching up as the adepts looked over to the Captain's table for any hint on how they should respond.

Though most of them disliked Mors, and the girl in front of them was probably one of the most influential people in flatner, or at least they believed her parents were, they felt immense pride at being Huntsmen and were barely restraining themselves from joining the fray.

Spotting the Captain silently making her way through the growing crowd, moving more like a ghost than a living being, they let out a collective sigh of relief and returned their view to the impending fight.

Ignoring everything around him, Mors leant forward, his mask inches from the enraged girls face. "Hmm, I think that looks suits you better. The creases look like the wrinkles a hag like you should have."

"How. Dare. You," sputtered Ariel, her voice laced with killing intent as he fists clenched and unclenched. "Do you know who I am?"

"Why shouldn't I dare? There is no risk." Mors looked Ariel up and down with a disgusted face.

"And should I?" continued Mors in a bored tone. "Why don't you go have your temper tantrum outside, preferably next to a cliff, in the middle of a storm. Whi-"

Mors didn't manage to finish his sentence as Ariel punched him in the left side of his face, staggering him back as his head snapped upwards as if he was staring at the ceiling.

Silence descended on the tavern as everyone stared in shock. Most knew who the girl was, and they definitely knew of the huntsmen in their infamous masks as well as what the result would be from hitting one of them, even if he was an adept, but that wasn't the most shocking thing.

It was the fact that, the girls punch, which, if she was even semi serious, should have been enough to send the man through the wall on the other side of the tavern, only staggered him.

And semi serious wouldn't even begin to describe the hit. The strike had been an extremely fast and heavy, creating a sickening crunch as it hit the magically reinforced mask, shattering the left side of it and sending the shrapnel flying across the room.

The silence was crushed by a slow, easy going chuckle as Mors slowly brought his down to face Ariel. Small white chunks of the mask, their sharp edges having cut Mors' skin fell to the floor, as the small trickles of blood hissed and turned into vapour.

Though it sounded like he was laughing in good humour, the moment the single reptilian eye, the iris blazing red, locked onto Ariel, she instantly broke out into a cold sweat and took a step backwards.

Mors' glowing, draconic eye stood in stark contrast to his flawless pale, white skin, a side effect of his recent evolution, as a few strands of his short hair visible through the missing chunk of mask, ruffled as he rapidly absorbed the ambient mana around him.

Unused to being in crowds, concerned about the man he felt like he should know at the gate and being forced to work with other adepts for the next year had put Mors into a foul mood. So much so that, although the experiences he had gained on the Eastern Front and during Verz's training enabled him to grow quite a bit in mentality, he couldn't resist releasing his frustrations baiting the woman in front of him.

He was not looking for a fight, but that all changed the moment she struck him. No demon, sin of wrath or not, would take such insult lying down and that was ignoring this draconic blood that was screaming for him to raise everything, in a hundred mile radius, to the ground.

Mors' pupil narrowed as he let out a deep breath and he released his restraints.

Suddenly, as if the room had been dropped into the deepest, darkest pits of hell, a terrifying chill, one that even caused a few of the patrons to stop breathing, erupted from Mors.

Ariel took another step back. She knew she was stronger than the young man in front of her, one of her innate abilities allowing her to see the strength of another similar to the status stones, but her instincts were screaming at her to escape.

Forcing herself to stop a few feet away, she took a breath. "What in the seven hells are you?"

Most of the crowd had backed away, expecting things to turn violent after the strike but the adepts had remained close and, unlike Ariel who had the strength to resist the aura's effects, were hit with its full force.

Both elves jumped backwards; their faces pale as they ungracefully knocked tables and chairs flying in their attempt to escape while Alice whimpered as she grasped Bruce's arm, the bearkin locking his knees and forcing himself to remain standing as despair, fear and the cold tingle of death danced through every fibre of his being.

The only one who seemed to be coping, at least enough not to be completely useless, was Claire, though her skin had significantly paled and tears ran down her cheeks, hidden by her mask as she shakily sat on a nearby chair.

Ignoring the adepts, and even Verz who was now approaching at a rapid rate, Mors took a slow step forward as more shards of the mask fell to the floor and the edge of his cold smile was revealed.

Rage danced in the demon's eyes as he responded to Ariel's question. "Neither the King or the road sweeper."

As he was about to take his second step, A thin hand fell gently on his shoulder as Verz stood behind him, "I think that is enough Duchess Ariel. Even as the governor of Flatner, you know the trouble it will cause laying a hand on any Huntsmen, apprentice or not. I Suggest you leave. Now."

A small growl rumbled from the before the Captain's mask.

"Captain Verz," Ariels eyes narrowed as she took control of her emotions. "He insulted me first, as honour di-"

"Dictates," interrupted Verz, "When you find fault with an apprentice, you go to the master. Are you sure you want to continue?'"

"Apprentice?" Ariel swallowed. Apprentice Huntsmen were extremely rare as only the most skilled and highly valued recruits were given a direct apprenticeship; the rest trained similarly to the military.

Ariel composed herself, noticing the aura weakening as Mors took deep, calming breaths knowing that he was a single step away from being, as Verz called it, forcibly calmed which, more than likely, would result in him being unconscious for a significant amount of time.

Ariel glared at the wolfkin in front of her. "So, who is his master?"

Verz moved forward, standing between Mors and the Duchess, her silver eyes glowing behind her mask as he voice turned into a snarl. "Why, I am of course?"

If the room was silent before, now it was a void. Huntsmen and patron stood in shocked, mute silence. The Blood Wolf, Silver Hunter, Captain of the Huntsmen and the Federations Hound had an apprentice.

Ariel swallowed hard as her eyes darted between the Mors and the Captain. "He's your heir?"

"Yes," responded Verz dryly as she straightened up. "Do you still want to continue this? I would hate to replace a governor. So much paperwork."

"You don't ha-" started Ariel, only to be cut off.

"Want to bet?" Though you couldn't see her face, everyone imagined a wolfish grin behind the Huntsman's mask.

Mors' aura sputtered out as his mind reeled in shock, instantly dissipating his rage.

An apprentice in the huntsmen was not what it was for other professions. It was more similar to adopting someone into your family. A master was basically taking on the role of a parent training, looking after and taking full responsibility for their charge, even when they had complete their apprenticeship. It was a life long bond, one that was rarely broken. It also came with incredible benefits, depending on the masters rank but the biggest of all was when the master passed away, the apprentice would inherit everything. In Mors' case, he would inherit Verz' position. He would lead the Federation's Huntsmen.

Title and wealth meant nothing to Mors, but the fact that Verz had announced him her successor hit hard. Over the months of training, he had grown close to the wolfkin. Not close enough to even be called a friend but he would definitely be saddened if she was to die and would be compelled to avenge her.

Verz gently squeezed Mors' shoulder as she let go, a subtle sign that they would talk later. "So, do we have a problem?"

The anger, replaced by fear mutated into something else as the Duchess's eyes fell on Mors. "Sorry. Fancy joining me for a drink so we can put this ugliness behind us? My Treat."

Ariel's heart pounded in her chest. She had, if he survived long enough, just struck the future leader of the Huntsmen. Not only that, but after her punch, she could tell that young man had an incredibly powerful heritage, his strength far above what others or she could sense and her sources had told her that these were going to be taking their final trial.

In the future, the man in front of her could become a powerhouse in his own right. She had to make amends, one way or another. She did not rise to the title of Duchess by being stupid. She wasn't foolish enough to think they could become allies immediately, but getting to neutral ground, or at least confusing him on how he felt would be a good start.

"I am afraid he does not have time," Verz interrupted the Duchess' thoughts. "After he has eaten we have business to attend."

Understanding flashed in Ariel's mind. "So he is the one who is receiving a soul weapon from the master smith. It makes sense now."

The adepts, who were trying to calm their nerves gasped at the mention of a soul weapon.

Ariel moved her head to the side, to get a clear look of Mors. "You have definitely caught my interest. You insulted me; I hit you. Let's call it even. You should visit me after you get your weapon. You can't miss my house; it's at the centre after all. Much better than an inn."

Under Verz mask, her lips curled into a snarl, but her voice did not relay her anger. "Goodbye Duchess."

"I'll be off. Though I have always wanted to test my strength against the mighty Captain of the Huntsmen, I feel this is not the place. Farewell."

Ariel's image flicked and appeared next to Mors, even catching Verz by surprise, and before he could even react, she kissed his cheek before vanishing. "Stay strong handsome."

Mors let out a thunderous growl that caused the hairs on everyone present to rising, including Verz.

"Don't be a stranger. Drop by anytime." Ariel's cheery voice called out from the doorway as she laughed, blew a kiss to the enraged demon and left, her guards scrambling to follow her out the door.

-"Well, that definitely wasn't the reaction I was hoping for," mused the Duchess as she rapidly moved towards her home.

Meanwhile, back in the Inn, Mors had regained his senses and leapt forward, his boots cracking the wooden floorboards.

Before he had even moved two foot, he found himself slammed into the floor with Verz, sitting side saddle, on his back. "GET OFF. I am going to tear that wrenches head off."

Verz laughed, adding to the unbelievable things that everyone had witnessed. "You get hit in the face and barely bat an eyelid. A small kiss on the cheek and you are ready to destroy half the town. Overreaction at all?"

Mors heaved himself to his arms, creating new cracks in the floorboards as Verz watched in amusement. "Wow, who knew that your first kiss would get you so hot and bothered. Shall we do some training to let you blow off some steam?"

Mors' figure shook from the strain; then he fell to the floor. "I'll pass."

"Tsk," Verz got off his back and walked to the door. "Seems like you lost your spine during our training."

Mors slowly got to his feet. "I think having it crushed into a powder and scattered to the wind would be more appropriate. I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

"You use to be so easy to taunt," Verz shook her head.

"Maybe I should give you a kiss too," whispered Verz before turning and walking back to her table.

Mors stopped and glared at the Captain, the air starting to shimmer around him.

"Hmm, Nah, you are not my type," chuckled Verz as she returned to her seat and gulped down the rest of her drink, secretly thanking the gods that the situation had been averted, even if she was forced to reveal one of her plans ahead of schedule.

Sitting down to continue her meal she looked around, her voice turned cold. "What?"

Everyone, including the Tavern's staff, jumped into life, not wanting to look at Verz and made a point of talking about anything other than what just happened.

"Umm," Rock said, "Captain, what happened to keep a low profile?"

"Or consulting us before you make stupid, public declarations," interrupted Velcea, crossing her arms over her chest.

Verz looked up, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Sometimes you have to hit while the anvils hot."

Kelora shuffled in her seat before meeting her captain's gaze. "Just what in the seven hells did you teach him? That hit would have sent Rock sprawling on his arse. I felt the pressure from here."

Verz shrugged. "Too much it seems. I wish he would keep his mouth shut sometimes. Looks like I will need to take him camping tonight. The Duchess isn't one to let a potential asset go easily and staying in town is just asking for trouble."

The other huntsmen looked at their captain with a dull, look whos talking stare to which she glared at Rock, almost knowing what he was going to say. "Don't Rock. I don't want to force Kelora to carry you back to headquarters and I am not in the mood."

"When are you?" glared Velcea, as she slouched in her chair.