The bleak, moonless sky was canvassed by a strange array of dark clouds. A storm was gathering around the area that had previously been host to an extraordinary and bloody battle, now an empty space full of decrepit trees and secret-kept snow.

Long, howling gales blew throughout the frozen wasteland, which was followed by the increasingly loud crunch of snow under large, lupine feet. A lanky, hairy figure with leathery skin and a steer-like head was shuffling among the dead trees of the forest. From his crown grew a mass of large, silver antlers that gnarled upward and inward. There was a lone piece of hide taken from some unknown beast covering his naked, anthropoid body, the hide’s purpose serving as one of modesty rather than any protection from the elements. An ill-matching, sinister shadow reverberated haphazardly behind him, while a perpetual stench of rotting meat encased him. In the shadow above his long, prodigious snout were tiny, gleaming white beads that vibrated wildly as they tracked invisible prints in the snow. Markings left by creatures unknown that seemed to radiate alien signatures not visible to the human eye.

As he shuffled on, mighty blizzards filled with bone-chilling winds followed in his wake. Falling leaves and flying pests freezing almost instantly as they entered within close proximity of his being, leaving behind only cold reminders of death. The stranger's monstrous nostrils flared, his widening maw gradually revealing several rows of crooked, black fangs—a flehmen reaction to an otherworldly scent. He began scanning the recesses of his caliginous mind trying to identify which creature it belonged to.

The inhuman hunter traveled deeper through the frozen remains of fallen trees, pursuing the strange, interdimensional source of fluctuations that he had felt the previous day. His gait quickening, finally spotting a trail of glimmering blood of an indescribable shade oozing from the half-buried, iridescent remains of something akin to a large arthropod. He knelt down to examine the lifeless creature further, his head cocking side to side in studious motion like a machine. Extending an arm, his hand shook and twitched, forming miniature spikes of glacial energy around it that shot from his grasp and landed roughly on the snow around the fallen creature. The small objects invaded its insides, examining the multitude of scratches and wounds, revealing some untold intelligence that only he understood.

Many hours later, having felt his investigation sufficient, he ended his grim autopsy of the chthonae. Squeezing his clawed hand into a fist, the small, icy invaders crumbled silently into snow. His piercing, alien eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to speak in a harsh, guttural tone, the writhing tongue in his mouth struggling to form words.

"FOUND. YOU."

The stranger smiled a wicked smile, his arm shooting forward and piercing the insides of the creature. Out came the warm, slimy entrails of the chthonae in his hands, which he then proceeded to shovel into his mouth.

There was a soft knocking at the door accompanied by a tender voice belonging to Alma's sister Zulema.

"Alma, I heard about what happened. Can we talk?"

In response to her voice came a dejected groaning from the other side of the door.

Zulema pulled out the spare key she had on hand for emergencies and unlocked the door to her family’s home. As she stepped inside, the elder sister was immediately struck with a dreary, depressed atmosphere. Sprawled out on the floor was a short woman, her younger sister, shabbily dressed in the white and gold colors of her country. Disheveled raven hair spread out, like a dark halo around her head. There was a long bandage wrapped around her forehead. Strewn out clothes and sheets surrounded her—Dirty laundry that hadn’t been washed in days. The remnants of a few broken appliances also littered the edges of the room, leading one to easily guess the kind of mental state the poor girl was in.

The young priestess jokingly asked if a natural disaster had chosen the home as its vacation spot of choice. Naturally, the only disaster on her mind was her younger sister.

"Leave me alone, Zula," Alma kept her gaze fixed to the ceiling. "Can't you see I'm busy being a miserable outcast who ruined her dream and no longer has any available prospects for the future?"

"I'm sorry about what happened, Alma. I know how much joining the princess's army meant to you."

Zulema's sweet voice did nothing to soothe Alma's melancholy. She set down the bag she was carrying, filled with a few things she had bought earlier and decided to start picking up the mess that her sister had left piling up around her.

"How on Sarracas could you miss your first day on duty?" There was a stern sisterly tone in her voice. "What could possibly have been more important than that? And what happened to your forehead?"

Alma kept silent, listening numbly to the continuous ruffling of clothes being picked up around her.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Her voice was deadpan. She raised her head. "Listen, don't worry about me. Just go light a candle for me, I'll figure something out."

Alma was on the verge of tears, her voice breaking.

"Zula… T-They took my Esme…” she muttered. “…Maybe I'll go live with the elfwin for a while like grandhag."

"Alma, you know I have the utmost faith in you,” stated Zulema. “Now please pull yourself together. I would believe you even if you had said you'd seen Macha herself."

"Not exactly," said Alma, standing up. Her body shambled to the other side of the room and began picking up the pieces of her radio receiver. "I met someone—something out in the woods yesterday. A woman. I think."

Despite, in her honest opinion, giving off an aura akin to divinity, Alma decided to refrain from calling that woman a goddess.

Zulema nodded, indicating for her sister to go on.

"She said some things to me—“ Alma paused and thought for a moment. “You know the weird shit I’m constantly seeing that I'm always complaining to you about? Yeah. There were tons of them out there. Not only that but..."

Alma took a deep breath.

"She could see them," continued Alma, throwing a big pile of scattered junk into the trash.

"What kind of woman?” Her sister’s story did nothing to abate Zula’s worries. “What did she say exactly?"

There was something about the way the young priestess carried herself that always resonated with the people around her, and it always made them want to open up to her—especially her sister. It was a useful trait to have in her line of work.

"Uh… I'm not sure." Alma shook her head. She tried recalling all the strange details about the woman named Qu'l-Nia.

"Even remembering now, it’s hard to describe. She was weirdly pale and had this shiny… silvery-purple hair. And the tips of her hair," She pulled a few strands of her own hair forward, trying to get a visualization going. "I-It— They glowed! It was so weird! There was another woman with her too, actually. A Hecatian elf, her features were unmistakable.”

Alma hooked a finger into her mouth, revealing her incisors. "No tail, but you should've seen the fangs on her."

"Hecatian?" Zulema asked, surprised. "You don't see many way out in these parts."

"Yeah." Alma nodded. "She could detect them too. Except these creatures were slightly different to the ones I’m used to. Way different, actually.”

And they were a lot more fucking dangerous.

Alma gently touched a bruise on her abdomen, a painful reminder of the monstrous encounter.

Zulema had already finished picking up all the clothing on the floor and was halfway through folding them.

Alma continued, "When I first ran into Hwalín—"

"Hwalín?"

"The elf!” Alma pulled up on her ears. “When I first saw her, she was being surrounded by those things. I couldn't just let her die, so… I shot first and asked questions later."

Alma continued, sharing her experience about the ensuing melee of that morning and the resulting fall that had injured her. Right before she was going to try to explain the strange singing, Alma remembered what Qu'l-Nia had told her about the powers trying to end their world and decided to keep quiet so as to not get her sister any further involved in the machinations of that crazed alien.

"She called them chthonae? I'm not familiar.” Zulema had begun throwing the dirty laundry into their washer. “And then what happened?"

Alma peered into the room her sister had moved to and looked at her back worriedly. "…And then I blacked out. It was a long fall. I must've hit something on the way down."

She swept her bangs back before letting them fall back onto her forehead. "I'm pretty sure that fall killed the monster I was wrestling with too."

A lie.

Zulema gasped. "You're lucky you didn't get a concussion from that fall! Macha must have been watching over you that morning."

"Yeah," said Alma, chuckling. "I guess so."

She fixed her hair up into her usual top knot. The short-lived soldier took more pride in her hair than she was willing to admit.

"Well, when I woke up, Hwalín had already gone to sleep so it was just me and the woman. She mentioned the creatures we fought—the chthonae—were..." She trailed off.

"Were what?" Zulema had stopped folding clothes and was listening more intently.

"You’re not gonna believe me! She said they were from another dimension!" Alma stared at her sister, waiting for her take in her response before letting out a burst of laughter.

"What?" asked the young priestess, chuckling nervously. "Were you joking?"

Zulema began to laugh along with her sister.

"No," said Alma, still laughing. "But it all sounds so crazy when I say it out loud now."

As Alma’s laughter died down, Zulema noticed her sister's gaze following something around the room. There seemed to be a slight look of horror in her eyes.

"Are you sure everything's alright, Alma? Should I stay over for a while?" she asked, semi-pleadingly. Zulema began to grow increasingly worried over her sister's mental state. Being a woman of the church of madness often involved helping the chance vagrant that wandered the streets—poor souls afflicted with mental delusions that caused them endless grief. Zulema sincerely believed her sister for the most part, but she wondered if maybe Alma hadn't hit her head harder than she thought.

Alma let out a sigh.

"Please, Zula. Don't turn me into another one of your charity cases." Throwing an old, burgundy scarf around her neck, she walked towards the door. The chilly, afternoon air struck her face the moment it opened. "Thanks for helping me clean up. Now if you need me, I'll be off at Nemeth's getting a drink." .

"Alright, Alma," said Zulema. "Then I'll go and call old Fog and let him know you're coming."

Zula giggled inappropriately. It seemed her sister was resolved in drinking her problems away. Something she herself could at least relate to.

“By the way.” Alma had taken a step out the door before turning back to her sister. The bag Zulema had brought with her had caught her eye. “What’s in the bag?”

“Mmm. Just a couple of things for this stray gatin I found the other day. You know I have a weakness for cute things that mewl at me.” Zulema giggled. “He’s a bit of a hefty boy, but I couldn’t find any sort of identification on him. I named him Brawny for now. He seems to come and go from my place as he pleases.”

“Oh. Cool,” Alma said without a shred of interest. “Okay, Zula. See you.”

She bolted out the door, leaving her sister smiling and waving.

The sky was a very annoying shade of gray, thought Alma, as another headache began to surface. While she walked through the snow-laden streets, the events of the morning began to resurface in her mind...