“Qvar Hes! Show yourself, you wretched worm.”

Letum Mors’ cruel insane song hit the serpent made of shadows with the force of an erupting volcano. Its entire being shook at the discordant sound sending it into a panicked frenzy, despite that the ancient creature rushed to obey the command of the Ruler of the Jagged Throne. The last time the Fallen Prince had demanded its presence was the day he fell from grace. Piercing the very fabric of time, Qvar Hes prostrated itself at the feet of the mightiest of the Infernal Lords, before the echoes of his voice could end. To do less was suicide.

The domain of Lethum Mors resembled a vast grove of decaying vegetation. Each second hundreds of decrepit trees turned to dust only to be reborn as healthy saplings, before twisting into new corrupt shapes. It was a dreadful place, one in which even the impervious scales of the serpent made of shadows struggled to protect it from the elemental forces fighting for dominance. But worst of all was the gaping wound in the storm-plagued sky. An impossible rend in existence itself, revealing the horror of oblivion awaiting at the end of time. Eternal, infinite and uncaring, the empty void struggled against the chains of corpse light that restricted it. Each of the dreadful items ended at the tips of the fingers of the occupant of the Jagged Throne.

Letum Mors was perfection and corruption made manifest. His beautiful body changing and twisting in an attempt to mimic his dark heart. Only the face of the Bringer of Chaos remained untouched by the war raging around and within him. A reminder that once, at the dawn of time, the Fallen Prince was the mightiest child of the King of Spirits. Back before the beginning of the eternal conflict, the Ruler of the Jagged throne was known as the End, for he was the one who awaited the creations of the Mother of Life when death came for them. To have retained that mask of unrivalled beauty and serenity was both a cruel joke and a gentle slight at what Letum Mors had become.

All sound stopped as this avatar of chaos opened his mouth. The song that issued from his tortured throat was filled with sorrow and violence, obliterating vast swathes of the grove around Qvar Hes.

“I have a message for that cruel, spiteful mortal woman.” The blue flames that were Lethum Mors’ six eyes seared the scales of the serpent made of shadows as he looked at it. “Warn Alice, that the path she has chosen is a dangerous one. I have tolerated her jealousy for it was entertaining. But if she chooses to stand against me, she will regret it.” The serpent made of shadows coiled around itself in fear at the promised torment in the Bringer of Chaos’ disjointed song.

“If the First Witch has displeased you, have that servant of yours snuff her life,” Qvar Hes hissed in response. To be used as a messenger was beneath it, even if it was at the command of the Ruler of the Jagged Throne.

The world around it froze as the foul being moved for the first time in countless millennia. Enormous bat-like wings burst through Letum Mors’ tortured back in a shower of poisonous blood and putrid flesh. As they reached their full span, they became a mass of writhing tentacles before finally tearing into the ground around the serpent made of shadows in the shape of spindly spider legs. The sound of splintering rock accompanied each jittery motion the new limbs made as the Bringer of Chaos leaned forward.

“I will do no such thing. The Blood Contract has not been broken! I shattered the chains of slavery binding you and granted you true freedom, wretched worm,” the song of the being in front of it was like a death knell. “But that will not protect you from my wrath. So, you would be wise to watch your forked tongue.”

The twisted spider legs turned into gnarled trees and Letum Mors’ song shifted into one of malevolent desire. “You will not obey me because I sit on the Throne of Jagged Rock. You will do so, because of what awaits you should you refuse me.”

With that, Qvar Hes was flung through the gate leading to the Thoren and into the sea of thousands of tormented damned souls, cursed to spend eternity in perpetual suffering outside of Letum Mors’ domain. The serpent's mighty body struggled to heal the gangrenous gauges the Bringer of Chaos had inflicted on it as he cast it out, while the ancient demon slid away into the safety of the twisted paths of the Infernal Realm with all haste.

Alice Tetradon wasn’t going to be pleased by the Fallen Prince’s message. Just as Letum Mors and the King of Spirits ruled their respective realms, so too would the First Witch one day rule the world of mortals if given time to explore the full extent of her powers. It made Qvar Hes wonder how an Ember of Creation had found its way inside Alice’s blighted soul. Something like this should never have been allowed to happen.

“My sweet, I ask for your council. Please reveal yourself.”

The King of Spirit’s gentle song embraced the snake made of light with the warmth of unquestioned love. Its entire being trembled at the ecstasy which accompanied the harmonious sound, casting away its many tasks, the ancient creature rushed to obey the command of the Ruler of the Crystal Throne. The last time the King had demanded its presence was the day his traiteurs son fell from grace. Piercing the very fabric of time, the snake prostrated itself at the feet of the mightiest and most gentle of all beings, before the echoes of his voice could end. To do less would be an insult to life itself.

The realm of the Crystal Throne was an endless meadow, blanketed by short lush green grass and mighty osiers. Their heavy crowns forming numerous passages and protecting the clear waters of countless streams from the gentle spring sun that bathed the area with its golden rays, since the dawn of creation. Pleasant gusts of warm wind were the only thing to disturb the tranquillity of this sacred place, caressing the snake’s scales like a mother would a child. Yet, no matter from which direction the snake had come, it would always see the Crystal Thorne at the centre of this place.

And on top of it sat the glorious King of Spirits. A monumental figure of titanic proportions. Still and unmoving, he stood like a silent protector of the peaceful realm around him, too afraid to disturb what he had created for his children. A thousand faces dominated his features at any given time. But any one of them filled the thing with serenity. An unimaginable variety of vines covered his legs in a soft blanket, each one eager to provide comfort to such a benevolent being. Adorning his brow was a crown of ice. Such a simple circlet, but within it was the essence of creation. The souls of thousands of mortal creatures slumbered peacefully inside it. Waiting for the time when they would be born within the mortal world.

The tepid winds stopped as the King opened his mouth. The song that issued from him was filled with kindness, spreading like a balm through the meadow around the snake made of light, breathing new life into the field of flowers on which it stood.

“I have a task which I can entrust only to you, caretaker of my favoured daughter.” The many eyes of the King of Spirits radiated compassion and regret as he looked at it. “Although he is not your charge, the Lord of Mercy needs to hear your admonishing song.” The snake made of light coiled around itself at the thought that it was supposed to bring one of the King’s own children to be judged.

“Forgive my words, most glorious one,” the snake let out a cautious song, refusing to accept that another one of the mightiest of spirits had embraced the darkness. “The most gentle one would never do anything to displease you.”

“That is true, my sweet. Alas, in his haste to correct my mistakes, the Lord of Mercy has caught the attention of the mortal child with a heart consumed by darkness. Even as we speak, she names our kind.” The pain in the song of the Ruler of the Crystal Throne was enough for the snake to wish that its existence would end.

And yet, it couldn’t help but feel excited. “This should be a joyous moment, most glorious one. Finally, our kin will be able to oppose those that fell…”

Rolling thunder echoed in the distance as the King of Spirits shook his head in disapproval. “You burn with righteous anger, as all my children do. Allowing the mortal child to live, was a fortunate mistake. Because of her, the long dispute has remained dormant…” The mighty song quieted and the skies above this peaceful realm darkened.

“Both I and my misguided son respected the fragile truce. We knew that we who flourish in the light lacked the strength to continue, and those that dwell in the darkness of madness lacked the numbers. But now, because of the Lord of Mercy, this has changed.”

For the first time in countless millennia, the King of Spirits moved atop the Crystal Throne. The ground beneath the snake made of light trembled with ecstasy and the soft winter moss at his feet eagerly grew to accommodate the motion. While the crowns of the osiers swayed in such a way as to best provide shade over his brow.

“I cannot forgive the Fallen Prince’s transgression, just as I cannot watch my children kill one another.” The King’s song became one of remorse as his full attention focused on the snake. “If the Lord of Mercy wishes to pursue this path, I will be forced to sign the First Witch’s Blood Contract. It pains me to ask this of you, my sweet for I know you will obey me.”

The snake made of light shook at the implication of what the Ruler of the Crystal Throne sang. Its very essence urged it to obey as quickly as possible before it was too late. Like a fool, it had forgotten the lessons of the long dispute and that sometimes, mercy was the greatest cruelty and that what appeared cruel was in fact true mercy. Swiftly it slipped into the nearest stream and swam through currents in order to reach the Lord of Mercy.

Alice Tetradon was surely pleased with herself, having engineered this outcome. Just as the King of Spirits and Letum Mors, forever cursed be his name, ruled their respective realms, so too would the First Witch one day rule the world of mortals if given time to explore the full extent of her powers. It made the snake made of light wonder how an Ember of Creation had found its way inside Alice’s unfortunate soul. Something like this should never have been allowed to happen.

Marshal’s joints protested at the abuse carried against them. Still, to think that he had joints to hurt was a miracle. His entire body trembled and he could feel that his spine was ready to snap like a dry twig. How had it come to this? Their ambush had been perfect. No one made a mistake and still, the monster had them at its mercy. Of course, hunting a damn Shiver was going to be an insanely difficult thing to do. Marshal groaned feeling the cheap shield protecting him from the beast’s hungry maw finally give way. If it was better crafted and slightly sturdier, it would be his bones that were going to surrender first under the weight of the half-ton Shiver.

However, there was a slight problem. Beneath the shield was his back and somehow, he wasn’t all that optimistic that human skin would be able to stop the thing’s claws or the mantis-like legs quivering on its back. There was some reason for the multitude of horrific beasts of the Wilds, but not the Shiver. The bloody thing’s appearance was the result of a lunatic’s nightmare. A panther-like body with a hornet’s abdomen instead of a tail covered in razor-sharp green and red short fur. Supported on hooved hind legs, no different from those of a horse, and front ones which resembled dog paws ending with craw-like talons the size of a bloody short-sword. But if those weren’t enough to kill a human a dozen times over, there was also the pair of mantis-like legs jittering on its back, which were trying to reach around Marshal’s shield. And then there was the beast’s head, no different from that of the foxes’ merchants kept in their caravans. Absurdly enlarge to match the Shiver’s bear-like proportions, with seven reptilian eyes on its left side and four on the right, marking it as male.

“Damn that idiot Indigo for not being able to tell left from right!” Of course, it was, Marshal, cursed in his head as he desperately struggled to find a way to escape. They were supposed to go after a female one. Not out of some stupid obligation, but because female Shivers were less aggressive and more skittish, preferring to flee instead of fight.

“What are those idiots doing?!” He wanted to scream at them for taking their sweet time in helping him. Crimson and Ugo were out for the count, that much he was sure of. Temporally or permanently, Marshal couldn’t say. The last he had seen of them; they were flying threw the air after the bloody creature swiped them with its massive paws. but that still left Indigo and Marka. The least that plague-ridden rat shit could do was put an arrow or two in the damn Shiver, and make it move away from Marshal’s shield. As for the woman, it would take her a minute or two to climb down the damn tree now that the beast wasn’t where they wanted it.

Just as he was preparing to greet his ancestors in person, the nightmarish creature roared and stepped off the shield. Taking advantage of the brief reprieve, Marshal lunged forward, slamming himself in its flank. Not that his attack would hurt the damned thing, but as a means to keep it distracted. Their group had been working together for long enough for him to realise that Marka had finally shown up. The woman from Coon’An was harassing the Shiver with her spear, trying to reach its soft belly. As such, Marshal didn’t have the time to look for his own weapon which was somewhere on the ground. He had to do his part in order to give her the opportunity to skewer the forsaken monster.

Like any other animal, the Shiver immediately shifted, striking with its paw in an attempt to remove the aged man. If it was slightly more intelligent, it would have used the legs on its back to separate the hunter’s head from his shoulders. Fortunately for him, it wasn’t and he had relocated the shield to his left to absorb the brunt of the blow. Despite that, Marshal was sent tumbling, his left arm screaming in agony from the force of the impact. He skidded for a few meters before coming to a stop. The mute knew that a significant part of the skin on his right flank must be torn from grinding against the rough ground. He might not feel the pain due to the rush of combat, but it was there. No matter what, Marshal couldn’t afford to be reckless.

Sparing a moment, he pulled on his shirt and examined the wound, letting out a sigh of relief that it wasn’t anything more than a scrape. Sure, it was going to bruise something fierce and his movement would become stiff because of it, but that was a worry for the future. This also allowed him to plan what his next actions would be. Not that he had that many options, to begin with. Removing the shield from his left arm, he let out a groan of pain before throwing it the Shiver. Fighting from range wasn’t his forte ever since the Silent had lost his right eye, despite that it would take actual effort to miss a beast as large as a workhorse. Especially when provided a perfect opportunity to do so. Again, his hasty attack wasn’t meant to harm, but rather to interrupt the monster from tearing Marka in two.

Marshal wanted to scream in anger, something that was impossible for him. Letting out a strangled gurgle, he pulled his sword and charge at the monster. Going close and personal with a Shriver was reckless to the point that if anyone dared to suggest it, the Silent would’ve knocked their lights out. The only reason he decided on this action was because of his years of experience hunting the creatures of the Wilds, and most of all, because he knew how every person in his group would react based on his actions.

“Curse you, Indigo! What the fuck is taking you so long?” Marshal swore in his head as he swung his sword at the beast’s hornet-like abdomen. Finding the soft spot just above the meter-long stinger, the blade bit deep into the Shiver. On instinct the monster kicked like a mule with its hind legs, missing the old man’s head by a hair’s width.

Roaring in pain and primal fury, the nightmarish thing turned its large body around in one smooth motion. The talons of its paw clipped Marshal just as he was falling to the ground. He felt the monstrous claws slice through his chest plate. The steel groaned and tore with an awful crunching sound, and as the Silent was sent flying once again, he could see pieces of metal speed around him like leaves blown by the wind. He tasted blood as he bit the inside of his cheek before coming to a sudden stop at the trunk of the nearest tree. Terrible pain coursed through him and at least one of his teeth cracked inside his mouth, no doubt imitating what had happened to his ribs. The human body could take a surprising amount of punishment, but there were limits and as the hunter struggled to fill his lungs with air, he knew that his had reached it.

His thoughts raged at the injustice of it all. He had paid for his crimes a long time ago. Sure, he had killed his neighbour without a second thought because of an argument over a woman. Marshal felt no remorse about that, after all, the bastard had deserved his fate for threatening the Silent. It was only bad luck that Salt Town’s guards had heard the commotion. Sacrificing his youth and prime in an effort to atone for his mistakes, he had saved dozens from the monsters who roamed the Wilds. And yet, despite all his hard work, dozens more died. There was just so much a person could do, but that didn’t stop the ruler of Salt Town from blaming all those deaths on Marshal. Incompetent, that was the word the old fart had used, despite never stepping one foot outside of the sturdy stone walls surrounding his manor.

All the ageing man could do was watch the Shiver leap at him, its maw hungry to taste his flesh. As if by some miracle, a wooden spear, thicker than Marshal’s body rammed the side of the monstrous creature puncturing its stomach and coming out of the opposite end in a cloud of bluish blood. It took a few moments to realise that Crimson and Indigo were yelling at the end of the improvised spear. Their wild expressions were masks of rage and insanity, the brothers hurled insults at the dying beast as they pushed the sharpened log with all their might.

“Marsh!” He heard Marka call out to him. “You breathin’, old bastard?”

The red-skinned woman asked as she stepped closer to offer him her right hand. The left one was covered in blood from the wound on her shoulder and even with his vision blurred from the pain, he could see the exposed bone where the flesh parted. It looked like the Shiver had used its mantis-like appendages.

Shaking his head, Marshal refused to move. Slowly, he curled his fingers making sure that the gesture was clear for her to see. “Alive.”

He then tapped his chest softly and with some effort cracked his knuckles. It wasn’t the best way to explain what was wrong with him, but he hoped that the others would understand. They were smart, despite being idiots when it counted the most. Carefully the Silent moved into a sitting position, leaning his aching back against the tree that was partially responsible for his injury. Taking deep breaths, he jutted his chin towards her.

“All good,” Marka winked at him. “Too soon to say, but I might lose the arm. I vote to hurry back to Lady Alice.” She added anticipating what was the come as soon as the others listed their injuries.

“Aye, same here,” Crimson snarled spitting in the direction of the Shiver. “Hit my head pretty hard on a rock. Seeing double and want to puke my guts out. Seen people die from less.”

The man leaned on his older brother’s shoulder for support, spitting again, before adding. “Ugo’s left knee’s bent the wrong way round. And there are bones coming out of his left wrist. His hunting days are over, but it wouldn’t hurt to have the nice creepy Lady have a look at him.”

On his part, Indigo kept his head lowered avoiding Marshal’s accusing stare. From his position on the ground, the old man could see that the hunter’s nose was broken and he was furiously biting his lower lip. After a long pregnant moment of silence, Indigo cracked and spoke quietly.

“I’m sorry, boss. I screwed up big time. Slipped from the tree when you lot needed me the most. Almost got you all killed…”

“The fuck you did!” Crimson screamed in his brother’s ear. “Told you a thousand times to be careful! This time I’m telling mom!”

It was amazing to see a hardened man squirm in fear at the idea of being punished by his mother. Marshal had to give it to the old crone. Her sons were ruthless thugs who wouldn’t bat an eye beating a man to death because he looked them wrong. However, she had instilled the fear of the Abyss in them when it came to her. The last time the Silent had seen old Mama Schwartz, she merely stood in front of her boys, staring at them with her piercing blue eyes as they crumbled to the ground. Crying and begging they had pleaded with her that she forgave them. Too bad Marshal hadn’t met the woman in her prime. The fun the two of them would’ve had together.

“Leave your bickering for later.” Marka barked at the pair putting a stop to the inevitable argument before it could start. “Indigo’ll get what’s coming to him once we’re all healed.”

Damn her, but the woman from Coon’An was a fierce one. She was sturdier than most men and Marshal was glad that the Magistrate had assigned her to his group. On top of that, she could keep a cool head after a hunt, in contrast to her berserk-like rage during it. At times, it made him wonder if that was normal for her people or if it was a unique quirk of her character. Either way, she was right. They had bigger issues to deal with at the moment. Slapping his thigh to attract their attention, the Silent began to move his hands. Deciding for everyone wasn’t something he liked to do, preferring to have everyone vote on what action they should take. However, on those rare occasions that he commanded them, they obey him without question.

“Take beast heart. Eyes six.” He pointed at Indigo indicating who was going to gather the materials Alice requested. “Waterskin of blood. We. bandage wound. Wait you finish. Go towards house. No stop. No question. Clear?”

Trying to give complex orders was difficult when he couldn’t speak. Thankfully his fellow hunters nodded and hurried to complete their tasks. Still apologizing, Indigo marched toward the dead Shiver, while his younger brother hobbled toward where Ugo was. Waving Marka to sit next to him, Marshal reached for the small handed-leather bag attached to the back of his belt. Taking out a curved needle and threat, he began stitching the open wound on her left arm.

“We screwed big time.” She whispered, flinching slightly as he pierced her flesh. “How’re we going to explain these wounds to the Magistrate when we go back to Salt Town to drop Ugo?”

Marshal shrugged. That was a good question and he had no answer for it. There were no Shivers in their allocated area. It would take a single look from the lawman of Salt Town to realise that their injury didn’t show any signs of poisoning or green-vein infection. Something that was more than a common hallmark of the beasts of the Noxious Forest. And if it became known that they had violated their sentence, their choices would be either to rot in the dungeon or the gallows.

“We could give Ugo the dagger’s kiss,” Marka’s face darkened, making it clear that she didn’t like the idea, “try to hide our injuries as best we can and tell the Magistrate that the boy turned tail. Suffer the twenty lashes and hope that it will be only twenty days of forced labour in the mines.”

Marshal shook his head at the suggestion. Finding themselves in the mines was risky. There was a good chance that they would be used as an example and would spend the rest of their lives there. The hunter system was cruel, but an effective one. Collective punishment for everyone in the group if one of them decided to run away. And should they all do the same, the Magistrate would give an official pardon to the hunters who bring their heads back to Salt Town. Of course, the Wilds were a vast place with plenty of places to hide. The only problem was surviving without the food and medicine provided by the settlements of the Faust Line and the Maurice's Collective. Besides, there was an unspoken rule amongst the members of a hunting group – they were in it together.

The Silent let out a tired sigh, his chest screaming in pain with each breath he took. He tapped Marka’s shoulder so that only she could see his guarded gestures. What he had to say was a last resort, born of desperation. The last thing he wished for was to be indebted to that woman.

“We ask Alice help.”