Tegrim jolted upright as shouts carried throughout the Roxim camp, his wife and two sons following his gaze; runners made their way through their vast encampment.

“All Group Leaders to the Chief! All Group Leaders to the Chief’s tent—”

His wife gave him a concerned look. “It is the end of the day; why would there be a mass meeting?”

Rubbing his shoulders, Tegrim could see many of his small community of warriors and their families giving him a similar look; they’d certainly come to her for answers when he left.

“I can’t say… The Chief was speaking to the Lowland Great Clans.”

“Precisely,” she whispered, trying not to let herself give in to their fears. “Have negotiations already broken down, or will they help us reclaim our land?”

Two teeth on either side of his mouth pressing against his lower lip, he drew her into a hug, attempting to keep her and others’ concerns at bay; panicking wouldn’t do them much good. “We don’t know what’s happening. Keep everyone calm, if you can—”

Her voice lowered further, voicing a worry that was quickly spreading through not only their group. “It’s almost been a month, Tegrim—we can’t sustain our entire Clan in these areas—we don’t have the infrastructure.”

“Mmh, I know our supplies are running low.”

“We couldn’t bring anything that would slow us down—food—and those human creatures eat a lot.”

“I’ll see if I can bring it up with the Chief—I need to know,” he prompted, pulling away.

“I know… Be safe,” she added, attempting to not show his same fear for their future; his eldest son gave him a salute as he moved away.

“Can I come with you, Father?”

He was a strong man, breaking into his own at seven years old, and stronger than Tegrim at his age, more responsible, as well; Tegrim had no doubt the ancestors were just as proud of his growth.

“Not this time, Harthm; the Chief just wants the Group Leaders. I’ll be back.”

“Understood!”

A few of his group’s more veteran warriors gave him a respectful gesture as he made his way out of their camp; his younger sons looked up to their oldest brother, and he’d calm the fears they subconsciously got from his wife, doing her best to spread that out to the rest of their family and friends.

They were a smaller subsection to the Clan’s hierarchy in area demographics with few Torlim to their name, yet their purpose was more or less the most looked down upon task of the Roxim—stealth combat—which he had to admit they weren’t the best Valley Clan at.

Still, he was respected nonetheless for his accomplishments in the field against the Xaltan’s pushes into their territory.

His gaze wandered between the dimly-lit, lowland forest; it wasn’t nearly as dark as the highland valley jungle, but the thick canopy generally blotted out the sun, leaving shadows cast by the beams, playing on his mind.

Craftsmen from the various in-clan factions could be seen working even at this hour, weaving leaf tarps that could replace the many they’d left in their beloved land.

They’d left just about everything but the bare essentials in the frenzied flight out of the valley to escape this faceless, otherworldly boogeyman, and he was still hesitant if that had been the right decision instead of fighting this unknown entity they’d been told about.

It was entering the Rainy Season, which would bring many troubles and diseases if they didn’t prepare appropriately, especially regarding their food and livestock; some of the more troublesome, dormant insects during the dry season hatched during this time, and the plagues they carried could cause significant damage—at least it was attested to by past generations.

Proceeding through the pathway between camps, he saw other leaders ahead of him; they all kept their silence or stayed in their little circles, yet his focus was primarily directed toward the average Clansmen he passed.

Many were preparing for bed or trying to sleep as the high-moon neared; morale wasn’t good, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Instead of fighting for their home, they’d given ground, leaving the valley entirely; it was such a contentious snap decision that some of the older generations were even calling into question their Chief. If it hadn’t been for Krava—an old Xaria and current acting Komath Chief—he suspected there may have been a rebellion.

Mumbles could be heard as he arrived at the tent, seeing the crowd gathered outside of it; looking up, he spied Chief Zargoth atop a low branch. Instantly, he knew something was wrong when his sharp eyes caught sight of Fennel’s family ax and bracelet on his wrist.

Hovering on the outside of the throng, he glanced to the left, waiting for the rest of the Group Leaders to arrive; Fennel had the strongest faction within their Clan beside the Chief himself, and because of that, it was given to them to guard the humans.

Cages were seen, dotted where they’d been able to be built, and they were in a far worse state than when he’d last seen them; it was true that they didn’t have much food—the hunters and gatherers finding it challenging to find resources in this unfamiliar forest—yet even not knowing too much about these creature’s anatomy, it seemed they were starving.

They huddled in packs of three, stripped of the garments in case there were hidden properties within them; their tools and items had grown popular to trade to those curious about the stretchable fabrics and squishy footwear.

There were rumors that a powerful Ragnlar previously unseen before had prowled through the mist, killing not only many warriors but three humans a few days ago; a lot of worries came from the scene, according to whispers throughout the other groups. It evidently even killed what appeared to be white-scaled Nalveans, bringing the idea to some hunters that it was a cousin of the valley cat that traveled in packs.

No incident occurred since, and the Great Clans assured them they hadn’t come across such beasts in their stay in the area, yet all Tegrim heard lately were hushed doubt and fears, which would typically have been scoffed at more than a month ago—much had changed.

His wide field of vision returned to the Chief as he spoke—silencing the others—and, as he suspected, he only had terrible news to share.

“Group Leaders… as some of you have pointed out, I wear Fennel’s treasured family heirloom…” he paused, shifting in his squatting position to look down at Hestine, Fennel’s daughter and one of their closest clansmen to a Xaria; some said she would beat her father had she used his ancient blessed ax.

“Hestine, come up…”

She compiled, expression hard at the implications this meant; everyone had the same thoughts on their minds. Had the Great Clans betrayed them—did Fennel challenge them to claim some sort of support and lost—were they on their own?

“Yes, Chief,” she evenly replied; a seasoned warrior of eighteen years old, she didn’t press for information, knowing it would likely come.

“Fennel was a great champion… he cared greatly for our people and—” His hesitation didn’t go without notice, and Tegrim drew his own conclusions by it; he didn’t say her father was swimming across the Great River to reach the Supreme Chiefs. “He was valiant to the end, challenging our mortal enemy.”

Mumbles passed between leaders at the statement as Zargoth took the bracelet off and handed it to Hestine, followed by the exquisite ax. “Elinor came from the sky, riding a colossal winged bird with feathers like steel… with a member of the Ethereal and the desert Kaldraxi Clan to confront us directly.”

Tegrim shifted uncomfortably at the revelation, others expressing the same questions he had himself as Hestine accepted her birthright, grimly studying the designs on the weapon.

“The human attacked you in front of the Great Chiefs of Morseng and Polsan?”

“Why was she not killed—captured at the least?”

“Will they fight with us now that they have seen the creature?”

“Did the human escape, or—”

“Silence!” Hestine slammed the ax into the nearby trunk, silencing the voices; the perpetually sharp edge easily came free from its deep cut as her stone-cold gaze fixated on their Chief. “The Chief is speaking.”

A sad smile lifted the corner of Zargoth’s mouth; Fennel would have done the same, and after giving him a salute, she jumped down to join the rest of the leaders.

Turning back to them, their Chief finished the chilling story, making Tegrim’s stomach cramp.

“Elinor is the name of our enemy, and she was bold enough to make an appearance in front of the Great Chiefs themselves… She issued a trial by combat—single combat—first against Fennel, and we all witnessed the same…

“Fennel aged before our very eyes, the grass turning to dust around her as she stole his life. Elinor can create chains out of thin air—as if we needed more proof she is a fiend from the Pits—binding one of our greatest warriors while draining his vitality.”

How can we beat her then; what are we supposed to do? Tegrim complained internally. Fennel already testified she is an immortal fiend from the Pits that cannot be killed. Do we capture her and bury her—seal her in a tomb? How if she has such powers? I suppose it’s just a numbers game; we need to destroy her body—no, maybe her clothing is the trigger like some suspect…

This rumored solution was quickly called into question.

“In the fight, Elinor shed her covering; although, not all of it, meaning Fennel’s theory may still hold true—in addition, she had a new weapon… a spear that glowed with an unholy, green, fog-like sphere. Our strategy remains the same; destroy her body and seal what remains in a basket or stone box the crafters have made.”

He leaned back, vision rising to the stars, peeking through the far thinner canopy than the jungle, a dark frown touching his lips. “She has challenged the Roxom and Komath… herself, and has stated she will destroy us all by the end of the night, telling the Great Clans to inspect our camps by daylight.”

That was the trigger they’d all been waiting for, yet it hadn’t been the call for war they’d expected; Hestine spoke up in the stilled silence that followed.

“She will kill us all herself—is that what she pledged—tonight?”

Zargoth’s sober gaze fell on him, the others turning to glance between them. “Make no mistake, Leader Hestine, Elinor is a supernatural entity from the Pits, and—alone or not—Fennel has proven it will take more than bravery and skill to take her down… No, I do not believe she will be alone—I do not trust her—which is why we must be vigilant.”

He gestured in the direction of the Komath’s camp. “At this moment, Chief Krava is preparing his own warriors—their own Xaria will join our Torlim squads—but do not think this will be a fair fight, and expect to lose brothers and sisters in arms this night… It is war.”

Tegrim listened carefully to everything their Chief had to say, and not long after, Chief Krava joined them with two of his Xaria by his side; there was a lot more information and strategy shared between them as they were ordered to various defensive formations, the humans at their core.

It was a little strange to him that there was such emphasis on the humans at first, yet it soon became apparent they were a central target of Elinor, and she promised to spare anyone who remained nearby the creatures.

It made sense; she wanted to help those that looked like her, even if she only took the form of these creatures, they likely were her followers of some kind, or so he assumed. However, something else he hadn’t put together made many leaders of both Clans look at one another when the great, yellow-skinned Chief of the Komath stood straighter, taking the stage.

“Be warned, warriors… This is not a fight for only your homes and families, but your very souls—their souls! Elinor might be able to drag those she kills into the Pits itself; pray for our ancestors’ protection and guidance; this is no ordinary war… We fight for the glory of the Supreme Chiefs in vanquishing this fiend!

“Now, prepare for battle; she comes tonight!”

Leaving back to their respective camps, Tegrim folded his arms together, pondering everything he’d heard from the two Chiefs—great Ri’bot he respected—but the more Tegrim considered their position, the more he questioned why the ancient Great Chiefs hadn’t descended from on-high to aid them if a fiend from the pits had actually broken free.

How did that even happen?

The great storm and the signs the ice balls bring… Perhaps a war taking place above, allowing Elinor to escape? Is it even possible for us to fight a creature that can drain one’s life and use ethereal chains… return others from the Pits to fight for her? It doesn’t make any sense…

He saw many of the leaders that had gone ahead of him rallying their camps, warriors grabbing their weapons, and even craftsmen being called to arms; they were to draft anyone who wished to fight. It was understandable, but to quickly mobilize an inexperienced force without training… They were fodder.

There was certainly room for fodder in learning the tactics of your enemies, but critical personnel for their way of life shouldn’t be sacrificed like that when they had so little infrastructure to work with; his only conclusion was things were far grimmer than the Chiefs let on, and it didn’t matter in the end—if they lost this battle, their clans were already extinct—then again, there was an out.

Teeth digging into his skin as he rationalized the orders he’d been given, Tegrim slowed to look at a human cage—taking a slightly longer path back that passed by Hestine’s camp—he hadn’t been the only one to do so.

They’d placed the humans that were of similar size together, and this one appeared to be one for their children; gaunt and thin, bones showing as they huddled around one another for warmth, dirt, and feces covering their bodies—one appeared to be coughing, an action not typically seen by the others.

Trusting she will spare those besides the humans… If it comes to the point of her breaking past our defensive line, there can be nothing lost in following her statement of mercy toward the children and non-warriors.

Is it bait by the Pit fiend? I don’t believe a Pit fiend would make such a declaration or condition… restrict herself.

“Hmm…”

Making up his mind, Tegrim returned to his camp and gathered his group of fifty-eight individuals, summarizing the orders they’d been given; however, unlike many of the other groups, he didn’t pressure the non-warriors to join—quite the opposite—this was a battle where they didn’t need the untrained to hamper command order or cause panic.

His people were to support the other clans in crafting barricades, traps, and non-combative tasks before heading to the humans; they were to not leave their side nor cause harm to them, as their enemy had promised consequences. Even if Elinor was not honorable, they were, and they would live by their word.

Hugging his wife and children, he happily accepted his eldest son and daughter-in-law by his side, charging his younger two to protect their mother, even if it would be the opposite; she would be taking command over the rest of their group when he was gone—he didn’t expect to return, and she knew it.

Proud at the strength she showed in that knowledge, they pressed their heads together, sharing a tender moment with his other twelve warriors before setting off—thirteen strong—they were on the frontline, to be hidden in the trees to ambush the opponent with traps and subterfuge.

His son gave him a forced chuckle as they made their way through the various bustling camps, taking much longer to prepare with their Torlim and numbers. “Don’t think we’ll make it back, Father?”

“Honestly… No,” he laughed, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder as his daughter-in-law leaped down from the canopy; there was worry on her face as warning clicks sounded around them. “I’m glad to have you by my side… Hmm. What is it, Telza?”

“A fog bubbles up from the distant forest… The same as what we experienced three nights ago.”

“The Ethereal,” his son sighed, “as you were concerned about, Father. Hehe… Granddad always told us stories.”

His twelve warriors chuckled at the mention of Tegrim’s father, who had heard the same stories from his grandfather; in a way, their family and group’s path had been influenced by those legendary Ri’bot assassins.

“It seems we’ll be able to meet these legends soon.”

Telza returned to the canopy as they made it beyond the spike barriers, pits, and other traps the clans prepared, formations in the process of being made; Tegrim had a different goal than these warriors, being the highest tier scouts in the Roxim.

The fog slowly drew near, Telza keeping a close eye on its progress; she noted a shimmering golden glow in the distant heavens that was swallowed by the dense mist; it didn’t take long for them to be overtaken by the veil.

Remaining somewhat amused by reliving the stories they’d heard from their parents and grandparents about the impending mist that came with the Ethereal, Tegrim accepted his likely fate. It was precisely as the tales illustrated; sound became muffled, scent useless, and the unnerving sensation of unseen eyes peering at you just beyond sight.

He spread out some of his scouts so they could retreat and provide information if needed, sending groups of two others nearby just in case they missed any actions, only keeping his son and daughter-in-law by his side.

They were right in the path where Telza saw the light—presumably, one of Elinor’s forces, as were the reports of the massive flying bird—which was directly in the direction of the steep climb to the valley, and their positioning had been correct.

Popping tongues sent a message through the fog in the Roxim’s unique warrior language; someone was approaching a little to the southwest.

He motioned for Telza and Harthm to join him, returning the spotters to remain still and observe; they were on their way.

Creeping across the high branches, he joined Resdel and Julrea, squinting below to see a human dressed in a primarily black leather-like material, as far as he could tell, but the glowing staff casually held behind her back was unmistakable.

Out of all the scouts, we were the ones to meet her…

His men and women’s senses were sharp, scanning the fog for signs of the flashing lights they’d heard in the stories, yet the only thing that met their search was the ever-shifting, ominous mist—she appeared utterly alone—but they knew better than to believe such.

A minute passed, and Elinor remained in the small clearing below—only a foot away from a pitfall trap meant for large prey—staring into the veil with an unreadable expression as she waited for something; it almost seemed like she knew exactly what awaited her had she walked forward.

Their simple warrior’s tongue sent cryptic messages between the nearby twelve scouts, listening carefully to receive updates.

“Target stopped at trap.”

“Target unresponsive.”

“Remain in stealth. Caution of hidden danger.”

He issued an order after observing her, figuring it was wise to assume at this point she knew everything, from the trap to being surrounded. “Scout Pair Three, return and report the—”

Tegrim’s pops cut off as Elinor’s spear spun around her body, bringing it up into an upward position, curved point straightening in a burst of green flames before she took one step forward, rustling the leaves covering the trap, and threw the weapon into the fog with incredible strength.

It shouldn’t have been possible, yet it accelerated the instant it left her hand; his fears came seconds later as the sound of something falling from a great height hit the ground, with clicks from his partner following.

“Ronasa, moderate wound—leaving him to bandage himself—continuing on to report!”

Harthm squeezed his shoulder, expression tight as his young wife shivered, and the two others with them closed their fingers in anger; she knew exactly where they were—if that wasn’t enough, her flaming spear returned to her hands moments later—and she took several steps back, regaining her off-putting, lax posture, yet this time, her luminous, neutral jade irises lifted to the five of them, hidden within the foliage.

“I’ve given you ample time to make your move. Will you face me, or should I pick you out of the trees one by one?”

Puffing out a low stream of air, Tegrim knew it was their turn to die; that didn’t mean they would go without a fight—he issued his final orders, his clicks clear and distinct.

“All parties provide cover—retreat, and report, should the forward party die—do not engage after—remain vigilant to watchers.”

One unusual response came from Scout Pair One as he motioned for the four with him to the floor. “Ronasa not found—blood trail east?”

Hmm. Ronasa must have tried to make it back to report, even while injured… I can’t dishonor his courage.

Landing on the far drier earth than he was accustomed to in the valley, he pushed through the brush with Harthm, Telza, and his two other warriors; Elinor was far smaller than he’d initially taken her to be, even after seeing the others of her species, yet that didn’t dissuade the horrific feeling in his gut that they were far outmatched.

“You are Elinor—the one who killed Fennel in single combat?”

“Where are your Ethereal?” Telza muttered, shifting uncomfortably as she scanned the obscured upper branches for any hint of a flash.

“You may call me Elinor or Irkalla; it doesn’t matter,” she evenly replied with no emotion as she centered on Tegrim. “In the end, you will see its gates and know who it is you stand against.”

“Why do you attack us?” Runda hissed, brandishing his knife as the five surrounded the human, yet the human made no attempt to break away to find a better position, such as using a tree to guard her back. “Have you not taken enough from us?”

Elinor’s gaze shifted to him, and they retreated a few paces as her staff tilted in precise angles, body swaying for the glowing orb of fire at the end of her spear to effortlessly deflect several blackthorn barbs the scouts sent at her from the fog.

She spoke as if they hadn’t attacked her at all. “Make no mistake, I hold no ill-will toward your species as a whole; a balance must be kept, and you have taken that which is mine… Hmm-hmm. Of course, all life is mine, in the end, but that is not in question.

“It is your Chiefs that have declared war on me, and it is you who were the aggressors in this conflict; I am simply responding in kind to the fangs you have bared.”

A lump formed in his throat as he heard shouts in the distance—far too loud to be for strategy—causing a slight lift to come to the corner of Elinor’s lips. “It seems it has begun. Now, I have much to accomplish tonight; killing thousands in only a few hours is not that simple a task, even for me, at this stage, as some might believe.”

Tegrim held out his hand before Telza jumped to attack, making her hesitate. “Can you clarify one thing for me?”

She made a simple gesture with her unusually flexible neck—so unlike Ri’bot—and he took it as a sign to continue.

“You will spare those that have taken refuge around the other humans?”

“So long as they have not harmed them, as I have instructed, there will be no bloodshed beyond the lines you mark.”

Confusion gripped him, his son voicing his thoughts.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Hmm-hmm. Do you think I chose to confront you instead of some other group out of pure coincidence? No, I have been gauging the value to the souls along your perimeter, and it is your little band of spies that drew my attention—thus, I am here; you have doubt in your leaders, yet fight for those you care for… Commendable.”

Her smile tilted with her head, an unrecognizable note in her voice. “As to my intentions, you will know upon awakening as to who I am.”

Having heard enough, he could do nothing but have the solace of her words, spoken from her own month; she would spare his wife and children if they were near the humans.

Jumping forward to attack with the others making their own move, he recognized more chaotic shouting in the distance, but he couldn’t be focused on that now; dagger going for her jugular, his blade halted an entire meter before connecting.

Clinking chains resonated throughout the oppressive fog, an indomitable flame in Elinor’s unblinking stare as he came to an immediate halt, suspended mid-action—all five of them—the shifting metal telling him the other two nearby units shared the same fate.

Without a word, the Pit Fiend spear blurred into action, and he felt the sting of her curved blade pass through his own throat—the place he had aimed—staff snaking in a fluid combination, it twisted around her frame, delivering deathblows against all of them, excluding Runda, who received a tiny cut against his cheek.

His eyes grew blurry in the five seconds that passed after the strike, a draining pull seemingly taking his life as the green globe brightened, he saw the veins on Runda’s face start to show with a pale color that matched the force, and in the next second, he fell to the earth.

He was losing consciousness, yet out of the corner of his vision, he could see Runda thrashing wildly, Elinor sidestepping the screaming warrior as she flipped around to send her spear into the trees to most likely attack his retreating unit.

Mind fading, he couldn’t help but be amazed at how effortless and incredible her powers were; she could counter projectiles without so much as looking, wielded her weapon as if it was her own arm, and had not a hint of hesitation in which action to perform next.

So… It was hopeless after all… We cannot beat a creature of the Pits… His last thoughts were of his wife, tears in his fading eyes, and, finally, Tegrim’s consciousness faded. I love you…

The gentle tug of being drawn into a current tickled his senses, and when his vision cleared, he found a spotted sky of color he couldn’t explain—shades beyond description—he was drifting inside a primordial river, uplifting him and giving Tegrim strength.

Head tilting to the left, his eyes widened—Telza and Harthm were beside him—his son’s vision cracked open as he mumbled, “D-Dad?”

Jogging out of his dream-like slumber, he flipped around to push himself further into the colossal, seemingly endless sea they were in, coming out the other side to wrap one arm around his son and the other his daughter-in-law.

Scanning for land, he was momentarily stunned by a titanic entity of stone that passed them like a ship to wash up along a beach of lapis lazuli sand—it was five times taller than any tree he’d seen—and around him were numberless others drawn to the shore.

“C’mon—help me get Telza to…”

“I-I’m fine,” she mumbled, attempting to stabilize herself with Harthm. “It’s… I’m getting stronger—where are…” she trailed off, the three of them instantly comprehending the answer as they saw impossibly powerful creatures hoving in the heavens—they were in the River of the Dead that stretched across all that was—its destination, Irkalla.

Past the shoreline was an impassable wall of stone that went all the way into the heavens and into infinity both to their left and right—demons of unimaginable power floated in the air, observing the process of spirits entering the open lapis lazuli gates, accepting all that would come—and overseeing this first gate was a godly entity atop a titanic bat-like creature.

Lamashtu stood atop her mount, beast-like head and yellow eyes observing the process, her obsidian wings spread wide; if one was to start a conflict in this sacred place, it would be met by her wrath.

On the opposite side of the gate floated her counterpart, Pazuzu, keeping careful watch over her judgments; a balance was struck between them with the mountainous entity’s four dark wings overshadowing the land and creatures below, comets spiraling around his frame and burning symbols in his gray, muscular body.

His skull-like head studied the demoness and her following, a west wind blowing in her direction, and his arms folded across his chest; neither liked the other but served their mistress without fault—Ereshkigal demanded it—and both kept peace at the gates in their own way.

Swimming to the shore, they stumbled over the sand, and Tegrim shivered as the liquid fell away to return to the river; countless entities of unfathomable strength did the same, as powerless before the watcher’s gaze with her demonesses and demons dotting the underground sanctuary for the dead.

In horror, Telza muttered the realization that came to them upon seeing the first gate of Irkalla. “We fought against…”

“The One Above All,” Harthm finished. “How blind were we?”

A red tint filled the heavens, making them follow Lamashtu’s gaze to the far distance as she snarled for all to hear. “The Crimson Tide comes again—hasten… the gates will soon close until it passes.”

Terror gripped Tegrim at the warning; he didn’t know why, but he knew—without a shadow of a doubt—if he failed to enter that he would be eradicated, yet, at that moment, the earth split beneath them, chains latching onto Telza, Harthm, and he, bringing relief; the Queen of the Great Earth called them back.

Pulled through Eternity, his memories of Irkalla faded, yet the reality of who ruled the dead remained; his master was the ruler of all life, and he had the pleasure of serving her needs.

Vision clearing, he was brought back in the spirit, unable to do much to interact with the world around him, but there was one task they could do by proxy; his purpose and powers were clear in Irkalla’s presence, having been granted specific skills to do what needed to be done.

He bowed to her, Telza and Harthm doing the same.

Her voice and orders were evident as he saw Runda rush into the fog toward the encampment, snapping his jaws and running like a ravenous animal.

“Draw an illuminated, spiritual line around the humans and those within; I give you the authority to terminate any infected that crosses it.”

“It will be done, Empress Irkalla…”

He gave his son a warm smile as they moved to accomplish her will; they had the opportunity to keep their family safe from the attack—the Empress was good—he’d made the right decision.