For three days Hael pressed on, his steed's breath steaming in the cold air, its hooves pounding a steady rhythm against the barren ground. Golgotha loomed ahead, a city once sacred, now defiled. It was the place of his Lord's greatest triumph—and he would not suffer it to remain in the hands of Hell.
As he reached the outskirts, the first snow began to fall. Thick fog rolled in, swallowing the landscape, reducing the world to a ghostly haze. Hael guided his horse to a frozen stream, dismounting to let the beast drink. The water was bitter, tainted with something foul beneath the ice.
Then he saw it—an inn.
Dilapidated, its roof sagging under the weight of years, its windows dark and lifeless. It was the only shelter for miles.
Hael pulled his hood lower over his face and stepped inside.
The moment he crossed the threshold, every eye in the room turned toward him. The chatter died. The innkeeper, a gaunt woman with sunken cheeks and a smile too wide, approached.
"How can I help you?" she whispered, her voice like dry leaves skittering across stone.
Hael scanned the room. The patrons were thin, their skin sallow, their eyes gleaming with a hunger that had nothing to do with food. They watched him like wolves circling a wounded stag.
"Food for my horse," he rumbled. "And a room for the night."
The innkeeper took his coin with fingers that lingered too long, her nails blackened and cracked. As soon as the payment was made, the tavern's noise resumed—low murmurs, laughter that sounded more like choking.
Hael paid it no mind.
"You will find your room upstairs, to the right," the innkeeper said, gesturing to a narrow staircase.
He climbed, his boots heavy on the creaking steps. The moment he was out of sight, the voices below ceased.
Silence.
Complete, unnatural silence.
Hael turned, looking back down into the tavern.
It was empty.
Not a soul remained. No patrons. No innkeeper. The chairs were pushed in, the tables wiped clean, as if no one had been there at all.
His grip tightened on his axe.
The hours passed in eerie stillness. Not a whisper of wind, not the scuttle of a rat. Then—
The door creaked open.
Slow. Deliberate.
Shadows pooled around the bed. Six figures, their limbs too long, their fingers ending in jagged claws. Their eyes burned red in the dark, their mouths stretched with too many teeth.
The scent of blood filled the room. Flesh in their teeth and on their claws,it was of Haels horse,
They attacked the bed ferociously,ravaging it and only a second later did they notice their claws did not catch flesh
Then—
A wet "thud."
One of them collapsed, its head rolling across the floor.
Confusion twisted their monstrous faces.
Hael descended from the roof.
"Surrender now," Hael's voice came from behind them, "You are already Dead."
They whirled—just in time to see the Archon Primus step from the shadows, his axe already in motion.
The room exploded.
Wood splintered. Bodies hurtled through the air, crashing through the walls, tumbling into the snow outside. Hael stepped through the wreckage, his breath steady, his gaze locked onto the writhing figures below.
They were changing.
Bones snapped. Flesh tore. Their screams became howls as their bodies twisted into hulking, furred monstrosities— their maws dripping with saliva, their eyes mad with hunger.
Hael spat. "Demon filth."
The first beast lunged.
Hael sidestepped, seized its leg, and hurled it into the ground with enough force to crack the frozen earth. Again. Again. Until the creature's skull split beneath his boot.
The others howled, a sound that shook the trees.
Then they attacked as one.
And Hael met them with steel and wrath.
By the time the last beast fell, the snow was black with blood.
Hael stood amidst the carnage, his breath steady, his grip firm on his axe. The demons circled him, their red eyes gleaming with malice, their elongated limbs twitching with unnatural hunger.
The largest of them, a hulking monstrosity with matted fur and jagged fangs, lunged first. Hael sidestepped, his axe flashing in the moonlight as it carved deep into the beast's side. Black ichor sprayed across the snow as the creature howled in pain, but it did not fall. Instead, it twisted, claws raking toward Hael's face. He ducked, feeling the wind of the strike, then countered with a brutal upward swing that split the beast from gut to throat.
The remaining demons hesitated—just for a moment—but it was enough. Hael charged, his battle cry shaking the very foundations of the ruined inn. His axe moved like a storm, cleaving through flesh and bone. One beast tried to flank him, but Hael spun, catching it mid-leap and driving his weapon straight through its chest. The force of the blow sent them both crashing through the rotting wooden wall, landing in the snow outside.
The final two attacked in unison. Hael rolled to avoid the first, then planted his axe into the second's skull with a sickening crunch. The last beast, now alone and frenzied, pounced—only to meet Hael's gauntleted fist. The impact shattered its jaw, sending it sprawling. Before it could recover, Hael's boot came down on its throat, silencing its snarls forever.
The snow continued to fall, now stained crimson. Hael wiped his axe clean on the fur of one of the fallen.
The innkeeper moved like a ghost through the snow, her bare feet making no sound as she crept toward Hael's broad back. The Archon Primus knelt by the frozen stream, cleaning blackened blood from his axe, his breath curling in the frigid air. He didn't turn. Didn't flinch.
But his voice cut through the wind like steel.
"Take another step, you will meet your end."
The woman froze. Then, with a whimper, she dropped to her knees in the snow. "Spare me!" Her voice was a ragged whisper. "I have been held hostage by these monsters for too long. I only wished to thank you."
Hael turned his head slightly, his piercing gaze barely visible beneath his hood. "No thanks are needed." His voice was gravel and iron. "I require directions to Golgotha. Is the weather always like this?"
The woman shivered, her hollow eyes darting toward the distant city. "Yes," she whispered. "Ever since the devils took control." She raised a trembling hand, pointing through the blizzard. "That way. The road is cursed, but it leads straight to the gates."
Hael nodded and turned his back on her, his eyes scanning the horizon.
A mistake.
A wet, tearing sound filled the air as the woman's skull split, her flesh ripping apart as her jaw distended into a maw of yellowed fangs. She lunged for his throat—
—only for a dagger to punch through her forehead from behind, the blade exiting between her eyes in a spray of blackened blood.
Hael spun, axe raised, as the corpse collapsed into the snow.
From the swirling storm, a voice spoke—cold, smooth, and utterly without mercy.
"You will find turning your back on anyone in these lands a grave mistake, my lord."
A figure emerged from the blizzard, clad in black from head to toe, her face hidden behind a silver-edged mask. She knelt before Hael, one hand pressed to the snow in deference.
"My lord Hael," she said. "I greet you."
Hael did not lower his weapon. "Rise."
The woman stood, her movements fluid as shadow,dark in complexion and beautiful. "I am Mary, Evangel of the Holy Sepulchre. Archon Zaell sent word. I am to aid you in any way I can." she had been in the presence of an Archon before but Haels felt different,she could feel a crushing a fierce aura from him,and it took all her strength to keep it together.
Hael's eyes flicked to the dead woman at his feet—now reverting, her monstrous form shrinking back into the withered husk an then dust.
"I believe you haven't been this far out before, my lord," Mary said.
"No," Hael admitted. "I haven't. What is this place?"
Mary stepped closer, her voice dropping."These demons are called mimics, It was once a place of merry and laughter for its people but now,heavy with evil. The people who once lived here, have been dead for a long time now." She toed the dust with her boot.The mimics ravaged these lands for years killing and eating the very hope in the air. With the ability to shift their skin and copy the appearance of people , it was easy.'
Hael's grip tightened on his axe. 'Demonic filth" Hael continues "The corruption in this land must be rectified." He turned fully to her, his presence like a gathering storm. "Briel told me you know the land well. Where do I start?"
Mary opened her mouth to answer—
—then froze.
Hael's head snapped up.
A heartbeat later, he roared, "GET DOWN!"
They moved as one, hitting the snow as 4 arrows thwipped through the air where they had stood. Hael rolled to his feet, his eyes locking onto the silhouette atop a distant ridge—a figure in full samurai armor, his face hidden behind a blood-red demon mask. A longbow gleamed in his hands.
The samurai took up his bow again ,loading in it 4 long arrows,drawing it at full strength till the strings almost cut, an fired again at Hael but Hael casually tilted his body to the side dodging all arrows"
Mary rose beside him, her voice tight. "As I was about to say—its not safe here, we need to leave"
Hael's answer was to unsling his axe. "I am the Archon Primus. I run from nothing."
Mary's masked face turned toward him determined to get him to retreat. "maybe not run but strategize ."
The samurai dropped his bow.
And began walking toward them.
At the same moment, guttural snarls erupted from the tree line—twisted, half-human mimics loping into the clearing.
Hael didn't hesitate. "You deal with them," he growled. "He's mine."
Ten paces apart, they faced each other—Hael, a mountain of wrath, his axe gleaming in the pale light; the samurai, still as death, his blade sheathed at his side.
"Draw your weapon," Hael commanded.
The samurai's voice was calm, almost bored. "My blade is only drawn when death is certain."
Hael moved.
His charge was a thunderclap, his axe a blur of steel. Yet the samurai flowed aside, his evasion effortless. Hael struck again. Again. Each swing faster, harder—a storm of killing blows that never found flesh.
Then—contact.The axe grazed the red mask, sending a hairline crack across its surface.
The samurai kicked, his foot slamming into Hael's chest with enough force to send the Archon skidding back through the snow.
A pause.
Then, with a sigh, the samurai reached up—and removed his mask.
Beneath it was a face of sharp angles and cold eyes, his expression unreadable. Slowly, deliberately, he drew his katana.
The blade whispered as it left its sheath.
And then…
Mary fought well, her dagger lashed to her rosary, transforming it into a deadly flail. She spun, danced, slit throats with every pass. The creatures fell, one after another—but more kept coming.
She risked a glance toward Hael
just in time to see the samurai's blade flash.
Hael barely dodged. The katana moved like liquid light, a relentless barrage of slashes that forced the Archon back step by step.
Then Hael changed.
His left fist shot out, catching the samurai in the ribs. Bones cracked. Before the warrior could recover, Hael seized him by the throat and " hurled" him through the air.
The samurai smashed through the tavern wall in an explosion of splinters.
Hael advanced, his breath steaming—
—only for the samurai to step calmly from the wreckage, unharmed.
Hael's eyes narrowed. "You are no demon neither are you of Divine power, What are you?"
The samurai didn't answer. Instead, he sheathed his blade, closed his eyes—
—and vanished.
Hael's instincts screamed. He twisted—
—but not fast enough.
A line of fire opened across his chest as the katana flashed, slicing through his robes to reveal the gleaming armor beneath—and the sigil of Zion etched into the armors chest plate.
The samurai stopped.
For the first time, his cold eyes showed surprise. The creatures kept pouring in,trying to swallow up the whole terrain with their mangled bodies and mimicking the death cries of the souls they had consumed.
Then— Exodus 19;18 "He who descended upon the mountain brings fire,He who commands the heavens shrouds the land in smoke.
SMOKE.
It exploded between them, a thick cloud swallowing the battlefield. Through the haze, Hael heard hoof beats—then felt the reins slap into his palm as Mary's voice cut through the chaos.
"GET ON! NOW!"
Hael didn't argue. He swung onto his horse—
—just as the horde of beasts surged from the trees.
The last thing he saw before the storm swallowed them was the samurai, standing motionless, watching him go.
And then they were riding, the wind howling at their backs like the laughter of the damned.
The horses thundered through the snow-laden forest, their breath steaming in the frigid air as Mary and Hael put distance between themselves and the ruined inn. Behind them, the howls of demonic beasts and the eerie silence of the masked samurai still lingered in the air.
Hael's grip on the reins was tight, his mind racing. "That swordsman... no ordinary warrior could match me like that". His armor, now exposed beneath his torn robe, gleamed faintly in the moonlight—sigil of Zion unmistakable.
Mary glanced back, ensuring they weren't being pursued before slowing her steed. "We won't lose them for long," she said, her voice tense. "Those demons hunt by scent, and that samurai... he's something else entirely."
Hael grunted. "He recognized the sigil."
Mary's eyes narrowed. "He must have been shocked like anyone else would seeing anyone from Zion in these lands."
Hael's jaw clenched. "Do you think this land is worth saving? ."
Mary sighed. "That is not a question with a simple answer."
Hael's gaze sharpened as he stared at her. "however, I do believe they just like anyone deserves a chance."
Hael hesitated before nodding. "The swordsman,you know of him?" Hael asked "Only Rumors. A wandering sell sword who serves no lord, yet cuts down both demons and men alike. They call him Jin—the the faceless ronin. But why he's here?, why he's after you? Someone doesn't want you here"
A distant howl cut through the night. Mary tensed. "We need to move. There's a sanctuary not far from here—a hidden chapel of the Sepulchre. We can camp there."
Hael gave a curt nod, and they spurred their horses onward. The forest grew denser, the shadows deeper, until at last, the silhouette of a crumbling stone chapel emerged from the blizzard.
As they dismounted, Mary approached the chapel's rusted iron door, pressing her palm against a hidden sigil. The lock clicked, and the door groaned open, revealing a dimly lit interior. Candles flickered despite the absence of wind, their light reflecting off relics of a bygone age.
Hael stepped inside, his eyes scanning the ancient murals depicting Zion's victories. "This place is old."
Mary nodded. "A remnant of the true Golgotha—before its Fall." She moved to a stone basin, dipping her fingers into the holy water within. "You're wounded."
Hael hadn't even noticed—the slash across his ribs, courtesy of Jin's blade, had seeped into his armor. He removed the crucifix then the plating, hissing as the cold air bit into the cut.
Mary approached with a cloth soaked in sanctified oils. "This will burn."
Hael didn't flinch as she pressed it to the wound, his mind still on the battle. "That warrior... he fought in an unusual way."
Mary's hands paused. "You will find these lands a stark contrast to the vibrant lands of Zion, It is very brutal and claims the weak .." she loses herself for a moment before comporting herself and finishing with "My lord"
His wounds heal quickly after she finishes with the sanctified oils "You are a trained evangel?" she sighs "As trained as one can be through reading the holy books… alone."
Hael's says."Zael told me about you, How he saved you from Golgotha during its fall, along with your sister evangels.. " she did not let him finish , standing up abruptly "I shall prepare your bedding my lord", as she leaves the room abruptly,almost as if the mere mention of it was too horrific and sad to remember.
Outside, the wind howled like the damned. Somewhere in the storm, Jin watched. Waiting with the mimics behind him waiting on his authority.
The fire had burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the cramped room. Hael stood by the window, his massive frame outlined against the frost-laced glass, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the first hints of dawn would soon bleed into the sky.
Mary watched him from the corner of the room, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her dagger. She had dragged the lone bed—a rickety wooden thing barely fit for a man of Hael's size—closer to the fire, though she doubted he would use it.
"You should rest, my lord," she said, breaking the silence. "It wasn't easy, but I managed to find a bed your size." She glanced at it again, then smirked. "Maybe your size."
Hael didn't turn. "I am fine."
Mary exhaled through her nose, shifting where she sat. The question had been gnawing at her since they'd fled the ruined inn.
"If I may ask, my lord—"
"Speak"
"—why exactly are you here?" She kept her voice low, careful. "Golgotha has been of no consequence to Zion for more than a decade Why now?"
For a long moment, Hael said nothing. Then, slowly, he turned. The firelight carved deep hollows beneath his eyes, made the scars on his face look like cracks in stone.
"The Elders believe in the safety of Zion's walls," he rumbled. "In the Archmen's ability to secure them. They think as long as we concern ourselves only with it, we will continue to be at peace." His voice darkened. "This is a notion shared by most in Zion."
He took a step toward her, and despite herself, Mary felt the weight of his presence like a storm pressing down on her.
"I," he said, "do not."
Mary swallowed.
"Evil does not die," Hael continued. "It waits, it lingers." His fingers flexed, as if remembering the grip of his axe. In my last battle,the demons were organized, coordinated,this cannot stand. And I am convinced—a very sinister plot is afoot. One that seeks Zions destruction and all we hold dear and I will not stand idly by while it comes to pass."
Mary's throat tightened. She forced herself to breathe, to look away, to put distance between them as she stood and moved toward the bed.
Hael's voice followed her. "Now you. Tell me—why did you return here, to this place, instead of staying in Zion? What do you have to gain by risking your life daily?"
Mary sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him. For a moment, she didn't answer. Then, softly:
"Hope."
Hael went still. "Hope… Many years it has been,Have you been able to save one soul?".
Mary gently nods but still she remained resolute,
"Nevertheless I have Faith, we do not know what is going on in there, what the people face, we must remain a light so even when one soul seeks it, we will be here, I will be here.
She pauses for a moment before she continues, "Someday this place will return to how it was."She stands to look out the window stretching out her arm as though she could see an feel Golgotha, She continues as she lays back down, her voice muffled slightly by the thin pillow.
"The beautiful, godly place where I grew up. Where my siblings played. Where my parents prayed." She yawned, exhaustion finally pulling at her. "If we are called to salvation, then it stands to reason that we should be in the place where it is needed the most."
Silence settled between them.
Then, to her surprise, Hael spoke again—his voice quieter than she had ever heard it.
"Well said." A pause. "Do not refer to me as 'lord' anymore. You have earned the right to speak to me on equal terms."
Mary smiled faintly into the darkness.
And then, at last, she slept.
The doors of Ziza's black hall exploded inward as Jin stormed through, his fury a living thing, his hand clenched white around the hilt of his sword. Her aide scrambled after him, desperate and failing to restrain the swordsman.
Ziza did not rise. She merely lounged in her obsidian throne, her lips curling into a serpent's smile.
"Ah, my fine hunter," she purred, fingers drumming lazily on the armrest. "To what do I owe this most strident of entrances?
Jin's voice was a blade's edge. "You know exactly why." His eyes burned. "I have made it clear—I will do your bidding so long as it is not against one of His chosen."
A low, mocking chuckle slithered from Ziza's throat as she rose, her dark robes whispering against the floor. She stepped toward him, slow, deliberate, like a predator circling wounded prey.
"My, my, my," she murmured, tilting her head. "Jin. Feared swordsman. Sharp hunter. Unmatched in skill. But for all your gifts... you aren't the brightest, are you?"
She stopped inches from him, her breath cold against his face.
"You seem to think that in this war, you can walk the fine middle line." Her smile widened. "Allow me to educate you—you can't.
With a dismissive flick of her wrist, she turned away, gliding toward a table where a decanter of dark wine waited. She poured herself a glass, the liquid like blood in the dim light.
"The one they call their God?" she mused. "He's very particular about choosing sides. And me?" She took a sip, her eyes gleaming over the rim. "I don't care... so long as you don't choose Him." Her voice hardened. "You've already chosen us."
Jin's jaw tightened. "Get someone else." He turned to leave—
—then froze.
A child's voice, soft as a ghost's sigh, called out:
"Father."
Jin's breath stopped.
Slowly, he turned.
And there they stood.
Akane. Aiko.
His wife and child, pale as moonlight, their forms spectral, their eyes hollow with sorrow.
Jin staggered forward, falling to his knees before them. His hands trembled as he reached out, brushing against their translucent skin. For a single, agonizing moment, he allowed himself to feel them.
Then Akane spoke, her voice frantic.
"Have you completed the task? Are we free now?"
Before he could answer, their forms twisted.
White flames erupted from their bodies, searing their spectral flesh. Their screams tore through the hall—
"NO! NO! PLEASE! FREE US! DAMN YOU, JIN!"
He stretches out quick to try an touch them..but he was too late.
They were gone.
Jin collapsed forward, his fists slamming into the stone as sobs wracked his body. His tears pooled beneath him, a mirror of his despair.
Ziza watched, sipping her wine.
"Complete this task," she said softly, "and they will be free from Hell and its torment. You will be with them again."
Jin's weeping slowed. His fingers curled into claws against the floor.
Then, slowly, he rose.
His tears still wet on his face, his eyes—red with resolve—locked onto Ziza.
"Will you do it?" she asked.
His answer was a single word, sharp as his blade.
"I will."
He turned and left, the doors sealing behind him like a tomb.
Ziza sighed, swirling her wine as she returned to her chair.
"How long will you remain up there, Malachite?" she called idly.
A shadow detached from the ceiling.
With a thunderous crash, Malachite landed, the stone cracking beneath his bulk. His massive frame was draped in the dire wolf's head that served as his cowl, his body a tapestry of scars, chains, and the bones of his prey.
His voice was a landslide.
"Pathetic."
He glared at the door Jin had exited through.
"Doing this for any reason but the glory of the hunt is foolishness. He is sure to fail."
Ziza smirked. "And you, on the other hand...?"
Malachite grinned, teeth like shattered tombstones.
"You will have his head by tomorrow."
Then he, too, was gone—leaving only the echo of his promise hanging in the air like the stench of blood.
And Ziza?
She sipped her wine.
And smiled.