The morning light had barely touched the forest floor when the stench jolted Mary awake. Her nose wrinkled at the acrid tang of blood and burning fat as her eyes snapped open. She bolted upright, fingers already closing around her dagger before full consciousness caught up with her.
The campsite was empty.
"Hael?" Her whisper cut through the morning stillness. No answer came but the crackle of a freshly built fire just outside the ruined chapel they'd sheltered in. Thick black smoke curled upward in lazy spirals - a damn beacon visible for miles in the frozen wilderness.
Mary was on her feet in an instant, boots crunching frost as she burst outside. "Fool man," she hissed to herself, scanning the tree line. "The smoke, the smell - we need to move before-"
The bushes exploded with movement.
Mary's blade cleared its sheath before her mind registered the hulking figure emerging from within. Hael's massive frame parted the foliage like a warship through waves, his armored shoulders streaked with gore. In one fist he clutched a grisly cord woven from sinew and vine, from which hung an obscene garland of demon limbs and deer carcasses. His other hand never left the haft of his axe, its edge darkened with dried blood.
"Greetings," he rumbled, as casually as if he'd returned from gathering firewood.
Mary's dagger arm dropped slack at her side. "What... in God's name happened?"
The Archon Primus shrugged, the motion making the grotesque trophies sway. Dropped his macabre harvest with a wet thud beside the fire. "Went for a hunt. They attacked. I killed them. Caught us food. Came back." He settled onto a fallen log, stretching his boots toward the flames as if this were any normal morning.
Mary stared at the pile of butchered flesh, then at the smoke staining the dawn sky. "Why bring them back here?"
Hael turned his blood-spattered face toward her. The morning light carved hollows beneath his eyes, making him look more revenant than man. "To burn."
"You can't be serious." Mary's voice climbed half an octave. "That smoke will draw every demon within five miles!"
A slow, feral grin split Hael's beard. "Good." He nudged a severed demon head closer to the flames with his boot. "Let them come."
Mary opened her mouth, closed it. Studied the strange warrior before her - this unholy mix of divine wrath and primal brutality. She'd seen zealots before, but this... this was something else entirely.
The acrid smoke of burning demon flesh twisted into the night sky as Hael sharpened his axe, the rhythmic scrape of steel on stone the only sound in the oppressive silence. His voice was low, barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of command.
"We are not alone."
Mary stiffened but did not turn her head. "Do not act out of the ordinary," he murmured. She forced herself to sit beside him, mimicking calm, though her fingers twitched toward the dagger hidden beneath her cloak.
"What do we do now?" she breathed.
Hael's eyes burned with cold fury. "Wait."
A heartbeat later, he moved.
His hand shot out like a striking viper, seizing an unseen assailant by the throat and wrenching him into view. The man gagged, clawing at Hael's iron grip, his face purpling. Mary recoiled—she hadn't even sensed his approach.
Hael's gaze locked onto the attacker's pendant—a twisted pentagram. His lip curled in disgust.
"Magic."
His fist clenched. A sickening crunch echoed through the clearing.
Then—movement.
Four hooded figures materialized from the shadows, masks obscuring their faces, blades glinting in the firelight. No words were spoken. Only death lingered in their stances.
They struck as one.
Hael's axe was a blur. The first attacker fell, cleaved at the waist. The second lost his head mid-lunge. The third barely raised his dagger before Hael's boot crushed his ribs inward. The last came from behind—only to meet Mary's rosary chain, its links slicing through his neck like a garrote.
Panting, Mary wiped blood from her face. "Is that all of them?"
Hael's eyes scanned the treeline. "No."
"Where are they?"
His grip tightened on his axe. "I cannot tell. Whoever they are, they are skilled at hiding."
Then—Mary retched.
The air itself turned vile, thick with a malice so potent it made her knees buckle. Hael stepped in front of her, shielding her from an unseen horror.
"Get the horses," he growled. "We leave now."
They rode hard, the forest a blur around them. Mary's heart hammered in her chest—she saw nothing, yet Hael's urgency was palpable.
"Faster!" he barked.
She risked a glance back—and saw only darkness.
Then—
"ENOUGH!"
Hael wheeled his horse around, leaping from the saddle. He planted his axe in the earth and roared:
"The Lord is my light! What hold hath fear? Divine radiance shine forth!"
The crucifix on his chest erupted in blinding gold. A pulse of holy light tore through the forest, searing away the shadows—and revealing the nightmare lurking above.
Blood-rends.
Sinewy, crimson-skinned horrors clung to the branches, their skeletal faces split by rows of jagged teeth. Spiked protrusions crowned their skulls, and their clawed limbs flexed with unnatural strength.
Mary's blood turned to ice.
Hael's voice was grim. "We are faced with great evil."
Mary swallowed hard. "Yes,never have I seen more evil creatures in my life."
Hael's gaze lifted higher. "I'm not talking about them."
There, perched atop the highest branch, sat Malachite.
Cloaked in the pelt of a dire wolf, his massive frame radiated a murderous aura. His eyes—cold, calculating—locked onto Hael with the hunger of a predator.
"Go," he murmured.
The blood-rends screamed—a sound that shook the earth—and attacked.
Claws met steel as Hael intercepted their assault, his axe a whirlwind of defiance. But their numbers were overwhelming, their speed unnatural. Mary watched in horror as they drove him back, their onslaught relentless.
Mary moved like a shadow given form. Her throwing knives flashed in the dim light as she propelled herself off Hael's back, striking with lethal precision. Each blade found its mark—the jugulars of the Blood Rends. It only stopped them for a second.
A second was all Hael needed.
He surged forward, righteous fury burning in his veins. His axe became a blur, cleaving through corrupted flesh with inhuman speed. Heads rolled. Limbs scattered. The forest floor ran black with their blood.
When the last one fell, a slow, mocking clap echoed through the trees.
Malachite stepped from the shadows, his smirk sharp as a knife. "Truly magnificent," he drawled. "I must say, Lord Hael, I am impressed. No one has been able to kill more than two of my beautiful creatures. But here you are, having slaughtered six." His grin widened. "But there's more."
From the darkness, a dozen more Blood Rends emerged, their hollow eyes fixed on their prey.
Mary's voice was tight with urgency. "What do we do now?"
Hael's gaze flicked to the cliff's edge ahead. "Do you trust me?"
"No!" she snapped. "Why do you ask?"
Hael sighed—then seized her by the waist and hurled her toward the cliff.
Her scream tore through the air.
Malachite saw his opening. His bone spear flashed as he lunged, faster than thought, aiming to impale Hael through the heart.
At the last possible moment, the crucifix on Hael's chest flared with divine light.
He drove his axe into the ground with apocalyptic force.
The earth exploded.
A shock wave of golden energy erupted, hurling the Blood Rends and Malachite backward like leaves in a storm. In the same motion, Hael moved—not with speed, but with something beyond it.
He was there, catching Mary mid-fall before she could plummet into the abyss.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she clung to him, her eyes wide. "You," she hissed, "are insane."
Hael didn't answer. His gaze was already locked back on Malachite, who was rising from the dirt, his expression twisted with rage.
The hunt was far from over.Mary trembled in his arms, her breath ragged. "Maybe… I do trust you."
The hunter rose from the shattered tree, brushing splinters from his fur cloak. His lips curled into a grin.
"Truly worth the hunt."
The cliff's edge trembled as 'Malachite surged forward', his 'Blood Rends' closing in like a pack of rabid wolves. With a snarl, he launched himself into the open air, spear flashing as he hurled it toward 'Hael with enough force to split stone.
Hael didn't even turn.
His hand snapped out, catching the spear mid-flight—'then shattered it over his knee like kindling.'
Malachite landed in a crouch, axes sliding free from his back in a whisper of steel. He grinned, teeth bared in challenge. '"Round two?"'
Hael exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing. 'That was all the answer Malachite needed.'
The Blood Rends lunged, a tide of snarling flesh and rusted blades—only for 'Mary' to explode into motion. Daggers streaked from her hands like silver lightning, each one 'punching through a skull with brutal precision.' Bodies dropped. But before she could breathe, Malachite's axe was already spinning toward her—'not to kill, but to remove her.'
She twisted aside, but the sheer force of the throw 'slammed her back like a cannon shot', sending her crashing through the trees.
'"Mary!"' Hael's voice was a thunderclap.
'"Just you and me,"' Malachite purred, blocking his path. '"Come on!"'
Hael's jaw tightened. Then—'Malachite.'
His attacks became 'feral, unpredictable', a storm of steel and fury. Malachite laughed, weaving through the onslaught—until Hael's axe 'bit deep into his own', sending cracks spider-webbing across the blade. '"You're more resilient than I'd heard,"' Malachite admitted, circling like a jackal.
'"The Witch will have to increase the reward on your head."'
Hael froze. '"The Witch?"'
Malachite's grin widened. '"Now I have your attention."' He twirled his axe. '"Maybe if you entertain me, I'll tell you more."'
Hael's grip on his weapon turned 'bone-white.'
Then—'he charged.'
His blows were 'earth-shaking', each strike chipping away at Malachite's defenses. The axe groaned—'then Hael feinted.'
Instead of the killing blow, he 'dropped his weapon' and 'rammed his fist into Malachite's gut.' A 'headbutt' cracked his nose. An 'uppercut' lifted him off his feet.
Malachite hit the ground, blood bubbling from his lips.
Hael loomed over him, voice 'like Judgment itself.' '"Now. Tell me where to find this Witch."'
Malachite chuckled, red spilling down his chin. '"Round three."'
Three hooded figures materialized, daggers flashing. Hael barely dodged—'then recoiled in disgust as they plunged their own blades into their throats.'
Blood 'arced through the air', twisting like serpents toward Malachite. His body 'convulsed', bones snapping, flesh warping as the stolen life force 'reforged him.'
'"Per sanguinem expergefactus,"' he rasped.
When the crimson mist cleared, 'a nightmare stood in his place.'
Bear claws.'
'Elephant's hide.'
'Scorpion's tail.'
Hael had never seen such 'abomination.'
But he 'did not kneel.' he looked on the creature with a scowl of anger "Die Idolater"
He attacked with his axe—'and the monster swatted him like a fly.'
Hael 'sailed through the trees', crashing through trunks until the world blurred.
Mary, still trapped in the circle of hooded fanatics, 'saw him fly overhead.' Her eyes flared. 'Enough.'
A dagger 'sprang from her hand', punching through a cultist's eye. 'She broke free—and ran after Hael.'
The Final Blow
Mary reached the crater just as Hael rose to his feet, blood smeared across his lips. The impact of his landing had carved a wound into the earth, but the man himself stood unbowed.
"How are you even okay?" Mary gasped, her voice tight with disbelief. She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in. "We need to get out of here—that monstrosity is—"
Her words died as Hael began stripping away the armor on his torso, revealing a body mapped in scars—each one a testament to battles fought and survived.
"What are you doing?" Mary demanded.
Hael didn't answer. He picked up his axe, his grip tightening as the ground trembled beneath them. The trees shook. The air itself seemed to recoil as Malachite's monstrous form lumbered closer, each step a thunderclap.
"You have no chance of defeating that thing!" Mary insisted, desperation edging her voice. "We need to escape now while we still can!"
Hael turned his head just enough to pin her with a look—cold, unyielding. The sheer intensity of it sent a shiver down her spine.
"Because you have been away from Zion far too long," he said, his voice low, "I will forgive you once more for suggesting a retreat." His eyes darkened. "There won't be a third."
Then he walked forward, his scowl giving way to something far more dangerous—anticipation.
The creature towered before him, its grotesque form a patchwork nightmare of claws, tusks, and chitinous scales. "I am stronger now than you'll ever be," it rumbled, its voice a guttural snarl. "You cannot hope to defeat me."
Hael's lips curled. "It would have been a shame if you weren't this strong," he admitted, rolling his shoulders. "Now I get to cut you down piece by piece."
Silence.
Then—
The creature's trunk elongated, unleashing a sonic blast that shattered the trees behind Hael. He barely moved, tilting his head just enough to let it scream past his ear.
And then he charged.
His axe became a blur, strikes landing faster than thought. Malachite roared, swinging wildly—but Hael was already gone, his movements too fluid, too precise. The creature's massive body was its weakness. It couldn't keep up.
Hael feinted high, his axe arcing toward the beast's skull—only for Malachite to catch the blade between his palms, black blood oozing from the cut.
A mistake.
Hael abandoned the weapon mid-swing, his fists already in motion. Bone cracked as he drove a brutal strike into the creature's knees, shattering them. The monstrosity bellowed, collapsing forward—
—just as its scorpion tail lashed out, aiming for Hael's throat.
He caught it mid-air.
With a single wrenching twist, he ripped the stinger free, black ichor spraying in an arc. Before Malachite could react, Hael's uppercut connected, lifting the beast off the ground before it crashed onto its back.
With agonizing slowness, each movement a deliberate act of dominance designed to assert his power over the creature, Hael heaved himself onto its shuddering chest. The stench of blood, thick and metallic, mingled with a primal, feral odor that spoke of ancient, dark magic, filled his nostrils. His heavy boot crunched sickeningly on the pulsing carotid artery, the sickening squelch a grim counterpoint to the creature's desperate gasps. The blade, cold steel honed to a razor's edge, rested inches from the creature's single, remaining eye, a pinpoint of fear reflecting the flickering torchlight – a fear mirrored, perhaps, in the creature's dying soul. "You are fallen," Hael rasped, the words a venomous hiss devoid of any mercy, a chilling counterpoint to the creature's ragged, desperate breathing. "Now. Tell me about the Witch."
Malachite's reversion to human form was a grotesque spectacle – a horrifying eruption of bone and blood, a visceral symphony of pain audible even above the creature's death throes. The transformation suggested a potent, possibly demonic, power that had been forcibly suppressed, now brutally unleashed in death. Hael allowed the broken form of Malachite to collapse against the gnarled trunk of a nearby tree, the metallic tang of blood staining his boots, further evidence of the brutal encounter.
"What…do you want to know?" Malachite gasped, his voice a rattling whisper, each cough a fresh wave of agony ripping through his ravaged body. His once-powerful form was now a ruin. Hael crouched, bringing his face close, his eyes, cold as glacial ice, boring into the dying man's. "Everything."
A broken chuckle escaped Malachite's lips, followed by a spasm of coughing that shook his entire frame. "Well, a deal's a deal…" he wheezed, his words thick with pain and a strange, desperate defiance, a final act of will against impending death. "Her name is ZIZA. All-powerful. Scheming. Blood-sucking. Terrifying . Stay away. At all costs."
Hael glanced at Mary, her face etched with a mixture of horror and grim determination, her resolve clearly tested by the brutal scene unfolding before them. "Yes, I faced her in battle," Malachite croaked, his voice barely a breath, a testament to the Witch's formidable power.
"And you're still alive? Perhaps your God truly performs miracles," Mary muttered, her voice edged with awe and a chilling undercurrent of fear. Her comment revealed a deep-seated belief in the supernatural, a world seemingly populated by both terrifying entities and divine intervention. "Even I've heard whispers of her. The Black Witch. They say she controls Golgotha. People, demons… everything,but its only been a rumour,to think you actually met her" Hael's gaze, sharp as shattered glass, returned to Malachite. "Where will I find her?"
"Some say she's sin incarnate," Mary's voice vibrated with a suppressed terror, "making pacts with the very Devil himself." The description painted a picture of Ziza as a being of immense evil, her power derived from unholy alliances.
Malachite struggled for breath, his chest heaving, his lifeblood staining the earth, a final, desperate attempt to cling to life. Hael pressed, "Where?"
Malachite paused, his eyes wide with a sudden, desperate understanding, a realization that his fate was sealed and his secrets might be his undoing. "Whatever you think you're doing… don't. It won't work. She… she sees all." His final warning hinted at Ziza's preternatural abilities and the futility of Hael's quest.
Before he could utter another word, a monstrous shadow descended from the inky blackness of the night. A blood-rend, its scales shimmering like obsidian, snatched Malachite in its jaws, its talons tearing into flesh, and vanished into the night, a terrifying display of power beyond human comprehension. Mary lunged, dagger flashing, a desperate attempt to intervene, but Hael's hand clamped down on her arm, his grip like iron, preventing her from pursuing a suicidal act against such a formidable beast.
"We're running out of time," he growled, his voice low and urgent, his words reflecting the gravity of the situation and the desperate urgency of their mission. "Golgotha. We need to reach Golgotha now." The urgency in his voice made it clear.
Hael and Mary return to their horses.
The Chamber of the Elders was a vault of silence, its high ceilings carved with the stern faces of prophets long turned to dust. The air smelled of aged parchment and smoldering incense, thick with the weight of divine authority. Twelve thrones of white oak formed a crescent around the central dais, each occupied by a figure draped in robes of deep crimson, their faces obscured by hoods shadowed like the mouths of caves.
At the head of the assembly sat Elder Reuben , his gnarled fingers steepled before him, the only man whose hood was thrown back—revealing a face like cracked stone, his milky left eye a testament to battles fought before Zion's walls were raised.
"Summon the Archon Primus," he commanded, his voice a rasp of gravel.
A guard in polished silver armor stepped forward, his helm clutched under his arm. Sweat beaded on his brow.
"My lords," he began, then hesitated.
"Speak," hissed Elder Miriam, the only woman among them, her voice like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath.
The guard swallowed. "Hael is not within the city."
A beat of silence. Then—
"What?" The word came not from Reuben, but from Elder Jotham , a mountain of a man whose fists clenched as if already imagining wringing the Archon's neck. "Where is he?"
"Gone," said the guard. "His armor remains. His axe. Only his travel cloak is missing."
"Golgotha," murmured Elder Malachi, the youngest among them, his lips curling around the word like a curse. "He hunts the Witch."
The chamber erupted.
"Blasphemy!" Jotham roared, surging to his feet. "No Archman moves without the Council's decree! Without Yahweh's will!"
"And yet," Miriam said coolly, "he has."
Reuben remained still, his single good eye fixed on the empty space where Hael should have stood. When he spoke again, the room fell silent.
"This is defiance. Not of us—of the Divine Order itself."
Jotham struck the arm of his throne, the crack of splitting wood echoing. "He abandons his post! Leaves Zion unguarded in the hour of her greatest peril!"
"Does he?" Malachi's voice was quiet, dangerous. "Or does he strike at the serpent's head before it can bite?"
"It does not matter!" Jotham wheeled on him. "The Law is clear! No crusade is waged without sanction! No blade is drawn unless the Lord commands it!"
Miriam leaned forward. "And if the Lord commanded Hael in a vision? In a whisper?"
"Then he should have come to us!" Jotham bellowed. "We are the voice of God on earth! Or has the Archon forgotten that?"
Reuben exhaled, long and slow. "Pride," he said. "Damn that man ,Damn him!."
A murmur of agreement. Even Malachi lowered his eyes.
"He must be retrieved," Reuben continued. "Before he is lost. Before he becomes something we must put down."
Jotham sneered. "And who will drag him back? "
"No." Reuben's gaze slid to the far end of the chamber, where a figure stood cloaked in silence. "Briel."
The Archon stirred, his golden crucifix glinting in the torchlight. He had been listening. Waiting.
"You will go to Golgotha," Reuben said. "You will find Hael. And you will remind him—there is no will but the Lord's. No purpose but Zion's."
Briel bowed his head. "And if he refuses?"
The silence stretched.
Then—
"Then you will bring his head," Reuben said softly, "and a new Archon will be raised in his place."
Briel's jaw tightened. But he nodded.
As he turned to leave, Malachi spoke once more. "And the Witch?"
Reuben's eye gleamed. "That is no concern of ours,Hael must be retrieved to face punishment "
The chamber darkened as the torches guttered, as if the very light feared what had been set in motion.