Ash blew from a swirling vortex, the rift having formed right up against the hillside. Archivauld frowned, eying the darkly shimmering gateway.
The rift looked similar to the others he had seen, though it leaked so much essence he could actually see it, like mist leaking from the edges.
This rift was definitely more powerful than the coppers he had already cleared. The higher density of essence made him uneasy, as if to warn him away.
Despite the feeling, he moved closer, pausing next to Foxy who had her nose to the ground just in front of the rift. The intermittent droplets of ichor they had been following led him right to the rift he was looking for.
Quite convenient, though also concerning. Whatever had been injured had fled to this rift, perhaps to hide? The smart thing to do would be to get help, and go in with overwhelming force. Problem was, it would be at least a week to go to stronghold, and then another to come back. Whoever, or whatever was hiding in this rift would be long gone by then.
Archivauld shared a glance with Foxy, who seemed more than eager to enter. She was likely excited to gorge herself on all the monsters inside.
It only took a few seconds of deliberation to make up his mind. There were many unknows, but one thing was still true. He needed to clear the rift to fulfill his contract. Not to mention he was curious what was causing these disappearances.
All these towns with their people disappearing had stumped the Order for months. If he could unravel the mystery on his own, he could stick it to those uptight, holier than thou inquisitors.
Not to mention helping get rid of the culprits.
Pulling one over on the Order would be amusing, but that was just the cherry on top.
Despite his eagerness, he couldn't rush into this. Whoever was slaughtering, or capturing entire towns would not be weak. He understood that, but he was fairly confident. After all, this enemy was injured, and he had Foxy to help out.
Having made up his mind he strode forwards, entering the rift, ax in hand. He wasn't going to lie, a large part of his reason for entering was the thought of all that essence inside.
What if his enemy harvested it all?
The mere thought made him break out into a sprint, his skin wriggling as the stench of sulfur filled his nose.
His body grew rapidly, long curved claws sprouting from his fingers and toes.
The midmorning sun was replaced by a gloomy overcast sky, ask and snow filling the air. He took a deep breath, the bitter chill and stench of sulfur in air smelling like home. Unbidden, a ghastly, monstrous wail echoed across the desolate landscape, announcing his presence.
The real monster had arrived, and he was going to collect his due. Beside him, foxy seemed to share in his excitement, letting out a long, high pitched bark.
His earlier anxiety was pushed to the back of his mind, excitement overcoming him. This intruder better not be taking what was rightfully his.
The two monsters took off at a rapid pace, with Foxy in the lead, following the intermittent droplets of blood in the snow.
It was honestly quite surprising for there to be a bloodtrail at all after several miles into the rift. The air inside was bitter cold, enough to freeze a bucket or water solid in minutes.
Archivauld hoped the thing they were chasing didn't freeze to death, or bleed out before he could catch the. Just as he had that thought, the forest shook, the trees and their stubby branches whipping back and forth as something exploded ahead.
Archivauld didn't slow, his heartbeat quicking as his clawed feet gouged into the snow and dirt beneath, propelling him forward. As he ran, a battle raged ahead, angry roars cut off by explosions of ice and ash.
Shockwaves rocked the forest, powerful enough to shake him to his bones. He wanted to rush in, but slid to a stop just before leaving the treeline.
Panting for breath, he ducked behind a stubby tree, finally getting a good look at what he was chasing.
His heart skipped a beat as he took in the creature.
She, as it could only be a she, given her lythe curves, was nearly as tall as he was, all corded muscle, with long flowing hair the color of obsidian.
Long curved claws that could put some monsters to shame sprouted from her fingers, her clawed feet giving solid traction in the ice and snow as she fought for her life.
Decked in tattered, ichor stained scaled armor, she fought off a hoard of boar-like monsters, with silver tusks and teeth that could put most lions to shame.
They were called Iron boar, tough buggers with thick hide, and tusks that could rip through scaled armor like it wasn't there.
Stumbling onto an Iron boar hollow was a good way to die if unprepared. All on her own, the monstrous woman fought the boar off, already having killed half of them, showing incredible reflexes and combat awareness. Uncaring of their losses, the iron boar were relentless, using overwhelming odds to take her down.
Constantly on the move, she unleashed devastating spears of ice, each one taking the lives of multiple monsters, creating gory explosions on impact.
Her dagger was just as effective, cutting through thick hide like it wasn't there. She moved like a leaf on the wind, her long curved dagger finding eyes and slitting throats, her free hand launching those devastating spears of ice.
Fending off so many iron boar all by herself was quite the feat, though it obviously couldn't last. The woman was clearly in a bad way.
Thick ichor oozed from a nasty wound on her lower back, a debilitating wound to humans. Archivauld was honestly shocked she was still on her feet, still able to fight in that condition.
She must have walked at least several miles with that horrific injury creating the trail he had followed, and now was battling monsters. The fact she could even stand was remarkable.
She was doing incredibly well, but that could only last so long. Whether it was blood loss, or fatigue, maybe both, she failed to block one of the gigantic pigs hitting her in the side.
She was thrown head over heels, hitting her head off the side of a tree. She went down with a yelp of pain, falling like a sack of potatoes into the ash covered snow. Archivauld was already on the move, hand extended. He couldn't exactly let her die before interrogating her. A cone of cutting wind tore up snow and dirt, gouging deep lacerations into the thick hide of the quadrupedal monster.
It squealed in pain, and anger whirling to face him. Archivauld met its charge head on. Ax held to his side, he rushed at the charging boar, narrowly avoiding its charge with a rapid sidestep. The oversized pig tried to turn, but was too slow, his ax coming down on its neck with a loud crunch of bone.
A deafening squeal echoed from its mouth as Its spine broke from the full force blow, the body falling and creating a furrow in the snow as it slid past.
Ripping his ax from its back, Archivauld whirled, raising his hand as more of the boar squealed in anger and rushed him. They seemed personally offended that he killed one of their pack. All seven came from all sides, their tusks long and sharp, each one the size of his arm. Getting gored by one of those would not be a good time, neither would be being bitten by that carnivorous maw.
Despite being surrounded and outnumbered, Archivauld didn't flee. Darkness formed atop his clawed hand, a ball of utter black that swallowed all light. In moments it swelled from the size of his pinky nail, to the size of a watermelon, an orb of absolute darkness.
With a clap of wind, he unleashed the power of his third divine curse. True Darkness swallowed everything within fifty meters, instantly blanketing the area. It was a pitch black, so absolute, that anyone caught inside wouldn't be able to see their hand in front of their face.
A human would have been utterly helpless, but his Nether champion form was not so restricted. The monstrous boars caught inside were just as blinded. Creating a deafening racket, they squealed like crazy, thrashing around wildly, not realizing their intended enemy was no longer in their way.
Several smashed into each other, their large tusks and teeth gouging into fur and flesh as they collided.
The others were less fortunate, with Archivauld moving like a specter, his ax descending like a scythe to reap their lives.
Disoriented and confused, the monsters blindly attacked in every direction, doing more damage to each other than him. Blind and angry, trapped in his domain of absolute darkness, the boars were helpless to defend themselves.
It was a slaughter. When the darkness finally dispersed a minute later, all the monsters were down, with Archivauld wrenching his ax from the back of the last one.
They were tough buggers, their hide thick, and tough to cut through. Some of these big jerks took quite a few swings before he could crack their spines and make them fall. It was a good thing they were quite stupid, most of them choosing to flail around wildly instead of fleeing the area of his darkness.
Some could have just run in a straight line, and been out quickly. Not that it would have helped them.
Panting, Archivuald wiped the blade of his ax on the closest monster's fur, scanning the forest for threats. All he found was foxy, face deep in the belly of a monster who had tried to flee, already chowing down on fresh hog meat.
That glutton hadn't even waited for him to finish the fight before starting the feast. Archivauld shook his head at the shameless behavior, his feet leaving bloody footprints as he walked towards his target.
The woman was still out of it, probably even dead. He paused a few feet away, peering down at the monstrous woman. Thick ichor oozed from where she hit her head, staining her black hair. The wound on her lower back was definitely the worst, an injury that would have already made a human die of blood loss.
He hesitated as to what to do? This creature had curves and a face that some might find attractive. Even so, she was obviously not human. Her mouth was filled with razor sharp teeth, her skin a pale gray, and her claws. Damn, those were some claws.
He wanted to question her, but she was unlikely to even wake up if he didn't do something about those injuries. Not to mention how powerful that ability she had been using was.
He really didn't want to get impaled by a spear of ice when she awoke. The lethality of her long curved dagger was no joke either. In fact, the dagger was almost identical to the one he picked up earlier, as if they were a set.
Archivauld slipped the dagger into his belt next to the other, frowning as he considered his options.
Questions her might be harder than expected. She needed a healer, and badly. Archivuald could use his holy orb on her, be he suspected that would do more harm than good. Archivauld still remembered the searing, ungodly pain he felt after trying to heal himself.
She was not the same kind of monster he was, but he suspected their origin was similar. This creature lying unconscious in the snow was a creature from the dark gods domain. Judging by her appearance, he suspected she was an abyssal fiend, though he couldn't be certain..
The Order believed that humans were the creation of the holy mother, while the miscreations of the nether, were the abyssal fiends, the children of the dark god.
Built in a mockery of humanity, abyssal fiends were said to be hideous, more monster than human, twisted from their time in the abyssal realm. Archivuald had been preached to a lot about how vile and hideous the creatures of the Nether were, but seeing one in person completely shattered that notion.
Sure, they were not human, exactly, quite a bit taller, with some monstrous features, but this one was quite easy on the eyes. Not that her looks would sway him. If this woman was one of those responsible for wiping out that town, he would kill her without hesitation.
Now… How to get her well enough to interrogate her? Based on his own experiences, using his holy orb on her wounds might just kill her.
The best he could do was bandage her injuries and hope for the best. Who knew, maybe she had the same kind of monstrous recovery he did while in his nether champion form?
After performing basic first aid, he removed her armor, and tore his cloak into long strips of fabric.
The wind was bitterly cold, but it felt like a refreshing spring breeze in his monster form. Losing his cloak was annoying, but he wasn't going to play this risky with no idea what other emblems she might have. He used the long strips as a makeshift rope, binding her ankles, knees, wrists and arms together. By the end, she looked like a trussed up pig.
It might not have been honorable to peek under a woman's shirt without permission and gaze upon their tattoo, but he wasn't an idiot. Honor was dead, and people were alive. He would be a fool not to look.
He wasn't a pervert, just practical. Not to mention, he had to remove most of her equipment to wrap her wounds. The one on her back was the worst by far, a deep wound that was quite nasty, turning green at the edges.
After bandaging her up, he rifled through the small pack she carried, finding what looked like medical supplies. There was some foul-smelling paste in a vial, and some pills with a strange script on the vial, probably for medicinal use.
Or they could be poisonous for all he knew. He waited a half an hour for her to wake, her chest rising and falling slowly. Her breaths seemed to be getting weaker as she slowly faded.
Archivuald didn't want to risk killing her with unknown pills, but he didn't have much of a choice. She wasn't waking, her condition only getting worse. She was going to die if he did nothing, so he decided, what the hell.
First, Archivuald lathered the pungent-smelling salve on her wounds. It seemed to help a little, though it wasn't enough. Shrugging, he fed her one of the pills. What could go wrong? When nothing happened after a long minute, he decided to go big or go home. Propping open her mouth, he dumped the whole vial of ten pills down her throat, covering her mouth and forcing her to swallow.
Her unconscious reflex worked. She swallowed, relaxing back into the snow, still trussed up like a pig. Archivauld waited patiently, the crunch of foxy eating echoing from nearby. Nothing happened for several long minutes.
Archivuald thought the pills might be a dud, and was resigned to her death. It was a shame, all that work for nothing. He figured she kicked the bucket, at least until she started thrashing. What Archivuald didn't know was that he had just fed her ten burning ember pills. A pill that healed wounds, though with a troubling downside. Eating only one felt like being burned alive from the inside, healing wounds at the cost of incredible pain.
The woman woke with a start, screaming bloody murder, thrashing around violently as the wholly indescribable pain of being burned alive washed through her body. Having been force-fed ten pills, she writhed around in the snow, her screams of agony enough to wake the dead. Archivuald honestly considered putting her down to stop the suffering, though he held himself back upon seeing the injury on her head rapidly closing.
It looked incredibly painful, smoke rising from her skin as old flesh was burned away, replaced by the new. The fiery torture lasted for a solid minute, as she thrashed around, the screams of agony making his ears ring.
She was left in a panting, steaming mess, heaving on her side as she gasped for breath. Still bound tightly, all she could do was glare as she caught sight of him. He was obviously the one responsible for her current predicament, and she clearly wasn't happy about it.
Her slitted silver eyes were cold enough to kill as she blinked up at him, her tears evaporating as the fiery pills finished their work.
"Raknavi? Verduna, alas tras?" She asked. The woman's voice was surprisingly feminine, speaking in a language he had never heard before.