Seven (CH1-4)

Surrounded by women, albeit monster women, was a mixed bag for me. On one hand, half of them would be more than willing to wine and dine me, on the other, my job doesn’t allow me to do that, nor am I here for them. A dimly lit, ballroom surrounded by Incubi, Humans and enough Mamono to fill a palace. Alcohol, tobacco and scent of sex lingered throughout the room, with half of the people here coming from rich nobility of Order nations, ex-order Military or the Demon Empire. An absolutely hedonistic mess, to say the least, and I despised with all my fury.

But wallowing in my own morals was to ignore my mission, which would mean failure, and no one in my order tolerated failure, even if that succubus on my left had been shooting seductive glares throughout the night and the waft of mamono mana was altering my mind more than a bottle of whiskey could’ve. Iskendar Babshylk was his name, a man from the east that hailed from a tribe of Barbarians, opting to convert to our faith. Rising up the ranks rather quickly, the steppe-dweller was once one of the strongest Paladins in the Order, to the point where the man was aptly nicknamed ‘Hero’ by friend and foe alike.

Key phrase is was. The man was a Paladin, before murdering three of his comrades in cold blood and trading in a life of glory and valour to consorting with Demon nobles. What was once a paragon of justice had devolved into a man with immense amounts of knowledge and secrets of Mankind’s last bastion falling into enemy hands, a liability. The Order did not accept liabilities or risks.

Hence why I was dispatched, to remove this liability. Walking through the drunk, sex-crazed hordes of Man and Monster, all fixating their gazes upon me, I kept myself stoic and focused on my target, standing fairly tall and rugged, obvious from his days of training, he was distracted with a glass of wine in one hand and a Demon in the other, laughing alongside the female company he kept. Compared to my smaller, more athletic build, fit as an Assassin, if we were to spar, I would’ve been brutally beaten. But an Assassin is smart, he knows when to strike, how strike and where, victory at any costs, regardless of what it takes.

Constant tugging and hands draped over my body from Mamono everywhere had left me cringing in despair, any of these women were easily as strong as the average knight, if not more, and could pin me down and take me with ease, but I steeled my resolve, pushing closer, till I finally caught the attention of the former Paladin, who smirked and gestured me over.

Walking over, I looked up at the man’s rugged face, clearly intoxicated, as his long, dark hair draped over his eyes, as he ran a hand through his stubble, before finally speaking.

“Another Order deserter here, I see. What’s your name, brother?” Iskendar inquired, as his hands were down the pants of another girl coddling over to him.

“I… I’m John, sir. Forgive my awkwardness, it’s just strange meeting someone like you, in well, a place like this.” I coughed a fake stutter, smiling innocently back at the figure, who had put his glass to the side, before draping a thick arm over my shoulder, easily bringing me over, despite his intoxicated state.

“Relax, neither of us need to be formal, it’s a party after all.” Iskendar replied, it seemed that even with his years of linguistics in the Church, the stereotypical thick steppe accent remained with him. “Look around you, see all these beautiful girls and the men they have taken a liking to? This is celebration, John, this is the future.”

“The future?” I replied, part of initiating conversation was to see if I could extract any information from the target before execution. “The future of what, Iskendar?”

Smirking to himself, the former Paladin chuckled before gesturing his company of women away, rather unenthusiastically, as he walked me through the packed hallways of the ballroom.

“The message they told us at the Order, while with a good intention, is flawed. I’ll tell you something they don’t tell you in other places. What do you think of the Chief God, John?” He asked.

“Well… I believe in her teachings and love her devoutly!” I spoke proudly, even if I was acting under a guise, my loyalty and beliefs could never be compromised.

“Even when you bask in a place of degeneracy like this?” Iskendar smirked “I’m kidding, I’m sure even an Assassin has to enjoy himself once in a while, right, ‘John’?”

My eyes widened in shock, as I attempted to move, but felt myself restrained by the Warrior’s vice grip against my shoulder, keeping me close as possible to him. Sighing, I rolled my eyes before nodding.


“Glad to see you playing along nicely, you’d probably get murdered or raped anyway if you tried. I don’t want any violence in this party, unless it’s consensual.” Iskendar replied, continuing to walk me through the hallways. It was only now where I finally felt the intensity of the music, moans and whails echoing through the night, where it finally hit me, was the intensity of Mamono finally getting to me?

“What do you want from me then?” I asked, breaking the facade I had maintained before. I had never been caught like this, not in all five years of serving as an Assassin, nor were we trained for anything like this with anything but suicide, but I had no way of doing that.

“You came here for answers, no? That, and killing me, but I just want to talk, I promise you won’t get killed here.” He replied, as we finally reached the entrance of a room, presented by a large, wooden door. The ex-paladin opened it, before both of us entered, alongside a blonde Succubus dressed in a maid’s outfit kneeling before us.

“Master, is there anything else you’d like me to do?” The Succubus asked, to be met with Iskendar shaking his head. “Very well then, I’ll be on my way.”

“Take the night off, there’s plenty of men and women there enjoying themselves, so should you.” Iskendar stopped the maid from leaving, holding her arm, only blushing in response.

“But the mistress had stat-” Replied the Succubus maid, only to be interrupted.

“Forget about that, she’s there too. You should let loose once in a while, Kali. If anyone even thinks about bringing it up, tell them I gave you permission.” He shrugged, earning a gleeful smile and bow from the girl, scurrying off before closing the door.

Iskendar gestured toward the two chairs faced against each other inside the room, appearing to be a private study. Just glancing at the furniture and their craftsmanship spoke much about the sheer wealth of whoever owned this estate, as I finally took a seat, leaning against the soft frame of the chair.


Pulling out a pipe and filling it with what seemed to be Tobacco, Iskendar leaned back as well, snapping his fingers to conjure a small flame, before huffing and puffing against the entrance of the lit pipe, blowing rings of smoke and sighing in relief.

“You want some? It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about.” The man offered the pipe toward me, only for me to deny.

“I’m good, thank you. I’ll start, why did you betray the Order?” I inquired, prepared to collect everything possible.

“I don’t believe in their message, alongside that of the Chief God’s. She wants to keep Humanity weak and passive, a slave to her wishes.” He replied nonchalantly.

“And you care about Humanity that much?” I said, anger rising in my voice.

“Not entirely, Mamono aren’t that bad. They’re cute, eager and much, much better than Human women, you get a lot of benefits siding with the Demons too, not to mention the healthcare and lifestyles they’ve got make anything the Order has look like shit.” Iskendar shrugged, chuckling to himself while inhaling more Tobacco smoke.

“And you believe in their lies and deceit? How could Iskendar Babshylk, great Paladin and Hero of the Steppes fall for a mere Demon’s lies? This is heresy!” I roared at him, slamming my fists down on the table.

“Are you telling me you didn’t find Kali attractive? Or are you an Alp type of guy?” He grinned.


Thoughts of the blonde Succubus flashed through my head, causing blood to rush to my cheeks. While my oath to the Order kept me chaste and as holy as possible, it was impossible not to find our enemies attractive, it was so much better to fight an Incubus than a Demon, at least then I would not be distracted during my duty.

“Look at you! You do find her attractive. You know, she’s a virgin like you, pretty rare for a Succubus. If you want, I can hook you two up, you look like her type after all.” Continuing to laugh, Iskendar looked smugly at me.

“I want nothing to do with it, it’s out of question. I have no time for games, traitor. I want you to summarize everything for me, right now, do not waste my time more than you have already, I am an Assassin, and I will take action if I must.” I muttered, sighing in confusion.

“I haven’t lied to you so far. It’s a personal preference. I love fighting, I love building things, I enjoy discipline and Order, but I like to have fun, Inquisitor. There is beauty in this world past gospel choirs and constant praying. The Order calls everything outside of it’s small minded worldview ‘heresy’, but did you know the founding fathers had taken Mamono for wives? Or that most of our ‘heroes’ end up becoming traitors too? It’s a pointless battle. Hell, I haven’t even incubized yet, nor do I plan to, so far, I haven’t even taken up a wife yet, as they would’ve expected, yet they treat me, a man who’s slaughtered thousands of their own, as a Lord, as a King, far better than a slave to some Papist noble.” Iskendar began his rant, his tone increasing in ferocity and intensity with every passing word.

“Yet y-”

“I am not finished yet, Church Dog.” He spat. “I have seen those with the potential to be heroes, to revolutionize and actually reform the Order, to perhaps save this damned ‘last bastion of Humanity’, executed, branded as heretics or worse! I have seen Nobles and Paladins violate both women and boys for their own sick amusement, while chanting a passage out of some holy book and letting the village idiots praise them for their ‘heroics’.” He had finally finished, beginning to calm down.

“I… I do not know what to say.” I lay there, shocked by his speech. Over the years, I had always had my own doubts and criticisms of the Order, yet assumed that it was sin clouding my mind, but to hear another man say it, especially one who was once so high among Man, had brought out my darkest concerns into light and fruction.

“Ever heard of a man named Heihach Amisch?” Iskendar asked.

“Of course.” I nodded back. Anyone in the Order had known Amisch, a young man who showed immense potential, often named to be one of our greatest champions, perhaps strong enough to defeat the cursed Demon Lord and her traitorous Husband.


“That man was my best friend, my blood brother. Do you know he was executed?” Iskendar asked, yet I knew the reason. Too much debate and controversy was caused over the man’s crimes.

“Murdering an Archduke.” I gulped.

“Do you know why?” He continued, yet I only shook my head, causing him to lean forward. “That Archduke was running a slave ring, presumably to other nobles for sex. Heihach found the man forcing a ten year old Lamia into a marriage with him while forcing her brother to watch. Heihach murdered the man to protect them, does this sound like heresy to you?”

“I… Forgive me, had I known, we were aware but we never…” I stammered and stumbled in my seat, my order had always known, but kept the Archduke in power for ‘political’ and ‘financial’ interests. It had never occurred to me that it was on this sheer magnitude.

“You couldn’t have, your higher-ups decided everything. Now you understand - The Order is corrupted, flawed and centuries behind ideologically. At least with the Demons, I am able to execute my own ideas so long as I am a vassal underneath the Demon Lord.” Iskendar had stood up from his seat, stepping toward me.

Now was my chance, however. Lunging out of my seat, I drew my dagger, darting toward his neck, only to be met by his hand grabbing my shoulder and flinging me against the tiled floor. Pain spasmed throughout my body, yet before I could get up, I was already restrained and disarmed by the former Paladin.

“Can’t blame me for trying, can you?” I chuckled, still writhing in pain.

“I expected you to, most attempt to stay true to the Order even with the knowledge I told them. An Assassin is a zealot at his core.” Iskendar shrugged.

“So what, you’re going to kill me?” I grimaced.

“Why would I do that? You know, if there’s something I’ve learned, it’s that you never know what evil and good is, till you’ve experienced both. I’ll make a wager with you, survive a night against that entire horde outside this door, I’ll renounce my ideology and kill every Monster here, along with myself. On the other hand… I’ll win by then anyway, so I’ll just wish you good luck.”

My eyes widened in realization of the fate I’d been dealt. I roared, attempting to roll and break out of his grip, like a cornered animal, but to no avail.

“Please, even if you have some morality, this is too far!” I begged.

“Relax, they’re not going to hurt you. On the other hand, you’ll really see the kind of pleasures that Human women can’t compete with.” Iskendar chuckled, before dragging me toward the front door, where a horde of Mamono stood there, cheering, chanting for me, all of them with a hungry look in their eyes, the same way a predator eyes it’s prey.

“Enjoy the party, Assassin.” Iskendar whispered in my ear, before throwing me toward them.

My last few moments were being surrounded by naked bodies, sweat and alcohol, my body going numb, yet in constant pleasure, and definitely naked myself.

CHAPTER 1: Life of an Exile

“Heihach! Get up already!” A young boy’s voice echoed through his ear, causing the man to groan and force himself up from his sleeping bag.

Wiping the saliva off his face, Heihach glanced back at his bed, smirking to himself at the sight of two naked women draped over the animal skinned blankets, before looking back to the pasty, dirt-covered boy who’d awoken him from his nap.

“And I was having a good dream.” The dark haired man chuckled, running a hand through his short beard, as the boy handed him a bucket of water, which he used to wash his body in a rush, finally awake. “What do you want, boy?”

“His Majesty sent me, you’re being called.” The child responded, causing Heihach to roll his eyes, walking toward the set of Iron armour and clothing resting at the side of his tent.

After donning a shirt, short trousers, sandals and greaves, Heihach put on his breastplate, before finally sheathing his sword and holding his bronze, battered shield - Despite been through so much wear and tear, the shield held on, which held a sentimental value to the former Paladin, now Mercenary.

The two left the tent, with the man squinting at the glare of the sun, as he stared at the waves of the sea, brushing up against the coastline of the beach, before finally walking over to a brown horse, saddling up toward it.

“Is it true what they say about you? That you were once a Paladin in the West? Someone said you can’t be killed in a fight!” The boy exclaimed, as he handed the mercenary a small iron helmet, fit for covering the forehead and nose.

“Wouldn’t be bothering with all this armour if I was invincible, now would I?” Heihach grumbled, before tugging on his horse’s reigns, preparing to leave.

“I saw the size of the beast you’re fighting, it’s huge! I’d never be able to fight something like that.” Replied the child.

“That is why no one will remember your name.” Heihach grinned, before finally riding off.

Arriving to be greeted and cheered on by the army of soldiers, alongside an angry King, Heihach ignored the calls, far too hungover to bother with them, as the army split in two, creating a path for him to go through. Finally reaching the front, the mercenary got off the Horse, as an elderly, over-dressed man began to scold him.

“Perhaps we should continue this when you’re better rested, sleeping beauty.” He spat.

“Perhaps you should fight then.” Turning toward the King, Heihach spat on the floor, eyes glaring at the elderly man, who stepped back and turned away.

“Heihach, please. I’m begging you, end this fight with one death, and you’ll spare the lives of these men, Gods know that we’ve already spilt enough blood.” Another man placed an hand on his shoulder reassuringly - The general of the army, also known as his latest employer.

Grunting, Heihach nodded, once again being cheered on by the dozens of armed soldiers, as he turned around to face the opposing army in the distance, a sparse contrast to the Humans he was with, instead being filled with Incubi, Mamono and monsters. Their champion stood there, roaring and grunting, a massive waraxe held in his hand, yet his size was not the strangest thing about him, but his race - It was rare to spot minotaurs nowadays, the red eyes, cloven hooves and sheer muscular build meant that they were bred for war, yet nowhere to be found anymore.

It meant he’d have a good fight after all. Even if he wasn’t a Paladin anymore, he still disliked the concept of the beach he’d taken residence on to become another demon realm, ruining the sunny, vibrant atmosphere it had. Perhaps he’d even build a villa here after this battle was finished, smirking at the thought.

But the Minotaur’s brutish yelling was enough to break him out of his daydream, as Heihach unsheathed his blade and held his shield in front of him, dashing toward the beast, who stood still, ready to strike.

“You small for Paladin, I smell it on you, Human.” The Minotaur chuffed, as Heihach instantly brought his shield up to block the Minotaur’s relentless assault.

He used his legs to support the weight of the blows, steeling himself against the constant strikes as the Minotaur began to run out of stamina. Timing his strike right, the mercenary slammed his shield into the snout of the beast, causing it to whail in pain, alongside thrusting his blade up against the throat of the beast, blood spilling down its body.

“Big talk coming from the beast that’s going to be steak tonight.” Heihach retorted, as he slid out his sword, before ducking and shifting his body to the Minotaur’s sides, who was now in a berserk rage, swinging it’s axe around violently without looking at his target. Seeing his final opening, Heihach twisted his body around, building up momentum, before slamming the side of his sword against the Minotaur’s neck, decapitating it in a single blow.


Walking away, Heihach yawned, waving at the crowd cheering for him, as he tossed his bloodied blade toward the shaking Royal, heading back to his camp.

“Next time, fight your own war. Leave my payment in my tent.” He spat, as he saddled up on his brown horse and began to gallop away.



Chapter 2: The Dragon Slayer

The sack of Gold lay by the sands, as the once-Paladin, now Mercenary lay against the wall of his tent, alighting a cigarette. Taking a long drag from the stick of tobacco, he exhaled, puffing smoke out from both his nostrils and mouth while taking in a view of the sea, it’s blue waves brushing against the coast repeatedly. He could’ve watched this forever, as the sun set down and welcomed the night sky.

But the soldiers around him were far too busy celebrating and being loud. Yes, they were celebrating a victory, but his victory nonetheless. An ancient tradition of armies to have their best champions duel and end the battle with a single life taken, which proved to be more effective and efficient than needless bloodshed. That's why they had hired Heihach in the first place, he was somewhat famous around the continent for his exploits, even this far east. Compared to his home in the North west, southeast from the Order’s home base. Mycaldon was a beautiful country, with it’s Etesian weather and complementary architecture. Once home to the ‘progenitors’ of intellectualism, civilization, art and culture, though they were a shadow of their former selves, the people were still proud as they once had been.

Even if they were stuck in a series of civil wars of city-states warring against each other, each’s king attempting to cement his rule as the ‘true’ ruler of the fragmented nation. King Kosta was his employer’s name, and while an overweight, balding mess of a man, his coin was the only thing that Heihach cared about, and so he fought under the banner of a man he could hardly respect.

But everything had its end, he’d lost track of how long it’d been since he was exiled, instead wandering from land to land as a sellsword. Occasionally, he’d meet-up with old friends who happened to be travelling, but other then that, it was an empty life, filled with easy women and easier fights. Despite practicing swordplay most nights, Heihach began to worry if he’d grown rusty, not being able to face an opponent worth his weight in a long while. Beforehand, he was used to fighting Incubi, Northern Barbarians, fellow Paladins and if he was lucky, a few heroes. But he went where the coin was easy, not much to do in Mycaldon besides the homoerotic boyloving culture they often participated, or endless drinking. The Mercenary had enough of one and would never do the other, though he’d share which was which.

And so the night passed, tales of drinking and smoking were shared among the army, occasionally calling out to Heihach, who refused and opted to his quarters. He had no idea when the next battle would be, only that they would be celebrating this latest take. He sat in his room, reading over an old grimoire he’d taken with him during his exile, reminding him of basic maneuvers using a sword and a shield. Glancing at his own, shoddy equipment, he grumbled to himself again - Back in the Order, he had access to some of the best technology possible, meaning the best weapons, armours and shields. He reminisced over the days where he had heroic strength and vigorous stamina, able to punch-out an Oni or a High Orc, duel a Dullahan and win and even outrun a Manticore. Nowadays, his power had begun to fade, alongside his borderline monstrous strength and speed. Instead, Heihach relied on reinforcing his technique and refining his senses in battle to compensate, and while it helped, it could never come close to his prime.

He paused, sighing to himself momentarily before closing the book and leaving his tent for some fresh air, reminiscing too much over the past tended to make him upset. Instead, he opted to head out, overhearing commotion with the soldiers, something far different from the usual riffraff, most yells of fear, before they began to go silent.

“I pity the man who wishes to fight me today, too bad I’ve got work to do.” The dark haired Mercenary chuckled to himself, recalling an old comedic line of value a friend once said to him. Reaching for his sword and shield,

Kicking open the flap doors of his tent, the crowd of soldiers sat by a campfire, now cowering in fear, had spotted the mercenary leaving his tent calling out to him in desperation. Nodding at them, they smiled at ease, still gesturing him over. The mercenary stepped toward them, each footstep causing sand to slip between his sandals, as he unsheathed his blade and kept his shield close, prepared for a surprise attack at any point. The atmosphere was far too quiet for his liking, and while he could sense certain ‘auras’ or ‘presences’ as other Paladins or Incubi could, Heihach wasn’t an idiot, he knew something or someone was definitely there.

His assertions were proven correct when his instincts screamed at him, causing the young mercenary to turn around and jump back, avoiding the massive figure falling from the sky, lance first. As the clouds of sand and dust shifted away, Heihach finally spotted the source of his problems - Tall, built like a brickhouse and covered in armour that could be described as ‘draconic’. He had no idea what metal it was made of, but to have the durability of enchanted plate, yet seem lightweight was no easy task, it’s dark azure colour gleamed in the moonlight, as the figure was covered head-to-toe in armour, it’s helmet, taking the shape of the head of a Dragon, covered everything but his lower face, which showed a scarred, light-skinned male, covered with a short, salt’n’pepper beard.

“Run, Heihach, it’s the Dragon Slayer, we’re screwed!” A soldier had yelled at the Mercenary, while the two warriors smirked at each other, the aptly named Dragon Slayer chuckling.

“Oh, I know. You should take a step back, it’s been a while, but I’ll take care of it.” Heihach grinned, nudging his head at the group of soldiers, immediately set on scurrying away from the two.


Within the Dragon Slayer’s gauntlet, was a weapon that could hardly be described as a spear or a lance, more akin to one belonging to a giant monster, rather than a Man. Almost seven feet tall in length, almost resembling a poleaxe with a dark, metal rod, it was definitely frightening to look at, even Heihach, a man who’d sparred with the mysterious figure countless times, found himself gulping at the sight of it.

The two glanced at each other for a split second, numerous battle plans rushing through the young mercenary’s tactics. He knew he was outmatched, against the man in front of him, he was surpassed in strength, experience, technique and whatever else possible, but he stood his ground, fearing for his life. Instantly dashing forward, yelling a warcry, Heihach thrusted his wrought iron blade at the Dragoon, only for the armoured figure to click his tongue and shake his arm briefly, using the oversized poleaxe to practically break the blade in half.

Heihach threw the broken blade away, before hoisting the bronze square shield up in front of him and continued to dash at the figure, only to have the weight of the poleaxe pushed to his side, a combination of it’s immense weight and the Dragon Slayer’s strength was more than enough to push him over, leaving him a defeated, confused mess against the Beach’s sandy shores.

“You got weak, real weak.” The Dragon Slayer had finally spoken. “I assumed when you said you were going to be a mercenary, you’d actually be killing things worth your time, not wasting your time with alp lovers.”

“Good to see you too, uncle Bart.” The Mercenary sighed, earning a kick of sand from his uncle, while Heihach lay in the sand momentarily, chuckling to himself. Defeat was one thing, but he was secretly booming, happy to see a family member instead of sobbing in his usual lonely state.

“Feelings mutual. Go a mile east from here, you’ll find a stone villa. Pack all your stuff, leave the equipment, it’s garbage.” Bart had spoken, before lowering himself into a half-squat and pushing his legs up, sending him flying into the air, disappearing into the night sky.
Continuing to lay against the sand, Heihach began to laugh to himself maniacally, his old, buried feelings rushing back to him. It had been far too long since anyone had come to see him, especially not his uncle, and favourite uncle at that, however, his thoughts were interrupted once again by the returning soldiers, shook in fear.

“D-did you just call the Dragon Slayer your uncle?” One had asked, to which Heihach had nodded, earning their further shock. “As in, Bartholomew Thomas, Royal Prince of Makai, the Dragon Slayer, brother of the King of the Demons, brother-in-law to the Demon Lord, that guy?”

“You don’t need to mention all his titles, ain’t like you worship him or something.” Heihach shrugged, before forcing himself up and walking back to his tent.

“Just who are you, Heihach?” Kosta had interrupted his thoughts. Heihach gritted his teeth, he had no reason to be around the King anymore, his presence alone made him angry, yet he kept himself calm, turning toward him.

“Ah, I didn’t give you full name, did I?” The former Paladin smirked, turning toward the crowd surrounding him. “Let me introduce myself properly. I’m Heihach Amisch, former Order Paladin, nephew to the Demon King… And well, they used to call me ‘Hero’, but I don’t think that’s accustomary anymore, seeing as I’ve just been hired by an Incubus lord.”

His words caused the surrounding crowd to instantly dissipate, leaving him to his own devices. Even a King knows when to stand down to real power, power of men like Heihach or Bart, that could slaughter their entire armies without a second thought.

Chapter 3: The Berzerker and a Mission

An hour’s walk had taken him across the shoreline, till he spotted an old, aegean stone villa, fairly large and easily more than enough to house a big family. It’s stone and white, terracotta walls had stood the test of time, probably built centuries ago with some refurbishment. It was amazing what some architects would do to keep their creations alive against the test of time.

A massive rucksack dangled at his back, carrying books, food, gold and whatever else he forced inside, and as Bart instructed, he came unarmed, which may prove to be unfavourable, but Heihach was too concerned on why the Dragoon had come to see him in the first place, his presence usually meant something important was on the way. Heihach did not deal well with stress.

Opening the metal door to the villa, Heihach’s footsteps trodding against the cool, marble tiles echoed throughout the spacious, lavish building, as he headed toward the sounds of what appeared to be Bart and another figure conversing, their voices echoing from an archway into another room. Taking a step in, the young mercenary’s assertions were correct, spotting an armoured Bart laying against a throne-like chair, speaking to blonde, fair-skinned man. It was uncommon to see someone of that size and complexion south of the continent, looking more akin to a northern Barbarian, the same ones that worshipped the Fallen God, than anyone Bart would usually associate with.

Then again, from what Heihach recalled from his ‘’uncle’s’’ past, he did a lot of things, it wouldn’t be surprising about the amount of connections the man had. And just as he finished the note to himself, the two paused their conversation, both staring at him, especially the northerner.

“Great, you’re here. Sit down, Heihach, I want you to meet Gaunt. He’s the grandson of an old friend of mine.” Bart nodded, as Heihach returned the gesture and took a seat amongst the two warriors, with Gaunt continuing to throw dirty looks at the mercenary.

“I’m sorry, Bart, but this is the man you’ve been telling me about? Some basic mercenary? You told me this man was a former Paladin and ‘hero’ material. He’s hardly Knight material, and you expect him to help us on our mission?” Gaunt had scoffed at Heihach, shaking his head in disapproval, while Heihach remained silent. He knew better than to argue with someone else’s guests, and that Bart always knew what he was doing.

“Shut up, Gaunt. If I wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked. Heihach is the best man for this job, and yes, while I do agree that he is ‘unequipped’ in many ways and definitely out of practice,” Bart paused between speaking, stretching out his arms, his armour clinking with each movement he made. “We have time, let me take care of his ‘training’, trust in me.”

Gaunt remained silent, still annoyed, but grunted, refusing to make eye contact with Heihach, who finally decided to speak up.

“You called me here for a job? Rude way to say hi, uncle Bart.” The young mercenary chuckled, earning a slap from the Dragoon.

“You don’t get any leeway either, you’ve gotten sloppy as hell. You’re lucky I’ve got enough time and resources to put you back into shape.” Bart barked back at the young man.

“Sloppy? I’ve been fighting non-stop ever since I got kicked out!” He snapped back, earning Bart’s ire.

“Fighting? You mean looking for the cheapest, easiest coin and wasting your time fighting men that could never stand up to you? Sure, the odd monster once in a while, but you never bothered to polish yourself up properly. Even as a mercenary, you could’ve gone to more dangerous areas, fought people worth your time, maybe then you’d actually be somewhat of a threat. In your current state? I’m disappointed, Heihach.” The Dragoon sighed, using his helmet to hide his facial expression, but it didn’t take an idiot to tell the grizzled veteran was rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, we’ll work on that later. What’s this ‘grand mission’ you guys are so worried about?” Heihach inquired.

As if prepared for the response, a number of papers were slammed onto the table by Bart, numerous maps, portraits and seals from important government officials plastered over. Heihach took a quick glance at them, recognizing a few names - Names of people with power, real power. Names he learned to fear and respect rather quickly during his time in the Order’s academy.

“A top-ranking Paladin turnedcoat to the Demon Army, beginning to conquer territory that belonged to the Order and began to act as a Vassal to the Demon Lord.” Bart informed the two, while Heihach remained unimpressed.

“That’s normal stuff.” He waved off the dossier, interrupting the Dragoon. “Ain’t it good for them, I thought you didn’t work for the Order, after all.”

“I don’t. Let me finish, dumbass. Turns out he’s got bigger plans than just retiring to a life of being a rich Inucubus. The man has somehow managed to recruit six powerful individuals from around the globe, serving with him as Vassals to the Demon Lord - Now that’s a massive shift in power, scary on it’s own, but it gets more interesting.” Bart paused, before pulling out an old photo of what appeared to be a man familiar to Heihach, an old friend smiling alongside a girl draped in a royal’s outfit, her pale horns and wings a dead giveaway to her heritage.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me? The bastard seduced a Lilim?” Heihach roared in anger.

“Your old pal Iskendar. Who knew? Problem is, Iskendar is much stronger than we gave him credit for, something to do with abusing Mana, some cursed weapons and definitely sorcery, powers we really don’t want to get involved with. But those six other men aren’t Paladins, just prominent warriors, magicians and a few monsters, that are vying together to overthrow the Demon Lord. These are all tough bastards, wanted in a few countries and governments. They’ve formed their own little territories, governing as independent warlords.” The Dragoon continued, as if he had memorized the topic at hand.

“And that’s where Gaunt and I come in. Why doesn’t the Order or the Demon Lord do anything about it?” Heihach inquired.

“Order’s scared shitless, Demon Lord has too much on her plate, what with defending Makai with David, constant attacks by Gods, the usual. They’ve also managed to convince some of the leading figures in their Army not to bother them… Having their own forces doesn’t seem to hurt either.” The old veteran responded, running a hand through his thick beard. “Besides, it isn’t just us three, there’s a few more people I’ve got involved. Including Val.” He winked, causing Heihach to grimace.

“Val? God please, not her.” Heihach shook his head, burying the last memory of interacting with the Dragoon’s daughter.

“Come on, it’ll be fun for you two to catch up.” He chuckled in response, taking pleasure in Heihach’s fearful eyes.

 It’d been years since he’d met Bart’s daughter, his childhood friend and with their history together, Heihach was scared, very scared. Unlike his uncle, who’d been a notorious playboy in his youth, Heihach hardly had time for women, the closest thing he’d had to intimacy was his strange relationship with the Dragoon’s daughter, Valerie.

“Whatever, why is this a problem regardless? I thought you’d be happy to see a change in the balance of the world’s powers?” The former Paladin asked, crossing his legs and laying back in his chair, exhaustion beginning to dawn upon him.

“In theory, sure. But all this does is threaten the Demon Empire’s stability, which is doing well under Astaroth and your uncle David. The Order is the organization that actually needs reform, but there isn’t any likely way that’s going to happen, unless the people openly overthrow the nobility. Again, not happening. And a divided Demon Empire means more room for the Ernba to ride down and slaughter us. No one wants the Fallen one’s boys here, especially Gaunt.” Bart spat at the sheer mention of the ‘deity’. Heihach wasn’t sure what their connection, but no one liked it regardless. Most of the knowledge on it was rumours and speculation.

Some suspected the being was an alien that was corrupted by Demons, gaining so much power that it began to become revered as a God, resting in the north and corrupting all around it, exchanging power for servitude. Others speculate it was the former Chief God that the Order worshipped, while the new one was simply a high-ranking Angel that took it’s place. Theories stemmed everywhere, no one could say they truly knew. But what was universally known, was that it was a threat to everyone and everything, and eventually had to be dealt with.

“A lot for me to digest, but whatever, I’ll help you guys out. When do we start?” Heihach sighed to himself, holding a mouth to stifle his yawn, before stretching his arms out.

“You start with a test, you pass it. You’ve got fourty days, starting whenever you get there.” Standing up, Bart began to pace around the room, with Gaunt being gestured to leave. Nodding, the grizzled Marauder left the room, bidding the two good night. “When’s the last time you faced an Incubus?”

“Couple of years ago, why?” Shrugging, the Dark-haired Mercenary began to fidget and play with his shaggy, medium-length hair, barely draping against his eyebrows.

“You’re going to be fighting a newly promoted Captain of the Demon Army, and a Baron at that. His name’s Alistair, no idea about his surname.” Bart responded, causing Heihach to remember the last time he fought an Incubus.

Incubi were men who gave up their ‘Humanity’ and overflowed with the same energy that came from Demons and Monsters to grant them boons and powers beyond Human limits. Paladins were trained and equipped heavily to exterminate them, even a single average warrior that becomes an Incubus was considered a heavy threat to a Paladin, but warriors that Incubized after they were already formidable? Arguably monsters by all rights. Which is why Heihach was always careful to heavily prepare himself for a fight with an Incubus, one wrong move would result in death, or worse if he was unlucky.

“Forty days? I can make that.” Heihach shrugged, maintaining his usual composed demeanor.

“You’ll need those forty days. His castle’s full of his own private militia, along with some Mamono. All of them are well-trained fighters, along with your main target - They literally refer to him as ‘the tank’, for the sheer amount of armour he wears. No way you’re getting to him without taking on at least some of his forces.” The Dragoon continued to pace around the room, muttering to himself throughout his briefing. “And seeing how out of practice you are, you’d be smart to train and use those grunts to improve your swordplay. Alistair’s bloody strong, I’ve seen it myself, might be a little slow, but he could probably knock me out if I gave him a minute.”

Getting out of his seat, Heihach grinned happily. He finally had a challenge, something that he’d be able to push himself with this and perhaps quell the fears and weaknesses he’d been hiding for so long.

“I got it. Thanks, Uncle.” Heihach nodded at Bart, before yawning again. “Man. I’m tired, got anywhere I can sleep?”

“Yeah, there’s a bunch of bedrooms here. It’s my house, after all.” Bart nodded, leading his nephew out the room. “I had this built originally as my honeymoon house, after I married Val’s mom.

---------------------

The sound of marching drills, heavy boots slamming against stone and snow falling against his face awoke him from his long, peaceful slumber. Still groggy and exhausted, Heihach stumbled out of his… Sleeping bag?

Looking at his surroundings he found himself in a secluded campsite, wrapped in a sleeping bag and a durable, thick tent, surrounded with snow. To his right was a small hut with a table and a chair, a campfire and cooking utensils in the middle. Snow coated everything, everywhere, as he began to shiver to himself, given nothing but his tunic, trousers, sandals and to his surprise, a beige shawl, wrapped around his torso like a poncho.

Walking toward the hut, he spotted a letter on the table, addressed to him.

“Your Fourty days starts now, all this land and up ahead are all Alistair’s property. Be careful not to get caught and good luck. Love, Uncle Bart.”

“I hate my life.” The former Paladin muttered, beginning to feel uneasy in his new surroundings, unarmed and hungry.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Iskendar chuckled to himself, finding himself sandwiched between two Mamono, not that he really cared about their species. The past week had been nothing but endless parties, drinking, smoking and debauchery that’d make a dark priest blush. The week prior, he’d led a small group of Incubi serving under him to overthrow a noble’s estate and turn it into his base of operations, cementing his rule over the local towns as their tax collector. Meaning a lot more money, resources and food coming in, perfect for feeding an army.

But war wasn’t close to coming yet, at least for his plans. Part of being an aspiring Demon Lord was to engage in the blatant hedonism they all enjoyed so much, and so he did. Situated in a tropical area, Iskendar walked toward the balcony of his new villa, continuing to be surrounded by women, most of them lying on the floor, writhing in pleasure - His latest conquests. He hadn’t even incubized yet, but his energy was enough to outlast succubi, demons and whatever else all the same,

“Lord Iskendar, you summoned me?” Kali had bowed, entering his room, attempting to scurry past the sleeping or quivering bodies around the room.

“Ah, Kali, you’re here already.” Iskendar noted, turning around to face the blonde Succubus. “How’s the Order boy coming along?”

“He’s… He’s coming along well, he’s quite nice when you get to know him, quite cute too.” She flushed in response, before feeling one of the former Hero’s massive arms wrap around her waist, pulling her against his body, only now realizing the man was half-naked, along with reeking of alcohol and sex.

“As cute as me?” He grinned, before shaking his head. “Good to hear that he’s taken a liking to you, we’ll need him to spill information later.”

“You’re not cute, Lord Iskendar. Cute means innocent, there’s hardly anything innocent about you.” Kali cooed, as the warlord began to fondle the Succubus, receiving his attention all too well.

“Don’t you feel bad, knowing that poor Assassin’s got a crush on you, and you’re here getting used by another man?” Iskendar remarked sarcastically, lighting a cigarette with his free hand.

“Maybe I like that.” The succubus winked, causing the two to laugh, before Iskendar picked the girl up and carried her over his shoulder, prepared for another round with remaining women in his room, hands draped over his body.

“Well, enjoy it as much as you want, we’re going to get much busier soon enough. Soon enough, we’ll probably be at war with Druella.” He nodded, laying back on his bed.

“You wish to go against the Lilim, master?” Another Demon inquired, massaging his shoulders.

“I plan on doing more than just that, is there a problem?” He replied.

“No, not at all. I’m just… It just makes me happy to have such a strong, powerful master.” She responded.

“Smart girl, now get to work.” Iskendar chuffed, as he put out his cigarette against the arm of the Demon that replied to him, wincing in pleasure.

“Of course, master!” The three girls responded in unison, almost as if they had been trained to do so.


Chapter 4: Rebirth of a Hero

The cold was getting to him rather quickly, after all, Heihach was almost reptilian, being someone who thrived in heat and warmth, but suffered in anything below freezing. Regardless, he refused to let it stop him. The former Paladin opted to do some surveillance, spotting a group of warriors clad in knight-like armour, draped in furs and wielding an assortment of weapons, usually swords, greatswords and shields - Perfect for him.

Grabbing a large stone, Heihach left his campsite, making a mental note of it’s position, as he gazed forward through the snow, spotting a large, stone-building. Judging from it’s aesthetics, architecture and build, it was more akin to a small fortress rather than an estate, fitting for a warrior like Alistair. Despite the fortress’s walls, the open gates and lack of walls was disappointing, almost as if it was inviting the young mercenary in.

“Well, shouldn’t keep them waiting.” He chuckled to himself, stretching his body and cracking his joints, before twisting his arm back, aiming for the soldier lagging at the back. Rotating his hips back, Heihach spun his entire body forward, building more and more momentum, before finally throwing the stone at the unaware soldier. The resulting force of the stone colliding his armour made a sizeable dent, alongside sending him to the floor, writhing in pain.

Instantly, the other five guards paused, turning around to aid their injured comrade, yet Heihach refused to waste any time. He felt the adrenaline surge throughout his body, exciting him and readying him for battle. It’d been a long time since he’d been performing covert operations on Demon Realm soldiers. Dashing toward the fallen soldier, Heihach hooked the handle of the sword against sandal, before kicking it upward and grabbing it.

Assuming a more aggressive stance, the armoured warriors began to surround him, but he refused to be fearful, he’d fought more difficult odds before and won, this was no different. To his fortune, he’d spotted a common trait in their armour - Their neck area was exposed, with nothing but basic fur padding covering it. Fur meant nothing against steel, and in Heihach’s skilled hands, he was guaranteed a kill.

“So, who wants to go first?” The mercenary teased, prompting the soldier to his right to lunge at him, with Heihach stepping to the side and easily striking the man’s exposed point, causing him to instantly fall to the ground. Sliding his blood-stained sword out, the rest of the men grew angry, muttering and yelling while blindly striking wherever they could, allowing Heihach to easily read their moves, sidestepping, ducking or even bouncing around. Years of constant training and fighting had come flooding back into his mind as memories, letting his reflexes carry him through the fight.

The next one to fall was one of the bigger Guards, raising his greatsword up in the air prepared to strike down Heihach, he struck his blade against his exposed armpit, causing the man to drop his blade, roaring in pain, while Heihach brought his sword back, swinging the shortsword in an arc, till he cleanly sliced off the man’s neck. Blood sprayed against his face, but he carried on, grunting in pain as he felt a kicking sensation against his lower leg, causing him to stumble onto the floor. Turning to the source of his pain, he felt a blade pressed against his neck, gulping in surprise, before inching closer toward his attacker, hooking his foot against his opponents leg, resultantly tripping him over, snow clattering everywhere.

“My old mentor told me that being attacked from behind is a massive sign of dishonour. You really want to die, don’t you?” He grunted at the fallen guard, who stumbled and began to limp away from Heihach, his bloodstained visage only accentuating his terrifying presence at the fearful man.

The final guard was rushing at him, as he picked up a sheathed dagger from one of the fallen Guardsman, throwing it against the exposed neck of his final attacker, causing him to whimper in pain, falling against the snow. Heihach walked over the blood-stained snow, clutching the nape of the final soldier, shivering and welching against him.

“Tell me where Alistair is.” He commanded, to which the Guard nodded, pointing toward the fortress’s highest point.

“Seriously? That’s too cliche, come on. Is there a shortcut?” Rolling his eyes, Heihach shook his victim violently, causing him to squeal in pain.

“Y-yes, there’s a staircase on the side that’ll take you to him. Be warned, our master will destroy you, not even a Paladin could come close to him!” The Guard hacked, as Heihach laid the young man down.

“Lot of loyalty for a hired sword.” He remarked sarcastically, before looting away at the corpses.

___________________________________________________________________________


Managing to evade the rest of the Guards was a miracle, somehow he’d snuck past most of their patrol. The fact that they looked far more elite, with better equipment and discipline, just from observing their marching tactics, gave Heihach a feeling of dread - If ‘The Knight’ had Men like this under him, he grew wary of what kind of threat the actual man would be.

Walking up to the tallest tower resting on the stone brick palace, as he was told, was a spiral, metal staircase leading to the top. Snow piled on top of the staircase, as his pilfered chainmail armour shook with every step he took, alongside the plates attached between it, all wrapped by a dark fur cloak. Sheathed was a single steel shortsword he’d stolen, while his Iron Greatsword rested against his shoulder.

The Iron full helmet was fastened tightly to his head, it’s visor held up to maintain his vision, as Heihach continued to climb the spiral staircase, from this angle and height, he might as well have been invisible, managing to spot more patrols, yet his jaw dropped upon spotting a plethora of Monsters too. While he expected it, seeing one tended to set off his fight-or-flight instincts, while a whole legion of them would set him off like fireworks.


Fortunately, he managed to steel himself, constantly reminding himself of his distance from the mamono, as he continued to climb the staircase, before reaching the top. Opening the mahogany wood door, he smiled, basking in the warmth of the castle. Now at the highest tower, he walked in quietly, taking in the scenery of stone bricks on bricks, stained glass windows, bookcases and foreign rugs adorning the floor he walked upon.

Hearing the sound of humming, alongside cool winds passing through the room, Heihach cursed for a moment. He could’ve sworn all windows were closed in the room, not to mention the only door to this floor was closed as well. The constant humming and echoing throughout the tower’s massive, concave walls set Heihach off - He wasn’t sure what, but something about it felt wrong, as if every fibre of his being screamed for him to leave, but flashes of Bart’s words going throughout his mind alongside his own insecurities about failure were far more convincing than the instincts he’d usually trust. As the armoured warrior stepped forward, he reassured himself that all he’d need to do was kill the Knight and leave, nothing else, that any humming or dark ‘vibes’ he received was simply his mind playing games on him.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself, before walking through the hallway, being welcomed to a massive ‘study’ of sorts, books, desks and all sorts of contraptions and apparatus that he’d recognized sat around the edge of each room. Necromancy, sorcery and Shamanism, arts that were prohibited by the Order, seen as heresy as it’s core. Even a man who fornicated could be forgiven if he took the right steps, a black magic practitioner was welcomed with far less enthusiasm, if any at all.

His jaw dropped when he glanced at the middle of the room, being welcomed to the sight of a towering, giant of a man, covered head-to-toe in heavy, metal plate armour, each piece thick and dense, making the man truly built like a tank, judging by the size, build and armour, Heihach would’ve put money on it being Alistair.

Yet he remained silent, watching the ‘Tank’ hum words in a language that seemed familiar, yet so foreign to him, alongside a black, empty hole in next to him, lodged inside the stone brick flooring. Just staring at the hole made the man dizzy, an empty void of nothingness which seemed to begin to slowly devour one’s mind just from looking at it.

But it was only then, where Heihach had realized that the voices that kept whispering didn’t stop, and Alistair had stopped chanting a few minutes ago. Shivering in fear, the young man patiently watched as the massive, armoured figure dipped his arm into the void, before pulling it out, as a long, dark snake wrapped itself around his arm and the voices got louder, more intense, this time becoming comprehensible enough for him to hear.

“In this symbol, you shall conquer, Knight Alistair. You will usurp the power of Kings and use it to serve me, do you understand?” The ‘snake’ had spoken, somehow.

“Of course, my lord. I am yours to command.” Alistair nodded in response, in a monotone, drab voice.

“Before the ritual begins, I would suggest removing the infiltrator behind you.” The ‘snake’ hissed, it’s dark head turning toward a shivering, cowering Heihach, who had put his visor down, hiding his face.

“Infiltrators? What?” Alistair yelled in confusion as he turned toward the armoured mercenary, who began to rush toward him, uttering a warcry. “Leave now, boy.”

“Nope. Miss me with that dark magic shit, it’s not good for your mental health, friend.” Heihach chuckled, swinging the greatsword down against Alistair, causing sparks to fly as the Iron blade grinded against the Giant’s plate armour, yet he stood unfazed.

Again, Heihach shifted his hips back, clutching his greatsword, before slamming it against Alistair, but to no avail. Over, and over, and over again, till he began to run out of stamina, sweat trickling down his forehead, yet the Knight remained unfazed, before finally deciding to take action.

In an instant, Alistair wrapped a massive hand around Heihach’s neck, lifting him up in the air. No matter how much he struggled, the former Paladin was easily outmatched by this hulk of a man, far stronger than almost anyone he’d fought in a long time, truly deserving of his moniker. Flashes of memories, regret and sadness went through Heihach’s mind as he struggled and limped, getting weaker with each passing second, losing breath and beginning to asphyxiate.

“Wait. Do not kill him.” The serpent spoke, instantly causing Alistair’s grip to loosen, as Heihach fell to the floor onto his knees, gasping and coughing for breath. “This one is powerful. He is much more useful to you as a servant, rather than dead.”

“And how do you wish to make him submit, master?” The Knight asked.

“Place him into the circle, he will be marked by the Void.” The Snake spoke, with Alistair nodding. Heihach felt himself dragged in, slowly but surely, till his face was forced in.

He tried to scream, but was muffled, almost like he was suspended in water, yet he was not. The void was meaningless, empty and black. Yet a throbbing sensation echoed throughout his body, flashes of pain, unexplainable concepts. His entire body shook and spasmed, feeling pain unlike anything he’d ever felt before, like every orifice was draining blood out of him, while being lit on fire.

Visions engulfed his mind, constant flashing images of concepts, ideas and words he could not comprehend, as if a foreign entity had invaded his mind, taking it over. He struggled against it, writhing and grunting, being reduced to nothing but a broken man, practically frothing at the mouth.

What seemed like hours to Heihach had only been minutes, finally forcing his head out of the closing Void pool, hearing screams, yelling and constant voices bickering throughout his head. His vision was clouded with abstract lights, constructs that shouldn’t exist, horrors that were beyond his comprehension, but at the same time, he felt his body alight with energy, with knowledge and skills that he knew were not his, that did not originate from his own life, but felt them nonetheless, as if someone, or something else was residing in his body.

Finally, as the pain began to dull out and come to an end, Heihach had only realized now what had happened to his vision - He could no longer see anything, he had gone blind. His vision had been black, yet he could still see colours, visions and fragments of things, outlines of Alistair behind him, highlighted in red, as if warning him about his soul. He looked past what seemed to the castle walls, spotting the numerous amounts of smaller, highlighted red figures, marching around.

He had gone blind, and yet he could not scream. His body was filled with energy, with power, perhaps not enough to fight the Knight today, most definitely not in his current state, but enough to escape.

“What? Alistair, what did you summon from that portal?” The Serpent roared in anger, with a shriek that pierced both Men’s ears.

“I followed the ritual you gave me, Master, summoning the portal to the void, along with the other Archdemons.” Alistair replied confused.

“You have made a great mistake, slave. That man is possessed by not one or two, but many powerful beings in his body. I am surprised he is not dead yet, which means he has more power than we realized.” The Serpent began to explain. “Kill him! If he survives, we would have unleashed something that may be a bigger threat than anything else in this world!”

While his contemporary vision was gone, Heihach’s hearing had become far more sensitive rather quickly, he was shocked at how his body began to adjust, but he refused to contemplate it now, at least not while he needed to escape. Forcing his body up with a grunt, what ‘sight’ he did have was telling him which way Alistair was going to attack, which direction and how. Following his newly acquired ‘sixth sense’, Heihach found himself dodging the Knight’s fervent blows almost instinctively, moving in ways he was not used to. He was almost sure something had possessed him, yet he accepted it for now.

Rushing toward the door, he felt his body ragdoll down the stairs with a sudden explosion, seeing the red shade of Alistair from it’s source, he suspected the Knight was chasing after him, yet he managed to grip against the metal railings of the stairs, slowing his momentum down, before letting go.

A roll against the snow broke his fall, as he forced himself up, hearing the yells of soldiers to his left and right, along with Mamono’s shrieks too, all chasing after him. Yet he persisted, continuing to run endlessly, he didn’t know where or how he would go anywhere, only that he had to survive.

His lungs burnt with every step he took, his throat parched and his stomach roaring in hunger, his body was too overheated and exhausted to feel the cold, in fact, the passing winds were a welcome gift between avoiding the swipes of swords and the arrows aimed at him, but the blind man continued running aimlessly, beginning to panic. But his fears were quelled, as he spotted the shape of a man in the distance, yet instead of the threatening red, his colour was purple. Heihach did not understand it’s meaning, but anything was better than red.

“Oh God, oh fuck, I’m going to fucking kill Bart if I ever see him again.” Heihach grumbled between pants, as he finally managed to reach the purple figure, who began to stand up, walking toward him.

As the figure approached the blind warrior, Heihach finally felt exhaustion take over, collapsing onto his knees and clutching the robes of the figure in front of him, dragging himself down to the floor.

“Please, help me.” Heihach muttered as he began to feel his senses fade away, collapsing.

“It appears we have similar gifts, brother. I will guide you.” The figure’s low, raspy voice replied reassuringly, letting Heihach smile as he embraced sleep.