No Pain for Fiends

[Strazio Rockwell]

Resurrection is a lot like waking up from a dream. Those first few moments come sluggish, like cement pumped through veins. One great big gasp of air brought Strazio’s brain back online. A sour curse slipped from his lips and he stretched. Joints popped and muscles strained, a brand new body brought brand new stiffness. Even his clothes felt rigid and they smelled of fresh detergent. But even rebirth, complete and utter reconstruction couldn’t remove that damned gnawing that nibbled at the base of his skull. Attached to his belt the clasp that held his journal was empty. He failed. Harbinger won. Shang had won, and Strazio had lost. Failure was that creature that drove rusted nails into his skull. Resurrection is a lot like waking up from a dream only to realize that your life sucks.

No longer did the Nexus bear the fruits of his clash with harbinger. Absent were the streaks of blood and charred pock marks. Even the fountain stood unscathed and unbroken, completely indifferent to the struggles of mortals. Gamzee sat at the base of the fountain, using his juggling pins to tap out a slow beat. Upon noticing Strazio’s appearance his mellow jam session came to an abrupt halt. The defender of Darkshire stepped towards his friend and asked, “How long have you been waiting?”

“Dunno,” Gamzee said, “A while I guess. Had a lotta time to think, ponder the great mysteries of life y’know?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gamzee paused, taking a moment to stand, “Thinking about your offer. Y’know teachin’ me how to sling motherfucking spells and all that shit. Teachin’ me how to build my own chains, man.”

“And?”

“Let’s do it,” The troll half-grinned, “Teach me your ways magic man.”

Strazio responded, “Aight. I’ll teach you everything I know, but you’re gonna help me with some heavy lifting in the Moors. Sound good?”

“Brother, long as it’s righteous I’ve got your back.”

“Good.”

Without so much as another word the duo left for the Moors. Stepping through the gate they were greeted by the oppressive atmosphere of the hellish verse. The scent of mothballs and stale earth filled their nostrils. Night had swallowed the Moors, thrusting the entire verse into a dismal haze. A full moon sat proudly in the sky, casting a pale sheen of light upon the land. In the distance strange howls echoed across hills and valleys. There was a certain rhythm to the Moors, an almost indescribable essence that Strazio had come to recognize. This land belonged to the dead and they were trespassing upon such unhallowed ground. A icy gust of wind reminded the two that death was supreme here.

“Let’s move quickly,” Strazio said, “Darkshire is our only true sanctuary here.”

“I can hardly see,” Gamzee responded.

“Same here.”

Slowly the two trudged forth, with Strazio leading. Another howl, a wolf’s howl. Something was getting close. Gamzee’s knuckles turned a peculiar pale gray as he tightened his grip around his clubs. Shadows danced around the two; bushes and stones transformed into taunting gremlins. Still they pressed forward, through the nibbling shadows. In the distance a light gleamed, Darkshire, a priceless gem in a bag of coal. Miles of hostile darkness separated them from that precious beacon of light, and their pace was that of a turtle’s.

They had wandered into a forest, or rather the remains of a forest. Overhead hollow branches stretch, threatening to constrict what little light came from the moon. Another howl, closer than before. The two froze. Dry twigs and sticks cracked underneath the heavy steps of their unseen stalker. Strazio growled and shouted, “Whatever is out there better fuck off or I’ll-” His threat was left unfinished as a creature bolted at him from behind a tree. The sound of ripped cloth and a throaty yelp filled the air as Strazio’s gut was ripped asunder. Like a bolt of lightning the unseen creature charged back into the darkness, leaving nothing but a doubled-over prime.

“Motherfucker!” Gamzee exclaimed and ran over to his downed friend, “Did you see that shit? What happened?”

“I didn’t see shit!” Strazio yelled and clutched his bleeding stomach. Sparks of magic danced across his flesh and coalesced towards his gut. Five long gashes, left by a set of wicked claws, were carved across his belly. Using magick he cauterized the wounds and staunched the flow of blood. Strazio grunted and stood straight before speaking, “It moved so fast I barely caught a glimpse of it. Ain’t a wolf, I don’t think. Much bigger, much bigger.”

From the darkness the creature howled, reminding the two of its presence. Yellow eyes, large as baseballs, glared at the two from within a row of trees. It stepped forward and a shaft of moonlight caught it, revealing Strazio’s assailant. Indeed it was no wolf, for it stood on two hind legs, but it was closer to a wolf than a man. Matted gray-blue fur covered the beast. Instead of a mouth the creature had a muzzle lined with stained fangs. Fresh blood dripped from the beast’s claws. It let loose another howl, and charged towards Gamzee. The clown crossed his clubs and braced for impact. A train made of fur and claws slammed into the troll, pushing his to the ground. Fangs sunk deep into Gamzee’s shoulder, and he yelled loud enough to wake the dead. A burst of white magick, hot and vicious, erupted from Strazio’s palm. The wolf-man’s fur bristled in anticipation and he leaped away to avoid the incoming attack.
“He bit me Strawso! He bit me!” Gamzee yelled.

“For fucks sake, get up and help! I know you ain’t hurt.” Strazio yelled back.

In an almost unnecessary display of acrobatics Gamzee leaped to his feat. With a flourish he tossed his clubs into the air and caught them with opposite hands. The troll said, “Yeah, well, was still awfully rude of our canine friend here.”

“Let’s fuck him up.”

“Aight.”

The creature’s canine ears perked up, listening to something left unheard by the two primes. Two sharp sniffs of the air sent the creature running into the darkness. The duo deflated as magick fizzled and clubs were lowered. Strazio asked, “Is, is it gone?”

“Uh,” Gamzee responded, “I think we spooked it.”

“What the fuck just happened?” The mage asked no one in particular.

Shouting cut through the forest and the orange light of torches illuminated the darkness. A party of men were stomping through the forest, seeming to try and make as much noise as possible. Strazio and Gamzee stood waiting for the group in silence. A familiar face emerged from the forest, and behind him several soldiers followed. Sergeant Rumford’s eyebrows raised when his torch cast a light upon the two. His voice cracked and he asked, “Strazio? What the hell are you doing out here in the dark?”

“Oh you know, getting mauled by the local fauna, making new friends, that kind of stuff.”

“You don’t need to be snippy,” Rumford said, “Did you get attacked by it?”

“If by ‘it’ you mean a seven foot tall wolf-man-beast then yes, yes I did. What are you doing out here?”

“Hunting that werewolf.”

“Well you’re doing a shit job of it.” Strazio pointed to his fashionable new stomach wound.

“Come on brother, t’wasn’t that bad,” Gamzee chimed in, placing a palm on his friends shoulder, “You gonna introduce me to your friends?”

“I’m Sergeant Rumford, these are my soldiers. I take it your a friend of our chipper defender here?”

“Oh you fucking sassy-”

Before Strazio could finish Gamzee stepped forward and interrupted, “Gamzee Makara, pleased to make your acquaintance and stuff.”

“Likewise, if you’re a friend of Strazio, you’re a friend of mine.” Rumford paused, “We’re just heading back to Darkshire, you both look like you could use some torches. Want to tag along?”

“Uh, sure,” Gamzee responded, glancing over to Strazio for confirmation.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.” Strazio said.

The ensemble of soldier and primes began their slow trudge back towards Darkshire. The abundance of torches and weaponry seemed to stave off the undesirables hiding in the darkness. No more distant howls, and no more uneasy feeling. Strazio winced every now and again as his charred wound ripped open, spilling a small bit of blood. However Gamzee seemed largely unaffected by his new bite mark, in fact asides from the royal blood seeping from the puncture wounds he would’ve appeared quite healthy. The troll piped up and asked, “So uh, what was that thing?”

“Werewolf,” Rumford answered, “It’s a man afflicted by a disease called Lycanthropy. When the moon is bright the man turns into, well, you saw what he turned into. Any rate, me and my boys got the special honor to go an’ hunt ‘em down.”

“Well that’s pretty motherfuckin’ righteous.”

“Yeah well, we saw him once. Killed one of my men, but we managed to stick him with a few silver-tipped bolts.”

“Why silver-tipped?” Strazio asked.

“Silver is like poison to them, gets in their blood, makes ‘em sick. Usually it kills them, not sure how this one survived. Hell I’m not even sure if it’s the same one,” Rumford said, “We’re almost back, Strazio, you and your friend can stay at my place. I’ll make us a late night meal, but you should probably stop at Mama Godwin’s hut before you do and get some medicinal salve for you wounds. I don’t want you guys bleeding on everything.”

“Oh my, how thoughtful, make us get our own medicine.” Strazio said.

“You’ll be fine, after I’ve seen what you can go through I think you can handle it.” Rumford teased.

“Yeah we’ll be fine Strawso, just fine.” Gamzee said.

The party came to the gates of Darkshire and without much fanfare they were allowed in. Once they were past the gates the soldiers disbanded and left for the barracks. Rumford, after giving directions to the two primes, left for his home.

[Gamzee Makara]

Gamzee just kinda takes off in a general direction. He’s not quite sure where he’s headed, but he’s definitely headed there.

“Uh...Gamzee? Where are you going?”

The troll’s head whips around as he walks, a pointy-toothed smile flashing in Strazio’s direction.

“Hell if I know. That Rummer guy said something about meds right? Ain’t this your stomping grounds? Dontcha know where to go?”

“Well yeah I think so bu-”

“Exactly! So let’s go!”

And oddly enough, the clown was already skipping his merry little way in the general direction of Mama Godwin’s home without being told where to go.

Welcome to Darkshire.

---

Despite the dismal and decaying nature of this very verse, Darkshire was in no sense of the word dilapidated. Many of the buildings, huts included, were sturdy and without noticeable flaw. There was a fine sinewy wood the constituted the framework of most of these buildings, and it was a common theme throughout the hamlet. The bark was aesthetically eery, almost black in hue.

Mama Godwin’s hut was the exception.

This flowery, springy, downright hippy hut was a...somewhat welcome change in the overall brooding scenery. For Gamzee at least. Strazio Rockwell stared at the monument with mouth agape, unable to decide how best to express his disgust. Gamzee, however, thought it was adorable The wood panels were decorated in overgrowing foliage and flowers, plants and flora. It was probably more plant than wood. What bark was visible was painted bright, pretty, usually pastel colors. The roof was covered in grass and sprouting flowers. Not a single weed was in sight.

The inside of the shack was well lit with a warm and inviting glow. Probably torchlight, right? As soon as the clown chanced a step towards the doorway, a hand snatched an herb from a pot hanging in the window sill. Gamzee stood stock still. Strazio watched, unsure if he should be amused or annoyed. The troll inched his way to the door, baby step by baby step. He’s about to knock, when the door flies open, smacking him in the face.

“Well helloooooo Chi’len. Need ya’ll some medsins? Chit, course ya’ll do.”

Strazio sighs in exasperation. Gamzee giggles in pain.

Mama Godwin is a lithe, petite woman, bordering on scrawny, with skin the color of bronze in the torchlight. Gamzee and Strazio both were several feet taller than the herbalist respectively, who stood at a solid 4’11. Maybe. Sort of.

The woman was short.

Her angled features were framed by impossibly curly, raven hair that hung to her shoulder blades in thick rivulets. The strange woman had high cheek bones, eyes the color of dark honey, and that sort of weathered, worn look that accompanies many of those who dwell in the Moors. Her clothes could only be described as very…’gypsy.’ Her fuchsia shawl and pink and white palette skirt even came with a trademark sheet-like veil of shimmery gold medallions.

“C’mon in, li’l ones. S’nice and comfy inside, Ah promise.”

The never cynical clown needed no further instruction, and followed the diminutive form into the shack. Strazio, who didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter, started after the two, trying not to grumble too loudly.

---

Mama Godwin stares wistfully into a cup of steaming herbal tea. Strazio and Gamzee likewise had their own mugs of brew, the latter of which was running on empty.

“It was full of miracles,” he would later say.

The inside of the hippie shack, the three crowd around a small, wooden table. Mama Godwin had patched the boys up real good, with nary a need for sutures or bindings.

“Drink dis,” the brewstress said to the clown.

Just as the eager subject was tilting a glass flask to his lips, her hands shoot out, snatching the potion from the boy.

“Nonono wait! I dun fogot to add tha potence.”

Thoroughly mystified, Gamzee watches in awe as Godwin grabs a plasteel-ish bottle shaped in that of a very curvy woman. A brilliantly amber liquid was filled to the brim, topped off by a yellow cap. The label has been visibly torn off, and scrawled in place thereof were the words “DA GOOD STUF.” Cautiously so as not to spill a single, rich drop, the witch pours the thick, molasses-like substance into the clear potion. It makes such beautiful swirls and spindles, almost as if it was some abstract work of art. Once it has been pleasantly stirred and shook, she hands the new concoction back to the boy, a look of pride flashing in the dim light.

As the wounded jokester begins to down the potion, she sets to work on crafting another for the angsty ragemage.

During the creation of this second remedy, the two tell their tale of traveling to Darkshire. A shadow passes over her face upon the description of the werewolf attack,She remains silent for the rest of her doctoring.

And then, she makes tea- also in an air of quiet grace.

The three had been sitting there staring and sipping at their tea for a while now. It was a comfortable yet heavy silence, one that obviously had something lying just beneath the surface. The boys’ wounds had all but healed; whatever it was that she gave them left little trace that they had been attacked at all. Any possible contamination was also sterilized, she assured them.

When Gamzee could finally see the bottom of his mug, Mama Godwin decided to speak.

“Now, when Ah brought Peter into dis worl, I knew he was gon’ haf it rough.”

Strazio leans forward in his chair, a look of somewhat suspicious curiosity gleaming in his eyes. Gamzee stays kicked back, but it is clear that she has his full, undivided attention by the way his eyes focus and freeze on Mama Godwin.

“His daddy, now he was a good’n. Ah was damn proud teh be his wife, and he was damn proud teh haf me. He died, prahtectin’ his home from da beasties dat surrounded it. Darkshire, Ah mean. Peter wan’t born yet, no. But he knew his daddy. Knew him well. Tried fallowing in his footsteps, he did. Signed up for da guard. Fought for his home, fought for me, fought fo’ all of us. Wan’t bad neether, no. Fought like da devil. Got it from his daddy, I reckon. But dis disease? Dis lycanthropy?” She says, spitting the word real slow. It dawns on both warriors around the same time where this is headed.

“Cain’t fight it. Damn sure cain’t fight it alone. But Peter, he dun tried. Tried and- and Ah don’t know what happens next. Da spirits and da potions, dey don’t wanna tell me. Ah tinks dey just don’t wanna hurt mah heart so bad, yaknow? ‘Cause I dunno. I dunno.”

For the first time since the mentioning of the werewolf attack, Mama Godwin dares to meet their gazes. Tears threaten to envelope her eyes, and she struggles to keep her accented voice level.

“Ah don’t really know if dat beastie that attack you tew on ya way here is my boy. I don’t know if mah baby boy is even still wit us. But we dun found a cure, somefin dat clears dat mess right outta ya. Ah dun used some of it in da potions Ah gave ya, just in case. Ah got more, plenty more. Lot of us got it stocked up in our homes. Ya’ll done seen what dese beasties can do. But da thing is, dey not just beasties. Dey’s people too, dey just sick. Mah boy is sick. And I’m asking you dis outta a broken hawt. It’d mean everyting to me if you tew would find my boy and bring him back to his Mama. An if you cain’t, please jus put him and his memory to rest. He wouldn’ want to be trapped in his own body like dat. Wouldn’ sit right wif him or his daddy.”

[Strazio Rockwell]

Strazio sat silent. Mama Godwin was doing more than simply asking, hell she was pleading with them. Silver tears dripped down the valleys of her aged face and she wiped them away with a handkerchief. Fighting, that was something that Strazio was good at, but consoling a grieving mother? Well boundless rage does little to mend a hurting heart. And so he sat silent, and listened to her touching cries for help. The defender of Darkshire had fully intended on finding Ol’ Peter again, and he had aspirations of burning a hole through the beast’s heart. But now, now the damned werewolf was humanized. It wasn’t a mindless beast, but rather a terrified man met with a terrible fate.

Everything had to be so complicated.

Gamzee was damn near crying himself when he answered her, “We’ll help you! We’ll cure Peter and bring him back to you Mama Godwin, right Strawso?”

“Uhh,” Strazio hesitated and offered a half-hearted smile, “yeah, sure, we’ll get your kid back.”

Mama Godwin reached out and embraced the two, “Ohhh bless your hearts, ah don’t know how ah’ll repay you, but ah’ll put sometin real special together for ya.”

Gamzee left Mama Godwin’s hut carrying a massive smile, and towing along a somber mage. Strazio took the lead this time, keeping them in the direction of Rumford’s house. The sergeant’s house was a simple two-story building crafted from the familiar dark wood and aged stone that constructed the majority of buildings in Darkshire. Rumford’s child was certainly asleep by now so Strazio took great care knocking upon his door. A weary soldier answered and let the two adventurers in and offered them a hot meal. After the two ate Rumford motioned upstairs and said, “We’ve only got one guest room so you’ll have to share, I’m gonna hit the hay. Hunting werewolves all day really wears you down, we’ll talk more in the morning okay?”

“Sure thing.” Strazio replied and gestured for Gamzee to follow him upstairs.

There was little in the way of furniture in the guest room. Really only a bed and a nightstand with several candles. Bare bones. Not that either prime really minded. Strazio was used to sleeping outside and Gamzee was too carefree to worry about lavish furnishings. The troll sat on the edge of the bed and propped his clubs up next to the nightstand and looked at Strazio. “What?” Strazio asked.

“Looks like we’ve got some time to burn, mind teaching me some things about your special voodoo?”

Strazio sighed and responded, “Well first of all, it ain’t ‘voodoo’, secondly you sure you’re prepared for this? The first step is the hardest, and I’m sure you’d rather be well-”

“I’m ready,” Gamzee interrupted, “Whatever it takes to make my chains, I’m ready.”
“You’re awfully eager, well fuck it I suppose, let’s begin. But first we need some salt.”

“Salt?” Gamzee raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, salt.”

Strazio held out his hands and inhaled deeply. As he exhaled slippery ribbons of rainbow omnilium danced between his fingers. He continued to control his breathing as more of the miraculous substance seeped from his flesh. Omnillium, the essence of creation. For several minutes he practiced slow measured breaths as a tennis-ball orb of the stuff formed in his hand. And like clay it was molded and formed into a modest creation. A simple salt shaker filled to the brim with its namesake mineral. Once the still-warm shaker came into existence Strazio set to work forming a ring of salt, large enough for several men to stand in. Inside the ring he scrawled various shapes and symbols out of salt.

“This circle is the very first spell you will learn, because without its guidance -without its brand upon your flesh- you will be unable to cast even the most basic of spells. This circle is known as the ‘Rite of Magistry’ and it will allow you to do what I can do, and so much more. Think of this circle as a doorway to power.”

“Okay... But why salt?”

Ignoring the question Strazio continued his monologue, “All magick stems from three sources. Knowledge, form, and soul. Much like a flame which without oxygen, heat, and fuel is nothing. So too magick is nothing without all three components. For this spell knowledge will simply be these symbols I have crafted for you. Form shall be the salt upon which this incantation is cast.”

Strazio paused and Gamzee asked, “What about the soul?”

“The soul offered shall be your very own.” Strazio responded and laughed, “Don’t worry, you get to keep it. The Rite will just be branded upon it. All you need to do is offer a drop of blood to the circle.”

Gamzee stepped closer to the circle and traced its outline with his eyes. He bit the insides of his grey cheeks and glanced towards the ground. Their was a long moment of silence shared between the two.

“This will let me control that thing ?” Gamzee finally asked.

“No.” Strazio said, “But, it will give you a good start.”

“Alright, I’m game. One more question though, why the salt?”

“Oh that, well you see any material will work but, minerals act as catalysts and often are used to enhance spells. Salt is a very good base for this, nice and neutral so the ritual is as safe as possible.”

“So this is dangerous?” Gamzee asked.

“Not really, but it will hurt more than anything you’ve ever experienced. It won’t last for too long, and the pain is worth the power.” Strazio said. “Now will you go ahead and do it already? I wanna get to bed here soon.”

“Fine, fine.”

The troll bit the pad of his middle finger, edging out a small droplet of purple blood. He held his bleeding hand over the salt circle and waited for the lightshow. Purple drops of rain splattered into the salt. The macabre offering propagated throughout the circle. White salt stained purple. Writhing red wires of magick wormed out from beneath the floorboards and slithered towards Gamzee. Instinctively he pulled away, but the thin cables snagged his wrist and coiled tightly around his arm. Strazio smirked and shook his head, “The more you struggle, the more this will hurt.”

Frightened whimpers escaped Gamzee’s throat as the searing coils bit into his pallid flesh. Every twitch teased forth a vicious response from the arcane ritual. His whole body shuddered and he screamed. This wasn’t right. Something was wrong. Absolution hurt. This hurt. This fucking macabre ritual of blood and salt brought forth a physical pain unlike any other. Hot metal cords ripped into flesh, blood, and bone. Organs were punctured, insides were churned. And yet, in the wake of such devastating destruction the troll-boy was so painfully lucid. A line of fire was torn across the underside of his forearm, stretching from elbow to wrist. Flesh was peeled back, revealing the muscle and sinew beneath. The symbol of magick was branded onto his wrist. After this symbol was formed the magick slowly receded, stitching up wounds as if they had never occurred. Gamzee fell to his knees, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.

“So, how d’ya feel?” Strazio asked.

“Horrible.”

“Sounds about right.”

Gamzee held up his wrist and traced the still-warm outline of his brand. He looked up at Strazio and asked, “Can I do magick now?”

“Yeah, well. Sorta.” Strazio rubbed the back of his head and continued, “Think of that brand as like a library card. Opens up the door for you to learn magick, but you still have to do the prep work before you can do what I can.”

“Oh.” Gamzee stood upon his shaking legs, “I didn’t think it was going to be that bad. I tried not to scream, but I couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah, it sucks. Sucks a lot. Don’t worry about waking up Rumford or nothing’ most of what you experienced was mental. You didn’t actually scream, at least not out loud.”

“Oh.”

Strazio offered a half-smile. Gamzee was a tough little bastard. Even with all of his hatred and rage Strazio had still passed out when he went through the ritual. In a way he envied the troll’s unyielding resilience. Rage could push a man far, but, short of death, Gamzee just could not be put down. The mage extended his fist and with a moment of hesitation Gamzee returned the gesture by bumping his own fist against Strazio’s. Strazio yawned and sat down upon the hardwood floor. He said, “We really need to get some rest, and I ain’t going to share a bed with you so you can have the bed.”

“Where will you sleep Strawso?”

“The floor, it doesn’t bother me much considering I’ve been sleeping in the wilderness most of my life. Sides after what you just went through, you could use it more than I could.”

Gamzee bit the inside of his cheek and responded, “Are you sure? I really wouldn’t mind if you slept in the bed.”
“Nah go ahead,” Strazio said, “Now hurry up and shut off the light I get cranky if I don’t get my sleep.”

[Gamzee Makara]

Gamzee didn’t dream that night. Strange, really, all things considering. Hella crazy shit, like that branding process, that usually provokes some biznasty nightmares. Thoughts, all up and bubblin’ and toilin’ till they make a dream. Weird, ain’t it? Lying in a hay bed, staring up at empty, wooden rafters, the clown boy would lick his wrist where the mystical brand now resides. Apparently, this little squiggly thingy held untold reservoirs of sick magicks.

He couldn’t deny it- Gamzee was excited. He always held the magic that some of his friends could weild in a surreal sense of wonder. Magic is simply miracles embodied, after all. It was a miracle in its own right that he managed to fall asleep.

When the sun rose, so did Strazio Rockwell. Gamzee, on the other hand, got out of bed at about the same speed of the rising sun.

“C’mon, loser, get up. The sun says it’s a good day for a hunt.”

“You can’t even SEE the sun Strawso!” The sleeping fool moaned, his face buried in a not-so-soft pillow.

Strazio muttered something and grabbed the alien by his collar, yanking his face away from the deer skin pillow.

“Really, get your lazy ass up. We’ve got a lot of things to do today. Magic is one of them. The mess you got us into is another.”

Through a delirious giggle, the budding mage rolls off the bed and onto the hard wooden floor with a creaking thud. “Mages can’t be lazy, my dude?”

“No, no they cannot. Get ready, we’re about to move out,” commanded the commander.

Complaining about not getting breakfast only got terse rebuttals about how they would ‘find food.’

Funny thing about being tired; time slowly begins to cease existing. One minute, you’re in a stranger’s attic, gathering your senses for your next adventure and the next…

---

The woods are serene, yet solemn. Miraculous, yet dead. The flora and fauna of the Pale Moors all possess a sort of sad, decaying, or grim aura, possibly some combination of the three.

A rabbit darts out of sight into the cover of a hardy stretch of brush, no doubt inspired by the duo’s sudden presence. They walk down a beaten path, nigh impossible to see through all the dead, crispy leaves that had fallen from their twiggy cradles. One, solitary leaf flutters to its excruciating death, impaling itself on Gamzee’s right horn. He and his bestie crunch down the trail. One of them hasn’t the faintest idea of where they are headed. The other, however, doesn’t care where they are going.

He just cares about the motherfucking journey.

"So! What's first on the WereMagegenda, Strawso?"

Strazio Rockwell raises an eyebrow at his unlikely friend.

"Yanno, Werewolf and Mage Agenda. The motherfuckin' plan, my man?"

Riiiiighhhht.

[Strazio Rockwell]

Already the perpetually-agitated mage was regretting his decision to take the clown as his apprentice. Asides from an unwillingness to stay down, he had little in common with the care-free juggler. Lightning crackled through his fingertips as Gamzee insisted on mashing words together, Weremageagenda . With a quick exhale he dispelled any hostile notions and pressed his hand against the grimy trail. He dug his fingertips into the dirt and ripped a clump from the earth. The mage squinted his eyes and took a sniff of the moist earth. Every movement was slow and protracted, as if he had been tracking monsters his entire life. The clown watched in relative silence, shuffling about every now and again.

“Soooo, where we headin’ boss man?” Gamzee finally spoke.

Strazio scowled and threw his clump of dirt across the trail, “fuck, man I don’t know how to track for shit, I was trying to stall hoping you’d wander off in a random direction.”

“Oh, uhm, well I we could go traipsing through the forest?” Gamzee suggested, “y’know try an’ kick something up?”

“Yeah, I suppose, let’s go.”

Without an idea nor a sense of direction the adventurers stumbled off into a random direction. Prickly underbrush grabbed at their feet and sharp branches clawed at their bodies. Every inch reminded them of the twisted nature of the verse. Gnarled black bark covered the trees and only the harshest of plants survived in this dreary world. With every step Strazio found himself filling with impotent anger. However is was not the Slog through such inhospitable terrain that irked him, nor was it the fact that they were devoid of any true target. No, what really perturbed him was the troll’s constant humming. Still he marched forward, clenching his fists and doing his best to contain the roiling hate furnace that burned within his chest. Not that his hate was purely directed at the happy-go-lucky clown. Indeed it was simply a side effect of his absolutely stunning disposition.

Strazio’s incessant need to be frustrated got the better of him, however. His boot snagged against a gnarled root and without warning his entire body toppled into the ground. Cement blocks would have had a harder time falling faster than the unfortunate mage. Face-first into a sizeable puddle of rank muck. For a moment he sat submerged, playing back the sequence of events that led him to this unfortunate mishap. Arcs of white-hot energy snapped around his body in threatening waves. Gamzee watched with the hints of a smirk upon his grey lips; it was almost something out of a cartoon, what with the way the mud even boiled around the walking temper tantrum. Slowly and with an unreasonable amount of Ire Strazio stood. Two thick wreaths of energy coiled around his forearms.

“Strazi…” Gamzee began to speak, sensing the impending tempest.

“FUCK” The mage bellowed, unleashed two destructive shafts of magick from his arms. The twin beams carved through the forest, splintering trees and incinerating the dry bramble.

“Oh…” Gamzee punctuated with a sigh.

“What?” Strazio glanced over his shoulder at the disheartened troll, “It made me feel better, plus the path’s cleared now.”

Globs of mud dribbled off Strazio’s face, and he took a moment to wipe the muck off. Steam billowed from his forearms, a sign that his tantrum damaged more than just the foliage. Dirt and mud clung to his white cloak and stained his entire outfit. In front of them a tunnel of smoldering nature sizzled and popped. A female voice, imperial and majestic, cut through the trees and spoke at them from every angle, “Thou art a foolish creature indeed, tearing my hunting grounds asunder.”

“What was that?” Strazio asked.

“Cat!” Gamzee exclaimed and forcefully turned Strazio’s body around, “Look it’s a motherfucking talking cat!”

Indeed, perched upon a twisted branch sat a cat. Pink fur, lighter than cotton candy swallowed the feline, making her look more akin to a puffball than an actual creature. Buried within a sea of fluff two emerald eyes stayed focused upon the duo. Her white-banded tail flicked and flittered in the air, giving the appearance of an angry caterpillar. “Who the hell are you?” Strazio asked, pointing a finger towards the newcomer.

“Hmm, arrogance oozes from your lips child” the cat answered, “tell me, why should I answer thee?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll-”

Gamzee interrupted the mage by stepping between him and the cat, “please forgive him your fluffiness, he’s having a monumental bad day, we’re a little lost.”

The cat turned up her jellybean nose and spoke, “My name is Avana and as I have told thee, these are my hunting grounds and thou art trespassing, why doth thou encroach upon my lands?”

“Well y’see, funny story that is,” Gamzee rubbed the nape of his neck.

“We’re here to kill a werewolf,” Strazio answered, pressing past the troll, “and I’m not really in the mood to play games with some mystical psuedo-feline.”

“I am no feline, although my visage may represent me as such,” Avana drop from her perch and ambled closer to the two, “I am a brownie, and thou would be wise to respect me mortal, especially since thou art bereft of direction, direction that a hunter such as myself can offer thee.”

“So you know where the werewolf is then?” Strazio asked.

“Aye.”

“Take us to him.” The mage demanded.

“Nay, what have I to gain by guiding thou?” Avana asked, flicking her tail in the air and pacing in front of the two, “thou have desecrated my hunting grounds and have offered no respect to me.”

“Oh I’ve got respect for you,” Strazio growled, lightning crackling between his fingertips.

“Straz,” Gamzee chuckled nervously, “lemme talk to her, you’re… uh, making things worse.”

A huff of hot air shot from Strazio’s nostrils. He glanced away from Avana and towards Gamzee. It was that damned inner pride that plagued him so. Pride mixed with underlying rage forced him to act this way. An insult followed by outright refusal of his request sent equal measures of shame and anger through the immature mage. But the troll was right, and as much as he hated being wrong Strazio felt the hidden air of danger in the situation. The mage clenched his teeth and threw his hands in the air, “Whatever, fine.” Strazio stomped away towards the path that he cleared, kicking rocks along the way.

[Gamzee Makara]

A brownie… Sounds hella whimsical. Gamzee had no real idea what it meant to be dealing with a brownie, nor did he really care. He was perpetually and pleasantly mystified by the nature of this pink cat like- it was a PINK FUCKING CAT!

What was there not to be mystified by?

“Oh, Great Pink Brownie-ness,” the fool began, raising his arms high in the air as if he was speaking to a god, “We humbly request passage and guidance through your uh, grounds of huntings.”

There was silence, for a moment. Briefly, it crossed Gamzee’s mind that this creature might have enjoyed hunting far larger game than mere mice and birds. This thought was confirmed by the predatory glimmer that set the goddess’ luscious green eyes aflame after what seemed like an hour of nothing but the sounds of the forest. Of course, that silence may as well have been the Brownie delivering a lecture on how foolish it was of the two adventurers to wander into her domain.

“Pray tell, jester, do you perhaps enjoy a good game,” Avana asked, the word ‘game’ rolling off of her tongue like honey leaking from a hive swarming with bees. Gamzee, excited that he might have made some progress in gaining the entity’s friendship, nodded vigorously with his biggest, goofiest grin on parade.

“Good. That’s nice to hear, as we three are going to be playing a game.”

Strazio whipped around, trying his best to let the clown work his miracles, but could no longer hold his piece. “Oh hell to the n-” he begins, but is abruptly shut off by Gamzee’s hand clamped over his mouth. Indignant flames of annoyance and frustration spark behind the mage’s eyes, but his apprentice remains enraptured in the promise of a game by a whimsical creature.

“This game does not have a name. It is very old, tried and true. It is a hunt, and you two will be the hunted. Survive, and you will have my full aid in the capture of the werebeast.”

The brownie throws a disdainful sneer in the direction of her former, now dilapidated hunting grounds.

“Do not act as brashly as you did when you were first traipsing through my forest. You may not like the results. There are two ways to win this game, and razing the forest is not one of them. You may survive my pursuit for fifteen minutes, or you may seek sanctuary in the forest clearing, which is in that general direction,” She purrs, with a nod to the west.

“You will be given two minutes to flee into the woods, as far from me as possible; after which, your time will start,” Avana pauses, before adding a cold, mischievous warning. “Do not disappoint me.”
-------

Wheezing and stomping through the forest like an idiot, Gamzee sprints towards what he hopes is the forest clearing. His initial plan was to stick close to Strazio, to ride out this storm together, but the mage insisted on splitting up. He said that playing near each other was as dangerous as it was stupid and annoying, which Gamzee supposes he understood to a degree.

So he ran.

He ran and he hoped for the best, for both of them.

[Strazio Rockwell]

What kind of absolute bullshit had Gamzee gotten them into? A game of high stakes hide and seek was not something that Strazio had been looking forward to. Still, it seemed that this was the only way they were going to find any leads on Peter’s whereabouts. Splitting up was the logical course of action; Strazio doubted that Avana could be in two places at once, and only one of them had to survive to win the game. The clearing was westward, but the mage ran eastward. He figured that the brownie would expect them to head west, fifteen minutes would be up in no time at all.

Despite having spent a large amount of his life in the wilderness Strazio lacked subtlety. He became a battering ram and smashed through the dry underbrush and foliage. Curved thorns snagged at his clothing and any exposed flesh, but he charged through unabated. Around him the forest seemed to shift into a gnarled blur of jagged black and grey edges. As he rushed through the forest he became aware of how loud he was being. Every step seemed to shake the earth, and every snapped twig echoed across the whole damn Omniverse. What was worse was that Strazio could hear the faint shuffling of a small furry creature following him. Had Avana already caught up to him?

Switching gears Strazio looked for a place to hide. He came to a dry stream bed with several fallen trees bridging the gap. It wasn’t much, but the nook formed underneath the decayed trees was large enough for him to crawl into. The game reminded him of his youth. It reminded him of playing the carefree games of youth with the other kids in his village, before they had been slaughtered. This brought an almost morbid feeling of comfort as he crouched and nestled up tightly against the damp wood. He did his best to still his breathing and limit his fidgeting. Hiding wasn’t his style, but it was a necessary part of the game. Then he heard the sound of soft jellybean toes tapping across the logs above his head. Avana was close, right above his head. How long had it been since he took a breath? Too long, but he wasn’t about to suck air right, not if the hunter was within arm’s reach.

Then it came. A whimsical series of chimes followed by a buzz. A pause, and then another jingle followed by a buzz. Strazio’s pocket lit up with a pale blue light as his dataverse device rang. Somehow, somewhere in between his resurrection and this present moment the mage had forgot to set his phone to silent; now, here it was causing an absolute ruckus. In fit of panic and rage he scrambled to grab his phone. And who else but the world’s most lovable jackass would be calling him? The Rock, the goddamned wrestling maniac was trying to get him killed -- again. “For fuck’s sake,” Strazio said.

He declined the call with a swipe of his finger, but the damage had already been done. A large pink paw, about the size of a dinner plate, crashed through the roof of dead trees. Claws nicked Strazio’s shoulder, edging on thin drops of blood to stain his white cloak. With a surprised yelp Strazio jumped from his hiding spot and stumbled into the open stream bed. Perched on top of the fallen logs Avana watcher her prey with a bemused smile. “What the fuck are you looking at?” Strazio said, taking a moment to press his hand against his new wounds. Without a word Avan leaped from her perch and bounded towards Strazio. It took her only a moment to close the distance. In that moment she grew in size, and now resembled something akin to a mountain cat. With the practiced precision of a seasoned hunter she pounced onto the mage and slammed him against the ground. Her claws dug into his chest and she clamped her jaw around his neck. This was it, game over.

Avana’s maw clamped shut, but instead of blood and meat she found a mouthful of sparkling embers. Strazio’s body collapsed in upon itself and exploded into a flurry of white-hot fireflies. The sparks surged past Avana’s furry body and nipped at her flesh. The swarm materialized into a sprinting Strazio. Arcs of energy surged into his legs as he forced his muscles to work overtime. Gamzee’s new friend was definitely playing for keeps and had Strazio hesitated in his flight he would have been waking up in the Nexus. The hunter watched her prey with a simple smirk. Something about his panicked scurrying sent a shiver of delight through her body. This was going to be a fun hunt.

[Gamzee Makara]

*WHUMPFF*

With a strained exclamation of “motherfuck!”, Gamzee’s ankle connects with an overgrown, gnarled root. Luckily enough, his face was cushioned by something quite soft and mushy. For a moment, the fool just lays in the dirt, pathetically moaning and nursing his bruised appendage.

This, perhaps, was not the correct thing to do, as he happened to fall face first into a bed of very dusty, very neon mushrooms.

---------

When Gamzee awakens, he is no longer in the woods, playing a deadly game. Or is he? Truth be told, he’s not sure. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. He sits up in bed, aching all over an-

Why was he in a bed? Good god his head feels like someone is taking a claw hammer to it. There was nothing around him, just a vast expanse of black nothingness. The only visibility was from an unseen cone projected from above, casting a pool of light around the bed. The Makara was kind of getting tired of this particular schtick.

Arise.

A silky smooth, honeyed voice resonates throughout the world, simultaneously soothing his headache but also filling him with insurmountable dread. It’s pretty fucking out there, man. Like, if he wasn’t about to be busy running with for his life, Gamzee might actually sit there and contemplate how such a thing would be possible.

Before he can actually get up and out of bed, the bed evaporates into nothingness, causing our favorite fool to fall on his rump. Scrambling forward on his hands and knees, he stumbled to get on his feet.

And then, right before his eyes, someone flips on the lightswitch. All Gamzee does is blink and suddenly, the world explodes with color, beautiful, swirling enigmatic hues in the form of mists and lush foliage, fantastical beasts and miraculous landscapes. The scene changes with every breath, blurring between a snow capped mountainscape swirling with flurries of snow, a wavering desert dotted with strange and nonsensical rock formations, a lush jungle with trees of colors he’s never seen before towering far, far into the clouds, a whimsical city of flashing neon inhabited by MOTHERFUCKING FISH PEOPLE and finally-

No, no it’s far, far too much. The immense sensory overload is restricting Gamzee’s ability to properly process the next scene in this twisted, drug trip of a movie.

Just as the druggie begins to trudge into delirium, the wondrous visage before him dissipates into mist, into nothing. Suddenly, the vaporous remains swirl and coalesce into a very familiar giant pink cat.

Run, little clown, run.

Oh Gamzee runs, he runs very fast, big goofy grin on his face and arms outstretched, right for the Goddess.

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


Avana is, for once in her very long, very varied life, unequipped to deal with this situation.

The boy, the rather endearing- if annoying- grey skinned one had found a way to fall face first into a fungal pit of Nightveil mushrooms. When she found this funny creature, he was lying on his back, staring up at the trees with a look of utter astonishment and awe, mouth agape and pupils thoroughly dilated. Cautiously, immediately thinking this display a trap of some sort, she plods up to him and sticks her face in his.

“This is hardly any sport, you know. I truly expected mo-ACHK!”

Without warning, her prey has locked his arms around her neck in a fierce stranglehold, and Avana frantically begins to realize that she was foolish, that the hunter has become the hunted, that-

He’s hugging her. It’s a hug.

Muffled by her fur, the fool says one very slurred word. “Furrrrrrreeeeeennnndddahh.”

How...How very quaint.

The goddess sighs, and carefully removes the teenager’s arms from around her neck, which proves easier said than done. Once the two are separated, she looks down on the prone fool with wary eyes. He looks back up at her from upside down, purple puppy eyes shining. What to do with him now?

It certainly wouldn’t be very sporting to kill him while he is intoxicated in this manner. In fact, it would tarnish her reputation more than anything. She glances off in the direction that his furious friend took off, who left a distinct trail by stomping off into the woods like maniac.

Mayhaps he will prove more entertaining.

[Strazio Rockwell]

Strazio sprinted through the forest, once again morphing into a human battering ram. He left a sprinkled trail of blood drops in his wake. The mage came to another gulley, this one with a small stream of putrid water flowing through it. He skidded to a halt and turned around. His breathing slowed as he craned his neck and listened. Nothing. No sight nor sound of the brownie. That made his skin crawl. She was watching him, she had to have been watching him. And yet, were it not for the general malaise held within the forest, it would have been a serene scene. Behind him the murky creek bubbled and frothed. Ahead of him a gentle and cool breeze swept through the forest, sending fallen leaves into the air.

Sparks slipped across his skin and coalesced around his wounded shoulder. A soft sizzling noise accompanied the smell of burnt flesh. No doubt his hunter’s nose was keen enough to track the scent of blood.His wounds were small, but deep, and unless he dealt with them they’d continue to bleed. His magick greedily seared the edges of each puncture wound and cauterized the blood vessels. There was no doubt that this would impede the healing process, but Strazio never worried that far ahead. The pain was brilliant, and not entirely unwelcomed. He always found such a macabre sense of clarity from suffering. 

“Thou scurry so frantically young one,” Avana’s voice called to him from an unknown location, “like a fevered rodent trapped in a labyrinthe.”

Strazio growled and pointed his finger towards the voice, “don’t speak down to me you fucking cat.”

There was a moment of silence. Strazio’s eyes darted around, scanning the area for anything that might give away the brownie’s position. She was moving into position, preparing herself for a quick and easy takedown. Strazio backpedaled down into the gulley. Hit boots squelched as they sunk into the watery soup. He doubted his ability to outrun her. Sure he was fast, but only in short bursts and he tired quickly in a full out sprint. He kept stepping backwards, eventually wading through the brook and emerging on the other side. A “hail-mary” sort of plan began to form in his head. His arms pulsed with chaotic energy. Avana stepped out from behind a tree, her tail twitched like a snake. “Doth thou intend to strike me down?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Strazio snarled, “something like that.”

“Naive child.”

Avana bounded towards the sparkling mage. Her body once again grew larger, bringing her to the size of a small car. Her massive paws smacked against the dirt as she rushed forth. As she reached the edge of the gulley Strazio unleashed twin beams of destruction, just as Avana attempted to leap over the stream. The mage did not aim for the brownie, no he aimed for the stream below her. The magick crashed into the muck-filled water. An explosion of steam, mud, and filthy water swallowed the ferocious hunter. Her momentum carried her through the sudden geyser, but she stumbled to keep her footing as she landed. Sloppy mud and vile water clung to her fur, changing it from pink to a dirty mauve. She shuddered. Strazio was nowhere to be found; even worse she could no longer smell him, the stinky muck clouded her sense of scent. Oh well, she figured, he wasn’t exactly subtle as he stomped through the forest. She’d just follow the trail of snapped branches and bootprints.

Strazio held his breath and waited for Avana to move on. He had dove under Avana and into the  ravine. It was a gamble, he had assumed that she used her sense of smell to hunt and not some mystical tracking power and he was right. He also assumed that she underestimated his intelligence, and again he was right. Who would’ve guessed that the short-tempered and easily provoked mage would have the foresight to hide in plain sight instead of running away? The cat shrunk down to her regular size and scampered off. Strazio exhaled.

After pulling himself from the grey stream Strazio took a moment to collect himself. Two very close calls in the matter of minutes. The longer he played the more he hated this asinine game. There couldn’t be much time left on the clock he figured. He made his way back to the starting area, or rather where he figured the starting area was. It was during this trek back that he realized how easy it was to track him. A trail of broken limbs and boot prints led him back to the beginning. No wonder Avana had found him right out of the gate. Hopefully Gamzee had an easier time than he had, hell this was probably a walk in the proverbial park for the strange kid. This, however, was not the case.

Gamzee had found his way back to the start, but he couldn’t have been farther from it. The grey-skinned boy sat on his ass, rocking back and forth whispering to himself. It was a surreal, if slightly frightening sight. “Uh, you okay there buddy?” Strazio asked, and was promptly ignored. He huffed and took a few steps towards the hunched figure. He could barely hear Gamzee’s whispering, and as he inched closer he could see that the kid was drawing something in the dirt. Strazio reached out and put a shoulder on the troll’s shoulder. His head snapped around and the two locked eyes, Gamzee’s were dilated to the nth degree. Strazio flinched and said, “holy hell, what the fuck happened to you?”

“The lines come together and make a circle brother,” he held the “er” part of brother for an uncomfortable amount of time. Gamzee’s dirt-stained finger scratched out a grid of near-symmetrical squares. He traced back over the lines frantically as he repeated his fevered mantra. The lines come together and make a circle. Brother. Oh, brother. Strazio sighed and took a step back from his companion. Something was fucked in the boy’s head and Strazio was no psychologist. There was nothing to be done for the poor lad, but sit and weather the coming storm.

“Congratulations,” Avana’s lyrical voice called out, “the game is yours, I must admit that was a clever gambit.”

Strazio turned towards the approaching brownie and asked, “what the hell did you do to him?”

“Nothing, the unfortunate boy stumbled upon a pit of nightveil mushrooms,” she said, “perfectly harmless, although he will remain in an altered state of mind for quite some time.”

“Great,” Strazio said.

“The lines come together and make a circle brother,” Gamzee chimed in.

“Fucking fantastic.”

Above them the sun had reached its apex. Half the day was already gone and they had managed to do little more than play a game of hide and seek. This irked Strazio, and although most things irked Strazio this lack of progress rubbed him in a special way. He exhaled and told Avana, “well now that we’ve played your game let’s get going, I’m starting to get irritated.

“Certainly,” Avana responded, “although I don’t think your friend is in a condition to hunt.”

Strazio glanced over at Gamzee, who had now stood and was staring vacantly at some far-off mirage. “Don’t worry about him,” Strazio said, walked towards Gamzee and slung an arm around his apprentice’s neck, “really, he’s more bearable this way.”

“Strazio,” Gamzee said in a moment of lucidity.

“Yeah buddy?”

“I think I can see into the future.”

Strazio stifled a chuckle and said, “see, just fine.”

“Well, it is your funeral,” Avana said before prancing off into the forest, “follow me and I’ll lead thou to thine quarry.”

“Come on, up you go,” Strazio said and hefted his friend’s limp body into a fireman’s carry.

“Brother, I don’t want to leave my motherfucking circles,” Gamzee said frantically pointing towards his grid of squares.

“Goddamnit stop squirming,” Strazio growled, “we’ll pick them up on the way back.”

[Strazio Rockwell]

Deep within the same forest a man sat crouched over a clawed footprint. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and was covered in a grey cloak. A gloved hand palmed at the dirt, taking up a handful of moist earth. The man held the dirt to his nostrils and inhaled deeply. He was heading in the right direction. It took him a few moments to stand, his ancient flesh uncooperative with the command. His mouth was dry, yet he had no need to food or water. His mouth was always dry. He smacked his lips and spit out a glob of almost-dry mucus. He would do as he always did and trundled in the direction he believed his target to be. Werewolfs were hard to track, their day-night cycle keeping them constantly in motion. It was an erratic path that shifted between flight and outright chaos.

After several minutes of walking the scent of burnt wood filled his nose. A forest fire? He couldn’t remember the last time that there had been a fire in these woods. Given how often the Pale Moors rained and how the earth seemed to always keep a dampness about it, a natural forest fire seemed rather unlikely. The man trudged towards the scent of ash and smoke. Something foul was afoot. His joints creaked with every step, but he did not mind them. A pale grimace was painted upon his creased face. He could hear the faint crackling of embers. Smoke called to him through a thicket of thorns. With some difficulty he managed to stomp through the thornbush. On the other side he found a large trench carved through the forest. He sniffed the air and it smelled of magick. Perhaps a warlock was nearby.

Beneath his cloak he retrieved four blue beads, each of them about the size of a ping-pong ball. The man whispered arcane words into each of them and then plopped them on the ground. The orbs began to vibrate and emanated a ruddy light from their core. Spindle-thin legs made of bronze sprouted from the orbs. He smiled. The spider constructs shuffled back and forth, testing out their new limbs. Another string of words set them to their task. His brood tracked the residual energy left by Strazio’s outburst. They were sharper than any bloodhound and could sense his presence miles away. They scampered away and he stood still. In the back of his mind he could feel each spider, skittering through the underbrush. It was only a matter of time before they found their mark.

[Gamzee Makara]

It’s been a good while since the two fools’ victory against the woodland spirit.

“Come along. I shan’t wait for you to prance through my realm like hapless ninnies.”

The duo hardly ever actually saw the goddess, practically being led by her by voice. They’d been following the brownie beastie for a while now, enduring innumerable complaints about how pathetically slow they were. Strazio, in his defense, was forced to half drag, half carry an incapacitated dumbass through gnarled bramble and bush. Gamzee giggled. It’s like the very earth itself was tickling his feet and scratching his back, which was all kinds of tranquility.

He missed his motherfucking circles though.

So focused on his burden was he, Strazio just barely avoided the grave, deadly error of stepping on Avana’s fluffy fluff tail.

“What’s the hold up?” The mage asks through an exhausted breath.

“What you seek is nigh. There is a clearing, some forty paces straight ahead,” She gestures with a nod of the head, “His presence is so loud and full of agony. I would make haste, were I you.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Strazio begins. At about this time, Gamzee insists on sitting down for a moment. The Defender of Darkshire could only hope to assume that he was gathering his senses for the ensuing hunt.

“I am afraid I will not be able to witness this hunt. We are on the edge of my territory and,” Avana pauses, taking this moment to spit on the ground in front of her. The expression was far more ritualistic than a simple expression of disgust, “that particular piece of land is tainted.”

Before either of the heroes could respond to this new piece of information, Avana whirls on them, the glow in her eyes halting any incoming questions Strazio might have began to form.

“Do not return to my woods without good cause, one that you would be willing to die for. Adieu, prey.”

And at that, the spirit evaporated into a fine purple-pink mist, dissipating into her wooded world once more.

-----

Peter was scared. He was so very, very tired of being scared, but his body and his mind just would not have any of that ‘bravery’ or ‘courage’ nonsense. He lay in the middle of this clearing, the world around him tinted in hues of swirling darkness. A pitch black, harsh violets, brutish blues, and a few dismal grays. He was trapped in a haze of swirling dark magicks, pinned to the cold forest ground with just enough freedom of movement to curl up and hug his knees to his chest. God, this was pathetic. And he knew that.

But he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t do anything about anything anymore. Through the miasmic prison, the young man could see the silhouette of what he could only assume to be his captor. The ghostly being came out of nowhere, as if he were a shadow. Even with Peter’s senses heightened by his disease, he was none the wiser. Easy prey.

Tears stung at his eyes and threatened to well over. There was nothing left for him, no future, no hope of seeing his mother, no chance at seeing the light of day. At that thought, Peter screamed. He howled, he roared. He cursed being afflicted with this disease, he cursed his captor, he cursed the Omniverse and its sick, twisted God. He swore until he ran out of swears, and then he started over.

But nobody heard him. He was just another muffled scream of anguish in the Pale Moors.

[Strazio Rockwell]

“Great,” Strazio muttered. He slid down the edge of an embankment. Mud squelched beneath his boots and he almost lost his footing. Making sure his apprentice was following him Strazio turned around and watched Gamzee slide down after him. A dry haze hung around the troll, the sober after effects of such a vivid high. Strazio groaned and said, “how are we supposed to know where to go now? Our tour guide bailed on us.”

“Do you smell that?” Gamzee asked. A look of dire concern was painted across the troll’s face and it sent a dagger of fear into Strazio’s gut. This seriousness was unlike him. There was no joy to be had in this twisted place.
Strazio sniffed the air, nodded, and replied, “yeah, I do.”

No more words were exchanged between the two. Both of them were familiar with the acrid odor that slithered out from the forest’s belly. Blood. Lots of it. Unmistakable, there was no scent quite like it. It hung in the air, heavy and sticky. God how Strazio hated that smell. Even though he had experienced it countless times it never failed to twist his gut into spirals. He glanced over at his apprentice, hoping to find some sort of comic relief. There was none. The two locked eyes for a moment, nodded, and then headed towards the source.

It took them only three minutes to find the corpse. More accurately, it took them only three minutes to find what resembled a corpse. The tattered remains of Darkshire regalia covered a mass of shredded meat. Several ragged gashes tore long trenches throughout the body. Fang marks gnawed to the bone, revealing the man to be nothing more than a once-sentient chew toy. It always amazed Strazio at just how much blood the human body could carry, it was everywhere. Gamzee frowned and muttered something that the mage couldn’t quite hear. “Fuck,” Strazio said. He crouched next to the fallen soldier. A glint of silver, wrapped around the shredded remains of a neck, caught his eye. He tugged at the necklace, freeing the pendant from beneath the man’s shirt. Covered in blood, but unmistakable, the crest of Darkshire shimmered in the pale light. Taking great care to not disturb the body further Strazio removed the crest and tried to clean it using the edge of his cloak. After getting it reasonably clean he balled up the chain and pocketed the crest. “Let’s go,” Strazio said, his voice was barely above a whisper, “this fucker has got to pay for what he’s done.”

“Wait,” Gamzee said and tugged at his mentor’s cloak, “we’re here to save Peter, not kill him.”

“Yeah, well maybe he doesn’t deserve mercy,” the mage responded, snagging his cloak away from Gamzee.

“That’s not fair, the dude can’t help himself!”

Strazio huffed and walked away from the corpse. Lightning crackled across his skin and he clenched his fists. “So what, he gets off scot free?” he asked, “what about the others? What about the ones that he’s slaughtered, where is their vengeance? Where is the justice?”

“Sometimes there is no justice,” Gamzee said, placing a hand on his companion’s shoulder. Strazio pulled away, but Gamzee kept speaking, “it sucks brother, it really does, but sometimes bad things happen for no reason, I think you know that, and I think you know how easy it is to lose control of yourself.” The mage did not speak, but his fists unfurled themselves. There was an awkward pregnant silence that seemed to swell with each passing moment. “Uhh,” Gamzee said, trying desperately to fill the vacant space, “you need a hug or something?” A short a sharp burst of air left Strazio’s nose as he fought back a soft chuckle. 

“Fuck off.”

The two continued deeper into the tainted grove. Miasma, thick with malaise pooled around their ankles. Whispered threats slipped into their ears, Their mere presence was enough to rile up whatever twisted apparitions claimed dominion over this equally twisted spit of land. They could feel invisible fingers worming through their bodies and tugging at at the strings that held them together. Master and apprentice, nothing more than another pair of trespassers with death wishes. Progress was like walking into a ferocious headwind, every step was an arduous battle of attrition. Fatigue plagued their muscles and dark thoughts spilled into their heads. Life was not welcome here. There were no animals, and the trees were nothing more than barren leviathans made from dead and dry wood. They, however, did not stop marching. It was an almost stupid kind of stubbornness that drove the duo on. Gamzee simply did not know how to surrender in the face of such despair and Strazio had no desire to be shown up by his own pupil. 

After what seemed to be hours, but in reality was nothing more than half of one hour the two came to a clearing. They froze, their mouths agape and their minds scrambling to process the sight. Blood and bones and gore covered almost every available inch of the clearing. The viscous scent of death assaulted their nostrils and Strazio sword under his breath. It looked like a battlefield. Many of the corpses bore tattered scraps of guardsmen regalia. Worse yet many others appeared to be civilians. Mothers, children, fathers, wives, husbands, brothers, lovers, and every other manner of person was represented within the melting pot of wholesale slaughter. In the center of this quiet tempest sat a young many curled up in the fetal position. His clothes were torn and he shivered like a nudist in the arctic. 

“Hey!” Gamzee shouted.

The troll edge closer towards the shivering man. Strazio moved to stop him, but the troll ignored his and kept walking closer. After a moment of deliberation Strazio sighed and followed his companion; sparks danced between his fingers as he readied himself for a surprise attack. Stepping around a mangled hunk of person Gamzee stopped several feet away from the man. Strings of incoherent gibberish escaped from the man’s dry lips and it was apparent that he didn’t even register Gamzee’s presence. Once again the troll called out to him, but there was no answer. The miasma was particularly thick here, it coiled around the man  and enveloped him in a shell of fog. Strazio shouted, “hey asshole, we’re talking to you!” No answer.

“I don’t think he can hear us Straz,” Gamzee muttered.

“Well, what are we supposed to,” Strazio began to speak, but stumbled mid-sentence as his friend started to walk closer, “goddamnit what are you doing Gamzee?”

Gamzee didn’t answer. A wreath of white lightning covered Strazio’s arm, he was prepared to annihilate the stranger at a moment’s notice. It crossed his mind that he was being awfully paranoid, but he dismissed it given the fact that they were quite literally surrounded by an assload of corpses. As the troll inched closer the staccato gibberish grew louder. It wasn’t until he could see the man’s face that he realised it wasn’t the man speaking. Rather it was the swirling haze around them that was hissing and cursing. “Kill them,” it said, “rip out their entrails and paint a mural with the blood.” Gamzee groaned, but did not recoil. Despite Strazio’s protests the troll plunged his hand into the fog and grabbed the stranger’s arm. The whispering stopped, as did the man’s shivering. The troll pulled on his arm, peeling him from the shell of miasma and forcing him to his feet. His haggard face bore a vacant look, and as if his mind had finished booting up he locked eyes with the troll and said, “you need to leave, you need to get far away from here, now.”

Strazio interjected, “are you Peter? Peter Godwin?”

The man averted his eyes and muttered a quiet yes. Silence. Heavy and accusatory the silence hung in the air, mixing with the knee-high fog. He was such a fragile man, skin stretched tight over thin bones. What remained of his clothes was nothing more than a makeshift loincloth to cover his precious bits. His black hair was matted with dirt and blood and it was overgrown past his shoulders. Gamzee let go of Peter and took a step back. Strazio did not lower his guard and kept the crackling spell between his fingertips, ready to fire. “We’re not here to kill you,” Strazio said, “but --”

“You need to leave,” Peter interrupted, “it’s almost dusk, and --”

Strazio interrupted him right back, growling with impatience, “as I was saying asshole, your momma sent us.”

“Mom,” he said.

“Yeah,” Gamzee interjected, “she found a motherfucking cure for uh, your condition, here.”

The troll fished around in his pockets and produced a small vial filled with a silver liquid. One the side of the bottle a note was taped and “For Peter, Love Mama” was sketched in thick and sloppy letters on the side. Peter eyed the vial as a starving man would eye a steak dinner. His grubby hands reached for the cylinder. Strazio watched with a feigned indifference. The mage felt something sharp pinch at the nape of his neck and he yelped in surprise. With one fluid motion he snatched at the object, crushing the chitinous thing in his palm. He opened his hand to inspect the thing a recoiled as he did so. It was a small brass spider with a fat blue body, and worst of all -- it was still moving. There were few things that made the mage screech in terror, but creepy crawlies definitely did. Screaming as he did so, Strazio threw the little critter into the ground and backed away. Once the thing land he released his charged magick, throwing a large shaft of destructive energy at the spider. It never stood a chance. Within a half-second the brass arachnid was incinerated, absolutely annihilated by the gross display of power that the mage wielded. The sudden explosion startled Gamzee, forcing him to shake and drop the vial. “What happened!?” The troll asked, his ears still ringing from the noise.

“Bug… big ferocious… insect,” Strazio said as he fought to catch his breath and still his rampaging heart.

“Uhhh, I think you got it Straz,” Gamzee responded, and bent over to pick up the dropped cure.

Before the crew could recover their bearings a crossbow bolt whizzed past their heads. The trio shared looks of dumbfounded confusion as they silently asked each other if they had seen the same thing. And, as if to answer them, another bolt launched itself from the treeline and buried itself into Peter’s gut. The lycanthrope screamed in pain and doubled over, clutching at his freshly acquire accessory. From the trees came a man dressed in grey, a wide-brimmed hat covered his eyes in shadow. In one hand he held a contraption that looked like the lovechild of an 18th century crossbow and a wild-west revolver. He aimed the weapon at Peter, but Gamzee stepped in between them.

“Who the fuck are you?” Strazio said, his hands brimming with magick.

“I am known as Aurelias,” the man replied in a low droning voice, “I serve Darkshire by rooting out the evil of these lands.”

“That so?” Strazio responded, raising the crest of Darkshire that he carried around his neck, “you see this jackass? I’m the fucking Defender of Darkshire, Strazio Rockwell, so you’d do best to stand down.”

“That monster behind you is a werewolf,” Aurelias answered, “I am obligated to slay it.”

“I’m well aware of what he is dipshit,” Strazio seethed, “that’s why I’m here, now lower your fucking weapon, I won’t ask again.”

“We’ve got a cure,” Gamzee interjected and held up the vial, “this’ll fix him!”

A set of cold, cold, eyes gazed upon the silver liquid. Aurelias smacked his lips and swallowed. God, his mouth was dry. He stepped forward and said, “I can still smell the taint upon that boy’s flesh, and so long as he carries the seeds of darkness I am obligated to slay him, I have no choice.”

“That’s it,” Strazio growled, stomping towards the approaching hunter. A wave of force erupted from Aurelias’s free hand, sending the furious mage sprawling across the clearing. Gamzee caught sight of a series of runes carved across the man’s pallid flesh. Before the troll could even act something broadsided him and sent him flying. The sun had set. Peter was no longer Peter. In his stead was a very large and very angry beast. Thick cords of muscles bristled beneath a carpet of black fur. Fangs as long as daggers snarled at the approaching hunter. Claws sharper than razors twitched in anticipation. Aurelias did not keep his prey waiting and let loose another bolt, this one sinking into the creature’s chest. It howled in agony and rushed towards its aggressor, swatting him away like a fly. 

Gamzee groaned and stared up at the canopy of dead branches above him. It wasn’t the hardest he had ever been hit, but the surprise of it had knocked the wind out of his chest. He rolled over onto his side and saw Strazio several feet away. The mage was on all fours squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them before repeating the process, blood dripped from his forehead. During his flight Gamzee had managed to keep the vial from shattering. “Straz,” he said, “what now? We gotta save Peter.” The mage drunkenly climbed to his feet, swaying back and forth as his vision focused. On impact he had managed to catch a rock with the side of his head. “Fuck,” he growled, clutching at the bleeding gash, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck , Peter, fuck him, and fuck this fucking fuck of a fucking forest for fuck sake, FUCK!”

“Are you okay?” Gamzee asked, not sure how to respond to Strazio’s steadily rising FPM otherwise known as “fucks-per-minute.”

The mage shot a withering glare at his apprentice and pointed at the seeping gash in his skull. Lightning crackled around his body. It chewed at his skin, leaving little pock marks as it traveled. It condensed around his forehead, creating a cap of sparks. The little fireflies nibbled at the open wound, searing shut blood vessels and cooking away the open edge of flesh. The scent of burning hair wafted from his cauterization. Once the shoddy medical procedure was done the mage turned his attention to the clash. Aurelias was holding quite well against the massive beast, all things considered. Peter had acquired several more quills and was beginning to move sluggishly. “I’m going to rip his fucking arms off,” Strazio seethed and started walking into the fray.

“Wait,” Gamzee shouted, “whose arms?”

“Whichever one pisses me off more!”

Aurelias moved slow, but with purpose. Every action was efficient and calculated, his lifeless blue eyes absorbing every subtle tell that Peter offered. He didn’t need speed to dodge an attack that he could see coming from miles away. He was a matador, edging around the arena and baiting the bull into foolish attacks. Soon he’d run out of bolts, but that didn’t matter. Each projectile was tipped with silver, it would only take a few to fatally poison a werewolf, and Peter was becoming more of a wereporcupine by the second. 

In the distance someone was yelling, they were cursing and screaming and they were getting closer. Aurelias glanced towards the sound and saw Strazio rushing towards him, like a rocket fueled by profanity. There was no chance to avoid this one, the mage slammed into him and sent them both tumbling across the battlefield. Strazio ended up straddling the grey-cloaked man and began to throw punch after punch into his face. The hunter had dropped his crossbow upon impact, and had no other weaponry to speak of. He attempted to raise the hand covered in runes, but Strazio grabbed his wrist and pinned it into the dirt. “Enough!” Aurelias shouted and pressed the palm of him pinned hand into the dirt. A fist made from clay erupted from the earth and slammed into Strazio’s ribs, knocking him aside. Once again Strazio cursed and climbed to his feet. “Your face is tough,” he said, “which is good ‘cause I’m not done smashing it the fuck in!”

As the hunter moved to stand Strazio rushed towards him. He raised his hand towards his attacker, but Strazio was already upon him. The mage grabbed his opponent’s wrist and stepped into him. He placed another hand under the man’s armpit and attempted to use his own body as leverage to throw Aurelias. A terrible sound filled the air. A wet tearing noise. Strazio felt the man’s arm give way at the elbow and tear completely from his body. For a stunned moment the mage just stood there, holding the dismembered limb in awe of his own strength. Then he realized there was a stitched seam at the edge of the severed limb. His mind bugged out and malfunctioned as he tried to piece together what was going on. The hunter kicked him hard in the chest and knocked him on his ass, forcing him to drop the arm. Without fanfare Aurelias scooped up the limb, and held it up to his shoulder. Tendrils of black thread slithered out from his body and wrapped around the seam. Within moments the arm was reattached and mobile.

“You’re a zombie?” Strazio asked.

“No, I’m not a mindless thrall,” he responded.

“Then what are you?”

“I am a revenant, I was created to serve Darkshire,” he answered, “that is my only purpose and it is a purpose that I cannot disobey.”

“Jackass, we have a cure for Pete, just let us give it to him and everything will be fine!”

“I wish I could, but as I said I have no choice. ”

It took Strazio a moment to realize just what he meant. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand what was going on, no, it was something much more insidious.Aurelias lacked free will. He was created to hunt creatures of darkness, he was a revenant, a manufactured spirit of vengeance. As long as Peter remained a werewolf there would be no mercy. Strazio smirked. He stood and watched as Aurelias retrieved his crossbow. “So,” Strazio said, “what if I stand in your way? I’m no monster.”

“You will be slain as well.”

“That so?” Strazio said, removing his own cloak and throwing it aside, “I’ll give you a friendly warning, I don’t die easily.”

The troll was left alone with the werebeast. Gamzee pocketed the vial and willed his juggling pins into existence. He tapped them together, grabbing the attention of the snarling beastie. Yellow eyes full of incoherent rage stared him down. It rushed towards him on all fours, breaking into a frightening stride. “S’aight motherfucker,” Gamzee said, flourishing his clubs, “let’s do this.” Just before impact the troll performed a wicked pirouette and sidestepped the rampaging beastie. He backpedaled and watched as Peter thrashed about.

[Gamzee Makara]

Okay so this was bad right? Yeah, yeah this was pretty shitty. Feeling the worn ivory handles of his clubs materialize into his palms gave Gamzee a small yet potent amount of comfort. Theoretically, all the clown would have to do is smack the wolf man in the back of his noggin hard enough and/or a few times, and Peter would fall unconscious. Getting a knock out was the name of the game here, not a fatality. In fact, it would be most preferable if there were no fatalities here. Man, it’d really suck if Strazio and Gamzee had come all this way and survived all the deadly nonsense the Pale Moors had to offer only to be struck down by the very person they were trying to save.

Turning his attention to the task at hand, the Bard of Rage is promptly knocked on his ass for the second time in the past sixty or so seconds. Peter had caught him off guard, had barrelled into the alien at full speed. Gamzee was only lucky that the attack was more smash than grab. His body was flung into a flip flopping pirouette of epic proportions, straight into a tree. The beast was clambering, sprinting, bounding on all fours to Gamzee Makara, who was only just barely up in time to dive out of the way of the wild charge. Peter, for all his effort, slammed his head right into the same tree that had broken Gamzee’s fall.

The repetitive reoccurance of idiots being flung or flinging themselves into the column of wood caused it to crack and splinter. The tree groaned and creaked, timber tilting and threatening to topple over.

Gamzee stared at the tree with a look of abject terror. Peter, who was busy shaking his snout about wildly in an effort to clear the stars from his eyes, didn’t notice the tree in time to avoid getting crushed by the wooden giant. It falls on the werewolf, sending up a huge cloud of dust consisting of miasma and dead pollen. The alien gasped, genuine worry and anxiety present in his gleaming purple eyes.

“P...Peter?”

Silence.

Aw shit. Aw shit, no. No! Just as the juggalo was about to start weeping and mourning, the same fallen forest guardian that had come crashing down just a moment ago burst from the cloud of dust, high into the bleak, dreary sky.

Gamzee grins a big goofy grin, swaying back and forth, watching the big ass tree tumble through the air on its descent back to earth.

“It’s a motherfuckin’  miracle!”

The fool began to giggle profusely, uncontrollably. He danced and leaped around, juggling his colorful weapons as he went. The tree crashes to the ground once again, this time right where Gamzee stood awestruck moments ago. He yipped and howled and bounced towards where he could only hope a vulnerable Peter stood, ready for Gamzee to knock him out and give him the medicine. The royal High Blood was saved once again by his own whimsy, his childishness, and his utter stupidity.

------

Strazio and Aurelias stared each other down, a good few paces away from each other. The revenant’s dead hand coiled around his ornate, ridiculously deadly looking crossbow. It was not aimed at Strazio, but rest instead at his side, ready to be drawn and fired in a moment’s notice.

White, scorching magicks sparked and nipped all down the Ragey Magey’s arms, the volatile energy coincidentally ALSO ready to be fired in a moment’s notice.

Well, Well, Well. Looks like we got us and old fashioned stand off.

If one were to be spectating this spectacle, they could practically hear the melodic chords of the “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly” theme song playing in the background. One supposes that Aurelias would hold the spot of Ugly, Gamzee the title of Good, and Strazio the position of Bad. Peter could take up all three, if he so wished.

Speaking of Peter and Gamzee, the more colorful, more altogether stupid of the two creatures was promptly sent flying across the battlefield in an odd flip flopping sort of manner. His body somersaulted briefly in between the two serious figures locked in a staring competition. And in that moment, time seemed to slow.

Strazio blinks.

His apprentice, flying upside down, flashes him a wave and a thumbs up.

The Defender of Darkshire blinks again.

A silent feathered pointy stick of death comes flying for the mage’s face, passing right between the clowns splayed legs. Strazio swears and tosses a burning bolt of magick, incinerating the bolt and skimming Gamzee’s hip. The projectile barely avoides taking Aurelias’ head clean off.

The moment ended, adrenaline subsiding and time resuming its normal pace. Gamzee landed into a fancy little tumble roll, recovering in such a fashion that he faced his quarry. A snorting, sluggish, and all together haphazard looking werewolf cantered slowly up to the three, all four strange beings equidistant from each other.

“Ya’ll come here often?” The fool shouts, making himself heard with a smile. Strawso snorts, his eyes not leaving the undead hunter before him. The lycanthrope’s breathing was laboured and heavy, Peter’s veins burning from the silver that coursed through them.
“Uh, excuse me bros. I’m just gonna kinda...yeah. Ya know.” Gamzee awkwardly kinda sidesteps past the two Serious Sallys currently engaged in a standoff. As soon as Peter could smell the thick syrupy scent of Faygo, the werewolf lets loose a weak little roar, obviously worn down and fading fast from the injuries sustained not by the troll, but by Aurelias’ silver tipped crossbow bolts. With each approaching footfall, little purple sparklies shimmy and swirl around Gamzee’s arms, descending in a mad spiral to coil themselves around his two juggling pins. His weapons crackled with rage lightning, while a warm, genuine smile dominated his face.

“Now don’t worry, my man. This’ll only sting for like, uh, half a motherfucking second or so. I dunno man, I ain’t really good with the wasting away of time and such. Or anything to really do with them crazy numbers, know what I-”

The friendly stoner’s rambling was cut short by a vicious furry backhand to the noggin, sending him stumbling backwards to plop his little ass into the dead dirt.

“Now that just wasn’t very brotherly of you, my dude,” He said, pushing himself off the ground with a groan.

Peter snorts and scrambles to and fro, but his veins are filled with lead, his skin is burning and his will is breaking. He swiped once again, claws poised to rake out Gamzee’s beautiful amethyst eyes, but the Bard deftly weaves past the attack, sparked club smacking into the back of the werewolf’s skull for an electrically charged K.O.

The clown, thoroughly pleased with his nonlethal takedown, smiled and began digging around in his impossibly deep pockets for the antidote so that he could-

Where’s the antidote?

The alien teen whipped his head wildly around, dropped down into the dirt on all fours and skittered around trying to find the vial of shiny silver liquid. It is only after a few seconds of panicking and internal screaming that he looked up and back at the two duelists.

-----

Strazio had to stifle a groan and a strong desire to blow his brains out with a bolt of his own magic as his prodigy apprentice, Gamzee Makara, shuffled across the tainted arena towards a very injured, very pissed off werewolf. When Aurelias came back into view, his weapon was no longer drawn. Instead, it was laid gently beside him. The hunter himself was kneeling with his dead hands planted firmly in the dirt. Seeing this as an opportunity, the mage rushed Aurelias. This, as it turned out, was just not the best of ideas.

Sprinting full speed at his vulnerable opponent caused the young man to go face first into the cold hard forest floor when a skeletal hand erupted from the ground and latched onto his ankle. Before he could check to see if he had lost any teeth, another hand dug its way through the earth and then another and then another, all of them popping up like daisies, clinging to the Defender of Darkshire and keeping him pinned to the dirt. Strawso struggled and squirmed, trying to rip free of their grasp, but of course, in a cliche manner, the harder he fought the tighter they held. Aurelias calmly walked to his restrained aggressor, an emotionless face with only the smallest amount of pain shadowing his features.

The Revenant was not happy to be doing this. He was not happy to be doing anything. Quite literally, he would much rather be dead. Again.

The undead man levels the sights of his crossbow on Strazio’s skull. The Revenant was not really happy to be doing this either.

Just as he lets loose a silver bolt, the boy’s form melts into a amalgamation of dancing sparks that fade through the bony fingers and out a few good feet away from harm. They amass once again in such a cascading fashion that Strazio sprints into existence, slinging a couple of righteous bolts of his own at Aurelias’ spindly form. The hunter moves, but doesn’t move at all, and the magic missiles avoid him entirely.

But Strazio himself, does not.

He tackles his annoying attacker, raining blow upon blow down on his grey, ugly face. About aroouuunnnd punch number nine or ten, however, his fist slammed into dust. Aurelias had melted into the ground itself, only to reappear a few paces in front of the mage. With a huff, Strazio stands up. The frustration of an elusive punching bag is not lost on him. Takes a pitcher stance, his rage magic coursing through his veins and swirling around his hands. Here comes the wind up.

And here’s the pitch and-

*tink*

The toe of his boot catches something hard and shiny and glass and oh shit it’s Peter’s antidote. For half a split second, Strazio almost debates just letting the bottle drop, letting it shatter. He could say fuck it, kill Aurelias and let Peter die a slow death from silver poisoning.

And then he thinks about Mama Godwin’s warm smile and the tears she shed for Peter and  realizes that that’s not a guilt trip worth taking. In his mind Strawso is swearing at himself. He hates that he does, indeed, have a heart.

The mage surges forward, sparks eating up air and distance and space to envelope the bottle and cradle it softly to the ground. He coalesces, sitting on the ground clutching the cure for dear life. And then, he takes an arrow to the shoulder, piercing pain pouring through his left side.

Strazio screams and yells and hollers, launching to his feet and rearing around ready to chuck the fucking antidote at the Revenant’s fucking face and just as he’s about to, just as he’s about to damn Peter to a death he doesn’t deserve, a grey, soda-sticky hand latches on to his wrist.

“Ey Strawso, I’mma need that motherfucking wicked elixir bro.”

SIGH.

In that moment, Strazio Rockwell wanted nothing more than to break that fucking bottle over the undead man’s head/face area. He reluctantly, released the flask from his shaky grasp. Ever so calmly, his apprentice takes the antidote and plods off, assumingly to administer it to the unconscious and dying Peter.

Gamzee kneels down, uncorks the stopper, and puts the potion to Peter’s lips.

-----

Aurelias didn’t really know what to think about all of this, this in part due to the fact that he isn’t necessarily allowed to have thoughts of his own. For the most part, that is. He would sigh, if he breathed. That antidote would cure the unholy beast of his affliction, but while he is still an unholy beast, he must die.

This does not really compute or translate properly in the grand scheme of magical necromancy laws.

Is he faced with a choice, in this situation? No, of course not. He has no choice. From the moment he last drew breath, there was no choice for him. The Revenant raises his weapon and aims down range, right on the beast’s head. He is in the way. He must be moved OUT of the way. The easiest way to do this, is to kill him.

Aurelias levels the bead of his sights right between Gamzee Makara’s horns and pulls the trigger.

[Strazio Rockwell]

“Oh you bastard,” Strazio growled as Aurelias took aim at the high blood. Strazio strained his body, forcing it to move faster. His feet dug into the dirt and he pumped his arms as fast as he could. Alas there was no outrunning a crossbow bolt. It slammed into Gamzee’s back, burying itself deep into the troll’s chest. Gamzee yelped and slumped over. Strazio cussed and turned towards Aurelias. With a signature disregard for his own safety he bull rushed the revenant and invited a withering storm of bolts. They did not stop his charge and in moments he was upon the reanimated hunter. Feral and enraged Strazio pummeled his foe. Each hit bruised his knuckles and sent tremors of pain through his forearms, the man was filled with lead. 


“Strazio,” Gamzee said, but went unheard through Strazio’s torrent of obscenities. The troll looked down at the reverting Peter and back at his vicious friend. Sure the bolt hurt, hurt like hell to be honest, but it wasn’t like Gamzee was a pushover. Gamzee stood and walked over to the scuffling duo. Strazio raised his hand and charged it with a crackling malignancy that rivaled a bolt of lightning. Before it could be brought down upon Aurelias Gamzee grabbed the mage’s wrist. “Stop it,” Gamzee said, “everything’s good, it's all good, Peter ain’t a wolfman anymore so Mr. Zombie has no reason to fight us anymore.”


“Let go of my arm,” Strazio snarled, not taking his eyes off the downed man, “he’s gonna pay for everyone one of these arrows sticking out of our bodies.”


Gamzee did not oblige him and instead observed, “killing him is probably the kindest thing you could do for him.”


No one said anything for a long time. The troll kept a hold of Strazio’s wrist and Strazio did not look away from Aurelias. The revenant had the eyes of a dead man, cold and pallid, filled with an apathy that Strazio had only seen once before. Death would be welcome to the dead man. Death would be a release. Death would set him free from his binds and death would release his soul to the afterlife. Strazio smiled. There would be no death today. The sparks that swam around Strazio’s body fizzled out and he stood up, allowing the Revenant to do the same. Aurelias glanced past the duo and to Peter, whose body had a distinct lack of fur. The revenant nodded. He left without a word.


Peter coughed and Gamzee rushed to his side. Although the man was no longer a wolf, the silver bolts that covered his body still proved to be a threat. Blood drizzled from wounds and his body shuddered in shock. Strazio crouched down next to him and set to work cauterizing every open wound. Small semi-controlled bursts of magick nipped at open blood vessels and sealed them shut. It certainly wasn’t enough to save the man, but it would buy them time. The duo heaved Peter up and carried him with arms draped across their backs. It would be a long walk back, but they hadn’t come this far to leave him for dead. 


They arrived at Darkshire when the moon was high in the sky. Strazio flashed his crest and the guards let him in without incident. Peter had grown cold by this point. This worried the duo, but neither of them said a word. They trudged through town towards Mama Godwin’s hut. Gamzee knocked on the door, while Strazio strained to keep Peter up.


“Oh my Peter,” she exclaimed and brought her hands to her cheeks.


Before anyone could say another word Strazio spoke, “aight lady, we don’t have a lotta time, he needs some kind of healing juice or concotion, he’s lost a lot of blood.”


“Yes, bring him in, bring him in,” she said and scurried off inside her hut. Once inside she found a red vial with the label “Mama’s cure-all”. Gamzee cleared off a table and Strazio lifted Peter onto it. Mama cradled her son’s head and fed him the contents of the vial. It took a few minutes to start working, but Peter’s breathing stabilized. His once-cold body was now flush and he started to sweat profusely. “It’ll be awhile until he’s back to full strength,” Mama said and turned towards the haggard adventurers, “but, y'all brought him back safe and sound, an’ I ‘preciate that so here’s a li’l somethin’ somethin’ for ya’lls.” She handed them each a bottle full of a shimmering blue liquid. They were labeled “Mama’s Spirit Juice”. Gamzee smiled, thanked her, and went to drink his. Mama smacked his hand and said, “now now child, don’t you go wastin’ that now, it’ll rejuvenate your mystical energies, and it’s bitter, so only drink it when ya needs to, now it’s late and y’all need to get to bed, so go on and get now.”