No Pain for Fiends

[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.