That Night...?

[Yukika Inoue]

The white blankness disappeared, but what emerged on the other side of the portal was no more pleasant. An open field of overgrown grass. The only notable landmark was a blackened shape in the distance that was some kind of structure. Most likely civilization, that would be a great place to start some questioning. Maybe she would find some information on herself in the process.

The red-headed warrior’s hands hummed like an over-powered magnet and flashed slightly black as her weapon and shield floated into her hands. The shield locked into her bracer with a reassuring click leaving her left hand free. She should stay careful, in her condition she was in a weak and vulnerable state. Even so, she still remembered how to fight. Her heels left indents behind her in the dirt as she worked her way toward the mysterious structure.

It didn't take very long for something to hone in on her, and it wasn't the encounter she was expecting. No more than ten minutes after her entrance to the verse, she saw a large group of blackened creatures as dark as the dead of night in hell. Only word found it’s way out of her mouth when memories flushed through her head like a bursting dam of water exploding into a waterfall.

“Grimm.” She uttered to herself almost inaudibly. They were attacking a small farm and she happened to be close by. Without a moment's hesitation, the huntress charged into battle. Flashes of a dark night lit only by the broken moon and dim fires that had collected around her from devastation of these creatures. A woman in three pieces and a girl dressed in black and red. Her eyes trailed towards the sky, seeing the crow-like Grimm cawing from their kingdom in the air.

The Xiphos in her hand extended past its extents of a sword and became a spear. She took it under hand and launched into one's face. The metal stuck into the Nevermore’s neck and it dropped from the sky like a sack of potatoes. It careened down towards her and slammed into the grassy plain next to her. A black aura surrounded Miló and returned to her hand. That got the attention of nightmare beings. At least ten of them, Beowolves they come to mind as they charge towards her, completely forgetting about the barn filled with miscellaneous farm animals. Other beings - Creeps? - blasted from the ground, spraying dirt up like brown mist. Just another day in the life of a huntress.

Her weapon came to life again, switching back to it’s Xiphos mode. As her blade ran deep through the dark creatures of Grimm, images of that night kept flooding her mind. Who were these people she was seeing? What is going on during this night that she keeps seeing in her mind? The bashing of her shield in the face of a Beowolf brought her back to her into the fight. Her sword impaled the black beast it's mechanical sound extended through the Beowolf’s body piercing its deadly javelin point through its back. Forcing her enemy back, she jammed the end through another one and into the ground, which she pole vaulted over taking her spear with her. The rest fell just as easily as those two. Metal meeting flesh - or whatever it is Grimm have - more than once. The precision of the famed Pyrrha Nikos was undeniable. The invincible woman cut through enemies as if she was mowing the lawn. When the smoke cleared from the last dissipation of the final Grimm. The huntress took a deep breath and yelled out to the sky.

“Who am I?!”

[Yukika Inoue]

Tears welled up in the huntress’s eyes. Her search for answers led only to more questions. What was the meaning of all of this destruction she had witnessed? Did she have a hand in it? What does she do now? She returned her sword and shield to their spot on her back and let out a deep sigh. Just as she was about to move on, someone approached her from the farm home. A man, scratches littered his arms and a few shined on his face. He carried some kind of farm tool that Pyrrha wasn't able to identify just by looking at it.

“Young lady, that there was quite the display. I have to thank ya’ for comin’ when you did or me and my entire family wouldn't be here to live the tale.” He said in a slightly panicked voice that was finding it’s relief. He was an older scruffy-looking who would be lucky to wield a weapon if had the strength to pick it up.

“Please, don't worry about it. I kind of got rung into the fight.” She admitted. “While I’m pleased to hear your family is safe, it was mostly self-defense.”

“Well, I’d love to say we all made it through this safely without a scratch, but me and my boy didn't get the good end of the stick. He got it worse than I did myself.” The old man said looking back at his farm. “I'm sure my wife is helping him recover about now.”

“Will he be alright? Is there anything I can do to help?” Pyrrha asked.

“Well, supplies can be thin so far from the city, unfortunately, and I never have time to make my way there beyond harvest time.” He replied scratching his head. “We are running low on medical supplies. Bandages, sterilizer, etc.”

“I can do that for you, sir. Point me the closest city.” She said looking subconsciously for signs of civilization.

“If you insist, please follow me. I have an order ready in Darkshire that just needs picked up. It’s terribly difficult to get someone to deliver them. Most of ‘em just end up dead.” The old man admitted as he turned around to head back to his home. He turned to make sure Pyrrha was following suit. She followed behind, looking around as she walked through the grass and onto the trail.

“Ya’ ain’t from these parts, are ya’?” He asked as the walked on the dirt trail that looked like it was meant for wagons.

“Um, no sir. I'm not actually sure where I am from admittedly.” Pyrrha said. “All I remember was a terrible pain and then a faceless white man who called himself Omni.”

“Yer a Prime?” He asked, as if Pyrrha had the answer to that one. “I never met many of yer type before.”

“I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about.”

“You Primes have the ability to make things like magic with Omnilium. Everything in this world is made of the stuff.” He starts. “But, then y’ve got us secondary folks who are much more normal. We gotta eat and sleep and all that you fellas don't have to worry about.”

Pyrrha placed her hand on her stomach just noticing she had been in the Omniverse for hours and wasn't exactly hungry or tired at all. This new universe just seemed to be getting weirder with each passing hour. After that conversation, she was given the order receipt and was quick to leave.

“I will return shortly, sir.” The polite red-head said as she ran off in the direction of Darkshire. The man waved her off as she hurried along the trail.

[Yukika Inoue]

The red head, full of vigor, charged down the dirt trail towards Darkshire. Her sword was in hand ready for any encounter that may come. Growling from the giant weedy grass in the distance was a familiar howling. She was in for a fight. The shield on her back welded through the air and into the locking mechanism of her bracer. The distant howling told her there was more than one, but they were still a leap away.

Pyrrha kept her eyes peeled, scanning the horizon of grass and hills for any subtle movement that dared threaten her. The air grew heavier somehow; her breathing increasing with the adrenaline. The only sound being the narrow foot falls of heels on solid dirt. A sharp sound of sifting grass slid the huntress to a stop. Her shield forward and her sword back, she quietly listened in to echolocate her enemy. Another slash of grass and snarling growl of a Beowolf ambush. The black beast ate steel from the huntress’s shield, driving it straight into the dirt with a dusty cloud. The air thickened in an earthen smokescreen as the Beowolf met it’s last to Pyrrha’s Xiphos. The steel destroyed the darkened flesh of her enemies chest.

When the smoke cleared, she was surrounded by the pack. They snarled at her like rabid dogs, but she didn't even blink an eye. She scanned the group of Grimm: Six Beowolves, not counting the one she just gutted. One of them was an Alpha. The bigger one roared viciously at her, commanding the pack to tear into her. Little did they know - They’re dealing with a huntress.

The Beowolf behind her jumped in, lashing at her backside. She pivoted to her side and bashed the shield into the Grimm’s face, knocking it to the ground dazed. Two more reached in with their jaws and claws. She jumped forward out of the way of the two night stalkers and towards the Alpha. It snarled and swung it’s black thorns at her. The shield caught the blow, sending it's arm wide. With a spin she slashed it’s chest, a red glowing inside pierced through the blackness. It’s as tough as it looked; even with a gash across it’s chest, it was still fit enough to kick her in the stomach. She slid back in her boots into the group of Grimm, but that didn't slow her down. Her sword drug across the arm of another Beowolf, slicing it clean off. The Beowolf took a swing with its remaining arm but swung wide over her head. The black creature fell to the ground and dissipated promptly. Four left.

Claws reached in at the huntress, tearing at her skin- Wait, is she bleeding? Why didn't her aura absorb it? She bashed a wolf forward, knocking it on it's back and stomping her heel into its forehead. She took up a more defensive stance, keeping the shield high. She mentally reminded herself the basics: Hold, don’t hide. The wound hardly hurt, but drawing blood was nigh-impossible against a huntsman. The four arced around her, forming a perimeter around her. It made it difficult to escape.

“Move!” She yelled, bashing her shield at another Beowolf’s face. They smartened up against that move, it backed off just as she reached in, but her sword still found it’s way into the creature’s chin. The monster dissolved into a black mist. The others backed off a little, except for the Alpha. It charged her crazily, swinging its head around maniacally. Pyrrha readied herself for the attack with shield up. She charged forward and rammed the shield into the Grimm’s chest, knocking it flat on its back. Wasting no time, she switched Miló to it’s Javelin form and drove it into the Alpha’s head. The other two turn tail and run as soon as the black mist surrounds the huntress. She rose the polearm behind her head and shot it towards one of them. The force drove the wolf some distance before it rolled to a stop. The huntress watched the last one disappear into the grass. After retrieving Miló, she sighed and returned it to it’s Xiphos form, then returned it to her back. Without much of a word, she continued on her way to Darkshire, not far off in the distance. About twenty minutes later, she found herself at the front gate. She took a deep breath and approached the watch-guard.

[Yukika Inoue]

“Whoa, wait. I don't recognize you.” He says to the red-head, rising from his wooden chair. It let out a terrible creak as his weight shifted off of the seat. Pyrrha halted in her tracks and put her hands up slightly to show that she came in peace.

“Don't worry, sir, safety is on.” She said in response. The gate-man eyed her suspiciously with his hand ready to reach for his axe.

“Ya, well you look like you don't have much business in Darkshire.” Pyrrha took a step back and rubbed her head.

“Uh, actually I'm just here to pick up a delivery of medicine for a plantation down the road a few miles. My business in your town will strictly be professional.” She attempted to persuade him. Pyrrha clearly harbored no ill intent on Darkshire.

“Hmm,” he grunted. His arms shifted to his his side and he seemed to relax a little. “Alright, Darkshire has seen a rough few months. Don't judge us too harshly.” He motioned her through, towards the gate, signaling her right of passage.

The Huntress nodded and passed through, giving Darkshire a good look from the gate. Structures were being rebuilt by residents from what seemed like an onslaught no far in it’s past. Maybe there are larger Grimm around than Pyrrha initially suspected. If that were the case, then there was definitely reason to come here. Still, while the Grimm are the only thing she has found that clings her to her memories - What else is there?

All she remembers is that one night, so far. A tower - some kind of giant building, possibly a library or university - lit aflame and people running scared for their life. Others were either destroying, or being beaten up by the creatures of Grimm who seemed to be totally ransacking the place. Why can't she remember past that part?

When she came back to reality, she realized she had been walking aimlessly through the streets. Many of Darkshire’s people had set their eyes towards her. Reasonable enough. She was a stranger to them, and although she knew she wouldn't draw her weapon on anyone in this town, they still had to be cautious. Better safe than sorry, presumably.

The redhead shuffled through her pack for the paper with the information of the herb shop which she was heading to. The place was called Grave Concoctions. Painfully funny puns. She didn't let that distract her, though, she was on a mission after all. It took some questioning and time to locate this shop, but finally, she did. It was on the edge of the other of town, which is why it took so long to find it.

The wooden door cried in pain against its hinges as the huntress swung it open. It was a bit dark at first while her eyes attempted to adjust to the dimmer lighting of the shop. She called out a bit nervously, blinking several times to focus her vision.

“H-Hello?” Her voice broke the silence inside. After a second, another woman’s voice called back.

“One moment, I'm cleaning the alembic.” The shopkeeper’s voice called back. Pyrrha made her way into the building, now able to see better since she shut the door behind her. There was a wooden counter behind which was a doorway that led into a back room. Most likely where the woman who runs the shop had called from and makes her medicines. A small, round table rested underneath a lit torch sconce off to the right. Behind the counter, she could see glass vials of differently colored substances.

Just as she was really getting intrigued by the glowing liquids, the shopkeeper came out from the doorway.

“How can I-” She pauses for a moment, getting a good look at Pyrrha. “I don't get many travellers around here. My apologies, ma’am, how can I help you today?” Pyrrha straightens up a bit as she talks and reaches into the leather pouch at her side. She pulls the receipt from its confine and puts it down on the counter.

“Uh, yes. You see, I'm not here for myself. I came in the stead of a farmer on the plains of the Moors. He requests the medicines you were agreed to make for him.” Pyrrha said in her soft tone.

“Hm,” the woman say scooping up the paper with the proof of purchase on it. “Oh right, I remember this order. Let me go grab it.”

With that, she goes back into her secret room and produces three vials of some kind of lightly-blue liquid. It was much thicker than she had imagined it would be. It swished around slowly as she passed them to Pyrrha.

“What...is this?” Were the only words she could think of using.

“You’ve never seen a tonic before?” Was the only reply the woman could think of using.

“Well, not really.” She said nervously, and with a laugh continued. “I was assuming something along the lines of vitamins or pills.”

“A tonic is used for cuts and bruises. It helps them heal more quickly and keeps the wound clean so it doesn't get infected.” She explains.

“So...it’s a liquid band-aid?”

“Uh, sure, if you want to look at it that way.” She says. “Well, that’s all the order he put in. If you don't need anything else, I have to get back my other orders.”

“No, that’s it then. Thank you.” Pyrrha says before heading out the door behind her and back out into Darkshire. It takes a moment again to navigate back through the city, but after finding some recognizable landmarks she finds the gate where she entered before. She gives a nod to the gateman as she passes and thoroughly ties the hide sack containing the glass vials to her side.

[Okor]

The prime Pyrrha walked through the haunted hills of the Moors, black, deadened trees rising through the pervasive mist, like blackened claws wrapping themselves around the very heart of this forsaken ‘verse. The sun glimmered through the fog, the myopic eye of a forgotten god failing to see just how far his creation had fallen. She subconsciously clutched the sack of curatives closer to her cuirass as she travelled the decrepit road as wolves howled off in the distance, dreading damage to the vials more than any wounds she herself may suffer.

The Moors was a harsh and unforgiving place, seemingly taking any attempt to sustain oneself within its toxic environs as a personal affront. The huntress could practically feel the eyes upon her back; only Diablo himself knew what lurked within the deadwood forests. Her aegis hung from her back, while her multipurpose tool of murder was clutched in her right, green eyes, a colour all too rare in what passed for the wilds of this realm, wide and alert for any threat.

Her vigilance was rewarded. A hunched figure swaddled in stained robes hobble forward across crackled cobbles, a twisted spar of gnarled wood supporting its weight. Insects flew through the air surrounding him, born aloft briefly on diseased breezes before scurrying back beneath the tattered cloth.

Phyrra’s footsteps resounded throughout the silence, stopping a few meters short of the man, his hooded face peering up at her, a stained bandage wrapped around his eyes, a grin forged from festering gums and cracked teeth at odds with his diseased frame. Desiccated lips split apart as he spoke, a soft, wet, deep voice like graveyard dirt issuing forth from the ruined man.

“My, my, my. Judging by the click of your heels, the lack of shouting, and how few weapons have been pointed in my direction, I must have made the acquaintance of a young lady,” the man chuckled, his laughter quickly transforming into a series of coughs, clutching one clawed hand to his mouth.

“Are you sick?” Asked the huntress, her tone compassionate, reeking of the discipline and nobility that her short life had instilled into every ounce of her being.

“Aren’t we all?” Laughed the man, his mirth only interrupted when he coughed up a lump of flesh, slick with a whitish fluid that seemed only tangentially related to blood. “Some of us just wear it better than others.” The elder grinned through rotting teeth, leaning against his staff as sightless, cloaked eyes stared into Pyrrha’s soul. “But, I could talk about my impeccable sense of fashion all evening. I don’t suppose you can spare a few coppers for an Old man? What few boutiques left in the Moors charge a premium for such finery as this,” he grasped at his robes, displaying the filthy hemp with a prideful look upon his festering face.

“Ah! Yes, of course!” The huntress clutched her hands together, remembering the ever-smiling sovereign of this realm’s words. Iridescence coalesced within her hands, raw potential refining itself into golden circles stamped with the heraldry of Remnant. Half a dozen shining coins passed into an outstretched pestilential palm, the entropic elder raising them to his nostrils as he used what senses he still possessed to inspect them.

A tainted tongue ran over shattered teeth. “Is that… Omni’s blood, I smell?” He slipped the shining coins into a stained pocket. “My, my, my my my. I haven’t caught that scent since I was born old into this world.” Insects skittered out from beneath his hump, spreading chitinous wings as they took flight. “Perhaps I’ll hear you later, little prime.” The man laughed, seemingly standing a little straighter as he began his journey once more, staff rapping against the flagstones.

Miles away, a man covered in black furs, decrepit jawbones, and fang necklaces rested his rusted axe in the mire, chewing most of a beetle, the remainder gently spasming in his hand. His gang shambled through the mists after him, clutching heavy blades and chains in gloved hands. Before Hell had come to The Moors, they had been hunters, loggers, marsh-men who preferred the fog and fens to Darkshire’s walls. After Diablo had destroyed everything they held dear, they found a much more cathartic prey: The trophies of their hunts displayed with all the hate they could muster, reminding monsters and men alike who they faced.

For all their strength, they had nearly fallen to the Moors itself: disease, hunger, a thousand little things they could not solve with an axe.

But then, a Miracle occurred. A man had come from the mist, his veins laden with venom, his mind feverish with faith. He had opened his veins and offered his tainted flesh, and in their starvation, the hunters partook, preaching the tenets of taint to his newfound disciples, even as they blinded and hobbled him with their hunger.

They ate what they killed, now. The corruption of Dracula’s minions could find no purchase in their purified flesh. Others shared their burden behind walls, beneath the earth, in every shadow man would not dare to walk without God at his side.

The hulking hunter grinned beneath his Wolf’s-head cloak, pulped bugflesh anointing his teeth. A voice from behind him called, thick with phlegm, twisted into a low growl by scars upon the throat. “What’s the prey, Gudrun? Or are we hungry enough to start eating brainy-beetles just for the Underverse of it?” Half a dozen gathered cultists chuckled, arranging themselves into a loose formation behind their master.

“Prime. Bring ‘em to be butchered beneath the walls.” He hefted the axe up from the swampland, its blade soaked in mud impacting against a fur-coated shoulder.

Skins strapped to bulky, leather-clad forms shifted from flayed men to wolven hides beneath the light of the full moon as the men moved, slayers of beasts, turned warriors of the faith, in pursuit of the scent their plagued patron had gifted them.

[Yukika Inoue]

The scruffy old man was on his way. Pyrrha watch him walk, or more like slowly hobble, around the dirt path she had just walked. He was most likely going to Darkshire to relieve himself of his newly found “riches”. Her meeting with him seemed ominously foreboding. She could feel something shifting in the wind, something worse than Grimm.

Her weapon lit with a black aura and hovered to her grasp. The sword extended outward into it’s spear form, which she took hold of in both hands. Her emerald eyes scanned the trees and dall dark grass every chance she got. Even if it was just superstition, she knew there were Grimm lurking in the area and she would be caught dead before she was caught off guard. Distant howling sounded over the clacking sound of her heels on stone.

The uneventful passage of time finally became eventful when she saw the farm on the horizon, luckily there were much less Grimm than her first visit. None to be precise. Her paces increased to a light jog after seeing her destination within reach. No less than 300 yards, something - or more precisely: Someone - jumped from the overgrown grass. He bore a bear’s skin on his head with it’s maw removed. As terrifying as he appeared, Pyrrha steeled herself and blocked the strike with Milo’s handle. Her heels shifted on the stone as she side stepped the axe and with quick rotational swing, the spear clotheslined the back of the man's head sending him stumbling forward. Her aegis glided into it’s designated place on her forearm which she held forward.

“I’m not looking for trouble.” Pyrrha states, hoping to avoid conflict if necessary. Her grip on Milo tightened. “For what reason would you attack a stranger on the road when there are already much more treacherous beasts lurking around?”

The man let out a diseased snarl that chilled even Pyrrha’s bones. His horribly dissolved skin was more horrifying than the animalistic growl. Whatever he was, it wasn’t anything human or faunus, at least not anymore. More of his “kind” spawned from the bushes and surrounded the huntress in wide circle. They growled their ugly snarls at her with a frightful hunger. Although fear welled in the huntress’s core, she stood firm and focused with weapon in hand. Grimm or men, she was trained to handle large groups of enemies and this would be no different from any other battle, right?

[Sister Evangeline]

A flash of blinding light came as she passed through, it took a moment for Evangeline to adjust to the dark relm. Her strides crushed tall grass beneath her plasteel boots. The air was cold and heavy, and there was a scent of stagnant water over the familiar stench of decay. The sister felt as though she was back on the battlefield, and as unnerving as that was it was better than the void she'd just walked from. In the distance she could make out a settlement, hard to make out in this light, but it's silhouette allowed her to identify it as a feudal one. There was some evidence of agriculture, but the wooden buildings that would have been homesteads and barns had their roofs pealed and their structure exposed.

In the ground Evangeline could see what looked like fresh foot prints heading off in the direction of the settlement. Though she doubted those in a feudal hold would be much help to her if it was still inhabited, however perhaps the individual who had stepped through the portal before her knew more about her situation than she did. With little else to go on she made moves.

The tracks lead her to a field outside of a homestead, this one very much inhabited. She could see light flickering from a candle inside. Her eyes were drawn to the field however, as she noted immense claw like gouges in the earth, so large that they couldn't have belong to anything other than a daemonic hell beast or a xenos abomination. The grass was flattened and the ground compressed where one had presumably fallen. But there was no blood, no viscera. A fresh battleground missing vital evidence. It was very peculiar. The sound of gravel crunching under leather sandals drew her eyes up again as her lasgun found its way into her hands.

"Whatcha doing out here?" an old voice said. She was met by an elderly man dressed in coarse woven clothing, frail and emaciated, to which she instinctively raised her weapon. "Ah, I didn't mean any harm!" he said, cowering at the sight of her advanced rifle.

Evangeline lowered it, slinging it back over her shoulder and raised her hand to apologise. "Sorry for startling you." She said, her impassive grimace melting into a warm and welcoming if slightly apologetic smile. "This land is so strange, and I'm a little on edge."

The elderly man cautiously straightened up. "Are yer Prime?" he said with some trepidation.

"I don't know what a prime is, unfortunately." Evangeline replied, again apologetically. It was not uncommon for worlds lost to the Imperium, untouched by the war to have many of the Imperial Truths fall to legend. If she was to guess, a prime would be in reference to a Primarch, one of the Sons of the Emperor and founder of an Astartes chapter. Either way, she had to be cautious what she said, lest she undermine any sisters of the Orders Famulous to come after her. "I am a Sister Almoness of the Order of the Eternal Candle." she said with a polite bow "Sister Evangeline."

"Well, Sister Evangeline." He said, relaxing quite a bit. "I suppose I can't hold it against ya, you're not wrong. Not a few hours ago we were attacked by some beasts. Were it not for that red haired lass we'd be gonners."

"I take it she was the one responsible for the damage to the crop?" Evangeline replied with a raised eyebrow.

"Aye, but can't hold it against her. Like I said, some big scary beasts attacked us."

"Where are the bodies?" She asked again, this time her tone growing more inquisitorial.

"I have no idea. The girl skewered them and then they." He radiated his hands out "Poof, vanished."

"Hm." Evangeline hummed thoughtfully. It was not unheard of for abominations to vanish upon execution, but there was always something remaining of them. Some foul smelling bile or a heretic artifact. Here there was nothing, indicating that it was something else. "Where did this woman go?" She asked "I'd like to speak with her."

"To Darkshire." the man said, lifting a pointed finger to the settlement on the horizon. "She was going to get us some medical supplies, in fact." His inflection took on a slightly embarrassed tone. "From the red of your cloak I thought you might be her."

"Medical supplies? Is someone hurt?" Evangeline said, changing subject with genuine concern.

"Me boy got sliced up in the attack." he said "The girl was kind enough to help us."

"I'm a medical practitioner and still have some supplies. If you would like, I could treat him before I go." The sister offered.
"I'd very much appreciate it miss."

***

They were some horrible wounds. Deep gashes, along the boys arms and abdomen, and she could feel the swollen flesh from internal bleeding. The wife had done well by using sheets and bandages to reduce the bleeding, but there was still a large circle of blood on the mattress and only the Emperor knew what was going on inside him. Evangeline lamented being away from her triage supplies, she'd have liked to have given him a transfusion. As it was all she could do was disinfect the wounds and sew him up. She worked quickly, her expert hands quickly connecting the severed arteries, closing the wounds.

When she was done she estimated a 60 percent chance of survival, though she didn't inform them of that. Without a full chirugeons kit and a sterile operating theater there was little else anyone with any medical sense dare do.

"I've done what I can, but he's not out of the woods yet." She said, removing a set of disposable gloves and discarding them in a wooden bowl. "You'll need to give him fresh, dry linen, and be careful you don't split his stitches. You need to keep him warm and hydrated."

"Thank you so much!" The woman cried, grabbing sister around the waste, balling her eyes out.

"Please, think nothing of it." she said, her arms flattened against the woman's chest. But it was to no avail, the woman held on with all the gratitude in her heart for what seemed like an age. The only thing ending the bear hug was the sound of Evangeline's stomach growling.

"Oh my, are you hungry?" the woman asked, ending her hug to grab the sister by the shoulders to inspect her. "Please, stay for supper."

"I would love too, but I must move on." Evangeline said, talking the opportunity to force herself to her feet. "Please, worry not about me. Your son needs your care right now."

The woman darted off as though hit with a brilliant thought. "Then you must take some bread with you and you can eat it as you walk." She said to her self

"That won't be -" The sister was about to protest but her stomach cut her off. It had been 3 hours since she left the battlefield, and before that she was already due a ration. "Actually, that would be most appreciated." She said with a bashful smile.

***

It wasn't excellent, but the bread now filling her made her feel a little better. She couldn't help but smile slightly as she walked away from the house. As she walked she continued to look for signs of the red haired woman with a silent prayer that she would hold the answers the sister sought.

[Okor]

Gudrun grinned as he hefted his massive axe upon his skin-heaped shoulder; flayed man-hide shifting into bloodied, black furs as the light of the full moon was filtered through the dead branches overhead. He could feel his skull shifting beneath where the prime’s blow struck, cancerous growths of bone reinforcing his temple. His band of merry men fell in beside him, a series of serrated blades and twisted tools of their trade clutched in necrotic hands.The prime’s blade shifted, its hilt expanding into the shaft of a spear as she raised her shield, sandals squelching in the mud as she sought to steady herself in the mire of the moors. A chill wind blew from the west, the breath of the black gate seeking to steal life from the living for its infernal masters.

The Prime was ill-suited for the Pale Moors, clad in clothing that was more suited for an evening beneath the sun of the Vasty Deeps, rather than the entropic embrace of this ruined realm. Lips split, revealing a maw jammed full of fangs torn from their rightful, animalistic owners.

“Little, little Godling,” he chuckled, pus-filled lungs gurgling as he advanced, fearless of the fire-haired warrior. “Were-beasts cower in their masks of men where we walk.” The hunter to his side unhooked a cruel chain from his belt, its barbed end whistling through the air as the gangrenous gang started to circle, wary eyes watching the prime as she adjusted her grip on her spear.

The chain flew through the air, and all hell broke loose.

The shieldbearer sprung up into the air, the chain sinking into the soft earth beneath her now-airborne feet, the shambling hunters surging forward, eager to send her sprawling into the primordial soup seeking to suck them all down into its embrace. She threw her shield as she tumbled through the fog-filled atmosphere, the ballistic barrier rebounding off the fur-cloaked skull of Svipnir, and crashing into the face of Bjaarn, shards of broken bone and blood flying from the impact as his nose splintered beneath the blow.

The prime catapulted herself from the flying shield, its momentum reversing as it flew back, adhering to her wrist as she landed behind the huddled masses of humanity. Her spear twirled through the air as she adopted a combat stance, her golden hoplon and shining spear a stark contrast to the rotten rags and rusted cleavers hefted by her foes. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she made her stand.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

A gurgling chuckle echoed around the clearing as the gang advanced, maddened eyes staring into her from beneath bandages stained by blood and pus. Their leader, resplendent in rotting hides, spoke as he hefted his axe, turning it so that its bladeless end slapped into his scarred palm.

“This is good. None should be afraid within His embrace.”

At his words, Gavsson tossed his net, its rotten hemp strands weighed down with rusted orbs and cracked, yellowed skulls. The prime’s spear shifted into a xiphos, the exotic blade tearing through the netting as the hunters closed in, an iron-tipped cudgel careening towards her skull as she struck out against the snare. It clattered off of her shield as a chain wrapped around her ankle, yanking her into the muck lying beneath the combatants, eliciting a grunt as she impacted against the mud.

A rag-wrapped fist slammed into the earth next to her face as she began to move, spinning on her shield as her foot cracked against the ankle of a hunter, sending him sprawling to the ground as she pushed herself up, sailing over their leader’s skull as she slammed the hilt of her blade down on his temple. Undeterred, the slayers of beasts turned, rising once more from the muck as gangrenous grins greeted her. Cracked ribs and bashed skulls proved no hindrance to the cursed cultists, nets, chains, and brutal clubs making it all too clear that they intended to drag her back to whatever fate they had in store for her while she yet drew breath.

The huntress’ breath was ragged: She was on unfamiliar ground, against unfamiliar foes, ones with the savagery of Grimm and the cunning of men. Her spear folded in on itself, her sword gleaming beneath the dim light of a distant sun. None here wanted death, but her bestial attackers had made their sinister intentions clear. With a cry, she charged forward, already dodging a wild swing as she rammed her Hoplon under the armpit of her attacker, dislocating his shoulder as she swung her xiphos.

Unfortunately, her foe had neither the aegis of the aura nor the living death sentence that was an existence as a bestial grimm.. With a look of horror dawning on her face, she turned to look upon the surely dead man, an apology starting to blossom on her lips.

A gloved hand slammed down on her throat. Their fur-clad leader, what little skin bared covered in tri-lobed pustules, slowly raised her above his head, a long gash in his side seeping white blood. Spines of bone started to sprout from the ragged flesh, stitching the wound together before her eyes.

She forced a sentence past her strangulation.

”W-what are you?”

A smile stained with his own venomous vitae answered her.

“Chosen.”

[Yukika Inoue]

Saliva welled against the huntress’ tongue as she choked from the Nurglite’s brawny hand. She did her best to respond.

“Once…” she coughed up. “I thought I was chosen. To-To be someone special and impo- portant, but life is full of…” She let out another heavy cough. “D-Disappointment!”

It was only then, her memory creeped back slightly. A few words that scared her crawled into her subconscious ’Do you believe in Destiny?’ With a cry, her foot dove into his face. While his grip held true, he stumbled back just enough for Pyrrha to kick off his grip. The other horrid men jumped on her with their axes and clubs ready to bludgeon her to a still-living pulp. Her sword laid on the ground. Their leader was smart enough to pick it up, leaving her offense-less - or so he hoped. The redhead proved as valiant fighting with just her shield as much as her xiphos.

Her shield buried into one of their chests with a force to send him flying back. A loud metal crash reverberated as an axe collided with the golden aegis. She pulled back, came forward at a wide swing bashing the shield against the man’s head, disorienting him completely. The heel of Pyrrha’s boot dug into his chest, knocking him on his back. She turned just in time to see a hemp net flying towards her, luckily giving her just enough time to dive to the ground and out of the way. Unfortunately, not enough time to recover to her feet before two twisted weapons came for her chest. That kept her pinned long enough for someone to get ahold of her ankles. Her heart pumped with ferocity as the thought of being dragged away by such demented people to whatever fate that had stored for her. As courage turned to anxious fear, adrenaline kicked in.

She forced the clubs from gleaming hoplon, took hold of the ground and pushed off onto his torso; his grip was as deadly as his intentions. She reached down and drove the golden-yellow shield into his face several times. The two others attempted to knock her out cold, even with their ally’s grip on her legs. She raised her aegis to block both strikes, then as they came back for a second hit she frisbee-threw her shield into one’s face. It ricocheted off him and onto the other with guidance from Pyrrha’s Polarity then back to her hand. The restraint of the nurglite’s grip had gotten on Pyrrha’s nerves now. She gripped the edge of her shield and drove it upon his neck.

It wasn't so terrifying that Pyrrha had just attempted to murder a humanoid person like herself as much it was seeing him bleed from the neck and still try to claw at her legs through aura and armor.

“Hyah!” She cried before diving the shield further into his spinal column. His head hung off his torso by a thread, finally loosening the death grip on her ankles. As soon as her foot was free, she drove it onto the edge of the blood covered aegis, severing the man's head from the rest of his body. Blood dripped from the hoplon as she rose it from his beastial body. She was close to losing her lunch from the scene of brutality she had inflicted.

The chieftain of the nurglites grew a heavy face. Her snarled a wolfish growl as he pulled his axe from his side again.

“Enough playing around!” His hideous voice bit at Pyrrha’s skin. She prepared to defend herself, still horrified by her brutish fatality.

“P-Please don't make me do that again!” She pleaded, hopefully not needing to chop of the head of another human. Her enemies had no intention on letting her get away with murdering one of their brothers, though. As the leader charged her, she noticed the sun gleam off Miló’s red-painted steel. With fear still fresh in her eyes, she pulled on her xiphos with her polarity, tugging him forward and making his swing go wide to her side. His grip was lost in the blade; it hovered with a black aura back to its owner.

“I-I won't hold back i-if that is your wish, then! I-I’ll...I’ll kill you, too!” Her empty threats didn't even phase her enemies, no matter how hard she’d attempted to be intimidating.

[Sister Evangeline]

The sister continued, following the road towards the settlement, her spirits somewhat higher than they were before. The morsel of food left her sated and the fact that she had the chance to ply her trade left her spirit fulfilled. She was still confused, a feeling of spiritual emptiness still gnawed at her heart, but she wasn’t in the depths of despair she was only hours prior.

Her surroundings certainly weren't responsible for her raised spirits. The tree line had become denser the deeper she ventured into the moore, though the majority of the branches had been stripped of all foliage. The air was still cold and muggy, which made the sister’s nose run ever so slightly. It was also ever so slightly beneficial as the faint scent of necrotic flesh she had detected at the portal had only grown more pungent as she continued. It had grown from only being detected by her attuned senses to the dominant aroma in the air. It was also too quiet, only the wind whistling through the tree branches, the soft trickling of a near by creek and her plasteel boots crunching through the gravel could be heard. None of the calls of birds, animals or insects that she’d normally expect to hear whilst walking through an underdeveloped world such as this.

She felt as though some predator was watching her from the bushes. She was anything but prey. She kept the mantras of her training in mind and walked with a confident gait, remembering the hells she’d walked through and survived before.

The sound of metal clattering in the distance quickly chased all other thoughts from her mind. The sounds of battle came, emanating from a nearby source in the woods, not far from the road. Evangeline turned her head in the direction of the cacophony and noticed a boot print in the mud, similar to those she saw around the strange battle site with scarred and pockmarked earth but no bodies to go along with them. Even if she hadn’t made that connection she’d have gone, but the notion that answers to her predicament seemed so close by pushed the sister forward even faster.

Her boots drove into the turbid waters forcefully. She had made charges through pockmarked battle lines before, this was no different. Muddy earth began to cling to her base of her robe and caked on her boots, so she sought higher ground, climbing upon logs and stones, striding between them with small leaps. All the while the fetid scent of decaying flesh grew.

Then, in the distance, after a minute or two of running, she saw the cause of the commotion. Through the dead trees she could make out forms of several people swarming around one individual. The bronze of covering her legs and held in each of her hands shimmered even in the dull light of the wretched swamp and the red of her hair and flickered in the soft breeze like a welcoming fire. Evangeline was reminded of a Sister Repentia, one who had felt as though they had slighted the Emperor in such a way that demanded years of repentance. Though her stance shook that illusion. It was a professional fighting stance to be sure, but with none of the confidence of those who had been trained under the watchful eyes of the Ecclesiarchy. It was timid in a way, as though this was her first life or death fight against real men.

Her assailants on the other hand were much more suited for their environment. Men dressed in primitive clothes wielding chains, crossbows and axes against the warrior. From her distance she could make out the mottled pattern of their discoloured skin. Coupled with the stench, the signs were all too familiar. Even if the red haired woman was of use in a fight, they would be out numbered, facing those cursed with blessings of dark gods. But she was a Sister of the Adepta Sororitas, and she had a duty to destroy heretical abominations wherever she saw them.

A roll of her shoulders brought her rifle into her hands, right as the leader began to bring his axe back for an attack. Evangeline had to slow to a quick stride to take an accurate aim. She pulled the trigger and the air cracked as the laser of her lasgun burned through it and punched a small crater in the leader's arm, forcing his blow to the side. She fired again, this time at one of his cohorts, striking him directly in the mouth. Fire erupted from his maw as the energy from the shot caused a chain reacted inside him. He seemed to scream an impossibly inhuman tone as his vocal cords and lungs were the first to be incinerated. The abomination fell to his knees, clutching at his throat, collapsing in a heap when nothing of it was left but ash.

Enraged the leader lifted his axe up again and pointed it in her direction. He cried out in a repugnant tone, unintelligible to Evangeline but it's intent was clear. His companions turned to the sister and ran at her as quickly as their infected bodies would allow as he turned back to the red haired legionnaire.

The sister took a shot again and again, faster now, as quickly as she could get the sight on target. The faster shooting causing her to miss her mark a few times, but most of them found their way to the center mass of the heretics. She may have fallen a another, she couldn't tell, but the majority of them only stumbled as they were hit and continued more enraged than before. In one deft motion she slung her lasgun back over her shoulders and unsheathed her power sword, Ascalon, just in time for it to protect her from a chain coming at her stomach.

She deflected it and followed through, her heavy blade cutting through the infected flesh of the welders arm. As the severed appendage fell into the muck Evangeline ran him though, looking into his clouded eyes with a remorseless glare. She had seen this before, and had her suspicions confirmed. The abominable tendrils of the Ruinous Powers had found its way to this forsaken land.

"May the Emperor have mercy on your soul." She said with a venomous inflection before the creature went limp and slid from her blade.

Evangeline then looked around at the group that had now surrounded her. She took her Rosarius from her belt and flung it around her left wrist.

"You have taken chaotic taint within yourselves and have thus broken your covenant with he who sits upon the Golden Throne." She caught the talisman in her hand and gripped it tightly. "Prepare for sentencing."

[Alex Mercer]

The world was dark. Compared to the pure innocence of the Nexus, this felt more like home. The clouds overhead and the dingy light that spread across everything reminded him of Manhattan smog. In the distance, he could see the signs of a small civilization. The roar of the beast between his legs quieted as he released the throttle, coasting for a few moments of extra thought.

No one waited on him at the gate. No one seemed to expect his arrival, which meant he still had an element of surprise. He was hardly ever afforded such a luxury where he was from, not without wearing the skin of someone else. Mercer needed information. He did not remember this place, that city, this road – none of it. It did not feel like a case of amnesia either, he knew that sensation of forgetfulness all too well. This place was brand new to him. If it was not obvious by the previous ungodly innocent world, then maybe the transition drove it home. This was not Manhattan. This was probably not even the United States – or Earth – or anything that he once knew.

He could have gone in, guns blazing, claws slashing, and consume one of the townsmen. He considered it, his hand almost throttling up. No. That would cause a panic. The last thing I need is to ruin my cover. The Prototype wanted to go in and consume everyone, but that would do nothing. Memories would end up muddled and confusing, fragmented as he tried to absorb the consciousness of so many. Then again, he knew he could not just kill one, if that one was seen then the panic would blow his cover. For the moment, Mercer had no idea what kind of military force this world had. For all he knew, it was a hundred fold worse than Black Watch.

There was a fork in the road. One path led to this gloomy city, while another veered off into the woodlands. It was less maintained, probably leading to a small, less important hamlet in bumfuck nowhere. His gaze lingered on it as he approached. There were no road signs, not even a stop sign for the road. It was discreet.

He dropped his wrist, bringing back the full force of the stolen motorcycle’s roar. With a sharp lean, nearly touching his knee to the ground, he veered off the beaten path. The new road was less stable, its cobbled path almost crumbling away until there was nothing left but gravel.

With one hand steering the vessel, the other reached back, clicking open one of the hard covered saddlebags. He reached in till he found something soft. Tugging it out, he found it to be a lunch bag. Hmm. As the engine roared and gravel crunched under the tires, he tore into the dead man’s would-be last meal. He tossed the tuna sandwich, but kept the apple. The sweet, juicy goodness was a much needed break from the taste of human flesh – a taste he never really felt on his tongue, but one that was always there after absorbing someone. Unlike his more carnivorous diet, this meal would not leave him with foul memories of a wife and unborn child, and thoughts of their life alone.

Fuck. He growled at the empty air. His most recent kill resurfaced, his voice becoming more dominant over the crowd. It was so distracting, the Prototype almost veered off the path. Reeling back towards the center of the gravel road, his back tire spun, noisily kicking up a handful of stones and pinging them against a few trees. He could hear the caw of birds as they fluttered away. Memories of the crow stirred. So many foul memories today.

[Okor]

Things were going poorly, to say the least. Almost half of the hunters lay bleeding in the earth, returned to the earth; Gavsson’s famed sight now sunk into the mire, while Saalrik the Strong’s guts spilled out into the swamp. That was to say nothing of the burned husk that was once Bjaarn’s face, the grin that had stolen the hearts of barmaids across Darkshire before he discovered God now turned to ash and cinders.

As much as Nurgle valued a backbone in his followers, it remaining inside of his followers’ bodies was much preferred by The Gangrenous God. Pustules upon Gudrun’s body popped, releasing festering fumes into the air as he drew a dilapidated handbow from a holster at his side, a bolt coated in infected fluids and the fetid muck of the moors held in place by taut wire and driftwood. A guttural cry emerged from his throat as he aimed the contraption at the armoured newcomer, his contagion-riddled kin briefly pausing in their struggles as their Alpha’s call and his infested pheromones reached their dulled senses.

Saalras the Swift’s cudgel clashed against a glowing corona of energy emitted by the prayer beads wrapped around the crusader’s wrist, a snarl coming forth from his festering maw. His hand struck out as the sister riposted, his hand arresting the blade’s momentum as it split his palm in two. The hunter smiled as his claws wrapped around the blade embedded in his hand, dragging the divine warrior off-balance. With the sister staggered, a shaft whistled through the air, its toxic tip piercing her plate and sinking into her shoulder, eliciting a cry of pain and hate from the Hospitaller as she pulled her sword back, sending severed fingers falling to the ground.

Blood dripped from the hunters’ wounds as they started to pull back, splattering against the sodden earth in a grim haruspex, a sanguine script foretelling the bloodshed to come, tangled lengths of chains and corroded steel contraptions shed in favour of speed. While their original prey was content to watch them depart from behind her shield, a little voice at the back of her mind asking if she would ever be able to wipe the blood clean from her blade, the newcomer was much more aggressive. With a cry to her dead God, she tore the bubonic bolt from her shoulder, squeezing off shots as her slowly deadening arm hefted her las-gun, spears of scintillating scarlet energies scything through the undergrowth and scorching the backs of the fleeing hunters.

With a crack, a coruscating crimson beam lanced into the heel of Halgrim, the youngest of the band falling into the mire with a grunt, scrambling for his weapon in the waterlogged, muddy earth. A vengeful cry echoed from behind him as the sister as she raised her sacred blade, blessed boots stomping through the swamp. As her consecrated ceramite greaves descended, being met with a crack as corroded jaws of steel clamped around her ankle, tainted teeth biting into her anointed armour as she struggled to free herself from its cruel embrace.

Gunnar stepped forward as the remainder of his pack turned tail, standing over his still-struggling companion as he lashed out with the back of his hand, the Hospitalier’s raised blade flensing fur and flesh from his arm as he did so. His own blow struck home as the Sister refused to relent, a spray of blood accompanied by a broken tooth flying from her mouth as she sunk her sword into his side on the backswing. As Ascalon ground against his ribs, the huntsmaster snarled and drove his head down, cracking sacred skulls together and driving the Sister back as the bear trap’s rusted construction gave way.

Wiping blood from the Fleur De Lis emblazoned upon her cheek, the sister gripped the hilt of her blade with both gauntlets, the familiar sensation of pain creeping its way back into her previously deadened arm. “Hellspawn,” she snarled through gritted teeth, bile and blood seeping down the edge of her weapon as she steadied herself, bone-forged needles stitching the cultist’s wounds shut before her eyes.

Gudrun’s axe was raised high in the air, its rusted edge caked with dried blood, flakes flying free at it descended. It would have rent the Crusader’s ceramite plating asunder, were it not for the bullet that impacted into his wrist, driving the heavy blade off-course and into the dirt. The Amazon advanced forward, her transformative weapon shifted into the form of a rifle, resting atop her golden, blood-soaked shield, eyes hard behind the sights of the firearm.

“No more,” she said, the three warriors momentarily paused, breathing hard as they prepared for the next burst of violent activity.

Bone erupted from the Cultist’s wound, a freshly-formed exoskeleton wrapping itself around his wrist as he dredged his weapon up from the marsh, chuckling, no, cackling as he bared a mouth filled with stolen fangs.

“There will always be more for you, spawn of The Smiling One. The demiurge did not steal you from your life to be at peace,” he smacked the flat of his axeblade into his palm as he cracked his neck, twisted vertebrae protesting. “You will kill, you will die, and you will kill again, until he tires of you.”

He stepped forward, infected eyes staring out from beneath his bear-hide hood, darting between blades and bucklers, axe held at the ready so strike down his foes. “But this day, the Lord of All reclaims his dutiful children.”

[Yukika Inoue]

The only thing standing between the diseased Nurglite and the noble crusader was the Amazon’s golden aegis, stained with plagued blood. White-stained spots of still-wet lifeblood slithered down the yellow hoplon and into the soil of the Pale. Pyrrha’s impassive grimace spoke enough words to tell she was sick of the shit this guy was spewing.

“I don’t care about Omni, right now. I’m too busy trying to simply remember who I am.” She growled slightly under her breath. “This fight is over, whether we all walk away, or you end up like your friend over there.”

While still unphased by Pyrrha’s threats, Gudrun posed his diseased gums and fangs. He could tell the fiery redhead spoke the truth, which made what was going to come next all the more desirable. His hold on the animalistic axe tightened and slammed against the glorified shield on Pyrrha’s arm. The strength behind the attack was enough to make her stagger ever so slightly. Enough to get his foot under the huntress’ heel and took her under. She was brought to her knee, with only a split second to raise her shield to block a second strike. The iron weapon clanged against the steel of the shield.

"There is no reasoning with one so tainted. If you cannot end him, stand aside and allow me." The crusader raised her lasgun and letting off three simultaneous shots into the Palebloodied’s chest, giving Pyrrha enough time to back off. She followed up on the staggering Nurglite by ramming her shield into his chest. His regeneration factor already sowing the wounds up before their eyes. Pyrrha argued back.

“I will kill if I have to, but I would rather not. Unless my life is dearly threatened, I won't seek harm against anyone but the Creatures of Grimm.” She explained, morphing her xiphos form into it’s spear, rearing to launch a shot-powered spear-throw into his chest should he decided he wants to further this feud. The diseased man got back on his feet and let out a raspy cough before coming back. The Amazon blasted a shot from the back end of Miló as she launched it directly at his chest. It was extremely predictable, however, he was able to duck under it as it flew over his head, but he was no fool. He’d seen she was just as capable with her shield as weapon as her morphing gun. Weaving through a few waves of lasers, and taking a few, the Palebloodied chieftain raised his iron axe another time against the redheaded girl. This time her felt the weapon tug, ever so slightly but, still enough to drag his swing off to the side of the huntress. She sidestepped and put her heel into his hand, causing him to lose that firm grip he had on the axe.

Being disarmed didn't stop him, he came at Pyrrha with his fists, not having time to retrieve his weapon. Strategically, he set himself up so Pyrrha was in Eva’s line of sight. After several tries in getting a clear shot without harming her ally of convenience, she cursed under her breath and tried to think of an alternative.

[Sister Evangeline]

The strength granted to him by the infection was immense. It took all the red heads might and concentration to maintain her footing as her shield reverberated  with each strike. A left hook was what finally broke her stance, lifting the warrior off her feet as it sent her flying. She deftly recovered, sending a foot to the front of her vector to absorb the impact.

Though the hoplite was out of the way, Evangeline didn't bother with her Lasgun. The corruption within him gave him unholy regeneration, she would need to strike his eyes or mouth to cause reasonable damage and the wound in her shoulder prevented her from taking accurate shots. The rifle went back over her shoulder and she charged with sword in hand.

Gudrun took the break to collect his axe from the muck. He had seen the sisters charge and listened to the ever loudening sound of splashes as her boots drove into the water. He waited for the opportune moment. When it arrived he grabbed the immense weapon in one hand and swung it at the sister, timing it with the sisters assault perfectly. His powerful motions were obvious however, and Evangeline had ample time to guard with her Rosarius. The holy light of protection flashed as the field of faith came into contact with the crude weapon as the sister pulled her other arm back, ready to skewer the heretic. But the heretic followed through, and much like the legionnaire she was lifted off her feet and thrown.

With the additional force of the axe, the sister went flying further, tumbling in the air until she finally landed in the mire on her stomach behind Pyrrha. The sister quickly got to her feet, the front of her shield robe now soiled by the malodorous, turbid water, and made her way next to the redhead, adopting a defensive stance. All three of them were panting, exhausted from the continued battle. Evangeline didn't want to stop, she wanted the blight plaguing her sight and sinuses to be erased, but she recognised the competence of the woman at her side and knew that if she could explain the urgency with which this heretic must be purged it would happen all the sooner.

"I know not what these Grim are,” She said to the red haired hoplite “but in the beating hearts of men and women lives monsters that cow even the most diabolical daemons of the most horrific realms. To give oneself over to them completely such as this one has is to lose one's humanity and become nothing more than beast." The sister explained "Look at his diseased flesh, smell the necrosis on the wind. Now look at his face."

Pyrrha did as she was bade, somewhat relieved at the break in the fighting as her shoulders rose and fell with her heavy breaths. There was a victorious smile upon Gudrun's face as he listened. Having given himself over to death for the sake of his comrades, the redheads hesitation was icing on the cake as far as he was concerned. In her conflicted features he even saw opportunity to make out alive and back to his brothers, and his smile became twisted and cruel.

"He has embraced his illness, and would use us to spread it further." Her voice then rose louder as the sister addressed the abomination. "Tell me heathen! This illness you have contracted, you mean to spread it, do you not?"

"It's not an illness you narrow minded cretin." The hunter replied with an amused inflection. "It's a gift, a blessing from consuming prime blood. With it we're able to match the creatures of the moore. I mean to spread this to the far ends of this realm. Surrender yourselves; your flesh will fuel our revolution while you are reborn."

The sister didn't bother trying to explain to the heretic what that power had cost him. That now he had lowered himself to the status of the beasts he once sought refuge from. Instead she continued speaking to the hesitant warrior.

"If we were to simply walk away he would live only to corrupt more to be like him. Most of them would die in horrific pain, and those that live would go on to infect more. You may think it be morally courageous to stay your hand and be merciful, but if he lives he will kill and corrupt countless others." Evangeline took a glance at Pyrrha as she readied herself for another charge "We can stop that now, and I have a duty to do so."

"You can't know the future." The Hoplite protested "There might be a cure for his delirium, a cure for his sickness."

A cruel smile to match the abomination’s crossed Evangeline's lips. "I am of a tradition that has been fighting these afflictions for over ten millennia. In that time we have discovered but one cure for this corruption."

The sister did not elaborate further, instead she charged at the heathen, clutching her weapon in both hands, trailing it down near her right leg. When she was close enough the sword swung up in a powerful upper cut, which the brute managed to catch with the blade of his axe, stopping the attack with his superior weight. Evangeline let her blade bounce back, not willing to get into a test of strength she'd undoubtedly lose and rather let the heretic's weight work against him. She took a step back with his momentum, meanwhile her blade came back in a wide arc with her arms crossing over at the apex, redirecting it's point back at the heathen. Putrid blood dripped into the swamp as the blade went through his wrist, cutting sinew and splintering bone as it pried apart his radius and ulna. Even more spilled when the sister reclaimed the weapon by slicing through the rest of his wrist.

Gudrun retaliated by with a guttural cry and his shoulder, driving it forward forward into the sister's face with as much force as he could muster. There was little the slight framed sister could do in response. There was no dodging this rhino who was already so close. Once again she was lifted off her feet and cast back, this time on her back side. While she collected her weapon she had a chance to see the damage she had wrought; the heathens hand flopped limply from the sliver of flesh still connecting it to his arm. With the sickness within him dulling his pain he was almost unfazed. With his still intact hand he gripped the axe at its base and, using his unholy strength, lifted the weapon above his head. Evangeline had more than enough time to roll away, but she would rather counter this last attack and end him.

Still on her back, she gripped her Rosarius and positioned that arm in front of her face. She was certain that the shard of the God Emperor's power she still had a connection too, along with her Sororitas training, would let her deflect his blow and pierce the heretic's heart. Her grip tightened as the heavy weapon came down in an arc at her chest, all the while she maintained eye contact with the man beast.

Suddenly his pupils narrowed and his weapon became limp in his hand. The thing was still none the less dangerous, but had none of the weight of the sinner behind it. The faith powered shield flashed as its terrible edge struck it, and continued its soft comforting glow as it slid across it’s surface. His whole body fell over to one side as Evangeline's eyes took in nothing but the vibrant red and god of the tall, red haired warrior, who had driven her spear into his ribs with all her strength.

Evangeline wasn't done with him however and rolled over, swinging her blade in a wide arc as she flipped to prone in the mucky water. Ascalon sung a resonant tone as it sailed through the air towards the Nurglite's still good arm and severed it clean above the elbow with one cleave.

There was silence as the sister got back to her feet. She was a little unsteady as the adrenaline washed from her system. Pyrrha clutched her chest and breathed a deep breath. For a brief moment the fight seemed over, a moment that just as quickly vanished as the cultist used the arm with his hand still attached through a few tendons to lift his face from the water. He succeeded, though his breath was ragged and wheezy from the pike that pierced through his lungs.

Evangeline resurged and walked towards the downed heathen with a powerful determined stride. When she was close enough she drove her boot into his shoulder with a vengeful might, forcing the behemoth on his back. She stood over him with her blade pointed at his neck.

"Tell me heathen, where are your cohorts? Tell me and I'll absolve all of them of their sins against humanity before I dispatch them." Her tone was forceful but free of malice. "Death in this life is certain, but you all may yet be shown mercy in the next should you repent."

Even with a tooth missing and covered in foul water the sister still had a divine aura around her. If anything her sullied face and clothing only made her green eyes shine brighter. Gudrun collected bloodied saliva onto his corrupted tongue and spat it at the sister as his response, aiming for those bright eyes in an attempt to dull them, even a little. Evangeline moved her head, having been in this situation all too many times before she expected this reaction.

"You will have no advocate and will face the your final judgement with the full weight of your sins." Evangeline replied with disappointment in her voice before she steeled herself into an impassive yet powerful cadence as she pulled her sword away from his neck. "May the Emperor show you your error along with mercy to your eternal soul."

A golden disc came at the sisters weapon and knocked it out of her hand moments before it made contact with flesh. Evangeline would have been impressed at the accuracy with which the shield stuck her weapon in any other situation. In this one she could only send a baleful stare at its origin.

"Stop it!" the red head cried, placing both her hands at her side indignantly. "He is literally disarmed, no threat to anyone. We can take him to the local city and he can face the justice of his community."

"Foolish girl!" the sister bellowed in a stern, aggravated tone "Can you not see the sickness that writhes beneath his skin?" She asked, casting a hand at the face of the Nurglite, who was smiling again. "It will spread wherever we take him, and more will need to die."

"You can't know that!" Pyrrha continued to protest. "There has to be some precautions we can take to prevent the spread of this disease without killing him right?"

"Were he only suffering an affliction of the flesh, yes." Evangeline sated, reigning in her anger "But madness has taken his mind, and he will attempt to escape any-"

The sound of bubbling fat and the pained screeching of the heretic caused Evangeline to stop her tirade. The behemoths body convulsed in pain as the flesh around his wounds seemed to sizzle with a noxious effervescence which released a toxic white steam. It caught the moonlight and glittered with an iridescent sheen. The pair of the women stood back in horror as a new arm erupted from the stump. The bone seemed to protrude from the newly generated flesh, forming a protective carapace along his forearm’s length which ended at his wrists with claw-like protrusions that extended further than his hands. What little flesh they could make out was not covered in skin, but dozens of ulcers that dripped yellow puss. His other hand, still connected by only skin now, erupted in gore coloured tendrils that sought out the rest of the arm and squirmed in between muscle and bone, reconnecting it.

Without her sword Evangeline went for her rifle and pulled the trigger as fast as she could as the regenerated abomination got to his feet. The lasers from her Las only caused the Nurglite to wince, the flesh that was vaporised was instantly replaced by another puss filled ulcer. The cell was quickly depleted by the time he was on his feet, and with a steadfast, vindictive stance the sister reached into her Aquila emblazoned bag for another cell. The bone shielded arm was enough to end that action and the sister was thrown once more.

Gudrun's intentions for the sister had to be postponed as he felt the lance through his lung twist painfully. Pyrrha had lunged forward to grip the weapon with both hands in an attempt to reclaim her weapon. The heathen turned towards the Huntress with a violent twist of his body, prying the weapon from her hands. The additional torn flesh was of no consequence to him at this point. The redhead staggered and was helpless to defend against the push kick that was coming towards her side. Her feet slipped from under her and she went into the mud.

The abomination turned his attention back to the sister. He walked with a powerful, enraged stride towards the platinum blonde, who had recovered and was in the midst of reloading her weapon. His grotesque hand gripped her by the neck and spilled its corrupted fluids over her skin. She clutched her rifle with one hand as she was lifted into the air while the other clawed at the infected flesh enclosed around her gullet with the other.

"I wonder what a prime tastes like while it's still breathing." He said with a malicious inflection.

He drew the sister closer as he opened his mouth while Evangeline managed to lift her weapon up and point it at his stomach. He winced as each Las shot chipped away at his flesh, but he continued to pull her towards his salivating maw.

It was only when Pyrrha's shield struck him in the back did he truly flinch. The red and gold hoplite had thrown the defensive disc, and much like her spear it was now lodged deep within the abomination's flesh. He turned to snarl at the Huntress, his grip tightening around the sister's throat. His folly had become clear and he knew that he’d have to snuff the one in his hands out quickly if he was to survive.

When he turned back to twist the little sisters neck from her shoulders his eye was met with the lens of the rifle. Evangeline hand managed to wrap both arms around his bony guard. With one hand on the trigger and the other one gripping the stock she pushed the device right into his eye, the socket steadying it as she pulled the trigger as fast as she could manage.

The laser burnt through his eye with the first shot, the vitreous fluids boiling explosively as his retina was vaporised. The next shot passed through the optic nerve and into the soft tissue of his brain. The fluids continued to boil, scrambling the grey matter as the beam continued to cut its way to the other side. The back of his skull evaporated into golden embers once the Las's fire had reached it, and it was only then that the heathens grip on the sister's neck loosened.

The creature fell on its back, dead, while Evangeline fell to her hands and knees, coughing and spluttering. The second she was able to, she frantically splashed the putrid water to wash away the abomination's pus and bile from her skin. Pyrrha could only look at the death around her with a shell shocked expression while the sister collected herself.

An eternity seemed to pass before Evangeline snapped her out of it, handing the huntress her spear and shield.

"Come child." The sister said hoarsely, her voice having lost its critical edge was now filled with empathy. "Whether you join me against his cohorts or not, it is not wise to remain in this tained mire. We must leave and return with salt and fuel to purify this site lest the corruption take to the land and our efforts be for naught."


With a rueful expression the red haired warrior looked at the sister as she got to her feet. "I was returning from the town to deliver medicine to a family that lives near the portal." she said, her voice still muted by the terror she had just witnessed.

"This family," Evangeline inquired, her voice regaining its grace with each word "Did they live in a small farmstead? I encountered one where the earth was flattened and freshly scarred, as though great beasts had recently been slain but their blood and bodies had vanished."

Pyrrah nodded "Yes, I dispatched several Grimm after they had attacked the family. The elderly man living there told me his son had been injured. The medicine is for him."

The sister smiled warmly, slightly amused. "Fret not, I am trained in the medical arts. I sought to them while I was passing through."

"Will he be okay?" the huntress asked with concern.

Evangeline's smile diminished somewhat, though her inflection was unchanging. "His wounds were grave and he had lost a lot of blood. I've done all I that I could for him, and he's young and strong. Emperor willing he'll pull though." her expression then turned into one of curiosity. "Would you happen to have the medicine on you still?"

"Uh, yeah. One sec." Pyrrha said, her cadence warming up to its normal tone as she delved into one of her pockets before producing a vial filled with milky liquid. She offered the vial to the sister who took it in one of her ceremite clad hands.

After looking at the concoction for a moment Evangeline looked back at the hoplite. "Would you mind terribly if I kept this?" She asked.

"Not at all, considering you already helped the family."

"Thank you." The Sister replied graciously as she stored the vial in her guardsman's satchel. "I know not when next I shall have access to an Imperial repository and able to replenish my supply of medicine, so I'll need to talk to the local vendors about what flora has medicinal properties." With the latch closed on the bag she looked at the red haired warrior once again. "Come, we mustn't tarry any longer."

"Wait," Pyrrha called out to the sister before she had completely turned. Once the sister was once more facing her, only then did she speak. "I am Pyrrha Nikos." the warrior said with a slight tip of her head.

"Oh my sincerest apologies." Evangeline replied with an apologetic nod of her head. "Sister Almoness Evangeline of the Order of the Eternal Candle." she said with a curtsey of a woman of noble birth and strict tutelage. "I realise that is a bit of a mouthful," She said with a self deprecating smile "So you may call me Eva if you wish."

"Pyrrha is fine by me." The warrior beamed. Suddenly the horrors of this place, lying at her feet seemed so distant.

"Well then come miss Nikos." Evangeline's smile turned slightly teasing one. "Every moment we wait is one in which another might be infected."

In truth, the sister was concerned about their own health, having been exposed to so many of the secretions of the heretics, but she kept that fear to herself. If she was infected she'd see the blight scoured from this land before she turned her rifle upon herself.

[Alex Mercer]

The poorly maintained road was a long one, taking him in a wide birth around the grim little town from before. The ride was almost calming, letting him think. The roar of the engine drowned out the screams in his head by giving himself something to focus on. For now, he just enjoyed the dull sense and the sensation of the ride. Memories from so far back were still vague - almost nonpresent, but he thought for just a moment that maybe his past life enjoyed rides such as this? Maybe Dana would be sitting on the back seat of a cruiser, or riding in a sidecar. Wouldn’t that be amusing?


That was over though. Dana had betrayed him, and now all he had were vague memories of a sister he would protect and the fresher, more vibrant memories of her betrayal. It hurt more than bullets, but it was still just pain. The Prototype had become quite used to pain as of late. His jaw tensed and he again forced his mind clear. Dana was not here; it was just him, this motorcycle, and the long, winding road ahead of him.

Sadly, one of the list came to an abrupt end. He loosed the throttle, letting the rumbling beast coast into what looked to be a small little hamlet. A farmhouse of some sort with the looks of a battle ruining the crops strewn around it. Whatever creatures had left the mess appeared to be gone, but Mercer saw no tracks leading away.

It was odd, but as he rolled up to the house he was met with a small group of people. A man, cut up but bandaged, a woman who trembled from shock, and two children. The youngest seemed well enough, her eyes so wide he could see the entirity of her blue saucers in a sea of milk. The boy was like his father - a connection Mercer assumed by their identacle hair and jawlines - and covered in bandages and light cuts.

“Howdy! Three visitors in one day, are you guys starting a patrol of the Moors or something?” Three visitors...  Mercer could only guess he was following in the wake of other wandering souls. “You look like a third walk of life; like neither of them lovely ladies.”

“Like a league of super heros!” The young boy chimes, his throat weak but still so full of life. Mercer left the engine running as he dismounted. “You coming to help us too?”

“You bet,” Mercer chimed, throwing on a fake smile. “Just making sure everything is alright before I move on. Mind if I come up?” He gestures to the only steps to the porch. He placed his hands on his hips, keeping his distance until invited. It worked; the light voice, fake smile and almost cocky stance had a disarming effect.

“Sure, sure, would you like to come in for some tea?” This region was too grim for this to be the farmer’s natural state of mind. Something happened. The two that preceded him must be the do-gooder types, and he attributed Mercer’s arrival as just another coincidence. His wife did not seem too sure, giving her husband a look. “Oh come now, just till that fiery lass returns!”

Mercer chips in here, just to try and further wriggle his way into their comfort zone. “That would be lovely. I won’t burden you too much, I promise. If my friends are coming back, I’d love to wait here, I’m betting I already passed them once today. Maybe twice.”

The children giggled at Mercer’s falsified airbrained persona. “Tha’s the Moores for ya. Always getting people turned around, especially when the fog rolls in.”

“I hit a patch on the way.” Mercer pointed at his bike, the scraped side and splotches of blood made it look all too convincing. “Ran smack dab into a deer.” The farmer shook his head as he crained his neck to look at the bike.

“That’s too bad, my boy. Glad yer fine though, you and your friends do a might bit of good around here. Anyway, c’mon in.” He turned towards the door, shooing his wife inside with a playful swat to her backside. She seemed to ease up just a bit, but she was not nearly as convinced.

The farmer and his children plopped onto a couch in the den, a seat just wide enough for four. “Take a load off, my wife will put on the kettle! Oh, snacks as well.”

Now the woman’s glare was focused on her hospitable husband for other reasons. “Oh no you don’t, dinner is already cooking, you will NOT spoil it with junk food.

“Oh come now! We just survived near death, surely a few cookies won’t hurt?” A unison raid of puppy dog eyes from her husband and children earned a begrudging acceptance. Even as she turned for the kitchen, Mercer spotted his chance.

He gestured to the kitchen and offered another false smile. “Let me help, I can carry a few things at least.” HIs sweet tone almost gave himself diabetus, if he was not already a walking mass of viral cancer. The woman’s brow rose in surprise. She did not turn down the help though.

The moment they are out of sight, Mercer’s arm quivered. The biomass of his limb, even the sleeve, shift into a macabre concoction of black tendrils and hardened blade-fingers. The faint, foreign sound of quivering cancerous flesh had the woman turn to look. Her lips parted to scream, but before she could utter a sound, three blades were impaled into her neck, cutting clean through her spine.

Her flesh was so soft and tender, it felt as if Mercer had cut through butter. The Prototype held aloft his victim, not letting her fall announce his deed to the others. Sickly biomass tendrils spread through her, converting everything that once was this farmer’s wife into an extension of the walking retrovirus.

Flashes of memory rise to the forefront of his mind, little snippets of this woman’s life, and the memories of her family. She did not know much about the world at large. Her world of focus was like many bystanders; small and petty.

That man might know more… He had hoped the woman would be able to fill in all that he needed, but she was useless to him. She served only as extra biomass, as sustenance for his survival. Mercer peered around the corner, into the den. The three sat, chatting idly, completely unaware that their family had just been shattered. Unaware that their family would soon be eradicated.

Claws slowly shrank. Squirming biomass instead filled out his fists. The swelling and hardening of dense brackish mass weighed his shoulders down. With slow, careful steps, he moved in behind the couch, staying out of sight to the best of his ability. All it would take is one, compound movement to complete his goal.

As his hands rose, the young boy looked up at him. His cheer turned into terror. The boy’s frightened eyes were soon torn away, along with most of his head. The resounding crunch of three skulls and the massive crashing of twin hammerfists brought the room to a crescendo of sound, then a sharp, complete silence as a soul-wrenching encore. Soul wrenching to those who had one. The Prototype had long since given up any sense of morality.

Even as the three bodies were pulled from the couch, shredded and slurped like warm noodles in trickling red sauce, Mercer heard another sound. As memories flooded his mind, he became aware of this family’s full structure. Loving, doting mother… hard working father… and three children.

The eldest had tried to fight the… what were those things? He could remember - through the memories of the old man - creatures made of darkness and bone. He felt a twinge of pain, the mourning lingering over the loss of his eldest son… a loss perhaps not so definite with the help of a Prime.

Prime? Such an odd word… Memories of mentions of a faceless Omni - a being he too had met - could only mean Mercer was as this Sister Evangeline; a Prime. Beyond these, his freshest memories, things were muddled. Four minds in less than four minutes left a lot for Mercer to sort out. It was enough though, he had learned something of value. Primes…

Bloodied fists shift. One reverted to its fleshy form, while the other elongated back into the wicked four-fingered claws. He could hear the coughing again. After a moment, Mercer began walking down the hall towards the boy’s room. He lay unconscious, heavily bandaged and very pale.

Mercer could tell he was not likely to live without the attention of his family. For a moment he hesitated. He could remember waking up in the morgue. The fear of death still lingering and panic running through his mind. The cold darkness he had awoken from was this boy’s fate.

Was it mercy? Or malice? Something drove the Prototype to sink his claws into the boy’s guts. His eyes shot open and he stared into Mercer’s eyes. “Shhhh…” The Prototype did not comfort the boy with a false smile. Instead, he leaned in, pressing the other hand to the boy’s brow, holding him down. “Don’t worry, Jacob…” A name pulled from the cosmos. He felt as if he knew the boy - raised him, even gave birth to him as odd as that memory was.

With the claws deep in his belly, he could not speak. He should have died, but no blood escaped the wounds. Mercer stared into the young man’s fearful eyes. He watched as the fear faded, replaced by the same defiance they had when attempting to fight off those creatures, to save his farm. The infection in his body slowly patched his wounds, causing them to seal in a shimmer of biomass.

As the claws pull free from the flesh, Jacob sat up, taking a breath for the first time since Mercer’s hand had pierced him. The boy coughed up blood, but it was only the remnants of what filled his lungs before. He almost made the mistake of covering his mouth with a hand - but in place of his fleshy fingers he found only blades. His entire right arm had transformed into one that mimicked his savior’s. The claws were smaller, and his arm was not quite as distorted, but there was no mistaking what had happened.

“W...What did you do to me?” Jacob was surprised. His words were weak, but even in the single sentence Mercer could hear the recovery of strength.

“I infected you… made you better. I’m afraid your parents are dead… and your siblings… Two women tricked them… I can’t fight them alone… and I know they’ll come back…” The Redhead was supposed to bring medicine back.

Jacob’s world had been thrown into disorder. He remembered the fighting of monsters, then pain and darkness… and now, he awakes to such grim news? “I… I’ll fight with you… For my family.”

It was almost sickening even to Mercer how accustomed he became to deceit. So many times has he been betrayed, it felt natural for him to do the same to others. Continuing his ruse, he helped Jacob out of bed and walked him towards the porch. The sight of gore along the way did as Mercer hoped it would and reaffirmed his defiant spirit.

[Okor]

Dirt paths, half-sunken into the mire, ran throughout the Pale Moors, the shackles of civilization left over from a time when despair had not settled into the very roots of this ‘verse. Travellers trod upon these dilapidated roads, blissfully unaware of the eyes of men, beasts, and worse that watched from the woods. The Moor-Born, those that suffered outside the stone walls of the last stronghold of sanity, knew better than to subject themselves to such hungry eyes: the beast-paths that Dracula’s minions stalked upon, that any true animals had long since abandoned to the Vampire’s monstrous minions. Only the desperate or determined made such journeys, walking in the footsteps of the Dark Duke’s soldiers.

Saalras, Falk, and Halgrim stalked these ruinous roads, silent as they mantled the thorned roots that choked the twisted trail. The milky-white corruption that ran through their veins seeped from the wounds the sister and the huntress had inflicted on them, the carrion-creepers withering where the blessed blood baptized it. They were all that was left: Their Huntsmaster and brothers in blood had fallen on the field of battle.

But their purpose remained. They knew this path well, the vampiric influences that had shaped it having long since abandoned it, leaving it a relatively safe route through the darkness of this land. Dead branches parted, giving way to a full moon shining through dark clouds. The tattered trio took a moment to rest under its baleful gaze, the flayed skins heaped upon their forms shifting, twisting, sprouting black fur.

Wordlessly, they moved, overturning rocks and digging deep into the hollows of long-dead trees, hard-wrought hands pulling free bandages soaked in plagued poultices, rusted blades kept at the ready for a situation such as this. Bloodshot eyes stared out from beneath leather hoods and ragtag collections of furs, hides, and rags, facial features and fear alike hidden. Falk wrapped a length of rusted iron chain around his bulging arm, foul fluids oozing out from beneath his armour as he spoke.

“Gudrun’s dead by a Godling’s hands.”

The others nodded solemnly. The Huntsmaster had seen them through the coming of Diablo, through the madness that followed, and led them through the dark days since. Worm-ridden hearts ached for his loss, and the brothers they left behind in the bog.

Halgrim sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t change things. We’ll have to find more to take up the axe ‘n keep the carrion at bay. Aint many Moor-born left who’re willin’ to leave the light to put an axe in a Skinshifter’s skull.”

Saalras, brother of Saalrik, Son of Saal, grunted as he splinted his split palm, dead fingers giving a gentle twitch. “Be needin’ more, then. Lotta Palebloodied lurkin’ behind the walls, needin’ summat to do. Ain’t gon be easy, but some of ‘em’ll take to it like a Were-beast to carrion, if they don’t get fangs in their throat soon enough.”

The three hunters nodded in agreement, their newly-salvaged weapons and tools adorning their savage armour. There would always be more men, like maggots crawling through the corpse of the world, gnawing at the roots of reality until it all collapsed once more into the primordial soup. But the great rebirth was not yet- life, cruel and vicious as it was, must be cultivated and protected, as the alternative- a sterile, unending, ungrowing reality, was far worse.

That was why they hunted these haunted lands: life always finds a way, and the only thing standing between a Were-beast’s claws and a Moor-born’s flesh was a hunter’s axe. There was a farm, not far from here, nestled in the shadow of the woods. Few minions of Dracula hunted so far from the black gate, and a few wolf-hides nailed to rotten trees served as an ample dissuasion to any who would encroach upon the homestead.

Gudrun had a reason for his predations around the small farm: Badrun. Perhaps fated by their parent’s interesting sense of humour, the Huntsmaster had taken to hunting, while his sibling took up the scythe. One had chosen the hunt, while the other found comfort in hearth and home. Blood bound them, a sentiment the Hunters shared, their communal contagion pulsing through their venom-laden veins.

Someone had to tell the tale of Gudrun’s death. They shouldered their burdens, descending down the gentle hill, candlelight flickering in the yellowed windows of the home ahead, promising warmth and succor from the swamp.

A simple wooden fence defined the perimeter of the estate, enough to keep simple-minded beasts on one side or the other, but the trio crossed it with ease, well-worn boots crashing into the mud beneath. Halgrim advanced, only for Falk to place a hand on his shoulder, pointing towards a window lit by a guttering flame. A spray of crimson decorated the dirtied glass, still wet as it dripped, rivulets of red running free.

Near-silent oaths and curses fled from festering lips as the hunters drew blades, twisted knives and hefty axes clutched in contagion-riddled hands as they spaced themselves, the home eerily silent as they advanced.

Not far now. The porch, inexpertly built by Badrun’s own hands, welcomed arrivals. A wolf’s tail wrapped around one of the wooden pillars, a gift from Gudrun, and, if folklore was to be trusted, a ward against Dracula’s magics. It seemed to have done precious little to protect those dwelling within.

Falk reached out, rags and ragged hides doing little to cover his infected claws as he clutched at the knob, pulling the door open, its unlocked nature all too evident.

A hall of horrors greeted them.

Blood dripped from the walls and ceiling, with the lack of corpses doing little to assuage their fears. They had stalked the shadows of the moors long enough to know the appetites of the beasts that lurked within. Lesser men would have vomited, but the Hunters had suffered this world too long to succumb to their mortal fears.

But the icy grasp of terror reached towards their hardened hearts when they saw what was walking towards them. Tendrils, crimson and ebon, wrapped around the arms of an approaching entity, claws as long as any blade entwined with one of Badrun’s sons, leading him along. By the Plague God, the child: rents in their torso had been sealed with squirming biomass, their eyes wide as they idly scythed their new claws through the air.

The child’s eyes grew wide, as he recognized the fur-clad Falk and his companions. “U-uncle?” The hooded man raised one arm, scraping his talons against the blood-soaked wall, wooden shavings falling to the blood-soaked floor. A smile gleamed from the darkness inside that hood, as it corrected Jacob. “No. They've been working with those ladies, Jacob. Can't you smell their scent on them?” Tainted talons rapped against Badrun's boy. "You head back inside. I'll take care of them."

The hunters swore, turning and launching themselves off the porch as they fled, barking guttural commands at each other in their ersatz hunt-speak. Halgrim turned, his heavy axe cleaving through the monster’s fingers as they descended, seeking to cleave through his flesh. The hunter howled as he drove his fist forward, smiling as he connected with the beast’s maw, only for it to turn to a grimace as fangs sunk into his fingers, ripping them apart.

Falk’s chain lashed out, cracking the killer’s skull, driving the beast back as he turned to face Saalras, a knife held in the swift hunter’s one good hand. “Run! Tell the blind! We’ll bleed the bastard f-” the speech was interrupted as the mutated man wrapped his claws around the chain, dragging the hunter through the mud, closer to those blade-liked claws. Halgrim readied a set of iron links of his own, the plagued pair seeking to shackle the beast for as long as they could.

“Go!” He screamed, grinding his heels into the earth as Saalras turned, dead heart slowly beating as he prepared to make the second sacrifice of this damned night.

[Alex Mercer]

The taste of putrid flesh in his mouth almost sickened Mercer. Forcing wedges of flesh from betwixt his teeth, he decided then and there not to consume these men - if only to avoid their stench somehow lingering on him. He could tell by the sight of them that these men were not too different from what he was… They were ill, and by the strength they still had it was not the run of the mill illness.



The Prototype had something of a mix between a grin and a snarl as he yanked on the chain entangling his right hand, the links scraping against the hardened biomass of his claws. The sight of the man slathered in mud, pulled closer as Mercer wrapped the chain one round after another around his wrist. It was amusing.


The second chain caught him around the neck, but he was quick to sweep his arm over it and yank Halgrim along too. This one managed to remain standing, dropping his ax to grab both hands onto the chain and plant his feet slowly into the wet earth as the Prototype pulled him closer. With the momentary distraction, Falk had rolled around, sinking his feet much the same way.


With eyes filled with murder, Mercer watched as one of the men ran away. Well… there goes my cover. He vowed to run the man down after taking care of his friends. Two on one against two who seemed to be his equals was already odds he was not fond of in his weakened condition. “That’s pretty noble of you,” Mercer spoke with a voice that betrayed the strain in his arms. The words were so calm, almost sickeningly at ease.


He no longer tried to pull the men closer. They were too well grounded, full bodies set against the strength of only one arm. Instead, he sank into a slow crouch. Mercer’s legs quivered as his denim seemingly comes to life. His legs become more like coiled snakes of sickly black. All at once, the man leapt into the air. Suddenly, the Nurgles grounding had no meaning. The strength of the jump pulled their feet from the mud and like two pendulums they slam into each other in Mercer’s wake.


Determined, neither hunter released their respective chains. Slamming into one another was bone rattling, but they had been through worse. Halgrim was about to unleash a witty retort, but Mercer’s grunt of effort cut him short. The pair of hunters were pulled faster into the sky, while Mercer’s altitude plummeted. Slack formed in the chain as they soared towards the vicious claws.


It was not the chain-laiden claws they felt. Instead, it was Mercer’s feet. Instead, his claws grabbed the chains close to their hands and from so close they could see the quivering as even his clothing converted to coiled tendrils. This time determination was not enough. The chains ripped from their hands, shredding their puss-puckered flesh. The powerful leap sent Mercer careening away - his body piercing the roof of Badrun’s home.


Mud sprayed around the Nurgles as their body hit the ground. The stun lasted only briefly before air refilled their grizzly lungs. The chains had been stripped from them, but by this point Saalras the Swift was no longer in view, even the splish-splash of his fleet feet had vanished from earshot.



Back in the cabin, Mercer had landed practically head first in the kitchen sink. Granted, it was not one of his better landings, with a number of cuts and gashes spilling ruined biomass onto the floor. It looked like blood, except instead of just pooling, it squirmed like a pool of living slime in its death throws.


“Sir!” Mercer had never given his name to the boy. Jacob appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. “Do you need some help? I could…” He did not finish the sentence, but he held up his claws, suggesting physically what his spirit was too weak to verbalize.


“No.” The lies begin again; “You should rest up… I feel those women will be a bigger threat.” They seemed like soldiers, the both of them. The Nurglites outside were more like simple hunters. Skilled, yes, but not packing the arsenal that the armored one might be carrying. I’ll need my secret weapon alive…



Outside, Falk and Halgrim were plotting. “Grab his keys and toss them,” Halgrim pointed towards the still running motorcycle. He was busied by grabbing up his axe. The sundered hand still gripped the handle as tight as ever. This pain was nothing. Falk did as commanded, dashing to the motorcycle and yanking the key from the engine. It sputtered into silence just as the tossed keys splashed into the mud a ways off, sinking into obscurity.


“Saalras should be far enough now.” The warrior did not suggest fleeing. Gudrun would not have wanted them to let this monster’s atrocities to go unpunished. With his chain missing, Falk was down his favored weapon. It did not matter, he would go fisticuffs with the monster and beat every fucking tendril into a bloody pulp. That’s just how the hunters liked their monsters; extra pulp.



Mercer heard the silence outside. HIs lips curled to a snarl. My fucking bike! As he moved towards the door, Jacob stepped out of the way. The boy followed only till the front door, where he placed himself squarely in front of the window to watch, as he had been a moment before.


As the Prototype stepped onto the porch, he made a show of throwing down the chains. The tendrils around his arms looked as if they had been crushed, dropping squirming ooze onto the ground. With a foul smirk, his left hand began squirming with a mass of these same tendrils. The claws shrank, dissolving into a larger mass. The weight pulled down his shoulder as he manifested the gruesome Hammerfist.


“Neat trick.” Halgrim jeers, his knuckles white with the grip on his axe. Both he and Falk take a step closer, preparing to rush the monster on the porch.


The response was just a short laugh. For a single pregnant moment, the trio enter a staredown. Each plague bearer was trying to read the other, but aside from a shared bloodlust, found nothing. The silence ended as the pair of hunters began their assault.


The moment they charged, Mercer took to the skies again. His massive fist tore through the covered porch’s roof like tissue paper, not a skrape left on the dense biomass hammer. “Like a fucking cricket!” Falk goaded the jumping murder. It was perhaps not in the unarmed man’s best interest that Mercer happily singled him out.


Falk readied to dodge even as the Prototype took aim, ready to bring the hammer down and splatter the pathetic puss-pocked plague bearer. What he did not expect was Halgrim to throw that heavy, grizzly axe with such precision.


He felt the rusted iron blade sink into the soft underbelly just beneath his ribs just as he watched Falk leap backwards. The fist slammed into the earth, throwing a wave of mud and dirt but ultimately doing nothing but bringing Mercer back to the ground with enough force for him to slam right beside it, digging that axe deeper into his side.


How long had it been since he felt this sort of pain? In truth, he could not even remember. Bullets to the head did not even hurt this bad - at least before arriving in this strange world. The splashing of feet through mud alerted him to Falk, but stunned as he was, all he could manage was a disoriented slash of his right hand. The claws find nothing, but the axe is wrenched free of his body, spilling more of his precious contents onto the ground.


Wasting no time in taking advantage of their new seat of power, Falk brought the axe down on one of Mercer’s legs, sinking to the bone but not quite cleaving through. The new wave of pain aided in dragging air back into his lungs, just to earn a painful howl. Halgrim had dashed to the porch to require one of the chains and just as Falk was yanking free the axe, Mercer felt the chain wrap around his neck and a heavy weight drop onto his spine.


“Welcome to the Pale Moors…” Halgrim crowled into the man’s ear. Falk walked around to stand in front of Mercer, readying the axe like a golf club. He took aim at Mercer’s neck.


“Don’t come back.” Falk’s final words would have undoubtedly made the best one-liner climax to the battle. The only problem is that Mercer was not ready to test if his new body could live without a head. With a strained grunt, he summons as much force as he could to bend his back forward. It was not the prettiest counter, the rusted blade tore the flesh from the top of his skull, scraping against the bone as he ducked beneath it.


There was a yelp from Halgrim as the axe’s upswing slammed into his chest. Falk almost froze in terror as the blade in his hands scraped through his ally’s ribs and cut his beating heart in twain. Mercer’s face was in the mud, but the feel of putrid blood trickling onto the back of his neck and the sudden lump grip of the chain made the filth well worth the reward.


The corpse slid free from his body as Mercer rose. Supporting his weight on his good leg, he wiped the mud in the crook of his left elbow. “Thanks for the warm welcome. This place is starting to feel like home.” That was not exactly a lie. Ever since waking up in the morgue, up till his memories devolve into a foggy blank, all he knew was bloodshed and betrayal.

[Sister Evangeline]

Evangeline had removed one of her gauntlets and massaged her neck as she walked, the pressure from abominable brute's grasp still irritating her. The skin was tender, and were she to wash away the now dry muck from her skin she'd undoubtedly find bruising that would make a Slaaneshite blush. But to her relief that was all she felt. Her skin had not developed any kind of lesions or rashes, indicating that the foul fluids that gushed from the heretics hands had not spread its disease to her. The hand performing the palpation was deadened by the puncture in her shoulder. She'd dressed and disinfected it to a level that was satisfactory, pinning the arm of her sullied robe back so it's tainted fabric did not contaminate the bandage.  Meanwhile her tongue could do nothing but irritate the wound in her mouth left by a tooth that was forcefully ejected  by another heathen's blow.

She looked to her companion with a little envy. Pyrrha had walked away with only her boots sullied, which would wash off with quickly with a bucket of water poured upon them. Evangeline's red shield robes would need to be burnt as soon as she had something else to cover herself with. The expression on the Hoplite's face was the equaliser though; alone against the ruinous powers the sister still had her faith, her duty, and her goal was clear. Pyrrha, though seemingly pure of heart, was none the less a gentile and lacked the conviction of faith to aid her in this trying time.

Noting this, Evangeline was the first to finally speak; 'the dialogue of man quiets those of beasts' as one of her confessors once said, and Pyrrha looked as though she was wrestling with some daemons. "So, do you hail from these lands?"

The redhead shook her head. "I've never seen this place before. Though I..." There was a brief pause in the maiden's response. "I've walked through places that fill me with similar feelings. Foreboding and dread. The desiccated remains of mankind's smaller cities reclaimed by nature. But nothing that looks the same. What about you?" She continued, looking at the sister "Is your order nearby?"

Evangeline smiled sadly as she looked away from the red haired warrior and another brief moment passed before she responded. "The light of the Eternal Candle reaches wherever its adherents tread, though I suspect that answer is useless to you." Her smile warmed slightly before she sighed "I fear that I have strayed far from the light of the Holy Terra and could not tell you which direction it lies."

Pyrrha furrowed her brow thoughtfully as she scanned the fragmented remains of her memory for a name. "Remnant" She whispered under her breath "Remnant is the place that I'm from. I'm a Huntress. I'm supposed to defend Remnant against the Grimm"

"I just want to confirm. These Grimm wouldn't happen to not leave any bodies when slain perchance?" Evangeline inquired.

"They kind of just... evaporate, yeah." The hoplite responded with a shrug.

"What about coming here?" Evangeline continued her line of questioning. "I recall a silhouette talking about omnilium and keeping them entertained. Then my lungs were filled with water from a fountain in the middle of a white void."

Inwardly the sister wished to be back there, if only to rinse the filth from her body.

Pyrrha nodded, "Much the same thing, yes."

Evangeline couldn't help but grimace. The full reality of this situation was still unknown to the sister, but it was clear that she was stuck in some twisted game of some unknown deity. A deity who had stolen her from the Emperor's embrace for its own purposes. A deity who had promised her anything she desired. What she desired was to go home, back to her sisters, to sit at the Emperor’s table as a reward for her martyrdom.

Her thoughts were cut short as her tongue ran over the still weeping wound in her mouth, cutting itself on something poking out of the bleeding flesh. "Ow!" she cried out, more in shock than in pain.

"What is it?" Pyrrha asked.

Eva ran her finger over gap, confirming the protrusion before replying. "I don't know. Can you just look at my missing tooth for a moment?" she asked.

Phyrrha nodded and Evangeline opened her mouth and pulled her lips away from the injury. "I can see a bit of white there." Pyrrha responded after looking at the sister's gaping maw "Maybe you just chipped it."

Evangeline shook her head "No, it fell, root and all. I checked it after the fight."

Pyrrha simply shrugged.

"How bizarre." Evangeline said, probing it a few more times with her thumb

The worn dirt road slowly gave way to cobblestone, complete with moss in between the grooves, as the town began to loom over them. The trees thinned out and the pair were walking through patrolled farmland. It wasn't long before they were stopped a mounted soldier, a well built man dressed in a black frock coat, grey pants and tall back boots. His coat had a red triangle at either cuff which projected 3 golden chevrons. It was fastened shut by a belt which held a holster for a flintlock pistol and a scabbard for a rapier. Atop his head was a metal helmet that mostly covered his sideburns, though a little brown hair stuck out from the sides, and had a dangerous looking point at its top. He was young looking, no more than 30, though had the corners of his face gnawed by the scars of battle.

The lessons of Evangeline's upbringing and Sororitas training allowed her to quickly determine more about the city she was about to step into as she eyed the approaching armed man. She judged the clothing to be pretty mediocre, finer than the farmers and heathens they had encountered moments before, but they were not walking into a bustling trade hub, that was for sure. The weapons she and her companion were wielding were far superior in capability and quality compared to anything that these townsfolk might be storing.

"How are you my ladies?" The soldier asked in a polite yet weary tone, such irregular dressed folk with such strange items could be nothing but a pair of primes. Primes, as far as the soldier was concerned, were an ill omen. This feeling was only multiplied by the fact they had very clearly recently skirmished. "I've not seen you in these parts before. Do you have business in Darkshire?"

Pyrrha was the first to respond "A bit worse for wear I'm afraid. We were attacked by..." She was at a loss for words to describe them. Evangeline had used Nurglite to describe them, but would this man have any comprehension of what those words meant? She looked to the sister for help.

"A group of sick men." Evangeline continued "The infection increases the strength of those who survive it while making them carriers. Their sanity is also incredibly questionable."

"There's a bit of that going around." The soldier said with a sight "There was a conflict here a while back, and after some of the poor got really sick and died. Those that survived haven't looked the same. Some of them even left the city and ventured into the woods." there was a moment's pause "You said they attacked you?"

"Yes." Pyrrha replied "They said something about Godling blood and just came at me. I was fortunate my companion happened by."

"Strange." The soldier said before clarifying "Those that left have been making the area safer if anything. Killing monsters and the like that hang around the outskirts of town." There was another break then the soldier inquired "He said Godling blood?"

"Please excuse me," Evangeline interjected "but did you say there were those still in the city who were presenting symptoms?" she asked with a growing concern. "Some who still show signs of affliction?"

"This is the Moor, most of the poor are afflicted by something. But they carry on like the rest of us." The soldier replied with a shrug.

"I must speak with whoever leads your community. The survivors may still carry the sickness and contaminate others." Evangeline said with urgency.

"Follow me then." The soldier said with a sigh, bringing his horse around. "I'll take you to the council house and you can ask for your audience."

As they followed the officer through the bleached white wooden gates and the feudal market place Pyrrha looked at the sister with some confusion.

"Whats changed?" the Hoplite asked after awhile of walking. "You already considered the situation dire."

"I thought we might be lucky and it would be a small cult just starting out. But from the sounds of it this infection has already taken root. That means that my fear of the taint working its way into the ecosystem may have only come to pass long ago." Evangeline explained with a fretful cadence.
"If it has, what can be done?"

"Little." The sister said "Cultist illness is a combination of all the worst infections man has ever suffered. In the Imperium it's normally dealt with by quarantine and..." Evangeline's explanation was cut short by something that caught her eye. "excuse me for one moment."

Pyrrha looked at the sister with a raised eyebrow as Evangeline's pace quickened. The object that had caught her eye seemed to be a well resting in the middle of the market square. Luckily for the sister it seemed to be vacant for the moment. Evangeline dropped a bucket mounted to a crank that hug over the well and after she heard it hit water she wound it back up. Once it was in her hands she couldn't tip it on herself fast enough, squealing at the shock of the cold water covering her. Much of the dirt and debris hanging on to her was washed from her skin, and she was quick to wipe any that was left with her hands.

As they continued on the homes and buildings became much more upmarket, though suffering a state of disrepair that permeated throughout the city. It wasn't long before they reached the council building. The soldier instructed them to wait in the courtyard while he went and conferred with the administration.

The stones paving the floor were larger here, but still have signs of neglect. Moss was growing in the gaps, and small plants had sprung up. The gardens lining the walls were unkempt, the bushes that were once clearly maintained by gardeners were now overgrown, spilling over a vine covered retaining wall. The centre of the yard was occupied by a stone statue, too weather worn to make out any of its fine features.

"What a desolate place." Pyrrha mused to herself after a moment of waiting. "What were you about to say back there?" The red haired warrior said, turning to the sister "Quarantine and...?"

"Extermination." Evangeline replied nonchalantly as she examined one of the vines.

"You just kill people if they're sick?" The Hoplite asked again, her inflection taking on a slightly horrified tone.

Evangeline stopped what she was doing and turned to face the red haired warrior with a steely gaze. "There is no cure for a Nurglite infection, and it is deadly to those who don't embrace it. Those who do endeavour to spread it, and in doing so become little more than beasts. I've seen cultists infect irrigation systems on agri-worlds and spread their sickness to half a segmentum. When dealing with these heathens one cannot consider the fate of a single man, nor a dozen, nor a hundred, nor a thousand. Billions of lives might live or die as a consequence of our actions, and we don't have the luxury of counting the cost."

"So you just let arithmetic dictate your actions?" Pyrrha shot back critically.

Evangeline sighed and a soft yet grave smile crossed her face. "I can tell your heart is in the right place, but you saw what that man in the marsh became. What you saw was just a glimpse of the horrors festering beneath the surface. There are far more terrifying things to lay witness to down this road, and should you continue down it you will need to defend yourself against more men turned beasts."

The pair were interrupted as the large doors opened with a creak and the soldier appeared once more, walking down the steps towards the pair. Evangeline quickly returned her attention to Pyrrha.

"I know this enemy well." Evangeline said, looking up at the redhead "They're beasts, but they remember their humanity and use your compassion, sense of justice, all of your best traits against you while they circle you for the kill. If you don't think you can face that, I won't think any less of you should you wish to leave. Had I not made my oaths to purge this rot where ever it festers, knowing what we face, I would be running back to that portal as fast as my legs would carry me. But if you can steel yourself and follow me through this hell you will be saving untold quantities of lives."

The confused red haired warrior was still addled from her regeneration, but everything the sister said went against the values and morals that still resonated in her heart. Yet she had also seen the brute of a man turn into a beast and act in a way that defied everything she understood.

"You have your audience. They're waiting for you." The soldier said when he stood before them.

Evangeline nodded and followed before taking a few steps, however stopped when she sensed Pyrrha's hesitation. "You need not decide your path here at this instant. At this moment come with me and let's see if we can't get answers about this strange land."

***

The community leader sat in a dark leather chair across a lacquered oak desk from the pair of women. The room was flanked either side by bookshelves with old manuscripts and textbooks that looked as though it had been years since they had been touched, and four  sconces, one at either side of the door behind them and another at either side of the window, illuminated the room with burning oil, as the morning sunlight was filtered by the clouds was insufficient for the task. It was very clearly under decorated, with scuff marks and stains where ordainments used to rest. Much like the rest of the city, the room had seen better days.

The man himself wasn't all that impressive looking. Young, Thin and of average height, wearing clothes similar to the soldier that had escorted them. There was something in his eyes however, steely and determined, intelligent eyes of a leader. Evangeline thought that in the clothes of a Commissar he might even look the part.

"I am Dobson Skender, you wished for an audience to discuss something of great import." The young man stated, balling his fists up in front of him as his elbows rested on the armrests of his chair.

"Indeed. I am Sister Almoness Evangeline of the Order of the Eternal Candle." Evangeline replied with a curtsey as graceful as she could manage with a missing tooth and a still foul robe.

"You can call her Eva. I'm Pyrrha Nikos." The red haired hoplite said with her arm outstretched in a handshake. Even her soured mood didn't allow her to shirk on protocol.

Dobson took it and looked closely at the pair. "No doubt about it, you two are primes. So what trouble have you brought to this corner of the 'verse."

"Sorry, I keep being called that." Pyrrha interjected as she took back her hand. "What is a prime?"

"Fresh from the fountain too?" there was a slightly exasperated sigh which emanated from Dobson. "You're not from this world. Omni, the god of this verse summoned you from your place of origin. Should you die you are reborn at the fountain, and if you don’t die all your wounds heal. You're effectively immortal."

“That explains my tooth.” Evangeline said, looking a Pyrrha before turning back. "I remember the shade saying that. Then there was something about Omnilium? Using it to summon things?”

"You just think of the thing you want for a while and it forms." Dobson Replied. "Primes are the only creatures that can wield Omnilium in that fashion. Secondaries are those summoned by a prime, who make up the larger population, have to make things the old fashioned way."

"Sounds like witchcraft." Evangeline stated, folding her arms.

"Perhaps. It certainly defies conventional wisdom." Dobson said nonchalantly. "Now, what was the issue you wished to discuss?"

"My companion here was attacked near the city by infected men." Evangeline explained, lowering her arms "They suffered from an incredibly dangerous affliction that I've encountered before. We have dispatched them but I need help sanitising the area where they fell. If fauna devour them the sickness will enter the ecosystem and many will die as a result."

"Whereabouts?"

"A marsh a ways south of here."

"And how would you propose to clean the area?"

"I've noted that you use oil in for lighting." Evangeline said, nodding at the wall sconces. "If you give me a few barrels along with some soap I can make a sticky fuel that will burn and purify the area. The water is shallow enough that we can get it to a temperature high enough to eradicate the infestation if it has taken to it."

"Very well, that sounds reasonable." Dobson said, leaning back in his chair "I'm sure we can spare five men and some sprayers to help douse the area."

"There is an additional issue." Evangeline continued "Your guard mentioned some of those in the lower quarter showing symptoms, of a plague death that occurred long ago."

"I understand there was a spike in deaths after the conflict with Diablo." Dobson said thoughtfully. "Are you suggesting that this infection may have already taken root?"

"Indeed." The sister replied gravely. "It's possible that your lower class is dotted with carriers. If you don't remove them from the population it may spell doom for your community and beyond."

"And by remove them you mean what exactly?"

"Death by fire." Evangeline said, and she could already see the leaders face souring. "Please understand that in the many millennia my order has been fighting the infection we have found but one cure. And that is to put the infected to the torch."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not having everyone that looks sick murdered because you've had some bad experiences with this bug." Dobson said with a dismissive wave. "The people of the Moors are strong and will overcome."

"Then quarantine them away somewhere where they cannot infect others." Evangeline said, her tone becoming more authoritative. "This issue will have repercussions far beyond your community."

"Absolutely not! We don't have the resources for anything like that." Dobson retorted, his tone growing more forceful to match Evangeline's.

"Mr Skender, I know little about this land and your people, but I am duty bound to destroy the Rot where ever I see it." Evangeline retorted, her voice quieting but retaining its force while her green eyes seemed to burn. She leaned forward, planting both hands on the table and loomed over him. "I prefer the scalpel to the hatchet, but I will resort to the hatchet if I must. If you don't provide me with the aid I seek I will see this city reduced to ashes."

"Don't threaten me sister. There are more than a few primes who call this place home, You will be stopped."

"And apparently I will rise again to see my objective complete."

"It's not as simple as you might think." Dobson replied with a slight smirk. "There are ways of banishing primes from the verses."

"And while you prepare to do that how many innocents are going to die by my hand?" Evangeline said, her voice almost made her sound as though she was pleading with him now. "How many more is this plague going to spread to? How many will it kill in the coming years? I am compelled to act on this, but you can decide how. With the scalpel or with the hatchet."

There was a long pause while the pair of them stared each other down. There was little that Pyrrha could do, still conflicted about which path was the most righteous one. Meanwhile Dobson was contemplating the sisters ultimatum, he couldn't allow her to murder his subjects, nor could he allow this issue go unabated if even a portion of what Evangeline was saying was true. There was no hint of deception in her tone or posture, indeed her burning eyes watered as though the fire behind them was causing her great pain.

"How does this scalpel of yours work?" he asked with a sigh after what seemed like an eternity of staring down the sister.

Evangeline pushed off the table and stood upright. "The sickness also affects their minds. They become phobic of medical treatment, even if it doesn't cure them. My companion got a concoction from a healer in the town, I can provide these healers with knowledge on how to prepare medicine in sufficient quantities to treat the entire city in short order. You go block by block with guards offering to treat the poor, and those who resist will be more than likely to be your infectees. As a bonus the medicine has a wide range of applications, and if there are any other afflictions the people of the town are suffering it will cure them too."

There was another long pause while Dobson considered the sisters proposal, he looked down, his mouth pressing against linked hands as he was lost deep in thought. Finally he looked back up at them. "I will need to confer with the rest of the Junta and the alchemists to discuss your proposal. In the meantime I will arrange for several barrels of oil and soap to be brought to the manor. You can remain here, I suspect you might wish a bath and rest before you engage in your activities."

Evangeline nodded, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly. "You're not wrong about that." She replied. "Very well. We shall retire for the moment and await your answer. It will take some time for the fuel to be properly prepared anyway."

With a grim expression Dobson nodded to the guard standing at the door, who beckoned the women out.

***

A sigh emanated from the sister as she sank deep into the warm water of the wooden bath. There was little she could do at the moment, no fuel to sterilise the swamp with, and there was an unwillingness to commit the genocide she had threatened. The future was in control of other actors, and she was blessed with a reprieve that she would not waste. The last hour had been spend scrubbing her body down until she was satisfied that every skin cell that had come into contact with the putrid water of the swamp had been scraped clean. She did the same with her boots, gauntlets and weapons, getting a brush to scrape out every bit of mud that had found its way in between their links and engravings. Propped up in a nearby corner they sparkled in the soft flickering light of the lamp. She didn't know what to do about the soiled shield robe and let it soak in a tub near the bath. Were it not the only vestment she had she'd burn it then and there.

Her mind turned to the mention of summoning, to what the shade mentioned. "Just think of what you want most.". She closed her eyes and thought of a new set of robes, prioritising it in her mind was no issue. Soon kaleidoscopic light began to swirl around her, though with her eyes closed she was unaware.

Beyond the white curtain Pyrrha sat on the bed, a massive four poster bed covered with light blue linens with a gold trim. Blue cloth hung from the posts that would offer privacy to the occupants. The wooden floor was covered in rugs, well worn but covered in intricate patterns. There was a desk made from dark, heavy wood in one corner with an complex tapestry hanging above it on the stone wall, again, well worn. Despite the disrepair and the primitive nature of the furnishings, it was none the less luxurious. Luxury the hoplite was completely unable to appreciate.

With a furrowed expression all she could do is look at her bronze boots as she contemplated the occurrences of the past day. She still had no more clues as to who she was, but she knew she didn't like to see people die. Fighting Grimm, while anything but easy, wasn't messy. There was no blood, the bodies vanished once they were dispatched and most of all, they didn't cry out in human tones when they were hurt. Then there was the woman beyond the white curtain, her silhouette flickering through like a shadow looming over her. Very clearly she had fought more than a few of these and had no problem taking the lives of men, by the city load if need be, with no reservations for bystanders.

Pyrrha didn't know who she was, but she knew that she wasn't that, nor did she ever want to be.

"Eva?" she said finally, getting to her feet and walking to the curtain.

The sisters concentration was broken and the lights vanished before she opened her eyes. "Yes Pyrrha?" Evangeline replied, peeling back the drape so her head was visible.

"When you return to the swamp, I'm not going to be able to follow you." Pyrrha answered in a soft voice.

Evangeline's expression drooped slightly upon hearing this, but Pyrrha's hesitation had already become self evident. With a sigh the sister relaxed back into her bath "That's okay. As I said, were I not duty bound I'd be running to the hills myself."

"I just..." Pyrrha hesitated, feeling like she owed the sister some explanation.

"You need not defend yourself." Evangeline said, still sunk in the bath. "I was trained for years to undertake these kinds of tasks. Not only were my skills sharpened, but my heart and mind were hardened. If you feel as though you are unready to bear witness to more horrors, then it is to your credit that you recognise it."

With a weak smile the Hoplite replied "Thank you, Eva."

Pyrrha's player has had some real life issues come up and has had to withdraw from the thread.

[Okor]

Saalras breathed heavily, deadened feet wrapped in rotting rags slapping against swampy earth, jagged roots biting into his festering flesh as he ran for what could only be generously called his life. His brothers, whether they were bound by their tainted blood or by birth, had rejoined the endless cycle behind him. His harrowed heart beat in his chest, pressing against his malformed, twisted ribs as he attempted to outrun the death and pain behind him. But not fear, no, never fear: they were reborn in the rot and ruin, bred among death and darkness, and sworn to stalk the shadows. They died with spite and hatred on their lips, he knew that much.

Saalras had no intention of joining their ranks this night. A blackened branch, wrapped with thorns, scraped across his side, drawing beads of pale blood that decorated its length. Blood. It always came back to blood. The Sanguine sacrament through his own veins, the potential that pulsed through the demiurge’s immortal bodies. It gave him life, but he knew that its sweet, sweet scent would call the scavengers; beasts and men less than beasts hungry for the flesh of men and whatever trinkets remained with the carrion left behind.

His kin ranked among the carrion now, broken bodies left in the dirt. His foot caught on a festering root, sending Saalras sprawling to the blighted earth, claws churning the corpse-fed soil as he struggled to maintain his momentum. He scrabbled against the dirt as he tried to rise, the the grave-dirt beneath betraying him. A low growl came from behind him, the stench of rotten flesh and fetid breath wafting over him. He cursed silently as he clutched at the earth, the breath of the beast hot on his neck.

He scrambled for the blade secreted up his mud-stained sleeve, the dulled silver knife having put an end to more than one were-beast. His fingers clambered for the hilt, tantalizingly within his grasp, but he could feel fangs digging into his flesh, damning their owner as tainted blood flooded the beast’s maw.

He was too slow. Too slow, too slow, and now he was going to die here, in the mud, with his warnings going unheeded. He had fail-

A crack echoed through the fog as a great weight was lifted from his back, black fur flying past the edge of his vision, the beast whining and whimpering as it clambered to its clawed feet, the once-man fleeing into the dark from whence it came. A gnarled claw wrapped itself around his shoulder, dragging him up from the muck. His battered and bloodied body slowly turned to face his saviour, his grey orbs staring into a ruined rag wrapped around empty eye-sockets.

“Well, well, well. What brings succulent little Saalras down to my neck of the woods? Looking to take another pound of flesh?” The Blind Beggar laughed, his scarred skin writhing from within as his host of parasites crawled beneath his flesh. The Swift gulped, the rancid memory of that first festering feast still fresh in his mind.

He stammered as hs struggled under that stygian grip, his pestilent patron raising him from the dirt, and towards a set of twisted teeth, riddled with cavities and crawling with the black carapaces of the swarm. “T-the runners and the kin are dead.” The seemingly eternally genial visage of the beggar fell into a frown lined with broken fangs. The pestilent grip ceased, leaving Saalras to fall to the muddy earth. “From one prime? She didn’t seem like the type to slaughter you and all your kin.”

The survivor shook his head as he pushed himself up off the mire. “Nay, she got a friend. Silvered steel crusader that went at the lot of us with lances of light and a blade. She didn’t have no compunctions ‘gainst killing. Put ‘alf of us in the earth ‘fore Gudrun took ‘em both on to buy us time to scatter.”

The beggar frowned as he turned, his gnarled wooden staff tapping against the barren path as he hobbled forward, a claw beckoning Saalras to follow. The hunter stumbled for a brief moment before following the mouldering missionary down the twisting path. “And Badrun?”

Saalras gave a shudder as he walked, cold seeping into his deadened flesh as his tainted blood fled it. “T-there was a third. We went to his homestead, t’give our sympathies. Aint nothin’ left in there but blood an’ slaughter an’ a monster, all claw and tendril shaped like a man. Others kept ‘em at bay while I went to get help.” The hunter shook his head. He could still hear the battle he abandoned behind him, rusted iron meeting chitinous claws in a raucous riot forged by primal instinct. “Only thing left was Jacob, an’ the little ‘un was all wrong.”

The Beggar sighed, hobbling forward, bent over his staff. “I’ll tell Keith. You’ll need some more blades if you’re going to cut apart an abomination like that, Huntsmaster.”

Saalras paled, stopped in his tainted tracks. The Blinded turned, empty eye sockets concealed beneath contagion-riddled cloth staring into him as a gangrenous grin spread over across a scarred and ruined face. “What? There’s not much competition for the position now, is there? You served Gudrun well, and I’m certain you will honour his memory and take up his torch.”

The blinded looked up into the cloud-choked sky, a green moon rising over the ‘verse this cursed night, a great gibbous eye staring down with cruel delight at those struggling for survival beneath its gaze.

“Nurgle knows the Moors needs every light in the darkness it can get.”

The two cultists shared a final look of mutual respect. Saalras turned back into the gnarled, wicked woods stalking their shadows as he sought out what little remained of Gudrun’s legacy; dead drops and moor-sign carved into rotting trees. The Blinded Beggar hobbled down the winding path, his strange senses sending him unerringly towards his destination beneath the battered and scarred walls of the city that had taken everything from him. Rag-wrapped feet carried him into the caverns beneath, traipsing down tainted tunnels carved by those who would have seen the city fell, now the refuge of Darkshire’s degenerate defenders.

Change, hated as it was, had come.

[Alex Mercer]

The battle was over. Mercer had taken a bit of a beating, but not enough to finish off one pustule pocked peasant. Even as the ax was wrenched from his ally, Falk saw the flash of the grotesque claws rise and then fall in a quick flurry of blows. The wood of the ax was sliced into bits with all the force Mercer put into the swing of his right hand. Sickly pale blood spilled as Falk fell backwards. Even before his back hit the ground, Mercer follows up with another strike, aimed for the same three gashes.

With the mirrored strokes and the advantage of surprise to his aid, Mercer stood over the bits of the last pale-blooded hunter. His claws flick, slinging the putrid ooze into the splotches of biomass stained blood. Already, his lesser wounds were beginning to heal and even the gash in his leg was beginning to stitch itself back together. It was not nearly as fast as it once would have been. It might take hours to fully recover at this rate. "Pathetic." The slander was growled under his breath.

The Prototype watched as his arms slowly transformed back into their normal forms. The leather of his jacket was unchanged, and his pale fingers looked far too human. There still lingered a stain of white against his dark sleeves. Turning towards the house, he decided to wipe away the mess instead of absorbing it. In his weakened state, he was not too sure he could overpower whatever disease these men had, or what would come with such an affliction.

Jacob stood on the porch. The boy's arm was normal and he looked worried. "Why... why did they attack you? Why did you ..." Great.

"I don't know why they attacked me... but they did so with the intent to kill. This... was survival." He did not feign ignorance to his actions, or remorse for slaughtering the men. The walking virus stepped up onto the porch and brushed past Jacob. "Everything I do is about survival..." This much was absolutely true. He walked through the door, peering around at the blood splatters from the rather messy hammerfist consumption. Learn from this... This is what gave me away. He had to be more careful. Thanks to this sloppiness, someone already knew of his presence here - and worse, they escaped.

Jacob followed after Mercer like a lost puppy. He knew that this man had saved his life, given him new power, a means to fight back against the atrocities in the Moors, but he also saw this man cut down two of the hunters that had only the same goal. Every glance Mercer gave the boy he could read it on the youth's face. He was trying to piece together why they would attack, why his savior cut them down so brutally.

Flopping onto the very same couch he had killed the family on, Mercer released a heavy sigh. "Listen... This place seems to be a dark one... Monsters roam the thing and these..." What was it Badrun called them? "Vampires... They turn people into them and kill many others, right? Well... Those women killed your family... I happened by to spare your life, but in doing so I turned you into ... well, I turned you into something like me..."


Given more pieces to the puzzle, Jacob slowly started putting them together. The puzzle was warped, thanks to Mercer's words, but it formed at least a vague picture. "So they... they thought you and I were... vampires?"

"Or something of the sort. Monsters of the Moors... Just another foul creature roaming about, intent on inflicting death... If it isn't obvious, I'm what you would call a Prime... a new one... so they had no idea who or what I was. Thanks to their fear and hasty actions, I'm now exactly what they thought I was." Mercer was blunt, painting on lie after lie. Half-truths, he reminded himself. He was a monster from their perspectives, and rightly so. Sometimes, even he thought of himself as a plague upon humanity.

Another sigh and a wave of his hands, Mercer changed the subject. "Go eat. Your metabolism is much higher now, if you don't eat you'll start feeling sick." Mercer was sprawled out on the deep seated couch, head laid back and eyes closed. This was not how he intended to go about things. At least now he had information aplenty rattling about in the back of his mind. All he needed was to focus and retrieve it. "I'm going to sleep... We'll talk more in the morning."

The boy still stood at the front door. The sight of the blood of his family horrified him. Mercer was far too calm for this situation. It was obvious this was not his first time in such a dark situation, and seeing as that one man had escaped, it would not be his last. "Did... Am I the reason you're in danger now?" The hunters did not give up, his savior was undoubtedly going to be on their watch list. "If you hadn't come here to save me, you wouldn't have met them."

His thoughts were disturbed. Lifting his head, Mercer peered at Jacob with confusion. It had been a while since a stranger had worried about him. "It's... alright... You can make it up to me by helping me when I need it..." His head drops back to the cushion. "And to be fair, they now think you're a monster too... I'd say we're both in deep shit..."

Jacob's frown turned to a grimace. His uncle sought to protect the people of the Moors. How would he feel when he hears his nephew was one of them? Heartbroken, no doubt. Hatred. Anger. "Maybe I can convince them we're not bad..."

"Maybe..." Mercer tried to sound tired. He did not normally need to sleep, but he needed to concentrate. Jacob's emotional turmoil and hopefulness were only distracting him. Alex had to prepare for the nightmare of psychological pain that was about to come. Jacob finally understood his intentions, luckily for Mercer, and walked into the kitchen. Mercer could almost hear the heartbreak when he saw the blood puddle on the ground.