You're still young, and you have much to learn. "I've heard it a thousand times!" Valla blurted. Destruction begets Terror as Terror begets Hate as-" And when that balance is lost, the cycle begins: Hate begets Destruction.
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A demon hunter learns how to direct hate. It will pit you against yourself." The master hunter's eyes snapped up, locking on Valla. "It will reach into your mind and uncover every fear, every doubt, every regret, no matter how deeply buried.
but Delios had that information as well, and it wasn't enough to prepare him. We believe it's a demon that feeds on terror. We know very little of what we're dealing with. The master hunter turned to her, his tone remaining even. it's not too late for him," the master hunter said, but his minor hesitation spoke differently. Come sunrise I'll ride to Bramwell, and I'll find Delios. Valla scanned the corpse mounds once more, noting something odd: there were no children among them. "Possible," Josen answered flatly before departing. "Do you think they turned on one another?" "Perhaps that is so, but no hunter is responsible for what we see here. All too easy for hunters to lose their ability to control their fear or hatred and cross over to the other side. It was a horrific development, one every demon hunter faced, navigating the threshold between good and evil. He stormed into a bordello, killed everyone. "Delios was seen one day ago outside of Bramwell. These were stabbings, impalements, crushed skulls-not the shredding, dismemberment, and decapitation associated with most demon slayings. The wounds, while gruesome, were not those common to a hellspawn attack. Beneath the odor of decomposition was the unmistakable smell of feces. Some of the bodies had ruptured, insides spilling out, maggots working their way over and through the viscera. many of them bloated, their midsections distended. Within the barn-sized enclosure, the townspeople were piled in haphazard mounds. She pulled her scarf tight and choked back bile. And though the smell of degenerating flesh was familiar to Valla, the potency of its assault nearly drove her to her knees. The hunter stationed out front swung open the tall doors.Ī thick, dark mass, a living cloud of flies, escaped. As the thrumming grew, the fetid stench grew also. "Follow me," he replied.Īs they approached the storehouse, the hum rose in volume, a penetrating, vibrant buzz. The master hunter's expression was unreadable. I only pray that he died a hunter's death." wounded, given the presence of demon blood. But there was also a black substance throughout, like tar, that she did not recognize. as was a dark liquid spattered across them.
"Had Delios succeeded in his task, we would not be here." His shimmering eyes finally met hers. "We should not be here." His voice was loose gravel. "I came as quickly as I could," she stated, lowering her scarf. Josen continued studying the rubble intently as Valla approached. to do the most important thing, should they so choose: become a demon hunter and annihilate the hellspawn responsible for evils like this. Guide them, encourage them, heal them, educate and train them. That was, after all, the second most important thing her people did: feed and shelter those left homeless in the aftermath of unthinkable catastrophe. Now it was a matter of looking for survivors. Whatever had happened here, they were too late to do anything about it. The only signs of life came from Josen and two other hunters, one searching the derelict structures, another standing near a rundown storehouse. There was a barely discernible, persistent hum. The sawyer's daughter slowed her horse, dismounted, and waited for a moment, silent and still, assessing.
Valla was clothed in similar fashion, the greatest difference being the long, dark scarf she wore that even now covered the lower half of her face. His hood was down, and his cloak snapped in the gusting wind. His twin crossbows were slung from his thighs, within easy reach. The soft light reflected dully off the plate armor that adorned half his body. He was dressed in the attire of the demon hunters' calling.
Valla's mentor, Josen, stood in the center of the village, considering a pile of debris: scattered mason stones, upturned rock and soil. Or so it seemed the heavy stench of putrification suggested that the residents were still present, just not among the living. The air was warm despite the clouds that blanketed Khanduras as the demon hunter arrived in what was left of Holbrook-once a tiny, struggling farm community, now a deserted ghost town. Valla smelled the rotting dead from a mile away.
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