A tight hand grasped Riven, yanking him away with such force it felt like his shoulder might pop out of place.
"Snap out of it,"
Reina whispered urgently, pulling him along. They flitted between corridors and alleyways for daemons know how long before stopping by a familiar market place. Riven was out of breath, spluttering spit and wheezing to catch it. Reina stood tall, even heckling a vendor for some skewers of mysterious meat as if nothing happened. She handed him one lightly patting his back, he swatted her hand away but reluctantly took the skewer. She bit into the mouth watering meat, juicy fat dribbling down her lips before obnoxiously speaking with her mouth full.
"Well that was scary"
Riven twirled the skewer a few times before replying.
"Who were they?"
He contemplated for a moment, humans. In all his fifteen years of life, he had never found another creature like himself. Riven knew he was different from everyone else. Zehar had forbidden him from trying to learn more about his origins, but the curious young man had gone against his wishes and found nothing.
There was no literature of his kind, no whispers or rumours, not even from word of mouth. There was always information about other creatures — even rare ones like Reina, the Marakine, whose kind was scarce — yet for humans? Nothing.
The only reason he even knew what he was, was because of Zehar. Oh that's the right payment.
"I mean, I've never seen those types of creatures, coming from the hellspine, what an entrance. Probably on some important business"
Before she could yap away, Riven cut through.
"My payment Reina"
He said sternly. She stopped mid-rant, a look of mock offense crossing her face. Then, with a huff, she tossed the green necklace to him
"Dont shoot the messenger, if you want to complain about it not being coin bring it up to Karn"
His hand caught the necklace. He slumped down, Lifting the veil that covered his jaw slightly, he started devouring the skewer. The taste was superb. He stared at the necklace before saying.
"Reina, you want to come to the Chasm with me?"
She froze for a second, then stammered out excuses.
"Ah—I mean, you saw the mess at home, I really should get going."
He looked up at her.
She groaned.
"You know how much I hate that place. I don't get why you always cash in over there, it's so disgusting."
She shivered, exaggerating her disgust toward that area.
Riven sighed.
"Suit yourself"
He got up, dusting himself off. He nodded at her goodbye, she waved her free hand, mouth and other hand full of skewers. He darted off chuckling to himself.
"Damn glutton"
Riven sifted through the marketplace, vendors of all sorts packed tightly together, creatures of every size and demeanour peddling their wares. The air was thick with noise and scent — a bustling, claustrophobic atmosphere. Eventually, he reached a stretch of road where black gravel seemed to stretch on forever, swallowed by the red and black haze. He stopped a passing carriage; the beast pulling the rickety cart was muscular, with two horse-like heads, thick trunked necks, and four raptor-like legs whose talons clawed at the ground. A thin, wiry imp hunched over the reins, its cracked skin marred by tattered feathers. Its dull grey eyes were lifeless. The kind that had been staring down the same road for centuries.
The imp rasped,
"Five copper."
Riven tossed a tiny pouch of ten copper and flopped into the back of the cart. The wiry hay pricked at his skin as he nestled into it.
"Drop me at the Chasm," he said.
The ride was rough, bumpy and chaotic. There was no room for hospitality, just sheer speed. The beast that pulled the car roared to life with each crack of the whip getting faster and faster. Riven somehow fell asleep through the ride before being jolted awake. The imp hovered above him, its face gloomy as ever. Riven rubbed his eye tiredly.
"I don't have all day"
It croaked
Riven tumbled out of the cart, stretching as he took in his surroundings. The Chasm. A dark, decrepit place, where the smell of damp rot and despair filled your nose. Far from the reach of the black-and-red haze, darkness still seemed to consume every corner. The sky was always black. The area was littered with ruins, jagged cliffs of obsidian and stone, and rusted pipes and metal strewn across the ground. He started walking, faster than usual. Denizens of this place seemed scarce, but in reality, they only hid well enough. Shadows flickered in the darkness as he moved. One of the creatures stumbled over some wires, emerging from the shadows. Riven cast a quick glance its way.
The rat-dog hybrid had sunken, bloodshot eyes that seemed milky and dead. Covered in sores, with matted and missing fur, its tail was mangled, and its wiry, ratty whiskers curved in different directions.
It twisted its head, snarling at Riven, while the arms under the tattered cloth itched at the sores on its neck. After a few seconds, the creature seemed to come to its senses, terror painted on its face at the sight of Riven. One of its fingers pointed at him, wavering.
"W-w-wraith,"
it stammered, gasping before scurrying away back into the darkness.
Riven moved forward, the whispers in the dark urging him to quicken his stride. Finally, he reached his destination: a dingy hut, its ramshackle frame reinforced with rusted metal beams. A glass pane dominated the center, a narrow gap slit beneath it. Riven approached. The glass was thick and caked with grime. He knocked. A grotesque tentacle shot from the shadowed interior, latching onto the other side of the glass. Slowly, its suction cups slithered through the gap toward Riven. The slimy, dark limb rested against the wall.
A husky, scratchy voice croaked from within.
"Ailment?"
Riven replied in annoyance.
"Tch, I always come for the same thing you know wh-"
The voice cut him off, slightly sterner in tone.
"Ailment"
He stared into the darkness in annoyance.
"Sin of rot"
He heard rummaging, the clink of glass against glass and the shuffle of movement. Finally, the voice spoke again.
"Payment"
Riven chucked the jeweled necklace into the gap, the tentacle greedily snatched it before putting it back in the gap. The tentacle slithered over the steel beams and tapped at a sign.
"Coin only"
"I dont have enough coin take it or leave it"
The tentacle slid back into the shadows. Riven swore. Waiting, his patience wore thin, and he slammed a hand onto the glass pane. Finally, the tentacle accepted the necklace and returned a small vial, tightly wrapped in worn, black cloth.
Riven grabbed it, exasperated by its size.
"This much? Are you kidding me?"
No response. The being seemed to have vanished. He tutted to himself and turned to walk back. This much will help Zehar for a couple of days, he thought. After a few minutes, he had nearly reached the road when, out of the corner of his eye, a shadow warped in the darkness.
A blade shot toward his throat—he barely dodged, planting a foot into the dark. He felt the impact of the kick throw the attacker back. In an instant, he closed the distance, but the creature had already darted away. Riven's hand slipped inside his trench coat, gripping the leather handle of his kukri. A short, curved blade.
He stared at the figure — a thin, birdlike humanoid, its feathers frayed. Its back twisted unnaturally, cheeks hollowed out beneath the jut of a sharp, downward-curved beak. Yellow eyes darted erratically over Riven's body. The blade that had narrowly missed him was a sharpened steely feather.
Inwardly, Riven thought to himself — a carrion. Not a rare creature in Hell; fast, and deadly from range with their feathered projectiles.
The creature's cawing broke his thought.
"Wraith!" it screeched, voice cracking with rage. "You killed my son!"
Strings of saliva flung from its beak as it shouted. Riven tilted his head, straightened, and began to walk forward — slow, deliberate.
"Which one? I've killed too many sons," he said, mockingly.
The carrion screeched and fired a volley of feathers before lunging at him in fury. Perfect, Riven thought. He didn't even need to close the distance himself.
He sidestepped the incoming feathers, ducked low, and threw an overhand slash. The kukri sliced cleanly through the creature's forehead, carving down to its chest. The force sent it tumbling, black blood pooling beneath it as it twitched.
Riven wiped the blade against his trailing coat, then ended it with a single, clean stab.
The carriage ride back felt solemn, the occasional bump in the road jolting him from his thoughts. He looked up at the crimson sky — he was close to home. In the Ashen Ward, the skies were always red, choked with dirty brown clouds.
Soon, the smell of soot and burning reached Riven's nose. But this time, it was different. He grabbed the imp's shoulder, feeling the wiry sinew tense under his grip. The cowering thing jolted at the sudden touch.
"Stop the carriage," Riven said briskly.
The wheels screeched to a halt, talons carving deep trails into the road. Riven leapt off the cart and darted toward the scent. The stench of burning grew stronger — and beneath it, something else. Blood. The faint tang of iron cut through the air, spurring him to run faster.
He reached the shanty place he called home.. Black and purple flames swirled, devouring the structure as it crumbled into cinders. Riven's eyes widened. He threw his shoulder against a collapsed beam blocking the entrance, forcing his way through. Smoke stung his eyes, though the onyx mask shielded him from the worst of the inferno. He wafted the smoke away, a pyre of purple - black flame fell close to him as he shouted.
"Zehar! Where are you"
He moved forward frantically before hearing a faint murmur. Looking to the side, he saw Zehar sprawled on the ground, his limbs a mangled mess of gore, jagged bone fragments jutting out. His abdomen was torn open,empty holes spilling dark pools of blood.
Zehar coughed, red froth bubbling from what remained of his lungs.
Riven froze. In an instant, his eyes darted across the room, scanning for any sign of the assailant. His heart pounded in his chest — wild, caged. He rushed to Zehar's side, slipping on the blood as he dropped to his knees. His hands pressed against the wounds, frantic, moving from one to another, not knowing which to stem.
But deep down, he knew it was over.
Zehar kept murmuring, the light in his eyes dimming with every word.
"It's gonna be okay... it's gonna be okay," Riven repeated — not knowing if he said it for Zehar, or for himself.
He hung his head low as Zehar's voice rasped out one last time:
"I would never give him to you... disgusting humans... he's not like you... I would never..."
The frog's words faded into silence. Riven called out again, but Zehar couldn't hear him. Alone and shrouded in darkness, he died afraid — and cold.