It wasn't just an unusual scent that warned Aron of his adversaries—it was evolution. After millennia of hunting gods and demigods, his senses had transformed.
These beings who called themselves divine affected humans on a molecular level: their breathing, their sweat, their very vibrations. Humans were the source of all karma, the medium through which higher beings channeled their will. When gods drew near, they left traces in the people around them—subtle changes imperceptible to most.
But not to Aron. Through these altered humans, he detected an eerie presence. A scent only he could perceive.
Sniff! Sniff!
And right now, as they were ready to leave, the golden immortal couldn't help but feel the whole stench reeking all around him. He didn't see them; he didn't hear them, but his nose flickered while Khorn walked here and there, impatiently waiting for the young herald.
"He's taking his time?" Khorn asked, a bit of jealous fire tuning in. "Does he really have to do this?"
"Have patience. Peter is a doctor—a practice which helps him gain karma and help people. A skill which the rarest of humans have," Aron proclaimed as they waited outside a small hospital.
Step! Step!
Peter finally came out, smiling a bit. "It's done, my lord. Didn't know they would let me register without a passport," he said.
Khorn glared at Peter. "You are helping them free of charge—of course they would let you. Pretty magnanimous to raise your karm—"
"Khorn…" Aron grumbled, cutting her words. "Let's go. It's already midnight. We need to reach the station soon…"
Khorn placed a hand around Peter, like he was her own underling. "Yeah, I need to show our Peter what Nioanellir is all about."
Peter's smile turned into actual excitement—a place which he had only studied now slowly coming to reality. "I still can't believe we are going there. In my mind, it has only been a simple myth."
Aron saw his glee, that notion affecting him as well. "It really is your first time. Then you will be surprised multiple times. So buckle up, Peter."
"Indeed, my lord. I wanted to visit it with my wife and daughter," he said.
As they conversed, they finally reached the train station, which should be closed at eleven p.m. But the back door was always open—open for a reason. The eerie quietness of empty people gave them the vibe it was wrong.
Do not enter.
Normal humans would instinctually or subconsciously divert their ways, but not them.
Aron, Khorn, and Peter entered the station as they rode the ominous train which should be out of commission for the day but was running nonetheless. Aron relaxed on the seat while Khorn imagined herself leaning on Aron's shoulder but didn't have the guts to do it.
The train itself felt a bit alive. Peter could feel it—the ancient magic and runes, the same one which was carved in his small knife, the same one which he felt in the many other weapons he held. Everything was coming together, piece by piece.
He checked his photo again—his ex-wife and his daughter. 'Second step. I am gonna reach that second step, sweetie,' he thought. 'Soon enough, our wish will come true.'
The train stopped momentarily, as it should. A few people walking in. Peter looked wary, his hands reaching for his knife. "Should we… be careful?" he asked as the train started moving once more.
Khorn turned, only seeing simple humans, awakened ones, as they called themselves hunters. "It's okay. They are just rookies who have little to no knowledge of our world. Let them be."
Peter pushed his knife back, hiding it away. In time, they reached another stop. Another batch of people came inside, now much greater in number. And again, after another stop, the train was getting filled more and more.
Peter didn't care if they were humans like him; his hand was already on his knife. "Is this many people… normal?" he asked.
"Actually, no," Khorn muttered as she too was growing wary. Her fire flickered in her palm. She would have ignited the whole train, but because of her use of Dominion, her karma was still fresh, rendering her useless for the time being.
The second-to-last stop came, and more people started to fill in, making it utterly packed. Now they were not even trying to hide anything—all of their gazes fixed on the golden man sitting with his eyes closed. It was obvious. Very obvious.
"My lord," Khorn called. "They don't seem to know what they are dealing with."
Aron gradually opened his eyes, checking his surroundings. "No wonder I was dreaming of shit, the stench here is awful to the core," he remarked.
Khorn instantly understood the meaning. These people were not normal hunters but were connected to the cunts of divinity. "What should I do—"
"You shall do nothing," Aron said. "You too, Peter," he added, glancing at him.
With those words, he slowly stood up as the men and women all around began taking out their blades. Some drew swords, while others pulled out small guns.
"It's gonna be okay," he said. "Might lose some karma from this, but we don't have time to play hero."
He just stood there, his golden eyes calm, waiting for them to jump on him. But nobody seemed to act. Everyone was just watching him cautiously.
"Come on, attack him. We won't get paid if he makes it to Nioanellir," one of them said.
"Ha! You go first then," another one said. His legs shaking for some reason as his instincts told him no, don't fight this.
"You shitty cowards," voiced a giant one, walking to Aron, standing right before him, looking down on the man who was called the Golden Immortal One. "I will reap this reward myself and be the avatar of Sigurd myself."
Aron looked up at him. "My child, I warn you, if you become their avatar, your life will only suffer."
"Me, your child? Fuck off," he said, his hands moving to Aron's neck.
Aron simply waved off that hand and flicked the giant's chin. It was fast; nobody saw anything, only the giant man's head jiggling like jelly, like his neck bone had turned to soft.
"...."
There was silence for a while as the giant man fell back right onto the floor. Everyone, utterly confused as to what the hell happened.
"Everyone attack!" one of them said as the swarm of people poured onto Aron like ants attacking a huge bug. But Aron was no bug. He was more, always was and still is.
The train buckled and shook as one man after another was thrown out through the windows, some through the doors, crashing and breaking everything piece by piece. When the train finally reached its final stop, it was utterly reshaped and tattered, with only silence reigning within.
[Damage on humans detected.]
[Karma: -37]
[Update applied: Karma -37 → -21,650]
The broken door opened slowly as Peter walked out without a single scratch, and so did Khorn. Both smiled with pride as Aron stepped out last, his fists a bit dirty with blood marks here and there.
"They never seem to learn, do they?" he muttered.
Peter looked around. Most of them were unconscious—only unconscious, not a single one dead. "My lord, do you have a no-kill policy?" he asked.
Aron glanced at his hand, blood still dripping from his wrists, then looked back at the men. A flicker of guilt passed through him, but he knew it had been necessary. "You are all His children," he said quietly. "I don't have the right to take any human life."
Peter turned, confused. Children? Them? Whose? Before he could voice another question, Khorn tugged him forward. They left the station's exit and headed toward the true entrance of Nioanellir.
As they walked deeper into the tunnel, strange things began to happen. A pink fog thickened around them, growing denser with every step, until—without them even realizing the shift—they arrived somewhere else entirely. Before them stood a giant gate.
"The entrance…" Peter whispered, staring at the massive structure of wood and steel binding, three times taller than he was. "I read about it. Made by the two ancient dwarves to connect the realms."
Aron stepped forward and exhaled a soft breath. The gentle wind alone swung the Goliath-heavy doors open.
And then they saw it—heared it, smelled it. The bustling market teemed with countless people, mostly hunters. Hammers rang loudly on anvils; the air carried the sharp, hot scent of molten metal being forged.
Among the crowd, Aron spotted something familiar: golden hair just like his own.
"Adam?" he muttered.