In the wastelands beyond Zion's walls, A dark castle covered in thick fog an filled with the stench of sulfur, the Black Keep, a monstrous fortress of obsidian and iron, its jagged spires clawing at the heavens like the fingers of a buried titan.
At the highest tower, the veiled witch Ziza sat before a swirling crystal ball, her fingers tracing patterns in the air as visions of Zion flickered within the glass—its golden spires, its laughing children, its defiant Archmen. A slow, cruel smile curled beneath her veil.
The chamber doors groaned open, and her servant Modi entered, clad in a shimmering silver
garment that seemed out of place in this realm of decay. He knelt, head bowed.
"My lady Ziza, you summoned me."
Ziza did not turn from her scrying. "Yes," she murmured, her voice like wind through dead leaves.Hael's face appeared on the crystal ball "Send word to the Hunters. They have their target. It is time." Modi glanced at the ball and saw the clear image of Hael,Ziza continued to speak maliciously "He must not be allowed to reach Golgotha"
Modi shocked by this says "With all due respect my lady ,wouldn't the demons suffice? He is just one man"
Ziza rose in a rustle of dark silks, gliding toward him. Her veil shifted just enough to reveal the gleam of her eyes—pits of ember and malice. "He is not, and In His grand design, Modi, everyone must play their part." She reached out, a skeletal finger tracing his jaw. "For the climax to come... the pieces must fall just so."
Modi swallowed hard but bowed deeper. "By His will."
As he turned to leave, the crystal ball pulsed, its surface rippling with the image of Zael standing in the streets of Zion, his wings outstretched in protection over the weeping woman.
Ziza chuckled, low and venomous.
"Let the games begin."
In the quiet before sunrise, Hael knelt alone in his chamber, the only light coming from a single candle flickering beside an open Bible. The walls were bare, save for the hooks holding his weapons and armor—tools of war awaiting their purpose. His massive hands clasped together, his head bowed, his voice a deep murmur in the stillness.
"Oh great and mighty Lord, your servant humbles himself before You."
The candlelight cast shadows across the scars on his knuckles, the marks of countless battles fought in Yahweh's name.
"Protect and guide Your people, that we may retake this world in Your glory."
His breathing steadied, his mind sharpening like the edge of a blade being drawn across a whetstone.
"As I go out before this great evil, direct me with Your rod."
A pause. The flame trembled.
"And sharpen the edge of my steel..."
His fingers brushed the hilt of his axe, its surface cool and familiar.
"...that all Your enemies may fall before me."
A final breath.
"Amen."
Silence. Then—movement.
Dawn had not yet broken when Hael rose.
The divine crucifix of the Archon Primus—shining gold, etched with scripture that burned with celestial fire—lay dormant in its case along with his divine axe. For this task he could not afford its radiance, its weight, its presence.He wore simple armor donned a simple axe though incomparable to the divine weapons they would suffice or so he thought, His armor, a mix of leather an iron and over it, he draped a heavy traveler's robe, its fabric coarse and weathered, the hood wide enough to swallow his face in shadow.
The armor slid onto his frame with the ease of long practice—each plate forged for war, but muted, stripped of adornment. But the holy sigil of Zion. No gleaming gold. Just steel, darkened by ash and oil, but the crucifix he took with him,hid in his bag . Moving with the quiet certainty of a blade being drawn. Straps tightened. Buckles locked. The weight was familiar, a second skin worn through decades of blood and purpose.
No banners. No fanfare.
Just a man.
And a mission.
The streets of Zion were still asleep as he moved through them, his footsteps silent. The gates opened without protest—the guards knew better than to question an Archon, even one who walked alone.
At the stables, his warhorse waited, already saddled. It snorted as he mounted, sensing the fire in its rider's blood.
Hael cast one last look at the golden spires of Zion, at the Faith Obelisk standing tall against the dawn.
Then he turned his face eastward—toward the coming storm—and rode out.
The sun had not yet risen. But Hael's crusade had.
The land grew more desolate with each passing mile. The golden fields of Zion, once alive with the hum of bees and the whisper of wind through wheat, had long faded into memory. Now, the earth split underfoot like parched lips, and the trees stood twisted, their gnarled branches reaching for a sky that had forgotten the sun. The wind carried no scent of life.
Hael rode on, his horse's hooves kicking up dust that hung in the air like a shroud.
Then, the forest rose before him.
It was not a forest as men knew it. The trees towered, their trunks thick as castle walls, their canopies woven so tightly that no light pierced through. No insects chirped. No birds sang. Only silence, thick and suffocating, as if the very air feared to stir.
This was the eastern wilds—a place no scout had ever returned from.
Hael did not hesitate. He nudged his horse forward, and the darkness swallowed them whole.
For a day, he rode. Then another. The path twisted, the trees shifting when his back was turned. He marked the stones, the roots, the way the shadows pooled—yet still, he passed the same clustered rocks five times over. No coincidence. No mistake.
This forest was alive. And it did not want him to leave.
As dusk bled into night, Hael dismounted. He cut wood, built a fire, pitched his tent beneath the boughs of an ancient oak. The flames did little to chase away the cold that seeped into his bones.
Hours passed.
Then—wheels creaked.
A carriage rolled into view, its lacquered wood gleaming despite the gloom. It stopped before Hael's tent, and from it stepped a man draped in robes of embroidered silk, his face smooth and ageless, his head wrapped in a turban so white it seemed to glow.
"Traveler," the man called, his voice rich as honey. "Are you alright?"
Hael said nothing.
The man sighed but did not falter. "If I may... are you by any chance stuck here?"
Silence.
The stranger chuckled. "I, too, have been lost in this maze. Nearly a year now. We were on our way to my daughter's wedding—I thought this forest a shortcut." He shook his head. "Now I pay the price for such folly."
He stepped closer, extending a hand. "I swear, I mean you no harm. Only to offer aid."
Hael ignored the gesture but stood.
The man beamed. "Staying here so long has afforded me certain... comforts." He gestured to the carriage. "Please, don't be shy. Hop on."
Hael climbed inside. The stranger followed, settling across from him with a sigh. "You'll be amazed when you see the place. Truly a work of art—I poured my mind, body, and soul into it."
The carriage rolled forward.
After a moment, the man tilted his head. "Where were you traveling to?"
"Golgotha."
The man's eyes widened. "Golgotha?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "That place is bad news. I've only heard stories, but they say it is a pit of despair. Men, women, children—all ruled by fear. Some even feed on it." He leaned in. "You should stay away."
The man sighed "If I may be o concerned,what takes you there?"
Hael's gaze remained fixed ahead. "The concern is mine alone."
Not long after, the carriage halted.
The man grinned. "It took me six months, but... here we are."
The house stood in a clearing, bathed in moonlight. Its walls were carved from the finest wood, its windows gleaming. Crickets chirped. Fireflies danced. The air smelled of lavender and fresh rain.
Hael stepped down, studying the place.
"She's something, isn't she?" the man said proudly.
Hael's first words to him: "it is."
The man led him inside. "Make yourself at home. There's a bed, fruits, clean water. What's mine is yours."
Hael turned, his eyes narrowing. "Why help me? You don't even know me."
The man sighed. "Forgive my enthusiasm, but... it's been so long since I've spoken to another soul." He smiled, though his eyes were sad. "And I think nothing of helping one who shares my predicament."
Hael exhaled. "Good enough."
"Rest tonight," the man said, backing toward the door. "Tomorrow, we'll talk."
The lock clicked behind him.
The man stepped outside, his silken robes whispering against the earth as he moved toward the pond. The water was still, black as polished onyx, reflecting nothing—not the moon, not his face.
Then, he began to disrobe.
His skin split like parchment, peeling away to reveal what writhed beneath.
Faces.
Hundreds of them, pressed together in a grotesque mosaic across his back, his shoulders,the back of his head, the nape of his neck. Each one twitched, lips parting in unison, voices spilling out in a discordant chorus:
"He is deceived—"
"—I deceived him—"
"—who deceived him?—"
"—I was there, you deceived him—"
"—No, she deceived him—"
The dominant voice on the creatures mouth —snarled, silencing them with a snap of its jaw. "Silence! We all deceived him."
The faces murmured, then agreed: "Yes, we all did. For we are Legion. We are one."
The creature stretched its arms wide, its true form now unveiled—a towering monstrosity of violet flesh, four clawed arms, and a single spiraled horn jutting from its brow. Faces bulged from its torso, its limbs, each one whispering, giggling, gnashing teeth in anticipation.
"Now," it purred. "What will it be?"
The faces erupted:
"Gold!"
"Nonsense—a woman!"
"Food, obviously!"
The creature chuckled. "I say... comfort."
The voices cooed. "Oooh, comfort?"
"Yes. He looks the weary warrior type. But why choose?" It grinned, rows of needle-teeth glinting. "We will tempt him with all your ideas. Just for good measure."
The faces shrieked in delight. "Yes! For good measure!he is bound to fall for one like thousands before him-Yes, We are agreed!"
Satisfied, the creature turned back toward the house, its many eyes fixed on the door. "Enough time has passed. Let us see what he fell for—"
Its clawed hand touched the handle.
BOOM.
The door exploded outward, splintering into shards as Hael's boot slammed into it with divine force. The creature hurtled backward, crashing into the dirt in a tangle of limbs and shrieking faces.
"What was that?" one voice wailed.
"I don't know!"
"Who knows?"
"Not me—all I saw was black!"
Then— Hael stepped out.
The ground trembled under his weight. His eyes burned with righteous fire, his scarred fists clenched.
"You tempt the very hand of Yahweh," he growled. "His wrath. His judgment. His Archman."
The faces recoiled, their voices rising in panic:
"His Archman?!"
"Who?!"
"Where?!"
"WHY DID YOU BRING US AN ARCHMAN?!"
The creature snarled, hauling itself upright. "Shut up, all of you!" It spat black bile, its horn crackling with dark energy. "It makes no difference who he is. One man against all of us? Besides that weapon is not a divine one,His death here is certain."
Hael cracked his neck.
"Then come," he said. "And find out Abominable filth"
The creature lunged, its claws raking the air with a shriek—but Hael was already moving. He twisted aside, the demon's talons carving deep furrows into the earth instead of flesh. This was no mere brawl; it was a dance of death, and Hael knew the steps by heart.
He led the monster deeper into the forest, where the trees stood like ancient sentinels, their trunks thick and unyielding. The creature's wild strikes splintered wood, sending showers of bark and sap into the air.
"Strong," Hael remarked, ducking beneath a swipe that would have severed his head. "But sloppy."
The demon roared, its many voices rising in fury as it tore through another tree—only to find empty air where Hael had been.
"Where is he?!"
"Where did he go?!"
But Hael was already behind it, his axe a silver blur. The blade bit deep into the creature's neck and chest, black ichor spraying like ink. The thing staggered, then laughed as its flesh knit itself back together, two of its grotesque faces vanishing in the process.
"We have lost two," one face hissed.
"But we are still legion," the others chorused.
It attacked again, a whirlwind of claws and gnashing teeth. Hael bent beneath a strike, his own weapon flashing upward—and the demon's leg tumbled away, severed at the knee. The beast crashed to the ground, howling.
Hael gave it no quarter. He was upon it in an instant, his axe rising and falling like a blacksmith's hammer, each blow carving deeper into its corrupted flesh. The creature finally managed to kick him away, sending him crashing through a tree.
It stood, healing once more, its body now marked with fewer faces. "There are still a thousand of us," it taunted. "How do you hope to win?"
Hael rose, his grip tightening on his weapon. "By killing you all," he said. "One by one."
The battle raged for hours.
By the end, only two faces remained—one on its head, one on the back of its skull. The demon, now desperate, darted behind a tree, its voice trembling.
"Let him go," the hidden face urged. "Undo the spell, or he will destroy us!"
With a snarl, the creature raised a clawed hand. The forest groaned, the trees parting to reveal a path—a way out.
"The spell is undone, Archman!" it called, still hidden. "This is our defeat! You may leave!"
Silence.
Then—
"Archman, do you hear—"
Hael's axe split the tree in two and buried itself in the demon's back.
Now, only one face remained—its own.
It writhed, whimpering, fingers scrabbling at the axe lodged between its shoulders. "Please," it begged. "Spare me. I will never return. Just this once—"
Hael seized it by the horn, lifting it off the ground like a ragdoll. "You think I would suffer you to live?" He smirked. "For a demon, you're hopeful."
With a sickening crack, he tore the horn free.
The creature screamed.
Hael retrieved his axe, then uncorked a small vial, pouring its contents over the writhing beast.
"What is this?!" it shrieked. "What are you doing?!"
Hael's voice was iron. "By my authority as Archon Primus of the Archmen, I summon thee—Holy Ghost Fire. Consume this creature of darkness unto death. Unto desolation."
He turned away.
At first, nothing happened. The demon grinned, relief flooding its remaining face.
Then—
"Hot!" it gasped. "Hot! HOT! I'M BURNING!"
Hael did not look back.
As he gathered his things, the creature's screams rose behind him, its body wreathed in flames no water could quench.
It would burn for three days.
And then, at last, it would return to hell,
Zael moved through the streets of Zion with his usual grace, but something was different. The people who once greeted him with reverence now whispered behind their hands, their eyes darting away when he passed. The murmurs clung to the air like smoke—'He shielded a heathen. He defied the Elders' will.' He ignored them, his focus fixed on the infirmary ahead.
Inside, the woman lay in her cot, her face lighting up the moment she saw him. She tried to rise, but her body betrayed her, a weakness pinning her down. Still, she smiled—bright, unbroken.
Zael's chest tightened.
Before he could reach her, the attendant intercepted him, her expression strained. She led him into an empty chamber, bowing low. "My lord Zael," she began carefully.
"What is the problem?" Zael demanded. "She should be healed by now."
The attendant hesitated. "Your power... it isn't enough to purge this illness. It's unlike anything we've seen."
"Ridiculous," Zael snapped. "Nothing resists divine light."
"Perhaps," the attendant murmured, "it would be best to send her back to her land. The people—the Elders—they question why we shelter her."
Zael's voice turned to steel. "'Back to her land?' The one reduced to ash by demons?" He laughed, sharp and bitter. "Step aside. I'll handle this."
He returned to the woman's side, kneeling beside her. She studied his face, her smile faltering. "Why does everyone look so worried? Is something wrong?"
Zael took her hand—and 'felt' it. A darkness coiled inside her, slithering toward her heart. His touch, which had mended countless wounds, did nothing.
"There's something inside you," he admitted. "A poison. My strength... it may not be enough."
Her fingers tightened around his. "Well, I believe in you."
Her faith struck him like a blade. He forced a smile, but as he turned to leave, her voice stopped him.
"Even if you can't... there's a fountain in our forests. It can heal anything."
Zael froze. His grip on her hand turned vise-like as he scanned the room. "'Never mention that again.'"
She blinked. "It's just a—"
"'Never.'" His voice cracked like a whip.
She flinched.
The fear in her eyes—'directed at him'—hit like a physical blow. This woman, who had looked at him as salvation, now saw a threat.
He released her, his voice softening. "Forgive me. But such words... they're forbidden here."
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because Zion trusts only in Yahweh's power. Men have died for less."
Her next question was barely audible. "But what if Yahweh 'can't' save me?"
Zael exhaled, the weight of centuries pressing down. "I'll return soon. Rest."