Of Lightning and Hellfire

Written By: The Author, Jacob Folkler

Normalcy… For centuries the normalcy of Raphael’s life was built upon the constant warfare. The alarms, clashing of metal, howling of hot desert sands. Normalcy was movement, caution and survival. Not this, whatever this is. 3 years it has been, roaming city after city, mountain range and valley, forest and Kingdom. Nothing could ever get him close to the normal here. And the fear and anxiety surrounding him being a fish out of water has been the only inkling of reminiscence he can cling onto.

However, one thing endured, one thing Raphael for the life of him could not get out of his mind. That damned fairy, Rythian. Who was he? Why did their conversation matter so much to him? Even after months of the encounter with him and that girl, he could not find them, find anyone who knew them, or what he was to them.

500 years was too long. Anything of his past life, whether true or not, was dead. Yet it still haunted him. Even now.

As if the black of nightfall was not enough to make for poor visibility, the thick green canopy of the Crywood loomed heavy and around the Fiend as he slowly waded his way through wet upgrowth and moss. His dancing baubles of dull red light wafting into and between the trees was his only light source here, and their glow reflected off his black metal armor. Through the bush and bramble he walked, his one good eye piercing into the darkness, searching for any sign of life. 

For months now, Raphael has been searching for an individual of interest to him, their reputation being a core reason for his desire to make their acquaintance. 

“He has hidden himself well, unprotected, secluded.” Raphael whispered under his breath, as he pushed another branch aside and stepped his steel tipped boot over a decomposing log. The stench of the forest was sickly to Raphael, not that anywhere else was any better, but to this world’s credit, anything was better than the hells.

After what felt like ages, a small glint captured Raphael’s attention amidst the olive abyss. For within the Crywood jungle, now uncovered, a small wood and brick shack, the warmth of firelight seeping into the leaves around it. Raphael slowed his march. 

There… Found you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“We need to decide on a name, love.”

Tarantio releases a heavy sigh. Cradling his wife upon his chest, he lay comfortably into the backboard of their bed. Pleasures like this were rare, especially as perfect as this. The cool night, the fire logs already prepped to keep the house just warm enough, both him and his woman not bogged down by chores and cleaning the shelves that were always too dirty for her liking. Nothing to hunt, nothing to fix, just… quiet. She even made him goat stew. Damn good stew. Even Dace thought the stew was the best part of the night. 

Tarantio readjusts his arm gently under her weight to stroke her soft white hair. Any sudden movement now and she would get up. 

She should.

Shut up, Dace. 

“Yes, Vadania. We should.” He croaks back. Tarantio always lost this conversation. Naming was never under the list of specialties he was ever known for. 

“And?” She returns softly, looking up to him with a coy smile.

Tarantio, enamored by her beauty, lost any thought he could have attempted to prepare for. Once more shifting his weight, he reaches over with his other hand to place on her belly. Settling was never easy for either of them for over a decade now. Constantly on the move meant settling was death. But now, after everything they have been through, Tarantio’s anticipation to be a father was at an all time high. 

“Well… Alright what of Sasha? She was a strong warrior of my people, and we looked to her in reverence as a sign of hope after her passing.”

Vadania raises an eyebrow. Then she gets up.

You’ve done it this time.

Her voice betrays her look of disapproval, slow and understanding, “Love, we’ve talked about this, no names of the dead. Those who live and pass to the grave have lived their names too. To name our daughter that would be disrespectful to the woman you speak of. Besides,” a curl of her lips, “Tania is the far superior name.”

“You really think we’ll have a daughter?” Tarantio says, smiling back. 

“I know it.” She claps back, and Tarantio believes her wholeheartedly. “Tania it is then” He says confidently.

Vadania begins to tie her hair, unable to hide the fact that she cannot stop this wave of joy from holding her face hostage. This… this is what Tarantio wanted for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. 

Vadania continues, “She will be as strong as you, and you will teach her to hold a sword. And she will be as smart as me, for I will teach her the first spell i ever –”

“Shh!” 

Tarantio’s face, now drained of all joy, displayed only a grim seriousness and stoic stern. Vadania immediately silenced, for she knew what this look was. Danger. Too near to home. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“May the owner of this hole please step outside? I request an audience with you!” Raphael calls out to the wooden shack, knowing full well he is heard. His voice is empty of emotion or regality, he cares not to waste his own time longer than he needs to, and his travel here was arduous enough to justify impatience. “I know you are in there, surely you will not leave an esteemed guest waiting?”

The oaken door creaks open, and orange firelight falls upon the green grass as the hunter stands within the threshold of his own home. The man, standing slightly under six feet tall, is adorned in a matte black silken cloak, held together by a sword belt and scabbard piece. The cloak betrays hard, cream coloured skin beneath it, covered in scars and pulled tight over dense, lean muscle. His face is that of a human man in his early thirties, shoulder length brown-black hair that curls to shape a chiseled jaw with clenched teeth. Yet there is a calm to the hunter’s eyes, Raphael chances, I wish to break it.

“Could smell you from a mile away, visitor.” The hunter says, his voice breathy and stoic.

“Then perhaps I am at the right place”, Raphael decides, his eyes trailing down the hunter’s arm to the dusk elven greatsword, unsheathed and adorned in runes. “I assure you, I won’t harm you without good reason.”

“And who dictates that good reason, you?” His responses are careful, insightful.

Raphael pivots, “I am here to put a face behind a reputation. I hear many things… You would imagine my shock to see the man himself cowering within the comfort of the woods. A man like you should have the confidence to wear their work upon their neck. I am underwhelmed to say the least.”

For centuries, the devils of hell were always snarky with words, and quick to test patience. Raphael himself was no stranger to this, and though it made his time of service a bland one, having nobody to enjoy the presence of, he believed it to be the most efficient way to learn about those he made business with. Tease them, piss them off, then watch their response. Some will cry, some will show signs of inferiority, some will get angry. As in this moment? Raphael more than wants a fight, he needs a fight. Especially after how long it took him to find this place. 

The hunter remains calm, stepping out into the grass, casting a shadow upon the doorframe. Just what I needed. Raphael smiles at the hunter, and their shadow disappears into the house.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Two inches taller than me, 4 inches shorter than you. Black longsword, shoulder pauldron, fingered-flail fighting style, heavy set muscle, infernal iron. Blood war? Maybe… At the very least a fiend skirmisher. 

We could take him.

I know.

Tarantio begins to pace slowly in front of the door, presenting a sign of insecurity. In reality, he is well aware of this form of encounter. Caught unexpectedly on home turf. For most cases this would mean the visitor has a wash of confidence, an expectation that this will go favorably in their way. This is true, however, for most cases. This fiend has chosen Tarantio’s doorsteps, so this sign of insecurity, is just a hidden technique Tarantio uses to keep his muscles active.

He takes a deep inhale through his nose, enough for himself and just a bit more to get Dace a whiff as well. His ears flex up slightly, and cool wind brings sound of rustling leaves and nighttime woodland creatures scurrying through the bushes. An owl, a squirrel, the burrowing of a mole…

Alone. Dace cackles.

The Fiend’s voice comes again, deep, gravely and heavily accented, “You would be best to leave your armaments aside human… I care not for your false sense of security. Besides, my shadows could kill you an instant.”

Shadows, could it—

“My home remains under my protection, stranger. Whatever you think you came here to find, you will not find here. Leave. Me. Be.” Tarantio says, focusing heavily on his vocal chords to waiver just slightly, enough to make him sound capable but still afraid. Already, he can feel the lust in his head, that unscratchable itch Dace gets when he bores. We know too little right now, Dace. Tarantio thinks. We don’t want a fight. Can’t risk it, Vadania is here.

Fine.

The Fiend laughs heartily, and Tarantio plays into it, showing fear in his face and slight horror in his hands, gently shaking the blade he holds. Tarantio stops pacing, planting himself carefully upon loose and dry soil.

“You are in no place to make demands, imbecile, and I am in no mood to waste more of my time speaking to you,” The Fiend taunts, “so listen closely. I am looking for the Crimson hunter. Should that be you, you are to aid me in the search of an individual who has consistently escaped my grasp. I will not take no for an answer, and before you even think of asking, there is nothing in it for you.”

“There are hundreds of bounty hunters that roam this side of the continent. Yet you came to me, why?” Tarantio asks. At this point, he is trying to get mileage out of this conversation. Anything at all, information, hindsight into the Fiend’s capabilities, or just giving it time to speak of itself so he can better prepare. However, at the back of his mind he cannot help but ponder over his question. Sure, he is aware of his exploits and the name he made for himself. In fact, he had even been approached a fair number of times in his career in more appropriate settings. It took years for Vadania and him to find a place no one could find lest by accident, and this thing found them all the same. It does not want any hunter, it wants… needs him.

“That is none of your business.” The Fiend responds impatiently. 

“And if I say no? What then?”. Tarantio tries even though he knows the answer.

The Fiend raises his hands, palms facing up. At that moment, the shadows around the woods, cast by the moonlight and the red-orange glow of the fireplace, begin to swirl and crawl toward it, surrounding it, collecting into his palms and fueling him with a breath of pompous vigor. Yet the return is cold and brutal, “Then I, Raphael Gamnon, will kill you. Then your bitch wife, and her unborn child.”

Was that a curse? Tarantio thinks.

No, and he is being deceitful. Dace quickly replies.

A challenge then?

Yes. Still don’t want a fight?

Fuck that. 

Raphael smirks, he got what he came for. He steadies his breath from excitement.

Fshhh!

Soil and grass sprays outward towards Raphael, kicked up by a flash of steel from the dusk elven blade. Raphael’s eyes go wide, he did not see the Hunter move. Tarantio pivots his left foot, burying it into the ground for better leverage. At once, he feels a pulse of every ounce of blood throughout his body, old magic well practiced. His vitality surges, every fiber in his person activating and sending electric waves to the muscles. It almost feels as though the body goes numb briefly, weightless, seamless. And just like that he is in full control. 

Raphael reels back, holding his left arm up to block the soil from getting into his eyes, while raising his right for two prepared blasts into the cloud of dirt. Not even half a second later, bursting through the distraction comes the Hunter, moving at an impossible speed straight for Raphael. The Hunter’s sword buzzes with an electric charge, its runes glowing crimson red. Raphael knows the blasts are the only defense he has at the moment, anything else would take too long, and even then he cannot say for sure his shadows can collect in time to evade getting hit. The Hunter’s sword raises high, and immediately swings down for Raphael’s head. His eyes narrow, and the blasts fire into the Hunter’s exposed chest.

Mist. The hunter dissipates before him, dark grayish red smoke that fades into nothing. An echo, a ruse. SHIT! 

“I have you!” Tarantio says from behind Raphael, sinking the sword deep and down into the back of the devil’s knee, drawing first blood. Raphael groans angrily in pain as blood starts to run from the wound. Tarantio cranks the blade in, forcing the devil to try and twist his body to relieve the instant agony. Only to be met with a backhand slap to the jaw. 

Raphael summons a breath through gritted teeth, and releases his shadows all at once, spinning rapidly around him till his form is none more than a shadow itself. He laxes the teleportation step spell, his bleeding leg now free. With just enough time to reach for his sword, the hunter crashes his blade against Raphael’s, sliding under his left arm and parrying the defense into a counterattack to the neck. Raphael spins away in the nick of time, confidently allowing the blade to slam into his shoulder piece. The Ram skull of fortification, an impenetrable magical item that he earned from Belial himself whilst fighting in the hells.

Sparks fly as their swords continue to clash, but with each spark that flies, Tarantio learns a lot. This is a truly experienced fighter, even if he is not as talented as Tarantio himself. If anything, it worries Tarantio, wondering what talent he is hiding, and how much more dominative that would be if used against him. 

His shadows, Dace says, where are they!

At one moment, Raphael meets eyes with the hunter, and spits, “This is the man they speak of? HM? This is the warrior I hear so much about?” He throws his head forward, the infernal horns on his brow bludgeoning the Hunter’s cheek, drawing blood off a skin puncture. “I want to see, Hunter! I want MORE!!!” 

Tarantio ducks low, his leg sweeping out and tripping the Devil ass over the tea kettle. He lunges forth, stepping down on the displaced hellish sword, grabbing onto Raphael’s lapel and drawing him to his own weapon, then abruptly stopping in his tracks… Raphael has a conniving smile on his face, before saying through blood stained breath, “Now I have you.” 

“TARANTIO!!!” The scream, unmistakable, comes from within the house. Wonderful timing my little shadow. 

Raphael speaks again, his grin so hard to contain his cheeks hurt, “Ahh, Tarantio. So that is your name, pleased to meet you.” But immediately his smile fades. For he no longer stares at the face of a human anymore. Replacing the Hunter’s eyes are fiery blood red spheres with thin black slits. A rage is ripe within this man so intense, Raphael’s confusion is blinded by anxiety. The voice that follows no longer sounds like Tarantio, but a caged and tortured beast unleashed, like a strangled Imp, or a wheezing old man on death’s door. An entity of pure hate, starved for a killing long awaited.

“Well, you haven’t met me.” Dace breathes, like scraping metal.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Raphael is flung across the lawn and through the brick wall next to the front door. 

What the hells are you? He wonders.

Dust, debris and shattered brick spray off into the interior of this warm and cozy home. Raphael’s ragdolled body crashes into an open fireplace, winding him so hard he opens his mouth and cannot inhale a breath to shout in pain. Armor splintered, skin shredded, bones definitely in places they should not be, it takes him a hot second to get his first breath in, and open one of his eyes. From the look of it, the mere force of his body landing doused the flames he fell upon. 

Still unable to properly breathe, Raphael attempts to turn his body over and off his back, only to be met with a crippling paralysis down his spine, putting him into a wheezing fest that morphs quickly into a violent cough. Wet dust and small stones come out of his mouth. He is dazed, broken and still trying to understand what happened. If anything, Raphael had seen many strong demons in his days, but the difference between strengths came from size, and the mightiest demons typically were the largest. This was different. This strength was innate, honed. 

Before another thought can formulate in his head, Raphael’s one open eye falls upon the visage of two legs next to him. As his vision runs up them, he sees a beautiful dusk elven woman, early thirties, in a cotton white, night dress. Soft bluish gray skin, sharp features, and long, stark white, voluminous hair hold the head of a small framed, curvy body. Unharmed? I heard her scream… Raphael tries to think but a pounding headache begins to form in the back of his skull, so he eases into his throne and continues watching helplessly.

The woman slowly crouches down next to Raphael, and her lip curls into a smile, immediately reminding him of the girl in his dreams, that autumn leaf fey. He tries to grab at her but realizes he cannot move his left arm. 

Her voice is a splash of cool water on a hot summer's day. “I wouldn’t suggest that Mr Gamnon, my husband has you in a Curse of binding. Forcefully breaking it would cause your blood cells to rupture. Oh, and also your vertebrae are fractured. But here.” She waves her hand gently over his face and throat, and her eyes slightly flash a low white glow. 

Raphael feels a comforting warmth in his throat, as though drinking a fresh cup of milk and feeling it wash down a dry bread. With a final wave, air comes flowing into his lungs as he is granted the ability to breathe again, moments before he would have passed out. He wastes no time, “I sent my shadows to you, heard you yell in pain, I… *coughs*... You are a cleric? No where did the reports speak of divinity following you.” 

“Basic spiritual guardian spell, a well timed showcase of hormones unleashed, and as for the reports, well… I have a complicated relationship with my deity and her disciples.” She turns to the front door, “Dace, could you please come back in? I wish to speak to Tarantio.” 

Vadania stands up, passing by the front door as it swings open. In the door frame, impressing even Raphael, is the hulking form of a large, barrel chested beast. Covered in the same black robes that Tarantio wore, this Lycanthrope steps in, claws and boney hands and feet and vascular appendages. Its face is that of a long wolf-like snout with bloody red fur and long fangs for teeth. The black hood pulled over its head, shadows those same sharp red and black eyes that almost emit smoke in rage. Behind it, dragged, is the same greatsword. 

The hound raises the weapon and gently places it upon a shelf in a neat way, before raising its heavy arms to pull its hood back. The claws, fur and sharp teeth pull back, the snout loosening and reforming onto a human face, body structure reconfiguring. A shapeshifter. That is where the reputation comes from, a supernatural beast that aids him. 

Tarantio speaks, “You come into my home–” before Vadania cuts him off, “Love, go easy. He was testing you, and now that he is broken, I’m sure it is in his best interest to loosen his tongue and tell us why he came all this way.”

Raphael flares internally, never did he think he would be shut down so quickly, he has not tasted defeat on a scale like this and the woman’s nonchalance is not helping. However, he also recognises his position now, and that she is right. He was himself, and was punished for it. Things work differently here than in the hells, and perhaps this was another reminder of that. If anything it was a lesson. 

“Tarantio… I am… beaten. I will admit. You fight with the ferocity of a beast, yet are calculative. I…” Raphael closes his eyes, too ashamed to admit. “I am defeated.”

“Then what is it you want? Why come all this way, why find me?” Tarantio says, his eyes still stern as he approaches the laid out Raphael. Raphael hesitates, before mustering up the saliva to be honest for the first time since he arrived, “You are a hunter, no? I need help, and require someone with your specific set of skills… As for my reasoning to choose you, having spent all this time looking and traveling? Well, the person I am looking for would be of interest to you as well.”

Vadania turns around, having stopped the mending and tending of the broken wall to listen in. Tarantio kneels down to look Raphael in the eyes. Even Dace softens his panting to hear what the devil has to say.

“And who would that person be, Raphael? What makes you think I would care enough to leave my home?” Tarantio’s question comes cautiously.

“Because, his name is Rythian Moondancer, and much like us, he too is a Shatter.”

FIN :)

The Author
Jacob Folkler