Errshek.
Saer’s raw eyes snapped open, the ground a blur and streaked with traces of wet, gray ashes.
Errshek, the reason for Lucifer’s discovery.
Errshek, the cause of Neyu’s unmaking.
He wasn’t worthy of Neyu’s sacrifice.He didn’t deserve saving.
Saer straightened his spine, unfocused gaze taking in the glowing horizon over a sea of deceased husks.
Before Lucifer came for him, before he was unmade for his rebellion, he had one last mission to complete.
Errshek had gained more than enough of a head start to disappear off Saer’s radar.Returning to the Hells would only accelerate his own destruction before he had the chance to incinerate Envy from the inside out.Though Lucifer wouldn’t have allowed the Sixth to cower from his duties in the Hells—of that much, Pride was certain.He’d scour the surface by foot, mount, and ship for as long as it took.
With Neyu gone, nothing else mattered.
Saer’s bitter and persistent need for vengeance marinated.He clung to his rage, nurturing a willingness to wait for the impending payoff.Errshek would be found, and he’d be slaughtered.
When he failed to locate Envy in short order, Saer turned to the next obvious lead—by seeking out the remainingDaemoenica.
The rest of his kin could harvest with subtlety—all except Wrath.They’d helped one another through enough harvests for him to recognize her flagrant methods.He just had to pick the correct war.
It took him months of inquiry and traveling, but he wouldn’t be deterred, and his diligence led him to an island.
The landscape boasted a mixture of verdant marshland, crooked yew forests, fields of indigo hydrangeas, and dramatic shorelines buttressing against rolling green hills—it hardly seemed a place for bloodshed.Yet, its allure and abundance were exactly why humans fought over the land from the start.Once humankind began to equate ownership of land and creatures with power, it grew in enticement, and Runeak fed the temptation to perfection.
Saer arrived not by Hellsfire, but by ship.
Seawater, salt, and the scent of fish teased his nose.As the expansive fishing boat pulled up to the creaking pier, Saer adjusted his dark hood to keep the rain from his skin.The sensation didn’t bother him, but the way water steamed upon contact with hisDaemoenicflesh tended to draw unwanted attention.
After paying the toothy captain a few coins for the passage, Saer disembarked and entered the humble seaside village to acquire a horse.He’d ride towards the battle’s borders and there, he hoped to find Runeak.
For two nights straight Saer stopped to camp, building himself ample fires.The days on the boat had been bereft of most flames, and while he absorbed heat from the sun, it proved difficult through cloud cover.
With nothing else to occupy his mind through the nights, he relived the moments of his beloved’s death.Allowed rage to break the mental walls he’d carefully constructed.Saer tasted it in the back of his throat, rolled it over on his tongue like a rich, butyraceous champagne.
The campfire crackled as licks of flame kissed his knuckles.He played with the fiery tendrils and pictured the languid, torturous death he’d put Errshek through.With Neyu, he’d made it as swift as he could manage, no hesitation, no additional time for torment—it wouldn’t be so with the one he called his little brother.Saer wanted to eat Errshek’s suffering as he devoured the blaze in front of him.
Methodically.
Degree by glorious, delicious degree.
A clearing of grass served as the latest installation for the war encampment.Expansive, raised tents with walls made of cured, thick leather hides set in row upon neat row.Still far enough away that he wouldn’t be spotted but close enough to sense the warm bodies milling about, Saer estimated the number in the thousands.
He cared about one heat signature amidst the throng, and it glowed fiercely, a beacon amongst the rest of the horde.The signal stood within the largest tent, near the center of the entire base.
Tapping his heels on the brown mare’s flanks, Saer spurred her to trot up to the front of the encampment.The moment the soldiers spotted him, loud shouts rang out.He recognized the language as that spoken on the fishing boat he arrived on, though only understood every fifth-or-so word.
Saer pulled his hood back to reveal his face, then raised his arms over his head.His palms were empty.
The base sent a trio of guards on armored horses his way.They wore a mixture of rust-toned wood, leather, and metal plates strung together in small sections with thick fabric cords at the joints.The armor stopped at their knees, and further plates coiled around their shins, held together by glinting ropes of cloth.
To Saer’s mild amusement, they each had a helmet donned with long points of various shapes to mimic horns.
The leader sported a trim, black beard while those flanking him had smooth faces with chiseled jaws.Saer took a moment to appreciate their tan skin and dark eyes, so different from his own features.
He touched a hand to his chest, stopping their inquisitive chatter.“Saer.”He pointed to their largest tent.“Leader?Let me speak.”
