Travelling by foot through the bushes wasn’t an ideal situation to be in, to say the least. The lack of quality sleep and the apprehension of what they might find had left the men tired and quick to anger. “If I trip over one more godsdamned root...” Lyial had cursed as his foot caught again, nearly sending him to the ground.

  “I suppose that’s why you’re not a lineman.” Feanias, who had caught up with them near half an hour after they departed him, attempted to muse. Though, truth be told, his voice did not convey the humour his words attempted. David admired the attempt though, it would seem as if Feanias was attempting to keep spirits up - for his sake or for the others, it mattered little.

  David, who walked beside Reiner and Simmeon, squinted his eyes ahead. “Stop!” He called out, throwing his arms to his sides to stop his comrades. They looked at him bewildered, Reiner even looked a bit angered, but when looking where he looked, such anger quickly faded. “Tracks.” David and Reiner had said at the same time. Despite the overwhelming odds of finding some trail in this monolithic labyrinth of trees, they had found a trail. But would it be the trail of their query? Only time could tell.

  Feanias, who, while the least experienced in battle was certainly the best scout of the bunch, immediately took the lead, waltzing to the front and identifying the tracks carefully. “Well?” Reiner asked impatiently, his nerves apparent. Feanias ignored him completely, either bold or having never heard him at all.

  Eventually, after what felt a life time of waiting, Feanias had come to his conclusion. “Too old to tell the make, but heavy enough to leave a deep print. Definitely a soldier's boots.” Feanias said, adding “Not too close together, but not far enough apart to be a run. They were walking, but clearly in a rush.” He said, carefully crawling around brushing away fallen leaves of green and brown. “More tracks alongside them, a group. Similarly made.” He said from his knees, now more hunting dog than man.

  With Feanias now at the helm, they followed the track for some distance. The tension in the air was palpable, it felt to David as if they were an iron ball packed into a cannon, smothered in gunpowder and ready to fire… and he dreaded finding out just what match would light their fuse.

  “You smell that, my lord?” David had said quietly to Simmeon next to him, the honorific feeling out of place at this point. Though if he felt the same, the mystic didn’t show it when he nodded. The stench was foul, the air was thick with a miasma of death. It was a unique stench, but it was one that David couldn’t place.

  Meanwhile, Feanias squinted his eyes down at the tracks. “They’re running now, unsure and unsteady.” He called out. David only barely registered Feanias as he waited for Simmeon to respond.

  “Nothing so foul, my lord… A dead dreg, to be sure.” Simmeon had confirmed, returning the honorific despite the lack of necessity due to their difference in rank… if they were still in the Ancient’s army, that was. The horses began to make uncomfortable noises, having to truly be dragged forward by their leads. It did not take long for the others to pick up on the stench, either. The undead had a way of truly smelling horrific after their second death, for their body was only kept from the rot through the magick which tethered them to this side of the Veil. “Explains why the spirits were fleeing.” Simmeon added, sounding unsure of himself. “There is only one poison so potent that even the spirits fear it.”

  David fiddled with the hilt of his sabre nervously. Perhaps the spirits were fleeing the stench of death… perhaps not. “I hope you’re right.” He said in a weak voice.

  The light of the day, already sparse due to the many trees, began to slowly fade. As it began to fade, its escape from the sky only became faster and faster. They would soon be left in the dark. “Light.” Reiner ordered, David did not need to be told the order was for him to know it was for him. He flipped open the satchel on his hip and took out a crystal wrapped in layers of padding, for such works of magick were fragile things. He could feel the power of the many souls imbued within it push against the walls, trying in vain to escape their eternal cage, which did not come as a shock to David considering it was one of many of the freshest batch sent from The Pit. Channelling the power of the damned all localised within the gem, tainted as they were by magick, David commit a simple but cardinal sin by Mending the Veil, using what scarce energy there was permeating their surrounding in an act that was a bit like pottery. The potter takes clay and through their process creates a bowl, two separate things made of the same substance. David, and others who would so carelessly disregard the will of the Gods, did something similar. Thus, using the powers unwillingly given to him by the many souls swarming like hornets in a nest with no exit, David weaved what energy there was into a ball of pure light. It was a novice thing to do, but it was fundamental for a reason. To be trapped in the dark is to be sentenced to death, a fate which would befall them soon regardless if they found nothing.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Guided by the light of sin, they continued their hunt. The need for sleep, however, began to hunt them. Naught could be done in that regard except for stave the need, thus the group began to use their rationed Lutema capsules: a special substance imported from across the sea which would give the user an immense burst of energy for hours (or even days). Thus, with their minds artificially sharpened and sleep thoroughly scared off, they finally came across the source of the putrid stench. The sight drove their horses into a wild frenzy, taking both Feanias and Lyial - the most experienced equestrians - to calm them (ultimately by walking them some ways away and tying them to a tree for the moment).

  “Great Gods.” Lyial exclaimed in revulsion as he gazed upon the corpse on his return. Even Reiner, the hardened Captain, found the very matter that made up his eyes soured by the sight. These men were no stranger to death, but this manner of death was foreign to nature. Upon the ground lay a pale grey body, for it is that all Fallen appear as normal humans until it is that they die. When they die, instead of truly rotting - in the sense of decomposing - their body instead will begin to turn into an acidic grey mush. It begins with the hardening of their skin as their innards turn into an acidic goo, their skin acting as a sort of cocoon, until the foul liquid begins to seep out through eye sockets, from under finger nails, from the nose and mouth, and any other open orifice. It is this molten deadness that reeks, carrying the very smell of a sin against the Gods, a sin that once walked as if to be a living thing.

  There was no beast alive that would feast upon the corpse of a dead dreg, most living things can recognize a poison when they see it. Thus the shock of the men at the sight that this Fallen had an entire arm torn off, with the foul substance leaking out where once its shoulder sat. Feanias hardened himself to the sight and closed in to investigate, careful not to get the deadly substance on his skin. “Right arm mauled off.” He said as he investigated the ruins of the undead beast. No shit David thought to himself bitterly. It was not the clean cut of a sabre, it was a jagged tear that told the story of skin, muscle, and bone all ripping and tearing and turning to dust in a most sickening way as some horrid creature tugged and tugged until finally finding success. “its innards aren’t totally melted yet.” He said, “The back of its ribs and spine on its left side are totally crushed, something must’ve thrown it against one of these trees.” He added, theorising aloud.

  “A week, but perhaps as little as four or five days, must pass before liquefaction begins.” Simmeon informed. Right, David remembered, he was reassigned from The Pit. He’d know his fair share of Fallen biology. “Organs go first, then bones.” Simmeon recalled, pausing for a moment. “If it has bones, its been here no longer than twelve - perhaps thirteen - days.” Simmeon informed.

  Lyial frowned. “That’s what we’re concerned about? How long its been dead?”

  He said, looking around like he was the only sane one. “What the fuck did that?” He exclaimed in a fusion of anger, confusion, and fear.

  “There’s no tracks.” Feanias said quietly. “Well, not of whatever did this, anyways. There are more boots leading away.” He added.

  Reiner looked down at the corpse thoughtfully. It became increasingly clear that whatever did this wasn’t natural. “Least it isn’t the Wolves.” The closed off man joked bitterly, this small musing not distracting from the fact of the matter: whatever did this was after his brother.

  “Aye.” David said standing next to him. “At least it isn’t the Wolves.” He echoed.