“No one really knows what exactly the depths of the deadlands look like. Tucked away past the ice cities of Ingramar and far beyond the end of the Frostwinds, lies a land scarcely explored. Too dangerous, too hostile, a land where even military expeditions turn away from. Only the outermost areas of the deadlands have ever been charted. But even that proved to just be the surveying of a blighted damned hellscape. A land filled with twisting jagged rocks, alien roots and vines snaking across the land like a million arteries. Worse still are the countless open air mana veins, a tempting treat but hiding the grim reality that everything within was tainted and warped by corruption. ”


    - Explorer Ameria Kino, Pathfinders Guild, “Far Past North: The Deadlands”


    <hr><hr>


    Wicked winds slashed across the skin with a fury, enveloping everything in a furious white cacophony. Thich layers of snow hid the paths one could travel, traps of nature’s own making waiting to swallow up unprepared victims. Dead trees crackled as their barren branches somehow withstood the might of the weather, themselves an echo of the wrath that nature possessed.


    Dull crimson streaks pierced into the sky high above them. Where the world should’ve touched the stars, it was instead twisted and torn. In part from the destruction that was wrought upon Melisgrad in recent months, and then from whatever latent corruption continues to seep in from the northern reaches. Like gnarled roots, some of the streaks seemed to flow up from jagged rock formations, their source hidden by uncountable layers of snow and filth.


    A pack capzel goat brayed with disinterest, likely as annoyed with the cold as it was with the humans around. Shaggy brown fur and large horns mounted atop a head that bobbed lazily in front of a mound of fur and muscle. Five such beasts carried enough supplies for a company of men, let alone half a platoon.


    Though the expedition started with 52 souls including himself. Inquisitor Lionel and his assistant, a lanky historian by the name of Orgrid Cairnmaker, snuck in to join the trip at the last moment. Not that Viktor minded since they brought with them their own supplies. Enough at least, that they would not inconvenience the group’s current rationing plans.


    They had trekked up the mountains for a solid week now, the weather only having gotten worse as time went on. At first, the tribal guides had known the lay of the land. Directly the group through passes and bridges normally hard to spot if one ever had the foolhardy inclination to travel the Frostwinds. But after the fifth day, their rate of discovery decreased drastically as they had now entered what the tribals called the ‘accursed peaks’. An area in which disappearances and deaths are not just common, but so prevalent that there were generational tales about this place being haunted or cursed.


    Of his templars, six were proficient mages skilled in the arts of containment and dispatching the arcane. All six of whom reported the increasing signs of discomfort the deeper they headed into the ‘accursed peaks’. Even his own training, not as attuned to the aetheric flow of mana like a true mage, told him of some ancient and forgotten lurking around here.


    What further hindered their progress was the ever thinning atmosphere. The oxygen here was far more lacking than at the bottom of the mountains. The mountaineers and goats handled it well enough, but the templars and knights in their full complement of gear fared far worse, forcing them to take constant breaks lest they fall behind.


    Low growls cutting through the wind alerted him of hostiles. He wrapped a gloved hand over the hilt of his blade and looked to a mountaineer, the man straining his ears to listen in. After a moment, the mountaineer pointed ahead. Something’s out there.


    Signaling for the party to halt, he gestured at a templar and the mountaineer to advance, himself following them as they set off. From a side pack, he pulled out a small spyglass, the coldness of the metallic tube sneaking past the protective leather and chilling his fingers. Viktor let out a grunt of his own before reaching the other two.


    They were crouched at the edge of a treeline, making restrained gestures at something off in the distance. Noticing his arrival, the mountaineer tried to direct his attention past a gap in the next treeline. Putting the spyglass to his eye, he found himself staring at the back of a vague shape. Only after a few moments did he realize that it was trying to smack against something unseen. Then the realization that it was the top half of some massive humanoid or demonic creature large enough to appear noticeable to the naked eye even from here.


    Viktor frowned, it was a sign they were on the right track. Whatever beat that was there was certainly not human. The downside was that it meant they would have company.


    “Big creature. Size of a house I reckon. Lieutenant, take a look.” He passed the spyglass to the templar.


    The monster however, was a concern. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have given the matter much thought. But such a large beast surely had followers or at least hanger ons of some kind that would not take kindly to his convoy’s presence. In the situation they were in now and with how weary the group was starting to look, he had no doubts that the fighting would turn out to be problematic at best.


    “Stars…” The lieutenant cursed.


    “At least we’re on the right track. Ready the troops, tell them we’re in for a fight today.” He ordered.


    The templar kneeled and nodded, “As you command, Lord Inquisitor.”


    Viktor turned to the mountaineer, “That might be where we need to go. Do any of your people know a path over there?”


    The man visibly paled at the mention of heading over there. He simply shook his head, “We’re ‘lready far from the paths. Now we walk the wilds.”


    “Fair enough.” Viktor answered, “Go back, tell your people to prepare as well.”


    The mountaineer wordlessly bowed and hurried back as Viktor peered through the spyglass again.


    “Just what would a monster like you be mad at?” He grumbled to himself. We might be closer than I thought.


    <hr><hr>


    Breaking through the howling winds were sounds of battle. Grunts, cries, and other inhuman noises filled the air under the dusky crimson sky. The earth shook as the giant beast likely stomped or battered at something, either movement akin to a miniature earthquake and a quick death for whoever was struck.


    Viktor held up a hand, to reorganize the group. They were close, too close, they had to be ready.


    “Templars forward and on me. The rest spread out around the goats, keep our cargo safe.” He ordered.


    Wordlessly, the others hurriedly rushed to their positions. Templars peeled off from the flanks to join him, forming two tactical columns as the lieutenant gathered some men on his side. Inquisitor Lionel headed up the rear, rallying the Meltonian knights around him as the mountaineers scattered around the convoy, taking up posts wherever they could find cover.


    Satisfied, Viktor gestured for them to advance.


    The templars were silent monsters themselves. Each a mountain of armour and training that prepared them for even the most accursed of threats. Their silent presence gave him a faint inkling of comfort as they advanced onto the unknown.


    Their rapid advance halted as they followed a bend inbetween the treeline. Ahead of them, Viktor spotted one form, then two, three, dozens and then more monsterosities. He halted the columns, sensing that they still had the element of surprise.


    A demonic looking beast roared, the twin headed beast stood on its twisted hind legs, a shaggy grey mane covered in snow and viscera. It was a monster born out of a child’s nightmares. Two sets of eyes on both its heads, then another set upon its chest as a maw of a mouth with a tongue far too long stared greedily forward. The creature pointed a bone shaped halberd at the foes before him, his outstretched arm coated with the putrid remains of undead creatures unlucky enough to stand against. It.


    It stood as tall as four men and its eyes called for slaughter.


    Smaller demons answered its call, ashen skinned abominable beasts named death shriekers. Beasts that wore almost no skin beyond the thin layer of sinew and muscle that hid its bones. They were often found on all fours, able to crawl inhumanely fast to catch up with their prey and tearing into them with claws as long as a shortsword.


    Some other grunts were present, more humanoid creatures. But relatively unarmored and likely flesh to endure pain rather than for any other specific purposes. These were the innumerable footsoliders of the dark armies. The mewling but viscous heralds of things to come.


    Like a ravenous horde, they surged forward and clashed against their foes. Cracking bones and skulls as they were in turn, bitten and cut in turn. A melee broke out under the crimson sky, masking the bloodied snow below with an ominous red glow that strangled the land in its chokehold.


    Standing dangerously close to the demonic beast was the creature that had first drawn his attention in the first place. A massive monster standing as tall as a house. Sinewy blood covered muscles hosted an innumerable number of orifaces that protruded ever so slightly from the creature. Arms, legs, heads, eyes, mouths and other mishapen body parts dangled against the cold winds. With a thunderous roar, it slammed a half dozen fists against the air, from which a golen shimmer briefly emerged. That must be the ancient barrier. Or whatever those tribals had originally seen.


    Viktor’s brow furrowed, a grim thought passing through his mind. This is bad,  monsters of this size and scale generally only appear in areas that have been substantially corrupted by daemons'' blood. He looked down and effortlessly prodded the ground with his boots, just what is this snow hiding below?


    Arrayed against the demons were a motley wave of undead. Zombies, skinwalkers and skeletal warriors that were far greater in number than the demons here. They also weren’t alone. Nightgaunts roamed freely here, creatures that most travelers were urged to avoid and simply run rather than engage it in combat.


    Flesh drooped from their lanky bodies, the creatures shambling forward almost listlessly. But once they sighted prey, or in this case, the demons. They would seemingly gain a magical and still unexplainable burst of energy that would see them surge forward before enveloping their foes in a web of stringy flesh that suffocated its victims before dissecting them and consuming the innards. Thankfully for the civilized world and the frontiers, these monstrosities were only liable to roam around at night.


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


    Viktor let out a quiet sigh of relief. He didn’t quite understand what was happening, only that the two sides were fighting each other. Not that he ever expected demons and the undead to get along. Only that he had been fighting hunting down traces of both for so long, it was a little surreal how they were all presented before him. Almost too well, like a trap.


    An ear piercing screech alerted him of the battle’s progress. The deathshriekers had let out a victory cry. The demons were winning. He needed to seize advantage in this chaos, he could not allow either side to regroup.


    Assessing the situation, he waited. No one had noticed his force in the treeline just yet. He would keep the element of surprise as long as he could. Their strike would need to be decisive and conclusive. Something easier said than done in his experience with the undead. The demons were another problem. Though their numbers here were within tolerable ranges, there was no certainty that what they saw was the entire contingent.


    He turned towards the templars, gesturing towards the area around them. Two lighter armoured soldiers of the recon element shook their heads. The area around had no other noticeable enemies waiting to pounce from nearby, at least.


    As claws and teeth clashed against talons and mandibles, Viktor crossed back over to his templars. The soldiers readied themselves, quietly unsheathing weapons or getting into formation. They knew what would come, the bloody melee that followed.


    Fighting against the undead was a sordid affair. One made all the messier if they could not tie off the source that spawned these lost souls. Demons were simplier, but equally if not even more dangerous. They came in every shape and size, and in this case, a more intelligent member of their species seemed to have taken up a leadership position. A priority target if they wanted to scatter the deathshireker pack.


    A tremendous thud stunned all the combatants. The large herculean beast had punched the barrier too hard, its massive legs losing grip on the snowy ground and slipping as the force of the barrier’s recoil rebounded back into it. The twin headed demon roared in frustration. The undead renewed their assault, a stray bolt of arcane energy eviscerating a few of the deathshriekers. Target found.


    “Lieutenant, the necromancer. The rest, on me.” Viktor commanded.


    The two columns diverged silently, their war cries muttered under their breaths or in their hearts.


    There would be no honor here, no glory, simply a duty to be done, death to be delivered.


    Mighty Astralis, grant your warriors the strength to persevere, Viktor chanted.


    The air around him grew thin as the mana was sucked away. The world’s very life force spent upon a spell. A brief but noticeable shift. The skies ripped apart as three streaks of lighting struck into the enemy ranks. Multiple strikes followed the gap in the crimson skies as the templar mages got to work. Anguished howls echoed from the demonic ranks as cursed flesh was cleaned anew by the sparks of the heavens. The undead merely crumbled, bones exploding into ashes as the lightstorm grew ever more present. The other half of the mages weaved together the tapestries of holiness into arcane. From that energy, they covered the warriors with a holy ward, the blessings of the stars made manifest.


    Emboldened, they finally broke from the tree line. Only their breaths and the clanking of their armour plates providing any sign of life from the suits of armor. But clad in holy warding, the scuffed silver armor charged forth nonetheless. A tide of cleansing righteousness to purge the evil before them.


    Two crossbow bolts streaked past Viktor and slammed into an unawares deathshrieker. The creature reared up on its hind legs as it staggered backwards, letting out a rattled ear piercing cry to alert its brethren. The next volley punctured its skull, sending bits of visera raining down ahead of him as he charged past the dying monster.


    Just as the first of the demons turned to properly face him. He embraced the hunt and delivered the fury of the Goddess upon the abomination. In a single blow, he cut into the humanoid demon, his blade slicing through bone and flesh as he decapitated the creature. To his left and right, templars unleashed their power as greatswords and hammers eviscerated and pulverized the foul creatures. A deathshrieker pounced at a templar, only for another soldier to slam into it with his body, pinning the wretched thing to the ground as another templar finished it off.


    More mindless thralls came to challenge his advance, the demonic chaff meant to overwhelm him. Clicking his tongue in disdain, he cleaved from left to right, cutting into the closest monster and only finding resistance halfway through. A demonic spear nearly impaled him, Viktor pivoting at the last moment to avoid the blow and using the creature’s momentum to effortlessly spear him with his blade.


    A soft blue glow emanated from a nearby templar as a gout of stellar dust shot out into a beam, piercing through some of the weaker demons.


    The templars with him carved out an opening, their blades never given time to rest.


    He felt the dull rumbling under him and turned to where the half giant had fallen in alarm. The monster had begun to stir, rousing itself after its momentary lapse of balance. The twin headed beast roared out a command, the demons nearby pulling away to congregate near it. This is troublesome.


    Viktor cast his gaze to the flank. The undead had also seen a significant number be reduced by the templars. Though the lieutenant and his men were nowhere in sight, likely having gone to hunt down the necromancer or whoever was keeping the undead army afloat. But they were far from defeated, continuing to harass the demonic ranks and now a few even attacking the templars.


    The twin headed demon roared, now at him and the others. The smaller of the demons cried out in anticipation, likely incensed by the possibility of proper blood being spilt instead of the ashes of the dead. Behind their ranks, the monsterous creature the size of a house, finally lumbered to his feet. Sensing their ace in the hole was functioning, the twin headed demon snarled and barked something incomprehensible. But whatever it was, Viktor could guess the meaning based on how the demonic horde now seemed squarely focused on their advance.


    “Brace yourselves! They are ready for an attack!” One of the templars called out.


    “Steady now, maintain formation.” Another templar ordered, “Inquisitor?” The man turned to him.


    “Signal the mages! Tell them to focus their attacks on the giant.” Viktor replied.


    “Aye sir!” The templar saluted.


    The man then scrambled to the rear of their lines, making frantic gestures to try and redirect the attention of the mages.


    Meanwhile, Viktor joined the others in a defensive formation, the templars bracing themselves for the incoming onslaught.


    Without warning, the deathshriekers howled loudly across the snowy lands. Like a blob absorbing an impact and then bouncing back. The demons launched themselves forward. Some ripping into the undead, shattering more than a few skeletal warriors at the weight of their impact. While most of them charged against Viktor’s troops.


    The templars themselves were bastions of steel and faith, confident that they could withstand the initial wave.


    Within moments, bodies washed over them as the chaff of the demonic horde flung themselves at them without any rhyme nor reason, only bloodlust in their eyes. Blades cut through flesh as tainted blood flowed freely from the corpses. The deathshriekers then joined their brethren and pounced. Most were eliminated as they landed or mid air, careful swings of the templars greatswords holding most of the horde back.


    However, a shadow was now growing closer, the rumbling underfoot now directly traceable to the giant as it cared little for the comrades that it trampled.


    Viktor cut into a few more of the demons, his coat now wet with gore.


    But they could not anticipate every attack. He heard it before he saw it. The moment a mess of armor clanked as it crumbled to the ground. Ashen beasts had managed to pin one of the templars. Before anyone could react, the muscle that was the creature''s tongue split open in a shower of toxic spittle as the ends of the newly divided organ were shaped into spears. The deathshrieker cried out triumphantly and plunged the tips into the openings of the man’s helmet.


    Viktor watched with horror as the armoured figure initially tried to pry the monster off, but ended up jerking around as the creature consumed him. Goddess protect us.


    A screech tore his attention away from the grizzly sight. The twin headed demon had entered the fight, the creature currently shredding a fallen templar into pieces. The commander! Viktor immediately launched an attack on the thing, brushing past a templar and even a distracted deathshrieker.


    Noticing his presence, the creature roared and charged directly at him, as if also having had the same thoughts.


    Viktor calmed himself and emptied his mind. The hunt had begun and his prey was fast approaching.


    He dropped into a defensive stance, as the monster got closer. His breathing stilled and his eyes focused themselves on the main threat. With a final roar, the demon lunged at him. He parried the first blow, the bone halberd landing too close for comfort. He summoned his strength and pushed it back, but before he could counterattack, the demon had already spun the weapon back at him, forcing him to dodge the blow.


    The demon’s second head seemed more eager than the first to continue the attack, forcing its body to fulfill its desires. Viktor barely had time to breath before the creature was upon him once more, it’s halberd aiming to decapitate whilst the maw that was once a stomach now snapped its teeth greedily at him. Seizing the moment, she angled his parry downwards, managing to absorb the halberd’s blow even if it weakened his arms. But as he eased his muscles ever so slightly, the blade curved downwards, propelled by the demon’s own momentum from the strike. The blade cut into the chest mouth’s elongated tongue that was trying to wrap itself around him.


    The monster squealed in pain from all three mouths. Sensing weakness, he lunged forward to deliver a killing blow when a shadow loomed over him. Abandoning all plans, he threw himself backwards into the snow where he was. A massive fist sending a plume of snow and blood into the air where he would’ve been. Looking up at the source, enraged sickly looking eyes gazed back at him. The giant had noticed, and it had come.


    Tch, what a bother. Viktor growled and got back on his feet.


    At once, explosions filled his vision as the mages finally launched a combined attack against the giant. Chunks of flesh and muscle were blown clean off, a whole hand even landing elsewhere in the snow. But the creature only seemed more incensed and lashed out at any and everything around it.


    With but a sweep of his hand, an unsuspecting templar was thrown away into the distance. The man landed in snow but in a crumpled heap. Lesser demons suffered just as much, the weaker humanoid ones being easily squished under the enraged creature’s blows. A templar tried to take advantage of the creature’s unfocused nature to take it down. But to Viktor’s horror, the templar’s blade got caught in the thick bulbous trunk like legs of the creature, not quite cutting hard enough to leave a lasting impression.


    Using one of its dozen hands, it wrapped its putrid digits around the man who only now seemed to realize his mistake. But it was too late, with the free hands and more than enough rage, each limb was grabbed as the monster tore. The templar let out half a scream before he was quartered.


    More explosions hammered the creature and this time it stumbled a little.


    Under it, the two headed demon renewed his attack and Viktor was forced to respond. Their blades clashed once more.


    He spun to allow an incoming blow to miss then quickly jabbed at the demon, drawing blood from its sides. It roared in anger but that was its mistake. It gave him just enough time to chant a small spell.


    “Freings Fletare.” He mumbled.


    A bolt of flame launched itself from his free hand against the creature. The monster’s rage filled roar leaving its bottom mouth open to attack as the firebolt flew into it, igniting the whole creature.


    It howled with pain as it cooked alive.


    Viktor did not like taking chances and lunged forward.


    In a clean strike, he decapitated one of the twin heads. The demon commander now frantically clawed at itself as it burned alive in a snowy field, fetid corrupted blood spurting from what was now the stump of a head. It''s pathetic squealing bringing the majority of the melee to a halt.


    Looking around, he saw the situation stabilizing. Most of the lesser demons were dead, and the deathshriekers had heard the pained screams of their packmaster. Under the weight of the silver tide, the monsters started giving them more space. But one remained and was only barely held back by two templars on the flanks.


    The giant swung randomly at the men, allowing both of them to dodge most of its attacks. But its thick skin and excessive side made doing any lasting damage all but an impossibility.


    Just then, a hail of arrows alongside crossbow bolts smashed into the giant.


    From the treeline where they had originally come from. Inquisitor Lionel had led the mountaineers and the rest of the convoy here.


    Still, the giant was unaffected beyond being stunned. And as Viktor tried to come up with a plan, a golden light enveloped the back of the creature.


    It was like the halo of a setting sun, gently caressing the edges of the monster. Then, without much fanfare, the creature let out a blood curdling scream and exploded into a shower of gore. What the...?