The Silence of the End

I'm editing the story at the moment because Chicken Bond pointed out there were a few points that needed it. Anyway, I'll be writing the story in a document and posting the completed chapters on here. This story is rated PG-13 for intense violence and intermediate language. Sorry for any typos...I'm a fast typer.

The Silence of the End is a novel surrounding the dark events that occurred on Predaria, such as the murders and executions that take place on the island. Rated PG-13 due to mild language and intense violence.

Prologue
There was a defined crisp silence in the air. It was, however, better than what it replaced; the bloodcurdling screams of Matoran be slaughtered by bounty hunters or psychotic Matoran who virtually covered the forested region of the island called Predaria. These days, the cadavers of those killed littered the roads, and seldom did a day pass that did not involve some kind of killing. All of the Toa had been murdered as well, mainly at the hands of the psychos that lived on the island. Now, the region was considered a killing ground for anyone who entered it. Ever since the island had been conquered, only a dark grey overcast of clouds covered the sky, and rain fell at least four days of the standard week. With the population consisting of criminals, Matoran, and bounty hunters, visitors very rarely came to the island...that was, with exception of a group of rebellious warriors who called themselves the Dismorphus. They were the closest thing to actual Toa that the islanders had had for a long while.

Chapter 1
Five months ago…

In the midst of the forest, a warrior scouted through the trees, stalking a bounty hunter who happened to be in the woods searching for a kill. Everything on the island was grim, morbid, and downright dark. Most of the Matoran had become insane or psychopathic; most of them were killers. A group of rebel warriors called the Dismorphus had to keep the balance in check. In rare scenarios, one of the warriors would be forced to kill one of the soulless villagers.

Garvankh, one of the Dismorphus, held his pulseshot rifle firm in his strong grip. His silver armor shone less due to the dark conditions of Predaria. He, like the rest of his group, was forced to patrol the island every day to ensure everything was safe. The whole goal anymore was to remove the tight hold that evil seemingly had on the area. Sitting alone in a large forest with tall trees that blocked out most of the sky was not Garvankh’s idea of a good time. He’d be there for hours without a sound some days, and he’d be dealing with hordes of bounty hunters on other days.

“Dammit!” he said to himself, clearly frustrated with the daily issue of dealing with the island.

His claw-toed feet dug into the soft soil, trying to stabilize himself should an enemy come into the forest. He inspected his rifle, making sure that everything was in order. Today’s visit to the forest, though, actually was going to have meaning. Rumors had been spreading that one bounty hunter, Warx, was going to be using the wooded area as a shortcut to get to the small village of Moril. Taking secretive routes like this provided the criminals with new ways to take money or goods to different places without the worry of raiders. It allowed them to travel incognito.

Garvankh inspected his rifle’s scope, pressing it to his green-hued right eye. The Dismorphus member scanned around with it, only to find a mysterious mist that seemed to shift and morph. On first thought, he was certain it was just a puff of thick black smoke, but it moved too much to be that. He debated calling out to it to see if it was a being, but he figured it had too much risk. He took a shot at it, and it hit at what would be the figure’s chest. It went straight through. Pulseshot rifles were known to be extremely dangerous to whoever they hit. The shot, however, only gave away Garvankh’s position, and the smoky bounty hunter swerved towards the fallen tree that the warrior was hiding behind. A heavy and overbearing feeling of dread came over him as the shadowy criminal came near him; its eyes were piercing red.

“You’ll be coming with me…” Its voice slithered more than a Kankari snake, a native species of Predaria.

Garvankh could feel himself becoming concerned, but not scared. If his rifle was confiscated, he had his hand blades and wrist gauntlet to serve as backup. Trained in melee attacks from the get-go, he would know how to fight off anyone…with exception of the strange beings like the smoky bounty hunter he was dealing with now. Nobody had trained the warrior, either. He had taught himself. He was a rogue; a loner. It was his way. In his heart, he felt it was more fair; only he could be blamed for his failure.

“I hardly think I’ll be doing that, Syran.” Garvankh responded.

“I’ve got plans for you, rogue. Challenging my authority will only result in torture and termination.”

Torture always came before termination in the bounty hunters’ rule book. The way they figured it, if they were going to kill them anyway, why not torture them first? Garvankh knew that the torturing would be painful, followed by a slow and lingering death. He had seen it happen once in the Tomadhras village while spying on Lanzx, another bounty hunter. Ever since then, the image had been imprinted on his mind and it was his goal not to be one of the victims of such an event. Even he had committed such a “crime”. In these conditions, it was truly kill or be killed, and if it meant survival, you’d kill. Prior to all of the events on Predaria, back in its hay-day, Garvankh was popular with the girls – he was dashing, head-strong, tough, and even a bit charming. In the later days when the Dismorphus formed, he finally met who he called his “destined girl”, Baya. She was cunning, like him, and often outwitted Garvankh’s attempts to woo her by giving him a simple wave of the hand. She just wasn’t interested and she didn’t see in him what he saw in her. The rogue loved her anyway, no matter how many times she tried to shoo him off. Never before had he seen a female so tough and brave like her. Syran the smoke-like bounty hunter drew closer to Garvankh’s face to make him increasingly more uncomfortable. However, the warrior’s face was unimpressed with the hunter’s attempts; his arms were folded neatly across his silver-armored chest. Then, suddenly, he began to black out and lose control as if some superior being was taking a hold of his body. It was true…Syran was possessing him. Many had called Syran the epitome of evil. Garvankh’s mind raced, though his mind could do nothing in the way of controlling himself. Oh God, what is going on? He thought to himself. The rogue knew exactly what Syran was capable of. It was a known fact that Syran could take control of his victim and do violent actions towards them, but leave himself unharmed. Being the shapeshifter that he was, he had many different forms; smoke, a Matoran named “Sylvos”, and even a snake…which made many Matoran worry since a number of snakes covered Predaria. No one could know whether it was just the average snake or Syran spying so he could deliver a kill.

The full possession of Garvankh’s body was taking place, spasming as the demonic energy coursed through him like blood in his own veins. Within moments of the final twinge, his bulky arms pushed his whole weight off the ground. Stumbling to get a foothold, he finally balanced himself firmly in place and gripped his rifle tightly. He examined his wrists and everything he had on. Fear, for the first time, flew through Garvankh’s powerless conscience. Syran was in total control of everything except for the rogue’s subconscience being…and it was going to be one hell of a ride.

“It’s time to go kick some psycho behind…” he said in a voice that was his own, but was said by the bounty hunter. “Matoran, you’ve got a massacre on your hands…prepare for a bath in your own blood…YEE-HAH!”

Chapter 2
Moril Village

A Matoran in the middle of the road began to fumble with his fingers nervously, growing more anxious and agitated with each moments passing. His name was Kyro, and he was highly schizophrenic and often outcasted from the others. It seemed that the island was plagued with insanity as if it were a virus, infecting them with mental ailments. But how could that be possible? Insanity was most certainly not a virus, and neither was mental illness. Though Kyro had been delusional all of his life, it had intensified greatly with all of the recent events. He began to sweat vigorously, intensly worried about one of his imaginary friends, “Talos”, who often threatened to harm Kyro. In these fits with Talos, Kyro would often end up hurting himself to the point that he would be permanently injured by one of the events in his fits. However, Talos was not fully evil. In many cases, they simply “argued” for a short while. Other schizophrenics thought Talos would attack them if Kyro came too close. Further up the same road, Lanua was busy stabbing fellow Matoran Xinol to death with a long dagger. Lanua was a psychotic lunatic who did not deserve the luxury of a hut, which only could be a called a luxury to him, being he should be sentenced to death. Villagers who tried to imprison him were slaughtered like Xinol. Murder was not taboo in the town, and was a daily event like lunch or dinner.

Life signs began to drain from Xinol. It was reassuring to Lanua, who enjoyed this moment of each of his kills the most. He took a sharp rock and carved a tally mark onto his dagger. The weapon itself adorned over fifty of those marks; the number represented the kills with that knife alone. Inside his hut, there were other weapons, each scratched full to the point no more marks could be made. Each kill gave Lanua a high from seeing each victim draw their final breath. It was like a drug that he couldn’t get enough of. Xinol had just given him that pleasure. Another killer, Hadrin, who had over three-hundred kills under his belt, approached Lanua.

“Lanua, you know I had him on my list of targets, didn’t you?” the killer said.

“Yes…but he was on my turf…therefore, I can do what I want with him.”

“Why the hell would you steal my kill? You know I don’t take this lightly. Besides, my target is my target. His life was mine to take.”

“Nobody’s life has a claim on it.”

“Do you have any clue how long it took me to track that bastard? It took me five blasted weeks!”

“It’s a free for all out here if you haven’t noticed.”

“Each life has a claim on it. Now back off before I rip your head open and eat that puny brain of yours! I’ve done it to a number of my kills. Don’t think I will let this ride lightly.”

Lanua drew closer to Hadrid. Hadrid wore a weathered cape that featured a number of blood stains and holes on it. An assortment of hand-made knives hooked onto his belt, each one stained with dried blood.

“I said back off!” Hadrid called out, quick-drawing one of his blades.

“I’m just saying you’re right. Lives do have claims on them…”

His blade plunged into Hadrid’s stomach.

“Your’s was all mine.”

Hadrid started coughing blood, cussing fluently at Lanua all the while. His eyes became watery and breathing became laborious. As his blood decreased, his fear increased.

“You know I like a lingering death.”

“Oh God no! Please! Have mercy!”

“I recall you telling me that mercy was for the weak hearted and the stupid.”

“I did…but please! I beg you! I’ll…I’ll be your slave! You can beat me! Just…just don’t make me endure the way you kill!”

“Haha! Aren’t you a pitiful site!? You, Hadrid, the most feared killer in all of Predaria is here crying for mercy for only a minor stab? In your dreams! Besides, you said you didn’t even have a religion. Stop praying then and take it like the man you claim to be!”

Predaria had a religion unique to the island. It worshipped a god named Lyphan, and no one had ever seen him. However, Lyphan had contacted many of the villagers prior to the dark events that now came to be. He warned of dark times, or so told the leader of the island before he was killed. Believers diminished and very few spoke of Lyphan other than as a figure of speech.

“You’ve got only but a few more moments before you are in intense pain…what are your final words, Hadrid?”

“Screw you.”

With that, Lanua took a long blade and began stabbing Hadrid repeatedly. He made a thin incision across his victim’s belly and ripped it open, exposing his internal organs. Attached to his belt was a small bottle containing a watery green substance. He poured it on top of the exposed stomach. Hadrid screamed. It was a concoction of acid, itching powder, and heating gel. His organs were eroding, itching, and burning all at the same time, creating what Lanua entitled “complete pain”. Blood covered the murderer’s hands. It was time to finish the job. His armored arm took a firm grip around his victim’s head. Dying and in indescribable pain, Hadrid took small breaths.

“Lanua…before you do this…please tell me…do you feel remorse or guilt or…or anything?”

Lanua tightened his grip.

“Not once. And I plan to keep it that way.”

With that, he began to slowly turn Hadrid’s head until his neck snapped, almost instantly killing him. “The village is mine now. Mine to kill. Mine to eat. Mine to do whatever I damn well please with.”

---

Garvankh was stumbling over his own two feet like a drunkard. Syran was still getting used to being a buff warrior. His usual form was serpent-like; it represented his deceptive ways. He began to gain some balance, but it was still a tiny bit clumsy compared to Garvankh’s normal agility and swiftness. After some time practicing, the possessed warrior was ready to fight.

He walked down the road that the bounty hunter had originally intended on going on. Moril was not far away now, and he’d be able to eliminate the Matoran with ease. Kyro the schizophrenic thought that Garvankh was his dead brother, Byrol, who had died but a few days ago.

“Byrol? That you? You…you’re seeking revenge, aren’t you?”

For a moment, the rogue was confused, but quickly kicked into his deceptive and pathological lying “mode” that he was so infamous for.

“After what happened, I have to come back and get revenge.”

“I’m sorry, brother! I had to kill you…remember? You put a knife to my head and threatened to kill me!”

“You were insane before then, my brother.” Garvankh said as he took aim at the Matoran’s head and pulled the trigger without hesitation.

“Garvankh!? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? We’re supposed to help them, not kill them!” said a warrior in blue in her strong voice.

“And who are you?”

Garvankh’s mind went wild. ''No! This cannot be the way this plays out…it can’t be. I’m ruined!''

“Um…don’t you remember me? It’s me…Baya.”

Chapter 3
Baya’s left eyebrow was fixed in the upwards position. Why was Garvankh not remembering her at all? It was like his memory had been erased and all he had ever been was gone with it. Baya, who typically did not express any feelings towards Garvankh, seemed concerned. She knew him enough to know that he wasn’t a coldhearted killer like she had just witnessed.

“You don’t remember me at all?”

“The name rings a bell.”

“Oh God, you are messed up. You had a crush on me.”

“Oh, so I did.”

“You don’t sound like yourself. You ok?”

“Um, fine. That psycho threatened to kill me and, well, you know the rest, do you not?”

“I witnessed the entire thing. He wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough. Anyways, what has gotten into you?”

More like who has gotten into me… Garvankh thought inside his imprisoned mind. He longed to get free so he could tell Baya everything. It would be riding his conscience for the rest of his life if it wasn’t fixed…that was, if he had a life after this.

“Things have changed, Bala. We’ve got to…”

“It’s Baya.” She cut off.

“Right. We’ve got to kill them all if we want the island to be ours. We could potentially rule this place. It could be ours, Baya! Just me and you! We’ll kill the others. And I, being the potential ruler of the largest army on the island…”

“What? The largest army is the bounty hunter army…and that is run by Zygros and everyone knows it.”

“Oh, right. I’m sorry.”

“Who the hell are you?” cried Baya, slamming her right forearm against him and pinning him against the ground.

She raised her other hand in a tight fist, willing to strike his face to get what she wanted. He tried to push her off, which he did successfully. She was hurled to the other side of the road, where she lay stunned for a moment. Garvankh equipped one of his blades in his hand and started swinging it about like a lunatic. He plunged it down towards her with all his might. However, she had rolled away from where the sword was about to hit. Just as he realized what had happened, he felt a strong hit to the back of his head. Baya had punched him.

“I don’t know who the hell you are, but you certainly aren’t Garvankh.”

Garvankh growled. His mind was extremely frustrated at Syran for ruining whatever relationship they had inside. It was driving him absolutely mad. Baya, as the rogue was lifting himself, jumped on his back, pinning him to the ground.

“Who are you?” she called.

He didn’t respond, prompting her to ask again. She grabbed him by shoulders and punched him in the jaw.

“Now…you tell me who you are or I’ll break you open!”

In reality, it was no threat since Syran would escape before the damage was done; it would kill Garvankh. He quickly slipped out of Garvankh in the form of a serpent coming out of the warrior’s mouth. Baya twinged slightly, disturbed by the reptile eminating from Garvankh’s mouth.

“I’m Garvankh. I was possessed by the bounty hunter Syran. He took control of my body.” The warrior said, extremely drained.

“Um…”

“That snake…that was him.”

Baya threw her hands around the snake’s neck, and it turned into a puff of smoke. There were piercing red eyes floating in the mass, and Baya was shocked. Garvankh was right.

“RUN!” cried Garvankh.

“I’m not one to run from a fight.”

“Just run! There’s no winning this kind of fight!”

“Shut up! I got this!”

Garvankh, in the heat of the moment, dove at Baya, knocking her into the dirt. Syran tried to get back into the warrior’s body, but failed. The rogue scooped his comrade up in his arms and ran as fast as he possibly could despite her heavy armor weighing him down.

“I told you I could fend for myself!”

“You’ll understand me someday, but for right now shut up so we can focus on getting to our basecamp or…or somewhere.”

After a long while of running, Garvankh grew tired and was forced to set the injured Baya down. She could run, though, and wasn’t afraid to. Neither one of them knew where Syran was at this point, and they didn’t want to look back. Garvankh pointed to a tall tree that had a number of large branches.

“Let’s climb that. I’ve got my rifle. We can try and snipe him out.”

“Alright.”

They approached the tree. Baya climbed onto her teammate’s shoulders, and he followed up after her. They were well camouflaged in the bushy tree.

“I’ll only take the shot if he is in a form that can be hit. I learned the hard way that Syran’s smoke form is not capable of being shot.”

“You didn’t know that?”

Garvankh sighed. Behind them, a dark, armored figure climbed up and snuck up on them. He placed his hand of Baya’s mouth tightly, prompting her to scream.

“Quiet before they find us!” he said.

Chapter 4
Garvankh looked over his shoulder, having heard the mysterious figure whispering to Baya. He was immediately shocked to see Baya’s captive. Whoever it was wanted to keep his identity sealed, as he was wearing a dark cape with a hood that covered his Kanohi. “Follow me.” The captor said.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, they followed him. Garvankh’s rifle remained in his hands in case something should go wrong. Nobody was trustworthy anymore. No simple situation could be taken lightly. “Where are you going?” asked Garvankh.

“No questions! Just come with me.”

The captor swiftly let go of Baya and jumped onto a vehicle below the tree in one motion. He revved up the motor, and gestured for the others to jump down with him. Again, they did so without hesitating. Within seconds of landing on the vehicle, it sped off, jolting each of them a bit. Luckily, they had a good enough hold on it that they didn’t lose their balance and fall off completely.

“Who are you, really?”

“My name doesn’t matter. What matters is getting you two out of here. Syran has been terrorizing Moril the past few days now, and quite honestly, that village is doomed.”

“You live in Moril?”

“Did I say that?”

“No.”

“Honestly, the ways you guys assume…never mind. My boss says there is a way we can get Predaria back in the hands of the villagers without stirring up to much attention.”

“How can we do that?”

“There are ways. Once I get you to him, things will make more sense. But right now, all that matters is me getting you to him.” The hooded figure explained. “Psych on your right!”

“What should I do!?”

“Kill it!”

Garvankh shot at it, and the psychotic, blood-thirsty Matoran fell into the dirt. He got back into a sitting position in the sidecar where Baya was. A lot had been running through his mind the past few hours, and it was causing him a lot of stress. Never before did he have to shoot so many Matoran. Never had he been possessed. It was all new to him, and he didn’t like it.

“You do this all the time?” he asked.

“What?”

“Do you kill Matoran like this every time you go out?”

“I’ve killed a lot, but nothing in comparison to those hunters. They’ve put so much of a dent into Predaria’s way of life that it is going to be near-impossible to restore it to some sense of normalcy. We’ve got a major fight on our hands.”

The bike pulled into a small village that seemed well protected from the outside darkness of the world. They had constructed a wall around the village limits, and guards lined them. The gates were opened so the three could enter.

“Welcome to Arxis.”

Baya and Garvankh were gravely impressed, but they also felt some kind of an intense feeling in their gut like something was wrong. Although they didn’t know what, they were not sure whether or not to trust their rescuer.

“We’ve been working hard on building up the walls these past few days. In the next week, we should have a larger region under our control.”

“You aren’t doing this for power, are you?” asked Baya inquisitively.

“No way. We’re here to free the people. The walls just mark where our territory ends. No psychs have broken in yet.”

“That’s what you call them? Psychs?”

“Yes. It identifies us from them.”

“They are Matoran, and they always have been.”

“Call them what you want. We call them psychs.”

The rescuer took them into a relatively large hut down at the other end of Arxis. Inside was the leader, Grizael. He was about the same height as Garvankh, being on the tall side of the average height. He was holding a spiked staff, one that only leaders could carry on the island.

Garvankh started to feel his morale raise a little. Being in the comfort of someone’s care made the world a better place for him. The rogue thought he could be a potential asset to Arxis, and even gain them a good portion of land. It would be a long conquest filled with bloodshed, but the people of Arxis believed it was possible. As long as the people believed, they’d go for anything that Grizael ordered.

“You know me more than you think, Garvankh.” Said the rescuer.

“I know. And I’m almost certain I know who you are now.”

Chapter 5
Only the sounds of running water from the river filled the warrior’s head. He was clad in red and black armor, and he, like the rest of the members of his team, was fighting for survival. To him, that was more precious than anything he could ever own or sell. His head turned sharply to the left, having heard the defined sound of a twig snapping under the foot of a equally heavy being. Under normal circumstances, he would have passed it off as nothing…absolutely nothing more than a Rahi grazing through the woods. Not today. Normal circumstances were different now. Normal circumstances generally did not include murder and serial killers roaming the land, but they did.

Life sucked. It had been that way for the warrior for a long while now. Living off whatever he could find in the woods was what kept him going. Green plants symbolized hope to him. Life went on whether or not you liked it. His sense of emotion had definetly decreased, being forced to kill even if it was against his own belief system.

A tan armored bounty hunter, Lerwish, was gracefully stalking the warrior, who was hiding in a branchy tree. Just as Lerwish was below the branch the warrior was on, the red armored rogue jumped on him and wringed his neck. The cracking of the hunter’s neck assured him that his job was done. Dragging the body over to his bike, he was tasked with the part of his job he hated most. Screw my life. Screw the world. He thought. He hadn’t seen the rest of his group for three weeks now. It was truly a miracle he was still alive.

Five bodies were on the back of his bike, each slugged over in a defeatist position. The warrior inventoried each of them, examining their Kanohi and figuring out who was who. Nobody, not even of the most low-down class of life, wanted to die so dishonorably. The warrior mounted his bike after securing the bodies tightly with rope.

He rode off to his small camp in the woods. Built out of lumber in the area, his small wood hut provided some warmth and protection from the harsh storms that passed through the island of Predaria. He started a large bonfire to burn the bodies after he collected all of their armor and gear. It was a shame to let it go to waste. One day, if the world was back in order, he’d sell off the gear and make a handsome profit…that was, if there was any money to be had in the new world.

For the most part, his campsite was safe. He had provisions, a fire to keep warm, and a relatively comfortable shelter, considering. Food was not sparse; several rodent-like creatures roamed the area, and many berries were in the forest as well. He wasn’t a victim, nor was he going to ever be one.

The warrior took a stick and poked one of the bodies to make sure that it burned. Making sure that the fires were hot ensured that it would only be a quick body burn. Short-length fires made it easier to get things done with less chance of alerting bounty hunters.

His name was Valkyr, which meant ‘merciless’ in ancient Predarian. Sitting on an old, rotted log, he thought about how things used to be. He missed the good old days of freedom, living carefree on what was called “the island of hope”. No one could even think of calling it that these days.

Lumbering around his campsite was about the only thing that kept boredom away. Though his emotions were lacking, he did have a compassionate side. He was not completely merciless, and often spared lives where he could. The blood that covered his hands each and every day was washed away in the river as easily forgotten as the lives of which that blood came.

For a few days now, Valkyr had been contemplating suicide. He wanted out, but he knew in the back of his mind that the island needed him. It was cowardice, and he certainly didn’t want to ruin his ego that way…even though he wouldn’t be there to face the moments when the survivors recollected about his way out. It bothered him that his legacy would be told that way…an elder telling Matoran Valkyr’s sad tale of living a semi-decent life up until the final three weeks out in the woods that did him in.

No, he wasn’t going to opt out. Not yet, anyways. It was his duty to help the islanders, not be selfish. And, it was vital that he found his team quickly. They were probably counting him as dead. And that wasn’t illogical either, as bounty hunters did cover all aspects of the island, not just the west anymore. Determined to free the island, Valkyr worked a slow job of killing every enemy that entered a certain range. Patrolling by day and resting only an hour at a time, nights were extremely stressful. Not only was he working on little sleep, but he didn’t know if he’d be ambushed.

Valkyr often wondered if it would just be better to go down in a fight. That way, he wouldn’t be labeled cowardice nor would he have to remain in the hellish world he currently lived in.

His fire was extremely warm at this point. Cold nights were as miserable as the rest of life on Predaria. Laying beside it comforted him, something that was seldom accomplished anymore. Tomorrow, he thought, I’ll set out for new ground…maybe I’ll find my team…maybe I won’t…but staying here is not something I can tolerate anymore. It was decided. Tomorrow would be the day he would leave for a better chance at life…or a worse one.

---

Lifeless. Utterly lifeless. The dead body of a mercenary was dragged into the center of the village. Garvankh had skillfully shot him in the head. The corpse grabbed everyone’s attention. One of the warriors, the one that had saved Baya and Garvankh, approached the body to identify it.

“That’s Xio. He was one of the bounty hunters that first tried to attack the village.”

“Put him into the fire like we have in the past.” Grizael ordered.

“I have claim on his armor, sir. It is a shame to let it go to waste.” Garvankh spoke up.

“Who says you are any more worthy than the others?”

“I killed him, didn’t I? The rest of you didn’t even know how to kill him with your limited weapons.”

“That is true. You may have the armor, but this is the last exception. From then on, all armor goes to the armory.”

Beside the flickering lights of fire and the torches that lined the walls, Garvankh picked off the armor that was useable. All the rest was set aside for craftsmen to use as scrap metal. The corpse of Xio was thrown into the blaze. The rescuer warrior came close to Garvankh, leaning next to him. “So, you think you know who I am?” he whispered.

“Yes…and I’ll talk to you about it in my quarters.” Replied the other warrior, poking an unlit torch into the fire.

The two got up and walked towards the small hut that Grizael had provided for him. Once inside, Garvankh placed the torch on a rack used for improvised lighting. Sitting on his bed, he gestured the other warrior to sit on the ground.

“You’re Devor, aren’t you? You have a very similar personality and speech pattern.”

“I am…but I can’t believe you figured that out at all…”

Devor was a member of the Dismorphus that everyone thought was dead. Both he and Valkyr had gone missing at the same time, but they didn’t go the same way, making tracking extremely difficult. In addition to that, there had been no trail to follow on either of them since the rain washed all of the tracks away.

Rain started to come down outside. The guards of Arxis still patrolled the walls since it was their duty no matter what the weather was like. One seemed to spot something suspicious from the other side of the barrier.

“We’ve got bounty hunters, sir!” he called.

Trivia

 * It is currently the 197th largest page on the wiki.
 * The story is considered one of the darkest on the Wiki.
 * Arxis is slightly based off of Woodbury from The Walking Dead, though in many ways it is different.
 * The characters come from Kopakamata97's fascination with horror characters and insanity.