Page 1 of Soul of a Witch

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Callum

Hell — 2,000 Years Ago

A mortal man once told me, “Only the dead have seen the end of war.” But I, being infinite, was doomed to see it all. Every great battle, every raging conflict. The fall of every kingdom on Earth, in Heaven, or in Hell. The endless loss of lives in an ever-churning machine of bloodshed.

The curse of the immortal.

I took up arms, I witnessed the destruction of great cities and the deaths of so many — and yet, I went on. Hell was the domain of the immortals, but even we could be snuffed out.

So many of us were already lost.

There was a soft sound as the flap of my tent was brushed aside. It was my second-in-command, Kimaris. “A scout has returned, my lord.”

“Ascout?” I turned. “We sent three.”

“Yes,dux. Only one returned.” Her voice didn’t betray the pain in her golden eyes.

The fields were covered in ash. Cities leveled. Young ones snuffed out. And still, we went on. Infinite.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d mourned. There was no time for the ceremonies with which we bid farewell to the dead. We couldn’t celebrate the freedom of their beings, nor could we come to terms with the horror of their fates.

To die by the hand of a God was to become Theirs for eternity. Your essence, sucked into Its own, the wretched suffering of your immortal being feeding Its gluttonous power. A horror beyond words, beyond what even we demons could imagine.

“How much time do we have?” I said.

“They’ll reach us before dawn.”

Then we would fight in the night. We were the last line, the final defense before the city of Dantalion. If the High City was taken, then Hell was no longer ours. It would become the realm of gods.

“Callum…” She hesitated, staring at the grass but seeing something else entirely. Something that made her lip curl as she said, “There are Reapers with them.”

Sharp, cold fingers of dread gripped my chest. But I kept my face utterly blank. I imagined myself as a chiseled stone, unmovable, unchanging. Unfailing.

“I want every warrior ready. Go through the camp, get them sobered up. We don’t have time for their comforts.”

“Yes,dux.” Kimaris turned to go, but there was a final thing to be done.

“The scout,” I said. “Are they well? Able to travel?” She nodded. “Take them aside and select two others. I want them to stay back from the battle. If the line is broken, they are to go back to Dantalion and give word. A little time to flee is better than none.”

Kimaris looked stricken. “The High City has never fallen,” she said sharply. “Never.”

“Pride will make us think we’re untouchable. But the gods advance. We are the last line. Dantalion will not fall while I still live.” I paced across the tent, snapping my fingers. “Tell them, Kimaris, but let no one else know of this. Keep the conversation private.”

A great white fog was growing on the horizon, rolling toward us over the vast plains. Lightning flashed within, briefly illuminating the gargantuan shapes of beasts as they advanced.

Behind me, in the distance, the High City shimmered in the dark, its lights extending far into the heavens. I longed for her warmth, her twisting streets, the shining onyx towers of her keep. But I cast away the feelings; I forced my heart to harden.

If I hesitated, if I allowed myself to long for anything other than bloodshed, Dantalion would be taken.

Hell’s army was gathered at my back, demons young and old. Dark clouds gathered overhead, obscuring the night sky and the silver light of the twin moons.

“And so comes the rain,” Kimaris said, as the heavy drops began to fall. She whispered, “How many do you think?”

We gazed at the nearing fog. It was faint, at this distance, but I could hear the screams within. Agonized, tortured screams of all those beings the gods had consumed. Mortal or immortal, it didn’t matter. Their souls were locked into eternal torment for the gods, creatures that thrived and fed upon suffering. Their forms were massive and ever-changing.

Flying before them, like great black shadows, were the Reapers. They were adorned in bones, their multiple eyes glowing beneath their shrouds. Their cries pierced the night, animalistic and hungry. The howls of the Eld creatures mingled with them, the lesser beasts crawling at their masters’ heels, gnashing their teeth.

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