Feast of Ashes

Arc 1: The Hunter’s Awakening

The sky wept ash.

The once-peaceful village of Eldermoor lay in ruin, its cobbled paths now rivers of soot and blood. Homes had collapsed into smoldering heaps. The chapel’s bell tower leaned to one side, a charred skeleton of faith.

Dain stood among the wreckage, sword in hand, barely breathing. His coat was torn, his skin burned. But it wasn’t pain that kept him still—it was silence.

Too quiet.

Even the crows dared not feast on this battlefield.

Vorthos had vanished into the mist—wounded, not slain. The blow Dain had dealt was fueled by something... ancient. The cursed chains wrapped around his arms had reacted during the fight, glowing with demonic runes. They fed off rage, off vengeance. He had blacked out for seconds. When he came to, the creature was fleeing, leaving behind a trail of thick, inky blood.

“Did you win?” Veyne’s voice came low, cautious.

Dain didn’t answer. His eyes were locked on the corpse of a young girl. Her small hands were curled against her chest, clutching a torn doll. Her mouth was frozen open—mid-scream.

“I survived,” Dain said finally.

“That’s not winning.” Veyne kicked aside burning timber and crouched next to a still body. “This wasn’t just a demon attack. It was a feast.”

Dain turned.

“A feast?”

Veyne nodded grimly. “Vorthos doesn’t just kill. He feeds. Despair, fear, pain—he drinks it all. The more he consumes, the more power he gains. And this…”

He gestured around them.

“This was a banquet.”

Dain clenched his fists. The chains tightened, burning into his skin, whispering promises of power if he surrendered to them. He ignored their voices.

Instead, he moved toward the chapel, toward the center of the village.

That’s when he saw it.

Burned into the soil—carved in blood and scorched black—was a summoning sigil. A perfect circle, surrounded by infernal runes he didn’t recognize.

Someone had called the Devourer here.

This wasn’t an accident.

Someone wanted this destruction. Someone summoned Vorthos to Eldermoor.

Dain knelt beside the sigil, fingers tracing the edge. It pulsed faintly under his touch, still hot. Not just demonic—but fused with celestial corruption.

“Someone bound to both realms…” he muttered. “Impossible.”

Veyne stepped beside him. “You think it was a hybrid?”

“No,” Dain said, rising. “Worse. Someone who walks in both worlds by choice.”

There was a name for beings like that. Hellwalkers.

Dain looked out toward the distant woods. The Devourer had escaped that way, leaving a cursed trail behind. He wouldn’t run forever.

“I’m not done with him,” Dain whispered.

Veyne tossed a vial of consecrated salt into the flames. Sparks flew, green and unnatural. “You better move fast. Every soul he eats brings him closer to awakening.”

Dain’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ll make him choke on the next one.”

The wind howled across the ruins, scattering ash like snow. But beneath it all, the chains pulsed against Dain’s arms—hungry, growing, waiting.

Somewhere deeper in the forest, Vorthos roared.

And the hunt began anew.