A warrior without war

Ash fell like snow, thick and quiet, blanketing the dead plains that once held life, and then war, and then nothing.
Heavy footsteps disturbed the silence.
Nine feet tall, wrapped in burned and rusted armor, his right arm a crumbling limb of decay, and his head engulfed in steady, ghostly blue flames—the Hell’s Hidden Warrior walked. Not like a beast, not like a brute, but like a soldier on a mission never-ending.
With each step, the ground beneath him cracked. Not from weight. From history.
He did not speak. He had long forgotten how.
Spears were embedded in the earth behind him—each one a memory, a grave, or a message. No one knew.
He passed a ruined village, bones still warm from some recent slaughter. He didn’t look at them. He didn’t cause it. He didn’t care.
He stopped.
A presence.
He knew it before he saw it.
There, in the middle of a scarred garden of half-dead flowers and broken swords, a figure knelt in stillness—Lover from Hell, unmoving, mourning before a solitary grave, untouched by wind or time.
Hell’s Hidden Warrior watched. Waited. The flames above his head flared as if sensing something deeper than fire—grief that had become armor, love that had become a curse.
The warrior stepped forward. Slowly, but not cautiously. He raised his spear.
A silent challenge.
Not out of anger.
But out of necessity.
“The dead cannot love,” he whispered in a voice that hadn’t spoken in centuries. “Let’s see if they can bleed.”
The sword at Lover’s side stirred. Slightly. Barely.
But the kneeling figure said nothing. He didn’t move.
Until—
“You seek war in a garden of ghosts,” Lover said, his voice a whisper more painful than screams. “Go. You will not find it here.”
Silence.
Long and cold.
The warrior’s flames flickered once… then calmed.
He stared at the man before him—not in contempt, but in respect… or caution.
He turned.
He began walking away.
But as he left, his massive spear dragged behind him, carving a long scar into the earth. A quiet warning to any who might cross the line.
He did not fear the kneeling man.
He simply understood.
The most silent warrior… is always the most dangerous.