Chapter 1- The Hunters Shall Bear No Prize

The Eaters spat from the Inferno

Enjoy theire many hunts.

They quickly slice down any foe

With madness at theire fronts.

"The Infernodants, I have discovered, are both a unique and yet repulsive people. They came from the ashy, volcanic lands of the North and, were I not a well-educated scholar, I would assume from the appearance of the royal family that they were of a demonic nature. Given the gift of creating music that would surely rival even that of Heaven, it is shameful that it should not be recognized because of their despicable, devious, and atrocious actions.

Hunts occur rather frequently in the nation of Inferno, the most horrid being that of the Hunt of Souls, where those born as Eaters are permitted to roam the peaceful land of Adalon with the intent of consuming or possibly binding the souls of their chosen prey: ninety-nine females captured as slaves and one "special prize."

I have seen numerous occasions where the "special prize" is the daughter of some lord of another nation, other times it is a young, unpredictable witch or other anomaly, such as a female with weapon's blood. But on most accounts the "special prize" is simply an extraordinarily beautiful virgin. The significance of said "prize" is that it is what determines the ending of the hunt. The winner is not the Eater who has consumed the most souls or bound the most number of attractive female slaves, but rather the one who has conquered that supposed "prize."

It is my belief, however, that despite the wondrous power, wealth, and unity of the Infernodants, they eventually will fall, along with all the other nations, as the prophecy of Adalon suggests; although the more I study and interact with them the more I believe it is the madness the Infernodants encourage that will cause their personal downfall. In the coming war and darkness, I fear that even the greatest hunters in Inferno will bear no prize."

Excerpt of "The Eaters of Inferno" from The Book of Eibon

Soul was not looking forward to "becoming a man." At least, not in the Infernodant sense of the phrase. He sat in his room, nervously fidgeting and tugging the hem of his crimson and gold tunic, and wondered how long he could hide away before his mother noticed his disappearance.

In complete honesty, Soul had been dreading this day, the day of his twentieth year, since he was a child. That dread had broken and swept over him, drowning him, like water from a dam on the day he learned that he had been born an Eater. In Inferno, being an Eater meant that you were strong, powerful, and destined to get whatever the hell you wanted, a logical assumption once the fact that Eaters could manipulate, bind, or consume souls was considered. But to Soul, it meant that he was a monster. He had known that something was…odd with him when he was younger; sometimes fighting off strange, intense cravings for something he couldn't quite define. He assumed that it was simply another thing wrong with him. It wasn't until a couple of months ago at a peace negotiation in the palace at Death City that the Evans were informed of their youngest son's birthright. Lord Mortis himself was the one who so graciously confirmed it.

'Soulomon, pay attention. With Wesleyan absent, it is your duty to act as Prince of Inferno.' The stern, grating snarl of his father, King Reumon, buzzed in his already ringing ears.

Soul didn't know what exactly was wrong, but he did not feel like sitting around, drinking diluted spirits, and pretending to make peace with the other nations in Adalon. In fact, he didn't even feel like attempting to behave for his parent's approval. So, he merely grunted in response. As expected, his father launched into a loud, heated preaching of the responsibilities of a Prince of Inferno, the majesty of the Evans household, and a continuous listing of how Soul constantly ruined both of these sacred duties. Most of this onslaught of disgust, thankfully, fell on Soul's steadily deafening ears.

Suddenly, his body jerked, hardening in that brief second. Muscles and tendons popped and strained against whatever force was setting it off this time. That desire to heat his hardened limbs, to stretch and flatten and sharpen them until they were no longer skin and bone but something else entirely swept over him in another shiver as well as the hunger.

It's happening again!

King Reumon continued yelling, oblivious to the physical changes passing over his normally unresponsive son. He did not notice how with each well delivered verbal strike Soul's hand would clench the table in a feeble attempt to restrain the limb from forming a weapon and slashing his father's throat. The prince had felt this feeling before. Numerous times. All that was required was self-control, patience, and some obscure, unrelated distraction from the crazed bloodlust of weapon's blood flowing through his soul.

After a time, his father's speech ended in the usual, 'Oh, how I wish Wesleyan were here,' and soon after the bloodlust itself began to dull, though the…want for that distant, unattainable and unknown thing that accompanied it still clung to Soul's tired being.

It was then that Lord Mortis, proclaimed god and peacekeeper of Adalon, opened the study door, his chosen weapon, a red haired man able to sprout smoky blades, at his side armed for battle. Both seemed surprised to find a seemingly bored Prince Soulomon and an enraged King Reumon.

'My Lord! What is the meaning of this?' He shouted, immediately drawing his own blackened Inferno blade in response to the bladed weapon across from him. 'Are we not here on terms of trust and peace?' Soul noted absently that despite the King's questioning statements, his eyes had that familiar glaze in them that secretly hoped for any excuse to attack and hunt.

The supposed god tilted his head to the side, masked face allowing no emotion to be seen, before he calmly raised a hand in a gesture of safety and compliance to the King and the weapon. The red-haired man instantly released his weapon form, blades softening and sinking back into the skin they came from, and reluctantly, at Lord Mortis' insistence, withdrew from the room. The door shut with a definite and ominous lock.

The cloaked being drifted forward slowly to the defensive King and his stoic son's side without whispering a word, stopping his progression when the outstretched tip of King Reumon's black sword brushed against his dark attire. An intense moment passed as the Infernodant continued to hold his weapon in position against the god's body before the madness in his eyes was dragged back down into crimson depths and the weapon was sheathed. Only then did Lord Mortis speak.

'Forgive me, King Reumon of Inferno, the hunters of Adalon's land, for I did not mean to instigate such a rude and disrespectful greeting. I was merely shocked at the certain…wavelength I sensed in this room. I feared that some intruder had entered this haven of equality in the hopes of disrupting our future discussions of tranquility and trade.' At this comment, the royal Infernodant raised an eyebrow in confusion and disgust, but remained silent. 'But, as soon as I entered and saw that it was simply you and your son, I understood the situation. Once again I apologize and ask that you continue to stay here in Death City for the negotiations.'

Soul knew his father well. He would pretend to be offended so that Lord Mortis would be forced to cater immediately to Inferno's needs in order to prevent possible secession from the already fragile union of Adalon's five nations.

The King smirked lightly, eyes aglow at this new turn of events. He could sense the beginnings of a political hunt. He kept his tone angry, nose upturned in apparent offense. 'Though grateful for the apology, my Lord, I am still uncertain as to how someone such as yourself could make such a mistake. Am I a cuckold to question your supposed means of entrance upon Inferno's private affairs that my son and I were discussing?' He ended with a light sneer.

Lord Mortis was not convinced, not even for a second, that the Infernodant leader was offended. Spineless, gullible gods did not keep rocky, precarious lands like Adalon intact. 'I understand your confusion, so shall I detail my previous explanation? I sensed a disturbing wavelength that caused me to react prematurely. That disturbing wavelength was in this room and I did not have a name for the unusual fluctuation until I entered this room and saw your son.'

This brief phrase caused a reaction from the distanced teenager and the manipulative King, who both turned to look at Lord Mortis with slightly opened maws. Before they could each voice their concerns, the god of Adalon continued on with the words that forever changed Soul's life.

'Tell me, King Reumon, how many years has it been since an Eater has graced the House of Evans?'

"Soul! Are you ready now, my darling? The guests are waiting." His mother's uncharacteristically cheerful voice called out from outside his door, pulling him from the constricting thoughts that had plagued him since that day.

The young man on the bed rolled his eyes in an unseen display of exasperation. Of course he wouldn't be dismissed anymore. Not on the night of his first hunt as a man. Take into the account that he was an Eater, and he could easily see his mother carrying him into the banquet hall. His parents always seemed to know what he wanted or, in this case, didn't want and went the extra mile to make sure that he didn't get his way. Tonight was no exception.

All he longed for was to remain nineteen and apart from everyone, to continue on as Soul Evans, the second born prince of Inferno who would forever be remembered a disappointment to the prestigious House of Evans, both because of his musical talents, or lack thereof, and his frequent bouts of mercy on the hunt. But now that his parents, and the whole nation of Inferno, no, the whole freaking land of Adalon, knew that he was the next Eater of the Evans line, Soul had finally been put on his parents' list of priorities. They still not-so-secretly hinted that Wesleyan, the oldest Prince and successor of the throne, should have been the one with weapon and Eater's blood, but they no longer treated Soul as if he was the scum of Adalon. And, though he never thought he would admit it, the Eater actually preferred the disdain and ridicule of his family over this newfound pride and jealously, from Wesleyan, surrounding him.

With a sigh, the Prince reluctantly arose from the bed and gingerly exited his bedroom immediately bumping into his waiting mother. He mumbled an apology when he saw that angry spark in her black eyes from his clumsiness and he wondered if she would rant at him tonight. "It's not a problem, son." She responded with that false, sickly sweet voice. Huh, guess there would be no punishments or degrading statements tonight. "Oh, my dear Soulomon," The Queen murmured, face uplifted in what appeared to be adoration for her youngest son, "you are so handsome." She sighed happily, her raven eyes fixed on some distant point, gleaming with a hint of madness, the only clue to the huntress' true feelings. "And finally on your way to being a true hunter of Inferno…" The woman shivered with excitement before remembering her son standing before her. "Well, then. Shall we?" She murmured with a hand extended towards him.

Soul took it gently, knowing he could not refuse and deciding that it was perhaps better to act as he usually did, uncaring, bored, and aloof, rather than rebel on this horrid night. "Of course, mother."

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Announcing, the Lady of Inferno, Her Majesty, Queen Valeria don Evans, and Prince Soulomon "Eater" don Evans, second son of His Lordship, King Reumon, of Inferno." There was a rapturous flood of applause as Soul gracefully led his mother down the large black marble staircase into the cavernous ballroom. At the bottom he immediately handed her off to his waiting father and began the annoying ceaseless task of shaking hands, exchanging threats, flirting with young women, receiving congratulations, and the other actions expected of a newly recognized Eater, a host of the Evans household, and a Prince of Inferno. He didn't even leave the base of the staircase until an hour after his arrival, so pursued by partygoers was he. Many of the other Eaters that would be participating in the hunt approached him, each unleashing ghoulish sharp-toothed smiles that promised plenty of trouble awaiting him once the prey was let loose and the hunt began.

Finally, Soul was able to extract himself from the swarm of people, making a beeline for the side of the room where he knew his "friends," if they could really be called that, would be waiting for him. They were heard before they were seen, Black Star's signature "YAHOO!" magnified by the cathedral-like setting and size of the dark ballroom. Just before he could cry out to them to save him a seat and a drink, his elder brother, Wesleyan, stood in his path. Malicious red eyes, scarlet like the blood of his prey which he was famous for drinking after every successful hunt, shone with sadistic glee at the flash of anger that flew across his younger brother's carefully constructed "I don't give a damn" façade.

"Evening, brother." Wesleyan smirked. "Happy Birthday by the way. Feels great to be a man now, doesn't it?"

Soul shrugged his shoulders with a nonchalant expression, though his own red eyes met the elder boy's with barely masked fury. "Honestly, it feels the same. Not as big a deal as you made it out to be. But then again, some of us are men before others, right brother?"

Wes' slight smirk disappeared and his head was angled so that Soul could glimpse the hatred that it bore while onlookers would only see him leaning down to whisper comforts into his younger brother's ear. "Watch yourself, Soul. Our parents may have some foolish infatuation for you now, but we both know that you're nothing but an idiotic child who has no guts and will never achieve any glory. Your Eater status doesn't change that. Once you fail at the Hunt of Souls, which is being thrown early on your behalf I might add, the nation will see what a disgrace you are to Inferno." He leaned back, that playful smirk gracing his handsome features once more as he ruffled Soul's hair affectionately. "Enjoy your party, Soulomon. I look forward to hearing about your hunt." Wes chuckled to himself suddenly as if remembering something delightfully entertaining. "And I cannot wait to see your reaction to the prize this year. It's a grand one. I am absolutely positive you and every other Eater will have fun hunting her." And with that remark, Wesleyan disappeared into the crowd, leaving a very infuriated and curious Soul standing there alone.

Can't wait to see my reaction? What does he mean by that? A prize is a prize, what makes this year's so special?

"SOUL! YO, SOUL! Stop standing there like an IDIOTIC PIECE OF ASS and get over here before I drink ALL THE BOOZE WE SAVED FOR YOU!"

Soul's musings interrupted for the time, he quickly sauntered over to the table his peer convened at, hoping to silence Black Star's loud, unabashed yelling that caused the words "booze" and "ass" to echo throughout the mystic ballroom.

"I'm here, I'm here, you moron. Now shut your mouth before I shut it for you! This is a national banquet after all and my parents are going to kill me if I embarrass Inferno tonight. Plus, you sound like a god-damn woman with all that shrieking going on."

The offender, a man with dark, unrealistically spiked blue hair and black fingerless gloves, waved off Soul's warning and insult. "Please, Soul. As if you could face the man who will surpass god someday. I mean, seriously," He gestured wildly at himself, a child-like grin parading across his bright face. "I'm a freaking star." Soul chose not to respond to his childhood friend, Black Star, but instead shook his head with a fleeting smile before settling into an open seat at the table and observing the scene around him.

The ballroom was expansive and monstrous, one of many in the Evans palace, with a domed, glass ceiling that any craftsmen would balk at. The whole room was clad in alternating strips of black, grey, and occasionally gold marble and stonework that aided in the night's dark mood. Chandeliers, tiered with numerous layers of finely cut jewels, glass, and golden candles, hung along the intricately crossed rafters, and strategically placed golden lamps, holding large crimson candles that burned with a strange flickering white flame, were the only sources of light. The guests of the banquet were thus cloaked in shadows, the dark colored yet well-lit room giving each the impression that though thrust into darkness they retained the ability to see inside of it.

Despite the size of the room, it was crowded with people, nobles and royals from every nation of Adalon, invited to witness one of Inferno's greatest events: the Hunt of Souls. Tables, clothed in blood red silk, invaded the space along the sides of the ballroom to the East and the West while long white silk buffet tables topped with enough food to feed not one but possibly two armies were placed to the South. The majority of the ballroom was open space reserved for the waltzing or conversing guests, but in the very center a lean black table stood, untouched and thoroughly ignored by every person that passed it by. It was here that Soul's eyes continued to find themselves directed at. No matter what else he tried to stare at, in a matter of mere seconds he would find himself gazing at the accursed object again.

He shifted in his chair, facing his body to the wall and to the people sitting at his table. To his left sat a small blonde female, with large, innocent electric blue eyes, absently munching on a piece of chocolate cake and watching with an amused smile the two persons to her left arguing. One was another blonde female with an eerily similar eye color and face structure to the woman on Soul's left, the only noticeable differences being her height and that her hair was a shade darker than the afore mentioned girl. She was gesticulating with her entire body, obviously very annoyed with whatever her debate partner had dared to say. Said partner was a lean, formally dressed man with shining amber eyes and hair as black as obsidian minus the three horizontal white stripes above his right eye. He sipped his glass of wine calmly, acting almost as if he were ignoring the animated blonde beside him. To his far left a tall, raven-haired woman clad in a shimmering white gown watched the drama with intense caring, sapphire blue eyes. Soul could see her hand clench every time the woman acted as though she were going to smack the man. And to this woman's left sat the person who was on Soul's right, Black Star.

Soul studied the people at his table, rediscovering the odd fact that his group of "friends" was far from normal. The blonde females were sisters, Patricia and Elizabeth Thompson, famous markswomen of York. The story was that they could use any object, even a scrap of fabric, as a projectile and couldn't miss a target. The male that the eldest sister, Elizabeth, was ironically mouthing off to was their employer, Kiddrik von Mortis, the Duke of Corintholl, who had hired the Thompson sisters as his bodyguards after his ascension to the throne. He had a weird sense of taste in beauty and immaculacy, though it wasn't too weird once you took into account that all Corinthollans were obsessed with perfection, as he insisted that only the symmetrical objects in life should exist. The genteel woman who was sandwiched between him and Black Star was the lovely Tusbaki Nakatsukasa, healer from the island off the West coast of Adalon called Sorne and weapon partner of Black Star. Black Star himself was an assassin casted out of the Star clan who took up residence in Inferno since Soul was a Prince of the nation. Yes, this group of young adults was quite an anomaly. You would think because of Adalon's war-ridden history and continuous balancing act between the five nations that concluded it that these children would all hate one another or be desperately tearing at one another's throats. But on the contrary, the six were on more than good terms, secretly considering the others their dearest friends and counterparts. If the sons (and daughters) of each nation could, not merely cooperate, but actually like one another, it seemed possible that the nations themselves could coexist in Adalon. Of course, Soul knew that this was a possibility that was not simply ridiculously far-fetched but about as possible as all the creatures, persons, and souls murdered by the Infernodants coming back to life within the hour.

The Prince shook his head in the hopes of ridding his mind of these political thoughts and instead decided to pay attention to the still ongoing (sort of one-sided) argument between Liz and Kid.

"I am fucking serious, Kid, if you fucking touch me or my sister's breasts to 'compare their symmetry' again, I will not only shoot you with a poison dart, several arrows, and a bullet, but with a fucking cannon ball!" Liz fumed angrily, ignoring the gasps and looks she received from her disrespectful threats to the Duke.

"I still have no idea why you're so upset about this, Liz." Kid spoke softly, a somewhat bored expression on his pale face. "You should take it as a compliment that I am constantly satisfied with the symmetry between yours and Patty's bosoms since you two are lacking it on every other level. It's not as if I meant it in a sensual manner. I have never gazed upon you two in such a way."

Liz, however, did not seem to take this as a good thing. "Woah, woah, woah. Did you just…say that my sister and I are unattractive?" She shrieked so loudly she made Black Star's previous shouts sound like an ant's whispers.

Kid blinked with a dazed expression, snapping his fingers beside his right and left ears (for symmetry's sake) as a means of measuring if he could still hear. "What in Adalon's name are you talking about? I was merely informing you that when I grabbed your chests this afternoon, it was all in the name of symmetry, not sexual harassment." Liz chose to growl in response.

Tsubaki quickly took advantage of the lull in the argument to steer the conversation elsewhere. Namely, at Soul. "Happy Birthday, Soul! You look so handsome in those colors and this banquet is so beautiful! Are you…excited about tonight?"

This effectively ended all conversation at the table as the suddenly defensive and remote Soul was pulled into the spotlight. He attempted to play it cool, hiding his worries, insecurities, and nerves behind his legendary elusive expression. "Um…thanks, Tsubaki. And, uh, sure. I mean, it's whatever. The food's great and my parents are leaving me alone, so I guess it's an okay night."

His friends exchanged glances, wondering what their friend was thinking concerning the whole…Eater thing. They knew from previous discussions that, although an excellent fighter and a natural hunter, Soul was not a violent, sadistic hunting machine like many other Infernodants. Soul hunted to kill, yes, but not for pleasure and not for meaningless reasons. In many occasions, it was Soul's experience with delivering quick deaths that saved their asses from being slaughtered by the monstrous wild kishins that roamed Adalon. But, being an Eater was an entirely different problem altogether. Eaters were supposed to do damage, whether justly or unjustly. They were born with the innate ability and hunger to take, or even destroy, souls, and the young group of adults wondered whether Soul would change and act on these new desires, or remain the good-natured person they perceived him to be. Since he had agreed to participate in the Hunt of Souls, they assumed the worst.

Patty bluntly broke the silence. "So, Soul, are you going to eat any of those girls?" The table erupted in chaos.

Tsubaki lightly gasped and covered her opened mouth with a slender pearl white hand. Kid almost choked on the drink he was sipping and spluttered, a fine mist of wine droplets falling from his lips. Liz reprimanded Patty with a slight smack on the shoulder while Black Star resolutely snarled, "Shut the fuck up, Patty!" The young woman recoiled in surprise at the reactions to her "innocent" question, throwing her hands in the air and backpedalling hastily. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry! I was just curious that's all…"

"Calm down, you guys." Soul said with an unusual grin. "And no harm done, Patty." He took a deep breath and stared down at his hands folded on the crimson table. "I'm…not sure, to be honest. I think…I think I'm just going to…b-bind…them…" His voice died off in a whisper as he pondered the inevitable situation he was forced to participate in. If he didn't make an effort in the hunt, he would not only be facing ridicule upon his return to Inferno and the Evans household, but possibly isolation and imprisonment, exile, or even execution. Soul knew that he would have to do something to the poor girls that were captured as his and the other Eaters' prey, but he had already decided he would not consume an innocent's soul. No, if worse came to worse, he would bind them to his own, and hope that he could figure out a way to free them after the hunt was deemed complete. If he got lucky, Soul would be able to find the prize of the prey first, forcing him to only bind one soul in order to win the hunt, glory, and approval from his parents. Speaking about the special prize of the hunt wasn't it almost that time…

The abrupt and harmonized donging of four grandfather clocks, one for each corner of the ballroom, rang out and silenced the dull buzz that had permeated the air since the beginning of the banquet. The entire room became so void of motion and sound that for a second Soul entertained the thought that they all simultaneously died.

But, he wasn't that lucky.

Not even a little bit.

Because that ringing was the sign that it was time for the prey for the Hunt of Souls to be presented.

The guests looked around for a bit, searching for clues to what was going to happen next. Those who sat at the tables nervously gave up their seats in favor of standing with the crowd that was steadily surrounding the central black table. Everyone knew of its importance.

Heads whipped around as a high-pitched whistle reverberated in the room, candles flickering and the glass dome vibrating. The cause of the sound was none other than Prince Wesleyan who stood at the top of the magnificent and ornate staircase, a kind, joyous smile in place. Though several meters away, Soul was not fooled by the false smile and could still imagine the sadistic gleaming of his brother's eyes.

"Dear beautiful Ladies," The dashing young Prince winked, "and dear lucky bastards accompanying them," Appreciative chuckles and giggles rippled through the excited crowd. "I would like to once again formally welcome and thank all of you for attending tonight's banquet on the behalf of Inferno and its royals, my family. Tonight, as many of you know, marks the beginning of this year's Hunt of Souls. On another note, it is also the twentieth birthday of my younger brother, Prince Soulomon, who we found out seven months ago, would, in fact, be able to participate in this legendary hunt, the greatest, esteemed hunt in Infernodant history." Wes started to clap his hands and soon enough the whole ballroom echoed with applause as Soul cautiously waved a hand.

Why is Wes making the announcement for the prey? The coordinator of the hunt is the one who should be doing this.

As if his elder brother could hear his thoughts, Wesleyan continued, that carefree, happy smile that Soul was dying to punch off remaining in place. "Now, I'm sure many of you, especially the Eaters, are wondering why I, Prince Wesleyan, am making this highly anticipated announcement. The answer to that is that a couple months ago, after I learned that my younger brother would be participating in a hunt I could not, I decided that I wanted to have a hand in it, especially since there would be lovely women involved, and…make it special for him, let's say." There was a collective "aww" from the women in the crowd and hearty laughs from the men who were no doubt picturing just how "special" chasing after frightened young women could be. Soul clenched his fists in anger. "The prize of this year's prey was handpicked by myself with my brother in mind. Hopefully, he is a good enough hunter and gets the pleasure of…tasting the fruits of my labor." Louder laughs erupted from the smitten audience. "And without further ado, I present to you the ninety-nine prey for the two-hundredth and seventy-ninth Hunt of Souls." There was a flash of yellow light on the steps of the staircase and out of purple clouds ninety-nine young women appeared, all dressed in a variety of skimpy, risqué attires and all with hands and feet bound. Wesleyan paused in his dramatic speech long enough for the guests, specifically the Eaters, to admire the many choices available before plunging on to his long awaited finale.

"And," Wesleyan descended the staircase, patting several women's heads affectionately as he did so, parted through the crowd, and stood next to the black table. Another flash of light, this time right beside him, occurred and out of the purple haze appeared a black box. "I give you…" Wes gripped the edge of the box, preparing to pull it down and display the beautiful creature hidden within. "The prize of the Hunt of Souls!"

There was a thud.

The wall came down.

Soul rushed forward to glimpse what was inside.

He laughed at the irony.

For the box was empty.

It would appear that this year, none of the hunters would bear a prize.

For somewhere else in the palace, a young girl clad in gold slipped out a window and escaped into the cold, black night.