(( sweats;; Obviously I'm enjoying writing this haha! Here's chapter three! It would have more in it, but, it's getting rather long, so I'll save some stuff for chapter four! Also I know I'm updating this quite fast but DON'T EXPECT updates every day;; I can't guarantee that I will, especially since for some chapters I have to do more research than others! ))
Chapter 3: Broken Teeth
Rain water fed the grove in the early hours of the morning. At some point in the night, the storm had finally made it's way over the broken shore. The rain was soothing, in a way, and U'thel had spent the better hours of his morning letting the cool drops wash over his skin, and fur, where he had grown it.
Unfortunately the rain also washed the war paint off his face, leaving rivulets of sooty black and vibrant red to run down his neck and chest.
U'thel sighed, shaking his head. He got up, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach. He would deal with that later; he always did. For now, he had a task to complete.
He picked up his glaives, taking them over to the forge he had made. As he had decided the previous night, he began to whet his blades against a stone on the forge, the strokes rhythmic. Such an action was like clockwork to him, and U'thel's mind wandered elsewhere as he worked.
Cutting through the demons would be the easiest part of his task. At the same time, he couldn't afford to make any mistakes; he had been able to mask his presence from the demons with relative ease, though he felt that had more to do with them being preoccupied than anything else.
Naturally, U'thel couldn't risk cutting down too many demons either. That would be suspicious, and surely garner attention - it had happened once before. U'thel had been unable to go to the far west of the shores, as a Pit Lord had stationed themselves there. Taking on the massive demon would have been easy, but the fight would have lasted too long, and then the fact that there was a demon hunter on the shore would have gotten out.
The troll paused in his actions, lifting his blade away from the stone.
As it stood, the demons believed the assaults to be coming from Dalaran, or at the very least, the demons believed that the mages up there were sending warriors down to the shore.
Which made sense, considering the fact that up until Dalaran had even appeared in the sky, U'thel had been living his life of solitude in relative peace.
He shook his head, moving on to whet his second blade. The rain still fell, still soaking his skin and fur where it wasn't blocked by the leaves above.
A scoff left the demon hunter. To think, that perhaps he had been guided here by the very spirits he had assumed to have abandoned him out of disgust for what he had become. That perhaps he was here specifically to fulfil this single purpose of bringing up another demon hunter like himself.
U'thel jerked up his blade, barely touching it to his forearm. It cut into his flesh, and he grinned.
Perfect.
He leaned his blades against the forge, striding to where he had dropped his armor. He took it into his small oiled tent, using a cloth to wipe off the drops of rain before he fastened it back onto his body; belt first, of course, then pauldron. U'thel reached under a pile of crudely made pillows next, pulling out a pair of cuisses. He didn't normally wear them but… today he thought it better to be safe than sorry.
After all, finding a broken tusk that was most assuredly buried in sand was going to be quite the time consuming task. Much more difficult than dealing with demons.
U'thel released a heavy breath as he strapped on the cuisses. With that in place, he proceeded to use a darker, crusted cloth to wipe his smeared war paint off his face. It was easily reapplied, and he glanced at himself in a large shard of mirror.
A red, toothy grin stared back at him, and his fel eyes curved as he smirked.
With that done, U'thel left his tent and returned to the forge, hefting his blades onto his shoulders.
The moment he set foot outside his little grove, crackling footsteps went ahead of him.
He was startled at first, watching them go with suspicious eyes. They stopped at the end of the path that led down toward the sands, crackling.
Tentatively U'thel followed.
The footprints stayed several strides ahead of him, speeding up as U'thel did, and slowing when he did. The troll was amused. He followed the crackling until it shrivelled up, a warm presence sweeping through him, whispers humming in his ear.
Unlike the whispers of the fel, these ones were soft like the rain; they definitely belonged to a Loa.
U'thel crouched behind a large rock, peering around it at the beach that stretched ahead of him. There were a few fel stalkers here and there, trotting along in packs, or hugging close to the side of a fel guard. They dotted the beach. U'thel hummed, pushing the tip of one blade into the sand.
"Show me," he muttered to the air, feeling that warm presence hovering at his shoulder. A bolt of lightning ripped through the sky and struck the beach, a violent clap of thunder in its wake. The sound startled the fel stalkers; they yipped and howled, darting away from where the lightning had struck, and scampering up the path that U'thel had come down.
He held his breath, pressing his left side into the rock to diminish the glow of his pulsing tattoos; he stayed like that until the clattering feet of the fel stalkers faded into harmless echoes.
Moving away from the rock, he peered around it again; all that remained in visible distance on the beach was the fel guard, and two fel stalkers. When U'thel squinted, he could see the silhouette of shivarra in the distance, and the telltale shape of succubi.
Turning his head toward the left, he saw four Eredar. He should deal with them first, then worry about the fel guard, then worry about where the lightning had struck.
He sincerely doubted that finding the tusk would be that easy.
Swiftly he ran along the beach, hugging close to the cliff face. His strong legs took him up a large rock, from which he leapt off. He descended on the Eredar in silence, his sharpened blades cutting two in half as he passed in a rush. He kicked up a spray of sand as he sharply changed direction, lopping the head off the third before the other bodies hit the ground; he slammed one glaive into the beheaded corpse.
The fourth Eredar had made to run to the fel guard, and U'thel channeled red fel energy into his hand. A smaller throwing glaive materialized in his hand, and he grunted as he threw it with great force. It embedded itself in the Eredar's back, and he let out a howl of pain.
With heavy strides the fel guard made his way toward the sound, axe gripped tightly in hand. The fel stalkers sprinted ahead of him, snarling; U'thel snarled in return. He abandoned his glaives, flipping over the fel stalkers in favor of taking down the fel guard first.
Siphoning magic into his legs, he pushed off the sand, sending waves of it in all directions. In the air, a more demonic form flickered around him, and he slammed the palm of his hand against the fel guard's face as the demon raised his axe to strike.
His head was crushed down into his neck which was crushed into his sternum, and after a brief hesitance, the armor crumpled as U'thel forced the fel guard's head right through his body, all the way to the ground.
U'thel jerked his hand out of the fel guard's body, unintentionally back handing one of the fel stalkers. He couldn't see past the pauldron on his shoulder, but he heard the sounds of it hitting the sand.
He turned on his heel, thrusting his fingers into the throat of the other fel stalker as it leapt at him, mouth agape. The Eredar was trying to drag himself to safety.
But no demon would ever be safe from a demon hunter.
U'thel carelessly whipped his arm to the side, sending the fel stalker toward the rocks. When he reached the Eredar, he yanked the small glaive out of his back. The scream of pain that followed was music to him, and U'thel plunged the weapon through the back of the Eredar's neck.
Green blood gushed out of the wound.
A loud snarling reminded the troll that there was one fel stalker left, and he waited until it jumped toward him before throwing the small glaive again. This time, his aim was true, and the glaive dug into the fel stalker's throat.
Silence fell over the area, followed moments later by the pattering of rain. U'thel huffed as he straightened himself. He stepped over the Eredar, taking quick steps to reach his glaives. He picked up the one he had dropped, then yanked the other out the body he'd stabbed it through. Both were then secured to his back, and U'thel surveyed the beach, squinting his eyes.
Where had that damn bolt of lightning struck again-?
"Huh," he mused, stalking toward a patch of burnt sand. He crouched when he reached it, brushing his fingers over the grains. It still felt warm, and the smell was off. U'thel sifted through it, but, as he had expected, there was nothing.
Save for the crackling footprints, which now appeared right before U'thel. He stared at what appeared to be feet for a moment, then hesitantly raised his gaze.
He could barely make out the shape of the Loa, the spirit seeming to be made of thunderclouds, veins of lightning flickering through them at random intervals.
It wandered further down the beach, and U'thel gasped in air. His fingers twitched against the sand; since when had he opted to hold his breath? Did this Loa make him that nervous?
U'thel shook his head, rising to his feet. He followed the path the Loa left, his other senses focused on detecting demons, if there were any around. The demon hunter felt no small amount of unease when he picked up on nothing fifteen minutes after opting to follow the path this strange Loa made.
There were always demons on the beach, and for those few Eredar and lesser demons to be the only ones U'thel had to fight was worrisome-
A sigh of relief left him.
The crackling feet had diminished again, warmth seeping through U'thel's limbs once more as the Loa retreated.
Demons were scattered over this lower part of the beach. U'thel was glad to know that they were here. He glanced over his shoulders, then glided toward a copse of rocks. He peered over them, pursing his lips; an impressive number. They appeared to be gathered around something, mostly fel and wrath guards.
Fingers prodded at U'thel's sides, and he released an exasperated sigh.
"Wat'chu want?" he hissed under his breath, "ya bettah not scare off mah prey dis time."
The air around him seemed to undulate with laughter. A soft wind pushed against U'thel's face, forcing him to look to his right. His eyes widened in bemusement.
There, sticking out like a sore thumb against the wet sand, was a tusk. It was at least a hundred paces away, and U'thel's attention was brought back to the demons. The urge to slaughter them all was slowly building, and he dug his fingers into the rock, reaching back to trace the tip of one finger over a blade.
"I be wantin'," he muttered, "ta sate mah blood lust."
Lightning crackled through U'thel's veins, and a manic grin split his face. His shoulder blades split too, wings erupting from them, and with a snarled battlecry, U'thel bore down on the demons, looking very much like he belonged with them.
His strong claws cut through their armor like it was butter, rending flesh from bone with ease. He didn't stop tearing at them, even after his metamorphosis faded - it only meant he had to put his sharp glaives to good use.
The strength of the storm only grew as he tore through the demons. U'thel's quick feet kept him from sustaining heavy damage, and his parries were always followed by swift retaliation.
By the time he was done, the sand was soaked with demon blood, and the rain pounded against U'thel's shoulders. His breathing was labored, and he tipped his head back to meet the rain, eyes closed tightly. It washed the fel blood off him, and at the very least, cleaned the smaller wounds he had received: two gashes on his chest, one on his unguarded bicep, and a small incision on the right side of his face. He was sure there was a cut or two on his back as well, but he paid them no heed.
Rain water slipped past his parted lips, quenching the thirst that now came upon him, and sating the hunger in his stomach. He lowered his head, letting the rain run down his neck, and over the taut muscles of his back.
Crackles in the air reminded U'thel of why he had bothered to come here in the first place.
His feet led him away from the warm sand soon enough, eyes intent on the tusk that still sat protruding out of the sand. He repositioned his glaives against his back, getting down on one knee to observe the broken object.
Part of U'thel didn't even want to touch it. The tusk was slightly thicker than his own. He didn't need to hold it to know that. Plus, this tusk clearly belonged to someone the Loa favored.
U'thel was too proud to admit he felt he was unworthy of taking the tusk.
He sighed heavily, then carefully wrapped his hand around the tusk. He pulled it free of the sand, and immediately brought it up to his own tusk. He knew better than to take something like this and not leave anything in it's place. Another sigh left him, this time in relief: his own tusk was just barely the right length and thickness.
Using the nail on his thumb, U'thel etched into his own tusk where the one he held reached to. It would leave a little over a third of his tusk remaining. Without much thought, U'thel balanced the broken tusk on his thigh, and gripped his tusk on either side of the etching.
He inhaled, snapped his tusk in a swift movement, and exhaled.
Now he held both pieces of tusk side by side, muttering under his breath. The one he had been sent to retrieve had a leather band on it, gold rings on the ends, and golden studs equally spaced around it. U'thel pursed his lips to one side in thought, then he slid the leather band off, and put it on his own.
He then stuck his broken tusk into the sand where he had found the one the Loa had requested him to find.
"Back home den," he sighed, rolling his shoulders. If he was quick about it, he could get all the way back up the path before any other patrols came by. He first kicked sand over the tracks he had left when he moved away from the carnage, retracing those steps back to the pile of corpses.
U'thel moved swiftly, weaving through the rocks, careful not to pick up anymore fel blood on his feet. Sure, he hadn't bothered with that fact the other day, but crushing an imp underfoot was different from killing fel and wrath guards en masse.
Once he returned to his grove, he deduced that it had taken him a little over two hours to get the tusk - naturally, it would have taken him less time if he hadn't gotten distracted by the overwhelming itch to slaughter demons.
He took a moment to set the tusk he had retrieved on the slab of rock covered in candles; his little altar, he supposed.
Using a rod of metal he kept on hand, U'thel set about breaking his other tusk. The imbalance bothered him, and he chucked the part he broke off into his tent. Then, using a small dagger, he cut the tusks into a more pointed shape. Lastly, he used a makeshift file - sandpaper glued to a plank of wood - to smooth out the edges. He peered at the mirror, turning his head to the left and right. He decided that this haphazard attempt at fixing his tusks would do until he had the time to spare to even them out.
Next, he opted to expand his tent, noticing with a chuckle that the rain was no longer falling into his grove.
He was definitely going to need some more supplies after this, and he didn't have much clothing to spare, and even less armor. U'thel still had some of his older weapons, but they could definitely use a polish, maybe even a few minutes under the hammer…
U'thel sighed heavily.
His gaze shifted back to the tusk on the altar, and he spread out the pillows and fur blankets in his tent as he searched for his flint.
Sure, the demon hunter was capable of using fel flames, but that was no way to commune with a Loa. He needed natural fire, untainted by demons, and so, he would use flint.
It was a meticulous task, but two minutes later saw U'thel assuming his meditative posture in front of the altar, half the candles lit.
This time, he found himself in a building, instead of on the beach. It shocked him, and his eyes darted to and fro. There was a large window ahead of him, made up of vibrant colors: stained glass. The image was of a troll woman, children at her feet.
U'thel wanted to sneer.
A church?
It had been little over a decade since he had ever set foot in one.
As a demon hunter, he felt a slight aversion to such holy places.
"Ya don' seem ta like my visions."
The female voice came from behind him. She was louder than Dambala, and U'thel shrugged his shoulders, furrowing his brows. Like in his previous two dreams, he couldn't move his legs, but unlike them, he found he was able to raise his arms. He waited to see if this Loa - Lukou, he remembered - would do anything else.
A finger traced up U'thel's spine; he shuddered, baring his teeth at the stained glass ahead of him. Being forced to stare at something so bright and colorful made him all too aware of how lonely he really was.
"Shhh," Lukou had finally moved into his sight, pressing a pale finger to his lips, "ya be havin' a companion soon, mon. He gonna' need you as much as you gonna' need him."
"I may be lonely as fuck, but I don' want ta be needin' nobody," U'thel snarled through his teeth, finally finding his voice. Lukou was unperturbed, and she moved her finger to poke him in the forehead. He flinched as a white hot line of magic seared its way through him, causing his pulsating tattoos to bleed into a more cream color.
"Ya no shadow huntah, but you'll do. Especially when I be considerin' what ya once were."
U'thel had half a mind to cuss her out, but he bit his tongue against the words. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of his past, and he didn't want to run the risk of angering a Loa.
He'd already almost done that.
"Ya be needin' a skull. Preferably a troll skull. De demons dat be around ya, I'm sure dey have one. Shango be helpin' ya wit dat but, dis time?" she lowered herself until she was looking U'thel in the eye, hers blazing white, "don' be givin' inta ya blood lust, demon huntah. We be needin' ya."
U'thel averted his gaze, his mouth twitching in a soundless snarl. Lukou continued to stare at him.
"... why do I need a fuckin' skull?" U'thel growled, keeping his gaze askance. Lukou hummed, and enveloped him in a warmth that made the demon hunter squeamish. While comforting, there was a malice there, as if it were a campfire that would erupt into a blazing hellfire at the twitch of a finger.
"A brain needs a safe place ta form. A tusk needs a home. And we need a vessel. You get dese tings fo us, and we be doin' da rest. Ya be a witch doctah once, if a young'un. You know wat ta do, U'thel."
His eyes snapped open moments later.
"... oh ya, sure!" he hissed to the sky, exasperated, "I know wat ta do exactly! Voodoo shit dat be speedin' up de regeneration process!"
He let his head drop forward as he ran a hand through his platinum blonde hair. He could feel the rage building.
A decade without a word from them. A decade without so much as a whisper. A decade spent in utter solitude, and when other life forms appeared, they were the thing he trained so vigorously to hunt down and murder in cold blood.
It U'thel wasn't so desperate for a companion of some kind, he would have let the Loa strike him down.
His stomach growled, and the troll released a groan as he flopped over onto his side.
"Uuuugh, I don' wanna go git anytin-"
Three seagulls abruptly dropped into the grove, their feathers singed. U'thel stared at them, unamused - then he sneezed due to grass tickling his nose.
"Very funneh," he muttered, turning an accusatory glance at the sky. The angry storm clouds were beginning to roll away, finally allowing some rays of the sun to reach the drenched earth.
U'thel groaned again, then pushed himself up on his arms. He crawled over to the seagulls to set about ripping out their feathers.