Disclaimers: I do not own Fairy Tail, Dungeons and Dragons, or Pathfinder.

A/N: So I was in the middle of Right Claw when I realize that I could make a chapter out of the material I had written for Fire and Brimstone. This chapter will introduce a new character and the next chapter will have Romeo and Wendy back in the spotlight. Basically, I want a chapter for each Hellsoul in Fiore, barring Ferris.

I would like to thank Tenryu no hoko for basically being a beta for this chapter and you should check out their stories when you have the chance.

Also check out The Wild Master, Elemental Spirit Mage, and Last Fire Mage if you have the chance.

Please leave a Review, Fav, or Follow if you want.

Vetmitar

Murania, the mountainous western region of Fiore.

Consider by many to be the last frontier to yet be fully settled due to the small amount of fertile land and harsh terrain. This has caused it to be the region with the smallest population despite being the largest in size. Murania's sole major settlement and regional capital, the coastal city of Runoda, only boasts a total of forty thousand residents while the majority of the rest of the populace was either spread out among a multitude of coastal hamlets or located near the Buna Mountains in what is known as the Furga Valley, the only large source of farming in the entire area.

Combined, the over three dozens farming villages of the valley came to a total of just around thirty thousand Fiorian citizens, including a number of non-humans races, as the west had the largest concentration of these people within Fiore's borders.

But the people of the valley were not at the top of the food chain for that position belong to the over one hundred orc tribes that dotted the entirety of the Buna Mountains. Feral, barbaric, violent, cannibalistic, and completely uncivilized by human standards; the orc tribes of the mountain have been a thorn in the west long before Fiore was even officially a country, back when the humans of the land were organizing into nothing more than numerous city-states and wandering nomads tribes.

An orc male warrior, even a young one, was as strong as half a dozen men and their females were as strong as five. Orcs could shrug off wounds that would put a fully grown man down, easily outrun a human on foot, and wielded crude weapons that could cleave through everything but the most durable of armor in a single swing.

The orcs live for the thrill of slaughter and would often raid any settlement that was within their reach. They would lay ambushes on what few roads that were in the region and openly attack villages in board daylight. With garrisoned troops few and far between, the communities of the valley and Murania as a whole made for easy pickings.

Many times in the past, the rulers of Fiore have sent their forces to eradicate this infestation but the usually independent tribes would combine their strength and fiercely defend their homes against the armies of men, extracting a heavy toll on them through a combination of guerrilla warfare and pitch battles in the forests, grasslands, and mountains of the area. For you see along with their superior strength even the orcs, no matter how unsophisticated and of low intelligence the orcs were thought to have, realize the powerful potential of magic and their shamans were considered on par with nearly any human mage that was thrown at them. It also did not help that the orcs had a natural resistance to a number of different magics which only further boosted the causalities they would inflict on any invading army.

Unfortunately, as tensions with neighboring countries rose and the threat of war with Bosco and Seven seem to grow every day, Fiore realize that they couldn't keep wasting manpower on an enemy who was far easier to contain than to wipe out, thus in the year X685 a new branch of Fiore's royal military was formed to do just that.

The Murania's Rangers.

Defenders of the land who were trained to combat the orcs in ways a regular army couldn't. Though low in numbers, each man was trained to be able to take on three orcs at once in combat with a variety of weapons and techniques, including rare magical items. Many times would the tribes gather into a warband to raid the valley and beyond and many times were they stop by the men and women of the rangers who would use the orcs own tactics against them while also relying on speed and stealth over the orcs' brute strength, even being able to neglect the orcs advantages in shamans.

So great was the success of the rangers in Murania that the ruler of Fiore at the time, King Goumo, got it in his mind that instead of using garrison army soldiers to patrol and protect the interior of the land, they could use the rangers at a greatly reduced cost in manpower and supplies seeing how, on paper, a ranger was worth ten soldiers in rough terrain, the type of terrain orcs prefer to fight in. So in the year X700, the Murania's Rangers became the Fiore Rangers and an eastern, southern, northern and central command was establish with a thousand rangers station in each and most of the army was moved to the eastern borders, place on ships in the Royal Navy, or garrisoned in forts place around the capital with only a handful of small forts remaining in the west.

But for all of their victories over the monsters of the mountains, the rangers of the west could no more make a dent in the forces of the tribes as could the great armies of old as they were too great in numbers to fully get rid of. Battle was as constant as the changing of the seasons and the only moments of peace were whenever the orcs warred among themselves, giving the rangers and the people of the west a moment to catch their breath.

But now some of the orcs tribes have put aside their differences and have gathered into a warband to once again march out of the mountains and bring death and destruction to the lands of the Murania region and if the rangers wanted to stop them once again they had to move fast. But many a ranger has wondered while on guard watch or on patrol if it was only a manner of time before an orc leader rose up to united all the tribes of the mountains and drown the land in an unstoppable flood of green skin and bestial rage.

X791

It was in the forest just outside the entrance to Funga Valley that a towering cloak figure throws back the hood on his head and squats down to make himself eye level with a similar dress man in front of him.

"What you got?", Colonel Sarta whispers to his scout as he scratches his faded blue hair that was starting to show signs of gray strands while the two of them were in a huddle surrounded by ten more Fiore Rangers officers while in the middle of the country's western forest on a windy day. Taking up the entire vicinity around them were hundreds more of the famous "Guardians of the Frontier" taking a moment to prepare themselves for what was ahead.

The scout looks directly into Sarta's one good eye and flashes two fingers three times, "Tracks indicated at least six orcs, sir"

"Possibly an outskirts patrol", the officer behind Sarta says, "Watching the flanks of the warband."

"From the ones I was able to get close enough to, all but one seem to have only one scar across their arm.", the scout continues, "But one of them had at least eleven going across his."

"Newly blooded. Just recently became warriors but don't have the experience to be in the main warband. Put on guard duty instead. Seem to be led by a senior warrior", another ranger to the left of Sarta says, "There's a large clearing up ahead, possibly their campground."

The ranger colonel merely nods, "Can we get around them?"

"With ease, but the main warband is less than half a day away, so this camp will be moving soon and they will eventually come up behind us. I suggested we take it out here and now to avoid having to constantly watch our backs, sir", the scout advise, "Plus, those six that I spotted could just be the ones who weren't at the camp. There could be more at the actual site."

Sarta lowers his head in thought, mulling over his choices. The main orc warband was soon going to enter Furga Valley where over thirty unprotected villages resided, the closest thing they had for protection being nothing more than two army garrisons with less than two hundred men between them and some local militia. They wouldn't stand a chance against nearly two thousand orcs and there were no magic guilds nor major army forts in the area to call upon to aid them.

Sarta and the nearly four hundred men of the Western Fiore Rangers that he was able to gather would have to intercept them soon to prevent a slaughter. While it would be an easy matter to deal with these orcs with the forces he had at the moment, every second counted and he needed as many men as possible when the time came so he couldn't even risk any of his men getting injured nor could he waste any arrows.

"Guess I have no choice", he finally says as he holds up a hand. A moment later, a figure materializes next to him, startling a couple of the other rangers nearby while the majority of them barely back an eyelash.

"Vetmitar, take them out and make it quick", Sarta orders, "Meet me at the front of the column when you're finished."

The figure looks up and stares at Sarta with red glowing eyes before nodding and leaping into the nearby trees, vanishing from sight in a blink of an eye and the ranger leader turns his attention back to his plans for the upcoming battle.

"I heard rumors about a hellsoul being in the Western Rangers. I hear they call him all sorts of nicknames like "The Hell Ranger", then a few call him "The Devil Ranger", and last but not least, "The Red Ranger.", he then overhears one of the men around him whisper to his companion alongside him with both of them facing away from the colonel, "Never thought they be true."

His buddy nods, "I know, right? I've heard of half-orcs and half-elves being in their ranks, but a hellsoul?", he shakes his head, "That's just going too far. That would have never been allowed to happen in the Southern Rangers."

"Well then it's a good thing that this isn't the Southern Rangers and that I'm in command here, not Colonel Boaren, now isn't, Lieutenant Matca?", Sarta says from in between the two men, starling them both as they jump away with looks of terror etch into their faces.

"C-Colonel Sarta!"

"Keep your voice down, Lieutenant Matca. Unless you want to alert the orcs to our presence", Sarta cuts him off, staring down the short and slightly plump junior officer with a look that could melt steel. He then turns his attention to the other one, Lieutenant Gaha, also an officer who recently transfer in from the Southern Rangers alongside Matca.

"Do you two have problem with Gold Sergeant Vetmitar?", Sarta asks in a voice that causes both Lieutenants to immediately pop to attention even without the order being given, "And for the sake of everyone here, try to keep your voices down when you answer."

The two hesitated for several moments, stealing glances at one another hoping that the other would answer first.

"Well, seeing how you both don't seem to have an answer for me, we can move on without any more complaints", Sarta says, "Captain Tist."

"Sir", a man a couple of feet behind Sarta answers up.

"Give the order to move out. We wasted enough time here already", Sarta commands and doesn't even stay to look to see if the man acknowledge his order as he takes off to the head of the unit, leaving the two bumbling officers standing there with sweat pouring down their faces as the rest of the rangers silently move past the two and left them behind.

Vetmitar moves with the supernatural speed granted to him by his devil heritage, racing through the forest on the way to his target. Thanks to his abilities and his ranger's training he could easily outrun a horse and even keep up with a magical four-wheel vehicle for a time. Combine with his devil endurance, he could travel for miles at a fast pace before needing rest. This alone put him as one of the top rangers in the west, leagues above his peers.

With his heighten nose, he smelled the orc's camp long before he spotted the smoke of their campfire or the howls and grunts of their warriors. Foul and putrid swamp the air around him, his nose easily filtering out each of the smells and helping him paint a picture of what he was going to come across when he reach the campground.

The stench of rotten human flesh is one of the first smells that stood out, indicating that the orcs had come across some unfortunate farmer or traveling merchant. No doubt their body was nearly picked clean and that the only thing that remains was a decomposing skull if that. The next scent he picks up was an overwhelming stench of scented primrose, which grew in the mountains. This told Vetmitar that there was at least one orc female in scouting party and that she was in her blood cycle or at least nearing it and that she was using the primrose to keep it hidden from the male orcs who would go into berserk if they were to catch a strong whiff of it. For their barbaric kind, even the tiniest drop of the life elixir could rile up the less discipline warriors into a nearly unstoppable frenzy.

Even if they couldn't smell it though, the presence of a female orc would no doubt cause the younger male orcs to put on a show of bravado and make them try to establish themselves as the alpha orc in the group in an effort to impress her for possible future mating. Within moments, Vet finds himself at a hill that overlooks the clearing that the orcs were located in and using his eyes of hell, spots eleven small tents arrange in a circle with a slightly larger tent at the top of it. All of the tents had the symbol of a crudely drawn red skull on them telling Vet that the orcs were part of the Crimson Skull tribe that inhabiting the southeastern part of the Buna Mountains.

This actually made things simple because their tribe had a tradition where each orc was responsible for looking out themselves while on the march. This meant they had to hunt their own food, maintain their own weapons, and even set up and sleep in their own tent. The only thing their war parties shared was a large fire in the middle of their tent ring so this meant that there were only twelve orcs in this entire party and with ease he was able to start picking them out even from his position which was a mile away from them.

A group of half a dozen males gathered around what seems like two orcs having a wrestling match against one another, rolling around in the dirt in an effort to get an upper hand in the fight. The lone orc standing behind them in front of the largest tent was no doubt the leader of the small party, his body decorated in human skulls and exotic warpaint, a mighty contrast to the nearly bare younger fighters who many had nothing more than a loincloth and a fur top to cover themselves.

Two more orcs were standing guard on the sole dirt path that leads into the clearing, both stealing glances at the action behind them every now and then before returning their attention back to the road. Vetmitar spots a warhorn tied around each of theirs necks. They would have to be dealt with swiftly or else they would alert the main warband.

Eleven orcs were accounted for but Vetmitar had yet to locate the twelfth one, the female one, and just that one orc could disrupt his battle plan if he chose to attack without finding her. The hellsoul has seen many a ranger fall in combat due to a single orc getting the jump on them before it was finally put down.

Vetmitar then spots a lone figure at the other end of the campsite, picking through the berries on a nearby bush, ignoring the speculate that was going on. The female orc, who was at least half a foot taller than him with tightly packed muscles all over her body underneath her dark green skin. Vetmitar could make out her coal-black hair but not much else though it wouldn't even manner in the next few minutes as he leaped off the cliff and into the treetops. Moving from tree branch to tree branch, Vetmitar the "Red Ranger of the West", made his way to his target, determine to get this assignment done as soon as possible and link back up with the rest of his fellow rangers.

Nobfang found herself once more picking through the berries near the encampment in order to use them to make some "wine" as the humans call it for herself. Ever since she drank a bottle of it after she beheaded the merchant who was carrying it, she wanted more of the delicious drink for herself. After "interrogating" a few more human farmers she caught on the road, she found out that it was made from grapes but since they don't grow in the area she decided to use whatever berries she could find instead. So far, her results have been less than desirable.

A roar from behind her signals that someone had come out on top in the wrestling match and she briefly looks over her shoulder to see that Rok had proven himself victorious, towering over Rocktooth who was still on the ground, cradling his left arm. Nobfang rolls her eyes, wondering once more how she got placed in this patrol when she should be a part of the main war party, slaughtering farmers and pillaging entire villages along with the other veteran warriors. She figures that since the majority of the warband was compromised of the Crimson Skulls that the lesser tribes of the party such as the Rock Bashers or Snow Claws would be in the outer patrols.

But yet here she was away from all the fun in a camp full of idiots dumber than a pile of rocks all trying to impress her. It didn't help that the senior warrior, Gritzblade, did nothing to stop all their shows of strength but he didn't he encourage it either. It seems to Nobfang that as long as someone was watching the main trail leading up to their camp and that they weren't seriously fighting among themselves, he didn't care what the others were doing.

Nobfang lets out a snort in disgust. It was exactly that type of mindset she was going to change once she gained enough prestige to make a bid for chief of the tribe. This was her goal, her destiny that she believes the gods created her for and she didn't have long to achieve it. She was already seventeen summers old and once she hit twenty she could no longer be a part of a warband and would be forced to chose a mate. Afterward, the rest of her life would be committed to baring his children and raising them while he would still get to slaughter the enemies of the tribe and living the life that she wanted for herself. But once she was in charge that would be the first thing to go. A female orc would have the right to choose their own way of life, regardless of the path the tribe laid out for her under her rule.

Her goal was as not as out of reach as some would believe either. There were pretty female chiefs in the mountains but none of them have ever try to change orc society which was dominated by the males. They simply led their tribe into battle and that was that. None of them were true leaders and to Nobfang, they were nothing more than dogs too afraid to tear off their leashes.

Sure, she would have to split a few skulls here and there, no doubt, not everyone would be on board with her changes but it matter not, they would fall regardless. Now once she distinguished herself and showed everyone that Chief Bloodhands was too weak of a leader and lack ambition, the elders would no doubt bestow upon her the Red Crown, the sacred symbol for her tribe forge from the bones of past foolish human kings who dared march against her tribe and paid the consequences. With that out of the way and her new laws were enforced, she would then launch a warpath to finally united the warring tribes of the mountain for good under her rule and use their combine might and forge the first orc kingdom in over a thousand summers. She would drive out the humans of the lands and lay siege to their capital. She would have their king's head mounted on a pike and his daughter offer to her top warriors as a prize for their efforts.

She could see it now, herself at the head of a mighty horde bearing down on any non-orc settlement that was in their way. The screams of the weaker races filling the air alongside the roars of her warriors and…

Two objects go flying out of the trees pass her ears and Nobfang quickly turns around to see what they were. Within a heartbeat, she spots from across the field both of the sentries crumble to the ground with what seem like arrows sticking out of their necks. She quickly turns around back to the forest but her vision was filled with two blood reds eyes staring back at her and she felt a pair of hands grabbed the top and bottom of her head. She then felt her head violently get twist so hard that she found herself once again facing the camp and after a brief moment of immense pain, her entire world went dark.

Vetmitar watches the female orc's body crumble to the ground for a moment before unsheathing his dual-curved longswords, their handles grip by hands covered in black fingerless gloves. He then took off in a sprint toward the remaining orcs, who were still none the wiser to what was going on. If he hurried, he could finish most of them off before any of them could grab the weapons that were strapped to their waists. If not, oh well, a little swordplay never hurt anyone... at least not him anyway.

A/N: The next chapter will bring Romeo and Wendy back.

Once again, I would like to thank Tenryu no hoko for basically being a beta for this chapter and you should check out their stories when you have the chance.

Also check out The Wild Master, Elemental Spirit Mage, and Last Fire Mage if you have the chance.

Please leave a Review, Fav, or Follow if you want.