On a small coastal part of the continent, there was thriving village filled with workers, hunters, and all other trades. This particular village was receiving a guest today. A new hunter. A real odd-ball this one was-judging by his appearance. No one knew much about him. But he was here to hunt.
Dark skin like smoothed obsidian. White hair, unnaturally long, flowing like a silken flame even without wind. Eyes crimson red, glowing faintly—too bright for the overcast day. And horns. Sharp, black, obsidian horns jutting from his head like blades curved toward the sky. He stood tall, expression unreadable.
The villagers paused. Then chuckled. Then laughed.
"What's with the wig?"
"Horns too? Man thinks he's in a stage play."
"Someone tell him the cosplay convention is next town over."
The man tilted his head. "I do not know what a...wig is."
Laughter erupted.
Beside him, a girl barely in her twenties fidgeted with a clipboard. Pale skin with straight black hair that lay lifeless over her shoulder. Nervous. New. This was her first field assignment—and this guy, her first hunter.
Talk about luck.
Her name was Xila, and she was already regretting signing up.
Xila did her best to give him a proper tour, but the village wasn't kind. The blacksmith scoffed at his nails. The canteen cook cracked jokes about his eyeliner. Other hunters passed with smirks and whispers.
Zareth remained calm. Aloof. Honest.
He told anyone who asked: "These horns are mine. I was born with them."
That only added delusional to the list of things they mocked.
The only one who didn't laugh was Xila. She didn't understand him, not yet. But she knew mockery when she saw it.
The next morning, Zareth was assigned to a hunting squad. Experienced veterans that didn't take to him like Xila had hoped. To them, he was unfathomably strange, but most alarmingly, green.
He made strange mistakes. Missed signals. Misread footprints. Almost scared off a Kulu-Ya-Ku because he approached like it was a lost puppy. They covered for him. Barely.
And yet, when they gathered after a successful mission, drinks in hand, the mockery softened to curiosity.
"Alright, cosplay king. Where you from?"
Zareth smiled. "A place where the skies are black and rivers run with ash. My father rules it still. He calls it the Cradle of Sin."
They burst out laughing. "Oh-ho! He really thinks he's a demon!"
"He is committed to the bit. I'll give him that."
Zareth kept talking, unaware no one believed him. To him, he was finally opening up. To them, it was comedy gold.
Xila, who sat across the room, frowned. She immediately got up and stormed toward Zareth. She quickly pulled him aside, away from everyone in the canteen.
"I don't know how to tell you this." She paced back and forth in frustration.
Zateth raised an eyebrow. "Tell me what? Why do you appear upset?"
She stopped and looked him in the eyes. "They're not your friends," she said.
"They're laughing at you."
Zareth frowned. "Why?"
"Humans can be cruel," she said, trying to be gentle. "They don't always mean what they say. Sometimes they just want to hurt people who are...different."
He looked down. "Is this what my father meant?" he murmured.
That made her pause. "What did—your father say?"
"That humans are cruel. Dangerous. That they will destroy everything. And if they cannot be controlled… they must be ended."
Xila stared at him, trying to decide if he was just weird—or if he actually believed what he was wanted to laugh. She didn't. His eyes—those glowing crimson eyes—held no lie. Only certainty. Only conviction.
She shook it off, not wanting to even think about what he thinks that means. She placed a hand on his arm. "Look, we've got a big day tomorrow. Nothing too fancy, but you'll need your rest. Come on."
"I don't...sleep." He said, being pulled toward their tent.
"Whatever!"
They marched away to prepare for the next day. He would need MUCH preparation if they were to make a good impression.
A mission came the next day: track a migrating Gore Magala and assess the risk of Frenzy exposure. It wasn't a threat. Or at least it shouldn't be. But they needed to be sure. The plan was to check its path—all the places the frenzy may have touched. Simple.
The team set out, riding Seikrets through the jungle. Zareth sat awkwardly on his. He was unfamiliar with these creatures. Still, they managed to make their way into the jungle without issue.
Along the way the hunters made more jokes.
"Try not to botch this one, demon boy."
"Make sure your wig doesn't blow off! Winds get pretty pushy out here!"
Zareth grit his teeth. For the first time, he understood the insults. But said nothing. Only Xila saw his hands tighten.
Soon they found tracks—the wrong tracks.
Teostra.
Too far from its nest. Way too close to the village.
And not just one passing through. These tracks were erratic. Panicked. Territorial. The ground was scorched. Trees turned to blackened toothpicks. They had to warn the village about this. To make a plan for defensive measures. They feared the worst. That it may be tempered.
They all headed back to village in a hurry. Along the way, they heard a growl rumbling through the trees, accompanied by screams escaping into the sky.
Then they saw the smoke, and a scorched path leading up to their home.
The village was under siege.
Teostra tore through buildings, flame and fury bursting from its wings. Local hunters were overwhelmed, unable to respond quick enough. They weren't prepared for this. It's tempered rage made it formidable and illogical. Civilians fled in terror.
Zareth's team rushed in. Within moments, they were burned. Slammed. Knocked unconscious.
Zareth stood still as chaos engulfed the world. He saw the desperation. The hopelessness.
He heard the words of his father: "They will destroy themselves. All you must do is watch."
But then he heard her voice.
Xila.
He remembered how kind she was, despite not understanding him. He grit his teeth.
Another scream rang out. A hunter was waving his arm and yelling for them to get out of there. Teostra was preparing a powerful attack aimed at them. Zareth stepped forward as the fire intensified.
His cloak burned away. His skin did not. The flames spun around him, but never touched him.
"This is wrong," he said quietly.
Xila screamed, "Zareth?! What are you doing?!"
He turned to her. "My father is wrong. There is already a war against humans… but it's not us. It's the world itself more like."
Xila stared, nose bleeding from exposure to his nudety.. The flames spun around them—but did not touch. The inferno avoided them, whirling like a barrier. "How are you not burning? How are we not burning?"
"You must give the order," he said.
"What order?!"
"The order. For me to act. It's... complicated. My father bound me. I cannot break the contract without a command."
She stared at him. The fire still hadn't touched her.
"Do you believe me?"
Everything in her screamed no. But the fire told another story. That's when she remembered his eyes that night. If she didn't believe the story, she at least believed the look on his face.
Teostra began to launch a swirling fireball in their direction.
Xila looked Zareth in the eyes. Partially to avoid being flashed anymore. But she was sold. "I do," she said with conviction. "And by order of the Guild—kill that son of a bitch!"
Teostra released the attack at them.
Zareth smirked at her right as the blast made contact. And explosion went off instantly. But the flames didn't spread like they should have. Instead they all swirled around Zareth, almost like they were being drawn in. Soon he was a silhouette, completely engulfed in the flame.
Fire coiled into his body, marking his skin with blackened sigils. His horns grew, twisted. His weapons—once iron twin blades—morphed into jagged crimson and black fangs, etched with runes. He was now covered head to toe in black demonic armor. It had red trimmings and spikes everywhere. He'd transformed into some sort of demonic knight.
Xila couldn't believe her eyes, nor could the townspeople and other hunters. They watched as Zareth stared the dragon down.
Teostra let out a frustrated roar before leaping into the sky. It flapped its wings furiously as it spun in the air. Then it dove.
Zareth raised one of his blades calmly. Then they collided.
A flaming windstorm blew outward. Xila barely kept her footing. The ground underneath Zareth's feet cracked under the massive force. But he hadn't moved an inch. He held the blade up,keeping the furious Teostra at bay.
He looked the creature in its eyes. It was definitely tempered. Completely out of its mind and in need of a good putting-down. It snarled viscously as it flapped harder, putting more force down. Zareth didn't budge.
"Your flames are destructive, I'll give you that."
He took a step forward, pushing Teostra back a bit, even though it struggled so.
"But they are snowflakes against my skin." He swung his blade, pushing Teostra away from him. The beast landed, showing its teeth in anger, ready to pounce again.
"Come. I will show you true hellfire."
Teostra charged at him. Zareth stepped forward, the ground cracking even more under his weight. His voice changed—distorted, doubled, layered with something ancient.
"Arch Demon Mode."
Time cracked. A red aura surrounded him, his eyes now glaring with crimson light.
"SOUL CARVER."
He vanished.
Bright flashes. Then silence.
The Teostra seemed to hang in the air for just a moment. Zareth appeared above the beast-above everyone. He lingered in the air for a split second. Then-a flaming spire shot up into the sky with massive force. Teostra screamed as it was being consumed by the column of fire spiraling into the sky.
When it cleared, there was nothing left but ash.
Zareth fell from the sky, landing on his feet with ease. Xila and the others were speechless. The flames had all dispersed, wiped away by the residual winds. All she could do was straighten her glasses as she coughed ash.
The sky had cleared. Most of the clouds were all pushed aside now as the sun came back into view.
Night fell. Zareth sat on a hill, overlooking the village.
He watched them rebuild. Some helped sort through the wreckage, but most were all meeting in the center of town. They were discussing something. He watched them talk. He expected it to end with flames and pitchforks. Something his father was wary would happen if they knew the truth. He hoped against that eventuality. He'd have to kill them all, and he didn't want that. Not after saving them.
Only one person came up to talk to him.
It was Xila, climbing the hill with her nervous posture. she walked up beside him, quiet.
He spoke first. "Do they hate me now?"
She blinked. "What?"
"They believe the truth now. That I'm not human. That I'm...the son of a devil."
She chuckled. "Hate you? Zareth, you saved them. You're a hero."
He frowned. "Then… the meeting?"
She looked away. "Well… they do have questions."
He waited.
"As you know, there are a lot of women in this village. Even the chief."
Zareth sighed. "Yes-I've noticed. And..."
"Well, since they know you're not, y'know...playing dress up after all. What they wanna know most is..." she paused.
Zareth grew annoyed. "Out with it woman."
"What kind of conditioner you use." She spoke quickly, immediately covering her mouth after.
He stared at her incredulously. "You're joking."
She smiled nervously. "Your hair didn't even frizz around all that fire. It's...honestly impressive."
He stood and began walking down the hill toward the village. "Unbelievable."
"Where are you going?!"
"To help with the cleanup. This is weird-humans are weird."
"You're one to talk! Hey would you wait a second?"
He stopped, then looked back at her. She fidgeted with her finger for a moment.
"I kinda wanted to know as well..."
He turned and continued walking.
"You're weird too."
"Hey! I was the one who believed in you first!"
He sighed, walking back toward the village.
She chased after him.
"Come on, just tell me what you use!"
THE END