As Mercuria drove through the city’s road, a variety of buildings paraded in front of her eyes, delighting her with their different shapes, from sensual curves to strong rectangular structures, adorned with colourful paintings showcasing the mythology, modern heroes and works of art. Once she arrived at the city’s Administration Building she was immediately under the petrous gaze of statues of the valkyries, tall and strong winged women whose faces were painted in black and white. It was said that they carried away those worthy after their death to Valhalla, supposedly the greatest of paradises, and have been frequently mentioned in many battles across history, especially in those that demons were present as enemies.

She parked the vehicle in front of the door and crossed at a rapid pace, entering an ample hall with a desk at the end. The closer she got to it the better she could see the young man attending it, a greaser with a black toupee wearing a white T-shirt, using a couple of pencils as drumsticks against the table at the rhythm of the music from his headphones, absorbed by the music. As she approached him, Mercuria prepared her question and repeated it in her head to avoid a shameful error and the dreaded choppy speech when she spoke.

Hello, I’m Mercuria Bonyrock Van Haven and I’ve come for Samuel Van Haven Mestier’s inheritance, she thought to speak fluently, fustigated by her insecurity towards her voice and the fear of a terrible expression and pronunciation.

Once she reached the desk, the rockabilly remained oblivious to her presence, forcing the woman to knock on the desk’s surface, finally gaining the young man’s attention, who took his headphones off and looked at Mercuria.

"What do you want?" said the man without any kind of education, visibly annoyed by the presence of work as he played with one of the pencils, dancing between his fingers.

What a prick, thought Mercuria before hiding her feelings and speaking out the phrase she had prepared.

"Hello, I’m Mercuria Bonyrock Van Haven and I’ve come for Samuel Van Haven Mestier’s inheritance."

"Yeah, sure," the greaser spoke, getting up from his chair and prompting Mercuria to follow him.

The guitarist walked through a corridor alongside the rockabilly, watching the many pictures and paintings hanging on the walls illuminated by the light coming from the wide windows on the other side until they arrived at the storage’s door. With his hands still inside his pockets, the annoying employee opened the door with a kick and the two of them entered the large room where many objects were safely stored inside boxes, which were organized in shelves that reached to the ceiling and arranged with the use of an alphabetical system. Without any change in his attitude, the greaser took a ladder with wheels to the aisle where Samuel’s belongings were waiting to be claimed and began to run, jumping on it when he had enough speed and letting it take him where he wanted. Once there, the man grabbed the shelf with his left hand to stop and began to search for Mercuria’s inheritance, returning to the ground with a box marked for the woman.

With the container now on her reach, the deceased’s granddaughter couldn’t resist any longer and opened it, thinking about the contents inside, reminders from a lost loved one that now were hers. The very first thing that caught her undivided attention was her grandfather’s guitar, Wayfinder, a Dean Dimebag Razorback with one of its sides turned into a sharp blade, safely covered in a strong and black plastic to avoid unwanted injuries. The instrument was as beautiful as she remembered, with a naked woman painted on it, floating in the emptiness of space as the light of faraway stars bathed her and her long black mane drifted in every direction. One of her arms covered her breasts, while the other was extended through part of the guitar’s neck, pointing upwards with her index finger, in the same direction as the compass on her hand.

When Mercuria finally broke free of the instrument’s spell, she saw the rest of the belongings that were now rightfully hers, which consisted in two journals, a yellow leather jacket with three belts and the mysterious small box her grandfather had written about. Before anything else, the guitarist took the jacket and put it on, which fitted almost perfectly to her body, somehow feeling that she was occupying her grandfather’s place in the world.

With the small case and the journals in her hands, the greaser shouted at her to follow him, leading Mercuria towards the part of the room where the vehicles were parked while a storm of thoughts related to the increasing dislike she felt towards the man flooded her mind, with one of the most notable and unrelated to family expressed that the exceeding hair grease affected his mind. The many modes of transport stationed were organized using the same alphabetical system than before, finding quickly the motorbike and moving it away from the others. Mercuria found a moment to sit on the black chopper and enjoying her memories of the many rides she had taken with the wind touching her face, especially when she rode it alone for the first time in front of her grandfather.

Now that she had collected her inheritance, Mercuria was forced to sign the papers that allowed their removal, finally being able to return outside and discover the box’s mysterious content. The sounds of her immediate surroundings faded as she took one of her hands over the cover and opened it, revealing a white guitar pick with a black string, serving as a necklace, over a folded letter and a golden ticket. When the woman took the pick for a closer look, she felt what could only be described as if something was tightly grasping her heart, and a wave of images began to race in front of her eyes. Amongst all the chaos she couldn’t identify most of what she saw, only a pile of treasure with a large animal by its side, a tower, an empty throne and war and fire. When she finally recovered she control she threw the object to the ground, breathing in like she had just escaped from a mass of water to the surface.

What the fuck was that?, Mercuria thought when order returned to her mind, with the images she had just saw marked on it as she questioned the reason behind them and if they had a meaning.

Carefully, the guitarist took the pick by the string and draw her attention to the letter, taking precautions to avoid contact with the unsettling object. Mercuria wouldn’t have been able to predict what was written even if she had tried her hardest.

My dearest Rainbow.

If you’re reading this, I’m dead and I have unfinished businesses. The pick that you found in the box is an object as dangerous as it’s powerful, and there are many that search for it. It’s the guitar pick that The Four made from Belzerax’s horn, the Devil’s Pick.

"Holy shit," Said Mercuria surprised as she looked again at the pick, noticing its smooth surface and a growing desire to use it. She resisted the temptation and continued reading, giving birth to a growing fear towards the unknown powers she had entered in contact with and the consequences of using them.

Belzerax’s return is unavoidable, and that prick will bring on the godsdamn Ragnarock so we end up praising his arse if he succeeds. His followers in our world are searching for the rest of the horn’s remains, so he can retrieve all his power, alongside other power-thirsty morons, demons, and humans that will stop at nothing to use it for their desires.

I’m offering you a final gift, and adventure that will make you be proud of your life, even if you fail, and the chance to see the world and its many wonders. You have to face Belzerax and avoid that his followers and anyone else manage to retrieve all the things Broken Skies made from the horn. You won’t be able to do it alone, so you will have to find people brave enough to help you. If you accept, use the ticket, which will call the Crazy Train and take you where you need for your journey to start. You only have to hold that piece of paper and lift your hand in a place with enough place for the train to come and leave. It could take a while, so be ready to wait.

And last, don’t use the pick unless you have no choice. You could get accustomed to using its power and end up corrupted by it, and the sound that releases would draw demons and anyone that can follow it to you.

Whatever you chose, I’m proud of you. Knock ‘em dead, baby.

Ps: I’ve left you an empty journal with mine, so you can write about all the things you’ll see on your travels. You’ve already read much from others, now it’s your turn to make your own story. Also, you should have some extra cash in your bank account.

Grandpa Sam

“Dammit grandpa,” Mercuria said as she tried to hold down her tears at her grandfather’s last words to her and the gifts he had provided her.

Mercuria now had at her reach something she had longed and searched for a long time amongst the chaos, the opportunity to do something that really mattered and leave her mark, to truly live instead of going with every day’s motions, to learn the secrets about herself and see the world. The wait was finally over.

It was a difficult task that many people would refuse, she knew that and that she could end up dead. Many would follow her to steal the Devil’s Pìck and she would have to fight to collect the Remains and protect them. But nothing of that compared to what awaited at the end of the road, Belzerax himself, possibly the most powerful demon in recorded history, whose image had been enlarged by the pass of time, through many tales and legends.

No pressure at all, thought Mercuria as she contemplated the road ahead.

Mercuria’s decision was already made, and while nervous and scared, she would accept the opportunity her grandfather had given her. She felt that a phase of her short life had just ended, and an unknown future was waiting to be written by her hand.

"You got it, grandpa," the young woman said thinking out loud, imagining that if the old man was watching her from beyond he was surely smiling.