Chapter 4: Skoldir. Berserker. Bloodlust.

I. Will. Not. Be. A. Snack. Each word was punctuated by a solid hit to the yowling creature’s cranium. Aria’s arms reverberated as she put her weight behind each strike, beating the large cat-like creature over the head with her metal flute.

The Cleric had screamed, the most high pitched sound Aria had ever heard, when he had spotted her weapon of choice. The Mage had promptly knocked him out. Didn’t know he had it in him, she mused upon seeing the chop to the neck. The Hero had just stared at the pile of blue robes before stepping over it and cutting down a cat the size of a mountain goat. 

Aria had just kept on swinging. She figured that a flute forged by Diameer and gifted to the Saintess would be strong enough to keep said Saintess alive. Even if it wasn’t used the way it was designed to be. Aria though refused to play it. Goddess only knew what other demons were sleeping below her feet waiting to be awoken by potential snacks. The Party was only a couple days from the gigantic snake. They did not need another. They do need to find a way to fight gigantic demons though, mused Aria as she spun around to smack a cat on its nose. There’s no way they’ll be able to fight the Demon Lord if they can’t defeat an impaired snake. 

Aria paused, gasping for breath as she wiped sweat from her brow. The Warrior had taken care of the demons farther ahead creating a lull in the battle. Large cat-like bodies were strewn across the cracked ground. Bald patches covered the corpses and the lines of their ribs pulled the skin taught. Like the goblins their blood leaked black. Aria wondered what the demons would have looked like if healthy; fur perfect for blending into the surrounding sand, quiet paws and deadly teeth to catch their prey. Will demons like these return to normal once the Demon Lord is gone?

Yowling and a flash of fur sent Aria twirling to her left. She had the flute up instantly, snapping jaws held hairs away from her neck. Her arms trembled, the cat’s weight pushing her feet into the sand. The weight shifted, a paw – claws glinting in the sunlight – swiped toward her side. Aria abandoned the flute, jumping backwards. The cat crashed down in front of her and spat out the flute. It rolled somewhere to Aria’s right, but not within arm’s reach. She was defenseless. Again. And she couldn’t even blame the Cleric this time. 

Aria kept her eyes on the demon stalking toward her. She could glimpse a patch of darkness to her far right, the Mage slicing any cats that got passed the Warrior. She dropped and rolled, avoiding another lunge at her throat. The world whirled; bright light, tarnish sand, black blood. 

Impact, her body jarring to a halt. A corpse blocked her path towards the Mage. Sand ground into her palms as she shoved herself up, hopping over the body and throwing herself down again as a blade of wind sliced clean through the leaping demon directly behind her. Warm liquid soaked into her cloak. Aria shuddered, gagging at the stench of blood as she climbed to her feet. The Mage was already moving forward focused on the cats stalking toward the Warrior as he lifted a demon to slam into the ground. Blood splattered, the Warrior in the center. A roar, akin to that of the beasts around them ripped from his throat. 

Run. The thought pervaded Aria’s mind, feet rooted to the ground. 

Flute. Her boots sent off bursts of dust as she ran.

Cold. The flute was cold as snow. Her hands shook as she brought it in front of her, outstretched like a sword. It wavered back and forth. 

She tightened her grip, knuckles white, and stepped forward. She reached the Mage, frozen where he had stopped upon hearing the roar. Beside him stood the Hero, knocking away the last of the demons near them. They all watched as the Warrior ripped apart the last six demons, bare hands digging into flesh. His axe and sword long abandoned, buried deep in a pair of corpses.

His chest heaved. Slowly, he turned to them, face blank except for the red and black blood coating it. 

“We should go.” His voice was a heavy, almost inaudible, rasp. The Warrior’s footsteps were silent as he retrieved his weapons and resumed their journey to the Demon Lord’s castle. 

Aria peered at the Hero who glanced at the Mage. No one said a word. They followed, the Hero hefting the Cleric over a shoulder.

Around them, the air hung heavy with the cloying scent of blood. No matter how far they walked or how much water the Mage poured over them the stench remained. 

***

They made camp. The Hero cleaned his sword. The Mage started his skincare while the snake Spirit curled up beside him. The Cleric slowly chewed his ration of dried meat. The Warrior sat outside the fire’s circle of warmth, eyes on the flames as they flickered in the breeze. They would not go out till the Mage commanded it. 

Aria sat by the Cleric, fingers tracing the divots in her flute. The metal was much warmer now. She had never felt it so cold before. Even when she touched it for the first time it had been warm. The cold means something. She just didn’t know what. Yet. 

Her eyes snapped to the Warrior as he stood up and crossed the campsite to stand before the Mage. 

“What?” Snapped the foam covered face. 

“Clean.” Aria could barely hear the Warrior’s voice. “I want to be clean.” 

She heard a tut before a torrent of water poured over him. It didn’t stop. Not even when the Hero jumped up, shrieking about his boots getting wet. Only when the snake slithered up the Mage’s arm and squeezed did the downpour stop. 

Without a word the Warrior returned to his seat, dripping the entire way. He didn’t shake any of the water off or ask the Mage to dry him despite the cooling temperature of the night. He just dripped, and dripped, and dripped, as if the memories of the fight earlier would leak out of him along with the water.

He didn’t eat anything that night. Aria only saw him begin to clean his weapons when the rest of the Party had lain down, preparing for sleep. It was the Warrior’s turn to take watch. 

But Aria couldn’t sleep. Her thoughts tumbled and wove through the scape of her mind. 

Berserker.

A state of bloodlust granting immense strength. 

A trait of the Skoldir.

As a clan near the Demonic Peninsula they trained warriors from birth. Berserkers to go against the demons who came down the mountains. It’s why the Warrior is a part of the Hero’s Party.

Aria had known about it. 

She hadn’t expected the tearing of flesh, the howls of pain, the smell. The Warrior’s expressionlessness. As if it’s normal. 

It was. For him. 

He is the Warrior.

And something about that had affected the flute. 

It’s forged by Barimeer, she reasoned. It must contain divine power. 

Aria wasn’t wrong. The Hero’s armor was also said to have been made by the Stars. It was what made the metal light and cool enough to wear in the desert. The temple claimed it would protect him from the demonic. Aria hadn’t seen it do anything of the sort. At the rate the Party was encountering demons though, she was sure they would find out soon enough. 

Armor for the Hero. A flute for the Saintess. Both chosen by the Stars. One through prophecy. The other as the Goddess’ voice.

Maybe the armor was cold then as well? Aria considered asking the Hero, but grimaced. She could imagine that smile of his and the ensuing laughter. No, the less she spoke to the irritating ass the better. 

But…

Why would the flute react to a Berserker state? 

Aria pressed her face into her hood. 

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. I won’t be here long enough for it to matter. I’m leaving. Soon. As soon as I have a chance. 

She knew it would be more difficult now that there was a risk when playing the flute. That if she was attacked by a pack of demons she would be in real danger. That she might need to sing.

She ground her teeth at the thought. 

I will leave. 

No matter what. 

She rolled over, pulling her cloak tighter against the chill. Her bladder protested. She ignored it, unwilling to do her business in the dark. The last time had led to two snakes. Who knew what other kinds of creatures were hiding in the dark. The protests got louder until they twisted into pain. She sat up with a groan. 

Blinking in the flickering light Aria took in the campsite. The Cleric snored to her right, the Hero was splayed limbs akimbo, and the Mage slept upright, the snake coiled in his lap. 

The Warrior was nowhere to be seen.