The forest was too quiet. Well, when has it not been
Zethra felt the silence press in on his chest, heavier than the night air. Even the insects, the rustle of leaves, the whisper of running water—all had gone still. Only the soft crunch of boots broke the hush, slow and deliberate, circling the firelight like predators who knew exactly where their prey sat.
Ezagone stiffened beside him, clutching the stick he'd been poking into the embers. His wide eyes flicked toward his brother, searching for reassurance.
Zethra's voice was low, steady. "Stay behind me."
And then, they appeared.
Three shadows melted into the light of the fire. The first was a woman draped in crimson leather armor, her hair white as ancient bones, lips curled into a smile too sharp to be kind. She twirled a pistol in her hand as though it were nothing more than a toy.
The second was a tall man with broad shoulders, pale hair tied back, and eyes like shards of winter steel. In his hands, a glaive glimmered, its edge etched with faint glowing runes.
The third was the youngest-looking, wiry and grinning, a hunter's cap pulled low over his brow. Chains coiled around his arms like serpents, links glowing faintly with Aetherion seals.
"Well, well," the woman purred. "Two little fledglings, camping in the wilds as if no one could smell the devil on their skin."
Ezagone stiffened. "Who the hell are you?"
"Hell," the glaive-bearer said flatly, "is precisely what we'll be sending you to."
Zethra's heart thudded, but he forced calm into his voice. "We don't want trouble. Leave, and nothing happens."
The chain-bearer laughed. "Hear that? He thinks he can bargain." He let one chain slither down and whip against the dirt, sending sparks flying. "Pathetic."
Amethyst's voice purred in his mind, velvet and dangerous. Hunters. Professional, seasoned, and merciless. They won't let you walk away, Zethra. You'll have to kill them, or die.
*Three against one?* Zethra thought bitterly. *I'll die before I—*
But Ezagone's hand tugged at his sleeve, grounding him. His brother's voice trembled, but it held steel. "We can take them together."
The woman—Serra, if Zethra caught the whispered name from the chainsman—lifted her pistol and aimed lazily at Ezagone's head. "Adorable. Which one of you should die first?"
Zethra didn't wait for her to fire. He stepped forward, wings erupting in a flash of crimson and obsidian light.
The hunters moved instantly.
Kael, the glaive-bearer, lunged with startling speed, his blade whistling down toward Zethra's head. Zethra blocked with his forearm, sparks and blood exploding where steel met flesh. Pain screamed through his bones, but he shoved back, forcing Kael off balance.
Ezagone dove aside as Serra's pistol cracked, the bullet searing past his cheek and embedding in a tree with a hiss of burning Aetherion. He yelped and rolled, grabbing a rock and hurling it at her. She sidestepped it with a mocking laugh.
"you're cute, but I've shot prettier boys than you dead."
Zethra swung his fist at Kael's chest, only for the glaive to twist and hook his ribs. He snarled, wings flaring, and slammed Kael back into a tree with enough force to crack bark.
But then the chains struck.
From the side, links wrapped around his arm and yanked him off balance. The wiry hunter, Veynar, grinned and tightened his hold, Holy seals igniting along the chain.
Zethra screamed as the energy burned into his skin, searing like molten metal.
"Got him!" Veynar roared. "Pull, brothers, pull!"
Kael recovered instantly, glaive slicing into Zethra's side while Serra fired another shot into his shoulder. The pain was blinding, white-hot, and yet his wings pulsed with furious life, keeping him upright.
Ezagone's voice cut through the chaos. "Zethra!"
Zethra looked—and his heart lurched. His little brother was cornered against a tree, Serra's pistol pressed under his chin.
Something inside Zethra snapped.
"Let go", Amethyst whispered, her voice low and sultry, trembling with urgency. "Stop fighting them on their terms. Break them. Break everything."
Aetherion surged inside him, wild and dangerous. His vision bled crimson, his veins burned like molten rivers. He screamed—not in rage, not in defiance, but in sheer, unholy pain as his body tried to contain too much.
The chains cracked. His wings flared so wide the fire itself guttered out.
For one breathless moment, even the hunters froze.
But then Zethra moved.
With a roar that shook the clearing, he ripped the chains apart, shards of Aetherion exploding like embers. His wings beat once, sending a shockwave that knocked Veynar flat. He turned on Kael, eyes burning with inhuman light, and swung with a strength that shattered the glaive into two broken stumps.
Kael gasped, staggered, then was lifted bodily and thrown across the clearing, smashing through a tree with a sickening crack.
Serra fired again, but the bullet stopped midair, incinerated by the raw storm of energy radiating from Zethra's body.
"Impossible…" she whispered.
He advanced, each step cracking the ground, blood streaming from his wounds but fury keeping him upright.
"You—don't—touch—my—BROTHER!"
The last word exploded from his throat as he drove his fist into Serra's chest. Her body arced back, twisting unnaturally, before crashing lifeless into the dirt.
Veynar staggered up, chains flailing wildly. "You're—You're a monster—!"
"Yes," Zethra rasped, voice distorted, hollow with power. "And so are you."
He seized the chain, yanked Veynar forward, and snapped his neck with one hand.
The clearing went silent.
Kael, broken but still alive, tried to crawl away. Zethra staggered after him, wings leaving trails of crimson fire. The hunter rolled onto his back, eyes wide with terror, and whispered, "Mercy—"
But mercy was gone.
Zethra brought his heel down. The ground split. Kael's scream ended in a wet crunch.
And then—silence.
The storm of Aetherion guttered out. His wings flickered and folded back, smoke rising from torn feathers. His knees buckled. He fell.
Ezagone caught him, dragging his bloodied form against his chest.
"Don't you dare die on me, Zethra," Ezagone whispered, voice breaking. "You hear me? I'll kick your ass if you die."
Amethyst appeared then, just for Zethra's eyes. Crimson dress clinging to curves that defied the firelight, lips parted with something between hunger and awe.
"You surpassed your limits," she whispered, brushing phantom fingers against his cheek. "But at what cost?"
Zethra's eyes fluttered, the world dimming. He whispered one word, hoarse but unyielding.
"Ezagone."
And then the darkness claimed him.