Voices.
What truly are voices?
Are they merely tools of the living, natural forces that mortal societies use to communicate with one another?
To convey their emotions?
Feelings?
Thoughts?
Surely, mortals couldn't be the only ones blessed—or cursed—with the ability to speak… could they?
What of sacred creatures, mystical spirits, lost phantoms, or perhaps even the great Five Titans of Creation themselves?
Siren, the Mourning Seed of Everlasting Love.
Rickarf, the Reverend Emperor of the Cycle of Existence.
Nooni, the Crescent Spear of the Blackened Heavens.
Theordiex, the All-Knowing and All-Feeling.
Maller, the Pillar of Death.
Certainly, they possessed voices of their own.
How else would their worshippers understand them?
Perceive them?
Does a prayer hold any weight if the one who kneels cannot decipher the very heavenly voice they seek to hear?
Perhaps voices are far more than simple instruments of communication, bearing an expansive range of meanings that mortals have scarcely begun to comprehend.
To some, they might be divine, primeval gifts bestowed upon the fortunate; to others, cruel and unforgiving curses, etched into their very existence like accursed omens carved across soaking flesh.
Perhaps they become whatever the people who wield them decide they should be, their meaning shaped by the hearts that speak and the ears condemned to listen.
In the end, however, the most defining trait of these blessings in disguise—or these wretched portents of misfortune—might be something far more personal than their origins or their purpose.
Our complete, untouched remembrance of them.
August: "Tch! C-C'mon. Please…!"
August Morginstein sat along the Diex Peninsula's shoreline, her messy blonde curls snapping in the coastal wind while retaining their familiar resemblance to soft, fluffy clumps of sheep's wool.
She had settled just beyond the waterline, where the surrounding ocean sent small waves gliding across the sand before withdrawing into its freezing depths.
Whenever the tide crept toward her, August dipped her fingers into the frigid water and scrubbed away the dust and grime coating her hands, watching the tiny particles drift from her skin and disappear beneath the retreating waves.
Her murky-brown eyes narrowed as she lowered herself onto the sand, crossing her legs and resting her hands against its frail, shifting surface. For a little while, she remained there, allowing the ocean to wash over her fingers whenever it pleased.
She waited.
And waited.
And… waited.
There was more than enough time to contemplate her past, her present, and whatever future might await her.
To wonder what lay ahead in this twisted tale of fate was a privilege many born into this realm's ruthless, blood-soaked jaws would never live long enough to experience. A chance to pause, gather one's thoughts, and consider the shape of one's own existence should never be squandered.
…But no.
August couldn't bring herself to think.
Not now.
Perhaps not at all.
Every attempt to examine the tangled mess of her life threatened to leave her feeling even more wretched and exhausted than she already was, and she had scarcely enough strength left to endure the memories she carried, let alone invite them closer.
In only twelve days, she had experienced what true hell felt like: unstoppable devastation, the heartless destruction wrought by false faith, ravenous demons shedding their disgusting sheaths of human skin, and the inconceivable violence upon which this forsaken world thrived.
She had been gifted an entire orchestra of raw, unadulterated screams, a symphony of suffering that seemed to follow her even into the silence.
She remembered the cries of men and women alike as their fragile limbs bent into grotesque, unnatural angles, rotten flesh and blood spilling from torn skin in torrents, and bodies twisting inward like dry, crumpled sheets of paper.
Skulls rolled across the ravaged earth, while immense lakes of bubbling lava swallowed children whole, consuming their little bodies beneath a merciless tide of molten fire.
…
And then there were his eyes.
The wide, panicked eyes of her former lover—the same young man who had been prepared to sacrifice everything he stood for just for her sake—slowly shrinking with dread as she pleaded for her own safety at the expense of his life.
August: "N-No…!"
Her jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as she buried her face in her hands, desperate to shield herself from the prying, unrelenting gazes that seemed to follow her wherever she went. They were everywhere, lingering at the edges of her vision, haunting the quiet spaces between one breath and the next. And yet, no matter how frantically she searched the world around her, no one else seemed capable of seeing them.
Only August.
The way he spoke her name.
Johnathan: "A-August…?"
August: "NO!"
August's trembling fingers dug into the plush curls of her hair, winding themselves through the soft strands before violently wrenching them downward. Fresh tears gathered in her eyes as she began to hyperventilate, each breath escaping in a sickeningly rapid succession.
She could feel them coming.
The voices.
Every single one of them, intertwining in a foul, revolting cacophony as they spewed the truth—and nothing but the truth—into her ears without the slightest restraint.
???: "Unacceptable. Just unacceptable."
???: "She doesn't care! She doesn't care about any one of them!"
???: "She's a selfish fucking bitch. People like her should live out the rest of their days in hell, where they fucking belong."
???: "What kind of ANIMAL would commit such horrendous acts?!"
???: "I can't sleep thinking about what she did…"
???: "That poor child. He didn't deserve such an awful fate."
???: "Some people really are just sick in the head."
???: "She needs to fucking DIE! She needs to be killed, tortured—all of it! For everything she's done! This world would be better off without her!"
???: "SHE NEEDS TO SUFFER!"
…
Just…
Wash your hands clean.
Wash away the guilt.
Wash away your little tears.
Wash away the pain and grief coiling around you like living, carnivorous vines, tightening their grip until your lungs finally give out.
Wash away the haunting image of a wounded child, desperately hoping for rescue… only to be met with your unforgiving indifference.
If you just wash it all away, it'll be as though none of it ever existed.
The voices.
The memories.
The illusions.
The sadness.
The child.
The love.
The abhorrent stench of deep-vermilion blood spilling endlessly from your scarred fingertips each morning you awaken.
August: "J-Just… wash it c-clean and a-away… A-August."
The tide had finally returned, its cold waters lapping softly against August's bruised feet. Her shuddering brown eyes gradually steadied as she released a deep, weary exhale. Her fingers sank into the dunes of sand at her sides before she reached forward, extending both hands into the frigid waves of unspoiled seawater.
August flinched as the cold seeped into her skin, her shoulders tensing before gradually relaxing beneath the serene touch of the glimmering, iridescent aqua. For a fleeting moment, the icy depths swallowed her hands whole, offering a fragile semblance of peace amid the torment ravaging her mind.
August: "Why… why am I—"
BOOM!
???: "Forsaken across these accursed lands for our desires to be forever ageless.
United through this realm's bloodiest days and bloodiest nights.
Branded by the immortal blazes of Narginat, the Fanged Empress of Gluttony, we were granted the freedom to choose our own revered paths.
Gone be the shackles of unruly fate.
Gone be the spiteful, envious gaze of the proclaimed Balance.
And gone shall be the bitter, unjust laws of Love, Order, Sun, and Moon, forever dispelled by the almighty Herald of Banishment.
From this hellish creed, we shall rise from the blackest ashes, the roaring flames, the storming seas, and the celestial heavens above!"
August jerked her head upward, her skin paling to the color of a faceless wraith as two colossal bolts of ferocious lightning erupted from the open sky, spiraling around one another like twin meteors!
Their blinding radiance illuminated the heavens as they collided with devastating force, tearing through the air before plunging straight into the frigid sea below.
The resulting impact unleashed towering walls of water that surged toward the fractured firmament!
Glittering orange and yellow sparks danced through the wild breeze as August desperately tried to shield herself from the massive surge of debris. A savage shockwave struck her before she could brace herself, hurling her away from the shoreline with enough force to send her crashing into the ground.
She hit the earth with a sickening thud, releasing a helpless cry as her spine arched beneath the impact. Blood spilled from her lips while she struggled to draw breath, eventually rolling onto her stomach and barely managing to glance over her shoulder.
Brilliant flashes of lightning continued to crackle around the quaking shores, transforming the coastline into a foreboding yet breathtaking spectacle. Amid the thunderous upheaval, something began to manifest before the sea.
Living tendrils of mysterious, inky-black fluid erupted from the water, twisting around one another in unnatural motions reminiscent of flesh-eating flora.
They intertwined, converged, and molded themselves into an assortment of indescribable shapes, their grotesque movements defying every natural law August could comprehend. Slowly, the writhing mass took form, revealing—
August: "A ship…?"
A monstrous vessel loomed above the waves, its tattered black and dark-vermilion sails billowing in the bitter winds. Its bow resembled the skeletal ribs of a slaughtered beast, while its main hull was forged from charred, decaying oak planks whose timeworn construction had somehow endured for centuries.
The galleon's cadaverous architecture gave the already dreadful vessel an almost funerary majesty, as though an ancient nightmare had been dragged from its grave and forced back into the world of the living.
The feral bursts of lightning finally subsided, leaving the colossal ship looming over the coastline. Lanterns burning with cold-azure flames hung from its rigging and bow, their unnatural luster casting an eerie glow across the eroding wood and frayed sails.
August forced herself to stand, clutching her abdomen as she attempted to take a single step forward. Her legs nearly gave way beneath her, and she stumbled dangerously before catching herself. Thick beads of sweat trailed down her skin as ragged gasps escaped her lips, her gaze slowly climbing toward the gigantic vessel towering before her.
August: "Huh… ACK—!"
Her heart stopped.
She froze completely, her shuddering fingers locking in place as though an unseen force had seized every muscle in her body.
Absolute terror devoured her whole, paralyzing her beneath the crushing weight of a recognition she desperately wished she had never possessed.
One of the sails, billowing through the unstable winds, bore a striking insignia burned into its flowing fabric.
An insignia known across almost the entirety of the Realm of Rage.
A warning as unmistakable as it was dreadful, meant for those unprepared to confront forces that belonged in their most harrowing nightmares.
FLAMES.
HELL RAISERS.
???: "FINALLY! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
A giant, slender beast of a man suddenly exploded from the vessel's broad deck, spinning wildly through the air like a living cyclone.
His maniacal cackles thundered across the seaside as his ragged maroon surcoat, emblazoned with a large jet-black skull, thrashed against the howling gale. Bloodied fabric whipped through the freezing currents while obsidian necklaces dangled from his metallic gorget, their ruby gemstones gleaming with a scorching radiance!
August wasn't even afforded the chance to blink before the hell-born berserker slammed down directly in front of her, splitting vast crevices across the gritty earth.
Thick clouds of dust and smoke obscured his lower half as the heavy chainmail beneath his surcoat strained against his muscles. Tiny, snow-white fragments swirled around him while he stretched out his arms, his jagged spaulders glinting beneath the brilliant sunlight.
August erupted into a torrent of violent coughs, having already been knocked onto her backside by his brutal landing. She could only stare upward at the 6'5" mammoth towering over her, struggling to comprehend the sheer size of the man who had just descended upon the coast.
That stench… was beyond putrid.
So unthinkably rancid that it could linger in your nostrils for days.
???: "Ewghh! The air here tastes like pure garbage. It's even worse than the kingdom's goddamn stalls."
The Hell Raiser seized the scarred iron tower that served as his helmet and tore it away, revealing one of the most dangerous apex predators alive.
Titan Kalahan Jagersson.
The Perfected Marauder.
The Undying Pinnacle of Bloodlust.
Sixth of the Champions of Hellfire.
Bound to survive while the rest descend into the ruinous pits of purgatory during this world's final hour.
JACK MAVERICK.
Jack's messy blond hair, tied back from his face, swayed gently in the breeze as he adjusted the mud-stained black eyepatch over his left eye socket. His right iris shone a striking burnt umber as he took a casual step forward, a massive grin spreading across his lips to reveal rows of razor-sharp canines.
Thick cords of sturdy rope were wrapped firmly around his waist, securing his Blessed Tools—two katars with golden ornamental guards engraved with intricate patterns—to his side.
Jack bit his lower lip, his teeth sinking faintly into the soft flesh. He hadn't even noticed August quaking like an aspen leaf beneath him, too busy reveling in the flesh-drenched air surrounding them like a complete crackpot.
Jack: "Mmmm~! Yeah… that's the good stuff."
???: "Time and time again, you never fail to surpass yourself in offending my sensibilities with such groveling, vile conduct—a feat, I must confess, of no small distinction."
A black-gloved, burnished hand reached forward, seized Maverick's shoulder, and carefully drew him aside.
Stalker of the Moonlight Rift.
The Soaring Puppeteer.
One of the Eight Royal Dictators of the Hell Raiser Kingdom.
Don Joseph.
Don's long, velvety hair swept through the whispering breeze, its pearl-gray strands flowing smoothly as he adjusted the brim of his jet-black tricorn.
Standing at a staggering 6'8", his towering frame evoked a silent, hulking vulture, his gaze sharp enough to pierce straight through one's heart. A midnight-black leather jerkin rested over an aged white doublet, their contrasting colors lending him an air of peculiar elegance.
Sunlight danced across his deep-brown complexion as he calmly stroked his thick, furry mustache, crouching beside a bed of lovely roses.
His mesmerizing eyes gleamed like the finest iron in the realm, their color a mixture of dark silver and luminous platinum.
Yet the sight that truly held the attention of the utterly petrified August was Don's legs.
They were the impossibly long, slender legs of a wild yet elegant ostrich. Tufts of soft ivory plumage surrounded his ankles like natural boots, giving way to elongated, skeletal toes tipped with curved, dark talons.
They were a feast for the eyes—something so impeccably strange, yet magnificent in its uncanny structure and beauty.
August was beginning to wonder whether she was beyond terrified… or deeply intrigued by this mysterious man.
There was simply something… off-putting about him.
Something that refused to fit the mold she had constructed in her mind.
That wasn't how she had expected a Hell Raiser to appear at all. She had never personally encountered one in her entire life… until now.
Jack let out an exaggeratedly loud scoff as he watched Joseph retrieve a slim arrow forged from rusted aurum from his pocket. Don carefully used its narrow tip to cut through the flower stems halfway up, catching the blooms in his free hand as they swayed downward.
Jack: "Tch! Aye, ya dusty old weasel! When the hell are you gonna die already? Could've sworn you said it wouldn't be long before you hit the graveyard."
Don released a weary sigh and calmly rose to his feet, slipping the flowers into his left pocket before regarding Maverick with the flattest expression imaginable.
Don: "I find it quite troubling that you couldn't even decipher what I meant back then. I'm not at death's pillar just yet."
Jack: "Fucking liar."
…
Silence.
August groaned softly, rubbing beneath her dark, exhausted eyes before glancing around in profound confusion.
She couldn't hear anything.
Not even the faintest sound found its way into her ears, leaving her feeling hollow, deprived of the familiar sensation of noise.
It was just… silence.
Deafeningly so.
The churning seas gradually calming. Jack's dirtied buckle boots crunching through the stale grass and stretches of sand beneath him. The pristine feathers sprouting from Joseph's thighs fluttering in the breeze.
Even the voices that had once spiraled through her mind like a vicious, unforgiving typhoon had been completely silenced.
All of them.
Everything—
SNAP!
August's pupils rolled upward in a sudden, violent spasm, as though driven by a force she couldn't see. It was as if an unseen entity had possessed her, her eyes trembling beneath an invisible restraint.
Directly beneath the drifting clouds, a swarming legion of winged fiends streaked through the biting breeze.
Bats.
Dwellers of the night.
Hordes of them swallowed half the skyline, their spiny, pitch-black wings trailing a mist of ash behind them. They surrounded the Hell Raiser flagship like a ravenous swarm of insects, swirling around the foremast as they released mad shrieks.
SNAP!
The bats halted, their slick fangs falling into view as their void-like eyes widened. One of the night-stalkers tilted its head, yawned softly, and surged back into the heavens.
Its brothers and sisters soon followed, ascending like the rising sun banishing the shadows from the earth, revealing… a figure sitting cross-legged atop the mast.
A captain.
A commander.
A dictator.
A champion.
A Hell Raiser…
A lover…
A friend…
A man.
???: "Finished."
The Graveyard Captain snapped shut a hefty tome bound in dark yellowish-brown leather, its front cover ornately sculpted with a high-relief likeness of a stern, bearded king.
Perched atop his head was none other than Kash Shrusgar's infamous sleek fedora, its brim traced with silver dragon-scale inlays that glimmered beneath the morning star's radiance.
The Eighth Royal Dictator calmly stowed his tome beneath his cascading raven cloak, its large, plush collar catching the light with a subtle obsidian sheen.
Nestled deep within the coarse wolf fur above his right shoulder sat a massive, rotting bat skull, its bleached bones gleaming like the frozen Luna and its hollow sockets forming bottomless wells of absolute abyss.
Thick, rusted iron chains spilled from beneath his skull guard, descending toward his left arm before winding across his slender, well-built torso. Masterfully crafted plates of dark onyx armor guarded the Vengeful Widower's torso, ankles, spine, and wrists, while sturdy rondels protected his leather-gloved hands.
A scarlet rose scarf was wrapped firmly around his neck as he exhaled a small, cold breath and tilted his head, settling his gaze on the fragile girl caught between the endless bickering of his comrades.
August's breath hitched sharply.
A clean black eyepatch was fastened firmly over the man's right eye, leaving his left eye as the focal point for anyone who dared to gaze upon him.
That eye… couldn't possibly belong to this twisted world.
To this befouled plane of existence.
A supreme, dark viridian hue saturated the entire iris, pulsing with unmatched intensity. At its core, four vivid rings of neon-emerald fire orbited the abyssal pupil, twisting in a slow, enchanting dance capable of captivating even the damned.
Yet beyond the eye's marvelous spectacle, August beheld something utterly unfathomable to nearly every living mind.
A vision.
A Vision Above Us All.
The forgotten, no longer bound to their eternal fates of misery, breaking free of their chains and climbing out of their ravaged graves.
The sacred web of fate finally shattering beneath the pressure of the undead as they reclaimed their stolen lands and tortured hearts.
The loom of destiny being devoured by colossal, ageless beasts—the Defiled Ones—while the Herald of Banishment himself plunged his greatsword through this realm's crooked heart.
The desecrated corpses of the Five Titans of Creation floating lifelessly through the shattered firmament… and the man standing at the center of it all as another realm began to take shape.
The Realm of Peace and Prosperity.
BLINK.
Now she knew.
August knew exactly who this man was.
There was no mistaking him now.
This was the same man who had visited the graves of every Hell Raiser who suffered a gruesome end during the Ageless Wars, wishing them well on their journeys into the grand Pillar of Death.
The same man who had faced the famed Jerry Windfield in a terrifying battle alongside Dictator Kash, an encounter that culminated in the complete eradication of the Midir Continent.
The Lord of Vengeance.
The Inferno Architect.
Treasured Child of the Revenants.
Second of the Champions of Hellfire.
Nion Scarskian.
And there he was, having appeared directly before August like a mouthless specter, effortlessly dwarfing the poor girl in size. He stood bathed in the sun, his dark brown skin drinking in the light like polished amber.
She was at a loss for words.
At a loss for everything she might do in the presence of the immeasurably powerful Dictator. His boundless aura already made her feel as though she were mere seconds away from losing consciousness.
No… more than that.
Perhaps her life altogether.
Nion: "Child…"
August flinched instantly, avoiding his piercing gaze. His voice was softer than snow, disturbingly quiet yet as unyielding as hardened magma.
Nion: "You are burdened. Confront your plagues… or be forever stuck in a prison of isolation and fear."
August: "H-Huh?"
Nion didn't elaborate. Instead, he simply strolled past her, his cloak of unvarying darkness billowing smoothly behind him.
Jack: "Eh? Hey! Where the hell did the brat come from?"
Don: "Of course you failed to notice her. How painfully predictable of you."
Jack: "PISS OFF MY DICK ALREADY!"
Nion took one final step forward, stopping between Maverick and Joseph as he brushed off his breastplate and adjusted his fedora.
Nion: "Focus."
He ordered without the slightest raise in his voice, shifting toward Jack and giving him a subtle nod. Jack nearly rolled his eyes out of his head before digging through his surcoat and pulling out a pearly-gold coin.
He casually spun it on his finger before closing his fist around it and drawing his arm back, then launching the doubloon straight toward their galleon! The instant it struck the blackened lumber, the flagship vanished into thin air.
Nion glanced over his shoulder, catching August's stunned stare one last time before turning away from her completely.
He drew a long, deep breath, inhaling as much air as he could.
He waited patiently, closing his eye as his nostrils began to search.
THERE.
That oh-so-familiar scent.
Nion's expression sharpened, the otherworldly brilliance of his eye dimming as he narrowed it.
Nion: "He's here.
Spread out. If you encounter him, don't engage. Just keep watch. Then, when the time finally arrives… I'll lead the strike."
Don: "Understood."
Jack: "Yeah, yeah. Just don't get all angry if I get a little distracted."
…
And with that, the hunt… began.