Kain looked up from where he was. He moved left and right, violently and with immense force to obviously no avail. The semi-immortal man that will one day change his name to “Jeremiah Graves” was tied—bound by the hands wrist and torso by heavy dwarven-clad-iron chains. His captor was a dwarf, a legendary craftsman of the metals, by the name of Magnus Gunderbrow. But it would seem, as Kain looked from his limited view, that Magnus would not be the one pulling—dragging his body against the ground—which was, in all respects, ice cold.
His head had then reached an unexpected bump, and slammed violently against the solid ground because of it. Kain had now felt fluid coarse from the back of his head, and began to drag, as it poured along the ground as he continued to be dragged to his enviable doom.
“Hey!” Magnus called out. “You’d be careful with him!”
The dwarf then pointed a large, tubular instrument towards the creatures pulling Kain. Faustus Kain then saw the figures who had been dragging him by his feet this entire time—they were a pair of goblins; as ugly and disgustingly terrible as the bowels of hell they had likely been birthed from. The tubular instrument that Magnus held and pointed towards them resembled, what would be considered, an eighteenth-century blunderbuss. But within this century, and to the people and creatures that inhabited it, this instrument was likely called a “boomstick” or a “ black powder hand-cannon.” Likely as well, this would also be the only form of its kind, in the entire world at the moment.
“I’d cut your tongues clean out of your mouth, if I hadn’t done so already!” Magnus continued, waving the boomstick like an old man with a cane. “I have to do this job,” he then said out loud to himself. “This being my last of all the deeds for Old Roger. But it doesn’t mean that I have to like it, or even harm my fellow man to do so.” The dwarf then looked at the goblins with bulging blue eyes. “Trust me when I say: I will gladly hurt you two lots again, if need be—without hesitation.”
The goblins shuttered at the boomstick, until the dwarf finished what he was saying and placed the rifle back over his shoulder. The two creatures looked forward and continued what they were doing, but in-turn hissed at each other in a semi-cognitive language that only they would likely understand. That was when Kain noticed that the two creatures were in reality, really missing their tongues; the dwarf was not lying.
2.
Antarctica, 1301 - Continued.
Now being fully conscious, Kain looked back at the dwarven blacksmith, and hoped that maybe he could get some clarity from what was actually going on. The crusader spat out his gag, and spoke in a hoarse voice.
“Magnus?” Kain asked. “I do not understand, my friend. What is the meaning of all this? The last time we spoke, we were finding solitude from a storm and recanting long tales about time long past. There was drinking involved, I believe. But not in the sense that I’d ever blackout such as this.”
The face of the dwarf looked grave. He was saddened by the way his long-time companion spoke to him with such vigor and compassion. It broke his enlarged and stumpy heart. But a deal is a deal, especially with the devil. And he knew what needed to be done in-order to set him free, and likely as the devil, himself put it, set the natural order of things in this lost and brutal world.
“I’m so very sorry, my friend.” the dwarf replied.
“No friend of mine would do this to me.” Kain said. He then looked to move, to struggle, but there was no give within the tightness of the chains around his body.
“Don’t bother,” said Magnus. “I made those chains myself. They will give—but only with a time from which I will do them to do so.”
“That being?”
“Nearly three-hundred years.”
Kain looked shocked, and utterly confused.
“What has Lucifer done to you for you to treat me this way?”
“It’s not what I’ve done, friend,” the dwarf replied. “It’s what you’ve done.”
“I don’t understand.”
“These Holy Wars need to progress the way they're meant to do within history. You’ve overstepped your bounds, Kain, and forced the hand of the Devil to have you taken out of the picture entirely—until the time is right, or until the powers that be see fit the return to your semi-immortal state.”
Kain began to grow angry.
“You see,” Magnus continued. “a man, as it were, that will die but all in God’s own time, is a dangerous man. That sort of man is indeed a very dangerous warrior to the juxtaposition of history as a whole—to war as a whole. Having to add that this sort of man also happens to be the first wanderer of the earth—both scarred and cursed to show that no man can forever hurt or harm him. That, my friend, is something the world of the supernatural indeed fears amongst anything else at this moment. But, this kind is only semi-immortal, so he could be dealt with, if researched properly.”
“The angels will find me.” Kain then said.
“The angels are fine with this deal,” replied the dwarf. “They’ve shook hands with the demons, and have agreed to allow both sides to do what needs to be done with this earth. Let man and his offspring continue as such, I heard an angelic herald of God say.”
“So allow them to destroy it? To burn their resources until this planet becomes a wasteland of death and fear one day?”
“Why do you sound so high and mighty, my friend?” Magnus replied. “You’re the one that created man’s fear and invented its first unjustifiable death.”
“That man is no longer me.” Kain said.
“Either Way, what do you care? If that is the will of man,” Magnus continued. “Then so be it. It is not our concern; this is not really our world, so why do you even care what is done with it? You were brought to life again—awaken from a deathless slumber to once again to do the bidding of the Father. Now that this moment in time is complete for you, be happy that this doesn’t mean the clock has completely run out upon your life.”
“I would rather it be that way,” Kain replied, and momentarily stood silent. “I’ve lived too long in-order to see the truth. There is no redemption for me. I was work-for-hire upon signing my name with the angel Michael years ago. He claims that my years of servitude would help erase ten-thousand souls worth of my own sins. But since I’ve seen the world since 800 A.D., fought in battles and wars, seen the cruelty of man first-hand and how the Father allows Hell itself to run rampant in our modern world, I do not think the ten-thousand souls will ever be reclaimed. I think adding to them might have been an easier option in the long-run.”
Magnus sighed, shaking his head and continuing on his pace along the excess of snow and ice. There was sincerity in his friend’s words. He knew what he was speaking of was true, the devil told him, himself. Kain, first son of Adam and committer of the first murder upon his brother Abel, will not be done with, until the Father is ready to take him. He will live, and the ten-thousand souls to be reclaimed was only a ruse by the divine powers, and commanders of hell itself to have a soldier at their disposal. And still, he felt bad for him. So Magnus lied. Still, he figured that Kain knew the truth. No matter what he said, this was the reason why the crusader did not continue to struggle.
“You do not know that.” the dwarf replied. “ You’re a good man—misguided, but good. It is unfortunate that this needs to be done. If it was possible, I would do this some other way.”
“Is there another way?” Kain asked.
“No, there is not.” Magnus said, sighing again. “It won’t be long though. We approach the casket in a matter of hours.”
3.
Kain was a reluctant capture; he was not one to give up so easily. In this current reality, he would felt stupid for falling to drink at that moment, nonetheless, being poison and taken against his own will. Realizing this as well, made the crusader slightly chuckle. He had been in worse situations before, he’d thought, maybe he’ll get out of here alive. Kain then coughed to get the dwarf’s attention. Which was no small feat, considering the current state
of their extremely harsh climate.
“This almost reminds me of when we first met...” Kain said under breath.
Magnus smiled, but only briefly.
“Back in Romania?” the dwarf replied, cautiously. “tracking that damned troll that was hiding in the mountains?”
“That was the one.” Kain replied. “All before Merlyn left—”
“I heard the opposite,” interrupted the dwarf. “I heard you left your master’s lessons.”
“Nonetheless of who abandoned who, I was still in the habit of using his alchemy back then. Whom am I kidding; I’m still using it now. Well—not right now.”
Magnus stood silent, trying his best not to continue their talk.
“I wish I had one of his tricks now...” Kain said under his breath.
Chapter III
Troll Blood
The Romanian Mountains, 1252.
49 Years Earlier...
Kain had wandered for an hour or so; tracking meticulously the greenish, blood stained footprints in the dirt. He was certain that it was a troll—which kind? He wasn’t certain; all he knew was that the beast was no doubt hurt pretty badly—by what? Again, more questions than there were answers to find; on top of that, the sand from the broken sigil stone was soon to be upon its last helpful grain of sand. It was then that Kain saw the way the blood pooled into large chunks. The creature—troll, as it were—was undoubtedly picking its wounds.
Serves you right... Kain thought.
This thought came to him because, if the troll kept picking at its wounds, possibly there was a chance of the creature becoming sick from exposure; a rapid, open infection that would reek to high heaven, giving away the creature’s current location—possibly limbs would be lost as well. Considering all the chaos this troll had caused, losing a limb or getting an infection at any rate, would be the least of his worries; it would also be a less than justified sentence from all the heinous crimes he committed. (Though in reality, it only cheapens the hunt in Kain’s eyes.) But a job was a job, and from here, the crusader could move on to the next.
2.
The Romanian Mountains, 1252—Continued.
The troll in question had been terrorizing a village for the past month or so, mostly eating livestock, and stealing crops where he could find it. But that was until the beast grew bold and became desperate for blood. Farmers, their children and their wives—whole families—-taken and left to be only identified by the scraps of the troll that he couldn't digest. A day or more back, a housewife with a pitchfork became brave and stabbed the creature in the rib. But a simple stabbing did not cause the blood that was found by Kain.
The housewife had recounted to the likes of Kain (and unbeknownst to him, other monster hunters in the area willing to hunt the beast), that the creature then swore at her upon piercing the troll’s side, and then ran off into the woods.
“He was hurt good, sir,” the housewife said. “Blood was pouring—green blood, that is, all over the place. I destroyed my best fabrics to clean the mess and bent the fork that I’d stab him in the side with...”
She then handed the monster hunter a portion of the rag that was still stained with the creature’s blood. At the same time, Kain looked towards the corner of the room where he saw the bent spikes of the pitchfork laying against the wall nearest to the kitchen.
“Trolls are known to be heavy bleeders.” Kain had said, then surveying the bloodstained cloth. “But make no mistake about it, Madame, he may be hurt, but he won't be for much longer. When that happens and he’s properly licked his wounds from this encounter, he’ll return and he won't just be looking for revenge on only you. He’ll go on a rampage this time around, and take down a mile’s radius of all villages and people that surround you. Trolls are petty that way—as to say, he’ll probably save you for last.”
Kain currently stared at the last fading grains that stood within the palm of his cladded hand. The crushed sigil sand was nearly gone, and he’d mistakenly only taken one of the stones instead of the usual three. His miscalculating before he packed properly was surely going to cost him this time—more than he likely had thought. It would likely take him even more time, an overnight camp or two to find the beast—if he was lucky.
3.
The monster hunter’s dried palm seemed stale to him now, seeing, as there was now officially no more sand to be spread. Kain had unwillingly then got onto his hands and knees, to check the final contents from which the sigil’s magick was soon to disappear. What he got as he then stood and stepped forward was something he’d never forgotten. There was cluttering of leaves and moss ahead, and upon his only step from which he took, Kain found himself hurled into the air and hoisted ten-feet above ground. That is when the monster hunter heard a gruff and irritated voice. One that belongs to a man that was completely displeased to find something other than the beast he was searching for caught within his trap.
“You damned fool,” Magnus Gunderbrow said, “look what you did to me troll trap—worse of all, look what you did to my chances of finding him, now.”
4.
Kain hung there staring at the dwarf.
“Who the f**ck are you?”
The dwarf wriggled his nose in a swermy manner.
“Who am I?” Magnus replied. “I am the sort that’s meant to kill and capture that goddamn troll that is hurting the village up north. Troll’s blood is a commodity that I wish to collect—makes good grease for my welding tools. And no fancy-pants in cladded armor are going to stand in my way from collecting my share.”
Kain grew annoyed, and worse of all, the blood was starting to rush to his head. It was then that he noticed the blood upon the dwarf’s chainmail armor. There were also droplets of blood sprinkled around the contents of a long blade placed along the belt of this man. He would likely come in contact with the creature before this chance meeting, and was the reason why the beast bleed so heavily.
“Hmmm, well this is a nice predicament we have then.” Kain finally said. “You be the sort of hunting him for his blood, and be the sort of hunting him for his head. We can split the difference fifty-fifty—now can you do me a favor, Mr. Dwarf? And cut me down!”
“Sorry,” Magnus said. He began to walk away from the still hanging Kain. “But you actually seem like you’re the type to be stepping upon my plans. It would likely seem best to just leave you here for a spell—until that is, I catch the beast that is...”
The dwarf then pulled from his back a long, curved, and iron rod, from which was slung over his shoulder. He then seemed, at least from Kain’s point of view to twist the handle one way, then another. Ejected from each of the ends of the rod, sprung two whole sides of one double-sided-axe. Kain hung completely amused at seeing this. He was indeed a man of many weapons, and had never seen anything like this before; more so, Kain was interested in seeing what more something like this could do. That was when the crusader remembered his own sword, Charity.
“By the way,” the dwarf continued. “My name’s Magnus—Magnus Gunderbrow. It’s just to give you something to think about whilst you're hanging there. I will see you around, Templar. Enjoy your stay, if you can.”
The dwarf then began to walk away from Kain, going deeper and deeper into the woods. The infamous monster hunter had waited for him to leave, before cutting himself down. But as it were, Kain wouldn’t have a chance to do so. For as Magnus left, he then returned only a moment or two later.
5.
Kain began fooling with the buckle that held his sword in place, when he heard a loud and agonizing roar come from beyond the trees. The monster hunter looked up, and saw nothing at first, before watching the body of the dwarf being flung around like a ragdoll into the direction of the tree besides from where he currently hung. Magnus collided with full force, and fell face first before getting up. Kain himself continued to hear the creature roar from the distance once more.
“Tough little bugger, isn’t he.” Magnus said, as he stood and brushed himself off.
He looked around and noticed that his axe was nowhere in sight.
Thinking quickly on his feet, the dwarf pulled the medium size dagger that was strapped to the belt from out of his sheath.
“That little blade is going to defend yourself against a troll?” Kain said from up above.
“Possibly...”
That was when the two men saw the trees begin to shake, curl and buckle on to themselves. That was when they saw the troll approach from within the trees. The size of a half-fully-grown elm came into focus, as the creature itself was about the same height as the tall plant life. The troll was fat, ugly, and was pukish-green in color. He carried a club made from the trunk of a severed tree in one hand—the same hand from which the dwarf seemed to cause to bleed so heavily—whilst his teeth stood bright red, shining with the recent blood the creature had drank. Meat was seen partially hanging from his lips; Kain only suspected that he was in the middle of his current meal when Magnus Gunderbrow attacked him.
“You ruined my lunch, dwarf!” the troll roared. “You’re going to pay for that with your life! Then Imma eat you when I’m finished!”
Magnus looked up at Kain, as Kain looked back at Magnus.
“Well,” the dwarf said looking at the tiny dagger in his hand. “Possibly, not. Have any good ideas, Templar?”
6.
The troll began to charge at the dwarf, swinging his club over his head like an ancient helicopter. Magnus had known that the distance between them was short, but hoped for the best, as in reality he was expecting his death to come as painful as his own conception into this earth. He wasn’t nearly as wrong, but there was at least hope that it wouldn’t be as gruesome.
This Immortal Coil Page 2
