Chapter 42: Harper Doesn't Like The Snow

Chapter 42: Harper Doesn't Like The Snow

"What?!" A young boy shouted as he looked around, he recognized his current location as his childhood home. There were two reasons for his shock. One, he distinctly remembered being 24 years old just a few moments prior. Two, his childhood home had been burned down. It wouldn't be difficult to understand why he was shocked when faced with those reasons.

"Are you scared, Kyle?" An older boy shoved him playfully.

"What?" The young boy, known as Kyle, responded. He quickly pinched himself, but it didn't seem to be a dream.

"Ay, you deaf too?" The older boy laughed.

"Brother?" Kyle furrowed his brows.

"And you've got memory loss on top of that. Good luck finding a wife." His brother shook his head, showing pity, before sitting at the dinner table.

"Wait, you're dea..."

"Ma! Where's the food?" His brother interrupted him. A middle aged woman entered the dining and began putting dishware on the table.

"You have to wait for your father. Also, stop talking like that, you remind me of those kids in the slums. If your Father catches you hanging out in the slums he's going to be very upset." The woman lightly scolded the older son who pouted in response. Kyle's family could be categorized as middle class, his Father was a man who was an ex-mercenary who created ties to merchants through his jobs. After he retired he used those contacts to establish a small merchant caravan in the North. The nearly year round cold weather made buisness difficult to be established, but profitable if they could be maintained. There was very little competition in the north, so if someone could gain footing they could easily earn large amounts of money.

"Ah, Something smells good." A large man came into the dining room and took his seat at the head of the table.

"Just in time." The woman smiled, she then brought out various foods, but the main dish was hidden under a platter.

The appetizers were eaten by everyone except Kyle, who still seemed to be dazed. He felt something was wrong, a few days ago he was in a group called the Emissaries of Death, he was an important figure. Mostly dealing with recruitment, so why was he in his childhood home? He couldn't help but wonder if it was all a dream?

"Kyle, you've barely touched your food. Are you feeling sick?" His Mother asked with a concerned look.

"No...It's just...I had this dream that all of you di-"

"I know what it is! The boy wants meat, why don't you serve up the main dish now?" His Father interrupted, clearly he was projecting his own needs onto Kyle. As a Mercenary he was used to a high protein diet, but his wife began to bother him about eating healthy. So dinner would always start with Vegetables first, much to his dismay.

"Fine." Kyle's mother opened the platter. Steam rose and a hunger inducing smell filled the room.

"Finally!" Kyle's brother visibly drooled at the sight.

"Eat up." Kyle's mother showed a satisfied look.

Everyone looked famished...Everyone except for Kyle. He nearly jumped out of his chair in fear.

"Wh-What the fuck!" He cursed as he began shaking. His family looked at him with confused expressions.

"Kyle?" His brother called his name.

"Get the fuck away from me!" He stood up and backed away. The source of his fear lied directly on the platter. The main dish was a human head, but what made it even scarier was the fact that it was his head. It looked exactly like his twenty-year-old self.

"Not feeling well, Kyle?" His brother asked mockingly.

"What the fuck is this!" Kyle cursed.

"More for us!" His Father shrugged and stabbed his fork into the human head, tearing off a piece of the cheek.

His brother and mother began doing the same, they ripped the head apart in front of him.

"Stop!" He cried out.

His family grew increasingly gluttonous and began using their hands to tear at the face, portions of the skull even became visible. They loudly smacked their lips as they savored every single bite.

"Stop it!" He shouted again, but they paid no head.

"STOP IT YOU MONSTERS!!!" He yelled with all his might.

His family paused with pieces of his flesh in hand and looked at him if he were mad.

The skull missing chunks of flesh moved slightly. The eyelids blinked as it turned toward him.

"But Kyle..." An eerie and high pitched voice, one that caused goosebumps just by hearing it, echoed throughout the room.

"...Aren't you the real monster?" The Skull asked.

"...What?" Kyle asked dumbfoundedly.

His mother picked up a silver plate and lifted it up, and through it, Kyle saw his reflection. His childish face looked strange, he never remembered looking like the reflection he saw. His skin almost seemed...Elastic.

"You're the monster here, Kyle." As soon the Skull finished speaking, Kyle's face began to melt like wax.

"Ah!" He tried to press his face back in desperation, but he couldn't stop his flesh from sinking.

"Aaaaaaaaaaagh!" Kyle screamed in terror as he watched his skin drip off like burning rubber. As his eyelids fell over his eyes everything faded to black.

.......................

"Aaaaaaaaaagh!" Kyle woke up screaming. He was covered in sweat with an expression of pure dread. He quickly realized he was tied to a chair, and the recent events began to pour back into his head. He breathed heavily as he tried to calm himself. He was in a dark shed, the cold wind from outside seemed to leak in from somewhere cooling his sweat soaked body. He began to think back to the moment it went wrong, and that moment was exactly three weeks ago when a

Bang!

Out of nowhere, A silhouette rushed out the shadows and kicked him in the chest. His body and the chair fell over, causing him to face the ceiling.

"Ugh..." He groaned.

"You're up!" The cheerful voice of a little girl resounded in his ears.

That's right, three weeks ago a little girl entered one the Northern towns asking about the Emissaries Of Death. Of course, The Emissaries had eyes and ears in the North, they were on the constant look out for the Paladins from the Temple of the Gods or a Mercenary Subjugation. They overlooked the little girl at first, but it didn't take more than a few days for her to disrupt their operations.

The Emissaries Of Death was a "religious" group that started small. It soon grew in number, and when the Red Moon and Golden Aurora appeared, they grew in strength. The North was a harsh place during winter, it wasn't strange to hear about an old person freezing to death in their sleep. It was a place ripe with death, the Emissaries conducted rituals that allowed them to utilize the force of death. Their numbers totaled close to 10,000 members, with 3,000 to 4,000 active members. Active in the sense that they helped recruit, kidnap, and attack whoever they deemed important. The appeal of joining came from the fear of death, if you showed people you had influence over it, they'd come running and that's what happened in the North.

"Did you enjoy your dream?" The girl asked. She wore a black colored, fur lined cloak, black pants, and black boots. As she had the hood down, her pale blue braid swung as she moved her head. Strangely enough, the roots of her hair were black. The only one that fit that description was-

"Harper," Kyle said with clenched teeth. Harper's name was quickly discovered by a Mercenary insider in the capital. To make things worse, she was on the top 100 list and was said to be related to the number one mercenary. Luckily, he didn't appear to be with her or else they might've had to flee. Unluckily, Harper was elusive and dangerous. She picked the Emissaries off one at a time. Kyle was obviously captured by her, this was his third day of being tortured by her. For the past three days, he had been forced to live in vivid nightmares. The pain and fear were far too real to be an illusion, they were mildly tame in the beginning, but as time went on they seemed to get stronger. Kyle tried to use his willpower to defend himself from illusions, but with the latest one, it was clear he was slowly failing.

Harper raised her foot a kicked Kyle's face. His lip was split open by her fierce kick, allowing blood to drip onto his chin.

"I'll have to send you back again unless you tell me what I want to hear." Harper shook her head.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait...I think I know." Kyle grew frightened, sometimes they found people who were captured by Harper alive, but at that time they were twitchy messes. Each survivor was fearful and twitchy, they couldn't even communicate properly, and they never slept. Kyle now had firsthand experience of what happened to them, so he wanted to get away as soon as possible.

"There is a boy, he can't be much older than you...I think the High Priest picked him up somewhere. They say he has a high affinity with death magic and necromancy. I've never seen him before..." Kyle spat out all he knew.

"I already heard that before." Harper frowned as she reached toward his head.

"Wait! Gods damn it! Just wait!" Kyle began pouring with sweat, he felt like the next time she put him in a nightmare it would be far worse than before.

Harper stopped her hand right in front of his face and looked at him with expectation.

"His name! They say his name is Mortem. There's a rumor...I think they're prepping him to step into the realm of death." Kyle nervously stuttered out the information. Harper retracted her hand and stood up, she then picked up the chair and sat Kyle upright.

"Hmm..." Harper clutched her chin as she contemplated, it could be considered an adorable action if the person doing it wasn't a nightmare inducing girl who showed no sense of sympathy. "What should I do now?" Harper asked rhetorically. Usually, Ira would tell her what to do next. Keep interrogating people or head further North?

"What?" Kyle asked.

"I wasn't talking to you," Harper said. The room was filled with an awkward silence that continued for a few minutes.

"Ah!" Harper hit her palm with her fist with a look of realization. "I'll ask the Will." She said to herself. She smiled triumphantly showing a clear sense of pride for some reason.

"So...Are you going to let me go?" Kyle asked hesitantly.

A second look at the denizens of slums and one could tell they didn't lack food. They all seemed to have a healthy weight, which made one suspect where they received food from.

Harper's pale blue hair and eyes drew the attention of some of the passer-bys, instantly eliminating any attempts at subterfuge. Luckily, Harper wasn't trying to be stealthy.

A few people whispered to each other and then ran off. Most Guards were familiar with what that behavior meant, usually, the first people to run off were look-outs. But how would Harper know? She followed the scent and it led her to a bar. A skull was sloppily carved above the entrance of the bar.

Harper wasted no time and entered. As she opened the door a loud creaking caused the bar patrons to all turn their heads in sync.

Pale blue hair and eyes, with three black dots in the middle of her forehead. Dressed in a fur-lined black cloak with black boots to match. Those who looked at her couldn't help but think she was an odd little girl.

Harper ignored the gazes as she walked up to the bar and climbed onto a stool, "Juice." she said as she placed 5 Gre on the counter.

Low chuckles filled the bar, and even the bartender showed an amused expression as he took the Gre. He then grabbed a bottle and poured juice into a glass before sliding it down the counter. Harper caught the glass and chugged all the juice down.

"Aaaah!" She exhaled and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

Everyone chuckled at the little girl, except one person. The hooded man who threatened Mayor Gillian. From underneath his hood, he narrowed his eyes. There was no way he wouldn't recognize Harper.

He sat in a dark corner sending a scrupulous gaze toward Harper. Suddenly, a man in a tattered jacket slipped through the shadows from a back entrance and whispered to the hooded man.

"I see." His eyes flashed with a violent light as he continued looking at Harper. "Hey, brat!" He called out.

Harper spun around on the barstool and looked directly at the hooded man, "What?"

"What are you doing here?" The hooded man asked. A few people smiled in expectation of a childish answer.

Harper opened her waist pouch and pulled out a notepad before reading it aloud, "I'm looking for the Emissaries Of Death." Harper nodded proudly before placing the notepad back into her waist pouch.

The atmosphere instantly grew strange. Those who were smiling and laughing before all wiped the smiles from their face.

"For what purpose?" The hooded man asked.

"To capture or kill them," Harper said with a tone indicating it was the obvious response. In a different situation, perhaps those in the bar would be laughing, but they all showed grim expressions instead.

"Well, you don't have to look any further, Mercenary." The hooded man emphasized that Harper was a mercenary before he stood up. Harper finally noticed that everyone in the bar was wearing black, even the bartender. It looked as if they had plans to attend a funeral. One by one they all began to stand up. Even the bartender was reaching for a crossbow he kept under the counter.

"To think you were dumb enough to try and handle us alone?"Someone jeered.

"Alone?" Harper furrowed her brows showing her confusion, "I'm not alone though." Harper said as she clapped her hands.

A translucent blue blob appeared on the ground. Before anyone could speak words of mockery, it instantly grew bigger. By the end of its growth spurt, it was a 7-foot tall blue phantom with six arms, each holding a weapon. Two kukris, A halberd, a greatsword, and a great axe.

Intimidated? Most of the occupants in the bar were just tough looking, other than street fights and hunting there was no formal training to speak of. So the answer was yes. Was it surprising for someone to be intimidated by a 7-foot tall phantom with six arms?

Harper reached under her cloak and retrieved a steel baton. A blue chain soundlessly appeared on the end of the baton and at the chain was a blue hook-like dagger. Harper looked around at everyone before asking with a noticeable eagerness, "Capture or kill?"

The bartender carefully raised the crossbow and prepared to take aim.

Whoosh!

Harper spun around, swinging the chain around his neck. She then pulled him forward.

"Huk!" The Bartender's head slammed onto the counter from the force Harper exerted.

She then continued wrapping the chain around her arm before pulling again. Veins appeared on the bartender's neck and head as his eyes bulged. He tried to use the counter as leverage and push himself back up, but Harper didn't budge.

Those who were more prone to fear felt just that. As they watched Harper choke the bartender with a calm face, they couldn't help but feel fear towards her.

"Let him go!"

"You fucking brat!"

A few people cursed at her, but the 7-foot tall phantom prevented them from rushing out.

"Ek...Ek..." The bartender made a few more noises before his body went limp. Harper loosened the chain and pulled it back towards her as his body fell.

Thump!

She looked at the person closest to her and spoke, "Capture or kill?"

A thin man who looked like he would do very poorly in battle was the unfortunate one to be called on.

"I-I-I..." The man stuttered. Harper swung her conjured chain around his neck and pulled before anyone could react. The hook-like dagger ripped open his throat. Blood gushed out like a fountain as he fell to the ground weakly.

The hooded man knew that if they continued to wait for Harper would attack them one at a time seizing the advantage,

"Don't just stand there. If any of you kill her you'll get a recommendation to receive the High Priest's blessing." The hooded man took off his black cloak. Jewelry made from human bones decorated his body, but the most off putting feature were the warped faces that protruded from his abdomen. "There is no need to be afraid of death." The man said with a crazed look in his eyes.

Those who were fanatics rushed out immediately, while those who were concerned with benefits came next. Either way, 20-30 odd people filled the bar and were coming to attack Harper.

At that moment Harper did not stay still either. She swung the chain and killed a three more people in less than a few seconds. The nearest person had arrived and swung two small hatchets toward Harper, while someone else prepared to thrust a dagger toward her.

Click.

Harper twisted the baton causing it to extend into a staff and twirled it, blocking the incoming attacks. Meanwhile, Harper's Phantom had already rushed out to engage the majority of the group.

The formerly hooded man who had faces protruding from his body didn't move at all. He whispered under his breath with his eyes closed. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and waved his hand. Several of the faces on his abdomen opened up and expelled a white fog.

Harper who was busy fighting instantly recognized it as the ever-present fog that was a key feature of Purgatory. The white fog seemed to move with intelligence and went into the bodies of those killed by Harper.

The formerly motionless and warm corpses all spasmed wildly. Those who were formerly dead all stood up slowly.

Harper spun her staff and bashed the hatchet wielding cultist in the head, causing a dent to appear in his skull.

Without missing a step, she twirled the staff and thrust it into the pit of the dagger wielding cultist's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He fell to his knees and didn't have time to react as Harper jabbed the staff into his windpipe.

The man fell onto his back and clutched his throat. He moved like a dying fish as he desperately tried to breathe, with another swing of her staff, Harper ended his suffering.

She ran forward and used the staff to vault forward, sending a kick into someone's chest and sending them tumbling back.

Harper landed on her feet and rotated the staff. She then noticed the recently dead were quickly coming back to life. They moved stiffly over to the man who had faces protruding from his body.

Harper's Phantom was unbothered as it cleaved and decapitated eight different people. Those attacking the Phantom retreated to the side of the man who could control the dead.

The corpse of the bartender attempted to get past Harper, but she swept the staff low and knocked onto the ground before raising her foot and stomping its head in.

The man with faces protruding from his body looked at Harper with scrutiny. For some reason, she gave off a feeling reminiscent of an undead. In his current state, he could feel the force of death and purgatory emanating from her.

"We need to capture her!" The man said with an admiring glint in his eyes. He tore off one of the finger bones and held it in his hand. It moved like clay as it formed itself into a small bird. Amazingly, the bird made out of bone flapped its wings and flew out of a nearby window.

Harper paid it no mind and tightly held her staff. Her phantom slowly moved towards her. As they resumed their stalemate.

"Will you come with me quietly, little girl?" The man tauntingly said as he pulled off a few more pieces of his skeletal jewelry. The undead he raised came closer to him, he raised his hand up and began to stab pieces of jewelry into their bodies.

"Shut up," Harper responded.

Harper didn't attack because her Phantom had sustained some injuries and she was still outnumbered. She could attempt to cast an illusion, but she had a feeling it wouldn't work on the man with faces on his body or the undead. Then there was the fact that there were still a lot of people alive; She would have to expend energy she couldn't afford to lose in order to use illusions on them.

The man finished planting the bone jewelry on the undead and sent them toward the front.

Their skin began to bubble into a foul smelling black liquid and drip to the ground as their skeletal structures increased in size. Parts of the skeleton began to fuse together unnaturally, causing the undead-turned-skeletons to look far more threatening.

"So, I'll ask you this time. Capture or kill?" The man sneered.