Hellbowned

The morning sun was slow to rise, as if reluctant to touch the frozen wreckage left behind. The light bled through the thin veil of clouds in weak streaks, catching on the frost that clung stubbornly to every surface. The ice around the village still held the memory of battle, jagged edges glistening like broken glass under the first rays of light. Steam curled upward from cracks in the frost as it began to melt, hissing faintly in the bitter air.

The street smelled of scorched earth and damp stone, an acrid scent that stuck in the throat. Even the air seemed to avoid this place, shifting in uneasy currents, the silence almost too perfect — the kind that made you think the world was holding its breath.

Rhiane sat in the middle of the road, knees drawn up, arms limp in her lap. Her gaze was locked on those empty arms, as if the truth might change if she stared long enough. Shadows clung to the hollows of her eyes, and her breath fogged in short, shallow bursts.

She looked up suddenly, face twisting, and raised her arms to the sky.

The scream that tore from her throat didn’t sound human. It was raw, deep, and carried such pain that the birds in the treetops startled into the air, scattering into the pale morning. The sound seemed to rattle the frost itself, small shards of ice falling from the rooftops like glass shavings.

Bellona approached carefully, boots crunching on the melting ice. Her hand lifted halfway toward Rhiane, but before she could touch her, something unseen slammed into her chest. She was thrown backward, the impact with the side of a parked car ringing out like a bell, denting the door inward.

The ground beneath Rhiane cracked open in a sudden eruption of bright blue flames. They twisting upwards in columns, heat distorting the air, the light throwing long shadows down the ruined street. The flames didn’t just burn — they moved, curling toward her as though drawn by some invisible tether.

“Damn!” Nyx’s voice rose over the roar, his eyes narrowing against the heat shimmer. “Bellona, are you alright?!”

“Yeah!” she called back, pushing herself up from the dented car. “I’m fine!”

“That’s Hellfire, isn’t it?!” Nyx asked, shielding his face from the heat. His tone was half warning, half recognition — as if he’d seen it before.

“It sure as hell is!” she yelled back.

Nyx’s gaze lingered on the flames a fraction too long, the faintest flicker of something — not fear exactly, but memory — crossing his expression. If the others had noticed, they didn’t speak of it.

The flames began to subside, curling inward on themselves until nothing but scorched pavement remained. The heat left an aftertaste in the air, metallic and bitter. Rhiane turned to look over her shoulder. Bellona and Nyx stood at the edge of the blast zone, their expressions a mixture of shock and wariness.

Rhiane rose slowly, brushing soot from her hands. Her eyes locked on Bellona as she strode forward. “Bellona,” she said, voice low but steady, “tell me you know how to enter Atho’s realm.”

“I do,” Bellona answered cautiously. “Why?”

“Because,” Rhiane said, stepping close enough that the heat from her still lingered in the air, “we are going to get CJ back. And I don’t care who or what I have to kill to make that happen.”

Bellona swallowed hard, recognizing the deadly sincerity in her friend’s voice. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Nyx said nothing, but his eyes tracked them both. When Bellona’s back was turned, his gaze slid toward the scorched pavement again, and a corner of his mouth tightened — the way someone might when they recognized the first step toward something dangerous.

✽ ✽ ✽

The entrance was hidden beneath a crumbling chapel, behind a door warped with age. Inside, a spiral staircase of dark stone wound downward into a shaft that smelled of damp earth and old smoke. Their steps echoed in the silence, lit only by some small candles wedged into cracks along the wall. Wax dripped down like frozen tears.

Somewhere above, the wind shifted through the broken roof, carrying with it the faint moan of loosened timbers.

At the bottom, the stairs gave way to a narrow tunnel, the air colder here, beading moisture on the stone. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped in a slow, uneven rhythm. Rats skittered into the shadows ahead of them, the sound of their claws vanishing into the darkness.

Nyx’s voice was low, almost absentminded. “Shadow Casters used to guard passages like this. Kept them hidden from those who weren’t… ready to see what lay beyond.”

Bellona gave him a sidelong glance. “You sound like you miss it.”

“I don’t,” Nyx said flatly. “But some doors, once opened, don’t close again.”

They followed the flickering trail of candlelight through a maze of intersecting passages until they reached a set of massive stone doors. The carvings were worn with age, but still held shapes that seemed to shift when viewed too long — angular symbols that curled away from the eye if you tried to follow them.

Bellona pushed them open, and the deep, booming sound that greeted them wasn’t thunder — it was the slow heartbeat of the realm itself.

The room was vast, with shadows pooling in the corners like living things. Their footsteps echoed up into the vaulted ceiling as they crossed toward the figure at the far end.

“So,” a low, almost amused voice spoke, “where is he?”

Atho sat on a black stone throne, his form cloaked in shadow so dense it seemed to drink the candlelight. Rhiane had her bow drawn before he’d finished speaking, a flaming arrow already notched.

“Truthfully,” Atho said, tilting his head, “I wish I could tell you. But I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Bellona asked, her stance tightening.

“Pick one,” Atho replied, a cold smile tugging at his mouth.

“Wrong answer.” Rhiane let loose three arrows in quick succession, each trailing fire. They struck his chest and burned, smoke curling from the wounds.

Atho plucked one arrow out, glanced at the flame, and let it fall to the floor. “You have spirit,” he said. “I admire that.”

“That’s not all I have,” Rhiane growled, drawing her daggers and charging forward.

“Rhiane, don’t—” Bellona’s warning cut off as Rhiane vanished in a blur, reappearing above Atho with her daggers ablaze. She drove them down into his chest alongside the arrows, the flames flaring brighter as they bit deep.

The room filled with the sharp scent of burning stone and flesh. Atho’s form twisted, shifting through shapes — beast, man, shadow — his voice rising into an inhuman scream.

Rhiane flipped back, landing beside Bellona with a grim smile. “How’s that for spirit?”

Blue hellfire erupted from the wounds, engulfing Atho entirely. The heat was oppressive, the light searing. When it faded, nothing remained but the arrows and daggers clattering to the floor.

Before either woman could speak, an unseen force slammed into Rhiane, pinning her against the wall by the throat.

“How dare you,” Atho’s voice thundered, deeper now, vibrating in their bones. His new form was taller, sharper, every edge of him radiating malice. “You come into my realm and use such pathetic tricks against me?”

Rhiane clawed at his arm, but it was like trying to bend iron.

“My lord—” Bellona started, but Atho’s gaze cut to her like a blade.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he said, turning back to Rhiane. “You’re not even worth the effort.”

He flung her to the ground at Bellona’s feet and stepped forward, his shadow stretching out across the floor like it was alive.

Bellona’s voice was steady, but her knuckles were white on her kukri. “What wouldn’t you do for someone you love?”

Atho froze. Slowly, his form shifted back to the one they had first seen, and his expression lost its cruel edge. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do,” he said softly.

He glanced down at Rhiane. “Fine. You win. There is a way to bring him back — but it will require the Necronomicon, and a witch strong enough to wield the spell within.”

Rhiane’s breathing steadied as she rose. “Where do we find it?”

Atho smiled faintly. “Five copies remain. Choose carefully.”