Herald of lust

On the crest of a mountain that pierced the clouds, sunlight kissed the melting snow, imbuing the landscape with an ethereal glow. Snowflakes, once sharp crystals, softened into gentle tears tracing paths down the mountainside. The rugged beauty of the peak, a frost-etched masterpiece of stone and sky, was marred by a scattering of desiccated trees. The world was eerily silent, save for the whisper of the breeze, a murmur of ancient secrets.

A bald eagle landed heavily on the snow, its talons sinking into the thawing surface. A figure rolled from its back onto the ground, emptying the contents of his stomach in a violent surge. It had been a truly brutal ride.

"I never said to let go," Hunter said, his form shifting back into a human shape.

Derek wanted to retort, but the lingering urge to vomit choked off his words.

Suddenly, the atmosphere seemed to stir. Hunter's brow furrowed. "They're here," he muttered, more to himself than to Derek.

Derek scrambled to his feet, his gaze darting around, searching for the source of the unseen threat. He realized his only defense was the gaunt old man standing a few feet away.

"Crap!" he cursed under his breath. Hunter was right. Derek could sense hundreds of eyes upon him, though nothing was visible. And, strangely enough, that wasn't the only thing he could feel.

Yeah, I've gone crazy. It's official now! Derek thought, shaking his head in confusion.

If he strained, he could almost hear the thoughts of whatever lurked on the mountainside. And so he did, listening to the whispers echoing in the hidden chambers of their hearts, distant and broken. They yearned for one thing.

Peace? Solace? Liberty?

They sought freedom from their tainted pain, their sorrowful grief, their stains, their iniquities, yet they received only judgement.

The concept resonated deep within him. It seemed their presence here wasn't a matter of choice, but compulsion.

"The souls of the damned. I know you can feel them," Hunter commented, his voice low. "They won't attack us... yet."

"Why? If they want me so badly, why don't they just come at me?" Derek questioned. "Not that I want them to, but it just doesn't make sense."

"Well, you might not know it, but they are wary of you."

"Why?"

"You ask too much. Go wash your face in that puddle over there," Hunter said, gesturing towards a pool of melted snow with his scabbard.

Derek wanted to argue, but the need to rid himself of the vomit stains won out. He walked to the puddle and knelt beside it, his reflection shimmering on the surface. His skin was pale, but his face was as he remembered, high cheekbones, a clean-cut jawline, and inky black eyes that mirrored his hair.

He had almost forgotten about the bandage. Carefully, he unwound it, bracing himself for the sight of the damage from his suicide attempt. But to his surprise, his head was completely healed. There wasn't even a scar. Derek couldn't fathom it, but he knew there were only two possibilities, either he had suddenly acquired supernatural healing abilities, or perhaps been healed by someone who had it, or he had spent even more time in the hospital than he thought. The former seemed more likely, despite how absurd it was, in that if it were the latter, he would still be sporting a scar or two.

Well, nothing about that day made sense anyway. Even the speed at which he was adapting to this strange reality stunned him. He was still panicky and confused deep down, but so much was happening.

He cupped his hands and scooped up water. The freezing cold shock of it washed away some of his lethargy.

A long sigh escaped his lips.

He could feel the water seeping into his skin. Everything felt real enough, but he still longed for this absurd reality to be nothing more than one of those bad dreams his younger brother used to wake him from.

Suddenly, Derek's eyes shone with a dark intensity!

I have a younger brother?

The realization struck him like a physical blow. A torrent of memories surged into his mind, each one a searing jolt of pain. He winced, clutching his head.

"Where's Chris?" Derek yelled, his voice echoing across the desolate peak. His entire world seemed to crumble at that moment.

A brief silence descended, heavy and suffocating. Then, his emotions withered, collapsing like a frost-bitten flower.

Chris had died in the accident, too.

"Everything okay?" Hunter asked, cautiously edging closer.

"Yeah," Derek mumbled.

"There's something I want to show you on the other side of this peak. But we'll have to cut through where those damned souls are cloaked. Get ready, and don't betray any fear."

Derek nodded, steeling himself.

The fabric of reality shimmered and tore, and an army of wraiths poured forth, their grotesque forms solidifying in the air. Some resembled twisted men, others monstrous beasts. Their very presence seemed to poison the world… but not for long.

A figure cloaked in black moved like an omen of death, decimating the wraiths in a whirlwind of flashing blades. Dozens fell before him, their ethereal forms dissolving into nothingness.

A teenager swaggered in his wake, looking bored.

"Is that the last of them?" Derek asked.

"For now," Hunter replied, his gaze unwavering.

And then, they both walked into a dark, gaping cave leading into the heart of the mountain.