Ashes of Eden

It started out as a mild annoyance. It often did, if he was being honest, but most times it didn't bother him. Young as he was, there was little his growing body couldn't handle. Eric only noticed the repeated stinging once he chopped off the last lymene's head. The head rolled on the ground, teeth bared in a sneer. He had been told to take the southern route instead of plowing through Ebbe forest, he seldom listened to anyone but himself. Since touring Ebbe's wilderness, Eric had slayed four beasts. Three lymenes and a stymphalian. Lymenes were ravenous around these parts. Here, in Ebbe, they were hunted instead of hunting and whenever wanderers came through they tried their luck, or so he'd been told. The stymphalians were the opposite. They killed for sport, swooping from high tree branches to nick with their hard steel beaks, hoping to tear an eye or both, to pillage their prey's corpse and to devour, stock and offer flesh and whatever other appendages as boons in mating rituals.

Eric kicked the mutt's head, making way for its large body. Eden's nights were growing colder and all he had to keep from freezing was the now small cloak, hanging off his broadening shoulders. It wasn't just small, but tattered and bloodied. Some blood was fresh, from this brawl. Grabbing the knife strapped to his hip, Eric crouched beside the decapitated body. First, he stretched and cut the four fury cords sprouting from the animal's back—the things housing the beast's eyes at their ends. Then, he started the long, arduous task of collecting the animal's pelt. He wouldn't be able to use this piece soon. Eric knew the process well. He had seen it done before. Once the skin was peeled from muscle, one needed to scrape the fat away or else the cloak would smell awful and rot. With begrudging patience, Eric kicked the bloody lymene carcass, ripping off the last piece of skin from the animal's body. He laid out the greyish fur on the grass, using four throwing knives to stretch it flat on the ground. He scraped fat with his knife, dragging it along grass to cleanse it every now and again. It was a foul-smelling task, but he would be better off after he completed it.

Eric's shoulder blades tensed in a way that alerted him to trouble. Hunting knife halting on yet another piece of fat, his head tilted, and his eyes sought for shaking foliage. Perhaps he should have carried the body somewhere safer. He made no move for the sword on his back. That would give whoever was hidden reason to suspect he'd heard them and was ready to defend against attack. No, Eric would play this by ear. He resumed working on the pelt, ears keen. For a long moment, nothing happened. He even got to wipe his knife clean once more. Just as he prepared to scrape another patch, something moved forward, from the shadows and into the soft afternoon light. Eric's left hand lurched for one of the throwing knifes stretching the pelt. He whirled it behind him. A heart beat later, Eric was on his feet, prepared to rush the intruder, sword held in both hands. His throwing knife missed, he noted. Not completely, but all it had managed to do was scrape the boy's chin. He must have darted, Eric reasoned yielding some respect for the red-haired boy.

"Heh," the boy mumbled, making no move except to rub the superficial cut on his chin. "That was a close one. Almost got my neck, friend." Eric kept from frowning at the thick sound of the boy's speech.

"If you don't leave, I still might make a nice slash across it." Eric shot, legs parting in a defensive pose.

The boy, who couldn't be much older than Eric, fourteen or fifteen, scratched the back of his head in laziness. As if a sword wasn't threateningly pointed his way.

"Peach, you didn't say he was this rude."

Who was this person talking to? Eric regarded him as insane. "What are you…" He trailed off. For a mere moment, he thought he saw a flying a doll. Wings like a wasp, the little human-shaped being came from a nearby tree, settling on the boy's shoulder. It looked… like a male. Small angular face, with hair a molten lava and pale skin. "What… A Fairy?"

Its eyes widened, then it nodded with appreciation, "He knows of Fairies. He isn't as ignorant as most humans from the big cities."

"Maybe he doesn't hail from those, Peach. He seems to know his way around hunting."

Eric grew more and more annoyed at having people talk about him as if he weren't present. With a twirl of his long sword, Eric launched forth. The red-haired boy stopped ignoring him and lifted his hands in a peace gesture, but it was too late. The boy seemed to understand—he threw himself across the ground, landing face to face with the lymene's head. Instead of scrambling from fear or disgust, the red hair twisted around in a graceful move, withdrawing a thin dagger. Eric laughed, albeit darkly, once the boy threw the dagger at him. He knocked it away with his sword…

Eric held a breath. The boy was suddenly before him, pressing a hunting knife to his throat. He hadn't seen him move. Dark blue eyes bored into his icy ones in a taunt.

"Keep your eyes on the enemy. Not on the decoy." Eric's daze lifted somewhat. He smirked coldly, pushing his throat closer to the knife's steel. He watched the boy's eyes grow. "Are you suicidal?" the boy stammered, pulling back some.

"No. I just have really, really…" Eric grabbed the knife with his right hand. He gripped it hard. "Thick skin." In sheer silence, the boy glared at Eric's palm. It didn't bleed. Eric brought up a leg, kicking the young man in the chest. The boy fell back and Eric relinquished his hold on the dagger. His palm bared a shallow mark that quickly faded.

Eric gave the boy a moment to get up and flee. Learning of his skin's resilience always did the trick to scare idiots. The red hair didn't move, though, staring up at him with a strange expression.

"That's incredible." He mumbled, sitting up, still eyeing Eric. Eric was taken aback by his reaction. "Peach said you were strong, he didn't tell me your skin was basically armor!"

Eric glared at the boy with mute confusion. Peach was the Fairy, his boggled mind supplied. A Fairy that, apparently, had been watching him. Said Fairy blinked into existence startling Eric. He tried shoving the little person away from his face, but he easily avoided Eric's hand.

"You're a strange one, huh?" the Fairy asked with awe.

Eric really hated being the center of attention. He was becoming more flustered with each word coming from their mouths and he didn't appreciate being called strange. Although, that was a kind way to put it.

The boy jumped to his feet in an amazing show of movement. He was tall, lean and nimble.

"It's not nice to call that to people, Peach. We've talked about that." The Fairy flew to the boy's shoulder, getting comfortable. "Apologies. Fairies are very spontaneous in everything they do or say."

Peach snorted, "Says the Elf…"

Eric glared at the boy with renewed attention. He looked like Eric, except for the ears. They were long and pointy, like an arrowhead, their tips sticking out from underneath the hair. And the young man's face was sharper, his chin more triangular and the hair… Well, it was bright red. Eric had never met an Elf before, but he'd heard of their existence and some whispered tales of children being taken, crops being stolen or spoiled.

"Why was that little pest following me?"

The Elf gave a short laugh.

"You're not spooked?" Eric kept staring at the boy. The young Elf whistled. "People are usually afraid of Fae—Elves in particular."

"You don't look very intimidating and at our current distance I could cut you in half."

If the boy was afraid, he didn't show it. He grinned.

"Elves can lie and manipulate well. Unlike other Fae who can't lie and rely only on wordplay." Eric wasn't sure what sounded worst. "Peach and I ran away from Idril—well, ran away from Fauna's current mood."

"Pythias set fire to kiro flowers." Peach laughed. Eric gripped his sword tighter, wondering why the Gods had sent these two his way.

"It was on accident…" The boy stammered with a hint of embarrassment. "I hadn't been outside Idril in a while, so I decided to… have some fun."

"By stalking me?"

"No. By stealing things." He said with a carefree smile. This boy couldn't possibly be right in the head… "But Peach got lost last night and he ended up finding you instead of me. He saw what you did to those thieves. He found me early in the day and I didn't believe his story, so I needed to see for myself if you were strong enough to uproot a tree." Eric had been ambushed by four thieves late last night. He'd startled awake and slammed the first man into a tree. He'd bashed the man's body many times into the trunk, with enough force that eventually the tree bent and broke, falling.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would you want to meet a beast?" Eric asked nonchalant. "I could've killed you for sneaking up on me." He still might.

The red hair stared at Eric for the longest time, as if puzzled by the words. The Elf crossed his arms, cocking his head at Eric, his lips parted in evaluation.

"Do you know what beasts look like? I'm sure girls wouldn't call you one…" Eric growled at the comment, cutting the boy off. The boy blinked and gave a tilt of his head. "But you are… temperamental."

"I am," Eric agreed promptly. "So how about you leave me be?"

The boy smiled at him. It was tentative at first, then the smile melted with warmth and some sort of emotion Eric didn't recognize. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"I think we're going to be good friends." Eric seriously doubted it. He didn't have those and wasn't interested in making any. He sighed in frustration, turning away and walking back to his pelt. He heard slow footsteps following. "My name is Pythias. What's yours?"

Eric knelt, doing his best to ignore the Elf. A long moment stretched between them. He could hear the Fairy's wings buzz. Pythias sat on the other side of the lymene skin, eyeing it.

"I can help you."

"No." Eric retorted dryly.

"Alright. How come you're so strong and your skin is unbreakable? I've never heard of someone like that before. Not even any Ancient Bloods."

Eric remained quiet. Even if he wanted to answer, he had no idea. Eric had never known his parents or where they'd come from, he had no idea why he the way he was. And it wasn't just his abnormal strength and his thicker skin that was different, it was how quickly he healed, how his bones never broke and how agile he was.

"Where are you from?" this boy was persistent, and Eric didn't enjoy it.

"Nowhere."

A snort.

"You can't be from nowhere. Everyone comes from somewhere…"

His head snapped, dark hair falling across his blazing eyes, "Will you stop talking?"

Pythias' eyes blinked. Peach was visibly shaken by the outburst, pushing against his friend's neck. Pythias stared at him and Eric stared just as long.

"Humans—even other races—don't take kindly to Fae. Because of that, I've lived most of my life inside of Idril, where it's safe. I don't like it—feeling like I have to live confined because whenever people see what I am they look afraid, or they run or try to kill me." Pythias drew a leg up, resting his curled arm on his knee. "Living that way is lonely, even when you're surrounded by others such as yourself. You weren't afraid when you saw I was a Fae." Pythias cocked his head, face calm. "Do you know how rarely that happens?"

Eric remained silent, unsure of what to say. This was the longest conversation he'd ever held. One that didn't involve verbal argument about getting paid, about getting a mercenary job. He felt a pang of sadness for himself and clenched his teeth at it.

"I can see it in your eyes. You feel alone, too."

Eric wanted to yell at the boy again. Wish him away—but he didn't. Because on one hand, wishes weren't real and on the other… He could understand what Pythias said about not being welcomed. The only place Eric felt he fit into was Hiken. But even there, people feared him. Some still remembered him from years back, when he'd killed the slaver Malvato and run off with his freedom.

"You're very annoying." Eric breathed, resuming his task.

Pythias seemed to take that as a sign to stay.

***

Eric squeezed his eyes as a giant yawn tore through him. Hearing loud voices outside the stable, he shook off vestiges of sleep. Wait. Shit, he'd gone under? To his left, Nadia was sound asleep, curled into the newly acquired cloak. A cloak, Eric thought hazily, he'd been making one out of animal skin and there was this other boy… He'd seen that boy in his dreams before, right about when they arrived at Eden. But he'd looked older in the first one.

Eric was so confused. Nothing he had been dreaming about made sense to him. It felt so vivid. Yet, so distant. Eric massaged his face before shaking Nadia awake. Fortunately, he hadn't overslept. Nadia made a soft sound first, then, she peeked one eye open. She saw it was him and licked her lips, before asking, "When did I fall asleep?"

"I'm not sure." But you needed it. Apparently, so had he. "It's pretty loud outside, I think it's time to go."

He grabbed the cloak off her and swung it around, draping it across his wide shoulders, throwing the left side over his right shoulder so that it would hold. He wished he had a way of keeping it laced or pinned. Nadia was walking for the barn door, he followed quickly. His large strides put him ahead of her and Eric managed to wrench the door open. He watched the outside with steely attention. Little people swarmed north of Hiken, and the ones who did, were either heading toward the brothels and taverns or having too much fun to care about them. Eric saw two men fumble against a wall before… He averted his eyes, not wanting to catch glimpses of any type of oral sex.

"How's the world?"

"Great. There's a guy on his knees giving another dude a blowjob. So far, Eden seems way more tolerant on sexuality than Earth."

"It's sad when you think about it." It was. "Or maybe they're too drunk to remember that they can be executed if they're caught." That could also be true.

Eric wedged outside, Nadia did the same and she started following him into the town. It was poorly lit, relaying on natural light from the concealed moon, the fires at the distant camps and whatever light that peeked out through a couple of windows. Next to him, Nadia shuddered, falling closer to his side. He looked down at her.

"There's more than one." Eric took a looksie of their surroundings, coming up empty. It was safe to say he didn't share Nadia's Sight. "But they're just tagging along. Fi must be right, they only go for certain people."

"Do they all look the same?"

"No," she breathed saddling him with a feverish glance. "No, they don't." Her eyes stayed on his for a split second longer, before summoning a hidden strength. Nadia's eyes locked on the distance. "Do you have a plan?"

Eric was surprised she didn't ask if he knew where they were going. Nadia was trusting him, a little voice whispered, leaving an unexpected warm spot on his chest.

"We'll watch Amilcar's camp. There will be someone keeping the slaves in line, watching them. But a lot less than during the day."

"Your plan is to knock out the guards, isn't it?" he looked at her sheepishly. "I don't have any brilliant ideas... So, I guess we're doing that. We should have a diversion—for our getaway."

Eric thought about it.

"Care to piss off a Dybbuk?" She looked at him as if he'd just pulled out his penis and taken a piss. That was a no, then. "We can free other people?" Nadia didn't outright say no.

They walked in silence. Eric was mulling over the strange dream—dreams—he kept having. Not just dreams, the sudden flashes and gut-feelings… They were disconcerting. Eric took them through two mercenary camps, using his stellar orientation to maneuver them to Amilcar's slaver operation. The entire path, since leaving the barn, took them maybe half an hour. Maybe a little less. The mercenary camps they had walked past hadn't been empty. Men had sat around fires playing games or shouting lyrics to songs neither of them recognize, while nursing bottles and cups of alcohol. From inside one tent or another, Eric caught sounds he was familiar with through porn. Or from when Dinah slept over. The walls at Carter's apartment were too thin.

Their strides slowed once the slaver camp came into view. The cage wagons were parked on the same spot. Eric's eyes accessed the danger quickly: a big guy, sitting on a large log, with a hand on the hilt of his sword. There was another making a small perimeter check, biting into some sort of fruit. They stood there for another minute, until the man sitting on the log cocked his head toward them. His face was horribly scarred, and his right eye was sewn shut.

He dismissed them with a brash hand gesture.

"If yer' here to buy come later. Amilcar's the one sellin' this lot."

Eric ignored the rugged sound, ignored the disinterested tone and marched on. The scarred man, probably a mercenary hired by Amilcar to keep watch, gave him another one-eye glare.

"We want him." Eric pointed at the ginger boy. The guy had been dosing but shook his head and pressed his back against the thick, sturdy wooden bars. His eyes were wide with horror staring between Eric and the merc. Eric noticed how the other people inside the wagon were either passed out or clinging to the bars with sudden interest and fear. And hope?

The merc was unimpressed by Eric's crude claim, "That's dandy, boy, but Amilcar's the boss and he's not here. Come back tomorrow and he'll make business with ya'…"

Eric pulled off his cloak and shrugged off his bag, handing those thing to Nadia.

"I'm not here to do business."

"What are you—"

Eric stepped up to the mercenary, a big breath caged in his lungs. Nadia's protest died away when he unsheathed his longsword. The man looked like he was in his late twenties, his face was bearded, and scars of all shapes ran along his forehead, down his nose and across his lips. He didn't have a shield, just leather armor. It covered his chest, padded his shoulders and knees.

"Just walk away, boy." The man got up despite the warning.

"I don't think so," Eric whispered feeling the blood heating in his veins. "That kid's coming with us."

"Heh," the man snorted. His hand was tightening on the sword at his hip. "There're easier ways to save the boy. Just buy him off the slaver."

"He's a person, not an object!" Nadia's yell carried over Eric's head.

What she said, Eric thought finally letting out the breath and charging, his eyes were locked on an unarmored zone. Between the man's neck and shoulder. The mercenary parried Eric's assault, sparks flew between metal. Eric's muscles bulged with the force behind his opponent's swing. He'd never felt this rush before with any sparring partner. Yeah, he could feel it, burying deep in his bones. Something so raw and powerful… Goddammit. Was this what being high felt like?

Eric smirked when the man drew back strength and kicked out at Eric's left knee. He evaded—narrowly—jumping back from range. Eric met the mercenary's sword in another attack, and another that made him hang back a little. On the third swing, Eric quickly batted the mercenary's sword with force, yelling. The scarred man didn't lose his balance for long, shoving his sword straight forward, aiming for Eric's liver. Eyes widening, Eric brought his longsword down. Metal clanked furiously. Eric drove the guy's sword into the ground, then on reflex, he used his sword as a shovel to throw dirt onto the enemy's face. Eric slashed across the thin screen of dirt and through a coughing fit broke a scream. Pretty enraged, but Eric knew he hadn't hit anything fatal. Not yet.

"Nosey littl' git."

Eric stalked around the man, trying to land a hit from behind, but the merc was quick. He whirled, a cut running down the unprotected arm, and smashed his sword towards Eric's shoulder. How do I block? He thought, seeing the blade glinting, sharp and used, coming right at him. Eric's only option was to throw himself on the ground and roll away—a foot away from the crackling fire. He heard a sword bury itself right behind him—right where he'd been before rolling. He couldn't get on his back fast enough. As soon as Eric did, the man's broadsword came down. This time Eric used his longsword to block. Their joined swords formed a cross inches above Eric's chest. The man above him gritted his teeth. Blood dripped to the soil, some fell on Eric, too.

"Not too bad," Eric heard the man mutter just before Eric managed to kick his right shin. Adrenaline must really be pumping his blood, because the man let out a loud cry, stumbling.

Eric's movement was fluent, like a bird knew how to fly, he knew exactly the right time to lift himself off the ground and plunge his sword—using both hands—to pierce the man's unprotected thigh. Eric's adversary fell, blood jutting from the deep, severe cut between his crown jewels and inner thigh. Eric was smacked in the face by the sudden red spray. He got onto his feet, spitting and wiping his eyes.

"Thieves!"

Eric whirled, catching the perimeter guy closing in on Nadia. She was trying to break the lock on the wagons with a rock. His spine coiled. With clenched teeth, Eric ran without breathing. He lifted his longsword, stopping a sword to Nadia's neck. His parry was so powerful the new merc's sword was sent flying out of his hand. Eric kicked the guy in the chest, sending him sprawling. You can't leave it here, a voice whispered, causing Eric to cry out fiercely. He threw himself on the disarmed man, plunging his sword deep. Past leather armor. Past skin, muscle and bone—and into the man's heart. Eric ran him through with zero difficulty. A lot like cutting butter.

The new guy choked out blood—Eric drew back before another red spray hit him. He got up, breathing hungrily, and ripped out his bloodstained sword. More blood came with it. Eric stumbled back, suddenly turning to glare at his first attacker. The scarred man was still on the ground, grunting, moaning and doing everything to stop the bleeding. Eric snorted walking towards him, kicking the defeated guy's sword far away when his fingers spasmed for it.

"Eric," Nadia's voice was thick, he didn't get why until he looked at her face and saw himself in her silvery pools. He felt the sticky liquid, he probably looked like he'd stepped out of a blood bath, some wild monster emerging from a kill. "You…" Nadia's eyes shifted between his victims. "Shit. Okay. This was for a good cause. But are you… You don't look alright."

"Well, I don't usually walk around covered in blood. I feel like it's a heavy fashion statement." Eric didn't want to admit it, but his pulse was calming down and now his fingers were shaking. What had he done? How could he… Eric didn't understand how he'd managed to survive, little alone land killing blows on both those guys. "We should get that guy and go." He figured shifting attentions was the best way to go. Fuck, if Carter saw him now he'd have a stroke.

Nadia nodded, returning her attention to the lock. Eric's gaze slid to his first opponent, the scarred man glared up at him. He took a last breath, shaking. His good eye remained open, staring blankly. Wasn't that nice? Eric thought, nose twisting, same as his insides. He shook his head, hoping guilt would fall away. This wasn't Earth. Eden was violent, the rules from their world didn't apply. And like Nadia said, it was for a good cause—he'd saved her life. Eric tilted his head when the little firecracker smashed the lock four times in a row, until the rusted lock fell open. Eric's lips almost shifted into a large smile because of her determination.

"Yo," Eric intoned loudly, catching the rusty-haired guy's attention. "Hurry up. I'm not in the mood to fight anyone else." That wasn't true. Eric could've gone a lot of rounds after the second mercenary, before Nadia called him back from whatever trance he'd got himself in.

The guy scrambled forward, pushing past a sleeping man. Nadia was busy glaring around, worried about the small number of people nearing. Eric could feel them eyeing him. The ginger haired boy finally jumped off the wagon and they hadn't been wrong. The dude was wearing a Gun's and Roses t-shirt. Apparently, him, Carter and Nadia weren't the only tourists in Eden. The boy was spooked, his eyes too large for his face.

"What?" Eric bit out, impassive. They needed to move. And what distraction would work now? He was covered in fucking blood.

"Why… did you help me out?" Brit accent. Oh, and their tourist bunch was expanding, no longer All-Americans. "Are you like Robin Hood or something? Ah, do you have Robin Hood here? I don't really know this place, I'm not from around here, see and…"

"You talk too much," Nadia cut him short, grabbing his hand and dragging him past the corpses. "We helped you because of that." She nudged her chin at his t-shirt.

His eyes bugged out, "You want my t-shirt? It's not valuable or anything, it's just stamped. We have these machines where I'm from…"

"Man," Eric sighed. "We don't give a rat's ass about the shirt. We just saw it and knew you didn't belong here. Like us." In a last ditch effort, Eric turned toward the poor people inside the wagon. "Hey, you guys can leave. We came for him, but you're all free to leave—to escape. Go back to your lives, to your families…"

"Eric, we need to move!" Nadia's was so right.

He blinked quickly. Eric turned to leave, just barely catching a stuttered 'thank you' from a boy, maybe thirteen or younger. Eric didn't turn back, he heard them scrambling to exit their ambulating prison and his heart was released from a death grip.