Year: 1942 CE
Location: Southern Russia
The sound of war was distant. But, not far enough. Each artillery fire made Vatra's hair stand on end. It didn't matter how many battles she'd seen, she was still haunted by the knowledge that death was lingering just out of sight. Young souls clinging to the last moments of their life. The thought made her feel ill.
Vatra leaned against the side of a house. The abandoned structure was like ice to her hand. She looked at her fingers pressed to the stone while her other hand draped across her abdomen. The nausea quelled after a moment.
"We cannot stay here for long." Spyro's words were a soft warning behind her. "Remember why we are here."
"Of course I do," Vatra said. Her words held a sharper tone than she intended. Crinkled eyes widened when she met Spyro's concerned gaze. "Sorry," she whispered apologetically.
Spyro gave a small nod of his head, curls bobbing against the heavy wool of his grey coat. "We need to keep moving. The battle is not far from here, which means our chance to find the god that has been causing chaos around here will soon be gone."
"Are we sure it's not just mankind playing god themselves?" Vatra toyed, pushing herself away from the wall. She dragged her boots through the trodden down dirt, almost wishing their intel was wrong this time.
"Not the ones around here," Spyro said. He nodded to the quaint houses around them, toward the aftermath of a battle well-removed from the one they could hear in the distance.
Scorch marks burned the stone walls of the houses. Broken wood scattered the streets as if someone had thrown about every piece of furniture. Blood streaked across the stones and dirt beneath their feet and leapt up the buildings at odd angles. It was as if a creature stopped and shook about a kill. Spatter even dotted the rooftops.
Vatra narrowed her eyes at the carnage. She'd been so preoccupied in her thoughts, she'd overlooked the horrors before them.
"I suppose you're right this time." Vatra folded her arms. "Ah, shit. I really don't want to fight whatever did all of this." Her nose turned up at the stench of burnt flesh.
"Our intel said a god did it, but they were not clear on which god," Spyro said.
"Sometimes I think our intel is a little weak at times. Those pesky wandering spirits you're able to keep in contact with aren't always the most reliable."
"Have they strayed us wrong?" Spyro asked. His brow raised in defiant questioning.
Shaking her head, Vatra pursed her lips. "I'd just like them to be wrong. Maybe once."
They followed a trail of blood through the packed dirt path of the main road through the village. Vatra kept her head on a swivel, looking through every open door and curtain fluttering in the breeze. There wasn't a single body.
With this much blood, there should be bodies everywhere, Vatra thought.
The village wasn't very large. There were perhaps two dozen or so houses and a few other buildings. They were built around a center-point that consisted of a well and a gathering area for the people who'd lived there. Now, it was just littered with broken benches and tables.
Spyro and Vatra neared the center of the village. The blood appeared to congregate from all points of the village to the well.
"Gods, this doesn't feel right," Vatra muttered. She pulled her tan, wool coat tighter around herself and trudged onward.
The sound of flesh ripping echoed from the depths of the well. Bones snapped and clattered against one another. A steady rumble, the sound of a meal well-enjoyed, rose along the tendrils of a cloud of steam.
If Vatra had been nauseous before, she certainly felt her stomach flip around her belly now. A strong metallic scent wafted across the village center. She held a hand to her mouth to keep from retching.
"I don't know of a god that would do that," Vatra said through gritted teeth. She edged to the well and peered down into the depths, unable to see anything through the pitch-black.
"Nor do I." Spyro walked the circumference of the well, examining the scene without a waver in his monotonous expression. He barely flinched as a wave of steamed, rotten-flesh blew against his face.
Vatra grimaced at the thought of having been subjected to such a close encounter herself. "Well, how do we encourage it to leave its meal?" she questioned.
"You are usually the one with the plan," he replied quizzically. Spyro looked up from the well with raised brows. "I do not know how to even begin to understand this situation."
"Could have fooled me with the way you were walking around the well," Vatra muttered. She stepped back, thumb and forefinger clamping her nose shut. "It would help if we knew which god we were facing."
After a moment of consideration, Vatra arrived at the conclusion they would never just randomly guess which god they were facing. They needed to bring them out into the open and kill them before they could do any more damage. Vatra looked at the destruction around her, steeling her resolve. She could play bait if it meant stopping another god.
Sucking in a deep breath, Vatra stomped her way back to the well. She leaned over the stone and drew out her godkillers.
"Hey, asshole! Come out and play with us!" Vatra shouted down into the well. She tapped the blades against the stone. "It's rude to not greet your guests!"
The sound of flesh squelching and bones snapping stopped. A low growl started to rumble, and it sounded different than the one before. This was no sound of enjoyment. The thing making the noise was angry.
Vatra stumbled away from the well and waved her arms for Spyro to get back. They both managed to get a decent distance away before a creature emerged from the well. It wasn't a god, after all.
A beast clawed its way from the well, pushing and shoving its black fur from the confines of the stone. It fell out onto the dirt before standing on all fours, its height and size comparable to that of a horse. Once it was in plain view, Vatra was able to tell what it was she was looking at. The creature before them was a wolf.
"Garmr," Spyro whispered. He watched, appearing to be in awe, as the creature in front of them snarled and snapped at the air in their direction.
Side-stepping in a slow, but hastily, fashion, Vatra crossed the distance to Spyro. She pulled herself close to him. "What the hell did you say?" Vatra hissed. "You know this fuzzy bastard?"
The wolf, or Garmr as Spyro had named it, watched the two of them with unwavering attention. Its eyes, a deep red, were unblinking against its black fur. Claws like daggers pierced into the dirt with each small movement it made. Garmr was not going to let them leave. Though, it was not attacking them, either.
"If Garmr is here, then I do believe I know which god it is we are after," Spyro said.
"Care to enlighten me?" Vatra asked, her gaze never drifting from the beast before them.
"Hel," Spyro replied.
"And where the hell is Hel?" Vatra kept her godkillers at the ready, but not quite in an attack position. She didn't want to accidentally provoke the hound.
A chuckle drew their attention just to their right, beyond where Garmr had slowly started to circle around them.