#stranded (hell chapter)

Closed starter for @cloakedinfall​!

Kahann couldn’t believe that he had fallen for an ambush yet again-- And this time, there was no possibility of escape in sight, be it by combat or otherwise. Were he to pay attention while he was finishing a trial in this neck of the desert, he wouldn’t have been caught off-guard this easily.

Not like he enjoyed it, even if it had something he would otherwise have an incentive to solve it. That said, had he been followed whole time? He could see in front of him four imps, two Hell Knights, a Marauder... And oh dear, was that a Baalgar? What happened to it though that it ended up having biomechanical parts? And why was it serving a court rather than lording over one?

“End of the road, stranger.” Hissed a fiendish voice. Just listening to it alone, Kahann definitely recognized it as a Summoner’s. And that voice was feminine. She was right behind him, wasn’t she?

He could feel something tainted very close to his proximity. It was something akin to a blade-- Only, it was made of Hell energy, being dangerously close to the lower section of his helmet. Any movement and his head would have been lopped off. It was either that, or stay still. He had a lot of questions here, including that demon's ability to shape weapons out of literal Hell energy. He couldn't do anything as a mere Life Sphere though, could he? "Move even one step and off goes your head."

Kahann had to remain silent and still. It was his survival or who knows what the demons would do to him if he got reduced into what basically is a soul container.

"...You made the right choice." The Summoner spoke again, this time with a hint of purring. The hellish blade dissipated afterwards. "Turn around." At her command, the demons' captive-to-be slowly turned towards her direction.

"You don't mind me having a look at your face, do you?" And there she was, taller than the Primeval was, skull with protruding, back-facing ornate like a bizarre crown, with where one's eyes would be adorned with a blindfold. Even as an abomination, she possessed beauty in manifest form-- The shelled armor bound to her being elegant in make.

Immediately, however, he could notice that she was different from Summoners he had encountered-- When she lifted the helmet of his armor off his head, her hands were more the shape of a human's rather than that of other Summoners-- She had five fingers each hand, rather than the usual four. The nails were still long and probably sharp though.

Kahann's face was soon revealed-- Fair skin, face of angular shape, and hair as black as obsidian; Braided to hang on his right shoulder. The colored orbs of his eyes gave off a steel-blue glare. Even in the face of danger, he still braved himself, a gaze of rage ever-present, slowly lighting them into strain-inducing cyan.

"Ah, a Primeval." Sthusa, the Summoner responsible for Kahann's predicament began. "And one having caused so much trouble in Hell that he is marked for capture, no less." With a snap of her fingers, red-lit bindings restrained both her captive’s hands, enough to put him in place rather than corrupt him in any way.

“Take this man to the fortress. He is to be placed in the prison quarters.” The Archagent issued the order to the pair of Hell Knights.

“As you wish, Archagent.” Both Hell Knights spoke in unison, taking the Primeval and walking him away.

---

Kahann took mental notes in his surroundings while being walked through the interior of what happened to be these demons’ dwellings. While he had seen a lot of buildings in Hell before, this was something that he almost never heard of since he came back here. Most demons he met were by all means, nomads.

But for them to have a place to stay got him an idea on how thing work in the Crimson Dunes. Well, not in full picture, but he would pick up what they were up to.

“You’ve got a new inmate. Savor your moments here while they last.”

His thoughts were cut short as soon as one of the Hell Knights’ voices was heard. He could feel himself being shoved over to a space of sorts. It did almost hurt from the force of the shove the two Hell Knights gave him and he almost hit the wall, but when he turned around, he was already behind bars. The cell door was locked with a skull key, both demons leaving afterwards.

...At least Kahann wasn’t all alone, eh? Sthusa still had his helmet, so his face could be seen by whomever was also imprisoned.

This wasn’t even his go-to armor, as that one was confiscated when he was caught being too close to city limits without much proof of kinship, and instead stuffed into one of those Arenas-- The same one that the once Outlander, now Slayer had earned both fame and infamy, albeit right after Kahann had gone past a lot of battles just to be a free man, only to be relegated to front line work. To say it was a thankless job was a much terrible understatement. But complaining wouldn’t help the case, even now-- He hadn’t been too frequently in touch with the Argenta since he had last gathered the first generations of Sentinel warriors and sages, many years ago. Not after what happened an eternity ago, that was.

At least his (admittedly, easily impressionable) people caught on to who and what he really was, as a case of “too late” as it could be. And even then, he had lost count on who had chosen to forsake him in the favor of those corrupt among the Maykrs themselves. The effects of his actions; Or inaction, in some cases, brought him and pretty much everyone else into this mess.

The whole war with the demons and the eventual civil war had brought him back to where, ironically enough, was his place of origin. And original home, to boot. 

Hell. A name all too familiar, and a much despised husk of a once glorious realm. Right now, the wandering Night Sentinel has found himself where he would never expect to stand once more-- The vast, arid, Crimson Dunes. He missed that place from when Jekkad was still a fresh, untainted world. Riding the beasts of burden that now disfigured into what is known as Pinkies, running over a cactus by accident, and having to be hauled over and treated by Davoth for messing up such a ride. He remembered those thorns that stuck to his arm and trying to say that this was nothing he couldn’t handle.

He couldn’t bear to imagine what sort of horrors that would make him miss these deserts less-- That banner flying over it with an emblem different from pre-Hell days, or whatever dangers would befall him the moment he steps in.