Will the lovers be ever reunited? Or will the death god keep them apart from beyond the grave?

It was already long past midnight when Varabol, the green dragon, stood at the entrance of the small but well-lit bedroom belonging to his leader. A room usually as tidy as a military barrack laid as torn down as if a search warrant had been executed by the entire police force.

The green-scaled reptile displayed short, vertical, ivory colored horns at the top of his head and deep blue, slitted eyes right above a stubby snout. Most of the scales that covered his anthropomorphic body were of a darker, olive tone that looked like jadestone. But the scales on his neck and chest were a softer tone of green.

Varabol wore a black heating vest that kept his otherwise cold blood warm enough for him to function along with some regular, black shorts. This vest hid his slim and light build under his green hide, with pseudo-wings as dark green as the rest of his body.

Varabol stood under the open bedroom door frame, holding a baton with his five-clawed hands and his footing with his three-clawed toes, examining the mess before him.

Almost all bookshelves were upended and tables were flipped, with their contents scattered on the floor. The curtains were ripped from the window and the glass was broken.

In the middle of the bedroom, two figures stood. The first one was Visandro, the orange and white furred, muscled horse. He was in his late thirties and wore a full-body, tactical gear suit.

“Your fucking, stupid life is over!” Visandro said. The veins on his neck became visible as his dominant, hoofed hand shook while holding a knife. “I will fucking kill you, right now. You disgusting parasite!”

Visandro slammed one of his heavy-hooved feet against the floor so hard that Varabol was almost sure that the rest of the things in the room would fall down against the second figure.

This second figure was another equine, Zantazar. He had a much thinner build and he was in his early seventies. He sat at the edge of his bed and wore more casual, white and loose clothes. He also displayed a defiant glare along with a tightly sealed muzzle. An expression far away from the terror one might express under the threat of being murdered at the hands of one’s own firstborn son.

Varabol needed to understand what was happening here.

That old horse was the dragon’s adoptive father and the anthro he admired, respected, and loved the most. Zantazar walked into the lowest point of his life ten years ago after his real parents abandoned him as a whelp in an orphanage.

Zantazar was the one who recruited him into the Ghost Soldiers, a rogue demon hunting clan so good and so efficient that he and his clanmates were on par with the best, official demon hunting clans. All thanks to the old horse’s leadership and discipline.

After a life of courage and service to the holy light, Zantazar was one week away from retirement. That in turn was going to land Visandro the role as the new leader, and that would also promote the dragon to become the second in charge.

“Visandro! What the fuck are you doing?” Varabol said, shouting loud enough for both equines to give their attention to the dragon who shivered at the mere thought of what would have happened if he had arrived only one second late.

Zantazar couldn’t be bothered to change his indifferent expression in his tired and weary eyes and pale-orange facial fured face.

On the other hand, Visandro’s face reflected the same terror as if a demonic prince had suddenly materializing in the middle of this fight. But after a second or two, he too adopted another indifferent expression on his also orange-furred face. A face that displayed a white stripe along his muzzle. It was one of the scarce things that differed between father and son.

“Tailbones, Tailbones. I can't believe you’re pissing your pants, Tailbones.” Visandro called the dragon by his codename in the clan as he pulled the knife away from his father. “You knew this plan had its risks. Yet, you decided to participate all the way to the end. But now that things went to shit, you’re playing stupid fuck to save your worthless ass.”

Varabol had known Visandro for ten years. During those years, he had seen this horse mad many times. A few of those times, the young equine had been defiant and aggressive against his father and to others in the clan. But he had never, ever, seen Visandro in his entire life mad enough to stand seconds away from murdering his own father and to turn the blame on him.

“What? I have nothing to do with you! Why are you trying to pin this on me?!” the green dragon retorted, while a heavy tingle ran from the back of his neck, all the way to the tip of his tail. This was like being splashed by a bucket of freezing water. His only crime was to rise out of bed in the middle of the night to find himself caught in this attempted murder.

There is no way that he would ever betray his father or do something that would destroy his family. His father and his clanmates were the things he loved the most. Varabol would never forgive himself if he broke that trust or were to bring harm to his father, even by accident.

“The Seven Crowns of the Sun is hidden inside father’s secret safe. The safe is concealed on the floor under his desk at his office. On the left side of his chair,” Visandro said, squeezing the hilt of the blade he carried. “Kill the old cunt in his sleep for the keys to the lower compartments if you have to. I will clean out his office for any other valuables before we hit the road.”

Those lies made the dragon feel the urge to pin Visandro down and beat his white and orange face until it was left without any resemblance to his father.

“What!?!” Varabol said. “I would never- I didn’t even know about that sun thing until a second ago!”

“He was your secret accomplice?!” A new voice said. It was a voice as tired as if it had shouted for hours. Varabol knew it was his father’s voice. While Zantazar remained defiant and stoic, he glared at Varabol in pure anger. “You pair of backstabbing, ungrateful imbeciles!”

“What? I have nothing to do with this!” The dragon screamed in both anger and exasperation. “He is trying to pin this onto me!” The green reptile pointed a finger towards the young horse.

“Why are you here then?” Visandro said. “This was your night out, yet here you are. How else would you know that I would be here to get rid of this stupid fuck? You are here because you agreed to help me kill this cunt while he was asleep. Not to stand there dumbfaced and pissing your pants,” Visandro said, with plenty of hatred and a murdering desire behind his words.

“No! My plans got canceled so I-”

“That’s crap and you know it!” Visandro silenced the green dragon with a shout. “We both planned for you to be here because we both agreed to kill this retarded excuse for a horse and wipe the Ghost Soldiers out for good.” Visandro lifted the blade he was carrying, displaying it before both anthros present in the room. “Or have you forgotten about this knife?”

Visandro presented a double-edged blade. With a serrated back and extremely sharp-looking front. It had a slight backwards curvature at the base and another curvature at the tip, giving it a dangerous, yet sleek S-like look.

“This blade belongs to my secret accomplice. The owner of this knife is someone who wishes to sabotage and destroy the Ghost Soldiers from the inside out. But not only that, he sharpened this blade with the utmost detail and attention for this very special occasion. He too desires to degut this braindead idiot. And with his death, make sure that the Ghost Soldiers are gone forever. Do you remember whose knife this is?”

“It is the first time I've seen that knife!” Varabol took a step back as he struggled with his words. “Y- you must have bought it behind our backs only for this stupidity you’re trying to pull!”

“The only stupidity here is you pretending innocence,” Visandro scoffed as he cleaned one of his hoofed fingertips with the tip of the blade. “It is yours. I gave it to you to celebrate your ascension to the Tailbones rank.”

“Liar!” Varabol clenched his fists and released a loud, threatening hiss.

“All this time, you two were always nothing but pair of backstabbing and stupid fuckers!” Zantazar interrupted the discussion between the young demon hunters, and the dragon noticed several veins on the old horse’s neck become visible as he shouted in anger.

“Shut up!” Visandro yelled at his father. “You are a shitstain in this world! I am so ashamed to carry your last name and to be your son. By killing you, I will undo that bind and grant this fucking world a huge favor by removing an old cunt like you!”

For Varabol, it was inconceivable that Visandro was dead serious on murdering Zantazar. How could Visandro murder his own father as if the family bond, the discipline and though love they all shared meant nothing?

Varabol couldn’t understand how Visandro pretended to destroy this demon hunting clan without any remorse, throwing away all the years and the hard work everyone put together to build it to the top! But most of all, Varabol also feared becoming the next target so Visandro could leave no witnesses about the crime that was seconds away from being committed.

“But before I do that,” Visandro said, interrupting the dragon’s train of thoughts. “You have disappointed me big time, Tailbones. Walking back on our deal when it wasn’t convenient for you is called betrayal. And that’s a crime with no forgiveness! My last act as second in charge of this clan will be to show you what traitors like you deserve!” Visandro said as his jaw tensed, turning both his blade and his steps towards Varabol.

At first, Varabol had the urge to flee as his heart was about to burst through his heating vest. But there was no way that he would save his hide while leaving his father at the mercy of this traitor!

Varabol had little time to react before finding himself cornered by the tall, auburn horse whose sharply-armed hoof was quick to throw a jab against him.

Varabol used his baton to hit the combat knife back as hard as possible in an attempt to disarm his attacker. But as soon as the horse parried the attack, Varabol was left open for a mighty punch that smacked him in the chin. This knocked him back against the corner of the room, amongst the scattered books and one of the bookshelves.

This hit had the force to make him drop his baton in the disorientation as he clung to the bookshelf.

No matter how much his jaw ached and how fast his head spun, Varabol had no time to rest. His life and the life of his father were about to be ended in a couple of seconds unless he punched back against his aggressor.

But before Varabol could recover, Visandro moved again and jabbed his knife towards the dragon’s head.

Varabol managed to move his head barely enough for the blade to end up struck against the wall. But the blade was so close to his throat that he felt the cold and sharp edge of the weapon tickle the side of his scaly neck.

Varabol immediately wrapped his hands around the hoof-tipped fingers holding the knife in an effort to pull the blade away. But all the horse had to do was to tilt the blade to the side to close the angle and slice Varabol’s neck wide open like a paper-cutter.

Both the skinny dragon and the brawny horse wrestled for control of the tactical knife by pulling in opposite directions. But after a couple of seconds, it became clear that Visandro’s thick arms would tire Varabol out.

The reptile attempted to land a strong hit against the horse’s groin with one of his knees, but the full tactical gear worn by Visandro made this escape maneuver impossible. After all, it was the same gear he and the rest of the Ghost Soldiers wore for their demon hunting missions and was designed for combat. However, Varabol kept on going to the point of exhaustion.

And the more tired he grew, the closer he felt the sharp end of the blade getting to his skin. When the burning sensation of something sharp kissed his neck, Varabol hissed and kicked even harder with his waning energies, but it was of no use.

The dragon always imagined that his life would end during a heroic battle at the hands of a demon, like the lives of his previous clanmates had ended. Perhaps even while protecting some innocent anthro or one of his fellow demon hunters during a fierce battle. He never conceived of the abhorrent idea that his last breath would be drawn under the blade of the auburn horse.

For the dragon, Visandro was like the big brother he never had. Visandro was someone he had always admired for the discipline, resilience, and leadership he always demonstrated during his demon hunting career. Varabol had always been more than happy to follow him into the leadership of this clan and to keep on leading the Ghost Soldiers to hunt among the best.

Varabol only wanted to become a prime example of brotherhood among the rest of the clan.

As the futile struggle kept on tiring Varabol, he felt shivers run down his spine. Adrenaline overtook his body as he realized what would happen the second after his aching biceps gave into Visandro's desires.

When he was ready to accept that he failed and his life was over, the horse landed a good blow from his padded knees against the dragon’s stomach before Visandro pulled his knife away.

But before the dragon had any chance to react to the hard impact on his exposed belly, he felt his horns being grasped and his head being slammed against the wall, sending a wave of pain even more hurtful than the kick he got.

This forced Varabol to crumple to his knees, holding his face, as Visandro made his way over to Zantazar.

Varabol held his muzzle as he tried to recover from the immobilizing pain. All while Zantazar walked back, forcing his bad legs to bring the rest of his old body away from the armed attacker until Zantazar was cornered against one of his bedside tables.

Varabol placed a hand against the wall and pushed himself back to his feet, but breathing was difficult for him. He could only observe Zantazar being cornered. But suddenly, Zantazar forced his thin and saggy furred arms forward to welcome his son with a sudden hit from the lower end of his cane.

It was a powerful strike that impacted Visandro right in the face.

Visandro yelled in pain and staggered back a few steps. He rubbed his snout with the back of his hand, all while Varabol saw several drops of blood dripping on the floor around Visandro’s feet.

Zantazar took this small victory to try to hit the tactical suited equine once again. But this time, Visandro was even faster than his elderly counterpart and managed to throw a strong kick of his own. That forced Zantazar to yell out loud in pain before the sound of the wooden cane hitting the floor was heard.

Visandro moved closer to grab his father by the mane and to wrestle him against the bed, pressing him face-first against the mattress.

With Zantazar immobilized with one hand, Visandro rose his blade up in the air with his other one, ready to commit the murder that he had come here to do.

Varabol knew that his time to recover was over. If he failed to protect Zantazar now, he wouldn't be able to face the rest of brothers, nor face life itself after failing to save the horse who gave him everything that life refused to give him.

Varabol knew that to honor himself and brothers, he had to protect his father even if he had to sacrifice his own life in the process! He knew that if he stood with his clan and his family, they too would stand with him!

Varabol forced his wounded self to dash forward and grapple the enraged equine from behind. He wrapped his arms around Visandro’s chest and pulled him back with all his might, pinning those muscled arms to their sides, in an attempt to get Visandro away from the old horse.

This created a moment of confusion that Varabol exploited to slide his prehensile tail around the equine’s throat. As soon as the tail wrapped around Visandro’s neck, Varabol squeezed and constricted with all the anger he felt.

As Visandro walked backwards and struggled to get free, Varabol felt the familiar burning sensation of the knife poking his arm.

Varabol slammed his attacker against the remaining bookshelf, wanting nothing more but to impact the tall horse's head against the wooden furniture. A second after the slam, the dragon felt several items landing over himself and saw a couple more hitting his attacker right on the top of his head.

Knowing that Visandro was still dangerous while armed, Varabol was quick to release Visandro’s chest to wrestle for control of the knife for a second time.

Visandro thrashed hard in an attempt to get Varabol’s tail off of him, but now that the dragon had the upper hand, he constricted even tighter. The dragon heard jarred gurgles coming from Visandro’s throat before he heard the knife carried by his attacker being dropped. After that, Varabol felt both of those hoof tipped hands struggling against his tail.

Even if the dragon had disarmed his enemy, he was far from being done! He increased his grip around Visandro’s neck even tighter. He refused to stop until he had crushed the life out of his enemy. In turn, Varabol felt several punches to his tail, but they were made with a weaker and a weaker force before they stopped altogether.

When Varabol was sure that he had reached his goal, something struck his left shoulder with a tremendous force.

This pain was enough for Varabol to scream and lose the grip on the equine’s neck. The next thing Varabol felt was a third, even mightier kick on his belly that pushed him next to his adoptive father.

“Vyshelmuth will get, sun-” the horse choked on his own words as he dropped a column-like, metallic trophy to the floor. “You all pay-”

After those words, the equine was quick to escape through the only exit, wheezing and coughing. Varabol tried to run after him, but Visandro’s latest escape maneuver had knocked the breath out of him once more.

The beaten up dragon clung with difficulty to one of the walls. As he tried to recover, he spotted the knife that Visandro dropped laying a couple of steps away from him. Afraid that the horse might return, the dragon recovered the blade. This motion forced him to whine in pain and for his arm to drip a bit of blood next to where Visandro’s blood was.

Yet, confusion was greater than the pain he felt. Varabol wondered who was this Vyshel-whatever? What was this sun thing? The dragon had to know why Visandro became so hostile suddenly. And why now when things were about to turn out for the best for everyone? Why-

“Varabol!” An angry yell mixed with pain pulled the green dragon away from the land of confusion and drove him into the land of terror. “Who- who told you two about Vyshelmuth and the sun?! You better fucking answer me inmediately!”

When the dragon focused his attention on his clan leader, he noticed that the cool attitude that Zantazar demonstrated in the face of death had melted away to shift into pure terror as he sat down at the edge of the bed, with his cane back in his hands.

“I… I didn’t know- I don’t know what that was about!” Varabol said with difficulty, as he was still in pain. Instead of feeling rewarded for saving his adoptive father, the dragon felt like he was in more trouble than Visandro. “I swear by Amundriel that I don’t know what he is talking about!”

“Nobody in this world is supposed to know about that, and yet you two do!” Zantazar shouted even louder, as he struggled in an attempt to stand up from the bed. “Is that knife really yours? If that’s true, I am going to fucking murder you with it right here, right now!”

“No! Please, father!” Varabol begged for his life as he walked back, knife in hand, afraid of being murdered by this same blade for a second time.

For Varabol, this was beyond unreal. He fought hard to save his leader and to demonstrate that he stood on his father’s side. But Zantazar had sided with his failed murderer instead of caring about his wellbeing, the loyal son who saved his father’s life.

Varabol hoped that if he explained things, his father would calm down.

“I was sleeping in bed when I heard shouting and things getting knocked down in here. Knowing that the rest of the clan was out, I thought that someone might have broken in. I came to investigate only to find Visandro fighting with you. But I don’t have anything to do with this!” The green dragon held his chest and leaned against a wall as he spoke with difficulty. “You must believe me! I saved your life because I respect you. I would never, ever do something wrong against you. You are like the father I never-”

“No, Varabol!” Zantazar said as he finally rose from his bed. “You have always worked with him. He defied my orders and granted you the Tailbones rank when you were underqualified for it. And since then, two have been doing pretty much anything you want to!

“And now, you expect me to believe that you knew nothing about this? Do you expect me to believe the lie that you two were spying on me when it is more than evident that you have? You must think that I am really stupid if you expect me to believe that you didn’t know that he was going to both rob me and to try to kill me!

“He described his secret accomplice as someone who had always faked being a loyal, obedient and hard working soldier. But deep down, he was someone who wanted to see me dead. You fit the first part very well!”

Varabol was at this point not only wounded from the beating he took, he was also writhing internally in pain after hearing that his leader and father was formally accusing him of being part of this insanity.

“But father,” Varabol said. “You know I have worked so hard as Tailbones to show you how grateful I have always been for the rank opportunity. I have always gone the extra mile to represent you and my brothers as leaders before other demon hunting clans. I would never ruin all of that for such stupidity! Not when I was so close to being promoted. Not after all the long and hard battles we all have fought together and-”

“Silence!” Zantazar said, rising from his bed with the help of his cane. “I refuse to be lied to any further!”

“Father, no! Please. I know that we worked together. But I didn’t know he was planning any of this. I… he never showed any signs of any of this. You are wrong by believing in him, all of this! Can’t you see that he tried to murder you and I saved you?!” Varabol raised his voice in anger.

But this only earned him a sudden slam with the horse’s cane. Varabol fell on his side when a sharp pain landed on his legs. He then shielded himself with his hands after a second hit reached his head.

“I am not wrong, you stupid, worthless, good for nothing, social reject!” Zantazar yelled as Varabol was hit several times with the cane. And all he could do was to shield his bare self from the beating he received.

Varabol had placed his own life in the line to save the life of his leader and father. Why wasn’t that enough proof of his loyalty? Why couldn’t he do anything right?

“Betrayed by my own leaders!” Zantazar spoke, grunting as the beating continued. “My own stupid, useless son and the filthy adopted I picked up from that shithole ended up being nothing but traitous, dumb fucks! This is why your real parents never loved you and dumped you. Nobody will love you or will ever care about you! All because you are a stupid, idiotic, worthless, piece of fuck! You always have been that and will never be worth a shit! Do you hear?”

Varabol endured in total submission the verbal and physical abuse that Zantazar was serving him. Daring to even threaten or fight back against his father would be an unforgivable crime. For Varabol, loyalty was more important than even his own self.

Besides, the dragon knew that he had always been good for nothing. Being beaten up like this had always been the logical result every time something went wrong.

But not only that, his father was right about how stupid and useless and unloved he was. His father had always known better than him about these things.

This time, he fought hard to make things right for his leader. And in the end, he got the opposite. The only solution was to push himself even harder next time to please the old equine.

After a couple more curses and swings, Zantazar stopped his beating. Every centimeter of the dragon’s back, arms, and legs were throbbing in pain. When Varabol finally dared to uncurl from his protective stance, he found the old equine panting and leaning against his cane.

“I didn’t do anything! He was lying, I tell you.” Varabol explained, a tear running down from one of his eyes. He tried to suppress his crying so his father wouldn't see.

He risked his life and all he got in return were insults and a beating. He had always done what the old horse had always commanded. But this is the first time he has been punished for being obedient.

“Stop crying, you disgusting male princess!” Zantazar shouted, still leaning against his cane. “If Visandro gets away with this, I will be as good as dead. And it’s your stupid fault because you helped him!” The anger in Zantazar’s eyes shifted into terror once again.

“I will protect you…” Varabol spoke with difficulty as he tried not to tear up again. “Even with my life if it’s necessary!” Even if his father had been rough and cruel with him, he abhorred the idea of losing him.

“You will protect nothing, you retarded, traitorous slime! You will only do good away from me. You are expelled from the Ghost Soldiers. You will leave this clan and you will leave my house right now! If I ever see your face again, I will get the rest of the clan to bring me your empty-brained head to hang it on the wall. I dont care if I have to stare at your fucking, disgusting face every day!”

“No, please!” Varabol’s weak and wounded self struggled to not cry. “I can prove to you that I am innocent and...”

“Out!” The plea was ignored as the horse lifted his cane and resumed hitting the dragon on his sides and at the top of his head.

“Please, father! I never meant to insult you!” the dragon begged, as he kept doing his best to cover his head and to escape the blows he received from the walking cane, but no pleas were able to slow the beating he was receiving.

Varabol wanted to stay and sit down with his adoptive father and talk to get things straight. He didn’t want to be seen like a traitor or a murderer or any of those things Zantazar was calling him.

But he also wanted to not anger his leader any more.

Yet, the more he stood in Zantazar’s presence, the angrier he grew. He was now abhorred by the man he has always loved like a father and admired as a demon hunter. Fighting to change his mind only made the loathing from his father and his own pain grow deeper.

Varabol felt he had no option but to take the same path Visandro took and see himself out of the horse’s house. Like Visandro, he would leave like a traitor, while dragging his wounded body and his broken spirits away.

Varabol hoped that things wouldn’t be that bad for long. Perhaps when his clanmates were to return from their mission, he could talk to them and explain exactly what happened. Yes! His brothers would stand by his side and help him sort out this mess.

For now, by obeying his father, he hoped to give Zantazar enough time to calm down and to be more open to talk in the morning.

In the meantime, Varabol turned around to leave his home and roam the dark and cold streets. All he had with him was that knife he pried from the equine along with his shorts and his heat vest. He hoped that his heating device would have enough battery to keep him warm until the morning.

=====================================
Here is the first chapter of my latest novel ‘Requiem for a Death God’

This is the novel I kept on announcing since I finished Astraifort Estate, and it is finally here!

This should have been out earlier in November 2021, but I found myself distracted by several challenges (which they’re still ongoing). These challenges have kept me away from the computer. But still, it is my goal to publish this full novel here and share it with all of you.

I wanna apologize to the people who believed in me and have been waiting for this since November to see this published. I will publish chapters every now and then until we make it all the way to the ending. So, I hope you all enjoy it, demons and demon hunters, and we can make it together to the ending :>

Also, I really wanna thank  utunu for editing this mess and making it way more readable. But also, I wanna thank him for his patience and his willingness to teaching me more about the craft of writing :D

I will release chapter 2 as soon as it is ready and make sure the rest of chapters will follow suit.

=========
<<< No earlier chapters | Chapter 2: Introit Act 2>>>