The Ashen wards wraith
Riven stood there motionless, there lay the ruins of his home, his place of comfort, his mentor. Burnt to nothing but cinders and coals left behind. The ruthless black and purple flames soon died to embers after nothing was left. He looked at his hands, dried blood marring his hands. His fingertips were dirty with the clotted blackness. A sharp pain panged his heart, he clutched his chest and fell to his knees nearly letting out a sob before choking it back. What is this? He thought to himself. The throbbing ache didn't seem to cease. The feeling of distraught, the feeling of despair overwhelmed him.
The foreign emotions quickly turned to pure red hot anger. His mind went back to the man that played around with the lighter. The purple and black flames that man used to burn the corpse to ash. He thought about Zehar's body, the big gaping holes. The white haired man had left that body a mass of gore, then he thought about Zehar's words they echoed in his mind. Disgusting humans..he's not like you. The seething rage that coursed through his system swallowed his grief. Everything simmered down to a cold fury. He took out the vial of medicine and chucked it to the last of the embers, shattering it.
Whispers and murmurs echoed throughout the Ashen Ward. In a cramped shanty bar, its windows so filthy you couldn't see through, the stench of drink, sweat, and the natural rot of Hell lingered thick in the air.
"Heard he gutted three Carrions at the Chasm last night—left them so dismembered I thought it was a different creature!"
The pot-bellied denizen sneered, its large cockroach abdomen bloated with liquor. The gruff boar-faced drunk downed another pint.
Another denizen butted in—small in stature, an imp.
"No! I saw the bodies myself. He killed five, and two of them were Houndmares!" it cackled.
The entire bar fell silent. The imp tilted its gaunt head.
"I'm not lying," it said, confusion twisting across its face.
The unsettling quiet stretched thin. The only sound was the soft creak of the bar door opening.
Every denizen's expression shifted to one of terror, their eyes fixed on something behind the imp.
Still oblivious, the imp turned to look—only to jump back, spilling mugs of beer across the table.
It pointed, trembling, voice cracking as it stammered,
"W–Wraith."
Riven stood there, his shadow somehow cast over everyone in the vicinity. The black veil of his mask fluttered in Hell's rare breeze, and the pits of undulating darkness where his eyes should've been pierced through the creatures before him. His trenchcoat was marred with both dried and fresh blood. Each step he took was slow and deliberate — a kukri in one hand, the severed head of a dog-like beast with human teeth in the other.
"Out."
The single word carried enough weight to shake the room. Every patron scrambled for the door, leaving only the bar owner standing behind the counter, a wary look painted across his cracked, leathery face. He was tall and broad, one arm mechanical — gears hissing with steam as he wiped the countertop with a torn handkerchief. The other hand drifted beneath the counter.
"Can I get you something, son?"
His burly voice echoed through the emptied bar.
Riven didn't answer.
He tossed the Houndmare's head across the floor. It rolled a few times before coming to a stop. The bartender's metal arm hissed louder, the cloth twisting in his grip. He stared at the man.
"I know you keep a cleaver beneath the bar. Draw it and you die"
Riven's voice devoid of emotion sounded.
The muscular creature's hand slowly came from underneath, scrunched in a fist so tight that it turned a white hue.
Startled it spoke
"It wasn't my idea to sell in the Ashen Ward, I've spoken with Kaur and I would never do anything to go against him"
Riven moved closer.
"Ill have your best drink"
The barman fumbled with a bottle, but in an instant, a kukri blade buried itself into his shoulder. His eyes widened, a guttural snarl ripping from his throat. Riven lunged forward, flicking two more knives—one found its mark, the other went astray as a table came crashing toward him. He ducked, splinters and debris raining down from behind. Before he could recover, the creature was already upon him.
The cleaver swung in savage arcs, each strike heavy enough to split stone. Riven slipped between the blows, his movements quick and deliberate. The towering brute wailed on him relentlessly, but not a single hit landed. Then, with a roar, the barman brought his cleaver down in a wild overhead swing, splintering the table behind Riven. Seizing the moment, Riven kicked at the creature's leg, forcing it to buckle, then stepped onto the bent knee to drive his own straight into its face. Bone cracked under the impact, and a torrent of blood poured from the barman's nose as he staggered back.
The barman groaned as he rolled on the floor clutching his face. Another kukri drove into his leg, and he screamed in pain.
"Strict orders. Don't sell without permission in the Ashen Ward," Riven said, twisting the blade menacingly.
The leather-faced man howled.
"I didn't mean to — it wasn't my idea," he grovelled through the agony.
"Whose idea was it?" Riven snarled.
The man tried to plead, but it did no good. Riven sank the knife deeper.
"Every single thing tied to your name — I will maim it and leave it in the deepest pits of the Depths. Tell me now, or I'll pry it from you with your last breath."
The man whimpered.
"J-Jesko. It was all Jesko, I swear."
Blood, smoke and rot permeated the air, behind Riven was the bar. Burning to cinders as he walked forward towards the Hellspine, in one hand knives in the other the head of a leathery creature. Once he had reached the Hellspine he stared at it. The unfathomably huge structures gates were once again closed for daemons knew how long. Riven let out a short sigh before sitting on a rock, the area around the Hellspine was barren and flattened. Only rocks, the occasional wandering creature lurked and the never ending black and red haze in the vicinity.
Riven was idly sitting on the rock, picking off the dried blood from his fingernails, there was a dull thud, the pommel of a spear lightly rapping the top of his head. He lazily hung back, a shadow casting over his face he saw a beautiful figure loom over him. Messy silver hair with crimson tips, she wore light chain mail armour that intertwined with her black leather braces, a cloak shrouded her back. Her armour and undershirts tightly fitted revealing her lean steel muscles.
"Took your time Reina" he said flatly
She grinned slightly revealing sharp teeth.
"Still being misery guts, at least be a little happy to see me" she said whilst trying to pinch his mask.
He swatted her hand with his before pointing to the head that lay on the side. The leather faced creatures eyes were wide open, milky in colour. She frowned slightly before prodding it with the end of her spear.
"Did he tell you who's moving the cargo?"
Riven replied
"Jesko, though whoever that is, is probably a middleman"
He huffed a little.
"Ive done 10 commissions Reina, hold your end of the bargain up. Get me an audience with Kaur"
She twisted her face a bit.
"Reina, you promised," he said sternly.
"Okay, okay. Just stop being so…" she waved her hands gesturing at him
"so not nice to be around"
Thanks, he said inwardly. Outwardly he said.
"Ill be visiting him today"
She nodded then sat beside him. The two of them pondered looking at the Hellspine. The structures veins pulsating with life.
Riven hailed down a carriage. The wiry Imps hollow eyes stared down the end of the road. He jumped in the back throwing a small pouch of coin at it.
"Chained docks, make it fast"
The imp reluctantly snapped the reins. Half an hour later, they reached the Chained Docks, a stretch of decaying riverbank where the black waters were never safe to touch. The red-and-black haze hung heavier here, and the skies seemed locked in eternal night. The only light came from the lanterns of the few wandering figures, tall shapes cloaked head to toe, their faces hidden beneath overhanging leather bowler hats.
Riven stepped down, his boots sinking into the thick sludge. Ahead sprawled a massive warehouse, its frame half-swallowed by fog and shadow. Boats of every make drifted across the inky current, weighed down with crates, cages, barrels, and flesh. Walls of concrete spanned around it, barbed wire hung above. Riven made it to the gate, one of the cloaked creatures came to the other side of the gate greeting him through the slits of it with a dark marred face.
Riven looked up at it, still unable to discern its face. He spoke firmly
"I have an audience with Kaur"
The creature did not move. Silently staring at him. Riven tilted his head, his kukri stabbed through the slit, inches away from the creature's eye. It did not move.
"Tell him I've done enough commissions for no coin, I won't take no for an answer" he snarled.
The creature walked off. Riven groaned, then heard locks clicking open, chains scraping against the concrete as they slithered away. The gate creaked, a rusted scream echoing through the docks. He stepped inside, the towering figure leading him into the warehouse.
Dead machines sat buried in dust, their spell circles long collapsed under the weight of time. The air stank of damp and rot. Riven climbed the stairs, the boards moaning under his boots. At the top stood a wooden door — tall, heavy, and wrong, like it wasn't meant for people.
Before he could knock a voice seemed to thunder within, strong authority in its tone.
"Enter"
Riven steadied his breath and stepped inside, the black veil of his mask rustling. The room was almost bare. It resembled an office — a large desk sat in the center, piles of files scattered across the floor. The air reeked faintly of cigarette smoke. In the chair sat a massive figure, easily eight feet tall, his presence filling the room.
He rose. His shadow swallowed Riven whole. His skin was layered with stone-like scales, a rough grey complexion that caught the dim light. Muscles rippled under the texture, four massive arms lined with hose-like veins that wrapped around his biceps, ending in bony, protruding knuckles built for ruin.
Then their eyes met — pale blue, narrow slits that cut towards him. The creature's head shape, wide and unnatural, all led to one resemblance. A hammerhead shark. The creature was a Marakine. The same as Reina, just much, much more powerful. Riven thought to himself.
Kaur glanced at one of his four hands. A pocket watch — almost comically small in his massive palm, ticked faintly. He studied it for a moment, then lifted his gaze back to Riven. With a slow, deliberate motion, the towering man gestured toward an empty chair.
The leather seat had seen better days, its surface cracked and sunken from years of use. Riven lowered himself onto it cautiously, the chair creaking beneath his weight. He didn't take his eyes off Kaur for a second.
Kaur sat back in his chair, his authority seeming to crush the air around him. The old leather groaned under his weight. The pale slits of his eyes pierced through Riven, while the rhythmic ticking of the pocket watch filled the silence.
"You've been busy," Kaur said, his voice deep and rough, like gravel dragged across metal. "Rumours of the Wraith have been spreading through the Ashen Ward again."
Riven stayed quiet, his heart thumping.
Kaur's lip twitched.
"Here for a commission?" he asked — no, demanded.
Riven gritted his teeth. "No," he said. "Information."
Kaur's eyes narrowed even further. "Information," he repeated slowly. "You think this is a library, boy?" His voice boomed, making the watch's ticking feel distant.
Riven's tone stayed calm, though his fingers dug into his black trousers. "I'm looking for something more specific," he breathed. "Humans."
The ticking stopped.
Kaur's expression twisted. "Is this about that f*cking frog?"
Riven didn't respond.
Kaur rose slowly, towering over him
"Suicidal? Stupid? Which one are you?" he spat. Then, quieter, more venomous — "Both?"
Before Riven could blink, one of Kaur's hands shot forward and wrapped around his throat. The impact sent Riven's chair clattering across the room. The grip was an iron vice — his boots kicked uselessly, scraping the floor.
"You steal, you profit, you take—you f*cking take lives without hesitation," Kaur growled, his voice rumbling through his chest. Riven could feel the vibration through the man's arm. "And you want to come here about some lowly frog?"
Riven's hand went for his kukri — he drove it down into Kaur's arm. The blade shattered.
Kaur sneered. "You want to talk about humans? About caring for that frog?" His grip tightened. Riven felt the world darken at the edges. "You think that disgusting emotion—caring—means anything down here?"
Riven's breath came in ragged gasps. His legs kicked once more, then went still.
"Caring," Kaur leaned closer, voice dropping to a near whisper, "is a curse. A fucking weakness. A human trait."
He tilted his head. "Are you a human, Riven?"
He expected fear — or guilt. But what he saw instead was pure malice. Cold fury burned behind the mask.
Kaur's mouth twisted into a faint smile. "That's more fitting for a creature of Hell."
He let go. Riven hit the floor hard, papers scattering as he coughed violently.
"Next time you're here," Kaur said, turning back to his desk, "don't utter those words. It better be for a job — not ghosts."