He did not know what he did differently, but Soulless began to feel resistance from an uptilting ground.

  ”Is it finally the end of this wretched wickedness?” he wondered, trying to squint himself through the thick mist, a feint light calling for him in the distance. Back in that Uncanny Valley, he heard the ghosts of wailing screams in the wind, still trying to pull him back.

  ”Back so soon?” The familiar voice seemed pleased with itself.

  ”Lizard,” Soulless replied, raspily, before the mist faded between them. He climbed up the ledge near the top, and there was Odilon Redon, seemingly full of excited glee to see him return up the slope, between those rocky edges, concealing the valley. The gigantic ork stopped a half step before Odilon, as if formally, but sternly, awaiting some kind of apology for directing him down into a mad nightmarish realm. But, Soulless said nothing, as he eventually passed Odilon, this time setting his sights on the road leading along the base of the mountain, thinking he’ll never return and never ever listen to a lizardman again.

  ”Ork,” he heard a word hit the back of his head, like some annoying insect trying to suck all the smart out of his brains.

  Soulless half turned to listen further. No more words came. So he looked back, to gaze upon Odilon, the lizardkin. But he was gone. Surprise tsunamied over Soulless’s senses, as the voice of Odilon eventually sounded, coming from the very spot where he no longer stood, mere seconds ago. The words were a blur, as Soulless were too busy running the other way, having had quite enough of unnaturalities for the day. However, he thought he could make out the word ’origami’ in the midst of his stomping strides, followed up by an oddly casual laughter, which gave him both creeps and shivers.

  That was it. Odilon was no longer seen, and no longer heard. Soulless didn’t stop for a good while — hoping, primitively, it was all just some prank, although he knew better. So he ran some more, another kilometer, just about.

  That’s when he heard it. The baying of a thousand wolves. What else could it be? A clash between the tribes, he tried to fool himself. Moving towards the sound, instinctively, was his warrior mindset. Entering the woods, he soon recognized a path that stood out as one build with stone and clay, by the dwarves, long ago.

  To the north-east lay the great Dir’Hall, stronghold and main mining city of the dwarves. If not wolves, maybe the sound came from one of their warbeasts. What did they call them again? Oh yes, ’the yrmengourd’, or ’the experiment’ — that was often used to refer to a single one of them. People often mistook the yrmengourd to be the biproduct of dwarven savagery. Torture, namely. Torture of weakened giants from the mountain, bent to a husk of their former almighty stature. Soulless didn’t believe it. He thought nothing could bend the will of a giant, especially this far north. Why he thought that was not exactly crystal clear, but he had been wandering the globe for many of his years and finding he valued the tough landscape, particularly around the kingdom of Icevein, which he held in very high regard as the most challenging to survive in. And so, by his logic; tough weather and all that equals resilient minds.

  ***

  A few scattered children ran past, as Soulless came close to the peak, overlooking Dir’Hall. They surprised him, in that no one seemed to bat as much as half an eye when they saw him, instead running, without loosing stride at all in their little weak legs.

  ”Not as weak as they look. Good on them,” he reflected. Were they scared of something? Sure as he had breakfast this morning. But… bigger than himself?

  Soulless grinned as he passed the time imagining who, or what, that howling came from, and had a bit of a laugh as he paired it with a group of less layered orks. Well that did not fit, not at all. What if he matched it with-

  Feet stopped. Eyes glared — and met with a pair of half dead ones. Continuing forward, as the peak crawled closer and closer, the half undead looking man revealed a companion. A dog, on the bigger side, as dogs go anyway, with an aura of dread that Soulless had a hard time quite figuring out at that distance. Clearly it matched its owner then. A tall, thickly bearded man — One of the tallest he’d ever seen. That is to say, one that did not look like a freaky stick figure from one of those traveling caravans of outcasts back in the old days, that earned their living from being laughed and pointed at by complete strangers, not knowing a thing about them as a person. Those outcasts had Soulless’s pity — a rare thing, landing on humans, from him.

  They were about to walk past each other. Now, just meters apart, the big ork felt the need to say something. Strange really, since usually he never started conversations that had no need to be aired. He let loose some words in the human tongue, expecting a surprised reply.

  ”What bring man here?”

  Silence.

  The huge man — only about a head shorter than Soulless — showed not even the slightest shred of fear, as he tilted up his hard face, meeting those ork eyes with his own tired, empty globes of vision. Or was this man blind, hence the emptiness in his eyes? Was this his leader dog? Maybe he located Soulless’s head by his breathy exhales?

  ”Deaf man?” He swayed a finger by the man’s face, while leaning menacingly down to the same height.

  Still no reaction.

  An awkward moment later, the bearded houndmaster suddenly gripped a weapon from the hip.

  Soulless responded with a headbutt, before the man could raise the wooden handle.

  As the man staggered back and readied himself, the axe half gleamed with partly dried blood.

  ”That small axe for trees? This comedy show!” Soulless punched the air with laughter. ”What you kill? Chicken?”

  The big man still was not deterred, as blood trickled from his eyebrow. He simply raised his axe and — let it rest on a shoulder.

  His dog started growling, gaping partly, to reveal a sickly set of teeth, drooling — snarling.

  The pair put him in caution mode, half regretting that headbutt. Expecting to win but also to get injured, especially by a dog that likely carried all kinds of desieses, did not feel entirely worthwhile on this fine day. Soulless had to think about these things, now that he was a solo artist. However, he was beginning to think the man in front of him also painted with a wide range of the red palette.

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  ”Look, I can you walk- let you walk. Forget this.” Soulless waved a palm at the stones between them.

  The man shook his head, real slow like, closed the distance again, then, with a frown, he held the blade of the axe up, square in front of his face, then looked back at the ork, analysing, it seemed, going through all kinds of emotions in quick succession.

  Humans did, historically, hate the orks. Though, that coin looked the same, however you one flipped it.

  Something about this axeman halted Soulless’s furious fists from flying into his face. It wasn’t that the axeman walked with the most vicious looking hound he’d ever seen. No, he was fairly sure that little spine would snap, easy as all other critters. No, intsead he did some analysing of his own, and concluded; this man seemed more than capable of traveling alone, despite being far from Mt. Braxius, the nearest human beacon of rule. Also, why was he actually alone? This was no place to wander around careless, which meant he had no intention of refilling his pantry with these blueberries. He seemed… on a deeper mission. This intrigued Soulless, perching his lips, raising his brows.

  Then, unexpectedly, the axeman went around, in a safe distanced arc, and continued onward, as if one of the most feared orks in the known world did not just headbash blood from his forehead.

  ”Interesting man,” he told himself, facing forward, as the hound still stood there, poised — just in case.

  The axeman snapped his fingers thrice, and the companion followed its master in his footfalls, growling at nothing. It was odd to see an animal with such an untamed aura, yet still obeying every little sign it got for orders.

  What business did a human have in dwarven lands?

  ***

  Soulless went on, trying not to think too much about it. But the thought of that man etched itself in his brain, and the image of him to his eye lids.

  ”Three Hells…” he muttered, and went back, beaten by his curiosity.

  The interest in Dir’Hall faded, in favor of one man and his dog. The axeman limped, and was easy to catch up with. The hound barked. A hissing sound escaped its throat, as if it had just swallowed other vile creature — as if the four legged thing didn’t look hideous enough on its own.

  Soulless tried to break the ice between them;

  ”That ting- Your friend, would pass as orkish beast,” he said, stumbling through the words. ”A real dog, eh?”

  There was little point trying to talk with this guy. He didn’t respond, didn’t move… Fact was, he was professionally doing nothing. A patient bastard, as they say.

  Soulless scratched his cheek.

  ”Uh…”

  It was time to change the approach. In his own toungue, he served, what he thought would be, intimidation.

  ”Listen to me, big boy. You peaked my interest, and I need to know why. What is so skinkin’ special about you? I can smell bloody murder from your hide.” Soulless’s eyes turned, like rusty cogwheels, to the furry leech that trailed the man’s every step. ”Not to mention him… Her? It?” -

  He aborted his next breath as he noticed the axeman’s face shifting as he spoke. The man was reacting to every sentence — ranging from offended to guilty and back again.

  ”Theeere he is.” Soulless burst out applauding. ”You did well trying to play the dumb card. But you actually know ork speech. Impressive.”

  There was a thick pause.

  The axeman fiddled through his nose with a thick index finger, then flicked away a bloody blob, that landed on Soulless’s foot.

  Soulless took the lead again, not caring for the blob;

  ”So what exactly is your preffered way of communication? See, we can do this whole thing the way I always end up doing them things. And I do love a good mess. Somehow I feel we’re in the same-”

  Zeal Aqia himself must have entered the one sided conversation and interrupted him.

  ”You’d be sssurpriiised. The outcome may dissappoint-t-t you-eeeh.”

  Soulless was stunned, squinting.

  ”Did that voice just call to me from the burning realm? Because you’re still not moving your facial muscles that much — Least of all; your lips.”

  ”We have no connection to no burrrning realm, but it sounds like a playground worth taking two looks at. No, we like to keep it simple, for now,” the voice hissed and snarled and coughed.

  Soulless was absolutely riveted. His eyes grew wide and his cheek hurt — He was smiling.

  He had to spin around.

  There was no one.

  ”What are you?” Soulless had been meaning to ask that question for a few minutes.

  ”The question cannot b-be anssswered in a jiffy, big ork. But if I am to tell you,” it said, while the axeman stood, unblinking, like a robust tree growing through the cobbles. ”I should like to have the pleasure of an intrrroductionnn. Who stands before usss.”

  The voice coughed, like it was sick.

  Soulless’s chin went up unconciously. ’Us’, it said. Every line made the meeting more fun, more loaded with questions — more… scary.

  ”Name’s Soulless.” He squinted, tried to figure out the unoutfigurable that stood before him. He puffed out cold cloudy air, before beating the intimidation that hammered his mind. ”What’s yours?” He paused for a second, remembering the answer to his last question. ”Or is that just not possible to be answered ’in a jiffy’?”

  Soulless felt… regret? Yes, that was the word. Regret. At least a little bit of the stuff. Sure the axeman was smaller, but he was no joke, for a human — On top of that, he was evidently something greater beyond — or beneath — the hard looking husk that seemed to keep quiet, but the words… they came anyway. Like a bad dream that had escaped the realm of the Sandman, and made the waking world feel the creaky steps of its nightmares.

  The man did not sign any letters in the air with his fingers.

  Instead, the axe was gripped with both hands.

  The voice said only one thing.

  ”Soullessss,” it hissed wildly.

  The axeman suddenly came towards him with the prowl of a killer. With those empty, dead eyes.

  Soulless blinked. Wanted to say ’stop’, but the word drowned within him. He felt alive.

  The axe bled something from the blade.

  He rubbed his ork-eyes.

  ”Impossi-”

  Clash!

  He put the shoulderspikes in the way of the blow. And what a blow it was. He felt that to the bone, through his layers and all.

  Glancing at the hound, it sat calm, but ready — full trust in its master. Soulless could see why, and out flew a cackle.

  ”Is this really what you want, axeman,” he rumbled, bewildered. Scared. He was entertained.

  The man opened his mouth, and out came that thousand-wolf-howl, sending Soulless’s ears banging for an exit.

  He staggered back, falling off the cobbled road, oofed as his back hit another rock on the side, stabbing at his shoulder blade. Lucky for him it was blunt enough. The ork rolled off — dazed.

  The axeman strangled the eaten sound of the wolf horde.

  ”You know, we’d make a fun couple,” Soulless said, face down in the moss.”

  ”Try not to embarrrasss usss, ork fiend.” The voice went down a couple of octaves.

  That was quick.

  ”That was quick,” he said, thanking any and all creators for placing a tree stump conveniently right where he had fallen. As Soulless dragged himself up, bracing a knee with one hand, the other all but tore the stump out of the earth, making him have to let it go before regaining his balance — making him wobble about again, this time in the other direction. Cursing the very same creators he’d just praised, he stumbled — and tripped — over the same stabby innard of a rock he’d just done a round with. Two – Zero. Rock vs Legendary Ork.

  ”It’s a fine one ork trrraveling circusss. I think I’ll name you — ’The Balance’. Or maybe — ’Shit, It Falls!’” Heaving breaths came from that voice, as if a starving slave got to controll it for a moment.

  ”Do we shake on it,” said Soulless, not the least bit offended. This was too exhilarating. It surprised himself — because otherwise he liked being alone.

  ”No, we do not shake on it.”

  Soulless had learned his lesson, and his laugh was purely on the inside.

  He did crack a smile though.

  Did you read all chapters up to this point?