A Witch-Hunter

Aerions slim figure stood next to the giant dead form of the Demi-God, his breaths heavy from the battle. The spear planted deep into the once handsome Lord, he sighed as he eyed the dead body.

He had to admit that while he enjoyed the fight, still feeling the high of it even now, that it turned to a rather sombre affair.

He eyed the swords that laid forgotten in the sand, with no hesitation he grabbed them. 

Awkward to carry due to their sheer size he had to drag them through the sand back to the wooden lift. He activated the creaky wooden lift with a pull of an old lever. 

The wooden platform started to rise as frayed ropes pulled him up back towards the castle. The journey was far slower than the downward descent but no less worrying as the platform would suddenly stop for a few silent seconds then continue to lift.

Eventually he got back to the castle, but as he was about to enter the wooden door into the church a bright flash of light lit up the castle. 

He turned and looked up at the sky, his breath catching at the sight. 

Dozens…no, hundreds of stars streaked across the red sky of Caelid. They moved in unison, like a celestial army on the march. The red sky now covered in bright blue streaks that seemed cut through the gloomy atmosphere. 

The sight was mesmerising, otherworldly as the stars faded into the deep unknown universe. 

He quickly looked down at the flattened desert, the body of Radahn was still there. He thought back to the Demi-Gods gravity magic and his suddenly wide eyes stuck on the form in awe.

Was…was he holding back, all of…that.

A few seconds of silence echoed as he processed this information causing Aerion to gain a sudden even higher level of respect for the Demi-God. 

He took a deep breath as he turned around, walking through the wooden door that led into the church he froze at the sight of the older man.

Stood at the main entrance across from him, using his shining sword as a cane as he eyed Aerion. 

"You're a fine warrior" the man said as his eyes focused on the large gash just over the Asgardians ribs, barely bleeding and already healing…extraordinary.

Aerion nodded as he walked over to the altar of the church, the red beams of sunlight falling over him like a cloak. "I thank you, but I must ask," Aerion looked over in the direction of the desert "What was his name?"

The old man coughed "His name is…was, Radahn." The man's voice was sombre as he reminisced on his Lord.

"Well, he was a mighty warrior," Aerion said as he thought back to the fight. 

The older man chuckled "He was, you have done me and him a favour" he said as he looked down at the floor below. "I'm afraid, I must ask one more favour from you" 

Aerion nodded, he would hear the man out. 

The older bearded man coughed once again, his face hidden by the brown bag only allowing Aerion to see his haunted grey eye."I must ask, to fight you." 

Aerion blinked as his eyes raked over the man, he wasn't exactly in fighting shape. "Why?" He decided to ask, curious about the man. 

"Long ago when the Scarlet Rot hadn't yet turned him into the animal you saw today but was inevitably going to, I vowed to Radahn that I would grant him a warrior's death." The warrior's voice came out sombre, sad as he thought on days long passed. 

"So I set up festivals, hoping a warrior stronger than I could accomplish this goal." The man's hands clenched around the hilt of the shiny blade he used as a cane. 

"Yet, no one succeeded in granting mercy to my Lord." His voice turned bitter as his clenched hands shook. "So I rotted away, my life passing by in a flash" the man's voice was filled with heart aching regret.

"So, with my younger years wasted by, I now stand before you" coughs wracked his slim form as the armour surrounding him clanked from the sudden movement. "A shadow of my former self, dying and without a single companion."

Until he suddenly looked up at the wide eyed Aerion "So I ask you, let me…in my last moments" his sword raised quickly as the man got into a guard "feel like a warrior, once more"

A few seconds of stunned silence passed as Aerion processed the information, this man…was asking him to kill him. 

Aerion thought back to the story and felt a lead ball drop into his stomach, the man was sick, he was dying alone in a cold damp castle filled with memories of better days. 

Aerion smiled softly, blood gently leaking out of the wound on his ribs and dropped the large swords of Radahn to the side, hitting the ground with a clash. 

A spear summoned into his right hand, pointing it at the man in front of him. His white platinum hair shining like an angel.

"I am Aerion Odinson" his regal voice bounced around the church, his spear tip filling with burning magic "You are?"

The man removed the brown sewed bag from his head revealing dark grey skin, a large beard and a rugged face with dark wrinkles running through the skin.

His sword reflected a ray of sunlight as both parties met eyes, an old, weathered and dark pair of grey eyes met the youthful, bright yellow eyes of the Asgardian. 

"I am the Witch-Hunter Jerren" his voice was harsh but fond as the swords hilt in his hands sent memories shooting through his head of better times.

Wars with his Lord, both of them at the frontlines, Leonard his lords childhood horse the frail thing barely able to stand but yet charging into battle with Radahn on his back, the gravity magic negating his humongous weight. 

Lion banners flying over the large army as they chased down their enemies.

Great burning bonfires the army would joyously celebrate around, ale quickly being drunk to laughter and shouts with loud offensive raucous songs filling the air. 

He closed his eyes for a moment as he imagined himself with Radahn once more, not the beast in the desert but the real Lord Radahn. 

His eyes opened, that would soon be the case

He rushed towards Aerion, the platinum haired Prince eyed the man and dodged a vicious slice of the sword. Hints of his time as a mighty warrior shining through as the man effortlessly dodged an admittedly purposefully slowed slice from his spear. 

Jerren dodged backwards avoiding another slice of the spear, but using the opening to strike quickly back to which Aerion side stepped. 

The clash of steel quickly filled the place of worship, sparks fired from the blades as sword met spear and the weapons slashed through the air with sharp cracks.

Aerion noticed Jerren was fully focused on the battle, he also noticed the grin that carved through the frown lines marking his face.

Aerion felt his own soft smile grow genuinely, this man was a warrior, his form exemplary, the footwork perfect, his strikes strong and fast.

The Witch-Hunter quickly parried the spear with masterful timing putting Aerion onto the backfoot, his sword slashed across the Asgardians tunic covered stomach.

A fine line cut into the Asgardians stomach, slowly leaking divine red blood. The Witch-Hunters grin was broad as he pushed his attack with memories of Radahns golden form pushing him to fight. 

Aerions small smile struggled to remain as in a move so fast the Witch-Hunter couldn't even see where it began; his head was quickly pierced with a spear. 

The man's smile remained even as he dropped back against the ground with a thud, blood rushing out of the wound as if it was late somewhere. 

Silence ran through the church as the sun seemed to shine onto the form of the dead man. 

Aerion kneeled over the body ignoring the blood staining his dark trousers. "To Valhalla you go" he said as his hand gently pressed against the man's still warm chest.

—-

He sat in the cockpit of the personal ship, he eyed the two massive swords that laid awkwardly against the floor.

General Radahn would live on. 

He with a few taps sent the ship to leave this infected planet, shooting into far space with a roar. 

Aerions eyes wandered to the screen.

Destination: Nidavellir 

ETA: 00 Years 02 Months 05 Days

He sighed as he fished out Loki's book on beginner theory, he should be able to finish the thing by the time he gets there. 

Far away in the Redmane Castle, in the empty abandoned courtyard was a grave, a large rock that had been sliced in half marking the spot.

Words were neatly engraved on the flat side that faced up. 

'Here lies Jerren, a mighty warrior.'

Letting anyone who passed in the future know that this man, in his once colourful but long faded armour was a warrior true.