Some say that, when a person hides their face behind a mask day in and day out, to those around them, their identity becomes that of the mask. In an ironic twist, it becomes a substitute for the very features it covers. After all, the most immediate use of the human face is recognition, which a distinctive guise can provide just as well.
Though often used as a metaphorical analogy, in the case of Johannes Fiesel, this could be said quite literally. Even after two years fighting alongside him, his fellow members of Wyvern Team had never caught the slightest glimpse of his visage.
As far as his allies were concerned, Fiesel was the mask.
There is one thing that a mask can never replicate, however;
Humanity.
Alas, what use does a demon have for such a trivial thing?
Whirling orange flames reflected in Scharf’s one open eye as he galloped on horseback down ashen roads lined with blazing wooden homes and shops. Bodies, burnt charcoal black, littered the ground and hung out windows as a lasting, grizzly memento of their failed escape. Through their dark, stiffened forms ran glowing, molten veins in all the colors of the distant sunset, falling below the horizon.
Scharf’s cursed assumption had proven correct. When afforded the choice, it was a given that Fiesel would take whatever avenue led to the most death and widespread destruction. The larger the congregation of souls, the hotter his flames would burn, and the greater his power would grow.
On just the road Scharf had ridden to the town’s center, he had counted nearly one hundred bodies of men, women, children, and animals alike, all equally harassing his sinuses with the stench of incinerated flesh. No one had been spared the wrath of the dreaded Hellfire Knight.
“Hello, Michael! Nice of you to finally join us!”
A hot draft slammed into Scharf as he turned his horse to face the town hall- the only three-story structure in the entire settlement. Atop its prominent center gable stood Fiesel, dangling a mortified and soot-coated Erma by her wrist.
“Fiesel! What the hell are you doing?! Put her down, you bastard!”
The masked fiend tilted his head, casting the glare of firelight across his lenses. “Down? From this height? I'd reckon she might sprain an ankle, but if you insist…”
Jerking his arm forward, Fiesel indicated his intention to toss Erma from the rooftop. In response, Scharf dove from the back of his steed and rushed toward the building, but tripped in his panic and came to a painful, sliding stop in the dirt just beyond the front steps. He then quickly scrambled to his feet in a desperate attempt to catch his teammate when he looked up and found that she was still firmly in Fiesel’s grasp.
“Come now, friend. Do you think me so cruel?”
With that, Fiesel leaped from the gable and impacted the front steps, shattering them under his jackboots. The stone and concrete debris pelted both Scharf and Erma, whom he still held at his side.
“Why…?” growled the marksman, using his forearm to shield his eyes from the rain of stone chips and dust. “You’ve killed all of these people… and for what?”
“You know ’for what’, Michael, don't be dramatic. You’ve snuffed out your fair share of unripe souls, have you not?”
“In battle, you treasonous scum!” Scharf snapped back, stumbling to his feet. “You’re murdering civilians!”
Fiesel released Erma, letting her collapse next to his left boot as crossed his arms. “Treasonous?” he inquired with a tone of exaggerated offense, “Oh, your words are like daggers thrust into my poor, sensitive heart. This is an enemy village. I haven’t done anything treasonous… yet.”
“Michael…” Erma called out weakly as she struggled to lift herself onto her knees, “He has no intention of sparing us… Just run…”
The woman’s voice grounded Scharf, if only for a moment. He would never consider evacuating without Erma, but her pleas did serve as a reminder that he’d have to temper his response if there was any hope of surviving this ordeal. While Fiesel’s motives remained unclear, tempting his fury would certainly bring about their demise. Considering this, Scharf bit his tongue and allowed his desire for Erma’s safety to push the thoughts of vengeance from his mind.
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Scharf through a scowl, “Why did you bring her here?”
“Because I wanted to talk to you in private, of course. To make you a… proposition, of sorts.”
“In private? You could have done that anywh-”
Scharf stopped short in sudden realization. He was isolated. The location wasn’t chosen based on the question, but the potential answer. Without even knowing the subject, the circumstances made it clear that refusal would result in a swift death.
“No, I couldn’t have…” Fiesel replied with a sigh as he began to pace the perimeter of the town square. “You see my dear friend, a proposition so momentous- so… historical… requires the proper…”
Now behind Scharf, the alleged demon raised his right hand in a claw, causing the surrounding flames to swell several meters upward into the air.
“Atmosphere…”
Sensitive right eye still shut firmly against the bring blaze's sting, the corporal whipped around to face Fiesel but found him absent.
“You see, this lovely war has awakened something deep inside of me,” the fiend spoke up once more, now sitting at the top of the crushed town hall steps. “An… understanding...”
Though Scharf attempted to afford the traitor his undivided attention, he found his focus drawn to Erma, who trembled in pain on her hands and knees.
“Ah, ah!” Fiesel teased, extending his right index and middle fingers toward the woman. “Is something distracting you?”
Knowing that Fiesel was capable of projecting a blast of flame from his fingertips, Scharf lunged toward Erma and clutched her in his arms as the two rolled across the ash-covered ground. Gathering himself, the marksman then looked to Fiesel’s position, but found it vacated once more. It wasn’t until he heard a muffled giggle near his ear that Scharf jolted up and found the fiend’s retched visage nearly pressed against his nose. From this distance, he saw twisted glee in Fiesel’s searing orange eyes.
“What I learned, dear Michael, is that the lives of the weak are assured only by the mercy of the strong- that these… ’people’ only exist because we allow them to,” Fiesel explained as he rose to his feet and threw back his head in an exaggerated gesture of grandeur. “We have power over them, don't you see? We could end it all in an instant, yet chose to bind ourselves to their petty order. Doesn’t that disgust you?”
Still clutching Erma in his arms, Scharf sat up and gazed upon the dancing flames reflected in the madman’s mask. “Are you suggesting that we break the chain of command and end this war on our own?”
“What?!” spat Fiesel through a malicious cackle, “You’re kidding, right?”
A hot gale swept over the village, flaring the flames into a grand, hellish arch over the square. For a few seconds, it seemed that from Scharf’s perspective, the entire area was encased in a blazing dome.
“Look around you,” Fiesel continued, waving his hand toward the countless blackened bodies strewn about. “What part of this makes you think I want it to stop? To the contrary, I won't be satisfied until every last disgusting vermin infesting this accursed rock is burnt to cinders.”
Scharf glared at his former ally through one hateful, narrowed eye. “You’d go to such a horrible length just to make yourself stronger? What point would there be to that?”
In response to the marksman’s assumption, Fiesel broke into a fit of maniacal laughter. “To get stronger?! That’s what you believe?! Oh please, that’s nothing but an added bonus!”
“Then to what end, Fiesel? What else do you gain from this suffering?”
Suppressing his elated hysteria, the masked fiend’s shoulders bounced with a muffled chuckle. “I don’t know… Purpose? Enjoyment? I want to kill them because I can. What more justification do I need?”
Fiesel’s words broke through the young knight’s composure and reignited his ire. “Then what do you need us for?!” Scharf raged, “We don’t take pleasure in this! We’re not fucked in the head like you!”
“Well,” Fiesel chortled, brushing soot from his fur collar as he glanced toward Erma, “maybe not in the head…”
Picking up on the vulgar hint, the corporal’s jaw dropped in abject horror. “Fucking monster… How dare you!” he howled, removing a grenade from his belt and twisting off its cap. “I’ll shove this down your cocksucking throat!”
The notion that Fiesel might have defiled the person most important to him was too much to bear. Even if it meant certain death, Scharf would not cower on the ground while the abomination celebrated the theft of his beloved's honor.
“Michael!” cried Erma, gripping his lapel, “He’s lying! He’s just trying to-”
“Wrong choice!” screeched the fiend, whose wicked smile, though hidden, was painted across his words.
Alerted by Erma's muffled yelp and a sudden loss of weight from his hand, Scharf looked down to see the wooden handle of the grenade stuffed between the woman's jaws. The young lovers had but a fraction of a second to exchange their panicked gazes before the explosive detonated. The last thing Scharf saw- the Godforsaken image that would be burned into his mind for the rest of his miserable life- was the horrified face of his love, Erma before they were overtaken by the violent blast.
Started by the sound, Scharf's horse attempted to escape down a nearby village road but was summarily targeted by the black-hearted knight and overtaken by a giant ball of fire. Within seconds, its flesh gave way to charred black bone, which in turn crumbled to smoldering ash.
Fiesel grinned beneath his mask as the dust cleared, exposing a bloodied crater adorned with shredded clothing and maimed body parts. As it seemed clear to the madman, no normal exceptional could have survived such an explosion at close range. So far as he was aware, he had succeeded in ending the lives of half his teammates.
After several moments basking in his own grizzly sadism, Fiesel began to observe a sudden change in the behavior of the surrounding blaze. Under no control of his own, the flames had started to reach higher, though they notably lacked their previous intensity. Seconds later, his ears popped as harsh winds rushed through the village streets, fanning the inferno.
“And so the storm cometh…” the traitor spoke aloud, turning slowly to survey the surrounding area.
Just as he started back toward the town hall, a stiff gust crashed against his back like an invisible wall. Within seconds, the winds whipped into a vicious updraft, tearing burning shingles from the surrounding roofs and projecting them hundreds of meters into the sky.
Like the wrathful breath of the heavens above, a deep, contemptuous voice boomed, "You vile degenerate... What have you done?"
Slowly, Fiesel turned to meet the only Iron Knight capable of challenging his supremacy. The man standing before him, with cape trashing in the hot breeze, was none other than the legendary Hurricane.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
