The Red Soldier: The Crimson Prophecy

ISSUE #12

 (Y/N)'s heart thumped rapidly against his ribcage as he landed atop Wundagore Mountain. He could feel the magic in his veins become more concentrated as he sailed quickly over the valley and into the fortress on the other side. His boots tapped against the stone flooring when he landed. He sniffed the air, smelling the smoke from the candles which were still lit and the lanterns which had continued to burn. His eyes surveyed the room, glancing in every direction in hopes of seeing the Book of the Damned.

The Darkhold wasn't on the table though, or beneath it. It wasn't lying on the alter surrounded by half-burnt candles, or in the corner where he usually slept. He checked the chamber in which he'd found it, begrudgingly, doubtful that it could have been blown back there by any wind. He'd been right in his doubt. The small stony room behind the statue of 'The Red Soldier' was completely bare apart from the moss which sprouted from the cracks in the flooring.

He began to shake his head, racking his brain for any idea as to where the Darkhold may have gotten to.

'You're searching for my book, aren't you,' a deep, bloodcurdling, growl sounded through from the hall, sending shivers down his spine. Crimson sparks danced between his fingers as he returned to the hall, only to find Chthon lazing arrogantly against the table. 'I'm afraid it's already been taken,' he shrugged.

'Where did you put it?' (Y/N) questioned, taking a step forward towards the Elder God, 'why have you taken it from me? I deserve it! It's mine to have; you said so yourself in the fucking book!'

Chthon laughed loudly, his chuckles booming off of the stone walls, almost deafening (Y/N) (L/N), 'why would I need the Darkhold?' he shook his head and ruffled (Y/N)'s hair with a single finger in the most condescending way possible.

'To stop me from getting it again,' he spat, 'so I wouldn't use its power against you, to stop you from possessing me and using my body as a vessel – just like you were going to do to Wanda.'

'Oh, you're not wrong, Red Soldier, but I've also dreamed of fighting you,' the demon breathed, 'finally there exists a witch worthy of fighting the God of Chaos!'

'And yet you attacked me when I was off-guard, used my own magicks against me – you're real tough Chthon,' (Y/N) hissed sarcastically, 'you don't want a real fight.'

The demon nodded, 'I do. But I didn't take the Darkhold from you, Mage,' he sounded almost sympathetic now, 'no, no, it wasn't me. It was one of your sister witches, the last living witch of the Salem Coven I believe.'

(Y/N) shook his head adamantly. Chthon was lying. Agatha wouldn't have stolen it. 'She said it herself,' (Y/N) argued, 'she was a member of the Salem Coven, she wanted to protect it.'

'Never trust a witch, (Y/N) (L/N),' Chthon rose a brow as he stared at him, 'thankfully, once I'm done with you, there won't be many witches left to mistrust.'

'What do you mean?'

'You know what I mean, Red Soldier,' said the beast, his voice cold and calculating, 'you're a smart man... I know you talked to the Sorcerer Supreme – what help you thought you'd get from him I will never know. The Masters of the Mystic Arts look down upon you and your ancestors for they wish they had your innate abilities. They are human, whereas those gifted with witchcraft have the potential to threaten gods.'

(Y/N) let out an impatient groan, rolling his eyes as his body began to levitate upwards, the thought of potentially being a threat to the God of Chaos fuelled him with determination. Chthon studied his face, looking almost proud for a moment, before (Y/N) (L/N) began conjuring all the magic he could muster and aiming it at the Elder God before him.