Rhynsa wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, or even do. His heart was as conflicted as his decision. Even without Ifrit convincing him, the Fuzandre was still reluctant working with yet another monarch. He was aware of Anarim Winsel’s status: even he wasn’t that oblivious about the House of Winsel. The only thing that prevented him from completely breaking his newfound ties was because of their reputation.

Among the many royal Houses of the Underworld, the House of Winsel was known to be the least confrontative House that preferred to stay out of everyone’s business. Not only were the seat of their kingdom being in the Outer Realms (hence the name of their kind, Hunters of the Outer Realms), they rarely, if ever, had any alliances with the other Houses. Rhynsa was aware of the more diplomatic ones, like the House of Gruck, and unfortunately, Houses as ruthless as the Schelkz, like their rivals, the House of Laverith.

And then there were the more mysterious, yet very vital in preparing for the coming Hellish Incursion, which was his current mission. In the morning when he decided to leave town and travel on his own, he contemplated on whether he should tell Ifrit’s companions, knowing that he was not yet part of them despite of interacting for a month. The Barghest, Sammael, did not like him as much as the others, which was understandable.

Just as he was going to decide that it was best to leave without words, a familiar voice greeted him. He was standing near the Winsel Tea Shop when Anarim Winsel saw him and called him.

“(Leaving so soon, Rhynsa?)” said Anarim, which caught Rhynsa’s attention.

“(Got places to be),” said Rhynsa short. “(Don’t get me wrong but staying in one place isn’t exactly my style).”

“(I can understand your need to travel),” said Anarim. “(But I expect you to return to Summinat one day. It is rare to meet a Fuzandre on the surface, so I don’t want this to be our last meeting).”

“(Now, why do you assume I’m going to disappear?)” said Rhynsa with a smile. “(Because I feel guilty? Well, there’s that. In any case, I prefer working alone).”

“(Then, how about this? I’ll give you a mission, so you won’t aimlessly go around scaring people as the Vampire or killing hellhounds and demons you consider threats. That can’t go on forever, and when the Incursion is in full swing, you really need an ally to help you survive).”

Rhynsa considered what the old hellhound said. After contemplating about it for a moment, he sighed and said, “(Okay, what do you want me to do? You got a target in mind?)”

“(My target is to find a member of the House of Caropus, but by this point, it’s up to chance with how things are),” said Anarim. “(Ternor is vast, and the Underworld is even more. The House of Caropus could be completely wiped out by this point. However, I might have something else in mind).”

“(Tell me).”

“(Establish contact with hellhound cells near the Tragorian-Adaline border and tell them to be ready to defend Adaline from the demons. Then, while you’re at it, find out about the Death’s Jackal and the House of Caropus. Keep your investigation in the surface world).”

“(What if they are in the Underworld?)”

“(Find out about it, then go down there or find a contact to do it for you. Don’t take unnecessary risks. I never like sacrificing hounds, and I certainly don’t like them sacrificing themselves for me. There is no ulterior motive other than helping the surface world).”

“(Huh. That’s interesting),” said Rhynsa. “(Are you trying to convince me that you’re different than Hynorsi Schelkz? I mean, I told you about my sob story. You could’ve tailored the way you talked to me. Sometimes, what you say ends up the complete opposite of what really happens).”

“(I know you have misgivings, especially towards kings or queens),” said Anarim with a sigh. “(Well, let me tell you this. You and I have no place to go back to in the Underworld. It’s better to protect what you can than dwelling in the past. If you can do that, I know you can move on from your grievances, and finally realize that working together is much better. You’ve seen a lot of things. You can appreciate what I say).”

“(Doesn’t mean I immediately agree, though you have a point).” As Rhynsa prepared to walk away from the old vulpine hellhound, he said, “(I’ll…wire you with updates. Just give me your address).”

“(I’ll write it down for you, though I’ll give you a better alternative. If you happen to be near a phone booth, make a call. I’ll be around in the tea shop to take a call. Just remember the code, or else me or my assistants will hang you up).”

“(Tell me).”

“(Put an order for a Beleberith Fruit Tea, ice cold. Now, let me get the address for you).”

“Beleberith Fruit Tea, ice cold),” thought Rhynsa. “(Beleberith isn’t a fruit, but I know what you’re getting at, old hound).”

Beleberith was the Hordo for castle or domain, and it made sense for a former king to use those words, especially since it was a form of Old Hordo. For a former king as old as Anarim, he would easily use those words as a code, since it wasn’t very widely used.

Even so, Rhynsa wondered if Anarim was a little too conspicuous for his own good. His tea shop had an address, and the family crest of the House of Winsel was in full view, as if inviting the anti-royals and their demonic supporters to come and attack him. It was as if the old hound had a death wish.

The Fuzandre did not care much about it, however. He wasn’t really that keen of asking too many questions. If Anarim had quite an ego, it was his problem, not Rhynsa. It was only if Rhynsa got involved would it become his problem, too.

Nevertheless, Rhynsa felt that maybe it was beneficial to start gathering allies. His enemies would no longer be just hellhounds, but also demons. The hellish incursion was going to change the surface world, and he would need be ready.

If he really planned to honor Ifrit’s legacy, he would need to stay alive and protect his love, even if he had to stay in the shadows to do so.

***

Rhynsa preferred traveling either on foot or flying and depending on the time of day. The Fuzandre found that he was more active at night than in broad daylight, mostly caused by his discomfort under the sunlight. At night, he could comfortably remove his cloak and fly with the wings on his back. It felt more natural to him, while also being more strategically sound: he could easily get to the roof or the higher ground and caught his opponents off-guard. He tried not to ride a train or any other public transports to not look suspicious. Hellhounds could easily blend in with the Lycans if their heads were lupine enough, but not Rhynsa.

His travel through Adaline was uneventful at best, mostly because he tried his best to avoid confrontations. He felt it wasn’t necessary to antagonize both sides because he looked considerably different. Nevertheless, the increased rate of conflicts made it clear that things started to move, just as Anarim claimed.

It was even worse as he approached the border between nations. It was clear for those looking from Adaline that Tragoria’s situation got even worse than the last time Rhynsa was around. From Stelikan, the Fuzandre could see the lush, rural landscape of Tragoria losing its luster and serenity, replaced with dying plants and lands drying out. The air was stale and ashy, with sunlight being blocked by consistent smog that was thicker than even the more industrialized cities of Adaline. As Rhynsa walked into Tragoria, it became clear to him that the region was slowly turning into a lawless wasteland.

At this point, walking into the region would be a suicide attempt. The wasteland had not reached Adaline proper, but most of the population in deeper Tragoria had been evacuated. Those who stayed either stayed for selfish reasons, or they stayed so others could escape. Either way, it was a death sentence; a sacrifice that would not amount for anything. Over time, that ‘sacrifice’ turned into something worse, fueled by the corruption of their feeble hearts.

It wouldn’t be long before the so-called heroes become the villains themselves.

Rhynsa could tell from experience. The Uprising turned kingdoms into chaos. Hellhounds, already susceptible to corruption from the start, turned to each other. Monarchs were wiped out in the most gruesome way. In fact, death would be the kindest end for them. Being alive would only subject them to a hell that even normal hellhounds would not want to be in. All the Fuzandre could do was watch as the once dignified kings, queens, and their princes and princesses became less than anything to be desired. All he could do…was either turn away or, if he could, end their suffering.

This mindset prepared him for the horror that Tragoria would experience once the hellhounds responsible for the Uprising continued their onslaught on the surface world. This, however, made things harder than it should.

“(Now, I can’t tell which is which),” said Rhynsa as he traveled deeper into the region. “(In fact, I’m not sure if I can even convince them to trust me).”

The first test of Rhynsa’s mission began when he reached a seemingly abandoned town several days travel by flight. The town was like many Tragorian towns that dotted the countryside: buildings with red bricks, a pub that could possibly be centuries old due to the thatched roof (a fire hazard, thought Rhynsa), and horse carriages with the horses missing. Compared to the rest of the rural region, the town was rather well developed with small factories and services typical of a small town, such as the aforementioned pub, a post office with telegraph service, and a town hall.

Rhynsa hoped that he could at least use a telephone or maybe operate the telegraph equipment in the post office to connect with Anarim. He last reported his position three days ago in Stelikan. Then, the Fuzandre doubted if the town even have a working telephone. With a sigh, Rhynsa decided that the town did not have anything important for him, and that he should just move on and continue.

At least that’s what he would do if it wasn’t for his echo senses. As his echo senses were also visualized, he could detect minute echoes in the environment caused by sounds echoing off objects. He had known that anything could create echoes, and his sensitive, big Fuzandre ears caught them. There were several footsteps, all of which were made by paws instead of shoes. The paws were too big for animals like dogs or wolves, which could mean two things.

“(Lycans…or hellhounds),” thought Rhynsa. “(They don’t seem to realize that I’m a Fuzandre, so I can get the jump on them. Or, I could just leave them be and hope they’re not stupid enough to follow me).”

But then Rhynsa also had another thought: what if they were against the Incursion? Anarim did tell Rhynsa that there were hellhounds fighting against the Uprising, both from the surface and refugees from the Underworld. There was a chance that they weren’t there to ambush anyone. They could be waiting to ambush the demons, instead.

Rhynsa shook his head. It was far too good to be true. The best he could do was leave instead of wasting his time with them. Of course, he had no luxury of a choice.

His echo senses could easily detect when or where an attack would come. A figure ran to the second floor of a nearby open window, during which Rhynsa was ready to aim just as the person revealed themselves. In fact, he could easily shoot just as his target peeked out of the window.

However, once he saw the person, he froze, giving the person an opportunity to shoot at Rhynsa. The person’s aim was either lousy or deliberately missed, but either way, Rhynsa took the chance to scramble into cover behind a nearby crate. He wasn’t going to kill a child, even if said child was trying to kill him.

Rhynsa heard noises of people behind him. The weight suggested adults, so Rhynsa would not feel guilty. Again, another surprise came when Rhynsa was unable to react to another person jumping from the second floor. Again, the Fuzandre froze upon realizing who was ambushing him.

It was a young hellhound cub.

He was unable to react when the cub fell on top of him. The hellhounds he detected earlier ran out and pointed their guns at him, during which Rhynsa realized that he lost.

“(Got jumped by children),” said Rhynsa with a groan. “(This is not how I thought I’d die).”

One of the hellhounds pulled the child away while complimenting him, with another pointing a gun at Rhynsa. Just as Rhynsa surrendered to his fate, a voice said, “(Stop!)”

The female voice was commanding, and it was enough to stop the attackers.

“(He’s not an enemy),” she said. “(I think he has something to tell).”

“(We can’t be too careful, Mizarka!)” said one of them, desperation clear in her voice.

“(Were all of you too hardened to realize that he hesitated?)” said Mizarka. “(And Anhal! You could’ve been killed! This is no child’s play!)”

“(Telly gave the signal!)” protested Anhal. “(He’s a bad guy!)”

“(Get Telly down here and tell him to apologize! Get him up).”

As Rhynsa was being helped on his feet, one of them said, “(No funny business, you hear? Keep your hands where I can see them).”

Rhynsa grunted, lamenting the fact that he should’ve just get out instead of pondering about his choices standing in the middle of the street. Then, without warning, one of the hellhounds pulled off his hood, revealing his chiropteran face for everyone to see. There were some audible gasps, which was something Rhynsa expected.

“(What? Can’t get enough of my face?)” taunted Rhynsa, though he knew it was not a good move.

“(You’re a Fuzandre?)” said Mizarka’s voice. This made Rhynsa turned to look. In an ironic twist, he was now the one gasping in surprise.

“(I can’t believe my fucking luck),” said Rhynsa. He was usually not the kind of Fuzandre to be surprised by something, but considering the situation, he couldn’t help but to be surprised.

Mizarka was a hellhound, but with a very special characteristic that Anarim once described to him during one of their talks. Her appearance checked out: black fur, tall, pointed canine ears with golden inside, golden eyes, and stripes that looked like fur paint.

Mizarka was one of them. She was one of the Death’s Jackal.