Chapter Text
The flames rose high into the auburn sky, mixing into the fading sunlight that disappeared alongside the town. Fire spread as fast as one could blink, the ash polluting the air like stars that were a death sentence. Soot covered every surface, every survivor, and every corpse that had met an unfortunate end so abruptly.
Zuka took a sharp inhale, only to break out into a coughing fit, and he gripped onto his son tighter in fear he’d lose him in the carnage. The boy looked up at him with terror, the usual fearless grin wiped clean off his face. Wiped off like their town had been wiped off the surface of the inpherno.
“Dad?” Rocket croaked, wheezing out the word like it took every ounce in him to say it. Zuka didn’t reply immediately—he only hoisted Rocket up, letting the boy’s head burrow into the crook of his neck.
“It’s okay. We’ll be okay. Just close your eyes.”
He wished he believed his own words. He wished he could close his eyes and block the horror out.
Zuka stumbled through the wreckage, coughing as smoke filled his lungs endlessly. It hurt, scratching his throat and filling his lungs with dirty air until he could hardly breathe at all.
Inhale, cough, exhale, choke. Over and over again.
Adrenaline was the only thing spurring him on. He had to get out of this mess before he took his son down with him. He’d never forgive himself if Rocket died so young, so frail, in a world that he never got the chance to explore.
He winced as the building beside him collapsed in on itself, the wooden structure succumbing to the fire that burned it to the ground. The heat was unbearable, sending sweat trickling down his body, making the burns that littered his body ache with a raw, hot sensation. The singed smells filled his nostrils the more he moved through the disaster his home had become, and he forced himself to keep his focus on moving his legs, lest he collapse entirely.
He wasn’t sure where it started, given that everything was already destroyed, or in the process of being destroyed. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he’d be pushed out of the Blackrock capital, but he didn’t think it’d be so soon. Not under such urgent circumstances. Not by the hand of the enemy kingdom that swore peace so many years ago.
His breath fanned out before him in the cold winter air, but the deeper he went through the burning town, the more it vanished alongside everything else. He wasn’t sure if it was because his breathing was lessening from carbon monoxide poisoning, or because of the excessive heat licking at him from left and right.
It didn’t matter to him in the moment.
Zuka stumbled down the street to look through the haze for a way out, but it was difficult, and with every ragged breath he felt himself growing weaker. He held Rocket a little tighter to his chest, a trembling hand seeking refuge in the bandana he had given the boy just a year ago.
He took a turn down one of the paved roads, now littered with broken rubble and shattered glass. He saw a few shapes in the fires, resembling what could only be inphernals that hadn’t been able to escape after the initial explosion had been set off. He shivered despite the heat surrounding him and forced himself to keep going.
As a soldier, he’d seen many horrors. The Blackrock capital was known for its brutal order—yet seeing innocent citizens be burned to the ground, stuck within their homes and helpless to the wreckage that crashed in on them…it all made his stomach lurch.
He felt sick.
His grip on Rocket slipped slightly, and he hurriedly adjusted it, hoisting his son higher again with a wince. God, everything hurt.
“Dad,” Rocket spoke again with yet another cough, “your arm—”
The words caught his attention, and for the first time this night, he actually paid attention to his own state.
Eyes downcast upon his right arm, he saw the blood that still spilled out from his body. The fleshy wound was vile and gruesome, and quite frankly Zuka was horrified by the sight. How had he not noticed earlier that his arm was pretty much mangled?
His memory was hazy, but he soon realized that it must’ve been during the initial breakout of the wreckage, when the first attack had landed on the capital, leaving many houses to crumble or begin to break beneath the shockwaves sent through the area from the explosions.
Their home had been one of the unlucky ones, wooden beams crumbling and crashing down.
He had shielded Rocket with his body, pushing the rubble away the best he could in order to both keep his son unharmed, and to hopefully escape the flames.
Zuka hadn’t realized how badly his arm had been impacted by it. Adrenaline was practically the only thing keeping him on his feet right now.
He gritted his teeth and shifted his hold, murmuring back to Rocket, “I’m okay. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” The words were raspy and hoarse, and truthfully he could hardly believe them himself. The wound was indeed severe. If left untreated…
…He could only fear the consequences of such.
It felt like an eternity, yet by some unknown miracle he managed to get out of the wreckage, meeting the plains that bordered the forest line. Huge imposing pines towered above him, clawing into the sky like spindly nails seeking refuge from the fire.
The snow crunched beneath his boots with every heavy step. After a moment of hesitation, he stopped before the tree line, setting Rocket down. The boy shivered in the cold, the hands clinging to him slowly retracting. He looked up at Zuka, the tears that brimmed in his eyes threatening to spill.
Yet he didn’t cry. He didn’t yell. He just stood there, wiped his tears, and hugged Zuka like it was the only thing that mattered to him. It was like he didn’t care that the first true home he’d ever known burned down—like he didn’t care that things went horribly wrong. Those skinny arms looped around his midsection and just held on.
The tears that fell next weren’t Rocket’s.
They were Zuka’s.
They dripped into the top of his son’s shoulders like rain water—slow, steady drips that were hot against the cold winter all around them. Zuka crouched down slowly, ignoring the wetness that seeped through his pant legs.
The wind billowed through the plains, tousling his hair, yet he didn’t bother to fix it, and only held Rocket close. He inhaled with another raspy cough, an apology at the tip of his tongue. The burning town in the distance glowed with endless embers, resembling the terror of a world his son was beginning to know. The guilt he felt was immense.
So, for the first time, he found himself simply praying for Rocket. For them. For a future that wouldn’t end in catastrophe, and a chance to rebuild wherever the wind may take them. He didn’t pray to anyone specific, no. Just to the heavens, to the skies above, and to the unknown that whispered promises if he chose to listen.
And suddenly, the darkness really did whisper.
“You seek refuge from a burning storm within a forest that offers the opposite of such. Say, mortal, what if we told you we could help you?”
Zuka blinked open his eyes, instinctively tensing. He would’ve summoned his gear if he wasn’t holding Rocket at the moment, so he clutched the boy close to his chest and narrowed his eyes at the dark shadows that were cast by the pine trees.
At first, he saw nothing. Only rough bark, ice cold snow, and shrubs that froze under the cold temperatures of the Blackrock region. But when he focused even closer, he saw the shadows move. They rippled as if alive, taking the form of a tall inphernal. Or so he thought, at least.
“Who are you—”
Zuka was cut off. “We are something to marvel at. Something your trembling soul cannot fathom right now. Keep it simple, as we’re sure you are just as busy as we are, no?”
He wanted to object, to bite and growl and kick the snow between them, but something about that uncanny smile left him crouched down, unease washing over him like a cascading river. He swallowed hard, forcing down the rash words that were building, and instead egged the other on.
“What do you want?” He coughed wheezily.
“Better question, what do you need?” They tilted their head, hands spread wide.
“What do you offer.” Zuka shot back, voice edged with exhausted determination. He wasn’t about to get intimidated by the likes of someone like them, and no flashy, creepy, and weird smile would change that.
“We have everything, and can give you what you do not have. For a favor of course.”
There it was. Nothing ever came free in life.
“What might that favor be? I have very little to give you.”
The figure peered at him as if to consider taking what little he had left, and then barked out a laugh that made his skin crawl. “We seek strength. Loyalty. Wit. We have no need for your mortal bargains.”
They took another step forward. “We’ve watched you. We know your capabilities. The question is, are you willing to change the way things are now? Offer loyalty to another god, if it means safety for you?”
Zuka went still, breath hitching slightly. He glanced down at his son, who burrowed his head further into his chest, and then tilted his head back to look at the figure. The deity.
His silence seemed to spur them on, because the next thing he knew, they were standing right in front of him, their tall frame practically towering over him, hand outstretched. The brim of their hat obscured most of their face, a faint glow edging it. The tattered coat they wore left little to imagination—insignias and royal crests that were stitched into the front of their clothing met his eyes when he looked.
A black sword with green wings.
A dagger.
Seven flames, all different colors.
“War brews where we do not wish for it to. Truthfully, it is quite lame to deal with such things. That’s where you come in, Zuka.”
They nudged his chin up with a pointed claw, the skeletal wing at their back flicking as they leaned down to stare straight at him.
“You are an inphernal of great renown. Our siblings truly do not… appreciate … the greatness you could bring to their armies. Which is why we are willing to strike a deal.”
Darkheart’s grin narrowed into something else, and Zuka shivered at the close proximity with the deity. He could feel the power practically radiating off them, his hairs standing up in alarmed wariness.
“Pledge loyalty, and you shall overcome this conundrum. We could even promise vengeance. All you have to do is agree.”
This really was Darkheart, the deity of chaos, and the embodiment of disorder. And here they stood, offering refuge in exchange for his loyalty. If he cut his ties with Blackrock now, it would surely mean being looked down upon for the rest of his years. But if he didn’t leave, he’d likely die, and Rocket would never get the chance to see how different the world could be.
Ghostwalker had done nothing for him. He’d done nothing a ruler should’ve done to avoid the war that ravaged Blackrock’s towns slowly. He was tired. He was exhausted. And, quite frankly, he was unwilling to offer his life up for the capital any longer if he kept losing the things he tried to salvage.
Because now, that loyalty made his life a living nightmare, his head aching with a throb. He could feel a headache coming on.
He was not going to lose Rocket. He would never lose him.
So, in finality, he inclined his head, and took Darkheart’s hand.
“You have my word.”
A smile.
“Let’s get out of here then, Zuka.”
Fingers curled around his wrist as his palm met theirs, and he shivered more so at the contact than the cold surrounding the three of them. He felt Rocket stir against him, his breath shaky against the crook of his neck, his small hands tightening in the front of Zuka’s shirt.
Zuka exhaled slowly, as he let the deity pull him up with ease, and when he looked up he could see the faint glint of their eyes under the shadowy brim of their hat.
A deep, emerald green.
So beautiful, yet so deceiving.
The snow beneath his boots seemed to crunch no longer beneath him as he shifted, the wind quieting down within the dead, wintery forest, and Zuka could swear that his breathing was suspended for just a moment as he met Darkheart’s gaze.
And just as quickly as it had stopped, it all came back the moment the deity smiled, breaking the eye contact to turn around. A quiet, pleased sound crackled from the deity, sending another shiver down his spine. He could only pray that the bargain he had just struck didn’t require him to dig out an eye in exchange for safety.
“You mortals are much more reasonable when the world seems to end,” Darkheart mused as if it truly was the most fascinating thing in the inpherno, their hands clasped together joyously. Zuka’s jaw tightened at the words, and he slowed in his move to follow the deity, grasping at Rocket subconsciously.
“If this is some trick–”
“Oh, but of course it is a trick,” Darkheart interrupted him, turning back to look at the soldier. “Most divine bargains are. We deal a card hard to come by, an opportunity so breathtaking and gracious in exchange for something we want.”
Darkheart shrugged as if it was simple. “But fortunately for you, we are in a generous mood on this beautiful night.” They flicked their wrist, a shadowy tendril coming forth, glowing with green runes just like their left arm. Zuka stared in disbelief, though his stare turned into a glare when the tendril crept closer.
The moment Rocket whined in fear, Zuka growled, his right arm tensing as energy crackled through it. But the moment it actually manifested, he stopped, biting back the whimper that tried to tear itself out of his throat.
Gods, his arm hurt.
Darkheart paused at his reaction, though they made no move to retreat, simply letting their manifestation of the shadows hover before them. They smiled knowingly.
“Mm,” their voice soft against the wispy wind that crept through the pines endlessly. “There it is, isn’t it…’
“What…?”
“The reason you said yes to our offer.”
They sounded more interested than mocking, which made Zuka feel no better whatsoever. Gaining a deity’s interest was never a good thing. He watched as they circled back around to him, leaning down to peer at Rocket. The tendril dissipated into a faint cloud of smoke.
Rocket stared at the deity, glaring into the face of a being that could easily take his life, and frowned.
He didn’t scream in terror. He stared in confusion like Darkheart was the most confusing thing to ever exist to him. Zuka shifted with unease, unsure of whether or not he should pull Rocket away or let his personality do the talking.
“You’re weird.” Rocket finally piped up, his voice hoarse.
Children were so strange like that, he supposed.
Zuka had to stifle a laugh for the first time that night. Rocket still stuck close to his father, though despite his wariness, he kept his eyes on Darkheart accusingly as if they’d eaten his last piece of candy. Darkheart blinked once, and then barked a hearty laugh into the air, their wing flicking outwards as they giggled.
“Oh, we like your spirit.”
“Good. Cuz I’m gonna beat your ass if you hurt my dad.” Despite the hoarseness in his voice and how little it was to begin with, it held every ounce of bite that Zuka was familiar with.
Zuka sputtered in surprise, his head swinging down to stare at Rocket. “Rocket– mind your language…”
He felt dizzy.
“We do not mind. Though, be careful little one, the world is not kind to those who bite the hand that feeds them.”
Rocket scrunched his nose in confusion, clearly not understanding the saying. He instead buried his face back into Zuka’s body, refusing to face the deity any longer. Darkheart rose back to their full height again, their coat swaying ith their movements, shifting around them like the smoky tendrils they had summoned just earlier.
“You can relax. We are not keen on having a habit of stealing children from grieving fathers. Not unless they are particularly annoying.”
They paused, regarding Zuka with a tilt of their head, the accessories that hung from their hat now swinging ever so slightly with their motions. “Though,” Darkheart added, “do keep him alive. We would hate for all this… drama to be for nothing. We do not like wasting time on things that are pointless in the end.”
Zuka was about to reply, but his brain was slowly struggling to keep up with what was going on, his words coming out in a jumbled mess. He stumbled slightly, pressing the heel of his palm to his head with a groan.
“Dad?” Rocket looked up at him with worry etched in his face.
Darkheart peered at him with a curious hum.
“I’m—” he trailed off, “fine…” His tongue felt like a heavy lump of coal, dragging uselessly in words that were hardly above a hoarse whisper.
Before he could stop himself, the world tipped sideways, and he collapsed into the snow.
The last thing he registered before blacking out was the cold of the snow pressing against his side, and Rocket yelping, calling out his name.