The charred earth crunched beneath the man's steel-toed boots. The sound was like someone was stepping on a field of dried bones, femurs and tibiae cracking underfoot. An ash-filled wind clawed at the ragged cloth covering his lower face like the hands of vengeful dead, eager for him to join them beneath the ground.
Given that this was a battlefield two days ago, when fire rained from sky and staff alike, the comparison wasn't too far off. Though it was hard to find much evidence of what had happened besides the ash coating the ground and some broken-down equipment.
Whatever expeditionary force had been sent to fight here had been beaten. Badly. He hadn't found a single trace of another living being since he'd arrived. For such a fresh fight, that was odd. He had expected to see fields full of the dead and dying, men and women desperately grasping toward the sky for salvation while scavengers rooted amongst the corpses for valuables, hastily avoiding reclamation patrols meant to deter those aforementioned scavengers from stealing military property.
The man gave a mirthless chuckle at the last part. He'd looted too many scenes like this to be called anything but a scavenger himself.
He paused and looked up to the heavens, shading his eyes from the unearthly orange glow reflecting off the ash clouds above. If he could just find what he was looking for…
There.
To the north. Carrion birds circling what was presumably a fresher scene of carnage than the ashen cinders and burnt remains he was currently trekking through. If something worthwhile was going to be anywhere, it would be there.
Birds don't feed off of empty fields.
Shaking some of the cloying soot off of his hopelessly-stained shoes, the scavenger began a steady trek toward the distant flock. The scenery blended together as he walked, ominous lightning in the clouds painting the faintly glowing wastes in stark relief as errant embers fluttered in the breeze. In some areas, half-buried sigil stones still glowed next to the ruined cannons that would have fired them, the symbols etched intricately onto their round surfaces. Many were still thrumming with power even as the people that had wielded them had long since fled the battlefield.
...Or died, but he didn't want to think too hard about what exactly the ash that clung to his clothes was made of.
The scavenger could make out some of the words even from a distance, though it was less seeing them and more feeling the power and meaning that had been poured into them: shatter, conquer, spirit, mortality. The last one made him stop in his tracks, setting his mouth into a grim frown while tensing in both wariness and anticipation. Mortality was one of the rarest inscriptions when forging weapons. By imbuing the concept of death into an object, the crafter necessarily had to sacrifice their, or another's, lifeforce in order to properly give it power. It was usually considered an enormous waste of both time and people, as making something slightly more able to kill things didn't really help when the vast majority of living things could already be killed more easily and at a far less egregious cost with less exotic methods. A fireball or even a normal bullet did the job just fine. If one wanted to be especially efficient even a rock and the element of surprise would do in a pinch.
However, the circumstances were very different when what one wanted to kill lacked the concept of death.
He quickened his pace, careful to avoid breaking into an outright sprint as he rapidly approached his destination, faint shapes beginning to take form through the swirling air. It did not pay to arrive at an unknown situation having already exhausted one's energy. Several faded scars beneath his cloak were testament to that lesson. Already the atmosphere around him was changing, becoming thick, cloying, and heavy with magic.
It was the kind of thing the scavenger had only felt a scant few times after roaming a hundred battlegrounds, and it denoted something unusual about the battle that had been fought.
The scavenger filed away his suspicions for now as he focused on the present situation. He was finding it difficult to breath through his mask, as if he was attempting to inhale industrial smog. There was no chance he was going to adjust it, however. People like him knew better than to pull down the cloth covering their mouths in this kind of environment. He had walked through enough of these same battlegrounds, seen enough would-be opportunists make that mistake to know that the ash would mix with the moisture in his lungs, hardening like cement while he carried on unaware.
First he would begin coughing, thinking it was just the coarse granules irritating his throat, until he would find the coughing did not stop, and that he could not get enough air no matter how deeply he breathed. Then, he would sink to the ground, face blue, as he joined the ranks of vengeful dead already occupying the ground below.
Shaking himself from his rather morbid train of thought, the scavenger found himself staring at an island of green amidst the ash. What he had thought were carrion birds from far away were far more colorful and exotic than any drab vulture or crow, feathers refracting light in emerald greens and sapphire blues as they continued to circle high above. On either side were rows of ethereal, white-barked trees, leaves glittering in jewel tones and refracting light in dazzling rainbows. Soft grasses and wildflowers bent beneath his filthy boots, glowing softly as strange, translucent creatures flitted in the corner of his vision. He knew from past experience that if he turned to look at them directly they would be gone, and paid them no mind for now.
They only became dangerous when unduly provoked. There were harsher, more violent things that inhabited such a seemingly idyllic place that he had to devote his undivided attention to.
Mournful, wordless singing filled the air as he walked deeper into the grove, voices like crystal chimes blending together into a soft, sorrowful melody. He knew that such peaceful music belied the dangerousness of the situation. Once the songs began, he was likely to encounter something unsavory.
The scavenger shook his head to clear the thoughts cluttering his mind. Now was not the time to imagine or reminisce. He could see something glowing through the next stand of trees, the music just as soft but somehow more present and solid with every step closer to the source of the light. Whispers in a language he did not understand had joined the chorus of ethereal voices, enticing him to stop and listen, that if he let himself be drawn into it he could understand them. All he had to do was immerse himself for a brief, luxurious second.
Letting his guard down like that would be suicidal.
No matter how gentle they were about it, he knew the voices recognized him as an intruder, and that they were out for his blood. Stopping to ponder their words would accomplish nothing but get him killed by the inhabitants that were more inclined toward direct action when addressing interlopers. Shaking his head once more, he made it through the final few trees to find himself in a clearing, the air unnaturally still and the singing rising to a crescendo in his ears. His eyes immediately focused on what he had come for.
The scavenger gazed at the greatest prize one could find on the battlefield.
It was the size of ten men and in the shape of an adult woman lying on her side. Long, glossy hair framed an angelic, regal face that appeared to be sleeping peacefully, brow smooth and unlined in repose. The illusion was ruined by the countless wounds marring its sable skin all along its body, deep cuts and lacerations equally matched by scorched flesh, made all the more profane by the scraps of cloth that still clung to its desecrated form. He imagined they had once formed an elegant, queenly dress before it had been burnt and torn away by mystic flames and mass cannonfire. That skin which remained untouched glowed with a celestial light, like the first rays of dawn. Seeing the damage that had been inflicted on its perfection felt sacrilegious.
He was staring at the corpse of a god, after all.