Salvation's End
Or, Why Nobody has Discovered Immortality in the New World
Salvación was a small colony in the Gulf of Honduras, founded by a group of prominent men of New Spain allegedly seeking to become closer to God. They were isolationists, wearing masks during all dealings with the outside world, but were always seeking more souls to "save", be they slave or free. These "eccentricities" were ignored due to the founders being quite free with their gold. Well, until a merchant vessel blown off course saw the island aflame and decided to investigate one 30th of July. The first sign that this was more than an unfortunate fire was when they came across the corpse of Father Juan Díaz, the local priest. He had been shot through the heart, as evidenced by the bullet hole in his golden crucifix.
From An Accounting of Spanish Settlements in the New World, Vol 3.
Juan Díaz had his undead guards drag in the would-be hunter. He had hoped that such interruptions to his research would have ceased now that Salvación had been established. Alas, such hopes had been dashed by their most recent arrival.
"Tell me my son, what has brought you these shores", asked the fallen priest.
"I have come because you are a monster trading lives for youth" replied the man in German-accented Spanish.
Such hypocrisy. Men who sacrificed the lives of their lessers for base gold or glory were respected landowners or war heroes. Meanwhile souls like him who engaged in the same trade so they could continue their great work of bettering humanity for longer were decried as monsters and hunted like dogs.
"And you came here all the way from Germany armed with only a pistol to end us all? This is a beautiful pistol but to expect it alone to be enough was foolish", Juan allowed his scorn to enter his tone as he picked up the weapon in question. That was the problem with these fanatics. They assumed God would do all their work for them and refused to think for themselves.
The man chuckled, "I don't know about that, it's about to take your life after all."
"What!", Juan looked down, only to see his own hands moving to place the business end of the pistol against his chest. Juan tried to pull his hands away, but his body refused to heed his commands. Nor did his undead guards.
"By the way, begging and pleading would be futile, so don't bother", the man sounded almost bored, as if he had done this thing a thousand times. Juan's last thought before his fingers pulled the trigger was that perhaps he had.
The shore party, now far more wary than when they arrived, advanced towards the town hall. Along the way they saw a multitude of corpses showing clear signs of necromantic desecration, being armed, armored, and in solid defensive positions. They showed no signs of recent combat though, as if their masters had been slain before the slaves could fire a single shot.
From An Accounting of Spanish Settlements in the New World, Vol 3
The death of Juan Díaz did not go unnoticed. The unquiet dead quickly armed themselves and set up defenses around the town hall at their masters' insistence. Despite this, they saw no enemy, and did not fire a single shot until the dark curse binding them had been lifted. They were not the man's prey.
Upon entering the town hall, they came across the other leaders of Salvación, all dead and in what could only be described as "occult garb". Those in the shore party who were veterans of war felt as if there was something off about the scene, but none could figure it out.
From An Accounting of Spanish Settlements in the New World, Vol 3.
Genoveva Díaz cursed her brother under her breath. The fool had always been too arrogant for his own good, and it seemed he had paid the ultimate price for his hubris. Worse, said demise had destabilized the necromantic working that encompassed Salvación, forcing the remaining members of the Council to gather in the Town Hall to keep things stable.
A cold wind interrupted her thoughts, despite the night being warm and all doors in the hall being closed. She turned around only to discover a man had entered the hall despite all doors being locked and barred. He was wearing a dark cloak and hat, and was seemingly armed with just a pistol.
She scoffed, "Better make that shot count you fool, because once you use it the rest of us will rip your soul from your flesh".
"I only need one shot", replied the man as he fired his pistol. The bullet bounced off of the walls of the room, each ricochet leading to a new death. All Genoveva's alchemy-enhanced perception could do was allow her to marvel at the geometry involved before the shot finally reached her.
The shore party continued down a secret passage that had been left open in the hall which led to the caves below. What they found at the end of the passageway was destruction, destruction and long-dead children. This had clearly been a place of dark power at one point in time, where lives were traded for dark boons, but no remnants of such power remained.
From An Accounting of Spanish Settlements in the New World, Vol 3.
The spirit rose to greet its new supplicant. This was not the first time its puppets had been slain by those seeking to take their place, and it wouldn't be the last. Infinite wealth and immortality were valuable assets, and the list of those willing to slay innocents for them was long indeed.
The new fellow was male and white so the spirit chose the seeming of a comely young woman who had been recently sacrificed upon its altar. "Well done. Well done. I was tiring of those fools anyways", the spirit applauded. Time for the sales pitch, "I am yours to command, assuming you're willing to accept my prices, immortality is yours".
The man scoffed " I already have a master, spirit, and he is most displeased with you for stealing what is his due".
Hmmm, seems the spirit had a rival. No matter. The spirit had been well fed these last few years, and could easily swat this gnat in its place of power.
A wave of force struck out at the man, but he was unmoved. As the spirit launched attack after attack, the man drew a long polearm with a spiked collar at one end from seemingly nowhere. The man spoke as he used said polearm to restrain the spirit" My master would have words with you". As the spirit was ripped from the sacrificed souls which empowered it, it felt true terror for the first time in its existence. Then the man opened a portal, and all the spirit felt from then on was agony.
AN: This omake started out as "Ghost Rider slaughters Huntsmen". However, I'm not comfortable writing fight scenes and I had trouble getting the Rider to fit in this era. So I added a ton of stuff from the stories of the Freischütz, tossed in a bit of Batman for good measure, and placed it in a setting I had in mind since
@Chimeraguard's omake involving that villain faction from AoE3. I figured that Old Scratch wouldn't appreciate some other force keeping damned souls from their destined fate, thus the intervention of his agent.
Not sure about my reward but I'm strongly considering asking about how the big raid will work. My working question (and boy howdy does this sucker need additional work) is, "Will we get to choose the form our enemies take like a normal Winter, will it be decided for us, or will it be a mix of both".