The Razehunter

By Ray C. Ponce

The Danish nation of Gedra is under attack by a disease so great not even the black death could compete. It infects by touch and turns its victims black with hate. 

 

They call them Blooddevils, a demonic entity built in the image of a demon that will stop at nothing to kill everyone and everything in their wake. Worse still, They're impossible to slay. 

 

All seems lost until a friendly Witch proposes a plan amidst the ashes to preserve human life in Scandinavia. The plan: The Razehunter—A war machine chosen from the most unlikely places: young girls. 

 

The Witch crafts a potion for the chosen to consume, which should make the Hunter invincible. Then, a strange request: the girl will be wed to the young Prince David. She will bear the prince's young and continue the bloody cycle until every last demon is destroyed. 

 

But Rosemary of the Jalatto is one stubborn girl. She doubts everything and everyone. She's rebellious and erratic, and ultimately, she will only answer to one. 

 

God. 

 

Even so, the Devil has more than enough tricks up his sleeve to plunge the world into hell and destroy everything once and for all. He is the king of deceit, no less, and the fruit of love is a powerful thing. After all, it was Eve who convinced Adam to take that forbidden fruit. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ray C. Ponce
• Release date: May 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224982592

Ray C. Ponce

Ray C. Ponce is the author of the Razehunter series. Not really known for holding much back. 

Book preview

Prologue

The fires of hell are consuming me. The shadows of death are coming to drag me away from home, from bed.

My life flashes by in a million ways and a thousand forms of pain. I writhe and wiggle to rid myself of this venomous infection, mutilating my senses, but to no avail.

My heart beats nearly out of my chest with every passing second, and with each agonizing pulse, I start to wonder when it'll explode as the Raze inside me attacks the fleshy organ, stabbing it to death.

I throw my hands into my bed and dig my nails into the fabric, ripping it. There's a puddle of liquid beneath me soaking my sheets, though I'm not sure if it's sweat or blood. Tear stains blot my face.

I try to get up, to show myself that my fate isn't like this: dying from this damn disease. But I can't, I'm not strong enough.

I sob, my skin and throat sore. I throw my head into my pillow and let out a sharp, harrowing scream. My hands convulse. My eyes dilate.

The corners of my room are dim, and a weight compresses against my chest as I cannot move.

Again, I try to break free of this hell, attempting to recognize what's left of my strength as a shadow materializes from the darkness, eying me with glowing, beady eyes and sharp teeth.

My heart stops at the sight of it. I might choke. I need to let out another scream. I need someone to know. I need Catherine to know.

The thing leaps from the blackness of my room, a ravenous smile on its face as it hobbles to the foot of my bed, emphasizing the locked door behind it to make fun of my loneliness.

I really want to scream at it, but I just can't. I have a compulsion to kick it away, but again I can’t.

It opens its mouth, showing off its forked tongue, and rears its dripping-wet teeth.

It tilts its head like a sadist, and I'm forced to watch as the Demon takes hold of the footboard of my bed with its long, sharp claws and locks onto me with a hatred like Lucifer would conjure.

It slithers toward me like a snake, forcing me to lay there and watch. I’m hopeless—dead even. This servant of hell is coming to lock me away.

But like always, when the quintessence of the anti-Christ corners me, a surge of heat rises inside me.

My jaw unlocks. My eyes dampen, and I use my words as one final defense.

I'll kill you. I snap, filling this void of incarceration with an aura of revolt. I'll rip you to pieces, you heathen bastard. I'll destroy you.

I've wasted what's left of my energy, and my heart slows. I black out just as the beast breathes down my neck. Yet, not even sleep can spare me from this feral pain.

Chapter 1

The high Elders speak with aged and raspy voices. The men think about each word before they say it, taking turns. If an elder makes a mistake, he apologizes and moves on.

Hundreds of people draw their eyes on us as my heart beats faster, stressing me out.

I play with the hem of my black linen dress, which barely covers me. It has glittering gold stripes running across the chest and pelvic areas of the garment. The gold brings even more attention and further flusters me. I don't know who took the time to craft this piece of fine clothing, but I do know I don't deserve to wear it.

The other girls around me tilt their heads in respect, so I imitate their practices, leaning up and down. But it's not long before I start searching for Mother and Catherine in the audience.

Did they even bother to come?

It doesn't matter. From where I’m sitting, I wouldn't be able to see them anyway. I try not to let it get to me anymore.

The Elders exchange a few words: things like prayer and words of wisdom or kind blessings. They are such wise, peaceful men; how I strive to be like them: respected yet sorted and considerate. But there's not much I can do to achieve that. Wisdom is a man’s game.

I don't take it hard; it's the natural order. It always has been and always will be. Besides, if I win the bright eyes of the Elders today, I could become something far more important: a wife, a beauty in the eyes of thousands—the princess of Gedra. I don't know what such a woman would have to portray, but I can't wait to find out.

I rub my palms to distract myself. My curiosity could backfire.

As the ceremony begins, the city grows silent, and all twelve Elders take their seats at the podium in front of us—one for each season. Each wears a church suit with high-faring merchant apparel complemented by small, near-identical necklaces.

One stands up and moves to the front of the stage—December. He’s wearing a red coat and a pointy hat. Good day, everyone. Young ladies.

I strain my attention. I don't want to be caught being unprofessional.

December holds his hands out, accentuating the grandeur of the stage. Two stairways on the right and left lead to the top.

That's where I'll be going.

I’m so uncomfortable, sweaty even, but I should know there's nothing to fear over. It's just a test, after all. I'm not going to die. Calm yourself, Rose.

But part of me wants it, bad, to be a great Razed princess.

December skips over the eyes of the crowd. Look, he says.

The crowd makes a hushed whisper.

We have not been so honest with you all. The people of Gedra, so I will ask for your forgiveness.

The people direct an assault of kind words toward the podium, and some even resonate within the group of girls around me. I don't speak. I have nothing to say. I stay reticent and still.

What did they mean by that? Not honest. What was a lie? The Elders never lie. A sinking feeling closes in on me.

Yes, yes, it is true that the elected will become the wife of Prince David, that much I assure you, but there is something else in there we have conveniently left out. Something oh, so important.

December takes in a big gust of air before continuing. We all know of the devilish disease ravaging our world, yes—The Raze?

A few people nod, and others shout out answers. Yes, of course! they say, and Damn the devil for that disease! and Blame the bloodthirsty pagans!

I want to empty my stomach at just the thought.

I feel my face, remembering what that curse did to me—The Raze. I trace along my nose with my fingers. Right, there is the memory of it all. A big nasty scar stretching across my nose to my eye.

People say nobody but Satan himself could bring forth such a disease. And as bad as I have suffered, having seen others suffer—I'm inclined to believe them. It's destroyed families, wrecked civilizations, and killed millions. There is no cure, only luck. I was lucky.

December studies the people, scratching his beard. He sees the hatred in the crowd’s eyes, the exhaustion. I wonder if he lost something, someone, to The Raze. Would he understand it like me?

Surely.

We can no longer allow this curse to control us—no longer will we allow it to hurt us, weaken us. We have a plan, but it will take time, and one of you— December points to the crowd of girls.

My cheeks grow hot.

Will be...

I do not want to distract myself any more than I already have. I dig my bare feet into the dirt and shut my brain off.

I feel stupid. I've never been out in public like this before. Or at least, I've never had this many people looking at me.

I bend over and face the ground. I pray and tell God everything, all my faults. Then I think of the prince, my potential husband. Could I see myself married to a prince with a cute little crown and a batch of children who will never know the life of a lowly noble? I want to laugh at the thought. I almost do.

Why would the Elders choose me? I'm not special. I'm nothing, just a stupid Razed girl.

December swallows. He's unsure of something. Well, we call her the Razehunter, he says.

The crowd shrieks something awful, and the Elders’ guards beg for their silence.

Razehunter?

We can't disclose any information on what this young lady must do to fulfill this. But what I can say is—she will save the world.

Nobody says a word, nothing, not even a peep. It's like the entire crowd turned dumb.

Razehunter, I ponder. Could I be someone like that? Could I save the world? A shiver crawls up my spine. From this?

December steps away and lets another elder, who wears a green striped shirt and long overcoat, take his place. It's March. I know that by his curly red beard.

The man holds a scroll in one hand and addresses the crowd. We would like to begin the choosing. Please be patient.

The man's voice booms above all others, and the streets of Shora are silenced again. Not even the faint sounds of barking dogs and children laughing persist. Yet there's still a say of anticipation in all of us—that buzz of questions left unanswered.

A drop of sweat slips off my forehead.

A servant hands March a piece of paper. The man opens it and peeks at the form. I'm sure it's a list of all the girls in attendance today. My name is on it somewhere.

Alright, March shouts. I'm going to begin, so may I remind you to stay completely silent. Thank you.

I take in one long gust of air, holding it like it’s my last. This anxiety might kill me.

Hannah, House Mayla, please approach the Elders. March points to a blonde girl I don't recognize.

She stands up with a huge smirk and struts forward.

I shake my head. She probably doesn't get picked for much. Either that or she gets picked for everything.

Ugh.

March smiles at her and holds his arm out, showcasing the staircase, asking Hannah to reach the podium.

She jogs giddily to the wooden wall separating the candidates and the crowd from the Elders, making it to the bottom of the staircase. She puts her foot on the first step slowly but doesn't hesitate to run up the rest of them.

Hannah! Welcome, brave girl.

January, the oldest of the Elders, greets her first. He takes her hands as if he were her own grandfather.

He has a snowflake necklace made of crystal wrapped around his neck. It's charming, sparkling in the sun.

Hello, good sirs, Hannah says. She lets go of January and takes a bow.

In the back of the podium, another elder stands up, pushing March to the side—it's February, the head of the pack.

His hair is lighter, which makes him look older even though he's one of the youngest.

A blood-red rose, deep crimson, is pinned to his sleeve. The agricultural groups farm these flowers, but this one looks big, nothing like I've ever seen.

He also wears a pink coat with white fur inlay that stands out like a sore thumb. Nonetheless, it looks fancy.

February approaches the excited girl with steady motions, nothing too fast, like he's afraid to spook her. March moves in from behind and places his hands on her shoulders.

Hannah pulses with strange energy, her eyes bulging from her face. I stretch upward to get a better look, watching February closely as he pulls a small vial from inside his jacket. There’s a clear liquid inside, some kind of oil.

What if that stupid girl passes this test? I mutter to nobody.

This is a special ointment made of the most prosperous materials, a concoction of true knowledge! It should tell us everything we need to know, February says, holding up the vial. He doesn't look so sure about it, though.

He shakes the liquid inside, and the crowd hums out Oohs and Ahhs.

I don't join the rhythm, but I watch with wide eyes. Certainly, the contents of that vial are magical.

We shall see your mind, Hannah. We will know your strengths and weaknesses.

March takes the slim girl's hand, leading her toward the center of the podium. "We will know if you are the right one."

Something, somewhere inside my head, turns on, and I remember why we're here in the first place. For some reason, I've had the false impression that this was some fancy showcase. The Elders aren't here to reward us with a show, and March’s bizarre frown reminds me of that.

I remember what Catherine told me, with her perfect blue eyes worrying for me so. Rosy, all that matters is that you try. I'll be proud nonetheless. Of course, that was before this whole Razehunter charade.

I remember how excited I was, even if I kept it inside. The Elders had chosen me for something; it was thrilling, but my father seemed distant about marrying off his daughter. But, that is just the way things work, ja.

February pops the cap off the vial, and March guides Hannah to her knees. He pulls her braided hair back, exposing her forehead as February dips one finger into the serum and extracts a single drop of the ointment. He holds it over Hanna’s forehead and coaxes her eyes closed.

This will only take a moment, March says, addressing the crowd. This process is simple and completely painless. We will tap into the girl's mind, access her skills, and we will know if she is the one.

Again, they look so unsure. Why?

The crowd manages to stay reverent and say nothing.

Some girls beside me hold onto their jaws, picking them up off the ground.  Others tremble as February sinks his fingers into Hannah's head. He rubs in the substance, using only one finger to anoint her.

March gestures to the other Elders, and they join him around the girl while February continues rubbing the substance in. Elders, please join me in blessing.

All twelve Elders stand together, situating themselves in an orderly fashion. They circle Hannah, and all place their hands atop her head.

A blast of unnatural energy fills the air, like a gust of hot wind. It gently sways my hair and caresses my face. Strangely, however, nobody else seems to notice it. I know this is just a trial, but, well.

I hope.

The first test seems unresponsive. Hannah looks stressed and uncomfortable, her face scrunched up like she's in pain. But whatever it is, she shows no signs of progress.

The Elders pat her on the back and help her to her feet.

Shaky and unstable, she nearly falls off the podium. But September, with his yellow scarf and yellow hat, manages to catch her. This act of selflessness grants him a few cheers and hoots.

He holds his hand out to silence them while two guards climb the creaky stairs to retrieve the now half-unconscious girl.

The crowd chatters and murmurs while the female candidates start to panic.

June, with a cape of golden flowers, calls for us to quiet down and listen to him. His deep voice soothes us, and everyone, again, shuts their traps.

This first test has concluded, and our dear subject, unfortunately, is deemed incompatible. But we shall continue.

March refers back to his scroll.

I look around to see if anybody objects to what has just happened. Nothing. Yet I can't help but notice a bit of fear conquering a couple of the girls waiting for the Elders to test them, wondering who they’ll pick next.

Not me. I wouldn't even pick me at all. I'm not even sure my own family picked me. Catherine is the favorite child, and it hurts my soul that they try to hide it. Though, If I win here, if I become this new almighty, things may change. But right now, that seems unlikely.

Aliza, House Corida.

This time, the girl has black hair, a smug look, and is even faster making it to the stairs. She runs from the middle row of girls and rushes up the line, pushing others aside, then flies up the stairs where January greets her.

Welcome, Aliza, brave girl! He moves aside for February.

The girl, full of herself, gives an exaggerated bow. My good sirs.

March bows back, then hands her over to February, who wastes no time helping her to her knees. He holds her hair back and opens the vile.

The Elders repeat the process, rubbing in the ointment. They stand together in a circle. They give her a blessing.

The girl chuckles, chuckles, full of confidence.

What a—

My thoughts are interrupted by another outburst of energy, sending an invisible shockwave through the air.

Again, nobody reacts, not a whimper.

The Elders jump back as Aliza convulses violently. Back and forth, scratching and pawing, her eyes bulging from her face. It violently shocks the Elders and the crowd.

It reminds me of the Raze, the reactions. Unlike the Raze, however, the girl eventually calms down. She falls back, completely unconscious.

Guards march up the stairs to retrieve her.

Well, I say to myself. Pride that.

The peasantry shares a few whispers amongst themselves while the Elders select another round of girls and recite the process.

Lucile, House Fetts.

The girl rushes to the Elders, though she's more temperate than the last two. She looks almost afraid. Her face is flushed.

Like clockwork, February takes her and sits her down. Then he places his fingers on the girl’s forehead while the rest join in to bless her.

She shakes, releases a wave of energy, then collapses like the last. failed.

Another replaces her, and the process is repeated and fails once again. Again and again, over and over. Time goes on, girl after girl collapses, faces disappear, and soon I sit alone in the temple fields.

All eyes are on me now. I'm all that's left—the only one with a slim chance of passing.

Funny. I already see myself blacking out.

Well, March says, glimpsing at the piece of paper. Rosemary, yes? It seems you are the final candidate.

March’s words engrave themselves in my mind. That nonchalant look burns into my eyes as he stares at me from afar.

He's not the only one, either. All around, the growing crowd of Shoran citizens watches me with wide, glossy eyes, and that's when I truly understand that I'm it. I'm the last initiate. Nobody stands with me in this empty field. I'm all alone.

I stand up and brush the dirt off my body to make myself more presentable. I walk, my eyes forward, towards the podium. Thousands of eyes watch me, all judging me.

My heart might stop right here.

I'm so scared I can't contain it. I shiver and shake. I hold onto myself and climb the stairs to the Elders. They all smile at me, encouraging me enough to give this at least a chance. I've done a million things I didn't want to do, too many to count. But here I was, thinking I wanted to do this, become a princess—Razehunter. Now, I'm not sure.

Come on, Rose. Shut the hell up and let the Elders bless you.

Rosemary, House Jalatto, March says, taking my hands.

Good sirs, I say.

January grins at me. Be brave, girl.

He knows I'm nervous.

I gulp, calm myself as much as possible, and let February take me.

I kneel without much help. The wood is hard and squeezes tight on my skin.

I close my eyes. I lock my lips. I clench my fists. There’s movement around. The Elders are whispering things. A hand raises my chin, and February rubs the ointment on my forehead.

A contingent of hands clasp my skull, and immediately, the effects of the paste sink in; it's hellish magic. My body seemingly calms, my mind numbs, and I try to open my eyes, but I can't, not yet.

For a split second, light rays through my head. My body jostles one last time. Then, my eyes finally burst wide open.

I'm appalled and in shock. I spin in circles. I try to reason, but I can't find any.

I don't know if I'm passing or not; it's too early to tell. Yet, whatever the Elders had planned for me worked. I'm not with them anymore, not with Shora. Everyone is missing. So is the grass, the buildings, and the warm breeze on my back. Everything in this new place comprises of one primary material, something so simple.

Sand.

It tickles my feet, my toes. It's warm and pulls me into its embrace. Still, I'm worried and continue to look for my purpose here.

Despite the sun beating down on me, I feel nothing, not a sting of anything.

Am I in limbo? No, no, you moron. I’d have to be dead, and I'm not dead. That's the only thing I’m sure of.

So many questions take up space in my head. What do I look like on the other side? Am I unconscious, or am I still there? I throw myself into the sand, fall backward, and roll down a dune.

Hey, I giggle that was rather fun.

I stand up and wipe the sand off my dress and face—some even got in my mouth.

I put the side of my hand to my forehead and squint my eyes. I flip directions. I spin on my heels. No matter what I do, there is nothing but sand in every direction. Sure, there are bigger dunes, some smaller and some deeper, but nothing about dunes tells me what to do or how to do it.

I deny myself to give up, though. I'm sure that's what this test is about—perseverance or something.

I walk along the tops of the sand hills and search up and down and every which way.

I'm about to take a break when the ground rumbles—a dizzying shake. Then another one, another, and another. With every earth-shattering shake, the intensity grows and sends me tumbling down.

I pick myself up, coughing up dust. My heart sinks.

It's an earthquake, and I'm all alone out here with nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

I try to balance out, using my arms to stay offset atop the now-shifting waves of never-ending sand. Harder and harder, the ground attempts to pull me, to engulf me in its grueling grasp, but I persevere.

You’re brave, Rosemary, I say. Come on, you’re brave. I'm brave! I tell it to myself over and over again.

I grunt and plant my feet into the sand. "I won't let you take me."

With every moment that passes, the vehemence of the quake grows, forcing me to move, and I skate across the sand like ice.

The dunes shift in a rhythm, up and down like the ocean during a storm. Eventually, I find an ease in it and fight back the urge to let the current take me.

I surf up cliffs and down slopes. I figure out how to ignore the effects of the constant shaking and control my symmetry.

I start to laugh. The joy I receive is like no other. Blood pumps through my body so fast that my veins just might explode. My feet move. I wiggle my toes. It's like I've conquered the world.

I scream out in victory.

The breeze that flows into me proves