Metallic boots squelched in the mud one after the other. With every step, the softened ground dragged their feet down and did its best to keep a hold of their soles, or simply refused to offer any stable ground to walk on.

Mud and water splashed, staining the fanciful and once freshly polished greaves of the knightly soldiers as they marched in formation.

It was raining.

This rain was especially bad, pouring down like the heavens themselves were weeping for every life lost, their vision obscured by the heavy droplets dripping across their visors. It was almost impossible to hear themselves think through the constant rattling and banging of every droplet against their helmets. The sound reverberating around in their skull and sounding like an entire herd of horses, rhinos and elephants was stampeding across the surface of their helmets every second.

But it was either that or allow the ice cold rain to seep into their bare skin and freeze them to the bone as it dripped down their spine.

No matter how bad the weather might get or how many times they risked slipping the squelching mud, they carried on. After all, this was Scotland. Rain was nothing new, and they had grown used to it. For them, even if this was the fifth day of a torrential rain storm, it was nothing they hadn't seen a hundred times before.

They were one of many groups sent out into the wilds to capture fortresses in the name of His Divine Greatness, the Lightbringer. These fortresses, were the old castles that were scattered throughout the lands.

In the week since their night raid on the heretic city, They had already captured the one close to their own holy citadel. It was teams like these that were responsible for the capture of the others, so they could use them as forward advance posts. Of course, they were not entirely reliant on the old world constructions, there were a few teams set up to create their own strongholds, but those were few and far between as they were reliant on particular blessings.

This group was made up of seven individuals in total, and carried with them a peculiar object. Floating in the air in the middle of their group, like some sort of palanquin, was a large wooden crate.

Unlike a Palanquin, it was not supported by handles, and instead simply suspended itself off the ground and floated obediently in the middle of the group, not having to bother with their same footing struggles. The crate was two metres in every dimension, and contained across its surface small holes to allow for air flow to its contents. The box had a hinged lid, but it was not on the top and was instead on one of the vertical walls of the crate, like a door.

This curious crate was the object in question that had drawn the attention of Seth's people. Across the field, watching tiny pinprick figures move through the obscurement of the torrential rain, Ophelia stood with one hand on her hip while the other held binoculars to her face. Accompanying her was a half dozen of Seth's unkindly guards, as well as two other individuals.

The first was a man named Troy. He had a lean, but surprisingly toned build and auburn hair atop his head. A simplistic wooden bow, crafted from pure white wood, was clutched in his hand although it was strangely missing the string, while a quiver of arrows hung loosely from his hip where one would usually keep a sword.

The second, was a man with a more standard muscular build, chocolate brown skin and short, curly hair he kept hidden under a hood to protect it from the rain. Even though they were stood under a canopy of trees, droplets of bone chilling rain still managed to seep through their leafy protection. This man's name was Brad.

He currently held no weapons, but the ground beneath his feet, in an almost perfect circle, was the only source of solid dirt for miles around despite everything else dissolving into mud.

"Do you have any visual on what is inside?"

Ophelia spoke softly as if, despite the distance and the torrential rain drowning out most sounds, she was afraid of being overheard by the enemy they were tracking.

The man standing next to her, Troy, shook his head. He narrowed his eyes and, although Ophelia was the one with the binoculars, he had little trouble keeping an eye on their enemy. In his vision, the small specks on the horizon, hidden behind droplets of waters, magnified hundred fold until a crisp image of the marching group filled his vision.

To his eyes, he might as well have been standing next to them and mingling with their numbers. Yet no matter how much he forced his vision to the max, he couldn't pick out anything from the darkness of the box.

However his eyes weren't the only tool he had. The sounds of odd breathing tickled his ears through the veil of rain. A soft sound carrying thousands of metres across the distance, just to reach his ears.

"No visual but it sounds like... Scuba gear? Something's definitely alive in there, I can hear it breathing. But it doesn't sound right. It sounds almost mechanical, like a diving mask or the black suited guy from the space wars."

From behind, Brad clicked his tongue in annoyance and muttered under his breath, fully aware that it would be caught by those sensitive hears.

"It's called Star Wars bro, don't act like you didn't know that."

"Whatever... Same thing really. If I had to guess, they captured some sort of beast and plan to use it for something. Or maybe its prisoners? I can't say."

Ophelia lowered her binoculars, tapping her chin as she considered the situation.

"Whatever it is, It is something they want to protect. Which means we don't want them to have it. Brad, take the Unkindly and move into an attack position, wait for our signal then engage. In fact... Come Forth, Hildr."

A ghostly apparition formed over Ophelia's body, before stepping backwards and separating itself from her. It was a perfect clone of her, that rapidly grew until it was over 6 foot tall as Viking style armour manifested over the ghosts body.

A spear and shield appeared in their hand and a helmet, which was adorned with wings, appeared on the ghosts head and a feather cloak, that was actually a pair of folded wings, draped down from her back. The Valkyrie-like spirit stood tall and proud behind it's physical master.

"Alright, now you can go."

Brad nodded silently, having seen this spooky spiritual summoning a few times now, but even now it still freaked him out a little. He was never good with haunted houses, and being next to an actual ghost, and whatever the Unkindly were, was not any more pleasant. But he had a job to do.

With a wave of his hand, the ground a few feet away from them swirled and opened up into an inviting pit. Without hesitation he leapt into the pit, followed quickly by the Unkindly and finally Hildr, who spread her wings and gracefully floated down into the depths of the pit.

Once they were all inside, the pit sealed closed behind them. A tunnel opened up in front of them, while the mud stirred beneath their feet, creating a tidal wave of mud that pushed them down the tunnel like a train on tracks.

Back underneath the trees, in the lookout spot, Ophelia watched the small dots moving on the horizon.

"Do you see the telekinetic?"

"Hold on... Got 'im. What an idiot... He's projecting a small protective field around him, keeping the rain off of him just barely so he doesn't get wet. He's being clever about it, or he think's he is, but he's the only one without dirt on his boots."

"Do you think you can take him out from this distance?"

"Hmm... It will be difficult. But not impossible."

"When the front liners are in position, fire when ready."

Troy nodded softly, keeping his eyes focused on the enemy as his body moved by habit, carrying out the movements he had spent years burning into his mind, He was on track to become an Olympian archer before all this happened.

His ability only effected his senses. For someone else, it would be beyond useless. But for him, it made him into an even deadlier weapon.

Drawing an arrow from his quiver, he placed it into the groove of his bow and moved it into place where the draw string should have been. When he made the motion to nock the arrow, a line of pure energy formed in place of the string.

After a few seconds, Troy heard Brad's soft whisper from beneath the field, signalling he was in position. With one fluid movement, he raised his bow and drew it. The muscles in his arms bulged and strained under the growing tension, his shoulder blades shifting as the muscles in his back created the strength to draw back the string of pure energy.

The body of the bow bent backwards, lines of energy appearing within its body as it made the intricate, tribalist carvings glow brightly.

Steadying his breath, Troy pointed his bow to the sky above the marching troop and released the string.