"Through the veil of shadows, the unworthy findeth no solace; in the Shroud, all debts must be paid in blood."
— Hex Breaker’s Axiom, Verse VII
The fire crackled softly, its faint glow casting flickering shadows that danced across the gnarled tree trunks. The forest felt alive in the dark—branches creaked overhead, leaves rustled without wind, and distant, unidentifiable noises carried through the mist. The air smelled damp and earthy, tinged with the acrid bite of burned wood.
Alec sat on the edge of the camp, his back leaning against a log. His rifle rested against his knee, his eyes scanning the shifting shadows beyond the ridge. The forest’s silence wasn’t comforting. It pressed against him like a physical weight, an unspoken promise of violence to come.
Lenora’s voice broke through the quiet, low and measured. “You think whatever’s out there knows we’re here?”
Alec didn’t look away from the darkened trees. “If it’s smart, it does,” he said, his tone grim. “And it’ll wait for us to slip.”
Lenora sat nearby, the rifle across her lap a natural extension of her steady hands. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, letting the silence fill the air once more before speaking again.
“You don’t strike me as the religious type,” she said, finally breaking the quiet.
Alec glanced at her, smirking faintly. “Why’s that?”
Lenora shrugged, her expression neutral but her voice carrying a faint edge of curiosity. “You don’t preach. Most Church hunters I’ve met can’t go ten minutes without a sermon.”
Alec chuckled low. “The sermons are for people looking for answers. I’m just here to ask questions.”
“And do you get answers?”
“Sometimes.” He paused, his gaze flickering back to the treeline. “Usually not the ones I want.”
Lenora studied him for a moment, the faint glow of the firelight casting sharp angles on her face. “So, why keep asking?”
Alec leaned back against the log, his hand brushing the cruciform charm dangling from his revolver’s grip. “Because if you stop asking, you stop trying to understand. And in this line of work, not understanding gets people killed.”
Her lips quirked into a faint smile. “Practical wisdom. You don’t sound much like the hunters my father used to talk about.”
“Maybe your father’s just met the wrong hunters,” Alec replied, his tone dry.
“Or the right ones,” Lenora countered, her smirk softening.
A distant rustle broke the moment, drawing both their gazes toward the forest’s edge. Alec’s hand instinctively drifted to his revolver, and Lenora gripped her rifle tighter. The sound faded, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the faint rustling of leaves.
Alec’s grip on his rifle relaxed, but his gaze lingered on the tree line. “Well, I guess whatever is out there, it might have heard you.”
Lenora chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. “Comforting. You are always this fun to camp with?”
Alec glanced at her, his smirk faint but genuine. “I’m a real delight, Miss. Blackwell.”
She rolled her eyes, yet a slight smile opened on her mouth, as she leaned back slightly as she rested the rifle across her thighs. “And here I thought hunters were supposed to be the silent, mysterious types.”
“Being quiet doesn’t make you mysterious.” Alec replied. “Just make you sound dumb.”
Lenora tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful. “Do you trust us?”
Alec didn’t answer immediately, his attention drifting to the flickering flames. “No offense, but trust takes time,” he said finally. “And time’s something we don’t always get. Specially out here.”
Her expression softened, though there was a spark of challenge in her eyes. “Fair enough. But for the record, I’ve got your back out here.”
He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. “Good. Just remember, having my back means not getting yourself killed.”
She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, Corvain.”
Before Alec could reply, a low, distant sound carried through the forest. A faint moan of a heavy branch bending under its own weight. Both hunters stiffened, their eyes snapping toward the sound.
Alec murmured; his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. “Never assume the woods are empty.”
Lenora raised her rifle, her movements smooth and deliberate. “ Is that some sort of rule?”
“Something like that, it helps you live longer” he replied.
“Yeah? Is there another rule?” she said.
“Don’t let your guard down,” Alec replied. “Ever.”
Lenora’s grip on her rifle didn’t ease, her sharp eyes scanning the shadows. The sound didn’t come again, leaving a far worse stillness to follow. It pressed against the camp, choking the air out. Neither moved a muscle.
After what felt like an eternity, Lenora spoke again, her voice low. “You think it’s watching us?”
Alec’s gaze didn’t waver from the tree line. “It might be, it might not… hell, it might be nothing, and we are just making a mess.”
She tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Are you ever sure of something? Anything?”
“I’m sure I miss a warm bed, a roof, things like that,” Alec replied, his tone dry, and yet humorous.
Lenora’s smirk softened into something more genuine, and she leaned back slightly, letting her shoulders relax. “You ever get tired of it? The hunting, the danger, the endless nights in places like this?”
“Truth be told, that’s more complicated than it seems,” Alec admitted, his voice quieter now. “The rush of tracking a prey, the tension before a fight, even the rush of battle are all good, but I didn’t choose this life.”
Lenora studied him for a moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. She didn’t press further. Instead, she exhaled “Well, I think I understand. It comes with positives and negatives.” She said, breaking the silence “My father talks about retiring, he really wants that, so I wanted to see your perspective.”
“Retiring, huh?” Alec asked.
“Yep, he wants to have a house and tavern in Port Sulphur. Keeps saying that he had his fill of adventure” she answered with a small smirk on her lips “Uncommon right?”
“Honestly, it is admirable” Alec answered, his tone softening. “A good goal to strive for.”
“Why is that?” she asked
“No Hunter has ever died a peaceful death.” Alec said, his gaze trailing toward the skies “Hells, that’s something I’ve known for a while.”
Her eyes followed him. “Well, father aims to be the first, and if we’re lucky, maybe we’ll get through this without adding to the body count.”
Alec’s smirk returned, faint but wry. “Luck’s not something I bank on. But I wouldn’t mind being wrong tonight.”
She nodded, then stretched, her movements deliberate and fluid. “Your watch now, right? I’ll grab some sleep before it’s my turn.”
Alec gave her a curt nod. “Rest while you can.”
Lenora stood, dusting off her coat. “Goodnight, Corvain.”
“Goodnight, Lenora,” Alec replied, his tone even.
She moved to her bedroll, her footsteps soft against the damp ground. Alec waited until she’d settled before pulling a small, battered journal from his coat. He leaned back against the log, the firelight dancing across its worn cover.
Flipping past pages filled with sketches, notes, and the scrawling remnants of old prayers, Alec dipped a pen into a vial of ink and began to write.
We pushed deeper into the woods today. Found another wrecked caravan—same story as before. Supplies scattered, wagons torn apart, but no bodies. Blood was fresh. Whatever did this is methodical, intelligent. Not the mindless brutality of Shroudspawn.
Encountered a Ragoss. Nasty piece of work. It mimicked a woman's cries, lured Hadrian's men into a trap. Lost too many before I could bring it down. Their faces haunt me. Innocents, some were young, all caught in the crossfire – what a mess.
Reinard Blackwell made his appearance, along with his daughter, Lenora. Didn't expect to see him, especially not here. Same arrogance as ever, The girl... she's different. Sharp-eyed, quick-witted. She asks questions that cut to the bone. Reminds me of someone I once knew.
Blackwell has the same hunch as me – the Ragoss wasn't behind the attacks – and for once, I agree with him. The creature was a distraction, or perhaps just a coincidence.
Made camp on a ridge tonight. Feels like the calm before a storm. Lenora kept me company for a while. She asked if I ever tire of this life. Truth is, I don't know anything else. The hunt consumes us all in the end.
Something is out there. Watching. Waiting. I can feel its gaze like a weight on my shoulders. Sleep will be hard to come by tonight.
Alec closed the journal, the leather cover warm from the firelight, and tucked it back into his coat. The pen clinked softly against the inkwell as he replaced it, his movements deliberate but not rushed. The world outside the camp felt distant yet heavy, as if the forest itself had drawn closer while he wrote.
Hadrian’s voice broke the stillness, quiet but firm. “Hunter.”
Alec glanced up, his hand reflexively moving to his revolver before recognizing the sheriff’s silhouette in the firelight. “Hadrian,” he said evenly, nodding for the man to sit.
The sheriff eased down onto a fallen log opposite Alec, his revolver resting across his knees. His face was lined with exhaustion, the flickering firelight deepening the shadows beneath his eyes. “You always keep a journal?”
“Helps me think,” Alec replied, leaning back slightly. “And sometimes, it helps to remember. Keeps things clear.”
Hadrian nodded; his gaze distant. “You always seem so sure out there. Even with all this... madness. How do you keep it together?”
Alec’s smirk was faint, his eyes fixed on the darkness. “Experience. That, and I’ve already seen worse than whatever’s waiting out there.”
Hadrian exhaled sharply, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Worse, huh? Hard to imagine.”
“It’s out there,” Alec said simply. “But the worst isn’t always what you face. Sometimes, it’s what you lose along the way.”
The sheriff fell silent, his expression thoughtful. The fire crackled between them, its light flickering over their worn faces. “What do you make of Blackwell?” Hadrian asked at last.
“Capable,” Alec replied without hesitation. “Dangerous, too. And stubborn enough to get himself killed.”
Hadrian grunted. “And the girl?”
“She seems sharp,” Alec admitted. “Might even be better than him one day—if she survives.”
“You think?” Hadrian asked.
“Too green, got to see how she acts when push comes to shove.”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed, his gaze dropping to the revolver in his lap. “And this what do you think we’ll find?”
Alec didn’t answer immediately. His hand drifted to the cruciform charm hanging from his weapon, his fingers brushing its worn edges. “I don’t know, but it certainly is not a Shroudspawn” he said finally. “Even without the proof.”
Hadrian shifted on the log, his fingers tightening around the revolver as he stared into the fire. “You think it’s something human?” he asked, his tone low, as though the forest itself might hear.
Alec nodded slowly. “The tracks, the precision—it feels deliberate. Monsters don’t leave patterns like that. They just… feed.”
Hadrian exhaled, rubbing his face with one hand. “If it’s people, what kind of bastards would go to these lengths? What could they want?”
“Same thing as everyone else,” Alec said, his tone dry. “Power, control, survival—pick your poison.”
The sheriff leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “And how do you fight something that thinks like that? Something that knows how to plan?”
Alec’s smirk was faint, almost grim. “The same way you fight monsters. You find their weakness, and you exploit it.”
Hadrian studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You talk like you’ve done this before.”
Alec’s gaze drifted to the fire, the light catching on the worn edges of the cruciform charm. “I have,” he said quietly. “More times than I care to remember.”
Hadrian didn’t press further, sensing the weight of the hunter’s words. The two men sat in silence for a moment, the crackle of the fire filling the space between them.
“Why do you do it, Corvain?” Hadrian asked suddenly. “Why keep hunting? You could’ve walked away. Found a quiet place to disappear.”
Alec’s eyes flicked to the sheriff; his expression shadowed. “Walking away doesn’t erase what you’ve done—or what’s been done to you. Hunting’s the only thing I know how to do. And if I can stop someone else from losing what I’ve lost… maybe it’s worth it.”
Hadrian nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the revolver in his lap. “I’ll give you this much—you’ve got conviction. More than most.”
“It’s not conviction,” Alec said, his tone sharp but not unkind. “It’s necessity.”
Before Alec could say more, the sound of footsteps approached from the edge of the camp. Two of the sheriff’s men emerged from the shadows, their faces pale but determined.
“Your turn,” Alec said, rising from the log and brushing dirt from his coat. He glanced at Hadrian, offering a faint nod. “Get some rest, Sheriff. We’ll need you sharp tomorrow.”
Hadrian hesitated, then stood, his movements slow and deliberate. “You too, Corvain. You’ve been running on fumes since we left Briar’s Hollow.”
Alec smirked faintly. “I’ll rest when the job’s done.”
Hadrian muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue. He moved to his bedroll, his steps heavy with exhaustion.
Alec handed off his rifle to one of the guards, offering a few quiet instructions before retreating to his own corner of the camp. He unrolled his bedroll near the fire, the heat warming his back as he lay down. His hand rested on the hilt of his revolver, the weight of it grounding him.
Alec found himself in a field under an endless twilight sky. The grass beneath his boots was scorched black, and the air was heavy with the scent of smoke and iron. Shadows stretched long across the horizon, their edges flickering like dying flames. He walked forward, each step sinking into the ash-laden earth, his movements deliberate yet weighted as though dragging invisible chains.
Ahead, a figure emerged from the haze—a young boy, no older than twelve, his clothes tattered and stained with dirt. The child’s face was smeared with soot, but his eyes were sharp, burning with a defiance Alec hadn’t seen in years. He carried a broken blade, its edge jagged and useless, yet he held it as though it could defend him against the world.
“You let them die,” the boy said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. It wasn’t a question.
Alec stopped, his chest tightening. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. The boy stepped closer, his bare feet leaving no trace in the ash.
“You stood there,” the boy accused, his voice rising. “You watched, and you didn’t stop them.”
“You chose,” the boy interrupted, his face twisting in anger. “You always choose. One life over another. One soul for the rest.”
The words struck Alec like a blow. His fists clenched at his sides as he shook his head. “It wasn’t that simple.”
The boy’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Isn’t it? Isn’t that the life you live now? Deciding who gets to live and who doesn’t?” He raised the broken blade, pointing it toward Alec. “You carry their deaths with you, every single one.”
Alec’s gaze dropped to his hands, now stained with blood that wasn’t his own. The boy’s words echoed in his mind, growing louder, overlapping until they became a cacophony of voices—all accusing, all demanding answers he didn’t have.
The boy’s voice cut through the chaos once more, quieter now but no less sharp. “Do you ever wonder what you’ll find when it’s your turn to go through the Shroud? How many will be waiting for you?”
“I… I don’t” Alec started.
“Quiet, Hunter” the boy said “Know that behind the gun you’ll make your final stand. This is your path.”
Alec looked up, but the boy was gone. In his place stood Elyra, her fiery red hair cascading around her freckled face. She wore a simple dress, her hands clasped in front of her, but her expression was unreadable.
“Elyra,” Alec whispered, his throat dry.
She tilted her head, her icy blue eyes locking onto his. “Still carrying them all, Alec? How much more will you let it weigh you down?”
“I didn’t mean to—” Alec started, but she raised a hand, silencing him.
“You never mean to,” she said softly, stepping closer. “But you always do.”
The ground beneath them trembled, cracks spreading outward from Alec’s feet. Shadows began to rise, twisting and writhing like living smoke. Elyra’s form began to waver, her edges blurring.
“You need to wake up, Alec,” she said, her voice barely audible over the growing rumble. “Wake up, or you’ll lose them too.”
The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the dream. Alec’s eyes snapped open, his hand instinctively reaching for his revolver. The fire was still crackling, but the camp was in chaos—shouts rang out, and the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the night. The acrid tang of gunpowder hung in the air, mixing with the forest’s damp, earthy scent.
Hadrian was already on his feet, his face pale in the dim light as he hurried toward Alec. “Corvain!” he hissed, his voice sharp with urgency. “Blackwell and Lenora—they’re gone.”
Alec was up in an instant, shrugging off the grogginess as adrenaline coursed through his veins. “What do you mean gone?”
“They took the last watch,” Hadrian said, motioning toward their empty bedrolls. “When we heard the first shot, we thought they were scouting something out, but now”
Another gunshot echoed through the trees, closer this time, followed by the faint, unmistakable sound of shouting. Alec’s jaw tightened, his mind racing.
“Did anyone see them leave?” Alec demanded, his voice low but firm as he checked the chamber of his revolver.
Hadrian shook his head. “No, but if they’re firing, they’re in trouble.”
Another shot cracked through the night, this time followed by the rapid bark of a rifle. Alec’s stomach churned "Blackwell isn’t the type to waste ammunition." Alec said “Stay here,” Alec ordered, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and adjusting his coat. “Keep the fire up and get everyone ready. If something happens, defend this spot.”
Hadrian grabbed Alec’s arm, his eyes wide. “You don’t know what’s out there.”
“I’ll find out soon enough,” Alec replied, his tone sharp. He jerked his arm free and moved toward the direction of the gunfire, his boots crunching softly on the damp forest floor.
The forest thickened as Alec moved toward the source of the gunfire, the damp air carrying faint echoes of shouts and metal striking metal. His boots crunched softly on the moss-covered ground, each step calculated and deliberate. The mist swallowed sound, creating a disorienting haze that made every rustle and snap seem closer than it was.
Then he saw it—Blackwell, slumped against the base of a tree, his rifle propped across his lap. Blood seeped through his duster, and arms, pooling beneath him in the damp soil. His wide-brimmed hat had fallen to one side, revealing his scarred face twisted in pain. Despite the blood loss, his one good eye snapped up to Alec, burning with defiance.
“About time,” Blackwell rasped, his voice strained but laced with his trademark sarcasm. “Didn’t think you’d leave the campfire just for me.”
Alec crouched beside him, his gaze sharp as he scanned the surrounding forest. “You look like hell,” he said, his tone dry. “What happened?”
“Ambush,” Blackwell grunted, gripping the wound in his side. “Fast bastards. Hit us hard. I lost Lenora—damn fool ran off trying to draw them away.”
Alec’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. “How many?”
“Four—maybe five,” Blackwell replied, his breathing labored. “Not normal bandits, Corvain. These sons of bitches are tougher. Smarter.”
Before Alec could respond, the faint crunch of footsteps reached his ears. His hand flew to one of his revolvers, his body instinctively shifting to shield Blackwell as shadows moved through the trees. He caught a glimpse of them—figures shrouded in patchwork armor, their forms hunched like predators ready to attack.
The first bandit emerged, wielding a jagged, spear that gleamed faintly in the firelight, its form coiled and curled with cords and rivets. Alec’s eyes narrowed as he noted the weapon’s strange modifications—a cluster of small fangs and springs.
“Stay down,” Alec muttered to Blackwell, leveling his revolver. The cruciform charm swung lightly as he aimed, his breath steady. The first shot rang out, the bullet striking the bandit square in the chest. The figure stumbled but didn’t fall, the jagged armor absorbing some of the impact. A guttural snarl escaped the bandit’s lips as they charged forward, unrelenting.
Blackwell, gritting his teeth through the pain, raised his rifle and fired, the crack of the shot blending with Alec’s next. The bandit dropped, clutching a shoulder wound, but the others surged forward. Alec fired again, the bullet striking another attacker in the neck, his blood turning into a red mist as his body tumbled into the underbrush.
“Good shot” Blackwell growled, as he levered his rifle, letting out a volley of shots as another figure lunged toward him. The bullets connected with the bandit’s body, sending them sprawling, as Blackwell also fell down from the recoil, his strength fading.
The air erupted with a metallic snap as one of the bandits activated a spring-loaded weapon. Blades shot outward, forming a serrated jaw that snapped shut close to Alec’s arm. He twisted away, his knife flashing as he slashed at the bandit’s wrist. The weapon clattered to the ground, its jaws gnashing uselessly as Alec drove his blade into the attacker’s neck, his hands steady as blood was upon the floor.
“Explosives!” Blackwell barked, shoving Alec aside just as a spear embedded itself in the ground where he’d stood. The crude explosives attached to the weapon sparked, their fuses hissing.
Alec grabbed Blackwell by the collar, dragging him behind a tree as the spear detonated. The blast sent shards of wood and metal whizzing through the air, narrowly missing Alec.
Blackwell hissed in pain, a shard of metal embedded itself on his leg “Fuck!” the man screamed, falling back down on the tree.
Alec coughed, his ears ringing, but didn’t hesitate. He rose to his feet, grabbing his second revolver and firing two shots in quick succession, the bullets finding their mark and dropping another bandit.
Blackwell struggled to stand, leaning heavily on his rifle. “Two above” he rasped.
Alec’s sharp gaze flicked upward, locking onto the first bandit perched in the branches. With a fluid motion, he raised his revolver, the cruciform charm swinging in rhythm with his movements. The shot rang out, hitting the bandit squarely in the chest. The body tumbled from the tree, landing with a sickening crunch, its neck snapping under the weight of the fall.
The second bandit scrambled to react, attempting to hurl another explosive spear. Alec’s second revolver barked a shot, grazing the attacker’s arm and sending the weapon tumbling to the forest floor. The bandit lost balance, falling into a cluster of thick vines that coiled like living chains around his limbs. He struggled and cursed, his desperate movements growing frantic as the fuse of the dropped explosive continued to burn. A brilliant flash illuminated the canopy as the spear detonated, consuming the bandit in a fiery burst that sent tendrils of smoke curling into the misty sky.
Alec glanced down at Blackwell, whose face was pale and glistening with sweat. The shard of metal protruding from his leg glinted dully in the firelight, but Blackwell waved off Alec’s concern with a grimace.
“Lenora’s out there,” Blackwell rasped, his voice thick with desperation, and yet ragged. “We’ve got to find her.”
Alec scanned the area, his breath steadying as his eyes confirmed the immediate threat was gone. The bodies of the attackers lay motionless around them, their makeshift weapons scattered across the forest floor. He holstered his revolvers and knelt beside Blackwell, pulling the man’s arm over his shoulder to steady him.
“We will,” Alec said, his tone firm. “But you’re not dying here. Can you move?”
“Do I have a choice?” Blackwell muttered, wincing as Alec hauled him to his feet.
The two men staggered forward, Alec bearing most of Blackwell’s weight. The forest seemed to close in tighter around them, the mist clinging to their bodies like a suffocating shroud. The earlier cacophony of battle faded, replaced by an oppressive silence that pressed down on Alec’s senses.
The gnarled branches above twisted unnaturally, their claw-like shapes casting eerie shadows across the damp earth. The air was thick with the scent of blood, burnt metal, and damp decay.
Alec’s eyes darted through the shifting shadows, his grip tightening on Blackwell as they moved. The silence wasn’t comforting—it was alive, buzzing with unspoken threats and unseen watchers. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig sent a jolt of tension through Alec’s already-frayed nerves.
“They’re watching,” Blackwell muttered through gritted teeth, his voice barely audible.
“Let them,” Alec replied, his tone low but resolute. “They won’t get a second chance.”
The forest trembled with the sharp echo of gunshots, their staccato rhythm slicing through the oppressive silence. Screams followed, raw and desperate, carried by the mist like ghostly echoes. Alec’s heart raced as he tightened his grip on Blackwell, his senses straining to discern the direction of the chaos.
“Sounds like your camp’s turned to hell,” Blackwell rasped, his voice taut with pain but edged with bitter humor.
Alec didn’t reply, his jaw set as he adjusted Blackwell’s weight on his shoulder. His boots dug into the damp earth, each step faster and more deliberate as the screams grew louder.
They broke through the tree line and into the clearing, the camp now a battlefield lit by the flickering glow of a dying fire. Shadows danced wildly across the scene of carnage. Two of Hadrian’s men fought desperately against the remaining bandits, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. One swung a hatchet wildly, the other tried to reload a single-shot rifle with shaking hands.
In the center of the chaos, Hadrian stood, blood dripping from a gash across his forehead. He clutched his revolver tightly, his movements sluggish as he fended off a bandit wielding a jagged, makeshift blade. The sheriff’s face was pale, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and pain.
Alec’s gaze swept the scene, taking in every detail. The bandits moved like predators, their patchwork armor gleaming with a feral, almost ritualistic purpose. One was perched on the overturned remains of a supply crate, hurling crude explosives toward the fire, the sparks casting eerie shadows that danced like specters around the camp.
“Stay here,” Alec ordered, propping Blackwell against a nearby tree.
Blackwell growled, his hands clutching his rifle. “Like hell I will. Just don’t make me carry you out when you screw this up.”
Alec smirked faintly but didn’t respond. His revolvers were in his hands as he moved swiftly into the fray.
The first bandit to notice him lunged, brandishing a hooked blade. Alec sidestepped, his revolver barking once. The bullet pierced the attacker’s knee, sending the bandit sprawling with a scream. Without hesitation, Alec fired again, the bullet striking the head.
The camp was chaos. Alec’s eyes darted to Hadrian, who was struggling to fend off an armored assailant. The sheriff’s shots went wide, his movements sluggish. As the bandit raised a jagged axe for the killing blow, Blackwell’s rifle cracked, the shot tearing through the attacker’s shoulder.
Hadrian stumbled back, his revolver clattering to the ground as Alec rushed forward. He caught the sheriff by the arm, pulling him to safety. Another bandit charged toward them, but Alec’s revolver snapped up, the shot striking true and sending the figure crumpling into the dirt.
“You’re not done yet, Sheriff,” Alec muttered, pushing Hadrian toward the smoldering remains of the fire. “Get your men and hold the perimeter.”
Blackwell fired again, this time taking out the bandit perched on the crate. The crude explosive the attacker had been preparing detonated in their grasp, a fiery burst lighting up the clearing and scattering debris.
The fight raged on, the camp a maelstrom of firelight, blood, and chaos. The Sheriff’s remaining men fought valiantly, but their inexperience showed in every wild swing and panicked shot. One of them let out a strangled cry as a bandit’s blade found his side, his body crumpling to the ground.
Alec moved through the chaos, his revolvers spitting fire with deadly precision. Each shot found its mark, dropping bandits one by one. Blackwell, still leaning heavily against the tree, covered him with his rifle, his gritted teeth betraying the pain coursing through him.
The Sheriff fought to rally his remaining guard, but their resolve wavered as another man fell, a bandit’s crude lance piercing his chest. Hadrian shouted orders, his voice hoarse, but desperation was etched into his every move.
“Hold the line!” he bellowed, firing his revolver. The shot struck a charging bandit, but the sheriff’s aim faltered as blood trickled from the gash on his forehead. “Damn it, stay together!”
Alec sidestepped another lunging attacker, his knife flashing as it found the bandit’s throat. The spray of blood was warm against his hand as he shoved the body aside and turned, his revolver snapping up to fire at another assailant. The bullet punched through the bandit’s chest, launching the body to the ground.
“They’re breaking!” Blackwell shouted, firing a shot that took another bandit. The attacker collapsed with a howl.
Another of Hadrian’s men fell, his scream lost in the cacophony as a jagged blade tore through his ribs. The Sheriff staggered back, his revolver empty, fumbling to reload as the last of his guard fought to keep the bandits at bay.
Alec’s revolver barked twice more, dropping two attackers in rapid succession. The clearing fell eerily silent, the smoke and blood mingling in the air. Only one bandit remained—a wiry figure hunched near the smoldering fire, clutching a wound in his side. His patchwork armor gleamed faintly in the flickering light, marked with crude symbols.
“Don’t kill him!” Blackwell shouted, his voice hoarse.
“Why?” asked the last of Hadrian’s men, quickly approaching the bandit, his gun still smoking.
“They got my daughter!” Blackwell intervened.
However, before anyone could respond, the bandit suddenly lunged toward the last of Hadrian’s men. The young guard raised his revolver, but he was too slow. The bandit’s blade found its mark, driving deep into the man’s neck. The guard’s eyes widened in shock as he crumpled, blood pouring out of the gash, the life draining from him in an instant.
Alec’s revolver came up, the shot striking the bandit in the leg. He fell with a grunt, his weapon clattering to the ground as he writhed in the dirt, blood pooling beneath him.
Alec was on him in an instant, his boot pressing down on the bandit’s neck to keep him pinned. “Who are you?” Alec demanded; his voice cold as he leveled his revolver at the man’s head. “And where’s the girl?”
Blackwell limped forward, leaning heavily on his rifle. His one good eye burned with fury as he tore a piece of the bandit’s ragged armor, revealing a burnt rune etched on his torso.
Blackwell widened his eyes as the bandit opened a wide grim “He’s not just some raider,” Blackwell spat. “Look at this. That’s Red Maw.”
“Red Maw?” Alec asked, the name completely unfamiliar to him.
“A rogue sect” Blackwell answered, “didn’t know they still existed.”
The rogue hunter laughed weakly, blood flecking his lips. “Tou… tough bastards, aren’t you?” he rasped, trying to gasp for air. “D… doesn’t matter… you’ll ne… never make it to her.”
Alec’s boot pressed harder, drawing a pained gasp from the rogue hunter as he tried to breathe. “Where is she?” he demanded, his tone cutting like a blade.
The rogue hunter gagged, his face turning a deeper shade of red as Alec’s boot bore down on his throat. His hands clawed weakly at Alec’s leg, smearing blood across the leather.
“Ease up, Corvain!” Blackwell barked, his voice sharp despite the pain that laced it. “He can’t talk if he’s choking on his own damn tongue.”
Alec’s jaw tightened, his revolver unwavering, but he lifted his boot slightly, just enough for the man to suck in a wheezing breath. “You’ve got one chance,” Alec said, his voice low and cold. “Make it count.”
The rogue hunter coughed violently, spitting blood onto the damp earth. His grin faltered, replaced by a flicker of fear. “You’ll won’t get to her, our boys will treat the whore well.”
Alec didn’t hesitate as he stepped on the man’s neck once more. The rogue hunter’s eyes bulged as he grasped for air once more.
“The… compound,” he gasped. “East. Old fort. You’ll see the effigy.” Alec lifted his foot again.
Blackwell’s expression darkened further, his grip tightening on his rifle. “How many of you?”
The bandit’s eyes darted between Alec and Blackwell, desperation flickering in his gaze. “Dozens,” he croaked. “More than you can handle. You’ll… die screaming.”
Blackwell sneered, leaning closer. “You’d better hope not, because if we find her dead…” He didn’t finish the sentence, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air.
“You’ll never…” the rogue hunter began, but the words were cut off by the crack of Alec’s revolver. The bullet struck clean, silencing him.
Alec holstered his weapon with a grim expression. “We’ve got what we need,” he said, his voice steady but edged with cold resolve. He glanced at Blackwell. “Can you move?”
Blackwell nodded grimly, using his rifle as a crutch to push himself upright. “I’ll make it,” he growled. “But we’ve got to move fast. Lenora doesn’t have time for us to play it safe.”
Alec turned toward Hadrian, who was slumped near the fire, his face pale but his eyes alert. “Sheriff,” Alec called, his tone commanding. “Get back to Briar’s Hollow. This fight’s ours now.”
Hadrian’s gaze flicked to the bodies of his fallen men, his jaw clenching. “You sure about this, Corvain?”
Alec’s expression didn’t waver. “Sure enough. You’ve done your part. Now let us finish this.”
Hadrian hesitated, then gave a grim nod. “We’ll hold the town. But if you don’t come back…” He let the words trail off, the weight of them heavy in the air.
Alec met his gaze steadily. “Then pray we finish it before they come for you.”
Blackwell adjusted his hat, his bloodied face set in a grim smirk. “Come on, Corvain. Let’s go remind these bastards why hunters are worth fearing.”
Alec pulled a syringe from his pouch and tossed it to Blackwell. “Here. Can’t have you bleeding out before we even get there.”
Blackwell caught the vial, his fingers trembling only slightly as he uncapped it and injected the mixture into his arm. He let out a sharp hiss, his posture straightening as the alchemical concoction took hold. “That’ll do,” he muttered, adjusting his rifle.
Without another word, the two hunters mounted their horses, their figures blending into the encroaching shadows. The forest seemed to close in around them, the faint echo of their hoofbeats swallowed by the whispering mist.
The horses thundered through the forest, their hooves pounding against the damp earth, muffled by the mist that clung stubbornly to the ground. The air was heavy with moisture, each breath sharp and cold against Alec’s lungs. The skeletal branches of ancient trees arched overhead, their gnarled shapes twisting into a labyrinth of shadows. Moonlight pierced through the canopy in fragmented shards, casting a ghostly glow over the hunters as they pressed forward.
Alec leaned low over his horse’s neck, his revolver secured but ready, his eyes locked on the faint trail ahead. The forest seemed alive with whispers, each rustle of leaves and snap of twigs a phantom threat waiting to spring from the darkness.
Blackwell rode beside him, his movements stiff but unyielding. The alchemical shot Alec had given him worked to numb the pain and bolster his strength, but the toll of his injuries was evident in his tight grip on the reins and the faint sheen of sweat on his brow. The blood-soaked duster still carried the iron tang of his wounds, though the bleeding had stopped. His eye burned with determination. The faint glow of the compound’s fires was visible now, a smear of light against the horizon, just beyond the ridgeline.
“We’re close,” Blackwell growled, his voice rough from the ride and the pain that gnawed at him. “Place looks fortified. They’ll have sentries.”
“They’ll also be expecting us,” Alec replied, his tone cold and measured. “Which means we don’t give them the fight they want.”
Blackwell snorted, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s rich, coming from you. Got a plan, or are we winging it?”
Alec’s gaze flicked to the glowing compound as they slowed their pace, the horses snorting and pawing at the ground. “We got to be smart, we hit where it hurts, silently. No room for mistakes.”
The horses slowed to a trot as the compound came into sharper focus, its outline a jagged silhouette against the faint glow of its fires. The ridgeline offered a vantage point, and Alec pulled his horse to a halt, motioning for Blackwell to do the same. The two hunters dismounted silently, leading their horses into the cover of the thick underbrush. The air smelled of smoke and damp earth, mingled with the faint metallic tang of blood and the sweetness of rotting flesh.
Alec crouched low, his eyes scanning the compound. The Red Maw’s hideout was a grim and crude fortress. Makeshift barricades of sharpened logs and salvaged metal ringed the perimeter, and the glow of torches revealed patrolling figures clad in patchwork armor, effigies made of human remains and body parts laid across the structure. The sounds of muted conversation and the occasional clink of weapons carried on the still night air.
“They’ve got a sentry at every corner,” Blackwell muttered, joining Alec’s side. He winced as he adjusted his weight, his bloodied leg stiff but functional. “And probably a dozen more inside.”
Alec’s gaze lingered on the largest structure at the center of the compound, its walls reinforced with scavenged iron plates and jagged spikes decorated by rotting bodies and flayed skin. “That’s where they’ll keep her,” he said, his voice low but certain.
Blackwell nodded grimly, gripping his rifle tightly. “If they haven’t already…” His words trailed off, his jaw tightening. “We’re not losing her, Corvain.”
“We won’t,” Alec replied, his tone firm. “But we don’t go in guns blazing. We work the shadows. Take them out quietly and move fast.”
Blackwell smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t think you had it in you to play subtle.”
Alec’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Let’s just say I know when to make noise—and when not to.”
They moved carefully, leaving the horses tethered in the shadows of the ridge. Alec led the way, his revolvers holstered in favor of the silver-edged knife he drew from his coat. Blackwell followed, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his steps quieter than one would expect from a man so battered.
The first sentry was perched on a wooden watchtower, his back turned to the ridge as he scanned the surrounding forest. Alec motioned for Blackwell to hold back, then slipped into the shadows, his movements fluid and precise. He concentrated himself, quickly letting the arcane energies flow through his body. He teleported himself to the top of the crude structure, his knife flashing as he silenced the sentry in one swift motion. The body slumped silently to the wooden floor.
Alec crouched low, his knife glinting faintly in the torchlight as he scanned the compound from the watchtower. The sentry’s lifeless body slumped at his feet, blood pooling beneath the man’s patchwork armor.
The Red Maw’s compound was alive, patrols roamed around, craftsman worked their weapons and the emaciated sect slaves did their chores, an overseer barking order at them. Muted sounds flowed through the courtyard —laughter, clinking metal, and the occasional bark of an order—but the hunters’ approach was silent, calculated. Alec descended from the tower with practiced ease, his boots landing softly on the damp earth below. Blackwell met him at the base, his breath controlled despite the pain evident in his stiff movements.
His eyes darted to Blackwell, who remained hidden in the underbrush below, watching for Alec’s signal.
Alec raised two fingers, then pointed toward the next sentry post—a crude platform built into the barricade. Blackwell nodded, his grip tightening on his serrated knife he used his arcane energy to teleport to the tower.
Blackwell reappeared on the platform in a flicker of shadows, his blade already drawn. The sentry barely had time to turn before the knife sank into his throat, the strike clean and precise. Blackwell caught the body, lowering it silently to the wooden planks to avoid the telltale thud. He scanned the compound below, ensuring no one had noticed. He glanced at Alec, who remained motionless in the watchtower.
Alec’s hand raised, signaling for Blackwell to advance. The older hunter nodded, slipping down the ladder on the far side of the platform with careful, measured movements. Alec, in turn, darted through the underbrush toward the next watchtower, his movements silent.
The compound’s dim lighting hid Alec under the shadows, as he advanced through the breaks in the patrols’ patterns. He pressed himself against the rough barricade, his fingers trailing the edge of his knife as he waited.
Another sentry passed, his crude armor rattling softly with every step. Alec lunged forward, wrapping a gloved hand around the man’s mouth and driving his blade into the base of his skull. The sentry’s body went limp, and Alec eased it to the ground before dragging it into the shadows.
He motioned to Blackwell, who had already positioned himself near the compound’s main gate, the faint glow of firelight casting jagged patterns across his scarred face. The older hunter knelt low, signaling that the way was clear for now. Alec moved to join him, their eyes meeting briefly in silent understanding before they slipped through the partially open gate.
Inside the compound, the air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, iron, and decay. The overseer’s barking voice cut through the muted noise, berating a group of slaves who struggled to drag a cart laden with wooden boxes.
“Could that be the provisions of the caravans?” Blackwell whispered.
“Maybe” Alec answered, “but now it’s not the time to find out.”
The hunters skirted the edge of the compound, staying close to the shadows of the perimeter. They paused behind a stack of splintered crates as a pair of patrols passed by, their weapons gleaming in the flickering torchlight. Alec pressed a hand to Blackwell’s shoulder, signaling for them to wait.
When the patrols had moved on, the pair advanced again. Alec gestured towards the center building. The reinforced building loomed like a grotesque monument, its iron walls adorned with grisly trophies that reeked of rot and death.
“That’s where she is,” Alec whispered, his voice barely audible.
Blackwell nodded, his face grim. “They won’t make it easy.”
“They never do,” Alec replied, his tone flat. “Stay close.”
They approached the central building, their path intersected by another sentry, a burling man standing close to a small fire, his weapon resting casually against a barrel. Alec moved first, his knife flashing as he silenced the man before he could react. Blackwell followed immediately, pulling the body into the shadows.
The heavy wooden door to the structure loomed ahead, its surface marred with scratches and the crude sigils of the Red Maw. Alec examined the lock—a sturdy mechanism, but not impervious. He pulled a small tool from his coat, its edges gleaming faintly in the dim light.
“Keep watch,” he murmured, crouching to work on the lock.
Blackwell nodded, positioning himself to cover both approaches to the door. His rifle was ready, his eyes scanning the compound with the practiced vigilance of a seasoned hunter.
The lock clicked softly, and Alec eased the door open, its hinges groaning faintly. He slipped inside, Blackwell following close behind, the door closing with a muted thud. The air inside was stifling, thick with the metallic tang of blood, rot and the acrid smell of burning oil.
The interior was dimly lit, crude lanterns casting flickering light across the rough walls adorned with skin. The faint sound of muffled cries echoed through the hallways, growing louder as they moved deeper into the building. Alec’s knife was ready as they rounded each corner, their footsteps soundless on the uneven floor.
As they reached a heavy latch at the end of the corridor. Alec placed a hand against the worn surface, his ear pressed to the wood. A faint, muffled voice—a woman’s—filtered through.
The heavy latch gave way with a soft groan, and Alec eased the door open, quickly descending the wooden stairs, his movements cautious. The air inside was suffocating, thick with the rancid stench of decay, blood, and human waste. The dim glow of a single lantern barely illuminated the cramped, filthy space.
Lenora was there, shackled to the far wall, her head slumped forward. Her dark hair hung limply, matted with blood and grime. Her face was swollen and bruised, one eye nearly shut, her lip split. Her breathing was shallow, each rise and fall of her chest labored.
Alec moved quickly, his knife in hand, scanning the room with sharp, practiced eyes. Blackwell followed with his weapon in hand, his steps uneven. The older hunter’s eye burned with fury as he took in the sight of his daughter.
“Lenora,” Blackwell rasped, his voice a mix of desperation and anger. He limped toward her, collapsing to one knee as he reached for her shackled arm.
Her head lifted weakly at the sound of his voice, her good eye fluttering open. “Dad?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible.
“I’m here,” Blackwell said, his hands trembling as he touched her shoulder gently. “We’ve got you.”
Alec crouched near the chains, his knife flashing as he began working at the rusted locks. His jaw tightened as his gaze flicked over Lenora’s battered form. “Can you stand?” he asked quietly.
She gave a faint, bitter laugh, her head falling back against the wall. “I don’t think so.”
“Then we’ll carry you,” Blackwell said fiercely, his voice cracking. “We’re getting you out of here.”
As Alec worked on the last shackle, a faint sound reached his ears. It wasn’t words—just a guttural, inhuman noise, like the rasp of air forced through a ruined throat. He turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing at the shadows in the corner of the room.
A figure emerged, skeletal and broken, crawling forward on trembling hands and knees. The prisoner’s face was sunken, their eyes hollow and glazed. They extended a trembling hand toward Alec, their cracked lips moving soundlessly. Others began to stir, emerging from the dark corners. Each was gaunt and emaciated, their bodies little more than wasted flesh and protruding bone.
“They’re… alive?” Blackwell muttered, his voice heavy with disbelief.
Alec didn’t answer immediately, his eyes scanning the prisoners. They didn’t speak or plead for help. Their hands reached out reflexively, as if grasping for something they couldn’t comprehend. Their blank expressions were devoid of recognition, their movements mechanical. Some extended their hands to Alec as though expecting food, others simply stared ahead, unmoving.
“They’re barely that,” Alec said grimly, standing as Lenora’s final shackle fell away.
“They kept more in another part of the compound,” Lenora murmured weakly, leaning heavily against her father. “They want to break us, make us their slaves… we can’t leave them.”
Blackwell’s jaw tightened, his grip on Lenora steady. “We don’t have the time,” he said sharply, his voice hard. “You can barely stand, and I’m not much better. We have to go.”
“We can’t just leave them,” Lenora whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “They’ll die here.”
Alec’s gaze remained fixed on the prisoners for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “She’s right,” he said finally, his voice cold and practical. “But they’re not in any condition to fight—or escape. If we’re going to get out of here alive, we’ll need a distraction.”
Blackwell’s head snapped toward him, his face a mask of anger. “You’re suggesting we use them as bait?”.
“Yes,” Alec replied, his tone measured. “If we can create enough chaos, you and Lenora can make it out while they’re distracted.”
Lenora’s face twisted in confusion and hurt. “What are you saying? You can’t do that.”
“Look at them,” Alec said simply. “They aren’t alive, if we let them loose, if the Red Maw tries to stop them, they’ll have to split their forces. That gives you two a chance to escape.”
“No,” Lenora said, shaking her head weakly. “You can’t—”
“I can,” Alec interrupted firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re in no condition to fight. This is the best chance we’ve got, hell, it might be your only chance.”
Blackwell’s jaw tightened, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted Lenora against his shoulder. “And what about you?” he demanded. “You expect to walk out of here after lighting the powder keg?”
“I don’t expect anything,” Alec replied, his tone calm. “But someone has to stay behind and make sure this works.”
“Corvain…” Blackwell started.
Lenora’s good eye filled with tears, her voice breaking as she whispered, “Don’t… please.”
Alec stepped closer to Lenora, his movements deliberate but calm, his gloved hand resting lightly on her shoulder. For a brief moment, the hardness in his expression softened. He reached up and removed his wide-brimmed hat, the leather worn and battered from years of use.
“You hold onto this for me,” he said, placing the hat gently on her head. It sat slightly askew over her bruised face, its brim casting a shadow that couldn’t quite hide her trembling lip. His voice was steady, but his gaze lingered on her with an unspoken gravity. “I’ll find you in Briar’s Hollow. You have my word.”
Lenora blinked up at him, her one good eye glistening with unshed tears. Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the suffocating air in the room. “You have very kind eyes, Corvain,” she said, her tone laced with something between gratitude and sorrow.
Before she could respond, Alec turned to Blackwell, his voice cold and steady once more. “Get her out. I’ll give you the time you need.”
Blackwell adjusted his grip on Lenora, his jaw tight as he looked at Alec. “You make it out of here alive, you hear me? Don’t do something stupid.”
Alec smirked faintly, though his eyes remained hard. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Alec watched as Blackwell adjusted Lenora’s weight against his shoulder, her battered form leaning heavily into him.
Without another word, Alec turned toward the stairs, his movements swift and deliberate. He paused briefly, his hand resting on the rough wood of the latch, then looked back at Blackwell. “Wait for the noise. When the compound’s in chaos, get her out.”
Blackwell nodded; his lips pressed into a grim line. Lenora didn’t speak again, her good eye following Alec as he slipped out into the surface. The faint glint of his knife caught the dim lantern light before he vanished completely.
Alec moved swiftly and silently through the narrow corridors of the compound, his knife glinting faintly in the dim lantern light. His breaths were steady as he navigated the winding pathways. The muffled cries of prisoners echoed faintly, blending with the clinking of chains and the occasional guttural bark of a guard.
He paused at a junction, pressing his back against the rough wooden wall. The faint sound of footsteps approached heavy and careless. Alec waited, the tension coiling in his muscles. A Red Maw sentry rounded the corner, his patchwork armor clinking softly as he walked. Alec moved, his knife flashing in the dim light as it found its mark beneath the sentry’s jaw. The body slumped silently to the ground, and Alec dragged it into the shadows.
As he continued forward, Alec’s eyes scanned every detail, his mind piecing together the layout of the compound. He passed a storage area, the faint smell of gunpowder and oil wafting through the air. Inside, stacked crates bore the telltale markings of caravans. Alec’s jaw tightened as his gaze flicked over the contents—rifles, ammunition and supplies. T
The realization hit Alec like a blow, but he didn’t linger. There was no time to confront the scope of their operations.
Alec grabbed the powder keg from the stack, his movements swift and deliberate. He worked quickly, uncorking the barrel and letting the fine black powder spill across the floor in a deliberate trail. His hands moved with practiced precision as he reached for a small alchemical vial tucked into his coat—a volatile concoction designed to ignite on contact with flame. He poured its contents into a makeshift fuse of twisted cloth, securing it near the trail of powder.
Lighting a match, Alec murmured, “Let’s see if they like fireworks,” before stepping back and tossing the lit cloth onto the powder trail. It sparked instantly, the flame hissing and spitting as it raced toward the stacked barrels.
Alec didn’t wait to see the result. He turned and darted into the shadows, the faint flicker of flames growing behind him.
He moved forward, the faint sound of labored breathing guided him to the next holding area. Alec peered through the slats of a crude wooden door. More prisoners—emaciated and broken—huddled in the dark. They didn’t react to his presence, their eyes dull and unfocused.
Alec slid the door open, his voice low and firm. “You’re free. Move quietly and stay together.”
The prisoners didn’t respond at first, their movements sluggish and hesitant. Alec cursed under his breath, stepping into the room and cutting their bindings. One by one, they began to stir, their skeletal forms dragging themselves upright. He guided them toward the door, motioning for them to follow him.
As they stumbled into the corridor, Alec grabbed a rusted lantern from the wall and smashed it against the floor. The flames licked hungrily at the spilled oil, the fire spreading rapidly along the wooden beams. The sharp crackle of burning wood filled the air, and Alec’s voice rang out above the growing chaos.
“Go!” he barked, pointing toward the far end of the corridor. “Move now!”
The prisoners shuffled forward, their movements slow but deliberate. Alec stayed close, his knife in hand as he guided them through the maze-like compound. The fire spread quickly, and shouts began to echo through the halls as the Red Maw guards scrambled to contain the chaos.
Alec pressed on, his heart pounding as he led the prisoners toward the surface. The heat of the fire seared his skin, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes. He rounded a corner, coming face-to-face with a pair of guards. They raised their weapons, but Alec was faster. His revolver barked twice, the blessed bullets punching through their patchwork armor and dropping them where they stood.
The prisoners stumbled past the fallen guards, their gaunt faces barely registering the carnage. Alec followed, his gaze sharp as he scanned for threats. They emerged into the open air, the night sky filled with the orange glow of flames and the chaos of shouting guards.
The crack of an explosion ripped through the compound, a deafening roar that shook the ground and sent fiery debris hurtling into the air. The storage room erupted in a fiery blaze, smoke billowing upward in thick plumes. The shockwave knocked a nearby sentry off his feet, his cries of alarm drowned out by the cacophony of destruction.
Alec allowed himself a grim smile as the chaos unfolded. He used the pandemonium as cover, slipping through the disoriented patrols like a shadow. Guards shouted orders, their movements frantic as they scrambled to contain the blaze and assess the damage.
The compound was alive with chaos now. Fires spread rapidly, consuming wooden structures and turning the night sky into a violent canvas of orange and black. Alec moved through the turmoil, his revolver barking as he picked off guards who strayed too close. His knife flashed in the dim light, a precise and lethal blur.
A Red Maw brute, wielding a spiked mace, charged at Alec with a guttural roar. Alec sidestepped the attack, his blade sinking into the man’s side before spinning and delivering a sharp kick that sent the brute staggering into the flames. Another guard lunged at him with a jagged spear, but Alec parried the strike with his knife, his revolver snapping up to put a bullet between the attacker’s eyes.
The sharp crack of a rifle shot rang out, cutting through the din. Alec recognized the sound immediately—it was Blackwell’s weapon. The shot echoed over the compound walls, a signal as clear as any words.
Alec felt relief washing over him, as he turned toward the main gate.
As he moved through the fire and flames, quickly approaching the gate, he saw slam shut with a resounding clang. The heavy iron barrier shut down, blocking his path. Alec shifted his gaze, searching for any alternatives.
A group of Red Maw fighters converged on him, their weapons gleaming in the firelight. Alec’s eyes darted between them, his body tensing. Bloodied but unyielding, he raised his revolvers, both charms swinging faintly as he steadied his aim.
The first attacker lunged, and Alec fired, the bullet tearing through the man’s chest. The next swung a crude axe, its edge catching Alec’s shoulder in a glancing blow. Pain seared through him, but he gritted his teeth, spinning and shooting the man’s head.
As Alec staggered back, clutching his bleeding shoulder, a new figure emerged from the smoke and shadows—a towering man clad in patchwork armor adorned with grotesque trophies tied to his body. His presence alone commanded the attention of the remaining guards, who formed a loose semicircle around Alec.
“Well, well,” the man said, his voice a gravelly rasp. “What do we have here? A Church mongrel and you’ve made quite the mess, haven’t you?”
Alec’s lips curled into a defiant smirk, though blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Mess isn’t over yet,” he said, his voice sharp despite the pain.
The man looked around his surroundings “What’s your name, dog?”
Alec straightened, his revolvers hanging loosely at his sides but ready to spring into action. He met the man’s piercing gaze without flinching. “Alec Corvain,” he said evenly, his voice low and cold. “Not a name you’ll be alive to remember.”
The towering figure let out a guttural laugh, his iron mask glinting in the firelight. The jagged edges of the mask gave him the appearance of some hellish predator, his voice distorted further by the metal.
“You’ve got spirit,” the man growled, his tone dripping with mockery. “I am Ulthar Brask, the Blood-Warden of the Red Maw. And you, hunter, are nothing more than a walking corpse.”
Alec’s smirk deepened, though his eyes flickered toward the encroaching guards. “Bold words for someone who hides behind a pack of rabid dogs.”
Brask snarled, his massive hands gripping the haft of his brutal war axe. The weapon’s edge was jagged, its blade marked with dark, crusted blood that dripped faintly onto the scorched earth. He gestured with his free hand. One of his lieutenants, a wiry man with a cruel smile and a jagged blade, stepped forward. “Break him,” Brask commanded. “Let’s see if he’s worth my time.”
The lieutenant smirked, his blade twirling in his hand as he closed in on Alec. “This’ll be quick,” he sneered.
Alec’s gaze never left the approaching fighter. “Always send a pawn first, don’t you?” he said coldly, his grip tightening on his revolvers.
The lieutenant lunged, his blade flashing toward Alec’s side. Alec sidestepped with practiced ease. He drew his second revolver, the barrel already glowing faintly with arcane energy.
The shot rang out, the bullet catching the guard in the jaw. Bone and flesh shattered in a grotesque spray, the force of the impact sending the man sprawling. The leader’s face twisted in fury as the downed guard writhed silently, clutching his ruined face.
Alec’s grip tightened on his revolvers, his breath steady despite the pounding of his heart. “You think you’re the first monster I’ve put down?” he said, his voice calm but edged with venom. “Let’s see how well you bleed.”
Brask roared, charging forward with the force of a battering ram, his axe swinging in a deadly arc. Alec dove to the side, rolling to avoid the blow as the weapon smashed into the ground, sending a spray of dirt and embers into the air.
Alec rolled back to his feet, his revolvers snapping up and barking in quick succession. The bullets tore through the nearest guards, their bodies crumpling to the ground. But Brask was undeterred. The massive leader advanced with relentless purpose, his jagged war axe carving through the air in wide, brutal sweeps.
Alec ducked under the first swing, the blade missing his head by inches. He fired again, the blessed bullet catching Brask in the shoulder. The brute staggered but recovered quickly, his armor absorbing much of the impact. Brask snarled, his iron mask glowing faintly from the heat of the flames around them.
The remaining guards moved to flank Alec. One lunged with a crude spear, the point grazing Alec’s ribs as he twisted away. He countered with his knife, driving it into the attacker’s side and ripping it free in a spray of blood. Another came at him with a hammer, forcing Alec to block the blow with his forearm. The impact jarred his entire body, but he fired point-blank into the guard’s chest, dropping him.
Brask closed the distance in an instant, his axe coming down in a devastating overhead strike. Alec barely had time to leap to the side, the weapon slamming into the earth where he’d stood. The ground shook, and the shockwave sent Alec sprawling, his revolvers clattering to the ground.
Brask laughed, a low, guttural sound that echoed through the compound. “Is that it, Church mongrel? All your fury, and you’re still crawling in the dirt.”
Alec gritted his teeth, his hand darting for his revolver. But Brask was faster. The war axe swung again, this time catching Alec across the side. The jagged blade ripped through his coat and tore into flesh, sending him sprawling with a cry of pain. Blood poured from the wound, staining the ground beneath him.
He rolled onto his back, his vision swimming as Brask loomed over him. The Red Maw leader raised his axe for the killing blow, the firelight reflecting off the jagged edge.
Alec’s hand found the hilt of his knife, and he hurled it with all the strength he could muster. The blade struck true, embedding itself in Brask’s exposed forearm. The brute roared in pain, dropping his axe as he staggered back.
Seizing the opportunity, Alec dragged himself to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood dripped from his side, his movements slow and pained, but his resolve remained unbroken. He retrieved one of his revolvers, raising it with trembling hands as Brask ripped the knife from his arm.
“You’ve got guts,” Brask snarled, tossing the knife aside. “But they’ll look better spilled on the ground.”
The remaining guards circled Alec, their weapons gleaming. One lunged, but Alec shot him down with a single, precise round. Another moved in, slashing at Alec’s arm, forcing him to drop his revolver. Pain flared as the blade bit into muscle, but Alec pivoted, slamming his elbow into the attacker’s throat. The guard choked, stumbling back, but Alec didn’t stop. He grabbed his second revolver, firing into the closest foe and sending them crashing into the dirt.
Brask moved in again, this time unarmed but no less dangerous. He grabbed Alec by the collar, lifting him off the ground with terrifying ease. Alec struggled, his vision blurring as the massive man’s grip tightened.
“You die here,” Brask growled, his iron mask inches from Alec’s face. “Your blood will christen the Red Maw’s triumph.”
Alec’s free hand shot up, clutching a small, alchemical vial from his coat. With a desperate shove, he smashed it against Brask’s mask. The vial erupted in a blinding flash of light and smoke, forcing Brask to release him with a pained roar.
Alec collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. His body screamed in protest, his wounds burning as he staggered to his feet. The compound was in chaos now, flames consuming the structures, and the air thick with smoke and the cries of the dying.
Brask stood at the center of the carnage, his iron mask twisted and blackened from the explosion, his voice a guttural growl of rage, as he lunged once again at Alec.
Brask’s massive hand shot forward, clamping around Alec’s ankle with a crushing force that sent pain shooting up his leg. Before Alec could twist free, Brask yanked him off balance, dragging him through the mud with a brutal strength that left deep furrows in the dirt.
With a snarl of effort, Brask swung Alec in the air, slamming him hard onto the ground. Alec’s breath exploded from his lungs as he hit the earth, the impact reverberating through his battered body. The jagged rocks and splintered wood beneath him bit into his back, adding fresh pain to the cacophony of injuries he already bore.
Brask loomed over him, his hulking frame a grotesque shadow against the roaring flames. His iron mask gleamed with firelight, its jagged edges framing the malicious grin beneath. Blood from his wounds streaked his patchwork armor, mixing with the soot and grime that clung to his body.
“You squirm like the rest of them,” Brask growled, his voice heavy with disdain. “All your tricks, all your firepower—nothing but desperation.”
Alec struggled, his fingers clawing at the dirt as Brask’s grip shifted. The brute planted a boot on Alec’s chest, pinning him in place. The weight was immense, pressing down with a force that made Alec’s ribs creak. Brask leaned forward, his hands clutching Alec's neck, his bloodshot eyes gleaming with savage delight.
“Why won’t you die?” Brask snarled, his voice a mix of rage and disbelief.
Alec’s eyes darted to his revolver lying just out of reach, partially buried in the mud. He grit his teeth, forcing a grim smile through the haze of pain. “Because I made a promise… one I intend to keep,” he rasped.
Brask’s free hand reached for his axe, discarded but still within arm’s length. Alec’s heart pounded as he watched the brute heft the weapon, its jagged edge gleaming ominously. Alec knew he had seconds to act.
He closed his eyes, summoning the arcane energy that coursed through his blood. The world around him slowed, the flames flickering in surreal, lazy arcs, and the guttural shouts of the remaining Red Maw fighters stretched into distorted echoes. Time seemed to crawl as Alec pushed through the haze of pain, reaching for his revolver.
With a burst of energy, he teleported.
In an instant, Alec vanished from Brask’s grasp, reappearing a few feet away with a sharp crack of displaced air. He landed heavily on his knees, revolver in hand. Brask spun, his iron mask snapping toward Alec, but the hunter was already leveling his weapon.
The shot rang out, the blessed bullet striking Brask in the exposed neck where his mask didn’t protect. Blood sprayed in a dark arc as the brute staggered, his massive frame swaying like a felled tree. Brask dropped to one knee, clutching at the wound, his growls turning to gurgles as blood filled his throat.
Alec rose unsteadily, his revolver trembling in his grip. He approached Brask, his breath labored but steady. The brute tried to rise, his hand gripping his axe, but Alec’s boot came down hard on the weapon, pinning it to the ground.
Brask’s eyes burned with defiance even as the light began to fade. He tried to speak, but the only sound was a wet, choking gasp. Alec didn’t wait. He pulled the trigger, the bullet punching through the iron mask and into Brask’s skull.
The force sent Brask’s head crashing to the ground. Alec stood over the corpse, his chest heaving as he wiped blood and sweat from his face. The compound was in ruins now, the flames consuming everything in their path. The remaining Red Maw fighters had either fled or fallen; their cries lost in the inferno.
Alec crouched beside Brask’s body, his knife glinting faintly in the firelight. With practiced precision, he severed the brute’s head, the weight of it heavy in his bloodied hands. He tied it securely with a strip of cloth and slung it over his shoulder, his face devoid of triumph or satisfaction.
The hunter turned toward the compound’s main gate, his steps uneven and tired. His body screamed for rest, his wounds demanding attention, but Alec had no time for weakness. He had a promise to keep.
