The shadows wreathed and crept across the city, crawling and sensing their way through the streets, roads and alleyways. Their existence and origin being of the Abyss itself, acting as living extensions, they thrived under the growing Halloween night. They tracked the potent scent like feral beasts. It wouldn't be long now.
Soon it'd have the girl and be free from that demonic Witch. With this final labour their contract would be complete, and its soul unchained … and then revenge could begin. The shadows grinned at the thought. They didn't care what legends her name held or what power she may have once wielded, Orus Abyssfarer, the Last Necromancer, was servant to no one. And with the endless time it possessed, it would claim retribution. The hope of vengeance fuelled the shadows with newfound ambition as they followed the trail, their motion growing more eager every moment they closed in on the origin. It found itself travelling out to the city's suburbs, soon melding with the fields of darkness formed from the lack of civilisation and light.
A last-ditch effort to try and protect the girl, it imagined. The hunters hoped to hide the girl out here while they conducted some desperate plan to finally put the vampire lord down, still oblivious of its recent presence and contribution in their troubles. The only man who caught slightest scent of the necromancer was James Elacti. He had tried to intervene but, like many generations of hunters before him, he had failed. Mistakenly, he'd kept this knowledge secret in order to keep Orus unaware of his actions however, this decision had led to their brawl and ultimately his demise. Although it wasn't truly his fault. How can you possibly slay a shadow? Who would even have the strength and the skill to kill the Last Necromancer? The Archknight? From the stories it may be a possibility, but not one which would be tested tonight. The Witch had assigned the vampire lord as scapegoat, so their paths would not cross. The hunters would focus their attention on the protecting the girl from the vampire, and against the Black Wraith and Archknight, Valdosk, would inevitably fall. He was just a lamb for the slaughter. However, this would matter very little. Orus would achieve its goal, and the Witch as always would succeed.
The shadows arrived at the scent's origins, a large storage depot, abandoned of life and desolate except for a few warehouses and lights scattered around illuminating the gravel floor. The shadows slithered through the steel perimeter fence as if it was non-existent and began to coil and gather up off the ground into the air. They flowed unnaturally, like a viscous liquid and moulded its body. Orus stepped out from the darkness, shadows dropping off it, like loose silk and string, revealing the figure of a pale, middle aged man dressed in elegant clothes from a past age.
Its cane clacking upon on the gravel was the only sound that could be heard as it strode forward. Its footsteps completely silent as if they were never truly touching the ground. A flowing ocean of shadows trailed behind, keeping it connected to the seemingly infinite darkness beyond the factory perimeter.
Orus took in a deep breath taking in the scent. It was strong and raw, the unmistakable taste of pure magic. With an aura like that it mattered little where the hunters took the target, she couldn't hide from it. Orus was no fool, it knew that she would not be left unguarded however, this would be of no inconvenience. The necromancer would make quick work of whatever poor souls had been assigned to that task.
The shadows around it sharpened and quivered in reaction to its bloodlust and excitement. Orus followed the trail of magic like a bloodhound tracking foxes, striding dominantly to the centre of the depot, where the scent had originated. Not even hiding her in a warehouse the shadows scoffed. Orus turned the corner to face the girl.
It stopped.
The hunt's thrill was quickly cut off as it found no girl, nor any other being dead or of life. Orus froze where it stood. Painted onto the factory grounds a large complex pattern had been set, it hummed subtly with the power of magic. At its centre was a lock of blood crusted, black hair. The girl's the necromancer concluded. It was emitting an immense magic aura, identical to the girl's own. A sensation so powerful it thought it had been tracking a person. Orus had been certain of it. It shouldn't be possible for an aura to so intense otherwise, even for a human it'd never sensed anything so potent. Yet here it was staring at the source.
Orus stormed across the gravel and analysed the painted markings. The shadows cursed to themselves. The markings where designed with the single purpose of enhancing a magic aura and from the craftsmanship the artist was talented, incredibly so. The magnitude of the enhancement already confirmed this but analysing the marking's left no room for doubt. Orus didn't believe such a mage, with talents in runecraft, existed in this age with the exception of the Witch.
The shadows ragefully wreathed and lashed out at the ground as it realised what had happened, what it had fell for. For the first time in centuries Orus the Last Necromancer had found itself caught in a trap. This shouldn't be possible, the Witch was never mistaken, in the centuries enchained in its service everything had always gone according to her plan, without any fault.
"Impressive isn't it. Second time you've been fooled now isn't it. The first being at the house when suppression runes hid Rosa from your senses," a voice abruptly echoed. "I imagine you never thought that making magic detection your prominent perception would ever become your undoing."
The necromancer's eyes went wide, completely startled. It scanned the depot spreading it shadows far and wide searching for the source. This shouldn't be plausible, it had scouted the entire area and discovered no mana signatures but the trail's source, there'd been no other life here it had been certain. Even if the voice was an ordinary mortal being they should still be detectable through residual mana that existed in the atmosphere and clung to them like dust.
"If you haven't figured it out yet, Rosa isn't here," there was a chuckle in the voice, "I have to admit it was a lot easier to lure you down here than I thought it'd be," the voice stated from the shadows, now completely void of all emotion. "I was under the impression you're meant to be an elusive abomination. Looks like you are growing desperate necromancer."
Orus turned to see a pair of blue eyes glaring from the darkness. They dared to claim his domain, his sanctuary directly in his very presence. The eyes burnt with icy hellfire and there was no fear behind them, just pure hatred. The necromancer found that … strange. What manner of being was completely void of fear when facing the Last Necromancer.
Gravel rustled, and footsteps echoed as he emerged into the light. Orus knew well who he was in an instant, no abyss spawn of this age didn't. And now with the reveal of his presence everything made sense. The one being Orus knew to be completely null of magic. This shouldn't be possible, he should be occupied with the Valdosk as the Witch planned and predicted. But its eyes weren't deceiving him. Before the necromancer stood the Black Wraith, the heavenspawn abomination that plagues all of Abysskind. Louie Huntor.
'That bitch.'
The Witch's plan had been sabotaged by the Wraith, and she'd failed to inform Orus of her changes, the necromancer quickly concluded. It was impossible to tell whether that was accidental or intended when it came to the Witch. If any mortal was ever going to be problematic there was none more qualified than the Black Wraith. The necromancer wrinkled its nose, the Witch most likely thought nothing of this situation but opportunity. A minor setback in her path but the possibility to rid herself of the Black Wraith. The shadows shuddered at the thought of being disposable, this action had secured her fate of eternal damnation, it didn't know how just yet but with time its ambition would come to fruition. But that meant it couldn't fail here. The necromancer turned its full attention to the hunter.
The Wraith wasn't a target Orus would choose to hunt, in fact his sudden presence was the sole reason he hadn't advanced on the target sooner. It'd heard the tales. People like him, like the legends, like Van Helsing and the Founder themselves, where always unpredictable. In its ancient mind and experience they weren't worth the risk. But here he was, and whether the necromancer liked it or not, the approaching future was inevitable.
The shadows and darkness bent to the necromancers will as it prepared itself for what it must do. No matter the legends, they're still just beings of blood, bone and flesh. They were just like every other mortal, and they could be killed as such. And just as the Hunters of Old, Van Helsing and Ortus Praedator, the Founder himself, Louie Huntor was no exception, and he to would join them in history.
The necromancer eyed Louie carefully and the wreathing shadows remaining hesitantly back.
"You seem tense Orus," Louie said. "Nervous?"
"You shouldn't be here," the necromancer growled, its voice ancient and hollow betraying its younger appearance. Each word was croaky and hoarse, even the mage seemed taken aback by the sound, as if it hadn't used its voice in decades. "The vampire lord lays waste to your fellow hunters, yet you stand here before me."
"Valdosk isn't an issue," Louie shrugged casually. "Anyway if I was with them who'd be here to keep you company. Can't have you getting lonely now," Louie smirked coldly.
The necromancer remained unfazed. "Solitude is an old comfort. I believe you mortals use the phrase an 'old friend'," it stated eerily calm.
That wouldn't do, Louie had one plan, and it required the monster off its game, its decisions clouded by emotion. Well, that was as long as if it could still even feel anything.
"Bold of you to assume solitude likes you," Louie provoked. He noticed the shadows behind it quiver at his words and his smirk deepened.
Orus released a long deep breath. "Before I deliver you to damnation, I shall ask one thing. What exactly is it you want Wraith?" the necromancer questioned.
"I was under impression you weren't one for talking," Louie said. He was almost taken aback, no disturbed by how human the creature portrayed itself.
"I have no qualms with conversation Wraith. I just rarely find a being worth the effort."
"Am I meant to feel honoured?"
"Feel however you wish, it is no interest of mine. But I will ask again, what is it you want? What drives this endeavour Wraith? Every hunter wants me dead, but you stare with a magnitude of odium I've never experienced, yet we have never crossed paths. You express no fear and have chosen to risk everything to confront me yourself when this trap sufficed as a distraction," Orus inquired calmly.
Louie felt his ire boil over. He tried his utmost to will it down, his plan required it. He must remain composed while he drives the mage into an impulsive rage, giving him the edge he'd need to claim victory.
It was no use.
'Fuck it.'
His mind drifted to how James would reprimand him for the decision he was about to make. A rebellious grin overpowered his cruel smirk.
The Wraith took a step forward, drawing a small vial of pitch black Noctrm from his coat. Not even a moment after ingestion he felt the power course through his veins and his bestial nature erupt from its well-kept slumber. He allowed the beast inside to rampage, choosing to bond with it as always instead bringing it to heel. A painful burn radiated through his body and his muscles tensed and tingled as his body unlocked its full potential.
"You dare to ask me why?" the Black Wraith growled. It was only slight, barely noticeable, but the necromancer shifted. "You ask why do I hunt you tonight? Why do I take this fight? Well the answer is simple," he said. Louie stepped to the edge of the markings, he'd had placed earlier, directly across from Orus and slammed his blade into the ground. The markings ignited into a towering wall of blue flames, consuming themselves as fuel. Around Orus the shadows began to snake up into the air and transformed into an army of razor-sharp tendrils. Louie stood tall resting his hands upon the guard of his sword. His next words were cold and calm but the burning hatred that fuelled them roared violently.
"Today I hunt for the man who rescued an orphan off the street. Gave him purpose. For the woman who called that boy son. For the girl who called him brother. And for the child who lost everything in that crimson house."
The necromancer remained where it stood and then with a simple clack of its cane, the arsenal of shadows fired forward. Louie claimed him sword from the ground and bounded across the gravel. He burst through the flames unfazed and met the onslaught of darkness head on. The shadows became sentient carrying out Orus's will, they curved through the air targeting in on every orifice of Louie's body, planning to tear him apart in one swift strike. Not missing a step, Louie drew his whip and violently snapped it against the air. The shadows clashed against the enchanted steel chain links and where torn apart in an instant. With one strike Louie cleared the wave of shadows and pushed on forward. The necromancer retreated back into its sanctuary of darkness and gathered more shadows to his aid. With a raised hand, Orus curled its fingers, and the abyss heeded its commands. Thick tendrils of shadows rose and curled up from the ground, like the tentacles of an ancient sea beast. The necromancer thrust its hand forward and launched the second wave. Tendrils and ribbon like blades lashed out from shadows all over the depot. The first darted from behind like an arrow, without even a glance Louie snapped his head to the side letting it shoot by. The second shadow charged not even a moment later. A towering, thin, blade charged forward tearing the air apart. Louie flipped forward simultaneously dodging two more bullet like shadows that attempted to impale his vital organs. The towering shadow rushed by missing its target and crashed into a warehouse, splitting the building where it struck. Another spell came, a vast, arced cleaver like shadow sliced towards him, attempting to bisect him at the waist. The Wraith ducked beneath it in an instant, leaving it to rip into the same warehouse. The building came crashing down as the roof was completely severed from its foundations.
Louie winced slightly at the damage. Whoever owned this depot was going to have an horrific surprise in the morning. An essence of empathy began to grow for the paperwork the officers back at the HQ would be put through to cover this up. However, it was quickly cut short as the onslaught of attacks continued uninterrupted and Louie was reminded that none of that mattered while this monster still existed.
The shadows slashed, stabbed and hacked in attempt to reduce Louie into a lacerated and impaled, gruesome mess. However, the Black Wraith wouldn't be taken down so easily. Louie's whip and blade became twirling blurs of white and silver and combined with his inhuman agility, reflexes, remarkable by even hunter standards, he advanced forward weaving, deflecting and shredding through any shadows that came into his path. Louie rushed through the bombardment of corrupt spells with such intensity and speed even the ancient mage was caught off guard as the hunter invaded its realm appearing a meter away.
The necromancer's hollow eyes widened, and for the first time in what might be centuries panic took control of its expression. It lashed out its arm sending a vicious shadow darting from its feet directly at Louie's head. The hunter didn't slow for a moment, continuing his advance he raised his sword. Enchanted steel and shadow grinded against one another sending burning sparks out into the night. Putting his weight behind the blade he deflected the shadow off course, letting it plunge harmlessly into the sky. The Wraith was upon the necromancer in an instant. Unable to call shadows to its side in time Orus raised its staff in defence, but Louie snapped it in two, like it was a twig, as he brought his sword down in a brutal strike. Louie's sword struck the defenceless mage tearing deep into its chest and lacerating its entire torso, leaving it hanging together by a slither of flesh and muscle. A wound that would prove fatal to any mortal man. However, the necromancer did not fall, it barely even flinched, in fact no blood ever escaped the wound. Instead a gaseous dark aura, like wriggling shadows leaked from the gaping wound. Instantly the shadows found each other and began to intertwine pulling the mage's body and clothes back together, sowing up the wound as if it never had existed.
"You really did give up all humanity," Louie muttered as he watched his strike completely vanish.
The necromancer's nose crumpled, and scowl flashed across its face. "A pointless creation to comfort the weak," Orus growled.
A vast wall of shadows charged from the mage's flank directly at the two of them however, they abruptly bent around their master at the last moment. Louie sheathed his armaments quickly braced himself as the wave of darkness powerfully crashed into him, like a freight train. The force of the attack sent the hunter flying back and he felt a warm sensation drip from his mouth and temple, but he never faltered. He drew both pistols from their holsters and unleashed a barrage of gunfire as he was launched across the depot. The bullets ripped into the necromancer but, just like the strike before them they drew forth no blood instead just a black aura that instantly repaired the wounds. Louie spun through the air and landed directly on his feet, holstering his firearms declaring them useless in this fight. A bloody grin spread across his face as he stared down the approaching necromancer, the ocean of shadows behind it growing with every step.
"I have to say Orus, after all the legends and stories I've heard, I'm disappointed," Louie stated.
The necromancer stormed forward every shadow in the depot quivering at its rage. The Wraith's grin grew. Louie Huntor then retreated back into the darkness.
Now it begun.