– WEST WOODS –
The trees didn't rustle. They watched.
And inside their silence—Two moved.
Fast. Too fast.
He lunged forward and cut through the first intruder—one slice across the neck, bone blade dragging through flesh like it belonged there. The man gurgled and dropped, legs twitching.
Another reached for his sword.
Too late.
Two spun low, both bone knives flashing in the dark. One in the thigh, the other under the ribs. No scream—just collapse.
He moved like the shadows were a second skin.
From behind a trunk, a blade came—Two sidestepped and buried his knife under a man's chin, twisted hard. Blood spattered his jaw.
Screams started now. Distant. Close. Everywhere. Soldiers backed into each other, slashing at trees, at air.
They couldn't see him.
He was the dark. Moonlight bled through the canopy, but it didn't catch him.
Until it did.
A soldier—bigger, faster—swung his sword at just the right time. Two blocked, but the force knocked him off his feet and slammed him back into a tree.
He grunted. Pain ran up his spine. His blades clattered.
And then—footsteps. Close. Too close.
He turned—
A soldier raised his sword for a deathblow—
THWIP.
The blade was knocked clean out of the soldier's hands by a flying arrow.
Then—
THWIP.
The second arrow went through the man's skull.
He dropped.
Two blinked, startled. A frown carved into his face.
He didn't get saved.
He was the one who saved.
Then from above—Six dropped from a branch, bow slung across his back, crouching low beside Two.
"You good?" he asked, eyes sharp.
Two didn't answer right away. Still frowning, he stood, eyes fixed ahead.
"What's wrong?" Six asked again.
"Him," Two muttered, jaw tight.
They both turned as a man stepped into view, sword drawn. Nothing odd at first glance—until you felt it. The air changed. Thickened.
"What about him?" Six asked, sensing the shift.
Two's voice dropped, cold. "Not that one. The one behind."
The swordman stepped aside.
And then he arrived.
Cloak black as hunger. A staff, crooked and veined like it grew from bone. His skin had the texture of ash. He walked like the ground wasn't real beneath his feet.
His eyes… smiled.
And then he showed his teeth.
All one hundred of them.
Perfect. Predatory.
Smoke leaked from his sleeves, curling around the dead like it knew where to go.
Then, with his hand raised and his voice like silk crawling over a corpse, he said:
"Hello, children… how about a rematch?"
The smoke reached the fallen.
And they rose.
Not bodies. Souls. Twisted things, torn from the corpses. Hollow-eyed. Cold-burning.
Shadow versions of the intruders, wrapped in black echo. Blades in hand. Armor flickering like candlelight.
Six took a half-step back.
"They're… they're not alive."
"No," Two said, already raising his knives. "And worse… they can't die."
They charged.
Two met them first. One knife tore through a throat—no blood. No fall. The thing reformed mid-air, blade swinging.
He ducked. Cut its leg. It fell, but didn't stop moving.
Another lunged from the left—Six's arrow buried in its shoulder. Didn't even flinch.
"You can't kill a shadow," Six said, backing up to higher ground. "But maybe we can scatter them."
He fired three arrows in quick succession—each one hitting clean.
The shadows slowed, but never stopped.
Two fought like a storm in a bottle. Every slash was desperate, precise. A dance of survival. But even when he drove both knives into one's chest—it only laughed.
"Nothing stays dead," it whispered.
Another grabbed his wrist—its grip cold. He yanked free, but a third tackled him from behind.
"Two!" Six shouted.
THWIP!
An arrow hit one in the eye—useless.
Then another.
It staggered—but instead of falling, it split in half.
Now there were two of them.
Six cursed under his breath.
High above, the mage just watched.
Staff humming.
Eyes glowing.
Enjoying it.
Two twisted out of the grasp of another soul-thing and flung one of his knives—it hit the staff—
—but passed through it.
Illusion.
The real mage was gone.
Only laughter remained.
Suddenly TWO felt a chilled breeze pass him, his pupils sucked in before he could react he felt a hand slammed him against a tree.
Six reached to notch another arrow—but the mage was already before him.
With terrifying speed, the staff came down—
CRACK!
Six caught the blow on his forearm—and screamed.
The pain shot through him like fire. His skin turned gray-green where the staff hit. Poison. Fast. Spreading.
His knees buckled. His bow dropped.
"Six" Two called out, his blood rising as he stood up severely injured, he picked up his bone knife, both eyes met.
The mage's voice slithered in. Cold. Calm.
"So murderous," he mused. "So rare in a child..."
He stepped closer, staff dragging behind.
"But in the end, you're still no match for me. Because at the end of all things…"
His eyes smiled.
"…you're just a little boy."
Two roared and lunged—
The mage raised his hand.
The vines came alive.
WHAM!
A thick one whipped Two's chest, lifting him off the ground and smashing him into a tree.
He gasped. His ribs cracked.
The vines wrapped around his limbs. Pulled tight.
He was lifted. Arms stretched. Legs twisted. Body hanging like a sacrifice.
His vision blurred.
The mage raised his staff again.
"You won't even leave a shadow."
Two's body trembled. The pain was too much.
"…I'm sorry…" he whispered, barely conscious. "…Nine… I failed you."
And then—
The vines snapped open.
Two fell, crumpled in the dirt.
His blurry eyes looked up—and saw a figure moving through the smoke and soul-shadows like it was nothing.
One.
Not as fast as Two. Not as quiet. But every swing of his weapon was clean. Brutal. Sharp.
He fought vines—dodging, slashing, rolling beneath living branches. He was bleeding. Hurt. But still moving.
The mage growled. "Another fool?"
One looked up. Smiling now.
"Probably not," he said.
He reached into his cloak.
Pulled out a crystal—glowing, silver-white, radiant as the stars themselves.
The mage froze.
Too late.
The crystal burst into light.
A blast.
The shadows screamed.
The soul-creatures began to vanish—fading like dust under sunlight.
"No!" the mage barked. "What kind of stone is that?!"
One stood firm, the light reflecting in his eyes.
"A stone that erases even the dead."
The mage's form flickered.
Fading.
He disappeared—his scream torn apart by the light.