The Forest of Allgisha. Within its depths, bandits, raiders, and Nevionists made use of the land for their hideouts.

  The Northeast land of Avila housed the worst sort of scum: bandits lying in wait for wealth in the form of passing carriages. Creatures and monsters lurked in the shadows for their next prey. Whether beast or human, all matters of life lay in wait like hungry animals, hidden from the light.

  Five figures in their uniformed green cloaks, hid in what they believed to be a haven from the authorities of the land. They cowered near a fire, with only the company of one another and the exchange of tales to pass the time. Their pathetic stories scaled from living in the streets of Avila’s capital, to those of growing up in the farmlands of Astya.

  The heavens and their games can be cruel, and only those that seek to fight against the board have a chance in this world. To fight against the hands that crave reality. Options may be bleak, the search for truth can lead to a field of light or darkness. But only then does one have the power to pull free from the strings that bind every soul of the world to the guardians.

  “I lost my wife; she had the scar-sickness. But I will make amends, I will do what is right, I won’t let this world steal my life too.” A man sat across from four others, his long hair stretched past his neck. If it were not for his deep voice, one could have mistaken him for a woman.

  All five sat around the fire, wearing similar green clothes that painted them as pawns of Nevion, or Nevionists as they called themselves.

  “For Nevion!” He finished his speech with a fist to the air.

  “For Nevion!” the others followed, with a uniform chant.

  “I’ll be back, need to the relieve myself.” He stood after his speech and made his way between the trees and the campsite. Staying in sight of the group, he revealed himself, flashing the forest with his unsightly region.

  No worry in his expression as he reached the end, his face relaxed with relief. As he buckled his belt and lifted his leather pants, he was taken by surprise as a hand came from the shadows and wrapped around his neck.

  His expression widened as he pulled at the hand that enveloped his neck. He grabbed the fingers, but their grip only tightened. He tugged away but gained nothing, the grasp on his neck clenched harder still, until he could no longer make a sound. Finally, his last breath escaped him, his body went limp, and he dropped to the ground with a thud.

  The group reacted quickly, clambering to their feet and picking up nearby weapons, as the dark figure made his way out and into the light.

  “Who are you!” A frightened woman screamed out at the sight of her fallen companion.

  A hooded figure emerged from the darkness keeping his mouth sealed. He leaned over the dead body and plucked a metal patch from the jacket. Inscribed on it was a face—half human and half skeleton—the emblem of Nevion.

  “Listen, stranger, we aren’t going to hold back,” another man said. Lean and muscular, he looked better equipped to hold a blade. He took up arms, seizing a nearby sword and shield. The leather strap from the sword’s hilt did not match the metal border of the shield; at a simple glance it was clear the weapons had surely been stolen.

  The hooded man sighed, displeased by the display. His metal boots pounded the ground loudly as he stepped forward. He flung his cloak open and revealed two holstered daggers. The glowing embers of the campfire were reflected playfully on their shiny blades.

  As he reached for a dagger, the shield-wielding man rushed him. Hiding behind the armor, his view of the hooded man was entirely obscured.

  The attacker man moved to the side and extended his foot, tripping the foolish shield wielder. A simple lift of his foot, that was all it took to outclass a novice. An honorable display of bravery, however bravery does not equal skill. He stood over the fallen man and stabbed him in the back. His pain-ridden screams sent chills through the rest of the group, who watched in horror as a second member of their camp was slain before them.

  Kicking the dead body around, he removed another badge. His blood tainted hands smeared the badge before he enclosed it in his fist.

  “I’ll kill you!” said a young man, attempting to catch him off his guard. A two-handed ax hung by his side, which he took up in both hands before lunging forward. He held the ax well but lacked training; he swung the weapon wildly like a child, before breaking into a run with no plan.

  The ax crashed down into the ground. The hooded assailant jumped easily out of the ax’s path before it sunk into the earth. He quickly raised his dagger, ready to make another lethal blow. A reflective object came into view and he reacted quickly, stepping backward just as an arrow flew passed him.

  “Not again, you aren’t killing more of us!” a woman cried in rage, as she displayed her skill with a bow. A smile creased the side of her mouth as she pulled the arrow back; she believed her abilities would be enough.

  Remaining in the camp were three Nevionists; a man and his ax, a woman and her bow, and a panic-stricken woman who was too petrified to move.

  Before taking a mental note of the battle to come, the ax wielder went marching forward. The woman followed with an arrow, coming to close to her ally.

  Waiting for the ax wielder to reach him, the hooded man watched his steps, and observed the way the woman held her own with the bow. The two lacked communication, as the woman waited for an opening. The ax came fast, and with clear force.

  The hooded figure, with a dagger in each hand, raised his arms to block the oncoming ax, crossing the blades in the air and catching the ax. The clashing of metal echoed into the night. The vibrations sent chills through their bodies, and the daggers suffered more damage than the ax.

  He quickly ducked behind the ax wielder as an arrow flew overhead. The axman user smiled as he dropped his weapon to the ground, and launched a fist at the hooded man.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  In darkness, the hooded figured flourished. He enjoyed the sweet taste of predictability as his opponents fumbled to take him out in the shadows. He dropped a dagger and caught the flying fist in the air, swiftly twisting the axman’s arm behind him and moving him into an arm lock. Before the ax wielder could counter, the hooded man manoeuvered his body in the direction of the archer to shield himself from an oncoming arrow, which pierced the axman’s chest.

  “Roland!” the archer yelled out in disbelief, as she watched her companion fall at the hands of her own foolishness.

  The hooded man plucked a badge from the body once more, before throwing the lifeless figure onto the ground face-first with the. He inclined his head towards the archer, the only one left, unless the horrified woman could collect herself.

  “Haisha, get your ass up or I swear to Rebirth I will kill you myself!” the archer yelled at her squeamish counterpart. She readied another arrow and lifted her bow once again. As her hands violently shook, she struggled to steady her aim.

  It was a pity that this untrained group of fanatics had united and believed they could make a difference. A foolish thought, one that had cost them their lives.

  “Get back!” She lifted her bow to release an arrow, but her nerves got the best of her and it slipped from her grip.

  The hooded man walked slowly ahead, mocking the archer with each unhurried step. He held the dagger loosely in his hand. The third badge pocketed away, he eyed the fourth as he continued to approach.

  Another wayward arrow went flying overhead. A third headed right for him, but with nerves weakening the archer’s pull on the bow, he parried it mid-air. She readied her fourth arrow, the dwindling light of the campfire vanishing from her face.

  She didn’t attempt to release her fourth arrow. She stared at the man, now standing close, and spat at his face, “Long live Nevi…”

  Her throat caught the blade of his dagger before that pitiful name could be spoken. As her body fell, he stole the badge from her chest. Tucking it within the confines of his cloak, he turned to face the last of the group.

  The woman sat by the fire, seemingly paralyzed, as she stared deep into the abyss of his hood.

  He eyed her closely. There was fear in her eyes, unlike the others; they had displayed only hatred. There was a faint light in her eyes, something the others lacked.

  “Where is the Necromancer?” the hooded man said. A cold chill followed his words as the bodies of the dead Nevionists, begin to twitch. One by one, the bodies rose from the ground as their dead flesh regained movement.

  “I was gone only for a few minutes and you morons die,” said a woman in a green cloak, as venomous as the man she followed. Her well-accessorized outfit gave her away as a high ranked Nevionist. “Oh pity,” the woman in green continued, “only the worthless girl lives. She would be a better corpse, than she would a pawn.” She eyed the girl, Haisha.

  The hooded man stood before the dead bodies and the last Nevionist.

  Haisha watched her allies rise, void of life from their eyes. Blood dripped from their mouths and wounds. Their once-living bodies were now tools for the Necromancer.

  “Rise my puppets, get me another dead adventurer to add to my collection.” She turned to Haisha. “She can join too.” She smiled menacingly.

  “B-But Shichi…” Haisha stuttered. Disbelief befell her, along with the pain and confusion of betrayal. The hooded man waved his cloak in front of Haisha, shielding her from the Necromancer.

  “I hate incompetent leaders,” he said, pointing his dagger at Shichi and her legion of corpses.

  “I don’t care,” Shichi snapped. With a flick of her wrist, the corpses rushed him all together, kicking at the dirt as they made their way with incredible speed. He easily sliced the head off the first delicate corpse. If insufficient energy is infused in the bodies, the corpses are no different than tender meat. He moved a step back, as two more bodies swung weapons at him.

  “Funny, they’re better now that they’re dead.” He laughed, as he blocked the sword with one dagger and the ax with the other. The bodies were weak, with no strength to them. He kicked the sword-wielding corpse away with ease, and parried the one wielding an ax. He went behind the dead axman and snapped its neck. The dead swordsman on the ground tried to recover, but was too slow for the hooded assailant. With a clean slice of the dagger through its neck, the swordsman’s head rolled off, its life stolen by the hooded man for a second time.

  A twig snapped behind him. It was the archer, resurrected with her bow. Fresh blood poured from her neck.

  He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the dead creature to launch an arrow. However, before the shot could be taken, the once terrified Haisha rushed the dead body and stopped the arrow.

  The hooded man smiled at her courage, reacting with a throw of his dagger. Haisha startled by the blade. Lodged in the center of her old ally’s forehead, sending the corpse back down to its rightful spot on the ground.

  “Thanks,” he told Haisha. She walked over to him, her hands together.

  “Please, I don’t want to die. I will tell you everything I know.” She pleaded with him, with newfound trust.

  He smiled at her promise, a worthy exchange.

  “If you live that is.” The necromancer laughed and lifted one hand into the air. The area around them was creeping with noises in all directions. The rustling of brushes and the animalistic sounds of the corpses grew louder as they made their way into the light. “Now give me a show.” She gave a cocky smile, as thirty or so corpses surrounded the two.

  The hooded man gazed at Haisha. Her expression was dire, her hope of living visibly fleeting.

  “You hold up your end, if I hold up mine, correct?” the hooded man said.

  She turned to him, her hands shaking. “Y-yes.” The doubt in her voice was concerning, but valid.

  He smiled, bringing her close to him until she was forced to wrap her arms around his torso. She held him tightly, her face buried in his chest.

  The necromancer sent the wave of corpses to collide upon them, the large army of thirty bodies pounced all at once. Orchestrated by the puppeteer, the necromancer, the vile and filth of all the Dark users. Out of all the elemental users of the world, Dark users never disappointed. They upheld their reputation as utterly worthless, foul, and cruel humans. Their unnatural desire to turn other humans into their own slaves was disgusting and this world had no place for it, not anymore.

  As the army came within a few feet of the two, the hooded man sheathed his daggers and raised his palms. Heat swelled from his core, and the rushing of what felt like needles flowed through his blood stream. An ember ignited from his palms and grew, until a fire had manifested within his hands. Contained within the flames was the power to burn the flesh of anything, both living and dead.

  The corpses had no sense of fear to back away from the storm of fire, and walked toward the flames, like the mindless creatures they were. The necromancer, in her final breath, screamed out in pain.

  “Nevion will rise, he will be the almighty lord of this world!” Her voice grew as the flame’s enveloped her body.

  In the ashes of the aftermath, nothing dead or living survived. Scorched to blackened ash, the rotten stench of flesh lingered in the nostrils. Trees within a twenty-foot radius died, just the same as the necromancer and her legion of corpses.

  Haisha, peered away from the hooded man. Her eyes surveyed the area.

  “Are you…?”

  Before she could say another word, a hand reached towards her chest and plucked her Nevion badge from her cloak.

  “This is mine,” he said, keeping his focus on her. “Now, what information do you have for me?”