Albaras stood in the thick mist, his sword and axe drawn, his shield still strapped to his back. His voice cut through the eerie silence that had settled over the forest, frustration boiling over as he yelled into the void.

  ′Drettius!′ he called, his voice echoing off unseen trees. ′Come out!′

  Nothing. Only silence greeted him. The mist seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, swirling around him like a living thing. It clung to his armor, damp and cold, and the longer he stood there, the more his anger flared. At least it was something, some kind of warmth before the chill froze him in place.

  ′In the beginning,′ Albaras muttered, his voice slowly rising, mostly to himself, ′I just wanted to talk. I didn’t want it to end like this.′ He shifted, his grip tightening on his weapons. ′But you’ve made enough wrong decisions, my old pal.′

  Still, no response. The mist warped his sense of distance, twisting the shapes of the trees into unfamiliar forms.

  ′You made your own cross on the entire north!′ Albaras shouted, his voice rising, sharp yet carrying an odd softness. ′You are the last one left! And I am the only one who can finish this!′

  For a long moment, silence returned. The forest seemed to close in around him, the mist thick and suffocating. His breath came in harsh, ragged bursts as he strained to hear any sign of movement. Any sound.

  Then, from the depths of the mist, a voice broke the stillness, attempting to sound calm.

  ′It’s too late, Albaras. It was already too late even before the Protector’s end.′

  Albaras froze, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pinpoint where Drettius’s voice was coming from. The mist was disorienting.

  ′What do you mean, ‘with it’?′ Albaras growled, his voice rough. ′Weren’t you hired for this? Wasn’t this all about some form of chaos?′

  Drettius let out a low chuckle, the sound unnerving, as if it came from all around. ′A contract? What hunter wants to be hired to kill a lord? A Protector? No one. No one but you, Albaras. You’re the only one mad enough to consider it.′

  ′And the man who calls himself Kruger?′ Albaras shot back. ′What about him?′

  Another brief pause. Then Drettius′ voice came again, colder now, fully aware of what he was dealing with.

  ′I found him,′ Drettius said, almost casually. ′Wounded in a forest by the Cross. I helped him. And now he helps me.′

  Albaras chuckled darkly. This wasn’t just about a bounty anymore. It was bigger, darker. The fog around him thickened, wrapping tighter, as if to smother him.

  ′Helped you do what, Drettius?′ Albaras demanded. ′What are you planning? What is Kruger planning?′

  Drettius didn’t answer right away. Instead, his laughter drifted through the mist again, slow and menacing. It grated on Albaras′ nerves.

  ′You’ve always been so focused on the end, Albaras,′ Drettius said finally, his voice carrying an eerie familiarity, the way he used to speak when they were hunters together. ′You were never interested in the story surrounding it.′

  Albaras’ mind raced, piecing together the fragments of Drettius’ words. There was more at play here, something Drettius couldn’t quite hide, something he wanted to reveal. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t the reason Albaras had come into the woods not to hear stories of old.

  He stood there, his guard lowering, his body almost motionless, as if every ounce of fight had drained from him. For a fleeting moment, he seemed dead on his feet, his posture eerily still, like a puppet with its strings cut.

  High above, Drettius perched on a thick tree branch, his eyes locked on Albaras. I regret that it has to be like this. But there is no other way. The longer he watched, the more he sensed what Albaras was about to do.

  Drettius rose slowly, his body tense. He signaled to Kruger, the slight quiver in his arm betraying his fear. He’s here, Drettius thought, his pulse quickening. He could feel it, the inner bloodlust, the true self lurking beneath the armor.

  Then it came, a sound that could make men deaf, that could blind them in an instant. It started as a low rumble, an unsettling vibration that crawled through Albaras’ armor, growing louder, reverberating through the dense forest. The laugh.

  It continued, shifting into something unnatural, demonic? Divine? A sound only a few could truly hear, could truly understand. Listening closer, Drettius was certain now this wasn’t the laugh Albaras usually wielded as a weapon against his enemies. This was different. Not a trick to inspire fear, but something deeper, something raw. Grief, perhaps.

  It was as if something otherworldly, something that should not exist, had forced its way into the mortal plane. The sound twisted between a laugh and a sob, a broken symphony of madness and despair, of bloodlust and sorrow, of everything wrong in the world yet somehow laced with hope. The laugh bent back into wretched cries, only to snap into laughter again.

  Just stop. Stop laughing. Stop making sounds. Just stop.

  The laugh hung in the air, clinging to the leaves, bouncing off the trees, twisting around everything like a predator. His heart skipped a beat, instincts screaming at him to move. He jumped back, leaping to a higher branch, his pupils widening as disbelief grew.

  ′This can’t exist,′ he muttered under his breath, clutching the bark of the tree as if it could offer him some sense of stability. The laugh was wrong—warped, alien. Albaras had always been intense, driven, but this… this was something far worse. He needs to be put down. ///

  Kruger, hiding in the underbrush below, had been lying in wait, his fractured mind teetering on the edge. He had heard Albaras laugh before, but this time, the sound sent a chill down his spine, snapping him out of his usual mania. For the first time in his life, clarity sliced through the haze, bringing with it a wave of guilt and terror.

  ′What have I become?′ Kruger whispered to himself, his hands shaking as he looked down at them, his axes still clenched tightly. ′What have I done?′

  He peered through the leaves, his eyes locking onto Albaras, or rather, something that resembled him. His heart hammered in his chest, and for the first time, he truly heard it. The man he had once fought besides, the man who had played with him and whom they had nearly defeated, was no longer here.

  Drettius, perched high in the tree, watched in horror as the air around Albaras seemed to shimmer, reality itself bending in his presence. The mist thickened, swirling faster around him, drawn to Albaras as though he were its master.

  Suddenly, Albaras’ head snapped upward, and Drettius wondered, are his eyes looking at me?

  Drettius’ breath caught in his throat. He had known Albaras for years, fought beside him, trusted him with his life. But the man standing below him now—this creature—was something far beyond what he had ever imagined. The force that had taken Albaras had twisted him beyond recognition, leaving only his armor behind. Now, it demanded an end. He needs to die, even if it is the last thing I do.

  ′You don’t have to do this,′ Drettius shouted from the tree, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to stay calm. ′Whatever this is, whatever has taken you, we can still stop it. You can still fight it!′ His body was frozen, unwilling to move, even as his mind screamed to act.

  But Albaras didn’t respond. The mist seemed to throb with anticipation, growing denser, more alive, as if feeding off his presence. Drettius could feel Albaras’ eyes on him. I can feel it, like it drills into me, he thought, wanting to take over my body, like a plague, a parasite stealing my will and turning it against me. I can’t let it happen.

  Kruger, still crouched in the shadows, watched with dread as Albaras raised his sword, his movements slow, deliberate. His body didn’t move an grace of a skilled warrior but with the mechanical precision of a puppet, strings pulled by some unseen force.

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  With a sudden burst of speed, Albaras lunged forward, slamming into the tree Drettius was perched on. Drettius lost his balance, but he quickly regained his footing as the shock faded and adrenaline kicked in. He fell from the tree, landing on the ground with a grace that should be impossible.

  As if guided by invisible strings, Albaras swung his axe with mechanical precision, followed by a brutal swipe of his sword. He continued with another savage strike of the axe toward Drettius. The rhythm of his assault was relentless, lacking the finesse that had once made him a feared and legendary hunter. Each swing was raw, fueled by an unnatural strength, yet devoid of the cunning and experience that had once defined him.

  Drettius dodged the strikes with increasing ease, watching as the axe cleaved into the tree, embedding itself halfway before being wrenched out effortlessly. His movements flowed with a fluid grace, almost predatory, as if his body had become one with the rhythm of the fight.

  Then it hit him. Albaras, his once sharp and calculating comrade, was no longer in control. What had driven him now was something beyond rage. It was as if he were no longer human, consumed by something primal, something that had taken over his very essence. Possession, perhaps? It was something darker, something far more terrifying.

  A wicked grin spread across Drettius’s face as he danced around the wild attacks. The fear that had once gripped him melted away, replaced by an almost feral joy. ′Is this how you want to do me, Albaras?′ he taunted, his voice dripping with amusement. ′Killing me with nothing but blind rage?′

  As Albaras’s axe came down again, Drettius moved with lightning speed. In one swift motion, he planted his dagger deep into the side of Albaras’s helmet, driving the blade toward his eye. For a brief moment, victory flickered in Drettius′ heart, but that thought was violently ripped away as he leaped back, leaving his dagger lodged in the helmet. The axe grazed his armor, cutting into the skin beneath where it made contact. The power of the blow sent him flying sideways.

  Drettius spun, his body recovering with the grace of a cat. As he stood up, he quickly moved his hand over the wound, his fingers coming away slick with blood. His eyes darted to the axe-stained crimson at the top. Albaras had struck him, but it wasn’t just the wound that alarmed Drettius, it was the way Albaras stood, unmoved, the dagger still lodged in his helmet, protruding from the space between his eye and the metal. It hadn’t stopped him. It hadn’t even slowed him.

  Albaras moved forward, calm, unnervingly so, his steps steady as if the pain only soothed him. The poison on Drettius blade, once his deadliest trick, seemed to have the opposite effect. Instead of weakening Albaras, it made him more focused, more composed, as though the toxin had only quieted whatever torment been driving him.

  Drettius gritted his teeth, his mind racing. This was no longer a battle he could win with wits alone. Albaras had become something beyond the man he once knew, something darker now guiding his hand. Drettius exhaled sharply, watching the air condense before him.

  From a distance, Kruger felt it all. The madness, the unnatural resilience of Albaras, and the stabbing that had done nothing. The scene ignited something deep within him, an old terror mixed with the fractured remnants of his sanity. The scream that tore from his throat was born from the fear that had been festering inside him for far too long.

  ′No... no!′ Kruger cried, his voice breaking as he fought against the rising tide of insanity clawing at his mind. His body trembled, but his feet moved, charging toward the fight even as his soul screamed for him to stop. ′Don’t let me become it... don’t let me become...′

  His voice twisted. A scream turned into a cackle, madness tearing through him like a storm. Laughter mingled with agony as he sprinted toward Albaras, his mind fracturing further, his body caught between fear and a burning desire to destroy whatever lay ahead.

  As he closed the distance, Kruger’s eyes locked on Albaras. The great hunter, the great prey. His life will soothe mine.

  ′THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT ARE THE SAME!′ Kruger bellowed as he hurled himself into the fray. His body crashed into Albaras with reckless fury, his weapons slashing wildly at the towering figure. Kruger hacked at Albaras’s armor, desperate to break through, to find the man beneath the horror.

  But Albaras didn’t flinch. He turned slowly, his gaze locking onto Kruger with a terrifying calm. With one swift motion, Albaras swung his axe, cutting a deep gash across Kruger’s chest as he bent his body to dodge the swing, sending him staggering back into the mist. Kruger’s maniacal laughter turned into choked gasps as he rolled backward across the ground, his hand clutching the wound, blood seeping through his fingers.

  Drettius, still struggling with his own injury, watched in horror as Kruger fell. He saw the madness in Kruger’s eyes, the desperation, the chaos. And beyond that, he saw the end creeping closer, not just for Kruger but for all of them.

  Just a fight against an enemy. It was a fight against fate itself. The mist thickened, swirling like a living thing, feeding on their fear and drawn to the dark power radiating from Albaras. Drettius took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He had survived countless battles and faced death more times than he could count, but this was different. This was not like... In the distance, Albaras haunting laugh echoed once more. It was no longer just a cry of rage, sorrow, or glee. It was the sound of inevitability.

  Drettius pulled another dagger out holding one in both hands walking backswords into the mist.

  As Kruger swung his axes in a whirlwind of strikes against Albaras, the fury of his attacks clashed against Albaras’s sword and axe, deflecting blow after blow. Each impact sent shudders through Kruger’s arms from the immense force, but none of his strikes found their mark. His own strength only seemed to risk breaking his arm with every misstep. Teetering on the edge of madness, his mind pushed him forward, his body moving with a strange, almost inhuman agility.

  Leaves flew into Albaras’s weapons, momentarily holding them in place. In that fleeting moment, Kruger used every ounce of strength his madness could summon to strike at Albaras’s helmet.

  In the midst of this chaos, Drettius, hidden in the swirling mist, saw his opportunity. With a swift flick of his wrist, he fired a bolt from a concealed crossbow. The arrow sliced through the mist, striking Albaras in the side. As it hit, Drettius surged from the shadows, stabbing both daggers into Albaras’s neck and side, breaking off the blades just to ensure they did their work. Albaras staggered back, the weapons hitting him with enough force to make him pause for a heartbeat. That moment was enough for Drettius to vanish into the fog, slipping away like a shadow into the undergrowth.

  Albaras, statue-like, turned his head where Drettius had stood. Kruger stepped back, his arms nearly limp, snapping a branch as Albaras shifted his focus. The brief pause in the battle allowed them to face each other fully, the unknown of Albaras meeting the madness in Kruger. For a fleeting moment, the chaos of their emotions seemed to quiet as they stared each other down.

  In those few seconds, Kruger felt something strange, a fleeting calm. The storm in his mind settled, as if their mutual hatred had momentarily neutralized their extremes. But it didn’t last. Albaras had already moved his sword toward Kruger’s throat.

  With a savage yell, Kruger slid impossibly beneath the axe, moving toward Albaras body, his axes spinning in a blur. He moved with wild grace, his unarmored body giving him speed and agility that Albaras, weighed down by thick armor and a shield, couldn’t match. His strikes came from all angles slashing from the side, targeting Albaras′ legs, aiming for weak points in his armor. But each blow seemed to have no effect. He was too close, too empty, no power behind it to penetrate the metal.

  ′Albaras, watching Kruger with cold, calculating eyes, waited. His sword, heavy and deliberate, hung in his grip as he raised it above his head, preparing for a strike. Kruger, ′Recognizing the danger, Kruger leaped sideways just as Albaras blade came crashing down with a force that shook the ground. The air around the sword whistled with deadly precision as it sliced through the space where Kruger had stood moments before, cutting into a small tree behind him with nothing but the force of the strike.′

  Kruger landed a few feet away, his heart pounding in his chest, feeling the gust of wind that followed Albaras swing. The sheer power behind the strike was terrifying. Had it connected, it would have cleaved him in two. All he could do was laugh, a laugh laced with disbelief, despair, and madness.

  Albaras’s sword, embedded deep in the earth, left a jagged scar in the ground beneath him. He stood still for a moment, gripping the hilt tightly in his gauntlet, his steely gaze locked onto Kruger. The air between them thickened with tension, the mist curling and swirling as if drawn to their conflict.

  Kruger, panting heavily, shifted his weight, his muscles taut with exhaustion and anticipation. ‘My beast... MY FRIEND!’ Kruger shouted, his voice raw with madness and battle-lust. His eyes gleamed with unhinged energy as he taunted Albaras, daring him to come forward.

  Albaras responded with a renewed wave of fury, unleashing a relentless barrage of strikes with both his sword and axe. The sheer force of his blows shook the ground beneath them, each strike a testament to the raw strength behind his rage. But Kruger, in all his madness, was agile. He spun and dodged, narrowly avoiding each deadly swing, the power of Albaras’ strikes leaving deep cuts in the trees behind him. The two danced their deadly dance, one a storm of brute force, the other a whirlwind of wild unpredictability.′

  ′Then, in the chaos of their clash, Drettius emerged from the mist, his presence quiet but deadly. He moved like a shadow, slipping behind Albaras, his eyes locked on the hunter’s knees, one of the few vulnerable spots left on a man so well-armored. In one swift motion, Drettius drove a dagger into the back of Albaras knee, the blade scraping against the kite shield before sinking deep into the joint. The impact forced the towering figure to drop to one knee, a sharp crack of metal on bone echoing through the air. The pressure caused the dagger to snap, its blade breaking under the force.′

  Seizing the moment, Kruger leaped forward, his twin axes glinting in the pale light of the mist. With a savage grin, he brought both axes down on Albaras’s shoulders, the impact heavy enough to drive the mighty hunter’s face into the dirt. The sound of metal crunching against armor filled the air as Albaras’s body buckled under the weight of the assault.

  Drettius stood over him, panting, his chest heaving with exertion. ′We could have let you live, ′ he growled, his voice tinged with regret. ′Didn’t want to be the one to bring you down. You, Albaras, the legendary hunter, the beast who roamed these lands for more than seventy years. You deserved a better end than this.′

  Drettius approached, cold and efficient, his eyes gleaming with a darker purpose. ′The oldest active hunter,′ he muttered under his breath. ′And this is how it ends... not by some great beast or powerful lord, but by your own kin.′ He crouched behind Albaras, driving two daggers into the back of his neck, seeking the weak points in his armor.