Hunters And The Hunted

"Holy Incarni," I muttered as I neared the vast expanse of trees towering beneath the crimson sky.

The trees were black as coal as if scorched by some ancient fire, and even their leaves were just as dark. 

They stretched across the horizon, forming an impenetrable wall of shadow. 

Yet, oddly enough, despite their obsidian hue, the leaves turned white when they fell, mingling with the desolate landscape as if they'd been bleached by the very air.

I knelt and picked up one of the fallen leaves, turning it over in my hand. 

It felt fragile, and brittle, as if it could disintegrate between my fingers. Hundreds more lay scattered across the forest floor, carpeting it like snow. 

How strange.

Standing, I peered into the black forest. The trees created a suffocating darkness that swallowed anything beyond the first few meters. 

My eyes strained, but there was nothing—just a thick, oppressive shadow.

I stepped back, considering my options. 

I could venture into the forest's depths, navigating whatever lurked within, or I could skirt its edge, searching for a way around. 

Neither option sounded particularly appealing.

With a sigh, I released an ardor pulse, hoping to detect anything within the forest that contained ardor like crystals, structures, arlants, ardimals, or even intelligent beings.

Unfortunately, the ambient ardor was dense, pressing down like a weight on my senses. 

Faint sources flickered on the edges of my perception, but they were so weak I almost doubted I'd sensed them at all. 

The interference made it impossible to get a clear reading.

I glanced between the black forest and the endless white land behind me. The trees might hold answers, but with the forest's darkness and my current situation, I wasn't keen to wander blindly into the abyss.

Narrowing my eyes, I made up my mind. 

I'd follow the edge of the forest, dipping in occasionally, but always keeping the pale landscape in sight. 

With a plan in mind, I launched into a run.

Running at full speed without fatigue—it never got old. 

Each footfall sent out another ardor pulse, probing the forest for anything unusual. 

As I ran, I wasn't just scanning for ardor signatures; I was also trying to sense something else, something much more important.

The Tear.

During my time in the Shield, I'd been part of several studies on the Tear's properties—because, let's be honest, I'm a genius like that. 

Its energy signature spread over much of Les Anciennes, detectable even from the mainland. 

After four years of living near it, I'd grown sensitive to its distinct aura.

But now? There was nothing. 

The dense ambient ardor smothered everything, masking even the faintest trace. 

It's either that or the Tear was far away on another continent or whatever massive landmass in the Abyss.

If that's the case then I am magnificently screwed.

I scowled as a certain name crept into my thoughts. 

Asphodel. 

That rooty bastard had put me in the Abyss. 

Oh when I get my hands on it, I'm going to do some unspeakable things—maybe starting with sticking my sword in where the sun doesn't shine.

Suddenly, something flickered at the edge of my awareness and I felt a familiar tingle on my skin, halting me in my tracks.

Daemons.

My breath hitched. Immediately, I moved toward the nearest tree, eyeing a high branch overhead. 

Blood seeped from my skin, condensing into a crystal-tipped tendril that shot upward and coiled around the branch. 

As the black leaves around me turned white and fell to the ground, I grabbed the tendril and pulled myself into the canopy.

Perched in my vantage point, I peered through the dark leaves, my lips curling into a tight smile.

"Well, this is quite troublesome."

Ahead, emerging from the forest, was a platoon of ten daemons. 

They stopped at the forest's edge, scanning the area with an unsettling precision, as though they were searching for someone.

Me, no doubt. 

These daemons were different from the usual lot I'd fought over the years. 

They were lean, standing six feet tall, their bodies cloaked in a flowing, shifting darkness. 

Jagged black armour peeked out beneath their shadowy forms, and long, trailing plumes of darkness flowed from their helms, covering their faceless heads.

One of them shifted its cloak, revealing the hilt of a sword at its waist.

I swallowed hard. After years of fighting daemons, I could gauge their rank without needing my omni contacts. 

These weren't your run-of-the-mill creatures. 

These were A-ranked elites.

They moved as one, heads swivelling in eerie unison from left to right. 

It was long theorized that daemons were controlled by a single mind, meaning there was a leader behind them. 

A being capable of controlling hundreds of daemons like these would have known about me the moment I arrived in the Abyss.

And now, it seemed, they had sent a hunting party.

I frowned. If they had emerged from the forest, that meant their base—and possibly the Tear—was somewhere within those blackened woods. 

At least now I knew which direction to go.

The only problem was how to deal with the daemons. 

Fighting all ten in my current condition would be... challenging, to say the least. And I wasn't exactly known for my stealth.

I crouched low on the branch, hoping the thick canopy would hide me. 

The black leaves overhead did their best to blend with my surroundings, but my white Deathwalker uniform stuck out like a sore thumb.

I grimaced. Sneaking around in the shadows was Iris's speciality. I could do it, sure, but I preferred a good fight upfront, sword in hand.

Just as I shifted my weight to turn around, something brushed my shoulder.

My heart sank as I watched a single black leaf dislodge from the branch, drifting lazily toward the ground. 

The moment it hit the dirt, it turned white.

I looked back at the daemons. My heart stopped.

One of them had its head turned directly toward me.

I let out a small sigh and smiled.

So much for being sneaky.

*******

The other daemons of the platoon turned their attention to the one whose head is facing a certain tree in the forest. 

Their heads tilted in unison as if responding to some unseen signal. 

Nothing moved.

A few black leaves fluttered from the branches.

Suddenly, a crimson spike shot out of nowhere, impaling the daemon that had been focusing on the tree directly through the heart. 

The daemon collapsed backwards, its body twitching for a brief moment before turning limp and dissolving into a cloud of black smoke.

But it did not explode in the usual burst of darkness and no wraith appeared.

The other daemons scattered around their fallen comrade, moving with controlled, sharp precision.

"I've never seen a daemon die like that before," Mordred spoke, his voice echoing through the trees.

Immediately, the remaining daemons unsheathed their black swords, moving in perfect sync as they approached the forest. 

"Do they fit wraith bombs on you guys when you go through the Tear or are you guys built differently?" Mordred's crimson eyes glinted from the shadows as he took a slow step forward, his white sword gleaming in his left hand. 

"To be honest, I'd rather face you lot than burn people alive."

With a blur of motion, he vanished, reappearing right in front of the lead daemon, his sword already slicing upward.

But just as the edge of his blade reached the daemon's neck, the others reacted with frightening speed. 

Their black swords closed in, surrounding him with precise, lethal intent. 

Mordred's pulse quickened—no hesitation. His crimson eyes narrowed, and with a sharp breath, he activated Haema.

Blood rushed to his back and burst outward, forming crimson appendages, like a flower blooming in the night. 

Their crystalline tips shot forward, aiming directly at the hearts of the daemons.

But the daemons, perfectly in sync, leapt back as one. Their synchronized movements were almost eerie.

Unfazed, Mordred pivoted, dragging his white blade cleanly through the neck of the lead daemon, severing its head in one fluid strike. 

Without breaking form, he drove his sword deep into its chest, cutting through the heart. The daemon disintegrated into black smoke.

Without a moment's pause, long lances of rapidly swirling blood formed above him.

{Haema: Vortex Blood Lances}

The lances, crimson and deadly, surged toward the remaining daemons, each one striking with brutal precision. 

Mordred charged forward. It doesn't matter whether they are elite A rankers. If he could get their hearts, he'd end this.

But the daemons quickly got over their surprise. 

The next one parried his strike with a swift, powerful block, and slashed at his leg. 

Mordred barely stepped back in time, his breath catching as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

One of his blood appendages lashed out instinctively, blocking an attack from behind. 

He spun around, delivering an ardor-enhanced kick to the daemon that had snuck up on him, sending it crashing into the air.

Just as quickly, he parried an upward strike from the daemon in front of him. The clash of their blades echoed through the forest.

Movement flickered in the corner of his eye. The remaining daemons charged, black swords raised in a synchronized assault. 

Mordred jumped back, barely avoiding the storm of blades that descended on him with furious speed. 

Their strikes were relentless, each one precise, covering the weaknesses of the others. 

It was like fighting a single, many-armed opponent—every move they made was a seamless part of the whole.

Mordred gritted his teeth, pain radiating from the fresh cuts all over his body. 

Some of the attacks had broken through his blood appendages, leaving deep wounds that stung with every breath. 

He couldn't keep this up.

He released a powerful pulse of ardor, the force rippling outward and disrupting the daemons' formation just long enough for him to leap into the air. 

His blood appendages coiled and merged, forming massive wings that unfurled with a sharp, metallic crack. 

Each powerful flap of the wings released a fine red mist into the air, swirling around him like a crimson aura.

Hovering above the daemons, Mordred raised his hand, gathering ardor and blood. 

Blood swirled around him, forming a massive dome of crimson energy that pulsed with dark light.

A savage grin spread across his face.

"Let's wrap this up."

The dome collapsed inward, shrinking until it became a glowing red orb in the palm of his hand. 

The daemons below looked up, their blades raised, but there was no time left.

With a flick of his wrist, Mordred unleashed it.

{Haema: Crimson Nova}