“Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking, Rand.” Gario glared at his companion.

“Shhhh!” Randal—the other guard—shushed him. “Just had a bit, mate, don’t say it so loud.” He glanced around the darkness, holding up his lantern and pressing his ear to the stone wall. Only silence met the night patrolman. “If someone was passing close by, I’d be in so much bloody trouble.”

“Then maybe don’t drink when it’s time for duty.” Gario made a face. “And step back a bit, aye? I can smell it on your breath.”

Randal gave him a startled look. “Well thanks for the heads up, mate.”

As the guards continued making their rounds along the town’s outer wall, Randal pulled out a few green leaves and began chewing them.

A ‘fresh’ scent drifted toward his partner.

“What’s that you got there?” Gario asked in a low voice, eyeing the darkened tree line that surrounded the town. He lifted his lantern, squinting at the shifting shadows, but nothing seemed to be moving between the trunks.

“Just a few sprigs of mint,” the other man grinned. “Cuts the scent of the drink down so none of the commanders are any the wiser.”

Gario shook his head, moving the lantern to scan the area around them.

He turned away from Randal for a heartbeat.

Just a heartbeat.

“Be better if you didn’t have any drink in you at all.”

“I barely even feel it mate, it’s fine. Just something to dull the boredom a tad,” Randal explained.

“I need you sharp, not dulled. I don’t like the looks of the woods around here. Anything could be hiding in them.”

Silence answered him.

“Randal?” the guard turned as something moved behind him. “Is something wrong-”

Claws swept from the dark.

The last of the Ravener’s hunters tore out the man’s throat.

With a choked gurgle, the guard began to topple, but the monster caught him, silently laying his twitching body on the earth. Beside them was the other guard: his throat was mangled; veins swollen with the hunter’s venom protruded from his cooling corpse.

The monster listened to sounds coming from inside the wall; soldiers were moving about, exchanging conversation. Someone laughed. Somewhere, a fire crackled and the scent of mortals’ cooking drifted through the air.

All sounds echoed from deep within the town.

No humans were close enough to hear what it was about to do.

“Randal?” It said quietly, copying words the guard had spoken. They sounded rough and inhuman. It adjusted its supple voice box. “Is something wro-”

It paused, sounding closer to the man’s voice, but still off. The Ravener’s hunter recalled what the two men were saying to each other before they died at its claws and fangs:

“I don’t like the looks of the woods around here,” it imitated the one called Gario. “Anything could be hiding in them.”

There. That was perfect.

Now, its plan could proceed.

Seizing both corpses with ease, the hunter dragged them deep into the woods: its powerful form could have hauled the pair up a tree trunk with little effort, but it had another plan for the bodies. It moved through the woods in silence: a year of hunting through Thameland had taught it the skill to move as quietly as a passing shadow and just as swiftly. It knew the wilderness well, it knew its enemies’ habits, and it knew how to avoid and stalk them.

It was an apex predator, a primal hunter, and all within this land was its prey. It had been tasked with searching out the Usurper, but it would have done so without a command since it took great pride in its skill, and even greater pleasure in killing.

And others respected that skill.

As the hunter reached a clearing, a horde of monsters assembled: a swarm of silence-spiders were concealed high in the treetops, and a pack of venom walkers were below.

The silence-spiders clung to every trunk, reassuringly silent as they watched their leader. Each face teemed with multiple eyes—insectile and cold—and the hunter enjoyed the fear and respect in each one. They silently sharpened their scythe-like claws; most were soldiers with powerful blades on every leg, but there were also swarms of small, vicious workers.

The monsters in the canopies were the stealthiest of the hunter’s forces, but not the deadliest. That distinction went to the venom walkers.

The small army of spindly creatures stood in the clearing below the spiders, each towering seven feet tall. They might have looked humanoid from a distance, but up close, they were unmistakably Ravener-spawn: venomous thorns covered green skin, and masses of barbed, whip-like tentacles hung from where human arms should be.

Multi-coloured veins pulsated across their gangly bodies, each pumping a different venom through them. A dozen poisons filled the veins, primed and ready for injection by the thorns.

Each watched the bodies the hunter carried with a dozen hungry eyes.

“A feast.” The hunter dropped the corpses then stepped back. It looked up at the spiders. “You take the flesh.”

The spiders silently gnashed their blades.

“You take the marrow and bone,” the hunter told the venom walkers, who twitched in anticipation. “Now feed. Leave nothing behind.”

The spiders swarmed from the trees as the venom walkers stretched their tentacles out. Muffled sounds of tearing flesh filled the clearing as the two bodies were quickly stripped to the bone, even the leather and cloth they wore was consumed.

Worker spiders soon made short work of the guards’ wooden spear handles.

The venom walkers snatched the promised bones from the middle of the swarm with tentacles extended, bringing them close.

Squelch.

Massive side-facing mouths separated in the centre of their bellies, gnashing in the air. An acidic stench rose from their core as tentacles slipped the bones between salivating ‘lips.’

Crunch. Crunch.

Teeth like iron ground bones to powder that was quickly sucked into acid boiling within the venom walkers’ bellies. Soon, the only thing left was metallic equipment, which would be discarded.

Once the horde had finished feasting, the last hunter turned its attention to the venom walkers.

“Make will-sapper venom and get ready for more bodies.”

The creatures shuddered as blue veins swelled all over them, directing will-sapper venom to hundreds of poison sacks beneath their thorns.

“Follow me,” the hunter told one of them. It gestured to the silence-spiders: “you six, follow too.”

It slipped back through the trees with six spiders and a venom walker at its heels, staying in the shadows until the walled town loomed ahead of them in the forest. “Take positions in the trees,” it instructed the spiders.

“And you can take cover in the bushes there,” it ordered the venom walker, pointing to a large clump of greenery at the edge of the clearing.

Once its servants were in position, the hunter moved to the edge of the trees, waiting for opportunity to arise.

Soon, it heard what it was waiting for.

Commotion. Raised voices in the camp. Soon, they would…

Creak.

And there they were.

A group of five humans emerged from the town gates with sputtering torches in hand. One of their number stank of mana and was illuminating their surroundings with a blue orb of magic.

Another was the human the hunter was after: a big man in armour wearing a symbol of Uldar carrying a mace. This was the one it needed: priests were the mortals who knew most about other mortals.

As the humans searched beyond the gates, the hunter waited. They were cautious, these ones, scanning the dark, making sure there were no blind spots for anything to hide in.

At one time, they would have been difficult to snare. But, this was a different time.

Experience would make this easy. Its voice box shifted in its throat until it produced a human’s cry.

“Help!” Gario’s voice called. “Randal’s hurt! Thank Uldar you’re here, we need healing magic!”

Its voice box shifted to Randal’s voice groaning in pain.

Then it waited.

“What? Gario, that you?” one of the men cried.

“Yes,” Gario’s voice answered.

“Blast it, where are you? Where’s your light? Why didn’t you blow your horn?”

It had expected these questions: similar ones had been asked by other humans when it had used this trick on them. Experience had taught it the proper answers to offer.

“I thought I heard something in the woods!” the hunter cried. “Randal fell and broke his horn. I was going to blow mine but…”

It paused, thinking of the guards’ earlier conversation.

“…look, Randal’s had a drink or two, okay?”

The hunter briefly shifted its voice to Randal’s to groan in protest. Then it changed its voice back to Gario’s.

“Quiet you, that’s why you fell and broke your leg!” it shouted at ‘Randal’.

Amusement bubbled up in the hunter.

It enjoyed these sorts of games: copying one human’s voice, then switching to another to fool its prey. Perhaps it was a foolish thing to do, but it wasn’t surprising how often-

“Oh, blast it Randal, again?” the man shouted back. “Bloody hell. Stay where you are, we’re one our way.”

-it worked so well on these simple humans.

The last hunter snarled softly in satisfaction then crept back into the brush like a stalking lynx. It quietly gestured at the venom walker beside it, then toward the holy priest. “Attack that one with your will-sapper venom when I strike,” it hissed.

“Here! Over here!” it cried to the humans.

Then, it waited.

As did the silence-spiders above.

And the venom walker nearby.

Slowly the humans filed into the forest, searching for their comrades. Their torches sputtered, the wizard’s forceball shone, and their eyes searched the night.

“Where are you?” one of the men asked, his voice sounding tense.

The hunter groaned in Randal’s voice.

“Shhh, quiet, help is on the way,” it answered itself in Gario’s voice.

The men turned to make their way toward the brush. As they approached, the hunter sent out a ping with its unique sense: the only mana it felt was coming from the wizard with the blue orb.

Good. Only one.

He would be the first to die.

Preparing to strike, the silence-spiders were silently scurrying along the tree trunks behind their enemies, ready for their leader to make the first move.

A single twitch of the hunter’s powerful muscles and it shot from the bushes. As one, the silence-spiders immediately dropped.

Scythe-like blades split men in two before they could cry out. The hunter thrust its claws forward, punching through an invisible force around the wizard’s neck; power and momentum tore the man’s throat out.

The priest raised both his mace and the symbol of Uldar, but the venom walker’s tentacles whipped out of the bush and into his face, piercing flesh while injecting will-sapper venom deep inside his body. A shudder went through him and he collapsed on the ground like a freshly slaughtered pig. His breathing grew shallow and his eyes vacant.

Foam trickled from his lips.

In heartbeats, the search party was dead—except for the priest—without a sound to mark their end. No help would be coming to them.

The hunter instructed its servants. “Take their bodies deep within the trees and feast: they are your reward. When you’ve finished, gather your brethren and attack those inside the wall. Silence-spiders, you will enter first; take your swarm and slay every mortal you find. Then open the gates and let my venom walkers in. See to it that no human escapes.”

Now that the hunter had what it was after, it must leave no witnesses. It dragged the hapless priest deep into the woods as its servants stealthily moved the bodies.

There would be no more search parties, there would be none to spoil its work, and none to tell of its presence. Its master would hear of the fear these humans’ felt in their dying moments, and bathe in their terror.

Feeling well pleased, the hunter slammed the priest against a tree, drawing a muffled moan from the man. Now, the questioning could begin.

“Where is the Usurper?” it asked.

The man shuddered at the question, but poison had stolen his will. All he could do was answer truthfully. “I don’t know what that is.”

The hunter had expected this. No human seemed to know what was going on in their own lands.

This was just one reason why they were inferior.

It growled. “What have you been doing with destroyed dungeon cores?”

If it could learn where the cores were taken, it could have a better chance of finding the Usurper: no doubt they would seize more dungeon cores to take over.

“I…they go to the capital to craft weapons and improve the Heroes’ equipment,” the man said in a dreamy voice.

It wasn’t surprised by the answer, but still somewhat disappointed. Time and again it had searched the capital, but-

“And now they’re going to the foreign expedition,” the man said.

The hunter froze.

“What? What expedition?”

“There’s wizards here from a southern city who’ve made a covenant with the king to collect dungeon cores…for a new project.”

The hunter licked its lips.

Now, this was new information.

“Tell me what you know of these wizards. Tell me where I can find them.”

Alex the Usurper stared at the teleportation circle on the floor.

On the other side was the expedition's encampment.

And a few hours from now.

He would meet the other Heroes of Thameland.