Ashes, ashes everywhere. So much ash that the day became amber grey and the once snow-white forest clearing was a desert of ash. Dying flames now served as the scorched earth's grass. Atop a hill of burnt and mangled corpses, a lone mercenary stood. Left-arm burnt to a crisp, right arm dangling by the skin - no bone or muscle connecting, just some ragged skin keeping it together. His limb almost cut clean from the rest of his body—a feat made by use of an inhuman-sized weapon wielded by something other.

The lone mercenary staggered, walking away from the hill towards the snowy forest. The Heavens a mere strand of hair away from the Damned.

Stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

The mercenary looked back and immediately regretted it. Fear took hold at the pit of his stomach once more, sending an icy grip to his insides.

A giant made of interconnected corpses stared at the sellsword. A different corpse made each limb. The monster was held together by dark red mold, intertwining and snaking around the macabre facsimile of life.

The mercenary felt something in the air, an eerie feeling of hunger.

The lumbering undead stared at the mercenary with beady, lifeless eyes, several lifeless pairs paired around the vile mass.

But the feeling of being watched came seemingly from everywhere. The air itself watched the mercenary, measured his strength and condition. The mercenary was found wanting. But even such a mere pittance would do for the invisible presence.

"Damn it," Thought the mercenary.

From behind the giant and the cloud of ash, a shadow approached, a darkening blotch amidst the amber grey ash. A man, or so the mercenary thought, clad in black from head to toe. A large black hat, and a swirling cloak that wrapped itself around the blurry figure. The only light in the shadows that was the stranger was his eyes. It was not a holy light nor a beacon in the darkness - it was the darkness, a black so black it ate away at the light. It was the pleasure of hunting a fellow human. Well, he couldn't count humanity as his brethren anymore. They are now and have been for the last centuries, his prey. Cattle to be slaughtered and lives to be done with as one wished.

A cacophony of laughter burst from the Man Clad in Black. It was high-pitched and unnerving laughter. It didn't fit with his dark figure, suiting a jester instead.

"Oh Kedwen, such a fine place for fun." said the Man Clad in Black. The Man then looked at the mercenary, casually sizing him up.

"You know, I once had a friend here in the South. What was his name again? Henry? No, no. Harrison? I know it starts with an H." The Man Clad in Black's voice was seemingly normal. So ordinary that it was easily forgettable. Yet, it served to unnerve the mercenary even more. The stranger's casual tone making the burnt hairs on the mercenary's neck stand like a frightened cat's.

The mercenary stared at the Man Clad in Black incredulously.

"Ah," said the Man Clad in Black, allowing the sound to marinate.

"Harrien. Such a weird name. It sounds like a bar wench's name, but then again, a vampire has their secrets. Maybe they shed a female sleeve for a male one. To them, it's all the same. I think... Lilith's spawn are very peculiar."

The mercenary inched away as the Man Clad in Black continued his monologue. Damn, you sure like hearing your voice, don't ya?

"Not so fast there - or should I say slow?" Said the Man. "We aren't done yet. Well, I am, but Nameless here is hungry." The Man looked towards the undead. "Come on now. I bet you're hungry, aren't you? Ahh, who's a good undead? It's you, isn't it?"

The Man looked at the mercenary.

"Eat."

Seemingly losing interest, the Man Clad in Black disappeared into the cloud of ash that permeated the battlefield.

The undead lumbered towards the mercenary. The giant's steps scoured the scorched earth, unearthing more ash and sending it airborne.

The mercenary's perception of time slowed, every bit of information flooding his mind.

Thump.

This is it, isn't it?

Thump.

It was good while it lasted. Hell, it wasn't even close. I get out of that no-name village, and this is what happens. I am going to be eaten alive by some warlock's puppy.

Thump.

Sorry, Rodrick, I wish. I wish we-

The mercenary's comrade ran towards the undead, displacing clouds of ash, battered, dirty, and screaming.

Rodrick!

Rodrick let out a battle cry, screaming so hard he couldn't even dare to speak even if he survived.

And he struck the beast with a one-handed battle-axe.

It cleaved through the flesh and sunk in.

Rodrick pulled back with all his might.

It didn't so much as budge. Even the giant was left balanced, seemingly unbothered by the failure of an attack.

Crunch.

The giant's arm, made of an intermingling of body parts, crushed Rodrick's head like a grape. The giant's fingers were made of forearms, shins, feet, and hands. Blood and mush seeped from the holes and crevices of the giant's "hand."

The scorched clearing had an eerie peace to it—the sounds of fires crackling throughout the dead-quiet battlefield. The amber light shining through the ash lent itself nicely to a painting. And there, in the midst of it all stood the lone mercenary, his body frozen. Emotions bubbled beneath the surface.

Rage.

Regret.

Grief.

Helplessness.

Fear.

Of all the bubbling emotions in that cauldron called a human being, one stood out. Excitement. Even the mercenary himself was surprised by that emotion. He didn't want to die. But, the calling of battle was intoxicating.

The mercenary, high on adrenaline, screamed—an unexpected battle-cry coming from a crippled, soon-to-be-dead man.

The spirit inside of the mercenary shifted, called forth to join in the battle to come. The air around him grew heavy. White mist evaporated from his body and culminated around him, dragged by the whirlpool that was his spirit. It wrapped around his ruined arms, latching itself onto them and darkening. First, it became a liquidy, amorphous mass, and then it solidified. His old, right arm fell to the scorched ground as his new arms emerged. Their muscles taut coils that shifted with every movement. He had four digits on each hand, his last two digits merging into one. They ended in dark claws made of a substance that ate any light daring to come close enough. Darkness made manifest.

The mercenary looked down at his newly materialized claws in awe and excitement. Black steam rose in tandem with the translucent mist from his body, bathing him in a greyish cloud. He looked at the giant, feeling the presence around him better than before. He pushed back against it and screamed, his lungs burning. His voice rang out until he became hoarse, providing the impetus for his charge.

This is gonna be. So. Much. Fun.

Eiden woke up from his sleep. He held a hand to his forehead, and it came back drenched in sweat. His heart was still pounding from the phantom fear. He tried to remember the nightmare, but it was hard. It was like this with all dreams. The more he tried to remember, the harder they became to recall. All he could remember was red. It was a deep, vibrant red. A scarlet he swore he had never seen before.

That's when he felt it—a presence. The air around him was thick with a copper tang and something else. Something that could only be called hunger permeated through the air. Eiden felt his skin crawl and something else. He felt something shift in his being, but it didn't feel physical. It was as if a second body, something that dwelled inside himself, became still—scared of the presence that hung in the air. His "second" body burrowed inside himself to hide.

Eiden dismissed his nervous feeling. It was just a nightmare. I always wake up paranoid after those. Bert laughed at me last time when a rat scared me. It wasn't my fault. I had just woken up from a nightmare.

Eiden was sitting on a cot - well, a mix of soft sand and rat's hides. Thankfully, the tunnels were always warm. Eiden heard a slurping, crunching sound come from outside his room. It sounds like Bert is having a night snack. Eiden got up from the cot and let out a groan as he stretched his back, sending a few pops through the air. Guess I'm awake now. Can't go back to sleep after that nightmare. That weird feeling still hasn't gone away. I guess some food would help.

Eiden, not wanting to admit he was scared and just wanting to sleep in the same room as Bert, got up to see what Bert was eating. Candles lit up the tunnels in warm firelight.

What's that smell? Bert can't be eating raw rats, can he? As Eiden exited his tunnel and neared Bert's, the coppery smell became stronger and stronger. And a horrible slurping sound became more and more intense.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood everywhere. It coated Bert's dark room like macabre paint. And a thing stood over Bert's mangled form. It looked human, but it was sinewy and dried like a corpse. Slurping and crunching sounds came from the monster in human flesh; it didn't seem to notice Eiden, what with its macabre feast and all.

Eiden slowly backed away from the tunnel, his heart pounding in his ears. It took all his willpower not to run away. He needed to warn Lisa. Each step Eiden took towards her tunnel was excruciating. At any point, he could become that thing's second meal. It seemed like Bert didn't even put up much of a fight, and he was the strongest of the group. Eiden himself had lived for sixteen winters, but years of malnutrition made him look like a child, his limbs were thin and his face sunken around the cheeks.

Three more steps now.

No.

No.

No.

This time, there was no blood in Lisa's room. None at all. It didn't coat the walls of the room. Nor the walls of her veins. Her corpse was a dried husk with a nasty gash over the back of her neck. No. No. No. This can't be happening. This is a dream? A nightmare. It has to be…

An eerie voice startled Eiden from his disbelief. The voice was masculine yet soothing.

"It was so much fun. The big one had blood to spare, so I made myself comfy and painted the walls. I was already so full with her." The thing said in a tone that did not match its visage.

The thing blocked the way out of Lisa's room. Its skin was a pale-moon white. Not grey like a corpse. White, its skin was white like snow. It had no hair whatsoever. Its body was slick and sinewy. The only different shade of color was its thin claws and stomach. The claws looked like needles, pitch-black needles made of coal from the nine hells. The claws meshed with its hands, like gloves with black wires that dug into its skin. Its stomach was warm red. The tone scarlet made Eiden sick to the core.

A feeling of voracity hung in the air. It was a monstrous presence that sought the ones who could not fight back or resist its fun. The sight filled Eiden with despair and an odd sense of calm. He knew he would die, but it felt like there was no care in the world. Nothing could take him out of that peaceful stupor, his heart settling into a calm lull, and his eyelids becoming heavy as lead. His legs became weak, making it hard for him to stay upright. A leaf swaying in the wind.

Eiden heard a slicing sound and looked down at his stomach.

Nothing.

No blood.

No claws pierced his frail flesh.

Huh, did it not just slice me with its claws? I swore I heard it. Disbelieving of still being among the living, Eiden looked up to the doorway.

The thing's face was split in half by a gargantuan maw. Its mouth extended from ear to ear, anatomy bordering human, but still leagues far away. It was creepy, having no hair on its head or body and leathery skin like a lizard. Its eyes were pitch-black, the sclera painted the same color as its claws.

A new color entered the snow-white canvas that murdered his friends. A silvery line that ran from one side of its neck to the other.

Its head fell to the ground. Still smiling, like it knew a jest nobody else did. Pitch-black eyes stared at Eiden. Its body collapsed onto the floor, the sight etching itself onto Eiden's memories...

And soul.