And there it is! Another new chapter to replace the terrible old ones. It's likely this fanfic will be more humorous than it looks like it'll turn out, but don't worry. As a side note, there is going to be a chapter overhaul to extend it, adding in an extra section and modifying the whole thing.

XXX

Darius awoke in a pool of blood several hours later. From atop the building, he could see the fading vestiges of the sun through the thick blanket of the black clouds overhead. He struggled to his feet, feeling another splash of blood dribble from his ruined eye. The blood vessels had closed up on their own while he was unconscious, simply leaving behind the empty socket. Even so, the pain was still tremendous. Enduring it, he tore a strap of cloth from his trench coat and quickly fashioned an eyepatch. Putting it on, he staggered towards the cold bodies of his parents.

He knew that there was no hope for them, from the moment he saw them fall. Even so, he murmured a vow under his breath. A vow that whatever force may have caused this damned apocalypse, he was going to make it pay. After a silent reprieve, he reached over and slipped off the black bag from around his father's shoulders. It contained food and water, an essential set of materials. As he settled the bag over his own figure, a tiny notebook fell to the ground, landing in another pile of remains. Darius blinked his good eye and picked it up, shaking blood off of it. The pages had almost immediately been soaked through, but as he flipped through the pages…

"… Donabridge?"

The word was part of a precious few pages that had been fortunate enough to not be hidden by the stains. Darius identified the word as the name of a street somewhere in the eastern area of town, but it wasn't anything special. His eye flicked back and forth between the untouched words.

"… So, a secret facility called Falzion," he muttered as he continued to peruse the bloody book. Several droplets were beginning to run down his hands. Ignoring it, he looked at the next clean lines. "Government projects, high-tech security… a contained power supply?"

This intrigued Darius. A power supply meant specifically for the facility would mean it wouldn't have to function on the city's power, which had been damaged. As for the security, a rough sketch in the later pages showed the way in. The only problem would be finding it. He looked around to see that the sun was going down even more. It was still possible to see, albeit barely. Preferring not to show anyone he was there, Darius felt the figure of a flashlight in his pocket, but chose not to draw it. Instead, he scooped up his gun from where he'd dropped it. Taking one last moment to glance back at his parents, he swept away into the night.

XXX

In the south-west side of the city, there was an inconspicuous building. It wasn't anything special, just an ordinary multi-storey apartment building. However, it had been cleaned out over the recent years, and was now used by a mafia group. Its corridors were a uniform slate-grey colour, with beige carpeting on every floor. Surprisingly enough, it had actually escaped the worst of the apocalypse, though it was to be somewhat expected; every single member that made up the notorious mafia was extremely well-trained. At the very top of the building was a large unlit room.

For several seconds there was silence. Then, a door at one end opened, throwing a thin ray of light into the room. Tables were laid out with countless maps along the visible end, with even more tacked up on the walls. A small closet in the corner was half-open, with countless books having already spilled out. Evidently, no one had bothered to clean up much of the room. Even so, the room hadn't a single speck of dust anywhere. A man with dark red hair stepped through the door, closing it behind him. In his left hand was a black sword, with cyan insets running along the sharp edge. The grip was of crimson leather, with a hilt of gold. In his right hand, he held a simple candle, which he raised slightly to cast more light into the room. At the other end of the room, a man with light brown hair sat at a gilded chair, his back to the door. In front of him were several photos and a small stack of books that looked ready to tip at any moment. A large pistol rested idly on the left side of the table, next to a bottle and a full glass of wine.

The one who had entered bowed, although he knew the other – the Seventh General, he was called – couldn't see him. In fact, he did see. He saw everything, strange as it may sound. Such was his power; the power of a Nightmare Hunter. Straightening again, he walked up within a foot of the chair and stopped, not daring to step any further. The General snapped his fingers carelessly, lighting a candle over his work. The shadows leapt up on the wall, forming eerie shapes and figures as the flames flickered and danced. Knowing he didn't need it anymore, the man put his own candle out and spoke, a German accent prodding at his words. "I still don't see why you always keep this room so dark."

The General stirred, and settled again. He reached out and collected his wine. Taking his time, he set it back down empty. "I have no need nor love for the light," he said. It was quiet, should have been almost inaudible, and yet it reverberated around the vast room as if he had shouted. "I do not believe either of us do."

"Of course, sir," the man said. "Nonetheless, I'm here to report that… that the Dominus has awoken. It has chosen its wielders."

The General remained silent for slightly longer. Breaking his reverie, he dusted aside several of the papers before him, and selected three from the stack. Laying them out before him, he regarded each one in turn. On the right side of his face, a blood red light flickered to life. "Not entirely out of my predictions, yet certainly not one I'd expected." He turned over one paper, revealing a picture of three circular glyphs. Each one was the shape of a perfect circle, its circumference rimmed with countless intricate runes. "Do you know what these are?"

"Yes sir," he said. He looked at the picture a moment longer before realizing where this was going. "Sir, do you intend to…?"

"Indeed," the General rumbled. Turning over another paper, it was filled with multiple pictures of a certain twelve-seal dais. "And it has already come to fruition."

"If so, then who is the third?"

The General turned over the last page, revealing a picture of a certain man with a Colt Anaconda revolver in his hands. "His powers will be those of Hatred; fitting, I suppose. He will be the strongest of the Dominus series." He refilled a glass of wine as he spoke. He took a small sip from it. "Keep watch over him. If his powers are manifest, he is almost certainly the one we are looking for."

"And if his powers remain dormant?"

The General extended his left hand palm-down and flipped it up, revealing one last tiny picture held delicately between his fingers. When the General spoke again, his voice contained traces of sadistic mirth. "Then it will be ours."

And there was one last sound, much like one made by a wine glass smashed to pieces in an iron grip.

XXX

Darius sighed quietly as a looter slid slowly down the lamp post, leaving behind a trail of blood. Really, there were so many people jumping him it wasn't even funny. Even so, they weren't much more than just a mere nuisance; a missing eye tends to throw off one's aim, but his near-preternatural aiming wasn't hit too hard by it. Rather, it was just his depth perception that was suffering. Honestly, he didn't think it was possible for someone to seem so close and far simultaneously…

Tossing aside a spent shell and replacing it with a fresh round, he shone his flashlight around briefly, making sure that no one else was around. After panning the light back and forth, he was satisfied he was safe. Flicking it off, he reached down and picked up a packet of batteries and a can of soup from the looter's backpack. He turned over the tiny Medusa pistol in the looter's hands uninterestedly, then threw it aside and stood up as he thought of what to do next.

It wasn't likely he would survive for very long if he stayed in one place, which was why he was constantly on the go. On the other hand, his revolver was still a custom-brand, and so needed a supply of ammunition that could probably only be fed by a periodically visited munitions factory. He had plenty of bullets left to spare, but he still didn't feel like taking his chances. Seeing as he didn't know where any of the factories were, he assumed they would be in an out-of-the-way area of the city, where people wouldn't be bothered by the fumes.

Even so, it might be best to head downtown. After all, there was probably at least a few leftover stores or houses that weren't raided yet. Darius turned on his flashlight and stepped silently into the darkness. In the silence of the night, every little noise could be heard. The ash-covered ground, thankfully, was enough to muffle his footsteps to almost unnoticeable. The same could not be said, however, for the next group Darius came upon.

Darius froze as he heard a scuffling noise from the end of the street, as if two people had gotten in a fight. There was a solid thump that echoed out from the wall as someone was slammed against it. As they passed under the flickering street light, he could catch a glimpse of a dark-haired, slightly overweight man with speckles of gray hairs beginning to show amidst the dark. The one pinning him had his face hidden by a hood, as with the three other men with him. Clearly, they'd tried giving this (old?) man the jump to loot him for anything useful.

"Search him," one of the looters barked. The remaining two men swiftly moved in, scrounging about the unfortunate man, who struggled as he was held tightly against the wall. Each move was met with a swift blow to the face or stomach, knocking the wind out of him. A looter pulled a pistol out of the man's pocket and pointed it at him. "Now, stay still, old man. Just stay still, and we'll let you be on your way. All we need from you is the Shard, capiche?"

"Nnn…" the man had just enough cohesive wit to break free of the one holding him and delivered a knee into the man's groin. As he collapsed in agony, he turned to face the others, one of whom shot him in the leg, just below the middle of the thigh. He fell, howling with pain. He forced open one eye to glare at his captors. "As if I'd let you have that…"

"We're not asking for your permission," a new voice said. Laced with a soft German accent and almost gentlemanly ring, the red-haired newcomer stepped easily across the street – leaving faint cyan prints in the ash, Darius noted.

"I'm afraid we really do need the Shard," he said. "Relax, and we'll let you go free. Please, hold still for a moment longer."

"Never," the man growled. He attempted to lash out with his good leg, but the kick was stopped with an easy movement. A blue trench coat fell loosely around him, reaching to just above his ankles, one of which had been extended in what was clearly a deceptively relaxed movement to block the kick. Sighing, he reached down, hand outstretched. In the middle of his palm, a figure burned to life. It was a brightly glowing neon blue shape. The actual appearance itself could not be seen from Darius' position, but the man at his feet panicked. Blue light exploded forth from his hand, and the man went limp. For several seconds, they remained dead still. Then, a glowing blue wisp of smoke rose out of the fallen one's mouth. The redhead closed his hand around it, and when he opened it again, there was a glowing blue orb the size of a tennis ball in his hand.

What the hell? wondered Darius as he aimed his revolver. But something stayed his hand... A feeling that he was not alone in this shadowed alley.

At that moment, the bluecoat released the orb, letting it dissipate. A smile appeared as he addressed the looters. "The Shard is contained in his jacket; on the interior, hidden inside the stuffing. I'm afraid you'll have to tear it open."

"Yes, sir," they muttered as they pulled off his coat. Reaching in, they pulled out what probably used to be a circle of who knows what, except it had been reduced to a tiny piece of the circumference. Countless minuscule runes ran the smooth edge, separated from the rest of the Shard with another circular ring, almost resembling a pizza crust. What looked to be the spine of some sort of creature etched across the rest of it. If it were whole, Darius estimated it would be the size of a large dinner plate. The looter passed it to the redhead.

"Excellent," he said as he ran a finger along the finely sculpted outer edge. He looked at the bleeding man at his feet with dismissive sky-blue eyes. "Richard, do with him what you will."

"What…?" the old man struggled to rise. "I thought you said you'd let me go free… You have the Shard!"

"I'm sorry, but Richard here has been itching for a bit of fun," the man said. His voice almost sounded apologetic. "Don't worry, he won't kill you."

And with that, he swept back into the shadows. For the briefest moment, a sky-blue pentagram formed under his feet and he vanished, trailing an impossibly fast path. The only remaining vestige of his appearance was the afterimage of the rapidly fading pentagram. Darius thought hard about what he had just seen. The thudding sounds caused by the looters reminded him that he still had something to do.

"Alright, finish looting him," one of the men said. He moved forward, just as Darius stuck his head and gun out from behind the corner and fired.

"What the fuck!?" another looter shouted as his nearest companion's chest erupted, covering him with blood. Darius leapt up from his hiding spot and with two more shots, fell all but one of the looters. Reacting quickly, the man stepped forward and made to crush Darius' skull with a sledgehammer blow.

A dagger pierced his heart, driven by Darius' powerful strike, exploding out the other side with a shower of blood. Holding the knife in place as the man went through his death throes, Darius shot him once in the head at point-blank range. The body fell still. Darius brought up one foot and impassively kicked off the corpse. He looked down at the old man to find that he had vomited; the splatter on the ground all too obvious.

"Keep your lunch down," Darius advised as another three bullets were loaded into his Anaconda. "You never know when you'll eat next."

Panting, the man said, "Thanks, I guess. But… who are you?"

"The name's Darius Loyhrs," he said, extending a hand. Taking it gratefully, the older of the two stood, holding back another rush of bile.

"Sorry, blood makes me nauseous… anyways, I'm Steven Atmos," he said. "I worked at the factories in the north."

"Mmm," said Darius. He continued checking over the dead bodies, removing whatever materials would prove useful. "Are you hurt much?"

Steven flinched as he stretched his legs. "Yeah. My left leg is busted, I think the bullet went through, but my right is a little better."

Darius hesitated for a moment, briefly thinking of abandoning this crippled man. But how cruel would that be? Juggling his options, he decided it might be better to bring Steven with him. After all, he might prove helpful. He unslung his pack and brought out a roll of gauze. "Alright, relax your leg; I'll be able to handle the wound better."

"Wait, what? No!" Darius raised his head and gazed at him stonily. Steven continued. "I still don't trust you. Besides, I can bandage myself."

Darius responded immediately. "One, if I wanted you dead, I would've just shot you. Two, no, you can't. Three, would you rather I left you out here? People probably heard the gunshots, even though it's the dead of night."

Steven sighed and nodded silently. Darius extended a hand, which Steven accepted. Carefully swinging the older man's arm over his shoulders, Darius helped him to his feet. "I'll bandage you when we find a safe house. Until then, just bear with it."

"Gee, you must be fun at parties," Steven muttered.