This chapter was somewhat difficult to write. I'm regretting the cliffhanger at the end of 3, but there isn't much I can do about it. In this chapter, I'm introducing another one of the Eight, and the source behind all of the bandit raids Hanon was fighting.

Sacae

"Wake up, sleepyhead. You've been napping long enough."

The gentle voice carried through Roland's subconscious. His eyes fluttered open to the dazzling sight of Elimine's smile. Upon seeing him awake, a blush touched her cheek as she realized that she was sitting on top of his chest. Hurriedly, she leapt to her feet, trying to stifle a giggle.

Hanon's horse galloped like the wind itself beneath her. Had the bandit raid already taken place? What if she was too late? Unbeknownst to her, someone was already doing the job for her.

Kikara Village

Shamans are strange people. They keep mostly to themselves, elder magic being their closest companions, but some twist the dark purposes of the elder gods to protect people.

This was exactly what Bramimond was doing at the moment, protecting people. He manipulated the dark tendrils surrounding him into a protective shield to block an axe swing, and then drove their razor sharp tips through the offending brigand, lacerating his barrel chest. He had been staying with the villagers when the bandit attack came, and had been asked to protect them.

A smile touched his face as he noticed a thunder mage standing far off, away from the fight. Magic fights were so much fun. The dark energy surrounding him lifted him and placed him next to his fellow magic user. The thunder mage cried out in shock, caught completely off guard by the close proximity of his enemy. Bramimond seized the moment, channeling a huge amount of energy into the air, opening a gaping fissure in space. Rocks and trees were torn from the earth by the devastating force of the vacuum as the mage tried in vain to avoid being sucked into the wormhole. A final scream escaped his lips as the vortex claimed smiled. Maybe it had been a little excessive, and flamboyant. But it did feel good. Not for the first time, he praised the elder deities, marveling at the power they could grant to their servants. Most manmade weapons broke clean in two when striking a wall of elder magic, and they could not hurt him anyway. Not at this point, when he was so close to mastering perfect darkness. The last of the bandits slain, he closed his book and sacrificed their souls to the darkness.

Gerard watched the little hooded man from his hiding place, cursing inwardly all the while. First the archer girl, and now the dark magic freak? If more of them kept showing up, he was in serious trouble. He turned to his second in command, a huge, battle scarred berserker.

"Terence!" he hissed, nudging the other man.

"Yeah, boss?" replied Terrence.

"Think you can take that shaman out?"

"What, that wimpy mage? I could break him in half with one hand."

"Don't be too sure," snapped Gerard. "That wimpy mage just wiped out twelve of our men, without even breaking a sweat."

"So?" Terrence had little regard for the gang's goons, treating them more like trash than fighting men. "Those guys are twits anyway."

Gerard rolled his eyes. Terrence did only one thing well, hitting people really, really, hard. Thinking was not his specialty, and the shaman could probably outsmart him as easily as blinking.

"You remember that archer girl that we sent Rade and his gang after two days ago? We thought she was a weakling too, but she tossed around his boys like rag dolls. Point is, if more of these guys keep showing up and stopping our raids, we're gonna have a problem on our hands. So I want you and a bunch of our best guys to go and take them out."

"No problem, boss."

"Just don't get yourself killed, dimwit. I'd have a hard time replacing you." In truth, Gerard could not care less about the lives of his goons, there were plenty of them, and losing one or two was no big deal. He turned his mind to the task of what to do if more of these people started showing up. Unfortunately for the crime boss, more of the troubling fighters were on the way, one from the desert, and another from the archipelago to the west.

Sacae

Bramimond was being followed. Twice he had glimpsed the three huge shapes outlined against the moon, hefting giant battle-axes. They were either very strange bears or more of the big ugly bandits, out to avenge their fallen comrades at Kikara. Even though they outnumbered him, he had several advantages at his disposal. One, the three of them most likely didn't think they'd been spotted yet. Two, they obviously weren't very bright. Third, the night and the darkness was his terrain, where the dark energy was so strong in the air that he could feel it.

Time to up the ante, he thought, casting four teleportation spells in rapid succession. A cry went up from the team of brigands as their quarry disappeared and reappeared all over the forest. Bramimond sent a wave of elder magic into the ground, directing it's silent eruption to where the three stood clustered.Flux. He could feel their life energy draining away under the shadowy assault, and absorbed it with a vampiric spell. Their quintessence was foul, useless, only good for an offering to the elder gods. He felt the pulse of energy filtering into his body as the deities accepted the offering.

A ball of black fire formed in his hands, and he flicked it at the bandit on the left. The moment before impact, it shattered into dozens of tiny black darts, piercing the unfortunate victim's skin in millions of places. Just to make sure, he telekinetically twisted each individual shard, slicing through dozens of internal organs. Seeing that they were at his mercy with distance, the other two bandits charged. Bramimond warped, flinging magical attacks from the bandits from every angle, scoring strike after strike after strike. One of the two had already succumbed to the dark, but the biggest of the three, bleeding from gashes all over his body, lost control, going into a berserk rage.

"Crap," muttered Bramimond, warping out of the way of the all out attack. This could be a problem. Berserking brought a person beyond pain, beyond caring whether they lived or died. It could take anywhere from one blow to a thousand to finish him.

"Get back here, you!" bellowed Terrence, whirling his two throwing axes in rapid circles, "I'm gonna break you into so many little pieces, they won't know which ones to bury!"

"All of them," Bramimond grumbled. "Of course, it'd be more like slicing me into pieces." He ducked, avoiding the axe flung his way, then dematerializing to avoid the return strike. "I hate berserkers. With any luck, maybe he'll bleed to death before he catches me."

The energy of the shadows engulfed Bramimond's hand, and he flicked the dark sphere at his foe. The berserker staggered at the tremendous impact, then resumed his charge. He flung both axes at the shaman haphazardly, then unstrapped a huge battle-axe from his back. The first throwing-axe flew past Bramimond's head harmlessly, but the second caught him on the side of his head with the wooden handle. The left side of his vision was all red, as the shaman realized he was bleeding. Terrence charged him, taking advantage of his momentary imbalance. Wounded though he may have been, Bramimond, managed to dodge the whirling battle axe several times before the handle took his legs out from under him.

"Aw crap..."

The axe swung downward,then suddenly stopped. The berserker looked down to see a grey-shafted arrow protruding from his chest, shot straight through his heart. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, lifeless.

What do you guys think of Bramimond? I thought I'd give him a personality, so that he becomes a tragic character when he sacrifices his soul for perfect darkness. Anyway, I know the chapter was kind of short, but it gets the point across. I'm not entirely sure what Bramimond's spell was, so interpret it as you wish. If anyone has any ideas they'd like to see, just include it in the review.

I fixed the cliffhanger to a better resolution, not perfect, but it'll suffice.