How long had she been running? The sky had long since been enveloped by the menacing darkness of night, and it was only by the light of her lit torch that she could even see the path through the trees that she desperately followed. The sound of her ragged breathing and pounding heart was inordinately loud to the young woman, louder even then the crackling of her torch and the crunching of dead leaves and twigs underfoot.
She paused for only a second to look back in fear, her heart continuing to race like a falcon mid-stoop. Her ears, straining to hear the slightest noise out of the ordinary, heard nothing but the sound of her own terror. Her eyes, adjusted to the light of the torch, saw nothing in the dark woods except long shadows and phantoms.
But that was what she was most afraid of.
Their prey had been a wishy-washy looking blond- handsome, clean-shaven, not an ounce of hardship to be seen in those pleasant features. He had been wearing an expensive looking black cloak, and apparently even had the luxury of knowing some magic. Parlour tricks, Daria had said. Nothing to worry about.
It turns out those parlour tricks were lethal. The target had shown a mastery of the arcane arts that seemed superhuman- power that wouldn't be out of place on an Ionian spellweaver or even a Champion. He had effortlessly massacred her teammates, extinguishing their lives with naught but a wave of his hand, not a drop of concern showing on his face. He had mercilessly slain the group's leader, and had even trounced their mage in magical prowess, killing the latter with his own flames.
It had been clear that none of them could hope to match him, and most bandits usually valued their lives and wellbeing over any sort of loyalty to the group, so at this point everyone scattered and ran for their lives through the dark woods, including her.
She had been with two others, and they had run together in silence for a while until they thought they were safe. They had rested for several minutes, trying to regain their breath and strength after their desperate bid for safety. They spent the time in silence, disbelief and relief robbing them of anything they would have otherwise said.
She had been sat down with her back to the trunk of a tree, trying to give her legs a rest, while the other two had elected to stand, one drinking from a flask on his hip while the other bent over double to ease the stitch in his side.
It was only because of her position on the ground that she saw the dark shape alight on a high branch above the little group like some sort of demented bat. It was utterly silent, and only the unnatural shape of flapping fabric distorting the faint torchlight managed to catch her attention.
It was him. She was sure of it. There was no mistaking the unnerving shifting texture of the black cloak that seemed to move and flicker like a shadow. However, this time there was no sign of the fresh-faced blond mage. A hood enshrouded the head of the figure, made of the same shimmering darkness as the rest of the cloak, enshrouding every feature within in a veil of pure night. This was no human… surely it was a spectral phantasm plucked straight from the Shadow Isles.
She watched it perch there for a moment, like an eagle inspecting its prey, before some base instinct within snapped into effect and she scrambled to her feet. Her comrade who had been drinking looked up, and upon seeing her pale face and panicked eyes, snapped his own gaze to follow her line of sight, raising his torch high.
Seeing the almost invisible shape of their pursuer thrown into sharp relief by the flickering torchlight, he immediately darted to her side of the clearing, completely abandoning his teammate, who was still hunched over.
And not a moment too soon, too, as just as he vacated the area, the dark shape of their bogeyman dropped out of the treetops and onto the unsuspecting bandit. It happened in a matter of seconds, and there were no sounds except the sound of a single wet squelch and the thump of their companion's knees hitting the ground.
The two of them only caught a glimpse of the dark figure with his arm protruding grotesquely from his victim's chest, the black gloved hand covered in crimson lifeblood. They saw only the slightest hint of their late friend's bulging eyes, his horrified expression, heard only the start of his gurgling death rattle.
That was all… because driven by a survival instinct that proved irresistible even though the odds seemed impossible, they had started to desperately run as far away from that monstrous killer as they possibly could.
That was all they could do.
They could not hope to match him battle, could not hope to persuade him to spare them before he killed them, could not bribe or trick him.
They could only run for their lives… and pray.
She reached out and placed a hand against the trunk of a nearby tree to steady herself. Her breaths were coming roughly now, a harsh pressure against her chest making each lungful of air a painful one. She balled up her fists and felt the beginning of tears welling up at the corner of her eyes.
Despair overtook her and she slumped to her knees. She couldn't run any longer.
"Kill me and be done with it!" she cried out, knowing he was listening.
She knew he was there. That thing was merciless, relentless, infallible. Her last remaining partner had fallen during the pair's only disastrous attempt at hiding. They had tossed their extinguished torches to the side and jumped into the hollow beneath the roots of a tree, holding their breath and hoping with all their might that their pursuer might pass them by, foiled by the absence of light.
For a remarkably long moment it seemed like it had worked, and hope had tentatively been nurtured in their breasts… only for it to be dashed almost immediately after. Their ruse had been discovered laughably fast- she supposed it had been some sort of magic that could detect their whereabouts – however he did it, their hunter somehow knew exactly where they were. They hadn't fooled him for a single second.
She knew the worst had come to pass when the roots of the tree that they had been sheltering under came to life and abruptly impaled her teammate. She saw him crouching just above, one hand pressed against the tree-trunk, glowing a faint blue. More roots came to crawling life, twisting and writhing in their earthen prison as they stretched out to try and take her too.
She didn't let them have their chance- she darted out of reach deftly and forced her trembling legs to carry her onwards- further into the dark woods again.
But now, she couldn't run any longer. Her legs had reached her limit. They were about to give out. More than that though- her psyche simply couldn't take it anymore. Having a perpetual threat hanging over her head was taking its toll- emotionally and mentally. Knowing of her hunter's supernatural abilities, his willingness to kill, his cold bloodlust, all of this was starting to tax hard on her previously strong desire to live.
The cold jaws of hopelessness had latched onto her heart, and nothing but death loomed in front of her.
She stared out emptily as he swept into sight, the moonlight lending a ghostly ethereal quality to his shape. Like always, there was no sound- no crackling of crushed leaves or twigs underfoot, no rustling of fabric from the hooded cloak he was wearing, not even any harsh breathing from all the chasing he had been doing. There was nothing to suggest that there was anyone with her at all except his ghostly appearance and the crushing despair he inspired.
He stood before her, an imposing pillar, a silent executioner.
She closed her eyes, waiting for the final blow. However, to her surprise, she felt something cold wrap around her body and roughly pull her upright.
She opened her eyes in shock, trying to take stock of her situation.
The sensation came from a solid layer of dirt around her body, encasing her from the neck down like some sort of strange earthen armour.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, not really expecting an answer.
"Scum like you deserve to suffer," came the glacial reply, restrained fury and bloodlust somehow discernible even through the clipped and curt tone.
She looked up at him in horror, just as the grains of dirt around her began to constrict around her, tightening to an uncomfortable degree. From her vantage point, being bound up like a mummy, she was in a perfect position to look into the hood of her pursuer, with the rising moon casting its light directly into it.
But she couldn't see anything.
The light illuminated every fold and crease of his strange flickering cloak, but everything underneath that hood was pure black. Not even the hint of the shape of his face could be seen even though direct moonlight should have been lighting it up. It was as if something was swallowing the light from inside, or as if… even the light itself would not dare touch what lay within that hood.
A shiver ran down her spine as she realised that despite having thrust an entire arm through her comrade earlier, not a drop of blood or gore stained that dark cloak of his. Cold, visceral terror started to clutch sharply at her heart. She was scared before, but this was something else entirely.
"W-Who… no, what are you?" she asked, her voice unsteady.
"Your worst nightmare," came the reply.
She knew it. This guy wasn't some mage. It was some sort of wretched creature from the Shadow Isles. Some sort of twisted spirit or dark monster taken human form. The horrid things from that cursed region could do much worse than kill a man. She had heard the horror stories as a child. The Harrowing. The Black Mist.
After all, your body could just die. But your soul – why, your soul could be tortured for all of eternity.
She no longer wished to give in and face her fate. Rather, she wished merely to die.
She started to thrash and struggle inside her prison of dirt and soil. However, the unforgiving embrace of the packed earth did a good job of restricting her movements, keeping her locked up tightly. If anything, it seemed to press against her even more roughly, and she felt her ribs creak in protest.
"Please!" she yelled out desperately, "Don't kill me! I'll do anything!"
The hood tilted to the side, and the crushing pressure of the earth around her seemed to slacken the slightest amount.
"Anything?" came the question.
"Yes! Anything! I'll be your slave for life! I'll lick your boots, I'll kill for you, I'll whore out my body on the streets if you wish! I'll do anything!"
There was a long moment, as if the being in front of her was actually considering it, but just as she started to harbour the slightest hope that her plea for her life had been successful, the spectre leaned in, the darkness inside that hood somehow more severe than before.
"Then die for me," it whispered in her ear, icy steel in every syllable.
She shrieked as the earth began to crush her in earnest, the soil and dirt coming together like the fist of a giant squeezing an orange. It wasn't equally distributed, either- it seemed like the pressure was strongest around the bottom, but the whole thing was increasing in power, at a frightening rate.
"I can feel your sins, when I'm this close to you," the dark figure said, and she could somehow hear it through the pain, through her own screaming, "None of all those kids you've sold into slavery, none of the countless lives you've ruined, none of the miserable deaths you've surely caused, none of the immeasurable innocences you've shattered… none of those were you ever sorry for. You did not grant clemency for any of those children… so why should I show mercy to you? …You disgust me. Suffer."
She was being crushed to death. She could feel her bones cracking, her flesh bursting, her blood starting to spray out and stain the surrounding soil. Agony was coursing through her entire body like a white hot river of molten iron.
She was going to die. This was certain.
However, it would be slow. It would be painful.
She knew in that moment why her killer had left her head uncovered by the deadly earth.
It was so it could hear her scream.
So she obliged it to the very end.
Daria watched in nervous worry as Moffat entered through the small door in the caravan. As he locked and bolted the door closed and activated the magical security arrays, she stood up and plucked at his shirt sleeve.
"How is it?" she asked timidly.
He turned to her with a wan smile.
"I've told Mujarl to guard the caravan. That blond guy's magic is useless against its hide, remember? It'll tear him to pieces. And even if he somehow gets past Mujarl, he can't get through the door. He'll be fried by enough electricity to power an entire city block before he even has enough time to turn the door handle. Trust me, we're fine in here."
Daria continued to grip the sleeve but felt a little bit more confident at Moffat's reassurances.
We'll be fine… she thought, That guy might be an accomplished mage, but he's still human… he'll just die to Mujarl. Won't he?
She thought about the imposing bulk and frightening natural capabilities of the northern gigante and clenched a fist. Yes, even in the wild, it took almost an entire platoon of experienced Freljordian hunters to kill or capture even one of the enormous beasts. He didn't stand a chance.
She relaxed the slightest amount… only to nearly jump out of her skin as an ear-rending roar resounded, coming from outside.
She transferred her grip to Moffat's arm, holding it tightly.
"He's here…!" she said, frightened.
He turned to her, and she could see clearly, from years of knowing him as she did, that his eyes were full of surprise and a mounting terror. To see what was usually the calm and collected pillar of her life in such a state scared her, to a degree that chilled her to the very bones.
"…that was Mujarl…" breathed Moffat, "…in pain. How is that guy able to damage him?"
The two lapsed into silence before another keening wail from Mujarl split the air, causing Daria to start to bite her lip, shivering in terror.
"Not even Mujarl…?" she asked.
"D-don't worry, there's still the security arra-"
A sudden loud THUMP interrupted him, accompanied by the caravan rocking on its wheels, violently careening to the side before crashing back down to stability. Moffat and Daria were sent sprawling to the floor by the motion, mirroring the fate of the items on the table, which itself had slid to the far wall, slamming into some of the covered cages with a metallic clash.
The two of them, lying crumpled on the floor, upon hearing the sound of resolute footsteps on the metal walkway outside, felt their eyes drawn to the locked and bolted door, to which the footsteps were obviously heading.
As the owner of the footsteps stopped before the door, Daria could feel her breathing quicken as she stared at the metal door with wide eyes.
Any moment now…
The sound of someone gripping the door handle was quickly drowned out by Moffat's excited "Yes!" as a network of magical seals lit up on the walls while they shuddered under the stress of channelling thousands of volts of electricity into the body of the attempted intruder.
The seals continued to glow for several long moments, and the sound of crackling electricity started to become audible as the system intensified over time. As the seconds wore on, Moffat's triumphant grin slowly drooped until a worried expression covered his face.
"Hang on," he whispered, "It's not supposed to be like this. Why hasn't he died ye-"
There was a titanic crunch and then the security seals immediately flickered and died, leaving behind a sad drawn-out screech that slowly petered out.
Moffat and Daria exchanged wary glances, only for their attention to be drawn back to the door by the sound of shrieking metal, where to their horror, they could literally see the hinges and bolts warping as a tremendous pressure acted on them from outside. Daria's remaining hand flew to her mouth as she gasped, the sound escaping her involuntarily as she saw magically reinforced steel twisting like liquorice in front of her very eyes. A few violent pops sounded as a few screws were forced out of their casings, and they shot out of the door like heated corn kernels, clattering to the ground noisily.
Then, all of a sudden, it stopped.
The sound of tortured metal ceased, the assault on the hinges and locks ended- it was almost like he had given up.
Daria let out a shaky breath she hadn't even realised she had been holding…
…and screamed shrilly as the silent door was ripped bodily from its frame in a single mighty heave and sent flying back towards the surrounding forest, trailing loose screws and nuts like the tail of a comet across the sky.
A dark figure stood in the jagged doorway, a sinister dark cloak hiding his silhouette with shifting shadows. One gloved hand was gripping the doorframe, while the other hand was holding a crackling spear made of violent, pulsating electricity.
Daria swallowed at the imposing sight, and had to consciously focus on not losing control over her bladder… no, more than that… she had to manually force herself to breathe. The atmosphere in the caravan was suddenly stifling- just being in the same room as the intimidating figure was making every breath catch in her throat, making every lungful of air a battle.
Even though there were lit lamps inside the room, Daria couldn't see anything under that hood, just a faceless, impenetrable darkness. The more she stared into it, the more it seemed to draw in the light, swallow it, and greedily look for more. The inky void within that space seemed darker than black, if that was even possible. An all-consuming maw, hungering for everything light and good in the world… Daria was suddenly struck by something she had heard from her grandfather as a young child. She couldn't remember the exact words, and never learned what it was supposed to mean, but it had never seemed more relevant than now.
Stare into the abyss long enough, and the abyss will stare back.
She couldn't bear to look anymore- she tried to focus on something else… anything else. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and immediately spotted the fresh drops of crimson liquid dotting the wood. Her eyes widened, and slowly lifted to take in again the sight of the stranger in front of her, taking care to avoid resting her gaze on that terrible hood.
He was covered in blood. It was hard to tell because dark blood on black material was always hard to distinguish, but there was no mistaking the sticky gleam in the lamplight. And there was so much of it. It was running off the cloak in thick rivulets, creating slick rivers on the wooden floor, staining it a vibrant crimson.
Daria wondered if he had actually been injured by Mujarl or the caravan's security system. Maybe they hada chance to fight him off? Her rational side quickly quashed that idea though- both Moffat and her were schemers and deceivers, not fighters- and if the monster in front of them had made it this far, it meant he had gotten past Mujarl, which meant, injured or not, he was completely out of their league.
While her mind entertained these pessimistic thoughts, an ominous shape in the background- behind the man's back- suddenly caught her eye. She couldn't make it out immediately, as it had a very peculiar silhouette, like nothing she had ever seen. It seemed almost like a strange sculpture or memorial, some weird avant-garde art, perhaps. But there shouldn't be anything of that sort out there, so what was it? Especially something of that size- it easily dwarfed the surrounding trees, towering over the canopy, even larger than the caravan.
Daria felt an odd calmness steal over her as she realised what the shape was. With that realisation came the accompanying knowledge that the thing in front of her was a creature with abilities beyond her comprehension. Her impending death was a certainty, a fact written into the very fabric of the universe. There was nothing she could do, no frenzied attack, no desperate begging that could save her now.
Her life was forfeit.
Her fate had been sealed.
She accepted these facts and came to terms with her death. A flash of white seemed to dance into the edge of her vision, a lithe ivory figure prancing into view from who knows where, but Daria didn't care anymore. It wouldn't make a difference. She was going to die.
After all, what could she, or anyone do against a creature who had such inconceivable power? Someone who could warp the reality around him? Someone who could control the very elements, who could shape them to his will? Someone who could draw out every drop of electricity in a high-class magical security array and form it into an enormous god-slaying spear for his own use? Someone who could drive an enormous earthen spire into the magic-resistant, armoured hide of a northern gigante- painting the entire clearing in its blood- and displaying the corpse for all to see like some sort of grotesque skewer?
It was such a cruel question.
There was no correct answer.
Naruto cast his gaze around the interior of the caravan, his breathing a little unsteady. The necklace around his neck slowly lost its warmth and he felt himself give a sigh of relief in spite of himself. He would never forgive himself if he somehow lost them, after they had managed to work their way into his heart, after they had realised their dreams, after they had started on their journey to such a bright future.
But it was okay.
They were here.
His eyes travelled over the cowering couple on the floor without giving them more than a single harsh glance. A momentary jolt of panic made his heart skip a beat when he realised that his wards were nowhere to be found.
However, his composure, forged in countless life-or-death battles, took more than that to rattle. He took a breath and looked around again, this time with a more discerning eye and a calmer heart. Immediately, what he had first thought was some strange textured wallpaper, was actually an enormous amount of cloth flaps. The caravan's interior was much larger than he had first thought.
He reached out to pull off the flap closest to him, when he had a terrible thought. If this cloth was what he thought it was…
A sinking feeling abruptly filled his chest, and he swallowed reflexively. With a single motion, he attached a chakra thread to every flap in the caravan and tore them all off once.
Eyes.
So many, tired, hungry, pained, frightened eyes stared back at him.
Every one of the small cages that lined the expansive walls in the enormous wagon held at least two small children, every one of them looking squashed and dishevelled. The sight of every tear- fresh or dried- and every red mark from the cruel iron bars brought a new wave of sorrow and anger to Naruto.
He whirled around to glare at the slave traders on the floor, who recoiled from his furious eyes. Almost without his conscious direction, his killing intent began to leak out, an oozing miasma of hatred focussed squarely on the two in front of him. A rush of warmth filled his veins as he tapped into the Kyuubi's youki, amplifying his negative emotion and staining his eyes a vibrant red.
He growled lowly and took a step forward, only to stop abruptly as he heard a gasp from beside him.
His head snapped around to locate the source of the sound, and he saw a young boy staring up at him, abject terror evident on his face.
Naruto's eyes widened. He had been so caught up in the rush of hate and anger from the terrible sight in front of him, so focussed on revenge and making the perpetrators suffer, that he had completely forgotten that the kids were still there. Not wanting them to feel the effects of his rage any more than necessary (he knew that high amounts of killing intent could stop the hearts of children and elderly), he used his mastery over the wind to pull a pocket of air away from each child's lungs just enough that they would pass out.
Furthermore, they were young. They didn't need to be traumatised by what he was about to do to their captors.
It wasn't going to be pretty.
The Eternal Hunters stood and watched from behind as the black-cloaked mage slowly unclenched his fist. There was a soft sigh, and then the clump of red-stained earth standing upright slowly sagged to the ground, the supernatural forces holding it up finally released. What remained of the young bandit woman was in such a state that it could have fit comfortably through a sieve.
"That was a good hunt!" growled Wolf in satisfaction, his muzzle smeared with lifeblood.
Lamb sighed, lowering her bow and arrow, poised to fire.
"I thought that would be mine, too," she said mildly, "I've not had much in terms of prey today it seems."
"All the more for me!" said Wolf happily, "I like this guy, he gives us so much prey!"
"I don't," said Lamb, her usually neutral voice tinged with a hint of uncharacteristic sourness.
"That's because you're jealous of all my prey!"
Lamb shot a glance at her constant companion.
"It's not like that," she said.
"Whatever you say," said Wolf who materialised a paw and began wiping at his dripping face, licking off both paw and muzzle of delicious blood as he did so.
Lamb clicked her teeth in what was almost annoyance. It wasn't like this mortal was annoying her in particular. He was just some upstart mage who was good at killing people, it seemed. She was the one of the omnipresent aspects of death itself! One half of the mighty Kindred, a Champion of Runeterra! Just because this… man was singlehandedly giving Wolf more hunts- high quality ones too- didn't mean she was irritated. Not at all. She didn't feel silly human things like emotion anyway.
"Who are you, skulking away in the shadows over there?" came a sudden cold voice.
Lamb definitely did not squeal in surprise, because almighty representations of death do not do human things like squealing… because they do not feel human emotions like surprise.
Wolf rolled over and cast a critical eye at her, before breaking into belly-busting guffaws that led to him rolling all over the grass, his tongue lolling out in mirth.
"What the hell was that?" he gasped out through his laughs, "Did you just squeal?"
"W-what? No! I do not 'squeal'," said Lamb in what might have been indignation if she had been a human.
It must be said at this point that although her cheeks were red under her mask, she was not blushing. Like surprise, embarrassment was a human emotion.
She adjusted her mask, coughed (which was a redundant action, really, because getting sick was something that really only happened to mortals) and straightened up.
"Like I said," she said, in a stronger, more composed voice, "I just did not expect that human to start talking like that. It was almost like he was directing that question to us. Very unexpected indeed."
"Lamb…" said Wolf lowly, "There are no other humans in this clearing."
"Oh my!" said Lamb, her voice quite a bit more high-pitched than it previously was, "Fancy that! This human seems to be a little insane! After all, he's talking to himself all of a sudden!"
"I know you're there. You've been following me for a while, you two. I can sense you watching me, you know," called out the hooded figure.
"Ahaha so maybe he's got a bit of a sixth sense… he's inherited the power of premonition or something. He can feel our awesome power, he fears our deadly aura. He-"
"You there, in the white, are you monologuing? Seriously? And that's a strange dog you've got there… doesn't seem to have any legs. Hmm… well, I've seen stranger things, I guess. But you know, for people who have been sneaking around watching me for so long you aren't anything like what I thought you'd be."
Lamb felt her jaw snap shut with an audible click. She purposely kept her gaze straight, avoiding looking in Wolf's direction, who she knew was starting to laugh again, despite just having finished his last set of giggles.
Despite her cheeks flaming, which was strange because she was incapable of blushing, as that's just not what she does, she kept her expression stoic and stern, as befitting an aspect of Death. Well, no one could see it under the mask, so it didn't really matter, but it was the principle of the whole thing that was important. Lamb cared a lot about trying to act in a matter appropriate for a manifestation of death.
"Oh hey, sweet mask! And you got your dog to wear one too! Cute."
Hearing the human talk to her in such a casual tone was making Lamb bite her lip so hard that it would've bled if she was mortal and could bleed. She couldn't feel irritation, she reminded herself, irritation was an emotion for humans.
She wondered why she wanted to shoot an arrow into his heart so badly though. It wasn't his time and he hadn't done anything to warrant it… but still, for some reason, she felt like shooting the human right then would have given her a lot of satisfaction. If she could feel satisfaction, that is.
But alas, that wouldn't be appropriate for one half of Kindred, the Eternal Hunters.
So she refrained.
Reluctantly.
"Whoa, that's a good costume! Are you supposed to be like… a sheep or something?"
Even though she really, really regretted that decision.
