"Samantha Regina, you stand accused..."
While High Inquisitor Luella and the mercenary Fortis Filius handled their catch, Samantha Regina, Malefactor the Wolf stared at his own opponent, the Darkwraith. Normally, the 'untrustworthy dog' loathed combat. He avoided adherents of the Dark, and crusaders of the Light. He had befriended both types, over his many years, and come up empty handed. Those of the Dark generally became sick, and enfeebled, and those of the Light burned, in the name of sacrifice.
This time, however, it was different. Things felt old. Familiar. The Wolf looked like a young man, and for the first time in centuries, he felt like one again.
"You smell delicious. Old. I remember you. The second Wolf. Hopefully the last." The Darkwraith said, chuckling quietly.
"I can't say I remember you, wretched creature. How did I let you live?" Malefactor responded, frowning.
"You wouldn't. It was at the beginning of your long undead life. You were weak, with loss. You shuddered at the dark."
He lunged, his pilfered great sword nearly hitting the Wolf. The black armored undead was too quick, rolling to the side and assuming his standing, defensive pose again, still refusing to draw whatever eastern-styled sword rested in its sheath.
"You're a quick little thing. The fastest Hollow I've ever eaten. Congratulations." The Darkwraith said, sounding as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
Images flashed and flickered, throughout the undead's mind. A flooded city. Men, covered in black iron, and bone. Four kings, seeking to recapture the glory of a dark creature, long dead. Malefactor was there, with another. A close friend of his. A brave warrior. Someone who went into the light, never to return. Never to be remembered.
"I'm no hollow. Can't you tell by looking at my handsome face, Darkwraith?" Malefactor asked, mockingly, gesturing to his soft, pale, and tired looking visage.
"Darkwraith. You're remembering. Nobody knows my name, these days. They can't remember why they're afraid." The Creature of Dark remarked, impressed.
"I'm remembering. I remember killing a lot of people wearing armor like that. I remember killing two of your Dark Lords. Tell me, does the Dark ever get tired of losing? Do you feel angry every time I have to strike down your new Master?" The Wolf spat, words positively dripping with venom.
The Darkwraith just chuckled, as he always did.
"You can fight and cling to the Light all you want, boy. The Dark only has to win once."
"Well it won't be this time. I've lived for quite awhile, and absorbed a lot of souls. You won't beat me."
The Darkwraith swung his blade, and this time, Malefactor did not dodge, but instead drew his Katana, for the first time in hundreds of years. The blade of Hiltless dug into the palms of his gauntlets, but he was accustomed to the sharpness.
His opponent was not.