Author's Preface
Year 765 Manuk Soulstone
The sky shone at Manuk's brightest time of the year cycle, even as it dips below the horizon, the nights during this month are bright. The twin moons and sea of stars glistening brilliant blue against the darkness of the sky, power by every drip of Manuk's strong radiance even after the horizon swallows him. Powerful and beautiful, all things a certain individual hates the most.
The individual will wish the world can be in endless darkness with blizzards freezing everything in sight. This one shuffles around the shadows of a building to avoid the light of the night. Darkness always felt so comforting when partaking on the lesser favorable forms of magic.
This stranger is around seventy inches, thin even beneath the darkened scholarly deep brown robes and boots as dark as it. The hood is on, hiding away the thinness of his cheeks and the lack of healthy color on his blue veiny skin. Lips darkened from a chill that cannot be explained since it isn’t the cold season, bloodshot eyes with the irises as black as slate. His hood drapes heavily around his head, shrouding his grease-slicked hair and his blue-chilled ears.
Thinness made him look frail, but he is far from it. The center of his robe had the symbol of an unknown family line. The symbol of a long-fanged-spotted furred canine with pointed ears, and a big snout. The creature is known as a crocotta, a creature of fantasy that will mimic Moarin speech to fool its victims and eat their flesh.
The man wore it with pride while waltzing through the darkened hallways of this manor. No one is up to watch him slink through the shadows, the way he walks in such a slow space suggests that he had all the time in Erathea to get to wherever. And no one can stop him.
This shrouded figure finds what he is looking for, a hidden passageway just behind the standing statue of a long-forgotten alchemist knight, One-Eye Fromir Caem. A statue that stood at seventy-six inches in height, wearing stone armor up to the stone long-beard. The statue stuck a sword to the pedestal it stood on. The elements of water, earth, and air dance around the weapon and the stone knight.
"You missed me yet, old fool?" Chimes the shrouded figure, getting no answer from the statue only had him smile in joy as his fingers rope around the pommel end of the sword to twist it. The statue caves into the wall, the device making the statue recede into the wall to reveal the hidden doorway that leads downstairs. The looming darkness should have deterred any strangers. This man only cackles at it, skipping down the steps cheerfully.
This place is dimly lit; he won’t be able to see the artwork on the walls even if his nose is pressing on the cold stone. This is not the reason he is here; he got a better goal. He descends the steps that appears to have no end, his footfalls echoing in the darkness. Any longer in the darkness and he might hallucinate.
It didn’t take long, he bounces on the end of the steps and regards the treasure trove of torture devices lining up walls, tables, and chairs. Blood stains these devices forever a rusty hue. Unless the owner of these devices opts to get new ones, there is nothing that can be done to repair them.
Fresh blood trails the ground, a perfect guide for this individual.
The shrouded man follows the trickle of blood, finding pieces of mortal parts all over the ground. Whoever is the cause of the bloodshed is being extremely messy. Leaving lonely fingers, tongues, eyeballs, and teeth everywhere.
Just not his style of carnage, finding the beauty of impaling enemies more worthwhile. Their gargle screams as their pierced lungs failed to fill with air always thrilled this kind of killer.
He steps on a stray eyeball and laughs, amused by the simple squish sound. "BY ANUKRIN! YOUR SUCH A MESSY KILLER!"
His voice bounces on the underground walls. Then complete silence. The silence got more ominous, not even a squeak from a bile rat can be heard within this place. No fear ran through this shrouded man, blue lips curling upward instead of cowering. The walls vibrate with the sounds of footfalls ahead of him. In the distance, light flickers small against the large expanse of darkness. He continues forward. The closer he got, the more he notices the silhouette of another male. This male held up a candlelight with gloves drenched in blood. Correction, this shrouded villain can see nothing, but blood caked right up the collar of this individual.
"Viktor..." This man's voice rumbles in his throat, probably fighting away the outrage. He stands tall and proper, the closer the shrouded man-Viktor-got the more of his features he can see.
This man kept a mask over his nose and mouth, showing only his broad brown eyebrows and piercing copper eyes. Graying brown hair swept back neatly despite the rest of him is caked in blood. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes are the only sign that this man is a lot older. Certainly, he kept his posture straight and Chemuk graced this man with broad shoulders to make his tall frame look royally intimidating. It is all hilarious to Viktor. "Why so glum to see me, friend?"
"Hmph." The man did not share the same humor, turning back towards where he came from.
"Aw, come on! My lord, you shouldn't be this grumpy with all that blood." Viktor follows the older male, not at all fearful. Besides, these two share more than just the mutual joy out of the sight of blood and death.
"Every day that you fail to find him... there is one more soul added to the Trail. I have lost the joy even out of my projects, thanks to your incompetence." The old man grumbles, finding his way through the darkness easily with just a candle. This man vacates here at a regular, tasting the homicidal fantasies that is considered a privilege to some as sick as himself. Must be nice to be rich.
"Well. Great news! My sources have found a trail!" Viktor's foot felt the crunch of something else and decide it is best not to get distracted by the sound.
This old man whips around to face him. "Like the last few times? Your sources were always so brain dead...I'd be a fool to believe every lead from their beaks."
"Ouch. They are only HALF brain dead. This time it's for certain. The closest resemblance we have gotten in the longest." Viktor pulls out a yellow rolled piece of paper and hands it over to the older gentleman.
This copper-eyed individual scoffs after studying the artwork on it. "Foolish boy..."
"Grand! I have a perfect plan for you~!" Viktor claps his palms together, the sick smile creeping up to his ears. "But that can wait. Show me your latest piece of art...my lord."