do.
With a nod to Dominicus, his weapons master took to the woods under the veil of night. His stealthy form slipped in and out of trees, far beyond what Lazarus could see—though he still felt the man’s presence. He sensed each of the enemy souls as the ex-mercenary quietly slipped close and then divested them of their life. There was no whisper of their last goodbyes in the dark, no cries of outrage. They merely ceased to exist—just the way rats should be dealt with.
One by one they dropped, and the feeling of their souls blinked out—until there were only three: Dominicus, his target, and the unlucky bastard who drew the short stick and would feed Lazarus’ demons that night.
He went for the latter, trailing through the woods with the same silence his assassin had helped him hone years ago. The darkness was a void he knew well, Lazarus thought as he pulled the wraith from his skin.
The vile creature was once a man, a rage thief gone mad. He’d killed himself, but his magic hadn’t been ready to return to the Gods and a wraith was born. A creature of pain that existed in-between, created from the harvested soul of its owner that wasn’t strong enough to hold all the rage it had consumed. This one had the ability to blend shadows and sense misery.
It suited Lazarus quite nicely as he wrapped it around him like a cloak and took to the darkness. Animals scattered, unable to see him, but sensing his presence and the vileness of the wraith. They had an uncanny way of grasping what their human counterparts could not.
As if to prove his point, the enemy mercenary came into view. He was stout man, but thickly built. The top of his head was balding, and his goatee was dark and well-kept. Lazarus hadn’t seen the man before, which meant he was either new or too incompetent to warrant notice. Lazarus had a feeling it was both. Not many would take a contract on him these days. There was a reason for it, and he planned to remind whichever royal brat that sent him of that.
He moved like a shadow, his thick, calloused hand already wrapped around the back of the man’s neck before the fool could utter a word.
“Let’s take a walk,” he murmured into the would-be killer’s ear. “Shall we?” The wraith curled closer, reaching for the fiend as he attempted to struggle before finding it futile.
He didn’t open his mouth to plead or beg or cry as many did when caught, Lazarus noted with a sliver of respect. He’d meet his death either way. It was the ones that stuck to their word that were the hardest to break. This would not happen quietly.
Lazarus looked to the trees and the sky, recognizing that while it might be night there was another moving toward him from nearby the camp. He stopped in the clearing where Dominicus awaited him.
He thrust his chin towards the woods, still not recognizing this soul just yet. Dominicus followed his command and started for the tree line just as Lazarus pushed his prey to his knees. The other man went to the ground easily, and when he looked into his eyes, Lazarus could tell that he knew his death was coming. He’d accepted it.
How refreshing, he thought.
“You know how this goes,” Lazarus started. “You can either speak and die swiftly, or draw this out and learn how unpleasant I can be. The choice is yours.” The man’s lips pressed together and he lowered his gaze from the tree line, and Lazarus sighed. “So be it.”
He commanded the wraith away and shifted to call forward a different beast when a thump and a curse stole his attention. Lazarus clamped one hand around the man’s shoulder and half-turned to see Quinn striding forward, followed by Dominicus who was rubbing his jaw.
“You pack a mean right hook,” his guard grunted.
“You held a sword to my throat, what did you expect—” Quinn’s voice stopped short when she saw him. Her eyes dropped, and she tilted her head—getting a peek of the man he needed information from. He could sense the shift in her … not of revulsion, but something far more interesting.
“What are you doing here, Quinn?” he asked her. The woman’s eyes never left the man kneeling at his feet as she slowly walked forward. A certain dark gleam entering her gaze.
“Quinn…” Dominicus started, more hesitant than he was only moments before.
It happened fast