The moon hung low over the horizon, its pale light casting long shadows across the rugged path leading to the distant cove. Malric moved silently, his skeletal frame making no sound against the rocky terrain. The ledger from the Basilisk’s Fang courier had revealed the shipment’s destination—a hidden cove just outside the city, nestled in the crags of a jagged coastline.

The air grew heavy with salt as he neared his target, the faint crash of waves against the shore masking his careful movements. Malric’s thoughts churned. This shipment was vital to the Fang, that much was certain, but the magic he sensed on the pages hinted at something far more significant. Power hummed faintly in the air, whispering promises of strength and danger in equal measure.

"This could be my first true step toward understanding them," Malric thought, his clawed hands tightening at his sides. He was no mere pawn in this game of shadowy schemes and whispered secrets. He would turn their tools against them, make their own strength his, and in doing so, climb higher than any undead had a right to.

The path opened to a broad, rocky beach lit by lanterns scattered across the cove. Workers moved hurriedly, unloading crates from a docked ship that swayed with the incoming tide. A hulking overseer barked orders from the center of the operation, his voice rough and commanding.

Malric melted into the shadows, his enhanced perception picking up the faintest traces of magic in the air. His senses narrowed onto a large crate near the center of the dock, its aura faint but unmistakable. That was his target.

His bone claws scraped gently against the rock as he adjusted his position to get a better view. He counted a dozen guards, their swords glinting in the lantern light. Lesser members of the Basilisk’s Fang, their movements marked by laziness and overconfidence. The overseer, however, stood apart. He radiated discipline, and his watchful eyes missed little.

"The guards are complacent," Malric mused, his lipless jaw curling into a semblance of a grin. "But the overseer will complicate things. He might know more than he lets on."

Malric studied the scene, his mind racing through possible strategies. The guards' patrol patterns were sloppy, their attention more on their conversations than the shipment. With a little patience and precision, he could slip past them unnoticed.

The overseer was another matter entirely. His focus lingered on the magical crate, a testament to its importance. Perhaps the man was tied to the shipment’s secret, or perhaps he was simply a cautious handler. Either way, Malric couldn’t risk him raising an alarm.

His fingers twitched, and he tested the sharpness of his claws against the rock. The faint scrape was a reminder of their lethality, but also of the weight of his choices. A direct confrontation would be risky; subtlety would serve him better here. His magic itched at the edges of his awareness, shadowy tendrils eager to stretch and bind.

"Use their arrogance against them," Malric thought, a cold determination settling in his hollow chest.

Keeping low, Malric began his approach. The shadows clung to him like a second skin as he navigated the rocky shoreline. He paused as a guard veered off from the group, a flickering lantern in his hand. The man hummed to himself, oblivious to the death stalking him.

Malric struck with surgical precision, his claws slicing through the man’s throat in a swift, fluid motion. He caught the body before it fell, dragging it into the shadows. Blood pooled on the stones, dark and slick.

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The dock grew closer, the lantern light brighter. Malric waited for the right moment, slipping from shadow to shadow as the guards shifted their positions. He reached the magical crate, its faint aura pulsating beneath his touch.

The overseer’s voice broke the silence. “You there! What are you doing?”

Malric froze, the weight of his gamble sinking in. Had he been seen, or was the man addressing another worker? He turned slightly, ready to disappear into the darkness if the need arose. The overseer’s heavy steps echoed across the dock, and Malric readied himself for what came next.

The faint scrape of boots against stone reached Malric’s ears before the voice did.

"You don't belong here," the overseer muttered, his voice low and threatening.

Malric’s claws flexed, shadows coiling around him like serpents preparing to strike.

The overseer stood a few feet from Malric, his broad frame casting a shadow over the magical crate. His face was scarred, weathered by years of toil and violence, and his piercing eyes bore into Malric with suspicion.

“You don’t look like one of ours,” the overseer growled, his hand resting on the hilt of a heavy longsword. “State your business.”

Malric didn’t move, his undead form shrouded in shadow. He had seconds to decide—fight, flee, or talk his way out. Despite the tension, a twisted smile tugged at his skeletal features.

“You’re observant,” Malric replied, his voice a rasping whisper. “But not observant enough. If you were, you’d know who I serve.”

The overseer’s grip on his sword tightened. “Bold words. I’ve seen enough liars to know the smell of one. Who sent you?”

Malric’s mind raced, piecing together what little he knew of the Basilisk’s Fang. He needed to manipulate the man’s paranoia, use his own loyalties as a weapon.

“Do you really think I’d answer that?” Malric hissed. “Let’s just say your leaders value results over questions. And right now, you’re wasting my time.”

The overseer narrowed his eyes, his suspicion unwavering. “I don’t trust ghosts in the night. Especially ones who can’t prove their worth.” He took a step closer, his sword partially drawn.

Malric held his ground, his magic flickering at the edge of his awareness. The tendrils of his Shadow Grasp spell coiled beneath the dock, ready to ensnare the man if needed.

“What’s in the crate?” Malric asked abruptly, his voice cutting through the tension. “Or are you too low in the chain to know?”

The overseer’s face darkened, and Malric saw his gamble strike a nerve.

“You think you can waltz in here and question me?” the man spat. “I’ll tell you this much—it’s not meant for prying eyes. Especially not yours.”

Malric shifted slightly, feigning an air of casual indifference. “Then you’d better hope your superiors don’t hear about your... hesitations. They don’t reward doubt, do they?”

The overseer’s hand faltered for a moment, his expression betraying the faintest hint of unease.

The pause was all Malric needed. He acted swiftly, the shadows beneath the dock surging upward to wrap around the overseer’s legs. The man roared, his sword clattering to the ground as he struggled against the dark tendrils.

Malric stepped forward, his skeletal frame illuminated by the lantern’s flickering light. The overseer’s eyes widened in horror as he took in the undead’s true form.

“What... what are you?” the man choked out, his voice trembling.

“I am what your masters fear,” Malric replied coldly, his claws glinting as he leaned closer. “Now, you’re going to tell me everything about this shipment—or you’ll join the shadows you fight against.”

The overseer struggled, his strength waning as the magical grip tightened. Finally, he gritted his teeth and spat out a response.

“It’s... it’s an artifact,” he growled. “Meant for the Basilisk’s inner circle. I don’t know what it does, but it’s powerful. Dangerous.”

Malric tilted his head, his hollow eyes narrowing. “Where is it being sent?”

“An outpost,” the overseer gasped. “North of the city, near the old quarry. That’s all I know, I swear!”

Malric considered the man’s words, weighing their truth. The overseer’s fear was palpable, and his desperation lent credibility to his confession. Still, Malric had no intention of leaving loose ends.

“You’ve served your purpose,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

“No, wait—” the overseer began, but his plea was cut short as the shadows constricted, crushing the life from him in a silent, brutal moment. His body fell limp, collapsing into the dark.

Malric stood over the corpse, his claws twitching with residual tension. The faint hum of the magical crate called to him, but he resisted the urge to linger. He had what he needed—the next step in his search for the Basilisk’s Fang.

Malric moved swiftly, dragging the overseer’s body into the shadows where it would remain hidden until morning. The guards were still oblivious, their chatter and laughter masking the subtle sounds of his departure.

As he slipped away from the cove, Malric’s thoughts churned. The Basilisk’s Fang was within reach, but the closer he came, the more dangerous his path became. He flexed his claws, his resolve hardening.

“Artifacts, outposts, inner circles...” he muttered to himself. “They think their schemes will protect them. But I’ll use their secrets to carve a path straight through their heart.”

The shadows swallowed him as he disappeared into the night, a predator in search of his next prey.