The sun hung high in the sky, casting its relentless gaze over the vast expanse of white sands that stretched endlessly in every direction. From above, the desert appeared both desolate and alive, a stark canvas of rolling dunes and shifting sands. Occasionally, the smooth undulations of the dunes were broken by the massive forms of the desert’s native behemoths.
Among these titans were the Sand Serpents, colossal creatures that moved through the dunes with a fluid grace, their long, sinuous bodies undulating beneath the surface. Each serpent was easily a hundred feet long, with scales that shimmered like molten gold in the sunlight. Despite their size, they moved with an eerie silence, their presence often only betrayed by the ripple of sand above them.
Interspersed among the dunes were the towering figures of the Sand Beetles, massive creatures that stood over thirty feet tall. Their rocky exoskeletons blended seamlessly with the desert terrain, making them appear as part of the landscape until they moved. Each step they took sent tremors through the ground, yet their movements were surprisingly swift for their size. Their powerful limbs allowed them to traverse the shifting sands with ease, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of prey or threat.
As the scene shifted from the desert’s vastness to a more focused view, the camp nestled among the dunes came into view. Tents, sturdy and well-pitched, stood in neat rows, their fabric taut against the occasional gust of wind. The camp was a temporary yet organized oasis in the heart of the desert, with clear paths and designated areas for different activities.
At the center of the encampment was the largest tent, marked by its pristine condition and the presence of a small water basin and mirror inside. The fabric of the tent was a deep, rich color, contrasting sharply with the pale sands around it. A comfortable travel bed, covered with clean sheets, sat inside, arranged with meticulous care. Despite the harsh environment, the tent exuded an air of meticulous order and serenity.
Inside the tent, Hate began to undress, her movements deliberate and methodical. She slipped out of her boots, the soft thud they made against the floor a stark contrast to the otherwise silent interior. As she pulled off her tunic, it fell to the ground with a whisper, revealing her toned physique. Her body bore the marks of countless battles: scars crisscrossed her skin, each a reminder of her resilience and strength.
She rubbed the aches on her body, checking where her last wounds had been. "Gettin' better," she muttered, her tone laced with a mixture of satisfaction and bitterness.
As she stood there, naked, her eyes traced the curves of her form in the mirror. Her feminine physique was a source of constant frustration. She scowled at the sight of her soft curves and delicate features, wishing for a more masculine appearance. The half-orc features she had inherited—her slightly protruding lower canines and the greenish hue to her skin—only added to her discontent. She ran a hand over the scar that traced down her side, a reminder of a battle long past.
"Damn these curves," she muttered to herself, her voice tinged with bitterness. "Why couldn't I look more like a warrior and less like an ornament?"
Hate turned away from the mirror in disgust, reaching for the hartsand. She took a handful and began the ritual, pouring the sand over her skin. The grains glinted in the dim light, cascading down her body like tiny diamonds. She whispered her prayers, her voice steady and strong, seeking guidance and strength for the trials ahead.
She knelt in the center of the tent, her body still and composed. Taking a handful of hartsand, she let it pour over her skin. “Guide my blade, strengthen my heart,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Another handful followed, cascading down her back. “Grant me the strength to face the darkness.”
As she reached for the third handful, the tent flap suddenly opened. “Hate, are ya done yet? We don’t have all day,” Wrath’s voice called out as he stepped inside without waiting for a response.
Hate instinctively reached for the cloth to cover herself, her eyes flashing with anger and embarrassment. Wrath, however, didn't seem to notice or care about her nakedness. His eyes were fixed on her face, his expression stern and unyielding.
"You're takin' too long. We need ta move out soon if we're ta catch that vampire," Wrath stated, his piercing green eyes fixed on Hate.
She quickly wrapped the cloth around herself, her irritation barely contained. If the others didn’t take thirty minutes each in here, I’d have a chance to finish the ritual, she thought, her frustration simmering.
"Wrath, I told you to come in when I was ready," Hate said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. She avoided looking at him directly, focusing instead on gathering her belongings.
Wrath shrugged, unimpressed. “Nothin’ worth lookin’ at anyway,” he muttered, turning to leave. “The informant’s here. Says he’s got a lead on the vampire. We need to move out soon.”
Hate nodded, her expression serious as she began to dress. She took one last look at her necklace lying among her belongings. Her hand hovered over it, hesitating, before she reluctantly pocketed it instead of wearing it.
As she stepped out of her tent, the harsh desert sunlight momentarily blinded her. As her vision adjusted, she saw her companions already gathered near the center of the camp. The tension was palpable, but there was also a sense of camaraderie, born from countless battles fought side by side.
Mercy, graceful and serene with long, flowing silver hair and soft blue eyes, adjusted her lighter armor, designed for agility. Despite her calm presence, her coldness towards Hate was evident in the way she avoided direct eye contact. “Hate, finally decided to grace us with your presence, have ya?” she called out, her tone polite but distant.
Hate lowered her head slightly in deference. “Apologies for any delay, Mercy. I’ll be quicker next time.”
Mercy’s lips pressed into a thin line, her blue eyes icy. “Excuses won’t catch that vampire.”
Valor, strong and athletic with a noble bearing, was checking his polished armor adorned with gold and blue. His clear blue eyes watched Hate with a mixture of vigilance and prejudice. “Enough talk. Let’s get movin’.”
Hate nodded, suppressing a sigh. Internally, she bristled at their condescension. One day, I’ll show you what I’m truly capable of. But for now, she kept her thoughts to herself, focusing on the mission ahead.
Outside the circle of their banter stood Slade, the informant. Slade was a wiry man with greasy black hair and shifty eyes. His mismatched clothes and perpetual five o’clock shadow made him look even more untrustworthy. He avoided direct eye contact, his demeanor nervous and suspicious. “Got some fresh info for ya lot. Not sure how reliable, but it’s the best I got,” he muttered, his voice low and shifty.
Hate nodded, her irritation momentarily forgotten as she focused on the task at hand. "Alright, let's hear it."
As they gathered around Slade, the group felt the weight of the mission ahead. Hate couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission would be a turning point for her. She had to prove herself, not just to her comrades, but to herself as well.
Slade, the wiry informant, shifted nervously under their scrutiny. His greasy black hair clung to his forehead, and his shifty eyes darted around, avoiding direct eye contact. "Right, so here's the deal," he began, his voice low and gravelly. "This vampire, it's been stealing girls from the town at night. They vanish without a trace, and those that are found are... changed. Turned."
Wrath's piercing green eyes narrowed. "And how exactly did you come by this information?" His tone was sharp, challenging.
Slade swallowed hard, glancing around at the group. "I have my ways. Let's just say I have a network. People talk, and when they do, I listen. Paid a few coin to the right ears, and they spilled what they knew."
Valor, standing tall and imposing with his noble bearing, crossed his arms over his chest. "You expect us to believe that? How do we know you're not leading us into a trap?"
Mercy, her serene presence a stark contrast to her cold demeanor towards Hate, nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Slade. Your reputation isn't exactly... sterling."
Slade's eyes flicked to each of them in turn before settling on Hate, who stood slightly apart from the others. "I get it. Trust is hard to come by. But the info is solid. You think I wanna get on the bad side of a vampire?"
Slade cleared his throat and continued, "Here's what I've gathered about the victims. There've been about a dozen girls taken so far, all from different parts of the town. They all vanished at night, no signs of struggle. Families say they were healthy one day and gone the next."
Wrath's impatience flared. "We need more than that, Slade. Details. Give us something we can use."
Slade nodded quickly. "Right, right. So, one girl, Lila, was last seen heading to the market. Another, Sarah, disappeared after visiting her grandmother. Then there was Ella, who went missing after leaving the bakery where she worked. And there's Marnie, she was last seen by her friends near the town well. Every girl has a different story, different background, but they all end the same way: gone without a trace."
Hate listened intently, her mind piecing together the fragments of information. "What about before they vanished? Anything unusual happen to them?"
Slade frowned, scratching his head. "Well, now that you mention it, there were a few things. Each girl had visited a doctor not long before they disappeared. Different doctors, though. And... yeah, they were told they had some kind of incurable disease. Weird, right?"
Hate's eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. "They were all told they had an incurable disease? By different doctors?"
Mercy raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. "Are you suggesting there's a connection, Hate?"
Wrath's eyes narrowed as he regarded Hate. "Sounds like a stretch."
Valor nodded, though his expression remained skeptical. "But it's something. If there's a common thread, we need to follow it."
Slade looked relieved that his information was being taken seriously. "That's all I've got for now. I can dig deeper, but it'll take time."
Hate turned to the group, her mind racing. "It's a lead. If we can find out more about these doctors and what they told the girls, we might be able to track the vampire's movements."
Wrath grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. We'll follow this lead. But if it turns out to be a dead end, Slade, you'll be the one answering for it."
Slade gulped, nodding vigorously. "Understood."
As the group dispersed to make their preparations, Hate couldn't help but feel a sense of determination. She had uncovered a crucial clue, and now it was up to her and her comrades to act on it. The mission was far from over, but they had a direction, a purpose. And for Hate, that was a victory in itself.
The early morning sun cast long shadows across the desert as the group packed up their camp. The air was filled with the sounds of preparation—the clinking of armor, the rustle of fabric, and the low rumble of the massive Crigants as they readied for the journey ahead. These beetle-like creatures, the size of small cars, moved with surprising grace for their bulk. Their carapaces glistened in the sunlight, and their strong legs churned the sand beneath them with ease.
Nearby, the Nuns and Knights were mounting their Vergs, bird-like creatures with leg-like wings that provided exceptional ground speed and control at the cost of flight. Their sleek feathers shimmered, and their keen eyes scanned the horizon, ever alert for danger.
Hate was busy preparing her own Verg, a sleek creature with midnight-black plumage and intelligent, amber eyes. She had named it "Shadow" for its dark feathers and swift movements. As she tightened the straps on her mount, Wrath rode up beside her on his own Verg, a large, fierce-looking bird with crimson feathers.
Wrath's piercing green eyes gleamed with amusement as he regarded her. "Ya know, Hate, I think yer mount has more to look at back there than ya do," he said with a smirk, clearly referring to having seen her naked earlier.
Hate felt a surge of anger but forced herself to stay composed. Shadow, sensing her irritation, nuzzled her gently, its soft feathers brushing against her cheek. The gesture was so endearing that it was hard for her to stay angry.
"Ignore him, Shadow," she murmured, stroking the bird's neck affectionately. "He's not worth it."
Wrath chuckled and spurred his mount forward, leaving Hate behind. She watched him go, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. The other members of the group were busy with their own preparations, paying little attention to the exchange.
Mercy, her silver hair glinting in the sunlight, was meticulously checking the saddlebags on her Verg. Her calm demeanor was unshaken by the morning's events. Valor, with his polished armor gleaming, was instructing the younger members of the group on proper riding technique, his authoritative voice carrying over the sounds of the camp.
Slade, the informant, was fussing over his Crigant, muttering to himself as he adjusted the creature's harness. The beetle responded with a low, rumbling click, as if understanding the nervous man’s every word.
Hate took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. She couldn't afford to let Wrath's taunts get to her. She had a mission to complete and a point to prove.
As they set off across the desert, the caravan moved with a steady rhythm. The Crigants plodded along, their massive feet leaving deep impressions in the sand, while the Vergs moved with swift, graceful strides. The landscape was vast and unforgiving, the endless dunes rolling like waves under the scorching sun.
Hate found herself riding near Mercy, who kept a polite distance but occasionally glanced her way. The tension between them was palpable, a silent reminder of the prejudice that Hate faced within the group.
"Mercy, any thoughts on where we should start lookin' once we reach the village?" Hate asked, trying to engage her comrade in conversation.
Mercy regarded her coolly. "We'll start by questionin' the villagers, of course. If Slade's information is accurate, we should focus on those who had dealings with the doctors. But don't expect them to be forthcoming with ya."
Hate nodded, not surprised by Mercy's bluntness. "I understand. But we'll get to the bottom of this, no matter what."
Mercy said nothing, her expression unreadable as she turned her attention back to the horizon.
Further ahead, Wrath rode alongside Valor, their conversation punctuated by laughter and the occasional jibe at Hate's expense. She could hear snippets of their talk, but she forced herself to tune it out, focusing instead on the mission ahead.
As the hours passed, the desert revealed its secrets. They passed towering rock formations, their surfaces etched with ancient carvings that hinted at a long-forgotten civilization. Small oases dotted the landscape, their crystal-clear waters a stark contrast to the surrounding barrenness. Occasionally, they would spot the distant silhouette of a Sand Beetle or hear the low rumble of a Sand Serpent moving beneath the dunes.
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Hate’s mind wandered as they rode, reflecting on the harsh beauty of the desert and the challenges that lay ahead. She knew that this mission was more than just a test of her skills—it was a chance to prove herself to her comrades and to solidify her place within the order.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the sand, they finally stopped to make camp for the night. The tents were pitched quickly and efficiently, each member falling into their well-practiced roles. The sounds of preparation filled the air once more as they settled in for the evening.
Hate found a quiet spot near her tent, Shadow resting beside her. She stroked the Verg's feathers, finding comfort in the familiar routine. The day's journey had been grueling, but it had also strengthened her resolve.
Tomorrow, they would reach the village and begin their investigation. Hate knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but she was ready to face whatever challenges came her way. She had come too far to back down now.
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The sun was high in the sky as Hate and her companions approached the city of Verinfall. The city emerged from the desert like a mirage, its sandstone walls and tall, intricately carved towers standing in stark contrast to the endless dunes. The air was filled with the sounds of bustling activity, the hum of conversation, and the distant clang of metal on metal from the blacksmiths’ forges.
Verinfall was a critical travel hub, nestled at the crossroads of major trade routes connecting the Kotar Theocracy, the Freelands, and the Wilderness. It was a vibrant tapestry of cultures, races, and customs, all converging in a chaotic but harmonious blend. The streets were lined with stalls selling exotic spices, finely crafted textiles, precious metals, and intricate weaponry. The scent of unfamiliar foods and the sound of merchants hawking their wares filled the air, creating a sensory overload that was both overwhelming and exhilarating.
Hate’s eyes widened in awe as she took in the sights. She had grown up in a small hamlet, a place where life was simple and quiet. The sheer scale and energy of Verinfall were unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her gaze wandered over the towering spires of the Temple of Eternal Light, its golden domes gleaming in the sunlight, and the bustling Golden Market, teeming with life and activity.
As they made their way through the crowded streets, the group was soon met by the city’s local militia. The guards, clad in leather armor and armed with spears, blocked their path with stern expressions.
“State yer business,” one of the guards demanded, his eyes narrowing as he took in their weapons and armor.
“We’re here on a mission from the Kotar Theocracy,” Wrath replied, his tone brusque. “We have orders to investigate the recent vampire attacks.”
The guard’s expression hardened. “You think you can just waltz into our city armed to the teeth and expect us to let ya through without a fuss? We’ve had enough trouble as it is.”
Wrath’s eyes flashed with irritation, but before he could respond, a commanding voice cut through the tension.
“That’s enough, Captain,” the voice said. “These are our guests.”
The leader of the town, Aszir Al-Bran, stepped forward. He was a tall man with a regal bearing, his robes of deep blue and gold marking him as a person of importance. His dark eyes held a calm authority that immediately commanded respect.
“Forgive my men,” Aszir said, inclining his head slightly in apology. “They are merely doing their duty. I am Aszir Al-Bran, the leader of Verinfall. I have been expecting you.”
Wrath nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Thank you, Aszir. We’re here to help.”
Aszir smiled, though there was a hint of weariness in his eyes. “We are grateful for your assistance. The recent events have left our city in a state of fear and uncertainty. Please, come with me. You will be under my protection during your stay.”
The tension in the air eased as the guards stepped aside, allowing the group to pass. As they followed Aszir through the streets, Hate couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. The city’s leader seemed both capable and welcoming, and his presence reassured her that they were in good hands.
As they walked, Aszir spoke of the recent troubles that had befallen Verinfall. “We have had several disappearances over the past few weeks,” he explained. “Young women, taken from their homes in the dead of night. The people are terrified, and the city’s morale is crumbling. We have heard rumors of a vampire, but no one has seen it and lived to tell the tale.”
Hate listened intently, her mind already working to piece together the information. The gravity of their mission weighed heavily on her, but she was determined to prove herself and help these people.
They arrived at a large, elegant building that served as the town hall. Aszir led them inside, where they were greeted by the cool, shaded interior and the sight of a long table laden with refreshments.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Aszir said, gesturing to the table. “We will discuss the details of your mission here.”
As they took their seats, Hate’s eyes wandered over the intricate tapestries adorning the walls, each one telling a story of Verinfall’s rich history. She felt a sense of awe and responsibility, knowing that their actions here could shape the future of this city.
Aszir took his place at the head of the table, his expression grave. “I know the task ahead is daunting, but I have faith in your abilities. Together, we will uncover the truth and put an end to these atrocities.”
Hate nodded, her resolve strengthening. As the group settled into their seats, Hate felt the weight of their mission press down on her shoulders. Aszir, seated across from them, regarded the group with a mixture of curiosity and concern. His presence was commanding, yet approachable.
"We've gathered some crucial information regarding the disappearances," Hate began, her voice steady and clear. "The victims are all young women who visited a local doctor, Dr. Velrin, weeks or months before they went missing. Each of these women was told they had some sort of incurable disease."
Aszir's eyebrows rose in surprise, clearly impressed by the thoroughness of their investigation. "You've managed to gather quite a bit of information already. This is promising."
Mercy chimed in, her tone professional. "We believe this doctor might be linked to the vampire. The similarities between the cases are too coincidental to ignore."
Valor nodded in agreement, adding, "Aye, we suspect that Dr. Velrin might be more involved than he's lettin' on. We need to investigate him further."
Aszir leaned back in his chair, absorbing the information. "This is a solid lead. I didn't expect you to come with such detailed insights before even meeting with me. It speaks to your capability."
Wrath, seizing the moment, stood up dramatically. "We'll take this job, Aszir. We'll find this vampire and see it dead. No monster will escape our wrath!"
The declaration hung in the air, echoing through the room. Aszir looked taken aback by Wrath's intensity, while Mercy and Valor exchanged embarrassed glances. Hate, however, clapped enthusiastically, genuinely impressed by Wrath's conviction.
"That's the spirit, Wrath!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine admiration.
Wrath shot her an annoyed look, clearly irritated by her support. The rest of the group couldn't help but feel a mix of amusement and exasperation at the over-the-top display.
Aszir, regaining his composure, smiled wryly. "Your determination is commendable. Very well, I'll arrange for you to meet with Dr. Velrin tomorrow mornin'. In the meantime, you can visit the families of the victims. Be cautious, though. The city is on edge, and not everyone is willin' to cooperate."
Wrath sat back down, his dramatic flair dissipating into a more serious demeanor. "We won't let ye down, Aszir."
The meeting concluded, and the group stepped out of the town hall into the cool evening air. The streets of Verinfall were beginning to quiet down, with people retreating into their homes as the sun set. The flickering lights of the street lamps cast long shadows, creating an eerie atmosphere.
Mercy spoke first, her voice breaking the silence. "We should start by visitin' the families. The sooner we understand their perspective, the better."
Valor nodded in agreement. "Aye, and we need to be thorough with Dr. Velrin. He might be hidin' somethin'."
They started splitting up the work, with Mercy and Valor deciding to handle the closest houses. Wrath, in his usual manner, took the easiest route, leaving Hate with the three houses furthest from their current location. It was clear to everyone that this was intentional, a subtle form of hazing. Hate didn't say anything, simply sighing internally and trying to make light of it in her mind.
"Aye, I suppose I'll get my exercise in for the day," she thought to herself, her lips twitching into a faint smile.
"Alright, Mercy and I will handle the houses on this side," Valor declared. "Wrath, ye take the middle ground. Hate, ye've got the outskirts."
Hate nodded, keeping her expression neutral. "Understood. I'll see ye all back here once I'm done."
"Don't get lost now," Wrath said with a smirk, his tone dripping with mockery.
Hate ignored him, adjusting her gear and preparing for the long walk ahead. She was determined to prove herself, no matter how far they tried to push her.
As she set off, the city of Verinfall stretched out before her, a sprawling network of winding streets and bustling alleys. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the city in a twilight glow. Street lamps flickered to life, their golden light casting long shadows that danced on the cobblestones.
Her first destination was an hour's walk away, deep in the poorer side of town. As she walked, she passed through various districts, each with its own unique character. The central market was still lively, with vendors calling out their wares and shoppers haggling for the best prices. She navigated through the crowd, her eyes scanning for any signs of trouble.
Gradually, the vibrant market gave way to narrower streets and older buildings. The hustle and bustle faded, replaced by a quieter, more subdued atmosphere. The houses here were smaller, more cramped, with signs of wear and tear visible on every corner. The air was thick with the scent of cooking fires and the occasional whiff of something less pleasant.
As she moved deeper into the poor side of town, the presence of street rats became more noticeable. They scurried along the edges of the alleyways, their eyes gleaming in the dim light. Children played in the streets, their laughter a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. Adults watched her with wary eyes, their expressions a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
Hate's nun armor drew many glances. The stark black and silver design stood out against the drab backdrop of the neighborhood. The armor was both functional and ceremonial, designed to provide protection while symbolizing her dedication to the Theocracy. Her chest plate was adorned with the sigil of the deity of the Sands, a sunburst motif with intricate detailing. Her pauldrons and greaves were polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the faint light of the street lamps.
The most striking feature of her armor was the helmet, which she had tucked under her arm for now. It was designed to resemble the visage of a serene, angelic figure, its eyes narrowed in determination. The helmet served both as protection and as a reminder of the ideals she strived to uphold. Around her neck hung a simple, silver necklace with a small, intricately carved pendant—a symbol of her faith. She hesitated for a moment, then slipped it into her pocket, feeling a pang of doubt she couldn't quite shake.
As she walked, she felt the eyes of the townsfolk on her. Some looked at her with reverence, recognizing the authority her armor represented. Others, particularly the children, gazed with wide-eyed wonder. But there were also those who eyed her with distrust, their faces hard and unforgiving. To them, she was an outsider, a symbol of a power that had little regard for their daily struggles.
The house was small and shabby, with a crumbling facade and a broken fence. Children played in the dirt yard, their laughter tinged with the harsh reality of their surroundings. The smell of cooking mingled with the musty scent of decay, creating a poignant reminder of the lives lived within these walls. Hate approached the door and knocked firmly. While waiting, she quickly smoothed her hair, attempting to appear more professional. Just as she finished, the door creaked open. A boy, no older than twelve, stood before her with a bravado that seemed to belie his age, as if he were the master of the house.
Hate addressed him with the mechanical nature of the Sisterhood. “I require the house owner to speak with.”
The boy’s expression hardened. “I’m the only one you’re gonna get. Mum got snatched up and Da took the coward’s way out,” he said, his voice steady but filled with a pain that caught Hate off guard.
For a moment, Hate was at a loss. She quickly recalibrated, dropping the standard civilian interaction guidelines. She softened her demeanor and took a knee, lowering herself to the boy’s eye level. “Ye’re very brave, holdin’ things together like this. Are ye here alone?”
The boy hesitated, his bravado faltering. From behind the door, a small girl peeked out, her eyes wide and fearful. The boy sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Just me and my little sister.”
Hate nodded, offering a gentle smile. “Ye’re doin’ an amazin’ job. What’s yer name?”
“Jaren,” the boy replied. “And this is Lila.”
“Nice to meet ye, Jaren and Lila,” Hate said softly. “I’m here to help. Can ye tell me more about what happened to yer mum?”
Jaren’s eyes welled with tears, but he held them back, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. “She got sick a few months ago. Went to the doctor and they said it was some incurable disease. Then, one night, she just... disappeared.”
As Jaren spoke, Hate’s mind raced, piecing together the clues. The description of the disease, the timing of the disappearances, it all fit into a pattern. Internally, she visualized the information on a digital board, connecting the dots in a way that felt almost second nature to her.
Disappeared after visiting the doctor. Disease. Night. Vanished without a trace.
In her mind, Alexa’s voice echoed, a reminder of her previous life. This wasn’t just a mission; it was a puzzle, a game she needed to win. The connection was clear. These disappearances were systematic, likely linked to the same vampire they were hunting.
Hate refocused on Jaren, her resolve hardening. “Thank ye for tellin’ me, Jaren. We’re goin’ to find out what happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Jaren looked at her, hope flickering in his eyes. “Do ye really think ye can find her?”
Hate nodded firmly. “We’ll do everythin’ we can. Stay strong, Jaren. Yer mum would be proud of ye.”
As she stood, she felt a surge of determination. This was more than a mission; it was a chance to make a real difference. With a final reassuring smile to Jaren and Lila, she turned and walked away, her mind already formulating the next steps.
As Hate left the house, lost in thought, she stepped back onto the street only to find it unusually empty. The kids who had been playing earlier were nowhere to be seen. Instead, a small group of men lingered at the end of the street, watching her with predatory eyes. Each of them bore the distinctive features of half-orcs, their hulking frames and brutish expressions making their intentions clear.
“Hey there, Nun! Lookin’ for some divine intervention?” one of them jeered, his voice dripping with mockery. He was tall and muscular, his broad shoulders straining against his ragged shirt. In his hand, he held a punch dagger, its blade glinting menacingly in the fading light.
Another chimed in, grinning lecherously. “Aye, how about a little blessin’ from us? We got plenty to offer.” This one was slightly shorter but just as imposing, with a wicked-looking sword strapped to his back. His teeth, sharp and yellow, flashed in a cruel smile.
A third added, “Bet that holy armor looks even better off, eh lads?” He was the largest of the group, a mountain of muscle with a pike resting on his broad shoulder. His beady eyes were filled with malice as he looked her up and down.
Hate ignored them, her face a mask of cold indifference. She tried to walk past them, her voice firm and unyielding. “Disperse. Now.”
One of the men, clearly the leader, sneered at her command. “Feck that,” he said, drawing a punch dagger from his belt. “Nun gear fetches a good amount of scars on the black market. And look, she’s all alone.” He was lithe and agile, with a cruel intelligence in his eyes. His punch dagger gleamed, and Hate knew he was quick and dangerous.
Hate sighed, her patience wearing thin. If the others didn’t take so long in there, I’d have finished the ritual. “This is your final warning. Disperse.”
Another man laughed, stepping forward. “What are ya gonna do, nunny? Pray us away?” He reached out and lightly backhanded her cheek, a mocking tap tap. He was shorter than the others but wiry, his muscles coiled like a spring ready to strike. He had a pair of claws strapped to his hands, their edges serrated and deadly.
Hate calmly stepped back, a steely resolve in her eyes. She reached for her helmet and slipped it on, her voice a cold promise. “You were warned.”
As she secured the helmet, her armor began to hum and whirr, the intricate mechanisms coming to life. The once-dull metal plates now glowed with a blue luminescence, the power suit’s systems activating. The eyes of her mask blazed with an intense blue light, casting an eerie glow around her.
The men hesitated, their bravado faltering at the sight of her transformation. Yet, they held their ground, drawing a motley array of weapons. One had a lasso, twirling it with a menacing grin. Another brandished a club, its surface studded with cruel spikes. A third wielded a mace, swinging it experimentally as if savoring the thought of using it.
One of the men, trying to muster some semblance of courage, sneered, “Think ya’re all tough now, do ya? We’ll see about that!” He was brandishing a net, clearly intending to capture her.
In her heads-up display, Hate analyzed each man, quickly assessing their threat levels. Twelve against one were not good odds, even in power armor. She noted their weapons and their builds, calculating her moves. The leader, with his quick reflexes and cruel eyes, was the most dangerous. The man with the pike had reach but would be slower. The one with the claws was a wildcard, his speed making him unpredictable.
The tension hung thick in the air, the street deathly silent save for the hum of Hate’s armor. This was a moment of reckoning, a testament to her resolve and strength, and a stark warning to any who would dare to cross her.
“You should have listened,” she said, her voice cold and menacing. “Now, you’ll learn why I’m called Hate.”
The men glanced at each other, a flicker of doubt crossing their faces. But their greed and arrogance held them in place, unwilling to back down. One of them, trying to mask his fear with bravado, spat on the ground and said, “Let’s see what ya got, nunny.”
With a sudden roar, they charged at her, weapons raised. The leader swung his punch dagger, aiming for her throat. The man with the pike lunged forward, trying to impale her. The others followed, their weapons a chaotic blur of steel and malice.
Hate braced herself, her mind calm and focused. She had faced worse odds before. This was just another trial, another test of her strength and will. As the first blow came down, she moved, her armor a blur of light and power.
The fight had begun, and Hate was ready.