The man in silver and black crested the hill upon his war horse, the finest bred beast in the land. It pawed softly at the dirt as the man paused, his gaze flickering between each of the hovels that passed for buildings in the town below. No lights burned in any this late.

The silence wrapped around the man and his men like coiled death, waiting to strike. They gathered behind him, a hundred in number, and no words needed to be said between them – these men were Hunters handpicked for this task, masters of their deadly craft.

Finally, satisfied at what he had seen, the man spurred his beast onwards, trotting it towards the town. His force of troops followed on foot, the muffled clinking of metal echoing softly in the night. Each Hunter was equipped with a variety of weapons and tools suited for a singular purpose – executing rogue sorcerers.

The man in silver and black stopped outside the first hovel along the dirt roadway and raised his hand back towards his troops. One towards the front brought forward a flaming torch the fire at its end danced harrowingly in the night.

The man swung the torch forward, and the eager flame leapt onto the hovel. Soon the entire building was ablaze. From within, a voice began screaming, though whether it was that of a woman or a child, the man did not know, nor did he care.

He gestured again, and some of his force split off from the bulk, two groups each headed by a man with a flaming torch of his own. They moved off, burning more buildings as they went, circling around the perimeter of the town.

The remaining contingent carried onwards, further into the town’s centre. The man kept a watchful eye out, regarding each poorly built building. The houses seemed to somewhat improve in quality as they rode, and some might have been stores or taverns. Some were already burning.

Cries from the townsfolk had begun ring in the night as the man and his army finally arrived in the town’s centre – more of an unoccupied patch of dirt more than anything. The small square was dimly lit by the flaming buildings around it, which gave off a hazy, flickering light.

“Sir?” Asked one of the higher-ranking Hunters near the man – Claro was his name. “Maybe they caught wind. Moved on.”

The man paused before answering, then turned to look at the Hunter. The light of the fire danced in his dark eyes.

“Perhaps. Even so, these townspeople are guilty of harbouring them, of withholding them from me.” His slate features lay half hidden in shadows. “Kill them all.”

Claro saluted, then barked an order.

 A building exploded and a fireball engulfed the square.

“Pyro!” Screamed Claro, frantically smothering the small fires on his clothes. The rest of the Hunters were doing the same. The man didn’t bother.

A woman came hurtling from a nearby shack, howling as she approached. Fire leapt from her outstretched hand, a stream of glowing heat which washed over the nearest of the soldiers. They were prepared for this, however, and most quickly raised a shield coated in ammonium phosphate. Some reacted too slow and fell to the ground screaming.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Shields ready!” Yelled Claro over the commotion. “Marksmen forward!”

Hunters nearest the woman circled her, bracing themselves from her attacks behind their shields. More Hunters with rifles approached, using the shield-bearers as cover. Some reeled back, set aflame, but soon shots rang out in the square. The woman crumpled backwards with a gurgle, blood spurting from numerous bullet holes. The rifleman continued firing at the now dead corpse, until the man in silver and black raised a fist. The gunfire ceased immediately.

The man dismounted from his horse, and strode over to the woman’s body, spurs clanking as he walked. He slid a Blooded sword from its sheath on his waist. The blade glittered in his hands, lengthening and shifting like a current of water. He pulled the woman’s head up by her soot-stained hair and cleaved it from her neck in one swing, casually tossing it aside.

In the distance, two more buildings exploded, on opposite sides of the town. The man turned to Claro.

“Take half the men that way.” He pointed towards where one of the buildings had exploded. “Expect a trap.”

Claro saluted, forearm held horizontal to his head, and marched off with a contingent of Hunters. The man turned, heading off with his own towards the other explosion, leaving his horse with a handful of carers.

Around him, fire raged in each house. There would be no rebuilding from this. The man wiped his bloodied gloves on his cape as he strode onwards, his men filing out behind him. The street narrowed here, and smoke obscured the man’s view. He stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowed.

Glass shattered as a man in rags leapt through a window into the slew of Hunters. Shards of ice formed in his hands as he whirled through them, slicing expertly through crowd. Blood sprayed from slashed necks and legs before most of the Hunters could react, felling several of the elite soldiers.

Another two men leapt through the shattered window, one with flames curling in his clenched fists, the other wielding a pair of sleek black revolvers. They joined the ice mage in the skirmish, pushing the hunters back with blasts of fire and lead. The tides of the battle were turning in their favour.

The man in silver and black stepped forward.

 The pyro launched a fireball at him, but the man stepped to the side, superhumanly quick, as the fireball sailed harmlessly by. The pyro frowned, stepping back, shock barely registering on his face before the man’s shimmering sword pierced his skull. The gun-wielder spun, firing a volley of shots at the space the man had just been.

The sword cleaved his hand from his arm, and he screamed in agony. The man stomped on the gun, shattering it. Blood sprayed from the broken weapon, and the gun-wielder fell limp, clutching his stump. A group of remaining Hunters rammed knives into him, relentless.

The man in silver and black turned just as the icicle punctured his eye, stabbing through his brain and out the back of his head. The ice mage looked almost surprised to have landed the hit. A hush fell over the Hunters, who stopped in their tracks. The man fell to his knees, mouth slightly agape.

The look of surprise on the ice mage’s face was slowly replaced by fear as the man in silver and black rose slowly to his feet, the shard of ice still protruding from his head. He grabbed the ice mage by the neck, lifting him effortlessly with one hand.

Spittle sprayed from the mage’s mouth as he scratched futilely at the man’s hand, his fear giving way to sheer terror. The man sneered, his remaining eye furious and burning with horrifying rage. The mage formed another ice shard in his hand, jamming it into the man’s ribs.

He didn’t even flinch. He just squeezed harder.

Blood oozed from the mage’s mouth as his struggles grew weaker, before they finally stopped altogether. The man dropped him unceremoniously to the floor. The street was silent – even the screams of the civilians had stopped. Only the sound of the flaming buildings broke up the endless night.

The man reached up and yanked the icicle from his eye socket, tossing it to the side as he turned to stalk back to the town’s square. His chest burned with pain, as the relentless, unending word echoed in his head:

LIVE.