The wind howled through the narrow streets of Ashford, carrying with it the damp scent of rain and something darker, more menacing. Gabriel stood at the window of the Brotherhood's headquarters, his gaze fixed on the city below. The once-bustling town was now gripped by fear, its streets empty as night fell, haunted by the terror of the unknown. Recent battles with orcs and other dark creatures had shaken the city to its core, but it was the grisly aftermath of these conflicts that now gnawed at Gabriel's mind.

The infirmary had become a grave. After Rina's death, Tomas had clung to life for days, his body broken and barely holding on. Silas and the healers had worked tirelessly, but to no avail. One night, as Gabriel sat by Tomas's side, watching his friend struggle for every breath, the inevitable came. Tomas's eyes fluttered open, his hand weakly reaching for Gabriel's.

"I'm sorry," Gabriel whispered, guilt heavy in his heart.

Tomas's lips moved, but no sound came. His hand went limp, and he was gone.

Silas had lowered his head in quiet grief, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Two gone," he had muttered, his voice hollow. "How many more will we lose?"

Gabriel barely registered the words. The weight of loss pressed down on him. Rina and Tomas—two of his closest comrades—were dead. Nia still breathed, but her injuries left her unable to walk, bound to a bed and unable to fight again.

But their deaths were only the beginning.

---

Three days after Tomas's passing, the first body had been found.

A young boy, barely sixteen, was discovered in a filthy alley near the southern market. His face was twisted in horror, his body pale and mutilated in a way that sickened even the hardened city guard. His chest had been sliced open, his organs missing—removed with clinical precision. There were no signs of struggle, no blood on the ground, only a lifeless, hollow corpse discarded like waste.

Gabriel was summoned immediately. As he stood over the boy's body, something dark twisted inside him. This wasn't the work of any orc or monster they had faced in battle. It was deliberate, calculated. Someone was hunting in the city.

Jareth, captain of the city guard, stood beside Gabriel, his face pale. "This is the third disappearance in a week," he muttered, his voice low. "But this… this is the first body we've found like this."

Gabriel knelt beside the boy's body, his hand hovering over the wound. "The other missing people… were their bodies never found?"

Jareth shook his head. "No. They just vanished, without a trace. But now, with this… it's clear someone, or something, is hunting people."

Gabriel's jaw tightened. Whoever—or whatever—was doing this, they were skilled. This wasn't random violence. It was a methodical harvesting.

"I'll speak to the Brotherhood," Gabriel said. "We'll start looking tonight. Whatever this is, we'll find it."

Jareth hesitated. "There's something else. People are whispering about the Brotherhood… some are saying this started after your last mission."

Gabriel shot him a sharp look. "You don't believe that, do you?"

Jareth met his gaze, his face set in a grim expression. "I don't. But fear makes people desperate for answers. And right now, they're looking to blame anyone."

Gabriel swore under his breath. "We'll find whoever is doing this. I swear it."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

But as the days passed, more people went missing. More bodies were found, each mutilated in the same horrific manner, their organs harvested with cold, detached precision. The city's unease swelled into outright panic. Families locked their doors, and the once-lively streets became ghostly after sunset.

---

Gabriel sat in the Brotherhood's hall, a map of Ashford spread before him. Around him, Silas, Jareth, and the remaining members of the Brotherhood gathered, their faces lit by the flickering light of the hearth.

"We've identified six locations where the bodies were found," Gabriel said, pointing to the red marks on the map. "The pattern isn't obvious, but every victim had their organs removed with surgical precision."

Silas leaned forward, his expression grim. "This isn't the work of some common killer. Whoever, or whatever, is doing this has knowledge—possibly medical, or even magical. The organs could be used for dark rituals, or worse."

Lyra, a seasoned rogue, clenched her fists. "But we still have no leads? No witnesses?"

Jareth shook his head. "None. The disappearances happen quietly, and when the bodies turn up, it's already too late."

Gabriel's eyes scanned the map again, frustration gnawing at him. "There has to be something we're missing."

The room was silent for a moment before Silas spoke again, his voice hesitant. "I've been researching… there are legends, old stories of creatures that harvest organs for power. Not vampires, but entities—things that need the essence of life to sustain themselves."

Gabriel frowned. "You think we're dealing with one of these creatures?"

Silas sighed. "It's a possibility. They're not creatures of myth, but ancient, forgotten beings. If one of them has been drawn to Ashford, we're in more danger than we realize."

"Then we need to find it before it takes more lives," Gabriel said, standing from his seat. "We'll break into teams and sweep the city tonight."

---

Night fell, and the Brotherhood fanned out across Ashford. Gabriel led his group through the eastern quarter, where the last body had been found. The streets were deserted, the air thick with the scent of rain and the tension of the unknown. Every shadow seemed to pulse with threat.

They had been searching for hours when Silas suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing. "Something's wrong."

Gabriel turned. "What is it?"

Silas closed his eyes, murmuring an incantation under his breath. A faint shimmer of magic rippled through the air, revealing a trail of dark energy leading toward the old temple district.

"This way," Silas said, his voice tense.

The group followed the trail to a crumbling, abandoned temple at the edge of the city. The structure had long been forgotten, its stone walls worn by time. But now, a faint light flickered inside, casting long shadows through the broken windows.

Gabriel motioned for silence as they approached. The air inside the temple felt heavy, thick with malevolent energy. From within, they heard voices—low, chanting in a language Gabriel didn't recognize.

Peering around a crumbling column, Gabriel saw them. A group of robed figures stood in a circle around an altar, chanting. On the altar were three bodies—two women and a young girl—laid out with their chests opened, their organs missing.

Gabriel's stomach turned. These weren't monsters. They were people—cultists performing some kind of dark ritual.

Before Gabriel could react, the lead cultist turned toward them, his face hidden beneath a hood. His voice echoed with an unnatural resonance. "You're too late. The ritual is nearly complete."

Gabriel didn't hesitate. "Now!" he shouted, charging forward, his sword drawn.

The Brotherhood sprang into action, rushing the cultists. Silas cast a bolt of magic, sending one cultist sprawling, while Lyra darted forward, her daggers flashing in the dim light. But the cultists were not unprepared. They fought back with savage intensity, wielding dark magic and twisted weapons.

Gabriel swung at the lead cultist, but the man raised his hand, and a shimmering barrier of dark energy deflected the blow. The cultist's eyes glowed beneath his hood, his voice filled with dark glee. "You cannot stop what is coming."

Gabriel gritted his teeth and struck again, but the barrier held. The ritual was reaching its climax.

Desperation surged through Gabriel. He charged once more, feinting to the right before slashing through the cultist's arm. The man screamed as dark blood spilled, his barrier faltering.

Gabriel didn't hesitate. With a final thrust, he drove his sword through the cultist's chest. The chanting stopped abruptly as the remaining cultists faltered, their ritual broken.

The dark energy dissipated, leaving only silence in its wake.

Gabriel stood over the fallen cultist, his chest heaving. "It's over."

But as the cultist coughed his last breaths, he smiled—a chilling, blood-stained grin. "You've delayed the inevitable… but the city is already lost."

Gabriel's blood ran cold. What had they truly stopped? What dark forces still lurked in Ashford?

As they left the temple, the storm clouds above rumbled ominously. The darkness was far from over.