Clouds rolled over the red moon, the blue, Earth-like planet hovering on the horizon. The light breeze and the occasional insect noise the only things to break the near deafening silence.

At least they were.

A shrill scream erupted through the night air, and the moment it faded, dark silhouettes burst into life, snaking towards one of the winding hills bathed in the warm, orange glow of fires in the distance.

One of these figures, a young, black-cloaked Rakorn, stumbled around the foot of a large hill, nearly losing his balance as he recklessly ran for his life, having discarded his weapons and anything that might slow him down.

His name was Meken, a warrior of his people and follower of the Sun Deity, Amork. A religion that saw retreat as one of the greatest shames they could suffer, yet on this night he, along with the rest of his war party, ran.

Just ahead of him, not even twenty meters away, another Rakorn was running, as if Death himself was on his heels, his tattered cloak revealing a large, claw-like gash on his chest that was bleeding profusely.

The hunters had become the hunted, yet this was not a situation where the weakest would be devoured while the rest could retreat and recover.

This was an extermination.

They had come seeing the new species, to capture samples and to put them in their place but what they had found, was a true monster.

No mercy.

No honour.

No respite.

For nearly two and a half days their numbers had dwindled, yet instead of being exhausted, like any creature that exerted itself for long periods of time, the beast continued its slaughter with clinical precision.

"Whether a King or a road sweeper, everyone gets to dance with the Grim Reaper." The words that had invaded every member of the Warband's minds days ago echoed in the young Rakorns head.

Though they did not understand some of the words, like King, road or Grim Reaper, the emotional intent sent alongside the foreign words was clear.

Mindcrafter, warrior, elemental, male or female, young or old, Karn or serf. No one was safe.

Meken wanted to call out to his comrade ahead, as there was safety in numbers and as he was already wounded he would likely draw the predator's attention first, but he couldn't get enough air into his lungs to shout and so, stumbled behind him as fast as his weary legs could carry him.

Lucky, as a Rakorn, Meken didn't need to blink often, or he would have missed what happened next.

In a fraction of a second, just as a shadow passed over the red moon, momentarily blocking out the eerie purplish light, a blur smashed into the Rakorn ahead, sending him tumbling behind a hill and out of sight.

The exhausted Rakorn slid to a halt, unintentionally giving him a few moments to catch his breath, as the blood-curdling screams of his kin echoed in the hills around him.

He knew there was nothing he could do besides try to live through this nightmare. He didn’t have the time to worry about anyone else.

They had tried so many times to saved those taken only to realise that the reason they made any sound at all, instead of being instantly killed, was that it wanted them to scream.

It wanted them to fear it. Fear the death it brought and, feared the creature they did.

A new word, that the creature had introduced when it first announced its intent to them, had entered the Rakorn vocabulary.

Reaper. One that brings death and fear.

And so, the creature was named, as only the most worthy of foes were.

The White Reaper.

After what felt like forever, but only had been a few dozen seconds, the silence once again descended on the plains.

However, just like before, it didn't last.

A howl-like roar, a mix between a dire wolf, crawler and, though they didn’t know of such a being, a dragon, caused Meken's heart to beat furiously.

Meken’s bones felt like they were vibrating in his chest at the intensity of the howl, as he made a ninety-degree turn that would have made even the fastest of Rakorn impressed, and sprinted towards a trench that he had spotted in the dim light. -"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. That was too close."

It had only been a couple of hours since the war party had separated from the main force, who were due to reach the human settlement tomorrow, so they could eliminate the threat that had been stalking them from the shadows.

The jubilant atmosphere that they were about to surprise a fledgeling species had all but evaporated. Not only were their brothers and sisters being killed without honour, none of the scouts they had sent ahead had returned.

Initially, they had believed this was the Reaper's doing, but something didn't feel right. A monster of this level should not have been inside the barrier, and the War band had lost contact with the group that had been waiting with the captives, as they couldn't pass the barrier until it fell.

Luckily, their scouts had reported a small settlement before losing contact with the Mindcrafters, or this whole expedition would have been in serious trouble. Even now, due to the losses suffered, the elders would probably strip the Karn of his title and position.

Meken swallowed, his dry, cracked throat feeling like it was bleeding. -"That's if any of us make it back."

Night and day their forces had been terrorised by the vicious, White Reaper, that refused to fight honourably. -"It's just like that damn cult. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to tame the damned thing."

At first, it had picked off scouts and lone sentries, however, it soon moved onto the weak, injured or old. Then, against all Rakorn understanding, it started attacking the most powerful and capable, eliminating them within the blink of an eye before, seemingly, playing with the subordinates that had seen the act.

Tonight, half of their warriors had stayed behind to ambush their pursuer in an attempt to bring down the despicable creature and secure their path home.

Though they were confident that as long as they moved in large groups, that the Rakorn Warband would return relatively unscathed, in the chaos of battle to come, if the Reaper attacked their rear while they were dealing with the humans, it could inflict incredible casualties.

Not only that but their return would undoubtedly be slower due to the loot, captives and wounded. Each one a deadly liability if they are being hunted.

That wasn't the only reason.

Being territorial creatures themselves, they understood that this was far more than just seeking substance. They had invaded its territory and so until they left, and maybe even after that, the Reaper would not stop.

At first, it seemed the beast was killing for survival, eating the majority of the corpses but that thought quickly changed once they realised it appeared to be hunting for sport. It almost felt like it was practising on them. Like a newborn Rakorn in his first few trials.

Meken grit his teeth as he ran. The thought that this was nothing more than a newborn terrified him. Just what had they provoked?

It was at this point that they had sent out death squads, elite parties of four Rakorn, to hunt down this rabid creature, however, that only made the situation worse.

In the early hours of yesterday morning, the signs of a Thunder Rakorn using his ability drew in the surrounding squads.

One of the few survivors that made it back to camp, carrying the severed, bone-like arm of the creature, told a terrifying tale.

It was of an unstoppable, self-regenerating monster that tore through the warriors, caused the mindcrafters to fall dead, blood pouring from their eyes as their abilities backlashed, as it shrugged off any type of magic they had thrown at it.

They had managed to injure it, or the Thunder Rakorn had, blasting a hole so big into its chest that it lost its arm, but that had only infuriated it. From that moment on, the Rakorn's numbers had started to plummet.

"Fucking cowards, couldn't even finish the job." Meken spat as his lungs burned for air, though he did not hold any hatred for the Thunder Rakorn that severed the arm, or those that had chosen to dishonour themselves by showing their back to their foe, he couldn't help but curse them for not pushing the advantage while the creature was weakened.

Within hours, survivors from the rearguard started pouring in, telling similar, harrowing tales, though without causing any significant damage to the beast. It seemed that it had become even more cunning and dangerous after its injury, taking no risk as it confused, eliminated and then devoured the Rakorn.

It soon became clear that the creature was attempting to cut off their retreat, a move that the Karn of the Warband could not allow.

With the theory that if they could remove an arm, and cause the creature to bleed, it could be killed, a daring plan had been put in place, and the Rakorn forces had split.

One would eliminate the human warriors, taking their non-combatants prisoner, while the other would remove the threat from behind then join up with their Karn.

Most of the terror and mindcrafter squads had been sent towards the humans, their tactics and abilities were ill equipped to deal with the Reaper as the ambushing force dug in and prepared.

Tunnel systems, trenches and lookouts on the highest hills had been set up, creating a vast interconnected network in which it was believed the Rakorn could react quick enough to overwhelm the creature, tearing it limb from limb until it could no longer regenerate if need be.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

In their minds, they prepared themselves.

No matter the cost, the beast would die.

Meken shuddered. That was the plan. However, the network of tunnels and trenches turned out to be more suited to their foe and quickly became deathtraps.

The creature could move along walls, ceilings with incredible, terrifying grace, twisting its body into positions that looked impossible as it burrowed through the soil and stone like a high-level Earth Rakorn.

In the confined space, where they could not use the most powerful of their weapons or spells, it was nothing more than a one-sided slaughter.

By the time the majority of the ambush force realised that they had in fact, created a clear path to small, scattered groups of their troops and tried to consolidate on high ground, it was too late.

As if their strategy had given the beast insight, it burst from the ground, dragging many to their deaths in the dark tunnels if it not outright massacring those in the immediate vicinity.

The Reaper's adaptability was incredible and, in a way only a Rakorn would understand, the fear they felt was accompanied by a grudging respect.

Not that it would help them.

Entire hills had been dyed in the dark blue blood of the Rakorn yet, those that followed the Rakorn Deities did not falter, only sending runners to alert the Warband to the dire situation and the true threat the creature represented.

None of them made it, the mindcrafters shaking their heads and cursing the empty hills in front of them as they felt the connection to the runners flicker and then fade into nothingness.

They were alone. There was no way that the Karn would even suspect such a large force to succumb to a single creature, at least that is what the seers and mindcrafters had identified, and so, until he had dealt with the humans, they couldn't even begin to hope for reinforcements.

They had made a grave mistake, assuming the creature was a simple, semi-intelligent beast.

What a crushing mistake that had been.

The creature was highly intelligent, calculating and above all, it seemed to delight in the terror it generated. Almost to the point that it was considered that it might be rabid though no one could argue against that fact that its attacks were far too coordinated for one to lose themselves to the blood rage.

Still, they had a job to do, and through communication and willpower, they tried to hold on and support each other as best as they could.

It was as the sun was setting that the Rakorn realised that the cries for help, that they had slain the beast, or reinforcements coming from nearby were false. The Reaper was once again playing in their heads

When the Reaper realised that they had discovered his ploy and he would not be getting any more small groups to leave the well-defended hills, he started whispering to them individually.

Through false sound and visions, slowly all order began to break down and, a couple of hours after the sun had forsaken them, the first hill went dark. Their elemental mage that had been creating a bright, white light, dead.

As the light was extinguished, the screams of pain, terror and despair assaulting them from every direction, the remaining captains made their decision. If they waited, they would never see another daybreak.

Although it took some convincing, especially from those who worshipped Amork, the terror and exhaustion of the day ensured that within half an hour, they were all ready.

It wasn't much of a plan.

They would rely on their numbers and flee towards the nearest supply camp. It should have provisions for a siege, hardened earth as a base and wards and shields to defend them.

They all knew that, due to their strength and speed, the captains and high ranks were planning on using the regular soldiers to slow them down, but it didn't matter. It was a chance and, in the end, from all the bodies Meken had passed, it seemed the Reaper was more interested in them than the regular soldiers. -"Serves them right."

Half tripping, half diving the Rakorn dove into the trench, knowing that it was a risky gamble and he would only be able to stay there until he caught his breath.

The earth was the monsters domain, then again, so was the hills around him. It seemed only the sky was safe and he cursed his ancestors for not having winged Rakorn blood.

Meken landed in a dark blue, lumpy puddle. The nearly unrecognisable remains of what appeared to be a Death squad littering the trench.

Hissing in disgust, Maken quickly crouched, feeling for the slightest vibration in the soil indicating that something was approaching as he gasped in the precious air.

He was so close, he could almost smell the magical wards of the supply camp.

He shuffled his feet, impatient to move yet knowing that if he obeyed his instincts, he would not recover enough to make it in a single dash, even if the area should be safe for a moment.

The creature never seemed to remain in one spot, using hit and run tactics so, although the most recent attack was close, he felt he should be safe for a small amount of time.

-"That is if I am not the last."

Another scream, this time much higher pitched, indicating that a female had been caught, broke the unnatural silence causing Meken to curse. "Helok damn it."

Deep down, while he was glad it wasn't him, he was enraged that he couldn't do anything but run like a spinless gecko when his kin were being slaughtered.

"Run boy, run~."

The terrifying, yet in tune, voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and before it had even ended, Meken was over the top of the trench and sprinting towards the light in the distance.

He knew that voice entailed. It haunted his waking moments, always at the edge of his consciousness since he had first heard it and, much to his despair, he knew what it meant.

He was next.

After running, for what seemed like forever, a crooked, tooth filled smile appeared on Mekok's face as he felt the sense of dread that had been enveloping him, diminish. -"The distance I have travelled, this should be the supply camp. I just need to get to the centre, and I will be safe. I will live to fight another day~."

However, his relief vanished as the voice returned, this time in a feminine tone. "This world is not meant for you~."

Pushing his body to the limits, he continued on at an incredible speed, his insides twisting as he burnt his life energy. He didn't care.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a female Rakorn running in the opposite direction and silently prayed she would distract the beast.

He knew it wasn't a noble thought, but neither was dying unknown and unremembered. He was meant to fall on the battlefield, bathed in glory and in honour to his people and the yellow deity, Amork.

A tingling sensation seeped down his spine, and he activated his inherited ability, shadow step. Instinctually Meken knew that if he didn't, he would die.

He prayed that he was close enough to the camp as, when his skill ended, the backlash would disable him for an hour or so.

The world turned grey, and his body became incorporeal as five razor-sharp, serrated claws passed through his body.

"Tsk, that's an interesting ability."

"That will teach you for playing with our food, that could have been useful."

Ignoring the voices as he gasped at how close he had been to death, it seemed as time accelerated for Meken as he exploded towards the supply camp, appearing in front of the outer row of fires, just inside the exterior wards.

Colour returned to the world as he collapsed to the floor, his muscles refusing to respond to his commands.

He was so close. He doubted that the outer wards would be enough to repel the Reaper but a whistle nearby, and the sight of many, scaled feet, made him want to scream out in joy.

He was safe.

"He's alive, Master Hunter" hissed a voice that, to the exhausted Raken, was comforting even if it did carry a hard edge.

Something at the back of the Rakorns mind squirmed in unease, but he was too tired to think about it and put it down to the decrease in fight stimulant in his bloodstream, now the threat was over.

"Good, take him to the others. We must leave before sunrise."

Another voice, this one aged with time fell upon Meken's ears. -"Yes, let us leave this place. I would prefer to be anywhere but here."

Two Rakorns, wearing white cloaks, manhandled their fallen comrade, lifting him uncomfortably by the arms and started dragging him to the hilltops centre, where a massive fire roared.

Confusion raged the the Rakorn's mind.

This was no way to treat the warrior cast, this level of disrespect was reserved for slaves. It was at that moment his lolling head saw the centre of the camp, and his blood ran cold.

In front of the roaring fire, stood a makeshift altar with the white, bone-like arm, still connected to a portion of its shoulder, of the Reaper.

Yet the sight of the limb from the creature that had killed hundreds if not over a thousand of his kind wasn't what terrified him, it was the dozen or so kinsmen that had been tied up and gagged on the floor.

Releasing a hiss, he struggled. However, it just made the two carrying him chuckle. "It's a shame. This one shows the White Hunter's spirit. The others gave up pretty quickly."

An old, hunched Rakorn stepped before the altar and raised his hands into the air. "Brothers and sisters of the Hunt, we are blessed to be the first to witness our deities physical embodiment and be part of his majestic hunt."

Cheer-like hisses erupted from the edges of the circle.

"The White Hunter has not only returned but chosen to test us in both our faith and in the ways of the hunt." the old Rakorn continued.

"The hunter or the hunted." chanted the other Rakorn as all but the two holding the incapacitated lizardman, fell to their knees, their bodies shaking with excitement.

"We must return to our cities and prepare for the White Hunter's arrival, removing the filth and corruption that has marred our once glorious race." Cheers of approval rippled through the ungagged. "but to do that, we need to show that we are hunters, followers of the ways of the immortal white one. We must make a sacrifice to show that we are not weak of heart. We must spill the blood of 'prey'."

"The hunter or the hunted." echoed the others.

"We hunt, and thus, we kill. We have gathered the unbelievers here as an offering to the White Hunter. Hoping to appease his anger and hunger so that we may fulfil our role in the great circle of life."

The two Rakorn dragged their prisoner, Meken, towards the altar, even as he started to regain the use of some of his muscles and twitched his body in a vague attempt to resist.

He knew enough about the Cult of the White Hunter. He knew what was coming.

There were three main religions of the Rakorn. The first was that of the sun deity, Amork. Warmth, affection, pride and honour. Most of the warrior cast followed in his teachings.

Then there was the dark deity Thelsia. Cold, logical, judge of the dead and the wife of Amork. Mindcrafters and Elementalists commonly followed her as she favoured knowledge over strength.

The last, was the White Hunter. His name had been lost when he fell to the mortal plane, having plunged into despair when his love, Thelsia had chosen his brother Amork causing him to literally rip out the parts of himself that made him weak.

He turned into something less than a god, but more than a mortal. Hunting down those who reminded himself of his past weakness.

The cult had by far, the smallest following. Its members often succumbing to their own mantra 'the strong eat the weak' and devastating power struggles that were internally encouraged, making them extremely unstable. That being said, they were by far the most powerful of the religions, even the fledgeling followers were highly skilled in the art of war, combat and displayed cunning, seemingly dishonourable tendencies that the other faiths frowned upon. To them, the only dishonour was defeat, and the end always justified the means.

Due to this, they were often shunned. Only openly accepted in times of war or great turmoil, so to see so many gathered in one place, was shocking. Not that Meken was worried about that as he watched the glimmer of the polished bone knife appearing in his peripheral as it swept towards his neck.

"No" he managed to force a whisper of complaint, his body still refusing to move, causing the old Rakorn holding the knife to smile. "You should have joined our order, brother. Even when all hope is lost, you still fight. It is a shame that you are nothing more than the hunted."

With a sudden grace, the bone was drawn across the Meken's throat, blue blood pouring from the wound as his eyes darted about, looking for any chance of salvation even though it was hopeless.

Within moments, his eyes started to dull as his body convulsed, shutting down.

Meken's thoughts were of pure shock. He had survived the Reaper, only to be killed by his own kind. Darkness enveloped him as he cursed the White Hunter and his followers, praying that the Reaper would come for them.

Turning around and picking up the white arm, the red flesh inside hissing ominously as it died, only to be dissolved by the living remains, the old lizard lifted it into the air. "Spill the blood of the others, We return this holy artefact to our temple. Let no one stand in our way."

Cheers erupted into the night, however surprisingly the old man's voice carried over it almost magically. "Oh great White Hunter, see our sacrifice and be satisfied. We will forever follow your trail and purge the world of the weak and foolish."

Little did the Cultists of the White Hunter know that everything they had done was pointless. The Rakorn that they had just killed assumption, that the Reaper would not attack the camp was correct.

The one they had bestowed the title upon was, after losing his arm, more cautious than ever and had decided to opt for easier pray, trailing the fleeing lizard woman and was already a couple of miles away.