The forest was drenched in the heavy cloak of twilight. Shadows stretched long and ominous, the fading sun staining the sky a deep crimson. Elion moved silently through the underbrush, the faint crunch of leaves underfoot barely audible. His movements were predatory, purposeful. He had become a hunter in more ways than one.

Ahead of him, through the tangled thickets, lay his target—a group of four men, soldiers from a neighboring clan who had wandered too close to Blackstone territory. They had no idea the danger they were in, laughing and bantering amongst themselves as they rested near a dying fire. Elion watched from the cover of the trees, his cold gaze tracing each one. He didn’t care who they were. They were nothing more than pawns, resources to be drained for his ever-growing power.

His hand slipped to the Blackstone Ring, feeling its pulse of dark energy respond to his touch. The ring was not just a tool; it had become an extension of his will. With it, he could siphon life, manipulate death, and wield power beyond the reach of lesser men. But tonight, he wanted to feel the thrill of the hunt himself. The ring would come later—after the blood was spilled.

In the distance, a raven cawed, its voice echoing like a death knell through the trees. Elion smirked. It was fitting.

He closed his eyes for a moment, reaching out with his senses, feeling the Essence within the men. The life force pulsed within each of them, warm and vibrant, unaware that death was just moments away. Elion’s fingers twitched as he silently cast the **Whisper of Death**, an insidious spell he had recently perfected. It seeped through the air like a plague, invisible, undetectable.

One of the soldiers suddenly stiffened, his laughter cutting off as his face twisted into confusion. His companions looked at him, puzzled.

“What’s wrong with you?” one of them asked.

The man’s eyes widened, his hand clutching at his throat as though something invisible was choking him. His skin began to pale, veins darkening under his flesh. He tried to speak, but no sound came. His companions sprang to their feet, drawing their weapons, but it was too late.

The second man gasped, stumbling back as his legs gave out beneath him. Blood poured from his nose and mouth, his body convulsing uncontrollably. The others yelled in panic, swinging their swords at shadows, but there was no enemy they could see, no fight they could win. Elion’s spell had already marked them for death.

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One by one, they crumpled to the ground, their lives snuffed out as Elion’s magic drained them dry. He stepped out from the trees, moving toward them with cold detachment. There was no joy in their deaths, no triumph. Only necessity.

Standing over their lifeless bodies, he knelt and placed his hand on the first man’s chest. He whispered softly, ancient words of power that resonated with the ring. The Blackstone Ring responded eagerly, drinking in the Death Essence of the fallen men. Their bodies twitched once more as the last vestiges of their souls were torn from them, drawn into Elion's ever-growing reservoir of power.

As the Essence flowed into him, Elion felt the familiar rush of strength, the intoxicating pulse of energy that only death could provide. His senses sharpened, his body humming with power. But there was more than just raw Essence in their deaths—there was knowledge. Memories flickered through his mind, stolen from the dying men. Faces, places, conversations. One image caught his attention: a map, scrawled hastily on parchment, marking a location deep within enemy territory.

A hidden vault.

His lips curled into a smile. Fate, it seemed, was on his side. This vault, mentioned in their final thoughts, was rumored to hold ancient artifacts, powerful relics that had been lost to time. If he could seize it, his strength would grow even further. But he would need to act quickly. No doubt, others would be searching for it as well.

Elion rose, wiping the blood from his hands on one of the dead men’s tunics. His eyes scanned the horizon, already calculating his next move. These men were nothing more than fodder, but their deaths had given him the key to something far greater.

As he turned to leave, the wind shifted, carrying a faint scent of woodsmoke and iron. Elion paused, his senses tingling. Someone was nearby.

Before he could react, a figure emerged from the shadows—a woman dressed in dark leather, her features sharp and angular, eyes gleaming with a predatory intelligence. She carried no visible weapon, but Elion could feel the hum of Essence around her. She was a cultivator, like him. Perhaps even more dangerous.

“I’ve been watching you,” she said, her voice low and smooth. “Quite impressive, the way you handled those fools.”

Elion’s gaze narrowed. “Who are you?”

She smiled, stepping closer, her hands raised in a gesture of mock surrender. “Someone who shares your goals. Call me Lira. I’ve been tracking those men for days. They had information I needed… information you’ve just taken.”

Elion remained still, calculating. “What do you want?”

Lira’s smile widened. “The vault, of course. It’s not just a treasure trove. It’s a place of power. And I’m willing to bet you’re just as eager to claim it as I am.”

His hand itched toward the Blackstone Ring, but Lira raised a hand, sensing his intent.

“I’m not your enemy,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “Not yet, at least. We both know what’s at stake here. We could fight—try to kill each other now—or we could work together. At least until we find the vault. After that… well, we’ll see.”

Elion’s eyes flicked to the bodies of the soldiers, their lifeless faces staring blankly into the darkening sky. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust anyone. But she was right—there was no point in spilling more blood when the real prize was still out there.

“Fine,” he said at last, his voice cold. “But the second you get in my way, I’ll kill you.”

Lira chuckled, her eyes flashing. “Likewise.”

They stood in tense silence for a moment before Elion turned and began walking. Lira fell into step beside him, her movements graceful, almost feline. As they made their way deeper into the forest, Elion’s mind raced. He had no intention of letting her live once they reached the vault. She was an obstacle, nothing more. And if there was one thing Elion had learned, it was that obstacles were meant to be destroyed.

The hunt had begun.

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