Present Day

Dragon Realm Cypress

Inle stood at the edge of a pine forest and placed a hand on the rough trunk of a nearby tree. Before him was a massive quarry. The quarry was shaped like a horseshoe and caves dotted its walls. The stony ground itself had swords scattered across it like grave markers.

He turned his head to the Collector. “So, this is it? This is where Malady's Rabbits lurk?”

“Yes.”

Inle redirected his attention back to the quarry. “I’m nervous about facing him. He was nearly equal to Legion.”

The yikahti brushed past the elf. “He is strong- stronger than you.”

“You have no confidence in my skills?”

“Why should I?” asked the cat, “You have no confidence in your own.”

Inle caught back up to the Collector. “Then how will I beat him?”

“Fight him as normal. I will not allow you to lose.”

They stopped at the center of the quarry. Nothing stirred but the wind in the sand for several minutes. Then a flicker of movement caught Inle's eye, and he turned in time to see two… five, perhaps six… even more. Dozens of black-and-purple figures armed to the teeth with ninjatos, sickles, and daggers poured out from the surrounding caves until they smudged the golden cliff walls with shadow.

“They don't look happy to see us, Collector,” joked Inle.

“Perhaps you should make your introduction, Silent Master,” the Collector suggested.

Inle sneered under his mask but grew a smile as he danced forward.

“Just another performance.” He swung back his black cloak with its Dead of Winter insignia and gave a long bow, gracefully crossing his feet. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. We have come quite a long way to meet you all. I am Inle Ebonpath and this is my merry cohort. We are here to formally absorb you into the Black Rabbit clan.”

Murmurs rose from the assassins above. Questions about who this clownish elf was and why he claimed they were not yet Black Rabbits were on the lips of all the assassins. A figure approached from the highest of the caves. As he came closer to Inle, the elf could see his face was twisted from a large scar on the left side of his cheek. An eye was covered by a black leather patch, trimmed with small bones. His long hair was a pale gray and tied by a purple silk wrap. He wore light armor, and on his back, a large black brace sheathed five arming swords. As he strode out into the light, his scarred arms rippled with tight muscles. He gritted his teeth in disgust by the very presence of his unwelcome guests.

“Inle Ebonpath. You are a welcome sight. A truly skilled warrior that can teach my men a thing or two about ruthless cunning,” he said, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Inle lifted his head, and with a smooth gesture removed his mask as a sign of respect. “I have come to claim my clan.”

Malady outstretched his arms and widened his mouth into a ghastly smile, part of his face caved in by his gruesome scar. “My men will only follow the Silent Master! I have built this clan from the ashes you left it in!”

Inle's face soured, but he kept his spirits high. “I am the true Silent Master, the successor to Ryjin! You will learn your position!” he shouted back.

“I already have a clan, why should I risk it dueling you?”

“I will do what I must to prove that I am the only true Black Rabbit left,” sneered Inle. He fitted his mask on once more.

Malady did not look pleased. “It is you who shall learn to bow!” He extended his hand and closed it in a fist. “Kill them! Kill them both!” roared Malady.

The sky darkened with a swarm of shurikens whistling down at the two Dead of Winter members. Inle furrowed his brow in horror, but his gut took over. “None of them are to be hurt!” he ordered the Collector.

At first surprised by Inle's gall to give him commands, the Collector flashed a wicked grin. From his cloak he drew a blade formed of flowing sand and thrust it into the ground. Sand popped up all around them to form a dome of earth over Inle and himself. The steel rain pattered harmlessly against the shell.

“Child's play,” the Collector hissed. He swung the mystical sword and dispersed the sand back to whence it came; with it the shurikens dropped into a clutter on the ground.

The Rabbits all looked at each other in bewilderment. The cat drew a sword from nothing and commanded the very earth to protect himself and Inle. How were they to compete with that?

“Enough!” cried out Malady as the yikahti put away his sword. “I see now that you possess a powerful ally. I say that we finish this as you wished.” The one-eyed assassin took a single step off his ledge and fell with grace onto the dirt below. “You and I shall settle this debate. Who is the Silent Master? Who rules supreme over this clan?” He placed a hand out towards the shadow elf. “You?” He placed his palm on his chest. “Or I?”

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The Collector nodded approval to his partner and stood aside. Inle drew a slender blade from behind his waist.

Elucard was stronger than me as well, but since then I have grown in cunning and technique. Maybe the cat is wrong? Maybe I can beat him!

Without any further words, Malady unsheathed two swords into both hands and rushed headlong at Inle. With skill and finesse, he sliced with both swords and spun in a flourish like a steel tornado. Inle tried in vain to parry the attacks. Ribbons of blood spewed from his upper arms and across his stomach where Malady’s blades slipped past his defense.

Inle slid backwards and collapsed to a knee, sucking in lungs full of air. The pain shot through his body and reminded him of his last duel with Elucard. He rose once more, readying himself for another onslaught.

Malady grinned and flipped his two blades in the air. Inle shot a glance upwards, fooled by the decoys. Malady took two of the swords standing in the ground and whipped them into Inle’s shoulders, before grabbing two more swords from his back, jumping and spinning horizontally in the air. He finished his showmanship by throwing the two blades into Inle's thighs. As Inle fell, Malady landed from his leaping attack and spun around, kicking the falling swords into Inle’s chest and stomach.

“Outclassed, clown,” sneered Malady.

Though in sheer physical agony, Inle couldn’t help but be astonished by the technique of the Many Blade. Malady’s skill threshold had risen since his duel with Legion. It was too much for him to handle. He fought against his master who demonstrated the same technique, but no amount of training prepared him for this level.

Inle's eyes widened with terror as he wobbled backwards. The swords in his legs threw him off balance and he crashed to the ground. He tried to remove his mask as he gurgled up blood from his mouth, but was in too much agony to even twitch his arm.

Malady smiled thinly and shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, Inle. Is this all that I'm to get from the great Silent Master?”

Malady stepped onto his chest and tilted his mask up with the tip of one of his swords. Inle screamed under the pressure.

Malady sighed in dismay by the lack of fight he was receiving from the elf. He applied more pressure with his foot.

Inle cried out in pain and weakly kicked Malady away from him, then dragged himself further away, coughing up a thick droplet of blood that stretched down to the ground. He reached out for the Collector, choking on blood that drained down his throat. “Co-Collector, h-help me. I beg y-you!”

The Collector only nodded and smiled. He knelt down and placed his hand on the ground.

His claw bubbled and a strange shadowy ooze seeped into the sand.

Malady chuckled as he watched Inle struggle to rise to his feet. He faced his Black Rabbit audience and shouted, “This is the great Silent Master to take my place?” He twirled back around and pointed a sword at his opponent. “I will cut him down piece by p-” Malady's rant died out as Inle rose from the bloodstained gravel and stood, seething with anger. An infection, a dark corruption, grew from the quarry's sand. Plague Reach.

Inle's wounds closed and shut out the weapons impaling him. No scars. A fire coarsed through his body. An unknown energy that made him feel limitless… and hungry. His hands shivered with adrenaline. Was this enhancement of the Plague Reach that covered the quarry? Was this Wraslyn's gift to the Dead of Winter? There was only one way to find out.

Inle slid a foot backwards and dug into the dirt to gather grip before pushing off. He flew past Malady and with the same motion, grabbed his sword and sliced past his opponent.

Malady staggered from the impact. He patted a fresh wound on his side with his hand. His eyes widened, but quickly turned with a scowl. He did not understand how Inle found his second wind but he did not care. He would strike him down a second, a third, a fourth time. He would strike him down for an eternity to prove to his clan he was the rightful leader. The true Silent Master.

Malady drew his final sword from his back, preparing for a second round. Inle's new found speed and prowess made short work of his rival. Dashing left to right, juking past slices and swipes like a true Rabbit, too swift to catch. Inle slashed wide across Malady's stomach, and once again deep into his thighs. As Inle finished his whirlwind of attacks, Malady crashed to his knees as a defeated and broken man.

“I-I don't get it! Y-you were finished! Where did you f-find such power?” Malady stammered.

Inle answered, “I am not who you think I am anymore.” As his power drained, Inle collapsed onto his knee, succumbing to a torrent of pain. He checked his body. No blood. No wounds. Even Plague Reach, power beyond comprehension, came with limits.

“F-finish it. Let me h-have my honor, my d-dignity,” Malady coughed, his blood dripping into the earth.

“We have other plans for you, Malady.” The Collector walked toward the former Silent Master. “Our Plague Reach requires a cultivator. You will forever serve a higher purpose.”

“I will not! Rabbits, destroy them! Protect your master!” roared Malady.

Hundreds of Black Rabbits descended from the ledges and surrounded the cat and shadow elf, blades at the ready. Each hesitant to inch closer.

Inle panned around. “It seems they fear us, cat.”

The Collector drew a grotesque sword, covered in various animal eyes. Each blinking or darting its sight. “Then we shall use that fear. Hold onto me Inle.” The Collector waited for Inle to place his hand on his shoulder before thrusting the large sword into the ground.

A booming, distorted sound blew from the impact and a wave of pink energy spanned the quarry. Each Rabbit dropped and writhed in terror. Screaming. Crying. Quivering.

“What did you do?” asked Inle. His worrisome eyes looked around. He tried to calm an assassin, but to no avail. “We need them! We need them for my clan!”

“As long as my Fearmonger is in the ground, they will remain like this. Their fear for us amplified tenfold.”

Inle dashed for the Fearmonger, but the Collector was quicker. With a swift back hand, Inle fell to the ground.

“Idiot. The garden needs souls!” the yikahti spat, “You know this. You knew this was an outcome. With this many souls, we shall have a far bigger garden than Woadhollow.”

Inle rubbed his cheek in contempt.

“You wish to fight me further?” sneered the Collector, “Take it up with Master Wraslyn.”

“I will!”