9

Apex Predator

The rooms were spacious, but simple. That was good enough. Brandon Irons had complained about the mess Kyril had made in the inn's barroom, but the merchantman didn't dare try anything with the more dangerous man, let alone his compatriots. Kyril's attention was more on the inevitable return of the Black Dogs and Morgan of the Leaping Lizards.

He told Boris and the others about the confrontation, and was met with apprehension but nothing else. The Hunter had discreetly moved the sick Olga and Chloe into the rooms given to them so the Dark Queen could recover. He gave Chloe instructions not to let anyone in. He'd deal with Irons if the man started asking questions.

Judging from the way the man flinched every time he made eye contact with the Hunter, that problem seemed to have solved itself. Seemed to, but was yet to be solved completely. Kyril had no doubts that he could also be a potential traitor.

Kyril looked outside, rain pattered endlessly against the inn's windows. The Hunter looked into his notebook, a long time companion. He was not one for writing but it was there in case he needed it. Most of the time, he spent whatever free moment he had sketching in it.

He closed the old notebook and slipped it into his pack before leaving his room. The key to his room was on a leather cord that he had around his neck. The Hunter walked into the bar, seeing it had less people in it. The stares never really stopped ever since he faced off against Morgan and his Black Dogs.

He saw Anna wiping the bar down. She gave him a small smile but a fearful one, she must still have been affected by him shouting at her. He just tipped his hat to her and decided to sit outside. The others were still sleeping, or resting. Boris and Soren had volunteered to help around the inn. It was something that Brandon Irons appreciated. Then again, he had his suspicions that the other men were under Kyril's payroll...

Kyril was quietly offended; if he had wanted Irons dead then he would do the deed himself.

Having decided to return indoors, Kyril sat at the bar when Anna left to serve customers their ale. With such a bad storm outside, most of the townsfolk of Baskerville stayed indoors. The blasted courier wasn't around either.

At least it was quieter in the inn now, with the clientele most likely focused on staying dry and sober instead of drunk and mildly disorderly.

"Hello…" Kyril looked into the soft eyes of Grace Campbell.

"Good morning." The Hunter spoke as he tapped the bar in a nonsensical rhythm with his fingers. He didn't say anything else.

Grace frowned but she steeled herself. "I...I just wanted to say thank you." She said. "For helping me with...with Morgan."

The Hunter shook his head, "Your friend asked for me to help you. You should be thanking her." He told her quietly, as if uncomfortable with the notion of gratitude from another person.

Grace smiled slightly. Even Anna was still looking after her. "I...I never did get your name, stranger." She pointed out, "I'd...like to know it, if it doesn't make you uncomfortable."

The Hunter looked at her, "Kyril. My name is Kyril Sutherland." It honestly still surprised him that he still remembered his name, having gone by the moniker of 'Hunter' for so long.

Grace thought to offer her hand then thought the better of it, "It is nice to meet you, Kyril Sutherland." She told him. "I don't have much, but I owe you."

"Think nothing of it," Kyril said, his eyes drifted over to the storm outside, "Besides...I'm not done with Morgan yet. He'll have to be taken care of."

"I hope he drowns out there," Grace snarled, surprising the Hunter. The Dark Elf calmed herself, "I apologize, I let my temper get the better of me."

Kyril didn't hold that against her. But he did nudge his head at the incoming proprietor of the inn, warning her of his approach. He knew that both Grace and her friend Anna only tolerated working under him. Grace excused herself; Kyril let her go and saw Irons standing behind the bar. He looked apologetic, annoyed and afraid at the same time. The Hunter honestly thought he looked constipated but he immediately put that thought aside.

"I am sorry, my lord." Irons bowed his head. "The courier was delayed, he won't be in for quite a while."

"I see," Kyril's voice never rose above its neutral menace, but there was no rudeness in his tone, "It is to be expected," He looked outside again at the storm outside, "There is a rather nasty storm outside. Even I would not dare riding out in such weather."

"I...I can provide the parchment if you'd like?" Irons suggested.

Kyril didn't know why Irons thought he was some kind of noble. He just shrugged that off and let people think what they thought. "That would be greatly appreciated," His fearsome gaze locked onto Irons' face and the proprietor turned away. The man had initially been incensed at the loss of business but did not say anything to the rather threatening Hunter that was residing in his inn.

When Kyril mentioned that he was on a mission, it somehow got misconstrued that he was of a higher class than anyone at the inn. He played along for now. Kyril focused on the current objective; Morgan was the leader of the band known as the Leaping Lizards, a small part of the Black Dogs but a part of them nonetheless.

He was going to have to meet with his compatriots as to what he had planned for these traitors. Even if no one knew it yet.

Besides, they were acting like bandits. And bandit hunting was part of his job description as a mercenary wasn't it?

"Morgan of the Leaping Lizards?"

The Hunter and his band of conspirators met in a private parlor and Kyril had told them what he had planned to do about Morgan, it wasn't known if he was a traitor yet but the Hunter doubted the man was loyal.

Boris rubbed his chin as he thought about it. Off to the side, Fredrick had his arms crossed while Soren sat at one of the tables. Well, on it. He had his legs crossed as he watched with rapt attention.

"...Heard he was sidelined south for some reason," Boris said rubbing his chin. "I don't really know the guy but if he's turned traitor too…"

"Nobody knows about the Black Dogs being traitors, Boris." Soren pointed out, "We're the only ones and...well, Lady Olga does too but nobody knows about her either."

"Ah, but they will if Morgan decides to do something." Fredrick spoke out. He looked at the Hunter, one of his brows raised. "So...what are we going to do? What are you going to do, Hunter? There's a story that you want a death wish, provoking Morgan."

"I was tasked to help someone." Kyril answered Fredrick. "And I did that, so if Morgan wants to come here to cause trouble, then we expose him for the traitorous scum that he is. After that...we send a message to one of the Princess Knights. Luu-Luu is apparently the closest since she is in Rad."

The former Black Dogs looked at each other. Luu-Luu was a famous half-ling, a genius inventor but also agreed to be quite mad in some cases. She still had the Goddess' ear of course, but still...

"Are you...are you going to want us to fight too?" Soren asked the Hunter.

Kyril turned his gaze to Soren, "You will have to," He told the younger man, "So sharpen your blades, gentlemen. We may have to fight traitors once more."

To their credit, the men he was now responsible for leading were not nervous. Soren was apprehensive but he didn't show it. The boy had potential, but he was no Hunter. Kyril dismissed his fellow conspirators and walked out last.

"Boss."

Kyril turned to Boris, the larger man was grim faced. The Hunter nodded, letting Boris speak.

"I...uh wanted to say thank you," Boris said, "For getting all of us out, and listening to what I had to say in the Black Fortress."

Kyril blinked, "You have proven yourself a better man than the majority of your former comrades," He told Boris, honestly. "That says more about you than me. The Goddess will be sure to reward your continued loyalty to her."

"That's the thing, sir." Boris said, crossing his arms. "It's not the Goddess I am worried about. You said you had your suspicions about traitors in the south, what if it is not all the Black Dogs?"

True, Kyril did indeed have his suspicions about more traitors in the south who were not part of the Black Dogs. While the Princess Knights were loyal to the Goddess Reborn, it was the other rabble of nobles that he was suspicious of. The Hunter didn't shove away those concerns, he didn't need to. If there were traitors in the noble ranks who were supporting the Black Dogs from the shadows then he would deal with them too.

One rat at a time.

If anyone else got in his way, then they would die too.

Such was the duty of a Hunter, to hunt beasts wherever they may hide. If this Kingdom of the Waking World calls for a Hunter, then they would get one...with all the malice, the cruelty and the violence it entailed.

Already, Kyril could feel the blood staining his hands.

Undisclosed location near the town of Baskerville…

"You're sure he's hiding someone in your inn?"

Morgan put Brandon Irons to the question. The bastard promised that he'd do nothing to stop him from trying to coerce Grace to leave the inn, hence why he was here now. Morgan had Brandon keeping an eye on the little Dark Elf that was the apple of his eye in exchange for keeping his ratty little inn intact.

"Yeah, but the bastard has been tight lipped about who he's hiding." Brandon said, he then looked at Morgan with uncertainty.

"You're sure you can take him?"

Morgan crossed his arms, "I can. Can you?" He said arrogantly. "He's just one guy, he isn't worth anything fighting against a whole band of men."

He couldn't wait till Vault put the plan in motion. Sure, he wasn't the only head honcho but there were thousands who looked up to the Master of the Black Dogs. Many of those admirers were part of the nobility who sponsored Vault and his ambitions. Morgan grinned as he imagined what he would do to Grace...and her cute little friend too.

First, he had to get rid of that uppity bastard with the tattered hat. And he was going to do it openly in a fight. His boys were ready, that and the small orc band that he had managed to convince to come with him on this little excursion.

Morgan didn't need to think about anything else other than his little victory.

/

Brandon Irons was a merchant both by blood and by trade. His father was an unscrupulous man who did everything he could to hold onto his money, even if it meant the sundering of relationships and backstabbing other potential partners. It was not surprising to find that his son was of the same mentality.

Brandon wanted the stranger in the tattered hat out of the way because of potential loss of income. He could not care less if he was a noble or not, the little scene that happened with his two lead serving girls that he had planned to pimp out to potential partners was not something he wanted to repeat.

Brandon smiled. It was a good thing that Morgan was here, though. With the Black Dogs in charge, he'd be able to make more money turning his inn to a partial brothel. Two beautiful elven maidens would surely boost the amount of customers he could-

His world turned into a violent tumble as he staggered forward, the back of his head flaring up in pain. Brandon threw his arms up to catch himself from completely falling but he landed badly anyway.

Brandon hit the ground, tasting dirt in his mouth as he began to beg, "No! No! I-I have money! I can pay!"

Hands gripped his clothes, and with immense strength his assailant lifted him up and slammed him backwards into one of the trees around them. Brandon gasped and paled as the predatory gaze of the Hunter looked into his very soul.

"We are well met, Master Irons…" His voice, muffled by the cloth mask he wore, was thinly laced with irritation. "It seems that I caught you in a rather bad place." He tilted his head, "You see...I was just taking a stroll through the woods when I heard some rather interesting things on the way back to the village…"

Brandon paled even further if it was possible. The bastard had listened in on the entire conversation!?

The Hunter's eyes narrowed, "And now I find you here…With a rather distasteful individual."

"Please...Please milord," Brandon begged for his life as he began to sob, "Spare me…I'll turn a new leaf, I'll be a better man and boss to my workers...I'll stop being a penny pincher…" He began to babble sins, sins that the grim Hunter barely listened to.

"What makes you think I care about your sins?" The Hunter asked him, "Your Goddess is not here…" He leaned in close, whispering in Brandon's ear.

"There is only me."

The Hunter dropped Brandon who went on all fours and knelt. "I'll do anything milord, please! Please! Don't kill me!"

"I won't, my friend." The Hunter yanked Brandon up to his feet with a strength that was supernatural. "Unless you decide to deviate from whatever I have planned for your friend, Morgan."

"I-I'll do anything!" Brandon pleaded with the Hunter, "Please just don't hurt me!"

The Hunter glared at him, causing the fat innkeeper to slam his mouth shut, there was a calculating look in the man's terrible eyes as he looked Brandon over like a piece of meat waiting to be cut up and served.

"You will continue working for Morgan as he planned," He said to Brandon his voice rumbling with menace, "But from this moment onward...you will work for me. Betray me, and whatever torments you imagined this night will be given to you thrice over."

The beast like red eyes that glared into Brandon's stared right though his body, and into his soul. "Do you understand?"

Brandon nodded rapidly.

/

Kyril let the man go the moment they had their understanding. The fat fool was now an agent, albeit a temporary one, for his cause. Good. He would let Morgan think he had the upper hand in this petty conflict. It would only be taken away from him in the end.

The Hunter chided himself for his impatience in this matter. There was no reason to rush things, after all he knew the price of speed.

A Hunter needed to be patient in the pursuit of prey. Otherwise, it is he who becomes the one who was hunted down and killed. Kyril walked into the inn, keeping an easy pace as he headed inside his own room. He would have to deal with the fallout tomorrow, he had made plans to tell Anna and Grace what was going on but they were home now.

He…honestly did not have the heart to shatter whatever peace they had made here in this village. Neither did he want to, but he was going to have to do that tomorrow. Let them sleep in peace for now. They would have to make a decision to leave soon if things devolved into a sticky situation tomorrow.

He had Boris and another volunteer on watch for anything that could happen tonight, no doubt that there was no reason to be overly confident in not being attacked at all. Kyril doubted that he could sleep as much as anyone else did anyway. His memories were waiting for him.

They could wait a little longer.

/

The next morning was a bit more pleasant. As Kyril drafted his letter, with parchment courtesy of Brandon Irons his new, unwitting compatriot, the Hunter heard someone knocking on his door.

"Enter." Kyril set the quill back in its ink pot. He put his gloved hands at his desk.

"Boss, Irons wants to talk to you." Soren said, peaking his head in. Kyril nodded, looking at the cloth wrap on Soren's head. He blinked in some confusion.

"Ah, shit." Soren removed the cloth wrap and the door opened revealing that Soren had also donned a flour stained apron. "Sorry, Boss. Boris had me with him on kitchen duty. Fredrick's helping out with the firewood with Mister Florence."

"Florence?" Kyril asked.

"Er...Anna's husband." Soren answered.

Kyril nodded in satisfaction. Good. They may be guests but that did not mean one could be lazy. He took walks at night for a reason, looking for unscrupulous characters who bore ill will against the town.

Well...now he found them, and with Brandon's help, he was going to eliminate the lot of them in one fell swoop. He would have to leave soon, after he got the location of Morgan's camp from Master Irons.

"I'm ruined." Brandon Irons moped as he looked down at his feet. "Do you know what will happen if the fact that I worked with Morgan comes to light? I will lose business! Everything I have!" He glared at the Hunter pathetically.

"I do not care." Kyril replied coldly, causing the man to flinch. "You intended on selling two of your best workers to a slavering rapist, perhaps Morgan offered you a share of the women you offered? Or is it the gold that excites you?"

The Hunter moved suddenly and Brandon gagged as the man lifted him up by the throat with supernatural strength. "I could snap your neck like a twig. Or I could rip out your guts with my bare hands...But, you should relax." He growled.

Kyril let the man go and Brandon went down, gasping for air. The Hunter grabbed the man by the back of the collar, hauling him up to his feet. "If you give me where Morgan's base camp is, you can continue running your inn without any interference. My aim is still to go to Ken after all. However, if Morgan has heard wind of my coming. If I even think that you warned him in some secret way; you will die eyeless and screaming should I return here."

"Whatever happens now is your choice." Kyril finished.

Brandon Irons shook his head, swearing under his breath. "He's in the woods, to the east. Follow the path and you'll find an old tree with scars upon its bark. The path to the right will be where the hidden camp is."

Kyril quirked a brow. "That's quite specific." He told Brandon.

"The woods of Rad are old, milord." Brandon whispered. "Older than the Goddess herself." He looked at Kyril with teary eyes. "I have done nothing to warn him, Morgan does not know you are coming."

"Very well." Kyril said. "My compatriots shall be keeping an eye on you, should I not return I have given them leave to reveal everything we have discussed, not just to your two lead serving girls but also to the town at large. You are complicit in Morgan's crimes, now. Remember that."

The ride to the eastern woods was a quick one, but the day was fading fast. He would have to make this quick. Kyril guided his horse down the path, where an old tree did indeed wait for him. The Hunter smiled underneath his cloth bandanna as he saw the scarred tree. Just as master Irons told him, the tree was indeed on the way to Morgan's camp.

He clicked his tongue at his nervous horse and continued down the path to the right. No doubt, Morgan hadn't left yet. He would have known it. Kyril's eyes scanned the dark woods, looking for any sign of enemies. Brandon told him that Morgan aimed to attack at night and Kyril's goal was to keep that from happening.

Kyril's thoughts drifted to the discussion he had with Olga about the eastern woods of Rad. She seemed to have know something when he asked her about them. Especially about the scarred tree.

/

A few hours ago…

"A scarred tree?"

Kyril frowned when he saw that Olga's hand trembled slightly. The Dark Elf Queen was recovering, but she still seemed a bit weak. She wore threadbare robes that had been purchased secondhand. Chloe had shown disapproval but Kyril put a stop to it, that and they had to remain hidden anyway. Chloe was an artist of stealth, so Kyril didn't need to worry about anything on her end.

Her task, which she assigned herself, was to stay as a guardian of the Dark Queen. Kyril didn't argue that point and only ordered her to stay hidden as much as possible.

"Yes." The Hunter said. "The innkeeper also said something about these woods being older than the Goddess herself. I assume you know something, just in case I encounter complications that I need to kill."

Olga looked distantly outside. Despite the sunny day, she felt a chill. The Dark Queen exhaled. "The innkeeper is right. Before the Goddess, there were many creatures who ruled these unexplored lands." She didn't turn as Kyril joined her at the window, "Celestine wasn't as interested as I was with the dark history of the world."

"You were close." Kyril observed.

"In...yes, yes we were close." Olga said, honestly now. She supposed her silent gaoler had a few good points. He did not judge her for one thing, and neither did he mock her at all.

"But those scarred trees...Aye, I would be cautious. It is said that there are those who draw strength from those woods. Few know of them, but those that do are said to worship them." Olga said.

She sounded...nervous.

"What are you not telling me?" Kyril's voice never rose but Olga wilted regardless.

"I...have thought about our conversation," She told him sighing. "Back...back before we arrived."

"In the Badlands?"

The Hunter's gaze drifted to hers and he quietly drew the curtains closed, causing the room to dim. Olga looked away first, but she continued.

"I tried, I really did," She said to him. "To make peace with Celestine, but my people continued to be enslaved." Olga looked at Kyril. "I will tell her that...when we get there."

Kyril blinked, "Then I hope you make your peace when she denies it." He said. He then exhaled through his nose, "Although I have a feeling that something else will come to pass when we arrive in Ken."

Olga wished she had foresight, for the Hunter's words caused her to shiver.

/

Presently...

Kyril definitely knew the discussion he had proved its worth. The air in these woods was...ancient. That was the best description he had. Ancient, and yet familiar at the same time. It was as if he was traveling to Byrgenwerth for the first time again. The woods sheltered an ancient power here, something he was going to have to recover at a later date.

He had Black Dogs to kill. Whatever got in the way of that was dead too.

Clicking his tongue at his horse, Kyril looked around again before dismounting. He smirked as he smelled cooking meat from a fire. The Hunter tied his horse to another tree, making a note of where he made his temporary place of preparations. He clipped his Saw Cleaver to the harness on his back and took out the Holy Moonlight Sword.

No mercy for traitors. He was going all in.

His sword leaned on his shoulder, Kyril moved into the brush seeking the source of the smell of cooking meat. His eyes soon caught sight of a fire and he found a group of orcs surrounding a cooking pit. They seemed to be in ritual, their tongues ululating to their dark gods.

Good. They were about to meet them in person. Switching to a two handed grip, the Hunter charged his boots crunching through the undergrowth. The Holy Moonlight Sword cleaved into its first victim, the Hunter cutting it down in a single downward slash.

The filthy greenskin died without a sound, nearly severed from shoulder to groin and it flopped uselessly into the grass. Its compatriots were slack-jawed, shocked into inaction by the sudden assault. Kyril raised his sword again, the blade gleaming in the setting sun. The next orc to die lost its head to a savage horizontal stroke. The last tried to flee but the Hunter caught up to it.

The orc screamed in agony as the sword punched through its chest, the Holy Moonlight Sword's arcane might burned its horrible wound and it shuddered and died. Kyril kicked the corpse off of his weapon. The gore sizzled before vaporizing completely off of the blade. Kyril looked at the ruins of the camp and set off, making his way down the path.

He saw old footprints and knew he was in the right place…

The Hunter found more small camps, and killed off more of the greenskins. He slaughtered them without mercy, their cries for their gods sounding piggish in the coming dusk. Were they truly so reprehensible? He wondered if the orcish gods even heard their pleas for their aid.

He thought this as he brought down another greenskin with an offhand swipe of the Holy Moonlight Sword. Did the gods of this world create such creatures fit only to be despised and cut down like vermin? He probably would never find out the answers, standing here in the gore of dead orcs.

Kyril swung down the Moonlight Sword one handed, ridding it of unworthy blood. The arcane blade gleamed dully as if in response. The Hunter moved on as he always did, leaving a trail of slaughter behind. Just as he did in Yharnam.

Morgan's world had crashed down around him. His camp, and those of the orc, had been attacked by a single man. A man that was more like a monster than anything else. The commander of the Leaping Lizards stood, sword drawn, with five of his men as they faced the entrance to the camp where the screams came from.

The mercenary watched as the man known as the Hunter, came for him.

The gray coated stranger walked calmly, covered in gore. Leaning against his shoulder in a one handed grip was a mighty greatsword, gleaming with black-green energy. In his off hand was the head of one of Morgan's men, gripped in a gloved hand by its lank hair. The Hunter's red eyes were lifeless, devoid of mercy.

Morgan tightened the grip on his sword as he heard one of his boys give out a terrified moan.

"Bastard." Morgan hissed.

"I warned you not to escalate things." The Hunter replied to Morgan's posturing, "But here we are...I hope your men are just as ready as you are to die for your injured pride."

Morgan roared as he gestured for his men to strike. The Hunter watched with practiced ease as the men charged him, in fear or desperation he did not know. The Hunter moved, instantly, throwing the severed head in his off hand at the first man who ducked the blow.

Leaving him vulnerable to a swipe from the greatsword that opened him up like a butcher cutting a roast. The man died without a sound as his comrades gaped at the gory spectacle. They would have stood a chance if they didn't panic.

It was too late, the Hunter was already on them. Another swing removed the head of the next victim's neck in a smooth arc. The greatsword cleaved the sword arm of the third. The fourth, weeping and wailing, tried to beg for mercy but the Hunter's off hand gripped his throat and crushed his windpipe with inhuman strength.

"Damn you!" Morgan screamed raising his sword at the Hunter. "You won't stop us!"

Kyril watched as Morgan charged him, moving so slowly he might as well be standing still. The Hunter adjusted his two handed grip on the Holy Moonlight Sword and swung into Morgan's charge. The mercenary, realizing his mistake too late, tried to pull back only to end up with the greatsword cleaving into his body. Morgan gasped as he looked at the sword, the mighty weapon having cleaved into his chest through his shoulder.

The master of the Leaping Lizards coughed as Kyril regarded him with a neutral gaze. Something was keeping him alive despite the terrible wounds. The Hunter prepared to rip the Holy Moonlight Sword out of Morgan's body when he heard the rustling leaves and the sound of a howling wind.

He smirked underneath his cloth bandanna.

"I assume this man is yours?" He asked out loud.

"Well now...Thousands of years pass by in these woods and yet never have I met someone like you, a man touched by the gods…"

Kyril couldn't see who, or what, was talking but he caught glimpses. The Hunter saw the fleshy tail of a rat and the impression of rough fur, deep and dark as midnight. Kyril shook his head, he was sure that whatever this thing meant about being touched by the gods...there was some truth to those words.

"So you say," The Hunter replied to the thing's question, "Who are you? And how is this...scum so important to you that you are keeping him alive even after I have nearly cut him in two?"

"Straight to the point. I like that." The thing answered, amused. Its voice was as old as the mountains, wet like the dankest marsh and cruel as a mad god, "As to why this fleshling is still alive...His father's father made a deal with me to stave off misfortune. Morgan is a self-made orphan you see, a kin slayer. His soul was marked the moment he killed his mother in her own bed."

Kyril looked at Morgan, whose pain filled eyes implored him for mercy. "You have yet to identify yourself." He said to the forest creature.

"My apologies, that was rude wasn't it?" The thing spoke, almost contritely. It seemed amused that someone was talking so casually to it. "My name...Hmm, I have so many that even I cannot keep track of them all. Ah well, it is what it is. You may call me the Rat."

The Rat.

Hardly terror inspiring but from the way Morgan kept gasping for mercy, he assumed the thing just made it up. He wasn't about to mention that of course.

"And what would the Rat have to do with the fate of a man's soul?" Kyril asked, politely.

"A deal. You see...men and women, young and old, cast their prayers out for the Gods to hear...some are good and simple; a good husband or wife, or maybe a good bit fortune while working for their daily bread. Me? I seek the survivors, the desperate ones, the ambitious dreamers with very big dreams. Vault was one of those ambitious dreamers."

The Hunter could feel the Rat's amused look, "And now he is dead. You killed him in quite the spectacular fashion."

So the Rat saw that. Kyril wasn't surprised at all that eyes were on him. He just hoped that the Rat wasn't planning on offering anything to him, or trying to avenge Vault. The Hunter shrugged his shoulder, the motion causing the Holy Moonlight Sword to bite slightly deeper into Morgan's body. The man groaned in pain even as he bled out, kept alive by the Rat's sorcery.

"So what now?" Kyril asked.

"Simple really. You're quite interesting, my god-touched friend. So, let me take Morgan off of your blade. I get his soul...and you get a little something in return. He is-well, was, your quarry after all and it would be very rude for me to just take without offering something in return."

The Rat's proposal was simple. Kyril was certain that there may be hidden requirements of course. The Hunter wasn't about to blindly accept however. "Tell me, do you know who I have in my company?" He asked.

"The Bitch Queen of Garan?" The Rat chuckled. "Not really hard to guess. The Goddess Reborn casts out her sight all the time to see any way of ending that little argument with her dearest former friend...It's just too bad that the end of that conflict is just the beginning of the other."

Kyril nodded. "Very well, you may take this one."

"Oh, good." The Rat was chipper. A fleshy tail, much like a rat's, emerged from the shadows and wrapped around Morgan's ruined body. The man began to scream and cursed the Hunter hoarsely as he was dragged off. Kyril kept his eyes off of the sight and instead leaned on the Holy Moonlight Sword which he stabbed point first into the ground.

Morgan's fate was sealed and judging from the screams for mercy and the angry chittering noises he was not liking it at all.

After a small amount of time, Kyril decided to sit down on a boulder and leaned his sword across his lap.

"Ah...the screams of a kin slayer are most satisfying."

Kyril felt the Rat's presence over his left shoulder. Another fleshy tail dangled a cord of some unknown material in front of him. Hanging off of it was a finger, Kyril did not know whose but he hazarded a guess that he would keep to himself. There was a mark on the finger.

"This one's for you. You are a man who lives off of the lives of others do you not?"

That...was one way of putting it. The Hunter nodded his head, "My hunch was right I suppose." He said. "There's another war coming."

"Aye...there will always another war upon this land," The Rat spoke. "Hence why people like you are coming around."

There was a chittering, noisome chuckling. "The Old Gods are waking, perhaps they may have need of you when this war has begun. A war of traitors." Another chitter.

"I hope the Goddess is ready…"