The first light of dawn barely cut through the thick fog that clung to the forest floor. Every tree loomed like a sentinel, their skeletal branches swaying with the restless wind. The air smelled of damp earth, ash, and something far fouler — the lingering stench of demons.
Aelric rode at the head of the patrol, his eyes sharp as obsidian. Behind him, the soldiers of Duskveil moved like shadows, swords glinting faintly in the gray light. Each of them carried the tension of the night before, and the unspoken fear that this day might be their last.
Kaelen had given them strict orders: scout, strike only if necessary, and return. But Aelric had learned long ago that demons rarely waited politely for orders.
---
The forest of Ashmar was quiet — too quiet. The crunch of their boots on wet leaves sounded deafening in the stillness. Then, a scream shattered the morning calm.
Aelric's sword was in his hand before he could think. "Positions!" he shouted.
From the mist, demons poured out. Twisted forms, black as night with eyes of fire, claws raking through armor, fangs bared. They attacked without warning, the smell of brimstone following them.
The battle erupted like a storm. Blades clashed against claws, fire spat from mouths that shouldn't exist, and screams echoed across the trees. Aelric moved with lethal grace, striking down two demons at once, then another. His sword gleamed silver in the dim light, cutting through darkness and terror alike.
A wolf-like demon leapt toward him from the shadows, claws extended. He spun, the blade slicing through the creature's neck, sending it collapsing in a pile of ash.
Behind him, his soldiers fought valiantly, but they were inexperienced and fearful. One by one, they fell to the relentless tide of demons.
"Form a circle!" Aelric commanded, voice cutting through the chaos. "Don't let them flank us!"
Even as he fought, a nagging awareness pressed at the back of his mind: someone was watching. Someone waiting to strike from inside.
---
Hours passed like minutes. When the last demon fell, the forest was quiet again, save for the ragged breaths of the survivors. Blood soaked the mud, and the silver of his blade reflected the horrors of the hunt.
Aelric knelt beside one of his fallen comrades, pressing a hand to the young vampire's chest. He was gone.
"We can't save them all," one soldier whispered, voice trembling.
"No," Aelric said, rising slowly. "But we survive to hunt the rest. That is our duty."
---
Back at Duskveil, the aftermath of the battle weighed heavily on the keep. The wounded were tended to, the dead laid to rest, and the council gathered again. Kaelen's eyes burned as he listened to the reports.
"Half the patrol gone," he said quietly. "And you returned with only a handful of survivors?"
"They were lucky we were there," Aelric replied, voice low. "The demons are learning faster than we can track. We need to strike at their command, or they'll pick us apart."
Kaelen studied him, expression unreadable. "And the traitor?"
Aelric shook his head. "Not yet revealed. But I feel their presence."
Kaelen's crimson eyes narrowed. "Then we must be ready. The night is long, Aelric, and treachery is patient."
---
That evening, as the storm rolled in again, Aelric patrolled the walls of Duskveil alone. The wind tugged at his cloak, carrying whispers of smoke and shadows. And from the darkness, a familiar presence stirred.
Serath emerged from the shadows, her violet eyes glowing faintly. "You fought well," she said, voice soft and laced with danger. "But do you understand what you've just begun?"
"I understand enough," Aelric replied, hand on his sword. "War has come. And I will meet it head-on."
She smiled, dangerously close. "You're stronger than I imagined… but strength alone is not enough. The blood you've spilled, the power you crave… it can consume you. Will you take it?"
Aelric's eyes flickered with crimson fire. "If it makes the demons regret the night they were born… then yes."
Serath's grin widened. "Good. Very good."
From the darkness, the forest seemed to pulse, alive with secrets and shadows. The first battle had been won, but the war — the real hunt — had only just begun.
And somewhere deep in the woods, a figure watched. Cloaked in darkness, eyes glowing red, lips
curved into a smile of malice. The traitor's hour was approaching.