Chapter Nine: Hunters in the Black
The storm broke at dawn.
Ash rained from the heavens like a second snowfall, cloaking the ruined lands in a ghostly shroud.
Kain buried Lyra's body beneath a broken arch, marking the grave with a shard of her shattered spear.
He stood in silence, the twin fires within him burning low, mourning and rage tangled in his heart.
But there was no time for grief.
The Abyss had felt the awakening.
And it was sending its hounds.
Kain first sensed them as a shiver in the earth—
—then saw them: figures dressed in armor black as the void, their faces hidden behind smooth, eyeless masks.
The Black Hunters.
Elite assassins, forged in the pits of the Abyss, trained to hunt Vessels and heirs alike.
There were six of them.
Kain knew he couldn't fight them all.
He ran.
Through shattered alleys and crumbling corridors, he sprinted, the flames inside him barely enough to mask his trail.
The Hunters moved like smoke—relentless, silent, inevitable.
Every time he turned a corner, another one appeared.
Every exit he tried was blocked.
"They're herding me," Kain realized grimly. "Driving me somewhere."
And then he saw it—the old tower at the heart of the ruins, a spire split open by ancient wars.
The Hunters wanted him there.
A trap.
But Vera's voice rang clear in his mind:
"Into the storm, Kain. Sometimes the only way out... is through."
Gritting his teeth, Kain ran toward the broken tower.
Behind him, the Black Hunters gave chase, their blades gleaming with a hunger that only the Abyss could breed.
Ahead, thunder growled, and the shadows deepened.
The true hunt had begun.