"The chosen one? What do you mean?" Emery demanded, his voice trembling as he tried to regain his composure.
"You were chosen to inherit the power," the creature replied, its tone calm yet unsettlingly alien.
Emery's mind raced as he grappled with the surreal situation. "So, you're what? A demon?" he asked, his voice rising slightly as he tried to steady himself.
The creature stepped into the faint light of the full moon, emerging from the deep shadows cast by the massive tree. Yet, even illuminated, the creature's appearance remained shrouded in an unsettling ambiguity—a mix of details revealed and obscured by the interplay of light and shadow. It was like nothing Emery had ever seen.
"Not exactly," the creature said. "I suppose you could say I'm a being from another dimension. One where we can see your world, but you cannot see ours."
Emery's heart pounded harder. "Prove it!" he blurted, his voice more forceful than he intended. "Tell me something only I would know."
The creature paused, its head tilting slightly as if studying him. "You extorted the prison directors, threatening their loved ones to ensure they shared the list of prisoners newly freed each week."
"And you arranged for the town crier to announce the names of newly freed prisoners each week. And you write all their names, and they die under the condition you carefully chose."
His mind reeled as the implications settled in. "Did you create the pen? Why would you choose someone to wield it here?"
"Yes… I did. I was cursed by God. This is my sentence."
"Cursed by God?" Emery echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. "So there is... a God?"
The creature's expression didn't change, but its words carried a weight that made Emery feel small. "If I were to tell you outright, there would be no need for faith, would there?"
"I suppose not," Emery conceded, his head swimming. A yawn escaped him as his fear gave way to the exhaustion he had been suppressing. "Chosen…" he muttered, his eyelids growing heavier. "Chosen, huh? What a strange dream I'm..." His words slurred as his eyes fluttered shut.
Emery slowly laid himself down on the ground, his breathing growing steady. The creature knelt beside him, its movements deliberate and careful. As if cautious not to wake him, it began to probe Emery's garments.
With a steady hand, it extracted the pen, marveling at its sheen even in the dim light. It attempted to write on its own arm, but the pen jerked violently, shaking free from its grasp. Then, as if held by an unseen hand, it began inscribing text onto its cloak. The creature watched, transfixed, as the rules of the pen etched themselves into the fabric.
"So that's how he..." it murmured. Batin straightened, looked around and stared at the pen with a gaze that flickered between temptation and restraint.
Maybe I should use it on him, Batin mused. Kill him temporarily… and then revive him once I deliver him to the witch hunter!
By the way, how did he even know her real name?
A calculating silence hovered in the stillness. He looked down at the pen again. If I use this power on him now, they will learn of its existence… Batin tucked the pen carefully into his garment, turned and began to walk away.
This may prove useful...
"Using his mind..." the witch hunter said, his voice low and measured as he stood tall, his posture commanding. His dark blue coat, cut like a military officer's, clung sharply to his lean frame.
"Yes," Batin answered, voice steady but wary. "If he knows a man's true name, he can kill him—simply by speaking it aloud, alongside a condition for revival." He glanced around the cramped tent, eyes sharp.
"That's what I've been told. How else would he manage it? You've seen him—he moves like any common man, does nothing remarkable, and yet they all fall dead." Batin pulled a folded scrap of parchment from inside his cloak and held it out. "I even have one of the lists he's written!"
The hunter took the parchment without a word, his gaze shifting to the paper. His face was a mask of calculated cruelty: clean-shaven, jaw tight, brown hair slicked back flawlessly, reminiscent of a man who took ruthless care of every detail.
"Without knowing a man's name, he can't kill him," Batin added firmly. One of the witch hunter's squadron, a burly man with a scar tracing down his cheek, leaned forward. "You hiding anything else on you?"
Batin recoiled, his arm shooting out to block the intrusion.
"Let's see .." he growled, yanking the fabric aside to check for concealed items. Another voice broke the silence—a younger recruit with a sharp, narrow face. "We still don't understand the nature of his power."
"I said no!"
"But sir," a third voice pressed, "what if he's lying? We cannot trust this abomination. What if he's setting us up to die?" Batin's eyes snapped, fire flaring.
"That's right," another soldier spat, "he's not to be trusted."
"Think! You dullards," snapped a rough-voiced veteran, voice laced with frustration, "what good would killing us do to him? Nobody even knows who we are!"
Outside, the moon's silver glow slipped between the canvas flaps, the distant county resting quietly under its watch.
We can now capture him. A cold certainty settled over him.
"I'm his only hope of ever getting back into the royal court." The squadron suddenly fell silent.
Batin gasped, feeling the witch hunter's stare choking him.
"Besides," the witch hunter added quietly, "he's seen me in action before. He knows that would be a grave mistake…"
They were faint at first, but they grew louder, closer. Emery lay in restless slumber, only to be jolted awake by the unmistakable sound of footsteps. Without hesitation, he broke into a desperate run, his instincts urging him forward before his mind could catch up.
A dagger sliced through the air, narrowly missing his right arm. Emery whipped around, just in time to dodge another strike aimed for his head. Panic surged through him as shadows moved like predators in the darkness.
From afar, the witch hunter observed.
Spotting a barn in the distance, Emery sprinted toward it, throwing himself against the heavy doors. He fumbled with the thick wooden bar, sliding it into place just as his pursuers slammed against the other side.
Inside, the barn was dimly lit by a single lantern, its flickering glow casting jagged shadows over the stacks of hay. Emery's breath came in ragged gasps as he surveyed the space, eyes darting to the rafters and corners, searching for any openings that might betray him.
Flames licked hungrily at the dry hay, spreading faster than he could react. In his frantic movements, his shoulder had struck the lantern.
"It's the end of the line, Death Dealer!" a voice bellowed from outside. The witch hunter had arrived, his silhouette framed against the growing blaze.
"There must be a mistake! Please!" Emery cried, pulling his hood over his head. Squadron members scaled the barn's walls, climbing toward the hayloft.
He screamed, desperately beating at the fire with his other hand. Emery swatted at the flames that had caught his left arm. He could have removed his outer garment, but doing so would reveal his identity—a risk he refused to take. Even now, he clung to the hope that there was a way out.
On the opposite side of the barn, Batin had reached another elevated platform. His face twisted in dismay as he took in the chaos below. "The princess!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the crackling inferno.
His lips curled into a wicked grin. "The king asked me to bring you back alive!" the witch hunter declared, stepping onto the hayloft. "But it seems God has other plans."
"You can't kill him!" Batin yelled. "The princess will die forever if he perishes here!" Emery's gaze snapped toward Batin. His mind raced. You cursed monster!
"Since you're about to burn to ashes, I'll enlighten you... You must be wondering how you got caught" the witch hunter said, his tone dripping with cruelty.
Emery nearly answered, but stopped himself. "If only you had been smarter, this could have been interesting..."
"The only thing i needed to do was to remove a different name from the town crier's lists for each county. The one that survived was traced back to its corresponding county—and that's how we identified where you were operating."
"Once we narrowed the location, I learned of Alavaric Devannes—your first victim. The personal undertone of the condition written on his forehead led me to surmise that the culprit was either someone close to him, someone he knew, or at the very least an acquaintance. From there, it was just a matter of watching and waiting."
Emery trembled, suffocated by the heat and the crushing weight of the revelations.
"But we chose not to approach you just yet. We knew nothing about your power or how you used it, so we held back," the witch hunter continued. "That's where Batin came in—his gruesome appearance, the information we fed him, and the fact that he identified you as the Death Dealer were enough to make you lower your guard..."
The fire surged, forcing the squadron to retreat outside.
He's going to die! I can't have that! I can't have that! I need to do something, I need to do something! Batin thought frantically, before feeling a strange tickling sensation on his arm.
The pen— it was the pen.
Outside, townsfolk had gathered, drawn by the blazing inferno. They watched in horror and fascination as the barn began to fall apart.
"Witness, O people, what happens to those who go against the will of the King! Witness, O people, the end of the Death Dealer !!" one of the soldiers shouted.
Some erupted in jeers and accusations. "You monster!" an old farmer yelled. "Have you thought of the families you've destroyed?"
"I waited 5 years for my husband to get out!! For you to take him away from me yet again !! You heartless wretch !!" a woman cried, her voice trembling with anguish. Hurling stones and whatever they could, their voices rose in anger as they humiliated him, their fury echoing through the night air.
Some remained silent, some were perplexed, and others shocked.
Emery, humiliated and desperate, tried to escape through the flames but collapsed, his body weakened by suffocation. The fire consumed the barn entirely, forcing everyone to retreat from its searing heat.
Amidst the blaze, Emery's figure could barely be seen. His body had completely burned, crumbling into nothing but ashes, scattered by the roaring inferno...