The city stretched out beneath me like a fortress of stone and shadow. High walls bristled with archers, gates reinforced with iron, and watchtowers peered down like unmoving sentinels. Smoke curled from chimneys, markets buzzed faintly with morning commerce, and the streets were alive with the ordinary chaos of city life. Merchants shouted, guards drilled, and citizens went about their routines, oblivious to the predator watching from the ridges outside.
Voraciel pulsed faintly against my back, a subtle thrum of life responding to intent. The whisper tickled my thoughts: "…kill." Not a command, not a demand. Just presence. Alive. Patient. Waiting.
I crouched in the long grass, scanning the city's defenses. Guards moved in disciplined rotations along the walls, patrols traced predictable paths, and supply wagons rolled through the main gates at precise times. Observation alone revealed weaknesses: a distracted archer tilting his head too long at a passing cloud, a gate left open for a fraction too long, a patrol formation slightly staggered.
This city was no village. Here, heroes walked, trained individuals whose instincts could catch minor anomalies. My previous battles—militia, mercenaries, uncoordinated villages—had been easy in comparison. Here, the stakes were higher. Every step miscalculated could expose me. Every sound could betray intent.
By midday, I had mapped the outer districts. I observed the patrol rotations, supply entrances, merchant patterns, and civilian movements. A mage with a small familiar practiced fire spells in the courtyard, ignoring nothing. A swordsman drilled with precision and discipline, shield raised against imaginary foes. And an archer, eyes sharp and calculating, never once looked away from the streets beyond. Mistakes were few, subtle, but present.
From my vantage, I traced a path through rooftops, alleyways, and hidden passages. Observation alone was enough to chart their weaknesses. Voraciel hummed faintly, attuned to my focus, responding to intent. Bloodlust whispered faintly in my mind, pressing: "…kill—Crimson Tide." Not yet. Patience and calculation must come first.
The afternoon passed. I waited, watching the city's life continue, mapping every nuance. Guards rotated precisely, merchants followed exact routines, citizens wandered predictably. Minor mistakes accumulated like invisible cracks across the city's defenses. Supply routes intersected with patrol gaps. Guards glanced at shadows at the wrong moment. Windows left unlocked. Every detail noted, every movement cataloged.
By evening, I had picked my first entry point: a section of wall near the river gate where shadows pooled thickest. Guards shifted slightly out of formation as they changed shifts, creating a narrow window for infiltration. I descended silently, Voraciel humming faintly, alive, responsive to my intent.
The first minor skirmish tested both techniques. Crimson Tide struck silently from the shadows, knocking out two guards without alerting the others. Raven's Fang followed, spreading tendrils of darkness to disorient the rest of the patrol. The guards stumbled, faltered, and fell over each other as the shadows moved with lethal intent. I felt the surge of bloodlust, but controlled it. Precision first. Efficiency over chaos. Observation always precedes action.
As I moved deeper into the city, I noticed the first signs that the heroes were aware. A faint shimmer in the mage's familiar, a subtle shift in the swordsman's stance, the archer's gaze scanning rooftops and alleys more sharply. Their awareness was heightened, but not perfect. Small mistakes remained. Predictable errors I could exploit.
Night descended fully, and the city became a network of shadows and light. Lanterns flickered, casting distorted shapes across streets and rooftops. I climbed a tower near the central plaza, Voraciel pulsing faintly as if alive. The heroes were now moving as a coordinated unit, sweeping streets, checking rooftops, and patrolling supply routes. Observation alone could not predict everything. The city demanded active adaptation.
I tested the limits of Voraciel. Crimson Tide struck first, precise and silent. Raven's Fang followed, spreading darkness to disrupt the heroes' coordination. The mage conjured fire, illuminating the shadows, but Voraciel adapted, bending darkness around the light. The swordsman blocked and countered, but a single misstep—a tiny shift in footing—was all I needed to strike. The archer loosed arrows, but shadows redirected them, turning the attack back on the group.
The city had heroes, and they were learning. But so was I. Each movement they made, each instinctive reaction, fed into Voraciel's awareness. Every failure, every hesitation, was cataloged for future exploitation.
By midnight, small sections of the city were under my subtle influence. Supply routes disrupted, patrols rerouted, minor shadows shifting under the weight of intent. The heroes sensed danger, but they had not yet realized the magnitude of what was moving unseen among them. I crouched atop a rooftop, watching their frustrated attempts to respond to disturbances they could not trace.
Voraciel pulsed faintly. Bloodlust pressed at the edge of my mind, but I kept it restrained. Tonight was about observation, preparation, and understanding the battlefield. The city itself would teach me what I needed to know.
As dawn approached, the heroes regrouped in the central plaza, exhausted but aware that something or someone had infiltrated their defenses. Their discipline remained intact, but subtle cracks had appeared. A shieldman flinched at a shadow that wasn't there. The mage overextended in a defensive spell. The archer misjudged a rooftop landing. Minor mistakes, but enough to hint that the predator was near.
I retreated silently to a hidden room outside the eastern wall, cheap sword at my side, Voraciel sheathed. Bread purchased. Coins counted. Routine maintained. Invisible. Yet the thrill was sharper than ever.
This city was different. Heroes moved within it. Discipline was high, skill abundant. And still, shadows bent, supply lines shifted, mistakes accumulated, and the predator watched.
For the first time, I felt the taste of a challenge that could not be solved by patience alone. This would require adaptation, skill, and the full measure of Voraciel's power. The first city battle was just beginning, and unlike the villages, failure here carried far more consequences.
The night was quiet, but tension hung in every shadow.