Midnight Wanderer.
I watched him closely. He was muttering something to himself, lost in a trance.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"With time, both man and his nature wither... Pride and ego are but fleeting shadows," he whispered.
A cold shiver raced down my spine.
Inside the carriage, the candlelight flickered against the wooden walls as if the light itself was terrified. Outside, the rhythmic 'tap-tap' of the horses' hooves sliced through the haunting silence. I reached out and touched the Logan Gun resting beside me—its cold steel sent a strange, electric jolt through my fingertips.
A deathly silence masked Midnight Wanderer's face. The scholarly wisdom that once filled his eyes had sharpened into the lethal gaze of a predator.He is here..." Wanderer's voice was bone-chillingly cold.
The carriage groaned to a halt. Outside, the silence of the 'Valley of Death' was suffocating, as if an invisible hand was tightening around our throats. With a violent jerk, Wanderer flung the carriage door open.
He looked up at the abyssal sky for a moment, then slowly bowed his head. A faint, dark smile crept across his lips. In a low, guttural growl, he spoke:
"The night has reached its absolute peak."
In the distance stood an ancient fortress. From a high, narrow window, an eerie, sickly green light bled into the darkness.
"Stay here," he commanded. Wanderer tilted his head toward the heavens and raised both hands into the freezing air. In a voice that sounded like it was rising from the cracks of an ancient grave, he chanted a forbidden incantation:
"Wrath of the Heavens... Existence of the Gods!"
The wind died instantly. The clouds above turned a deep, bruised black, looking as if the very fabric of the sky was about to tear open.
The fortress gates creaked open. A massive, ink-black shadow surged toward us with the speed of a lightning bolt. It didn't look human. FIRE Wanderer roared.
With trembling hands and eyes clamped shut, I pulled the trigger of the Logan Gun.
BANG The roar of the shot echoed through the desolate valley.
The bullet struck the shadow's shoulder, but there was no blood. Instead, thick black smoke hissed from the wound. It didn't slow down. It kept coming. Its twisted smile widened even further.
Suddenly, it vanished. Was it over?
No! Wanderer shoved me aside just as a dark silhouette plummeted from the sky, piercing the air.
Wanderer's voice boomed, "Enough! I, the Architect of Death, the Dealer of Existence, the Deity of Dark Souls... I decree the end of this shadow!"
Amidst a web of darkness, Wanderer sprinted toward the entity. He whipped out the Luger from his pocket, spun with practiced grace, and
BANG
The bullet hit the shadow squarely in the forehead. "The ego of dreams," Wanderer muttered.
With a wave of his hand, he conjured an invisible wall of air, sealing the entity in a void.
Wanderer's legs buckled. I rushed to him, catching him before he hit the ground. "Is it finished?" I panted.
"Ah..."
The entity had evaporated into thin air. But the wind carried that same familiar, nauseating stench of rotting flesh... the same smell that had haunted the gates of my home.