"Of all the Thralls ever recorded in existence, only these two ever dare venture into the lands of men. Which is deadlier, of the two, you ask? Both. Vilkasvirs are forces of raw rage and predation. The Akharim… are far more subtle. Aye, you can stall them by talking. But pray that you are able to keep their interest long enough for help to arrive. For at least three Paladins are needed to subdue one."
- Lectures Series 93 by Edeorn Synestra, Paladin S-Class
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Village of Amos, Outskirts of Hammerstain, Eiridan Empire
Ezakem 10 AE
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Nash had no idea who the woman's daughter was among the hundreds of villagers in this village. And he has no intention of leaving this village with just the girl. But he intends to save her still. He intends to save them all. That simply means having to rid the village of this Vilkasvir scourge.
The crimson light of the sky was just receding and the village is beginning to be swathed in the blanket of night. Nash waited an hour.
Two more lupines later emerged, were cleansed, and killed by his daggers.
Another hour.
The third pair of Vilkasvir died.
By Nash's count, forty or so villagers were gone to the Vilkasvir attacks. Nash hoped the Akharim controlling the Vilkasvir would wonder why none have returned and come to investigate. That, or the Akharim would keep sending more until all the Vilkasvir were gone.
However, he prayed the Akharim and the Vilkasvir would not attack at the same time. It was a gamble. If the Akharim attacked along with all the Vilkasvir in its command, Nash is unsure if he would be able to contain the chaos that would ensue.
The village might be collateral damage. That, or he might die. And if he died, all the villagers would die.
Finally, his senses flared.
Several green glowing eyes looked at him from behind the shadows of the trees. Along came the signature lupine growls.
"By the El," Nash mused at the creatures.
Around forty Vilkasvir surrounded the lone mill on the hill. And Nash only brought two daggers.
"I knew I should've brought more," he shook his head at himself, expertly rotating his daggers in his fingers before finally clutching them snugly, blade down.
"Ah well," he turned back to the growling horde, "at least you came alone."
Less than a heartbeat later, an explosive force erupted where Nash stood and he was back on the rooftop of the mill, daggers crossed before his chest, protecting him from a thin rapier blade aiming for his heart.
An invisible barrier from his daggers effectively stopped the rapier's point, but the force of the blow pushed him that far back.
"No, they did not," a rasping voice behind the rapier said playfully. His pale skin, red irises, and pointed canines instantly gave him away. The Akharim.
He was a tall and lanky middle-aged man, dressed in a nobleman's black suit with a prim mustache and a bowler hat. He stood elegantly on Nash's previous position, one hand behind his lower back and the other sporting the thin rapier that powerfully forced Nash back on the rooftop.
A dangerous smile parted his thin lips.
"And here I thought this was going to be an easy job," Nash replied.
The night has just begun.
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An hour later, Nash lay bleeding with a deep gash on his side inside a dilapidated windmill with only the base walls remaining.
Facing the sky, only now did he notice the big red moon Qesh overcast with thin gray clouds. Just beside it, a thin crescent of the white moon Orus could barely be seen.
"That makes sense," he said, laughing. "It's Lilith's night, huh."
He groggily sat up. Surrounding the windmill scattered about forty naked human bodies. Lifeless men, women, young, and old. Vilkasvir cleansed of Nether. He regretted the lives lost tonight, but Nash was a practical person. He stood and walked to the edge of the forest, towards his prey.
The Akharim was plastered to one of the trees, squirming and flailing about. Nash's two daggers protruded from his right knee and left shoulder, pinning him to the trunk. His right arm and left leg uselessly hung in tatters, dripping bright red blood to the ground.
"Finish the job, Human," taunted the Akharim.
"Aye. I'll get to that in a bit," Nash replied as he moved dangerously close to the Akharim's face. "Do you have a name, Akharim?"
The Akharim only snarled.
"You're the fourth I've encountered this month," Nash said lightly.
Ever since he left the Eiridan Torrens Academy a year ago and began his job hunting Children of Lilith, most of the scourge only comprises Vilkasvir. He rarely encountered Akharim. Now he's faced four. The second one nearly killed him.
"It is only the beginning, human," the Akharim hissed.
"And you're the only one I managed to have a conversation with."
The Akharim only hissed at this.
"What is beginning?" he asked the creature.
A silent angry stare.
"You know," Nash said, "you keep referring to me as if I'm different from you."
"We are nowhere alike, human!"
Nash tilted his head in amusement. "Your blood is red like a human's. You resemble human – save for the fangs and the red eyes. And apart from your inability to get out of the sun, we're very much alike."
"No! We're faster! Stronger! Far superior from you!"
"Says the one who's pinned to the tree to the one who's free," Nash replied. He cupped his left side and winced in pain at his outburst.
"You're not free. You will never be."
"What is beginning?" Nash asked again.
The Akharim gave him a long stare. Nash was about to give up and just end the creature's life.
"The Return of Lilith."
Nash dismissed it outright. He had heard the legends.
"Lilith is imprisoned miles and miles away on Qesh, Akharim," he said. Nash pulled the dagger from the Akharim's knee.
Immediately black miasma flowed out of the wound and followed the dagger's blade. The Akharim cried in agony.
"Four Akharim in a moon cycle and suddenly Lilith returns?" he said more to himself, amused.
The black miasma continued to flow from the wounded knee and into the dagger's blade. As the miasma gushed, the leg began to shrivel and shrink in size. The Akharim's pain was unmistakable. Soon, the leg was nothing more than a bag of dangling skin. The other battered leg looked healthy in comparison.
"We are only the tendrils, human," the Akharim managed to wheeze out. Between his ragged breath, he uttered his next words with difficulty. "The rise of the Akharim from the dark continent is only the beginning. Lilith will return."
The conviction at which the Akharim said those words made Nash's blood shiver.
"Then we will destroy them," Nash finally said.
"You?" the Akharim mocked. He gave out an amused laugh despite the pain. "If you are what you claim to be, human, then the Order of Paladins is but a shred of its former glory. Aldren is no more."
"The Order is not of Aldren!" Nash snapped.
The Akharim laughed maniacally. Nash suddenly felt the tables have turned in their conversation. When his laughter subsided, he stared icily straight at Nash's eyes.
"Finish your job, human," the Akharim said dismissively after a while.
Nash pulled the dagger from the Akharim's shoulder and the creature slumped to the ground like a sack. Miasma flowed from the shoulder to the dagger but the Akharim seemed to have been numbed by the pain. Dying, if not dead already.
Nash turned to walk away from the shrinking body.
"Lilith will return, The tendrils of Semiramis have begun," the Akharim managed to say just before his last breath.
Nash froze from his stride back towards the village. Lilith is far-fetched. But Semiramis is real. The Akharim has managed to taunt him one last time.