As a small child ran home. The sun grew closer to the horizon and with it, the evening sky darkened. They ran past the destruction caused by the Gultonk the night before. The child looked around at the broken buildings, they were still stained with the blood of their fellow villagers. The calls of a woman flew through the air. "Marsha! Marsha! It's time to come home." The child turned to her mother's calls and began running home. As she did, a crack of thunder broke through the air and startled her. A massive downpour covered the whole village, Marsha covered her head with her hands and ran home even faster. Thinking to herself, "Where did this storm come from?" " It had been clear all day?" Her footsteps echoed as she ran home, a hooded figure watched as she turned the corner. The figure moved with an unsettling pace. A man walked out of his home and nearly bumped into the figure. "Oh my apologies", the man blurted out. The figure didn't respond but continued down the path. The man watched until he felt a small sharp poke in the center of his back. He went to turn but couldn't move his body. The man looked down and saw the tip of a cruel blade sticking out from his abdomen. His vision grew black and felt a hand grab his face and felt himself be pulled back. A muffled scream ran through his ears as he lost consciousness. Other screams began to echo and bounce throughout the village. Alleyways began to illuminate with the orange glow of flames as the villager's homes began to burn. Even in the downpour of the rain, the flames reached high with an unnatural fury. The figure continued until it stood in front of the entrance to the destroyed barracks of the knights. The flames of the village danced behind the figure. The barracks still smelled of blood even through the downpour of the rain. The hooded figure stepped and with each step, a sound couldn't be heard. Not because the rain overpowered the footsteps but because there was no sound made by the steps. The figure stood in the middle of what used to be the firepit of the sleeping quarters. It raised a hand, void of color and life. The fingers were thin and the nails long and yellow. It placed the hand down onto the stone slab that was used to contain the evening fire. An echo of a whisper danced in the air just faintly heard and a small light began to leak out of the Hooded being's hand. The light crawled along the ground as if a water pitcher had fallen over. The light branched off into different directions and seeped into the piles of rubble that hadn't been cleared yet. From underneath the rubble, movement was born and the muffled groans began to rise.