Chapter 23: The Forsaken and the Hunted

Chapter 23: The Forsaken and the Hunted POV: Darot

*SWISH—BOOM!*

I crashed into the earth with the force of a meteor, the impact rupturing the ground beneath me as dust and debris billowed into the air. Pain flared across my form, a sickly, burning sensation searing through my torso. A growl of frustration rumbled in my throat as I reached for the wound—only to hiss and withdraw my clawed hand the moment I felt the corruption gnawing at my flesh.

I lowered my gaze, my torso now alight with a sickly green glow, the vile essence of that wretched maggot's sorcery attempting to consume me. A snarl escaped my lips.

"That festering filth dared to wound me… I'll rip his entrails from his carcass and feast upon his misery."

I forced the warp-imbued energies coursing through my body to converge upon the afflicted area, driving back the taint that sought to spread. My flesh twisted, pulsating with both violet and viridescent energies, waging a silent war for dominance. A moment passed before I felt my essence stabilize, the enemy's plague held at bay—for now.

I exhaled sharply, irritation lacing my voice.

"Tch… fortunate for me that wretch is still too feeble for his blighted pestilence to take root."

Rising from the crater where I had fallen, I surveyed my surroundings, my crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light. In the distance, I caught sight of the ongoing skirmish—two groups of mortal vermin locked in senseless slaughter. Their screams and battle cries echoed through the ruins of their pitiful battlefield.

A wicked grin crept across my lips.

"A convenient feast awaits me."

Without hesitation, I moved. The earth cracked beneath my feet as I surged forward, my singular purpose clear—to gorge myself upon their suffering, to regain my strength, and to vent my rage upon lesser prey.

---

### **POV: Banshee / Margaret**

The wretch's screams were like a choir to our ears, their agony a song that resonated deep within our souls. We howled in exultation as our claws tore through flesh and bone, rending a hapless bandit in half. Blood painted the battlefield in a mural of exquisite carnage, and we reveled in the chaos we had wrought.

Around us, the few remaining scum trembled, frozen in place, their feeble minds unable to comprehend the terror before them. Even the slaves—those weak, pitiful things—shrank away in horror, unable to look upon us without breaking.

Then, as if a dam had shattered, their resolve collapsed entirely.

Panic took hold.

They turned on their heels and fled, screaming, stumbling over themselves like vermin scattering before an inferno. Some ran aimlessly, others dropped their weapons, their instincts overriding any semblance of logic.

We prepared to chase, eager to prolong their suffering. But suddenly—

*STOP*

A jarring sensation coursed through me, halting my movements entirely. The Banshee within me, always relentless, always screaming for slaughter, had stilled. Its voice no longer howled for blood; instead, it whispered, low and insidious.

*/Something is coming…/*

A deep, primal unease settled over me. For the first time, the Banshee was not simply enraged—it was wary.

And then, the ground *shattered*.

A violent tremor rocked the battlefield as something *landed* upon our previous position with cataclysmic force. A crater erupted where we had stood moments before, a cloud of dust and debris obscuring all vision.

Our instincts screamed.

"What in the—?" I started, but there was no time to think.

A blade—gleaming with dark energy, moving faster than thought—lashed out from the dust like a striking serpent.

Reflex took over. The Banshee wrenched our body backward at the last possible instant, yet the edge still grazed our helmet, sending a burst of sparks into the air as the built-in voice modulator *crackled* and shorted out.

The constant, shrieking wail of our presence fell *silent*.

"Ugh… *shit*," I cursed, now forced to speak in my own voice rather than the unearthly cacophony that had once accompanied me. My gaze darted to the figure emerging from the crater, and what I saw sent a jolt of recognition—and dread—through my mind.

A towering, monstrous form, its body twisted and reforged into something *far worse* than before. Its right arm, once flesh, had become a *sword*, pulsating with unnatural energy, its keen edge humming with barely-contained violence.

My breath hitched.

"Darot…" I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

He was… *different*. Twisted. Mutated beyond what I had known. Yet, the essence, the *presence*, remained.

A dark chuckle rumbled from his throat, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Hmm? You recognize this form?" he mused, his voice carrying a mocking lilt.

I took a cautious step back, my mind racing. I reached inward, seeking the Banshee's guidance, but what I found was… unsettling.

The entity within me was *seething*. A boiling, incoherent mess of hatred and disgust surged through my thoughts. The emotions were *so* intense that they began to bleed into me, warping my rationality, drowning out reason.

*/Filth. Wretch. KILL. KILL. KILLL. KILL/*

The Banshee was frothing, its presence vibrating with such intensity that my own thoughts started to *merge* with it.

I struggled to form coherence.

/We should go. We don't know what he's capable of—/

*/KILL. TORTURE. DESTROY FILTH.*/

/This is dangerous. We need to—/

*/KILLLL.*/

A tremor ran through my body. My muscles *twitched*. The rage of the Banshee—its loathing for whatever Darot had become—was consuming me, fusing with my own instincts.

My claws clenched. My breath came in short bursts.

I wanted to *tear him apart*.

Darot tilted his head, watching me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"Oh? Such a powerful killing intent… intriguing," he mused. His lips curled into a wicked grin. "But tell me—do you truly possess the *capacity* to end me?"

He barely had time to finish speaking before we lunged.

With a furious *screech*, we slashed at his head, our claws aiming to rip through his wretched, mutated flesh.

But—*he was fast.*

A subtle tilt of his head, a movement so deceptively effortless, was all it took for our strike to miss. And before we could react—

A *hoof* slammed into our gut.

The force was devastating.

Air *ripped* from my lungs as pain exploded through my core. Blood spewed from my mouth as we were launched backward, sent *flying* across the battlefield.

We hit the ground hard, skidding across the dirt before finally coming to a stop. The Banshee managed to force our body to land on its feet, but the agony in my ribs was *unbearable*.

A twisted, mocking voice reached my ears.

"Ahhh, such delightful sounds of suffering," Darot purred, taking slow, measured steps toward us. "No need to rush your demise, dear wraith… allow me to *savor* this moment."

I spat a wad of blood onto the ground, my body trembling from the impact.

"*Fuck…*" I hissed through gritted teeth.

I needed time to recover.

For now… I let the Banshee take control.

And we would *see* if this wretch could bleed.