The Bounty Hunters – A Deadly Pursuit

Morning After the Evolution – Shade's New Look

The sun had barely begun to rise, casting faint golden light over the dense jungle surrounding the Old Chapel Ruins. Birds called out from the trees, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth. Arlan sat on a fallen log, rubbing his temples, still trying to process everything that had happened the night before.

Bones was crouched nearby, idly cracking his paws, while Shade stood off to the side, inspecting his own hands.

His new hands.

Arlan sighed, looking him over.

"You know," he muttered, "I was expecting something different when you evolved."

Shade turned to him, his newly glowing, slitted eyes unreadable. His sickly-green skin was rough, covered in faint scars and old stitches. His sharp, jagged teeth peeked out from under his lip as he tilted his head.

"Different how?" Shade asked, his voice now smoother but still holding that eerie, hushed edge.

Arlan scratched his cheek. "I don't know, I just—" He gestured at him. "Why do you look so much like a murderous goblin?"

Bones snorted. "Hobgoblin," he corrected, grinning. "Shade bigger now."

Arlan narrowed his eyes. "That's not the point!" He turned back to Shade, waving a hand. "Where's the whole ghostly wraith thing? I thought you'd look more… I don't know, spectral? But instead, you look like you belong in some bandit gang!"

Shade shrugged, flexing his clawed fingers. "Wraiths are weak. Bodies are stronger."

Arlan blinked. "So you chose to look like this?"

Shade smirked. "Better for killing."

Bones nodded approvingly. "He right."

Arlan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Great. So now I've got a goblin assassin lurking in the shadows, and an undead rat-ogre with an attitude problem."

Shade flicked out one of his new daggers, twirling it between his fingers. "Efficient."

"Yeah, yeah, efficient." Arlan exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "Look, at least put your hood up. You're terrifying to look at."

Shade gave a slow, amused grin, his sharp fangs gleaming in the morning light. "Good."

Bones cackled. "Shade scary now!"

Arlan stood up, stretching. "Yeah, yeah, let's just get moving. I swear, I'm surrounded by psychopaths."

Shade's eerie voice hummed. "Master included."

Arlan shot him a look. "No one asked you."

A Gathering Storm

The moon hung high over the treetops, casting pale light over the winding forest road. Arlan moved swiftly, his cloak pulled tight, boots crunching softly against the dirt path. His body still ached from the battle at the chapel ruins—his ribs were bruised, his shoulder stiff—but he didn't have time to rest.

The air here felt… wrong.

Too still. Too quiet.

Shade flickered at his side, his presence colder than usual. "Watched." His voice was sharper now, his words more structured since the evolution, but still unsettlingly cryptic. "We are Hunted."

Bones sniffed the air, his fur bristling. His voice was low, almost a growl. "Smell… steel. Humans."

Arlan's pulse quickened.

They weren't alone.

The Bounty hunters Close In

A flicker of movement in the trees.

Arlan didn't hesitate—he dove to the side.

TWANG!

An arrow whistled through the space he had just occupied, striking a tree with enough force to bury the shaft deep into the bark.

The moment his feet hit the ground, a metal snare snapped shut from the underbrush, aiming for his leg. He twisted mid-fall, barely dodging as sharpened iron teeth clamped together, missing him by an inch.

Before he could recover—

A voice from the darkness.

"He's fast."

"Doesn't matter."

More figures stepped into view.

Four men. All clad in reinforced leather, their weapons already drawn. Their armor wasn't pristine like the Holy Order's. It was worn, battle-scarred—practical. Mercenary gear.

And then, Arlan saw the sigil stitched onto their shoulders.

A black hound with crimson fangs.

His stomach twisted.

They weren't knights. They weren't paladins.

They were bounty hunters.

They didn't chase justice. They chased coin.

And Arlan's head was worth a lot of it.

The Trap Springs Shut

"You're a hard man to track down, Summoner Rook."

One of them stepped forward—a tall man with a jagged scar running down his cheek. His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp, predatory.

"We've been hearing rumors. A new adventurer, moving alone, taking jobs he shouldn't be able to handle."

Another man, shorter but stockier, smirked. "Soloing dungeons. Never showing his summons. Sounds a lot like someone trying to hide something."

Arlan's hand twitched toward his wand.

The leader noticed.

"Don't."

He lifted his hand, and Arlan saw what he was holding.

A small, golden relic.

A cold wave of dread crashed over him.

A holy artifact.

The artifact was faintly glowing—dim, but growing brighter the closer it got to him.

It was reacting.

Arlan's throat went dry. It could sense necrotic energy.

The leader smirked. "See, we're not stupid. We know dark magic when we smell it. And you?" He twirled the artifact between his fingers. "You stink of it."

The mercenaries shifted, their hands tightening around their weapons.

No talking his way out of this.

The Black Hounds Strike

They moved like killers.

There was no hesitation—only execution.

The first two charged him head-on. The leader flanked left, circling like a wolf waiting for an opening.

Arlan dodged, raising his wand—only for a dagger to fly past his face, missing by a breath.

They weren't just attacking.

They were forcing him to move.

His foot hit something.

A tripwire.

Shit—

A concussive blast erupted from the ground, sending him sprawling.

Before he could recover—

A boot slammed into his ribs.

Pain exploded in his side as he hit the ground hard. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to focus.

Two of them were already moving in, blades flashing—

"Bones!"

The first hunter swung—but his attack never landed.

A massive hand crushed his wrist.

The man screamed as Bones, in Ogre form, hurled him like a ragdoll into a tree.

The second bounty hunter turned—only for Shade to step out of the darkness behind him.

A sharp, curved dagger whispered through the air—

And the man collapsed, choking on his own blood.

Arlan's Counterattack

Arlan forced himself up, ignoring the pain.

The leader's eyes darted between Arlan and his undead, assessing.

"You're not just some amateur summoner, are you?"

Arlan wiped blood from his face. "Nope."

He lifted his wand.

"Too bad for you."

[Shadow Bolt.]

The attack slammed into the ground at their feet, swallowing the battlefield in a thick, writhing mist.

Arlan moved.

Before the leader could react, Shade appeared behind him.

The hunter twisted, raising his sword—

Too slow.

Shade's blade sank into his shoulder.

The leader roared, spinning with unnatural speed. His fist caught Shade in the side, sending him skidding back.

But it was enough.

The battlefield had shifted.

The Fight Turns

The Black Hounds weren't fleeing.

But they were reevaluating.

They had expected a rogue necromancer.

They had expected an easy kill.

Instead—they were losing men.

The leader gritted his teeth, glaring at Arlan. "This isn't over."

Arlan smirked. "Sure feels like it is."

The leader growled, then gave a sharp whistle.

The remaining bounty hunters retreated into the trees, disappearing into the darkness.

For now.

Arlan exhaled. His ribs ached. His body was screaming.

But he was alive.

Bones cracked his knuckles. "Puny."

Shade wiped his blade clean. "Weak."

Arlan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

The Black Hounds knew what he was.

And now—they were hunting him.

Veyleigh wouldn't be safe for much longer.