The Inquisitor

Stumbling blindly about in the darkness, the once mighty Governor Gareth von Brakken tried vainly to understand how everything had all gone so wrong. He had thought his pact with the other inquisitor would have protected him, but instead it seemed that his dealings had only led the inquisition to the truth of his actions. Von Brakken’s second sight was why the Witch Hunter had come. The Governor had once had the power to see into men’s hearts and learn their deepest desires and ambitions even control their minds. He had used his abilities to carve a small empire for himself and then bargained his fateful pact with the inquisitor. But now von Brakken was alone and he could no longer see with his second sight. Instead he saw only an empty, black void. Von Brakken tried to feel his way through the old ruins of the lost city. It had been so long since he had been forced to rely only on his feeble eyesight, that at first he thought his bodyguards had abandoned him. But then one by one, their blood chilling screams had told him that some unseen and terrifying killer was slowly picking them off.

Now they were all gone and the darkness that shrouded his second sight was absolute. As he neared the entrance of an old abandoned cathedral, von Brakken suddenly felt a chill upon his very soul. He fell to his knees and whimpered in fear as he slowly crawled into the dark, moonlit hall before him. Cowering at the base of a statue, von Brakken felt himself overcome with a sense of dread terror. He felt within his very soul its presence, an ancient cursed evil that sapped his will and laughed within his near-broken mind. As he looked up, von Brakken thought he caught a brief hint of movement within the shadows ahead of him. He looked about frantically and crawled his way towards a low alcove to his left, trying to find some deep, dark corner where his nightmare stalker would never find him.

Nothing stirred within the cold, ancient hall of the ruined cathedral. A millennia’s thick layer of dust obscured the faces of the few statues that still stood, the names of the saints and heroes they commemorated now long forgotten. Within the many high arches that lined the main hallway, a few lonely fragments of the once magnificent stained glass windows jutted up from their frames like icy daggers. As the last rays of the dying sun crept along the broken flagstone floor, they cast a long, dark shadow of the hunched figure crouched amongst the half-broken gargoyles that ringed the upper tiers.

The Hunter had been there for hours, waiting patiently and unmoving until now it sensed that it would soon be time to act. Had it still been able to feel any kind of emotion, the Hunter thought it might have been eager with the anticipation that its prey was now so close. Instead, it felt only a deep hunger. The Hunter had not properly fed for many months, instead reduced only to the bio-nutrients that it received intravenously during its daily meditations. Soon though, it thought, soon it would have a true meal. Crackling red bale-fire flickered from the Hunter’s eye as it fought against its ancient and malevolent nature. It had a mission to complete. The prey was to be taken alive. The Hunter’s master had been clear; this prey was special and it was not to be destroyed until the master ordered. The Hunter had not been pleased. It had been created for the simple purpose of destroying its unholy prey; so instead, the Hunter had contented itself by venting its rage and killing the meat husks that had guarded the prey. As night finally settled within the cathedral, the Hunter silently began to move once more as it sensed the prey close by.