Daron squandered little time for action as he calmly depressed on the weapon's trigger. He counted at least two of them, stealthily mingling in the smoky shroud, shadowing him with lethal intent. While he viewed this with some concern that they managed to get so close and personal, that moment of weakness soon subsided when he fired his crossbow. Unlike most weapons that took only a single shot, its reloading outright laborious and time-consuming, his was of a different design, a far more lethal tool that the inhabitants of this world had yet to master. 

Rounding with known surety, he directed his crossbow towards the encroaching shadows to unleash a blinding arc of missile bolts, scything away through the scene like seasoned harvest. So rapid were the shots that they blurred and wisped away in notes of whistling projectiles. The sound was quite distinct for any ear to listen to.

One caught the sound in stark recognition and retreated further into the smoke, avoiding much of the volley. The other, unfortunately, had only seconds to realize what was coming before it was too late. One of the bolts struck squarely on the chest, causing the shadow to stagger in sluggish movements. It limped and struggled, but Daron refused to allow its escape. He focused his fire and was rewarded with an audible thump as every shot struck true to home.

In the end, the shadow was dead before it hit the ground, its chest cavity a pincushion for bolts to rest upon. A considered overkill, perhaps, but Daron didn't take any chances as he ejected the round magazine and slotted a freshly new one into place. The beastfolk of this world was a far lesser challenge than the monsters he hunted so long ago, but he could not deny the tenacity of their spirit to defend their homes and loved ones from a looming, invading threat. Were the roles reversed, he would likely do the same and die fighting.

As steam hissed gently from the small metal tubes to disperse pressure, the cog mechanism around the weapon whirred in response to the new magazine, then finally clicked, signalling the hunter its readiness to fire again. Daron grunted, satisfied. Then, without any delay, he proceeded with a steady pace in pursuit of the fleeing shadow, crouched low in a firing stance, eyes keeping vigilant for any more surprises.

He simply ignored the dead one on the ground. There would be time to investigate once all of this was over. Then again, the familiar green shade of a uniform had quelled his suspicion of the culprit's identity.

Daron had wondered as to the whereabouts of the missing levies. When he last visited the small crater where the paladin was obliterated by his explosive bolt, he saw no evidence of their trace. Not a body, or body parts, littered across the scene except for the metal pieces of a paladin's armour, all rightly scattered within the crater. He had been a bit, if only partially, worried that his action had irreversibly blasted everyone into smithereens and failed his contract. But by luck or coincidence, his quarry was just way away from the blast range, alive and unharmed, if he was good in judgment.

At that moment, something green caught from the edge of his perception, and he whirled, firing. Bolts flew with sounding speed in the indicated direction, only to hit none as the green levy responded in kind. It flew into a run and headed straight for the hunter, dodging and weaving the shots while acting away with the consummate grace of a dancer.

The creature was fast, faster than Daron thought possible. So much so that it managed to get close in the range between them in mere seconds and came within striking distance of its blade. His crosshair managed to lock onto its head and fired, but the creature ducked instinctively forward with a lethal thrust for his guts.

Right under his guard and unable to direct fire, Daron angled his crossbow forward like a shield and felt the tremendous impact of the blow, causing his backside to crack. He would feel that one in the morning. His struggle became more apparent as the shadow was not stopping, striking, stabbing its blade against his crossbow repeatedly in an attempt to break it. 

Despite the threat that this mere lowly levy was performing well for itself, a small smile crept on Daron's lips. Here was someone he could sink his teeth into, a challenge, perhaps, worthy of his time and attention. Few people in Allemance, mostly beastfolk, had the guts and grit to shed blood in the name of violence. And those that did were painfully predictable opponents. As his war tutor once said during his first hunt from the tainted forests of the Broken World: 'Brave prey was the best prey.'

The levy craned its arm once more, readying for another plunge of its blade. 

Instead of bracing that would surely ache his poor back even further, or challenge the levy with strength against strength, Daron simply took a step back. He sided the blow, letting the levy stab nothing but air and carrying itself forward by momentum. Then, a vicious right hook descended and impacted whatever passed for its face as the levy reeled back in a twirl, momentarily stunned, face-first on the dirt.

Though oddly satisfied that his fist made the connection, Daron's face was contorted with pain as he idly shook his hand and flexed his fingers. He would also feel that one in the morning, for it was like punching iron. 

Nonetheless, this brief moment of reprieve was just the distance enough for Daron to take the shot, and he placed two bolts at the back of levy's skull, ending its struggle. 

When the levy finally stopped twitching, Daron lowered his crossbow, breathing a little harder, shoulders slacking slightly. His condition hadn't improved much since being aged to the grey and stiff around the joints. Yet, this sort of tension was a welcoming one, and he greatly appreciated what came to be a good workout. Especially when a prey made some notable effort.

The hunter stared at the still corpse, faintly dipping his head in a nod. Were every beast had the ferocity and backbone from the Invader wars, then the world would have been a lively place.

Daron sighed, exhaled, inhaled, and let the moment pass. He knew it wasn't the case. This world and much of the inhabitants within were destined to fail, fleeting away by foolish notions of kindness and sympathy. 

Daron craned his head to what might be the probable direction of his quarry, weapon leaning against his shoulder. He supposed the young wolf had already fled by now and had gained enough distance that he was no longer fit and able to give pursuit. Then again, predictably common for his kind, the wolf had simply remained there, trying to save his kin or laying some pathetic ambush. He believed the latter to be true.

Thus enabled, Daron strode forward, ready to take his bounty away and collect his well-deserving payment. It only took a few steps before he came to a gradual halt. Something was wrong. The air seemed to thicken somewhat. He could feel it, smell the oily, sweet perfume like poison on silk or rotten sugar. 

Then, his thoughts slowly crystallised at the recognition of the smell. Of something unnatural. Of foul conjuration against the winds…

Of corruption. 

The smell was growing now, and the source loomed behind him. 

Daron gradually whirled, crossbow hefted and ready. A sickly green glow emanated where he placed his bolts against the levy's skull, convulsing. The creature began to spasm, then jerked more violently as if the energies alone could not store within such a broken vessel. When it did manage, however, the body twisted in unpleasant forms, revolving, devolving into something worse.

Bones crackled and crunched as the dead levy rose, bit by struggling bit, to its feet in a bodily position incapable of accomplishing. It was still changing, despite being brought back in a twisted parody of life, a thing unalive and unnatural in this world.

Daron could see everything now behind its green necrotic light, saw its hollow-tainted eyes brimmed by the energies given to it. Their eyes met for the first time, and he shuddered slightly, taking a voluntary step back. 

Then, after a quick deliberation, he reacted.

The hunter fired and emptied the magazine of his steamed-repeating crossbow at the thing before it could fully form, though it did little good to effect. His shots hit true, but the creature was not dying. In fact, it only made the thing all the more angry.

The undead beast was on him in silence. A blob of blur was what Daron managed, and he angled the crossbow just mere moments before the creature swung upwards. His weapon was composed out of sturdier material, forged by the metals that were mined from the Mantle Mountains. It was the type of bulky equipment that made for a surprising makeshift shield between him and those favoured in close quarter melee.

Unfortunately, it had proven ineffective against this one.

The dead beast had completely disregarded its weapon for an all-out blow from its grown, elongated claws. It seemed speed was not the only thing that bestowed the creature with unnatural gifts, for its strength had doubled and sheared right through Daron's crossbow with effortless ease. 

The force behind the swing hoisted Daron off from his feet and hurled into the air. He didn't know how long he was aloft and when he crashed down something broke inside. Pain blossomed throughout his chest, through his head. He saw stars in his eyes as his breathing became raspy and hard.

This was it, Daron thought. He was going to die. Death seemed almost welcoming at this point, tempting even. The idea disgusted him.

Daron began to roll from one side and made to rise. As he struggled to do so, a shadow fell over him as the undead monster stood. It grabbed the hunter by the throat with its other paw, unmutated still, and lifted him off from his feet. 

Daron strained to breathe from the vicelike grip, feeling the creature's constrictions firmly locked and without effort. At the close distance, he was able to fully grasp of his foe, able to visualise the enormity of the threat and his heart immediately sank. 

The levy creature, what might have been a wolf, Daron thought, was already dead, long dead even before he pulled the trigger. Decay had already putrefied so heavy that it breached through his filtered helmet. Loose bandages and fabric wrappings fell away to reveal pale, pallid flesh of its face, mostly rotten away to the bone. What was left of its mouth peeled back its jagged points for teeth, blackened and corroded by the qualities of its acidic spittle as it drooled to the ground, sizzling gently.

Fear and disgust warred with contempt as Daron glared at this creature, unable to fathom before him. He'd faced users of arcane might before, killed a few, from a safe distance, but this was different. It didn't smell like the wisps of summer or the gentle lavenders of spring. No, this creature reeked of something fouler, blighted and bloated by unseen powers.

The monster was squeezing its grip now, choking the hunter's life out of him. Daron punched at its arm uselessly without success as it grew tighter and tighter. He struggled to break free, breath robbed him of strength, and saw the red edge creep into view…

Until darkness.