The Multiverse Hunter

Seraphina's crimson heels clicked sharply on the stone as she walked the main street of Obidos, her dress trailing behind her like a river of blood against the cold cobbles. Around her, the last stragglers ducked into their homes, shutters slammed, doors locked. In the shadows of narrow alleys, the homeless curled tighter into themselves, but even they were not truly hidden tonight—Miles's unseen swarm of drones drifted silently above every roof and gutter, recording every face, every whisper, every breath.

As she approached the very heart of Obidos, the street widened and the dull glow of lanterns flickered off steel blades drawn and ready. A cluster of warriors stood shoulder to shoulder in her path—hardened men and women with swords strapped to their backs, bows strung tight, arrowheads tracking her heart with steady hands. Unlike the trembling townsfolk, these people did not cower. They were predators, accustomed to danger, to coin bought with blood.

Seraphina's cold blue eyes flicked past them—over the ranks of mercenaries and bounty hunters—to the grand four-story building looming behind them. Its high windows leaked lamplight onto the street below, and a battered wooden sign creaked softly in the wind: Adventurer's Guild. From within, she felt it—like embers hidden in ash. Strong mana. Layers of seasoned aura. Watching her.

She let a single step carry her closer. Stone cracked beneath her heel.

"You are standing in my way," Seraphina said, her voice soft as silk yet cutting through the tense night like a blade. The nearest warriors shifted back an inch despite themselves.

A broad-shouldered man stepped forward, his breath misting in the cold. He smirked as he drew a long blade that shone with a deep blue aura that shimmered over the edge like heat over steel. The rest of his party mirrored him—shoulders squared, weapons bared, bodies humming with tightly coiled power.

"Are you trying to fight?" the big man taunted, rolling his neck with the casual arrogance of someone who had never met a true monster.

Seraphina tilted her head, her lips parting to respond—but then—

"GET INSIDE, YOU BASTARDS—BEFORE I KILL YOU MYSELF!"

A roar of authority cut the night open. The warriors stiffened as one, turning sharply towards the entrance of the Guild. There, under the flickering lamp above the doorway, stood a tall, lean older man clad in a dark, well-tailored suit. Black hair combed back, lines of age framing eyes that remained closed—but Seraphina felt it clearly: a deep, smothered well of aura, coiled beneath the man's skin like a coiled serpent waiting for prey.

The adventurers hesitated only a heartbeat before they obeyed, shuffling inside under his silent glare, their weapons lowered but their eyes darting back to Seraphina with raw unease.

The older man stepped forward, planting one polished shoe just beyond the threshold. He inclined his head stiffly, hands folded behind his back.

"My lady. I offer my apologies for their insolence. The Adventurer's Guild will not interfere," he said, each word crisp and formal, his voice trained into calm.

Seraphina regarded him through narrowed eyes, reading him beneath the neat veneer. 'At least third level aura', she judged silently.

She lifted her pale hand, slicing it lazily through the air beside him. A soft hiss—like paper tearing. A deep, jagged cut appeared in the stone road at the Guild's grand entrance—neat, effortless, impossibly precise.

"Step outside this line," she murmured, her voice a lover's whisper edged in iron, "and you will die. My Lord has no intention of tolerating your kind in his lands. Pack your belongings. Get ready to leave when he says so."

The older man's jaw tightened. A single muscle flickered near his temple. "My lady, there is a standing contract—between Obidos and the Guild. It must be upheld."

Seraphina's cold eyes glittered under the torchlight as she turned her back on him without another glance. "Any contract from the past is void as of tonight," she said. The words fell like an executioner's axe.

Her steps carried her away, her silhouette framed in the high lanterns as she vanished deeper into the town—towards the looming shape of Cinder Castle perched above the city like a silent tomb.

Back at the inn, Tess moved among the now-empty chairs of the large table she had set so carefully for the merchant cabal's last scheming session. She hummed to herself, wiping spilled ale and greasy fingerprints off the wood. A bitter little smile curled her lips as she replayed the look of horror on the faces of those same men when the Dragon's roar shattered the night and Seraphina's name was spoken like a curse through the streets.

Through the smudged glass of her window, Tess caught a glimpse of a figure drifting past—elegant as a painting, cruelly beautiful in her crimson dress. 'That's her', Tess thought, her rag stilling in her hand. The one who spoke for him. The one they all fear now.

Up at the castle gates, the last shreds of House Cinder's once-proud guard had fled under cover of darkness—discarded helms and rusting swords left strewn across the cobblestones in mute testament to their broken loyalty. The corridors within were hushed but not empty: in the lower cells, the former Captain of the guard sat shackled to cold stone, while upstairs the poisoned corpse of the Cinder patriarch cooled under a shroud, unwept for.

High above it all, one drone drifted unseen, its lens focused on a lone figure standing proud at the crest of the outer gate. She couldn't have been more than seventeen—blue eyes sharp under stray locks of blonde hair. A lean, wiry frame, crisscrossed with the faint scars of training and hardship. In her small hands rested a longbow of dark ash wood, the string taut and steady.

"STOP!" The shout rang through the cold night, echoing off the old stone walls of Castle Cinder's gate.

Seraphina paused on the path, the moonlight painting her pale skin and crimson dress in ghostly silver.

Up on the gatehouse, the young girl—barely seventeen—stood rigid, feet apart, bow drawn high. Her blonde hair clung to her forehead in the cold wind, her lean arms trembling as they strained to hold the string taut.

"This is Castle Cinder! You and your lord are not welcome here! If you wish to live another day, then go back to where you came from!" she shouted, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear.

Seraphina didn't even break her stride. She tilted her head slightly, her soft smile deepening as her icy blue eyes locked onto the girl's panicked gaze. She saw the shaking fingers, the way the girl's knees twitched under her simple tunic. A cub standing before a lion.

With a half-sob, the girl released her arrow. A flash of blue aura flickered along the shaft—faint, wild, unfocused. The arrow screamed through the air—

—and struck nothing but empty night.

UGH—! The girl choked as an iron grip closed around her throat. Seraphina now stood directly in front of her, one hand coiled effortlessly around the child's trembling neck, lifting her onto her toes.

"—No, please—" the girl croaked, her bow clattering to the stone below. Tears sprang to her eyes as she stared at Seraphina's inhuman beauty—until that beauty twisted into horror. Seraphina's lips parted wide, revealing her fangs glistening sharp as blades in the moonlight.

BITE—!

The young Cinder's eyes rolled back. She clawed weakly at Seraphina's cold wrist, but the vampire's bite was deep—merciless. The sound of her pulse, strong but young, quickened under Seraphina's lips before fading into nothing.

THUD.

Seraphina let the drained corpse slide from her grasp. It hit the flagstones like an empty wineskin, pale skin already sunken tight over bone. With an idle flick of her fingers, Seraphina clenched her fist—and the shrivelled husk blew apart into a cloud of fine, unrecognisable ash that scattered in the night wind.

No trace left for prying eyes.

She stepped over the drifting dust and moved into the silent castle, her heels clicking softly on the cold stone. The once-proud halls of House Cinder were tomb-silent now. Seraphina made her way unhurried up the grand staircase, passing faded tapestries and the corpse of an old world.

In the lord's chambers, she perched herself delicately on the heavy oak desk. She unfurled a scroll and dipped a quill in ink, her hand flowing across the parchment in neat, graceful script—drafting a contract that transferred all of House Cinder's titles, wealth, and lands directly into Ali's grasp. When she finished, she rose and glided to the lord's bed, where the poisoned corpse of the old baron lay rigid and cold.

She sliced his palm with a fingernail sharp as a razor, pressed it to the scroll, and then sealed it with the ancient House Cinder stamp taken from the drawer.

She held it up, the ink glistening.

"I don't know what's the point of this…" Seraphina murmured to the empty room, rolling the worthless paper tight. Paperwork for the dead, she thought with a soft chuckle.

Hours Later – Obidos

Midnight wrapped Obidos in a heavy hush. The panic of dragons and roaring fire had faded into an uneasy calm. Abeloth lay coiled like a living mountain across the main road between the castle and the town—his burning breath curling into the winter air, a sleeping threat that never truly slept.

High above him, on the castle's broad marble balcony, Seraphina lounged on the railing, a tall glass of dark crimson blood in her pale hand. Her legs were crossed at the knee, the moon catching the sharp gleam of her ruby eyes as she drank slowly and watched the city below.

And below—life flickered back to Obidos.

In small, soot-darkened homes, families huddled close over steaming bowls of cooked beast meat, stomachs full for the first time in weeks. Children giggled around hearths, mothers whispered thanks to new lords they had once feared. Even the homeless huddled in old sheds and alleys, warm food filling their bellies—every so often glancing at the sky, fearful of the dragons but more terrified of the rumours that any thief who dared to snatch a crumb tonight would explode in the street before they took a second step.

Miles's drones made sure of that.

But deeper in the city, behind thick stone walls and bolted wooden doors, the night did not taste so sweet.

Below the market square, down a crooked stair hidden in the back of a shuttered store, a group of the city's wealthiest parasites sat huddled around a rough oak table. Merchants who'd fattened themselves on the sweat of miners and the hunger of children. Their voices scratched at the stone walls, sharp with panic and raw greed.

"DO NOT WORRY," a fat man barked over the muttering. His robe was fine silk but stained with wine at the sleeves. "The Viscount's advisor will have my letter in hand by dawn! He will see what's happened here—this savage bastard with his dragons and monsters—and he will see that Obidos must be taken back. It is only a matter of time!"

Around him, pale faces nodded. Whispers hissed through yellowed teeth. "Yes… yes… the Viscount will crush him… it's only a matter of time…"

But in the far corner, hunched in the shadows, sat a figure none of them dared look at directly. A hulking man with arms like tree trunks, skin inked in swirling tattoos that snaked around scars old and new. His face was half hidden by the brim of a battered hat, but the lamplight glinted off a single gold tooth when he shifted his jaw.

A merchant only in name. Everyone in this cellar knew him as the man whose 'loans' ended in ruin—or blood. His silence pressed on them harder than the weight of the dragons outside.

He drummed thick fingers on the table once, twice, a dull thud with each tap. And not a soul dared breathe too loud.

A rough-looking man—hair greasy, clothes half leather, half patchwork—slipped through the crowded cellar. The merchants leaned aside instinctively as he passed, the scrape of his boots on the stone floor the only sound in the sudden hush. He bent low to the hulking man in the corner, his shadow swallowing the candles on the table as he leaned in to whisper something sharp and quick into that scarred ear.

A vein pulsed in the giant's thick neck. His eyes, half-lidded under the brim of his battered hat, flared open for a heartbeat—then narrowed into slits of pure steel. Without a word, he shoved his chair back, the legs shrieking on the floor. The table shook as he stood to his full, monstrous height. The entire room held its breath as he stalked out, heavy footfalls echoing up the stairs. Nobody dared follow.

Out on the street, the air was heavy with the stink of burnt oil lamps and the restless whispers of traders shuttering stalls. Between the flickering lights of closing shops, a lone young woman drifted. In her early twenties, skin kissed by the sun and lined with soot and toil. Black hair coiled loosely around her neck, framing a face that might have stunned a noble's hall—if it hadn't been half-hidden under dirt and exhaustion. Her rough wool dress clung to a body that made the merchants' eyes linger far too long—until she spoke.

"Please—I'll work, I swear. I'll clean, I'll carry coal, I'll scrub your floors. Please, I just—please…" Her voice cracked as she clung to the sleeve of an older merchant woman, tears carving clean lines through the grime on her cheeks.

"Get away from me!" The older woman snarled, voice shrill, and shoved her aside like filth on a boot.

She was known as the spiky flower, you can look but no-one is allowed to acknowledge her existence.

She staggered but didn't fall. Her head dipped low, her eyes hidden under tangled bangs. Wordless, she stepped sideways and melted into the shadows of a narrow alley. She vanished behind a crooked wall of stacked crates, winding through half-collapsed backstreets and hidden corners, weaving a path she'd learned by heart—a ghost slipping unseen through her own city. No eyes could follow where she went now.

At the same time, across Obidos's main square, the door to the biggest inn creaked open. The wind of the night curled inside, making candles flicker. A towering figure stepped over the threshold, the heavy black cloak trailing behind broad shoulders. A black-and-gold mask covered his face, casting his eyes into twin pools of endless dark.

From behind the counter, a woman's voice rang out, sharp and weary. "We're closed!"

She pushed herself up from where she'd been counting the night's few coins—Tess, the innkeeper. Early forties, soft lines at her mouth, an older women's charm in her wide hips, large breasts and mature smile—though the smile was gone now, replaced by the startled look of prey catching the eyes of a hunter.

The masked figure ignored her words completely. He strode to an empty table in the centre of the room, the wood groaning under his weight as he sat. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head toward her.

"I said we're clo—" Tess's voice caught in her throat. Her breath stopped. Those black eyes behind the mask pinned her in place, cold and endless. They left no room for protest.

"Water," he said, his voice a deep iron rumble in the hollow room. "And sit."

Tess felt her legs obey before her mind could catch up. She filled a clay cup behind the bar, hands trembling so hard she nearly spilled it. She forced herself to walk over, to place it before him. Her knees bent on instinct as he gestured—a silent command—and she sank into the chair opposite him.

He watched her, the mask still on. The moments stretched. Tess's heart drummed in her ears. She'd known brutes, drunks, and bounty hunters all her life—but none like this. There was no stink of ale, no leer, no threat she could see—only a quiet, unshakable power that made her skin prickle.

Then, slowly, the stranger reached up. Fingers curled around the mask. It lifted away—and Tess's breath hitched. Under the black iron, he was young, with sharp features too perfectly carved to belong in a dusty frontier town like Obidos. The lantern light danced over a strong jaw, perfect skin—his black eyes, deeper now without the mask, locked onto hers.

Her cheeks flushed before she realised. Heat burned her neck. She scolded herself silently. But her body didn't listen.

His hand flipped over in the centre of the table, palm up—and in that palm gleamed a single gold coin. Real gold. It caught the candlelight, a sun in the dark room. Tess's mouth went dry.

"You will tell me everything about this place," he said, his voice calm but heavy with something that made her bones feel hollow. "And the coin is yours."

Tess stared at it. A gold coin—something very rare in these parts.

"Start with the merchants," he said. His black eyes flicked once to the windows, as if he saw the whole city laid bare beyond them. "And the mines."

Tess's lips parted, but no words came. Her throat worked, a dry knot of fear and awe. She was dazed simply looking at him…

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