The Dark Warlock's Game

Chapter 34: Seeking Shelter

High above the docks, the figures watched the battle. Their faces were hidden in a hood.

“Evan is playing with them,” the figure murmured.

Another one stepped out of the shadows, their voice low. “He shouldn’t underestimate them. That Dud has caused enough trouble already.”

“Let him have his fun. It won’t matter in the end.” another  said.

---

The fight raged on. Luthor emerged from the shadows, a rusted pipe in hand. He swung it at Evan’s back, but Evan spun around at the last second, deflecting the blow with his sword.

“Nice try,” Evan said, kicking Luthor in the chest and sending him sprawling.

Tracy retrieved her spear and thrust it at Evan, forcing him to step back. Ferah seized the opportunity, her blade slashing at his side. Evan twisted away, but the tip of her sword caught him, drawing a thin line of blood.

His grin faltered for the first time. “Well, that’s annoying.”

Vardy saw his chance. He raised his staff, channeling all his energy into a single attack. The air around him shimmered with dark power as he unleashed a wave of energy toward Evan.

Evan turned just in time, his eyes widening as the blast struck him. He was thrown backward, crashing into a stack of crates.

The group stood still, their breaths heavy.

“Is it over?” Luthor asked, pushing himself to his feet.

Before anyone could answer, the crates exploded outward, and Evan stepped forward, his grin returning.

“Not bad,” he said, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. “But you’ll have to try harder than that if you want to kill me.”

“Retreat,” Vardy commanded, his voice sharp and loud.

They didn’t hesitate. Blood still fresh on their clothes, they broke into a sprint through the winding alleys of Haven City.

The atmosphere looked tensed as they moved, they could hear Evan’s laughter echoing.

“Move faster,” Ferah barked, her sword still drawn, eyes scanning for signs of pursuit.

“I’m trying!” Luthor wheezed, clutching his ribs. His steps faltered, and he stumbled, barely catching himself on a crumbling wall.

Tracy grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. “If they catch us, you’re dead. Keep moving!”

Vardy led them. Every turn felt like a gamble, the narrow streets twisting. They passed rows of  buildings, windows shattered.

“They’re not following us, we've lost them…” Ferah said finally, slowing her pace.

“They don’t need to,” Vardy replied, his voice grim. “Evan wasn’t fighting to win. He was stalling.”

“For what exactly?” Tracy asked, glancing over her shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter. We need to find cover,” Vardy said.

---

The group finally stopped in an empty house at the edge of the slums, its door hanging askew and its roof patched with metals.

Inside, the air was damp and stale, but it offered enough space for them to collapse and catch their breath.

“This place is a dump,” Luthor muttered, kicking aside a pile of broken wood as he sank to the floor.

“It’s not permanent,” Vardy said, leaning against a wall. His voice was flat, tired.

Tracy dropped her pack and paced the room, her spear resting against her shoulder. “We can’t stay here long. If Evan’s stalling, then Dean already knows where we are, or where we’ll go next.”

“We just need a few hours,” Ferah said, wiping her blade with a scrap of cloth she found on the floor.

Vardy didn’t respond. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, his staff resting across his knees. His hand absently traced the dark etchings along its surface, the whispers in his mind growing louder.

“Vardy,” Ferah said softly, crouching in front of him. “We made it. That’s what matters right now.”

He didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on his staff, on the faint glow emanating from its core. “How many did we lose?”

Ferah frowned. “What?”

“The undead,” Vardy said. His voice was hollow, almost detached. “How many did I lose in that fight?”

Ferah hesitated. “I don’t know. A few. But they can be replaced….”

“They were still mine,” Vardy interrupted, his tone sharper than intended.

The room fell silent.

“They’re not people,” Tracy said after a moment, her voice careful. “You know that, right?”

Vardy looked up at her, his expression unreadable. “They were once.”

Tracy sighed, leaning her spear against the wall. “Vardy, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. They’re tools. They serve you because you command them. That’s it.”

Vardy’s grip on his staff tightened. “I feel them, Tracy. Every single one of them. When they die, it’s like a piece of me dies with them.”

Tracy exchanged a look with Ferah, her brow furrowing. “It’s the artifact,” she said. “It’s messing with your head.”

“Maybe,” Vardy admitted. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. “Or maybe it’s just me.”

---

Outside, everywhere buzzed with quiet activity. A group of children darted through the streets, their laughter echoing faintly despite the late hour. They passed a stall where an old man sold scraps of metal and gears, his face hidden behind a thick  soot.

“Five coins,” he barked at a scrawny boy holding up a rusted cog.

“Too much,” the boy replied, his voice defiant.

“Then go find another stall,” the man snapped, turning away.

The boy lingered for a moment before slipping the cog into his pocket and running off.

Above them, a woman sat on a rickety balcony, her arms wrapped around her knees as she watched the city. She didn’t move as the children ran by, nor did she react to the faint sound of shouting in the distance.

“Busy night,” a voice said behind her.

She turned to see a man leaning against the doorframe, his silhouette outlined by the dim light from inside.

“It’s always busy,” she replied, her tone flat.

“Dean’s making moves,” the man said, stepping out onto the balcony. “Word is, he’s looking for someone.”

The woman’s gaze flicked toward him. “Someone important?”

The man shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. But if he’s putting this much effort into it, they’re either a threat or an asset.”

“Which one are you betting on?”

The man smirked. “Doesn’t matter. Either way, they won’t last long.”

---

Inside the house, Vardy remained seated on the floor, his eyes unfocused. The whispers from the artifact had quieted, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence.

“You’re doing it again,” Ferah said, sitting down across from him.

“Doing what?”

“Getting lost in your own head,” she said, her tone gentle but firm.

Vardy frowned. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” Ferah said, leaning forward. “Talk to me, Vardy. What’s going on in there?”

Vardy hesitated. His hand tightened around his staff, the dark wood cool against his palm. “It’s... everything. The artifact. The undead. Dean. It’s like I’m being pulled in a hundred different directions, and I can’t tell which way is up anymore.”

Ferah nodded slowly. “That’s a lot for anyone to handle. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I feel alone,” Vardy admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not,” Ferah said firmly. “We’re here. Tracy. Luthor. Me. We’re all here, Vardy. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

Vardy met her gaze, his expression softening. “Thanks, Ferah.”

She smiled faintly. “Don’t mention it. Just... don’t lose yourself, okay? We need you.”

Tracy watched them from across the room, her arms crossed. She didn’t speak.

“What is it?” Luthor asked, leaning against the wall beside her.

“Vardy,” Tracy said, her voice low. “Something’s wrong with him.”

“He’s been through a lot,” Luthor said. “We all have.”

“It’s more than that,” Tracy said, shaking her head. “The artifact... it’s changing him. I can see it in his eyes.”

Luthor frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying we need to keep an eye on him,” Tracy said. “Because if he goes too far... we might not be able to bring him back.”

---

Outside, a shadow moved through the narrow streets, coming closer to lights around tunnels. The figures stopped in front of the house, their eyes scanning the windows.

They pulled a small device from their pocket, a simple machine made of wires and gears, and pressed a button on its side. A faint hum filled the air like it were whisper.

Inside, Vardy’s head snapped up. The whispers returned, louder this time, urgent.

“Someone’s here,” he said, rising to his feet.

Ferah drew her sword, and Tracy grabbed her spear. Luthor scrambled to his feet, his dagger trembling in his hand.

The faint hum grew louder, and the room was bathed in an eerie red glow.

“Get ready,” Vardy said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside, their face obscured by a hood.

“Well,” the figure said, their voice calm and cold. “This is cozy.”

“What are they?” Tracy asked from a hiding.

“They're the night walkers. The ancient night dancers.” Vardy replied. “They will leave soon, just stay quiet…”.