As the evening sky darkened over the city, a group of six shadowy figures moved stealthily across the rooftops. Cloaked in tight black garments that blended seamlessly with the night, they were like specters, silent and almost invisible. Their focus was singular – the mysterious Malachi, who was now pacing thoughtfully in the courtyard below before returning to his chamber.Inside his room, Malachi lit a lantern, casting a soft, flickering glow that pushed back the encroaching shadows. He sat down at a desk, picking up a quill and beginning to write. The figures on the rooftop watched intently, curiosity burning within them. One of them, a slender figure with keen eyes, produced a small, intricate device. With a whispered incantation, the device came alive, its lens focusing on the paper in Malachi’s hand, magnifying the words written there.On the parchment were the words: “I know you’re there.”The figures exchanged startled glances. How could he have known? They had been cautious,
Malachi, his expression unreadable, regarded the boy named Eli with a stern gaze. Without a word, he turned on his heel and began to walk away, leaving the boy standing alone amidst the whispers of the recruits.One of the soldiers, unable to resist the opportunity, jeered at the boy, “Come back when you grow hair under there, kid!” His remark elicited laughter from some of the other recruits, a chorus of mockery that echoed across the training ground.But Eli, undeterred by their taunts, sprinted after Malachi, determination etched on his youthful face. He dropped to his knees in a kowtow, bowing deeply in front of the instructor. “Master Malachi, please!” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. “Both my parents died in the war. I’ve been on the streets for seven months. I need to be strong, to protect someone dear to me. I beg you to teach me.”The recruits, previously amused, now watched in silence, their laughter dying in their throats. The raw honesty in Eli’s words struck a
Malachi, his steps measured and purposeful, made his way to the officer’s office within the barracks. The office was modest but well-organized, a reflection of the discipline that ran through the military establishment. Seated behind a sturdy oak desk was Officer Garrick, a man in his late forties, with a weathered face that spoke of years spent in service and command. His eyes, sharp and observant, lifted from the papers on his desk as Malachi entered.“Master Malachi,” Officer Garrick greeted, his voice carrying a tone of respect mixed with curiosity. “To what do I owe this visit?”Malachi took a seat across from Garrick, his demeanor calm yet assertive. “I have a proposal, one that could benefit not just the military, but the town as a whole,” he began, his eyes locked with Garrick’s.Garrick leaned forward, intrigued. “Go on,” he urged.Malachi outlined his vision with clarity and conviction. “I propose the creation of a military training program for children. It’s essential to eq
After the refreshing bath in the lake, Malachi's demeanor shifted from nurturing to demanding. "Now, we run," he announced, his tone leaving no room for debate. The children, still catching their breath from the earlier exercise, exchanged weary glances but dutifully followed as Malachi set off at a steady pace.The run was grueling. Malachi led them over several kilometers of undulating hills, each ascent more challenging than the last. Then, without warning, he veered off towards a mountainous terrain. The children's legs burned with fatigue, their breaths shallow and rapid. The sun, now high in the sky, beat down mercilessly, adding to their exhaustion.Some of the children began to falter, their steps slowing, bodies slumping towards the ground. Voices of protest rose among them, pleading for a respite. Malachi, however, was unyielding. "Keep going," he commanded. "True warriors find strength even in their weakest moments. This training is not for the faint-hearted."His words, t
The following day dawned with a new challenge for the children under Malachi’s tutelage. As the sun rose, casting its golden rays over the barracks, Malachi led them into the dense forest where the soldiers were already engaged in a hunt. The soldiers, formidable and seasoned, moved with precision and confidence, hunting giant bears, wolves, and other fearsome beasts.“Watch closely,” Malachi instructed the children. “Observe their tactics, their coordination. There is much to learn from them.”The soldiers, aware of their young audience, seemed to take pride in their prowess. They displayed extravagant moves, working in pairs to efficiently track and take down their targets. Each move was a blend of strength and strategy, a dance between predator and prey.The children, wide-eyed with amazement, whispered among themselves, pointing out the soldiers’ techniques and the fluidity of their actions. They were particularly impressed by how even in the face of danger, the soldiers maintaine
The city, usually bustling with the everyday clamor of its inhabitants, was blissfully unaware of the new threat lurking within its walls. A group of bandits, cunningly disguised as merchants, made their way through the city gates. The guards, diligent but unsuspecting, waved them through without a second glance. But the keen eyes of the street children, who had learned to notice the unusual in their daily struggle for survival, immediately sensed something amiss.Eli, one of the children who had recently started training under Malachi, narrowed his eyes as he watched the carriage trundle through the streets. “Something’s not right about them,” he muttered to his companions. The group of children, their curiosity piqued, decided to follow the disguised bandits at a safe distance.The carriage, instead of heading towards the bustling market square as one would expect from merchants, stopped at a restaurant near the military barracks. The bandits chose a table outside, ostensibly to enj
The aftermath of the raid was a scene of chilling efficiency. The bandits, with ruthless precision, gathered the trembling women and herded them back to their camp. The night air was heavy with a mix of fear and resignation as the captives shuffled along, their futures uncertain.At the camp, the bandits, with a twisted sense of hospitality, allowed their captives to clean themselves. The women, still in shock, moved robotically, their minds numbed by the night’s horrors.As the women bathed under the watchful eyes of their captors, Malachi observed them with a detached curiosity. His gaze was analytical, searching for any sign of rebellion or escape plans. But all he saw were broken spirits and defeated bodies.Later, as the bandits gathered around a roaring fire, the leader, a burly man named Garrick, made his appearance. His eyes, dark and calculating, scanned the captives with a predatory gaze. “Well done, boys,” he praised his men. “A fine haul tonight.”Malachi, still in his dis
As Garrick, driven by a mix of rage and desperation, charged towards Malachi, the air around them seemed to crackle with tension. Malachi, his expression unchanging, calmly assessed his adversary. He knew the bandit leader was no match for him, but he also understood the importance of making a statement.In a fluid, almost effortless motion, Malachi extended his hand, summoning the shadows around him. A bolt of dark energy, pulsating with malevolent power, coalesced in his palm. With a flick of his wrist, he released the Dark Bolt, directing it straight at Garrick.The bolt tore through the air with a hiss, striking Garrick squarely in the chest. The impact was devastating, the dark energy consuming him in an instant. Garrick’s body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, a look of shock forever etched on his face.As Garrick fell, a notification flashed.[You have killed a bandit].[You have received 20 soul points]. These acknowledgments of his deed were mere formalities to Malachi, insi