The Stalker Looked into the soul of the fearful villager. The Prey struggled in his grasp, but he ignored her. There was no way she was going to break free, he knew, so he could devote a little time to this soul. He decided that his hunting quota wasn’t nearly full and he would start filling it out. It would be nice to start with this one standing at the back of the crowd, and let the rest know that they all stood in danger.
A moment’s concentration, summoning energy, and the man fell to the ground screaming. The cross he clutched tumbled to the mud, and the rough hemp cord blended in with the dirt. The others drew back quickly out of reflex, not knowing what was going on.
The priest did. His eyes flashed and his brows knit. He drew in as much air as he could. A new chant exploded out of him and the man on the ground screeched louder. It was hard to tell as he rolled from side to side in the mud, but his eyes bulged out in a darkening face. The Stalker stood easy, holding the girl under one arm and watching the scene play out. The tortured soul begged the priest to help him as his nails dug into the ground. Several of the others could see his fingertips split and started bleeding. They watched in horror.
With the attention of the group diverted away from him, the Stalker decided that now was a good time to make his escape. His hand whipped up to gesture toward the screaming villager, and clenched suddenly into a fist. A wail escaped, and the villager stiffened. His body trembled as every muscle tightened up, then collapsed. His eyes bulged out in a sudden caricature of surprise, and he moved no more.
The Stalked waved at the priest, a jaunty expression of contempt as he made ready to depart.