A large tower scraped against the sky peaking its dilapidated form into the skyline. Its positioning at the back of the crumbling ruins Nate masters called home posed a useful vantage point. Splaying out the crumbling ruins of their home beneath its sagging structure. The manor's old white walls were now thick with algae, the tower was no different. One side of the tower had been struck at some point; the viewing platform was now half of its former self. Wayne stood there looking at the sky.

  What was once only a band of Grade four vengeful spirits had made a leap. Grade four and below spirits couldn’t normally affect a person. There were instances of it happening that was without doubt. It did not make it the norm. Even grade zero spirits could luck upon causing problems. It was just the barrier between life and death was so thick up till that point. Just as two magnetics with the same polarization won't touch. So was life and death. If you're strong enough you can force the two together.

  The leap taken, the world changed. The higher ranked spirits in the pack had become Grade five. The hand, it had been growing in power this whole time. When they’d started monitoring it was already a grade four, while the others had been grade one. Now it was closer to grade Eight. After the fifth they were no longer vengeful spirits. Classified as demons they could interact with people, steal souls, and do much worse.

  Now as they washed out into the distant street howls of rage and bloodlust bloomed. The same hand now was coated in muscle, the twinkling edge of a jaw poked from the cloud above. Rushing there would be of no help. It was too far away and struck too quickly. The Grandmaster’s patience was running thin.

  “So the damned fellow strikes again.”

  Looking back Wayne was surprised to see his master all the way up here. His long robes fluttered in the wind, leaves lapping at them. The Grandmaster hated the dirtiness of the outside world. Still he chose to see what was occurring.

  “Grandmaster, It seems they are determined to gain your attention.”

  “No, I don’t think they are determined to do so.”

  The normally energetic voice of the Grandmaster was contemplative. Wayne thought he might intervene if it reached this level but he was wrong. The Grandmaster was powerful and to act was to move the world . In other words, it would ruin his experiment. The Grandmaster would have it fall apart from another rather than ruin it himself.

  “So is it by a thousand cuts or one wave. What would you have me do?”

  “My dear Apprentice. I have looked into the stars. Do you know what I have seen?”

  Wayne choked on his own words. A predication was not something the Grandmaster shared lightly. When spoken it meant he was certain of what was to come. This was no warning or advice, this would be the truth. If only a part of that truth.

  “What have you seen, Master?”

  “It shall stop for a week. Then the efforts shall double. I command you in this next week of time to train the boy. He shall hold the lower grades at bay when you finish the Jack, ah, I mean the grade eight, Hecatoncheires.”

  Wayne shivered at the mention of Hecantoncheries. They were from Greek myth possessing one hundred hands they had helped the Greek gods defeat the titans. If one of their spirits was being utilized then it meant nothing good was to come. After this week hundreds of people could be snatched away.

  “The boy will never be ready in time. He just has one foundation. He’d need to build four more to qualify against them. Unless you have spirits or monsters strong enough floating around? At that point why not just allow me to use them.”

  “No, I can tell he will be key to your victory. I just cannot see past this last twist of fate. Something within my own fate entwines him. It may not come to his dealing with the Grade fives. Nevertheless it is the target you must push for. Let him lead the way. You will see.”

  “I do not believe in your fate.”

  Wayne stood against the buffeting winds despite his non-belief he’d still work to save the town. He told himself it was out of selfishness, he was just like any other necromancer he was a killer. Being out for number one was a given. He thought to himself. Number one, and your Apprentice.

  ***

  Down in the street amongst the marauding spirits two figures stood. One was a deformed behemoth with large muscles pulsating across its body. A small head draped in a cloth hood, both of its giant arms gave off a metallic sheen. The left one was larger than the right. The smaller figure was of a normal size. A mask clung to its face as the large arm slammed down dragging the next soul up into the clouds.

  The marauding demons smashed into homes and plagued the land. Each soul whisked into the palm of the Hecantoncheries. It was a delightful harvest for the masked man.

  “Do you see it? My vision. It is oh so close. Yet, here we two stand at an impasse with the world. Nothing new will be coming up from our contact for approximately a week. Here, I was so close to reaching the end. Do you not think so, Hercules? Ah, what a wonderful sound the screams of the people will make. Soon they will arise once lost to the ashes. Is it not fascinating, Mr. Paladin?”

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Paladin Wood pushed out from the branches of a nearby tree. He fell to the ground with a light step. A new helmet lacking his two faces gleamed in the lightning. Squire Lillie had told him this is where the next incursion would come. He had been right to leave her generation in charge of the Swords.

  “There is no need for words, Necromancer. Your head shall soon leave your shoulders.”

  The being facing Paladin Wood laughed softly. His eye roamed over the Paladins metal armor. He scoffed at its useless containment effect. A crude misrepresentation of what someone with true power could create. He would show everyone the truth.

  “Hercules, Smash.”

  The behemoth strode forward grabbing a Grade three spirit and wielded it like a hammer. The vengeful spirit in its hand was pierced through by hundreds of long lance like shafts. The hammer head fell with a shock wave down at the Paladin.

  A lithe figure he dodged to the side. The hammer smashed the earth. Chucks of asphalt shot into the sky pelting the surrounding homes. Paladin Wood struck as the monster recovered, his hand formed a long blade. With a running start he rocketed at the beast's covered neck his blade angled for an artery. Just as he was about to make it to the head the muscles across the body flexed. The wind force shot him off and away from the creature.

  Instead of meeting the ground in a heap he turned his body mid-flight. Feet prepared he rolled the momentum off stopping with ease. The creature was clearly not a spirit and he shifted his way of dealing with it. Something flesh and blood even in part could be whittled away.

  His plan only partially formed. The sound of the beast scraping the ground resounded. A blow came from the Paladin left to sweep him clear into paste. Deep gouges followed along the path. The Paladin once more dodged to the side. He rose up into the air with a slight jump.

  *Wham*

  His body shot off into a neighboring building. When he’d jumped into the air to dodge the beast had swung and released the spirit. Its knuckles were bleeding where it had performed an underhanded pitch. They were both carried into the building crushing the garage door and the car within. The alarm started to blare.

  The Grade three spirit struggled for a moment. Paladin Woods' sword came down, cutting it cleanly in half. Clearly once out of the Behemoths grasp it lost its odd increase in durability and physical presence. The building shook as the footsteps approached.

  Taking to his feet he stepped into the opening. The beast had taken another spirit in hand. Learning from its last clever usage it chucked it straight at the Paladin. This spirit was a grade four but was only a bulky looking bag of meat. The front of the Paladin became a wedge as the spirit made contact. Its body split and burst splashing the area in its ectoplasmatic goo.

  The characteristic sign of miasma started to form on the ground around the victims house. With the click of his tongue the Necromancer moved to leave. Too long on sight would only lead to unwanted attention. Gaining the attention of the Paladins was bad enough, If the Association started to act everything would be over.

  The fleshy arm began to retract, calling the spirits up into the sky. Paladin Wood saw this attempt to flee and would not let it stand. He kneeled his shoulder taking on a tube shape and then with a whoosh shot out a spear. Its long, wide flat head shrieked toward his enemy. Hercules brought a hand up to block, for a moment its momentum was suppressed. Then it shot out the back of the hand.

  “Damn you.”

  A form dropped unceremoniously to the ground. The Spear slid past the masked figure tearing his clothes to shreds. A pale white shoulder was exposed to the elements and immediately began to hiss. The skin burned and bubbled. The Paladins spear had missed the flesh.

  “Winters Eye.”

  A magical energy pushed out toward Paladin Wood. He scoffed at the half rate spell. Speed was key when fighting. His legs elongated as he pushed off the ground. Crashing down toward the Necromancer dodging the spell he’d cast. The ground cracked with ice chunks forming across the surface. The beast for a moment looked confused. With a sour lip the Necromancer grabbed Hercules. He’d not been fast enough for his spell to work.

  “Return.”

  There was only a second to spare. Paladin Wood knew this spell would return him to his base. Just a little more and he’d be upon him. The tip of his hand struck the ground. The body fading out of view. A small splash of blood dripped from the blade's tip. He slammed his hand into the ground.

  *AAAAAHHHHHH*

  This is what he should do when he is left unsatisfied. The target he’d been sent to investigate was gone. Screaming in anger was the most right course. He stayed there for a time slamming his fist into the ground. Boring a great hole into the earth.

  Standing once more he was completely calm as should be normal. He’d let his emotions out and now would have more to fill the space. It all made sense to him. His journey was far from over as he took the scattered cloth in hand. Squire Lillie might be able to track him with this.

  ***

  Johnson Heathcliff was pronounced dead at exactly eleven thirty. He’d been in the ICU for four days. Aged seventy five he’d fallen down a flight of steps in the morning five days prior. His son had come on a surprise trip to visit him. It was a miracle that he’d lasted till the hospital.

  Heathcliff’s family gathered around his bedside. Those that could make it had come quickly. A veteran and Great Grandfather would be in his epitaph. His son who had found him cried that night. He’d been able to give his family a chance to say goodbye but it would never be enough.

  Nate watched the goings on of the family from where he stood in the hallway. He’d gotten up when the nurse didn’t come. His body devoid of food and a feeling of something calling him brought him out. He struggled against the pain, his teacher's curse not pulling its weight. The family piled into the room but he was no longer paying them any mind. A fathers death was more than he could spare his thoughts on at the moment.

  Outside of the windowed wall a single cat stood licking its paw. Black and White with an oddly bulbous head. Somewhere in his memory he remembered hearing a cat's meow. His shuffled forward keeping just outside the sight of the family. As he approached the cat looked up at him with shining golden eyes.

  “Here kitty kitty. You're not supposed to be here. Come here Kitty.”

  He beconned at the cat, bidding it to come away from the mourning family. As if to take one last look it swung its head round to look at the crying people. Standing it stretched and then walked back along the path that Nate had come from. Hobbling, he followed it.

  When he reached his room the cat entered. It seemed to know where to go and curled up on his beside tray. Nate was at a loss of words. His body ache worsened and he could no longer stand. Forced to sit he lay in bed his mind still working at where such a strange cat had wandered in from.