"How many guild members has he killed?"
Director Arieth Landstan's voice cuts through the emergency meeting like a blade through silk. The Hunter Association's crisis room buzzes with tension as officials lean over holographic displays showing real-time surveillance feeds.
Deputy Director Marcus Thorne wipes sweat from his forehead despite the climate-controlled air. "Confirmed casualties include Commander Belric Vost and Matthias Virell."
"Matthias Virell." Landstan's fingers drum against polished mahogany. "A-Rank Flame Berserker. Dead!"
The room falls silent except for the hum of monitoring equipment. Even seasoned hunters pause at news like this. Matthias was legend, a man who could melt steel with his breath and walk through volcanoes unharmed.
"This necromancer is destabilizing the entire guild hierarchy," says Chief Analyst Helena Cross. Her tablet displays tactical projections that paint grim pictures. "If he reaches Tobias Virell, we're looking at potential civil war between the major guilds."
Operations Chief Viktor Kane leans forward in his chair. "ARES has allies. Contracts with Dragonspire and Silver Dawn. If they call for vengeance..."
"The guild compact collapses," Landstan finishes. "Three centuries of cooperation destroyed because one F-Rank couldn't accept his place."
Deputy Director Thorne activates central communication tab. "Emergency deployment. C-Rank and D-Rank squads to ARES Guild immediately. Priority: containment and stabilization."
Within minutes, hunter teams across the city receive mobilization alerts.
In the eastern district, a team of hunter abandons their late dinner to gear up for deployment. Leader Sarah Northwind checks her team's equipment with practiced efficiency while her members grumble about interrupted meals.
"Another guild dispute?" asks their mage, stuffing spell components into his belt pouches.
"Bigger than that," Northwind replies. "Association command doesn't send emergency alerts for simple disputes."
Her scout finishes sharpening his arrows. "Hope it's not another dimensional breach. Lost too many good hunters to those last month."
They move out into the night, one of six teams converging on the guild district.
Back in the crisis room, heated debates spiral through various scenarios. Some officials advocate immediate intervention. Others worry about Association neutrality in guild affairs.
The arguments cease when the chamber doors open.
Chairman Alfonso Ethella enters with the measured pace of someone who's seen it all, dungeon and monsters. Tall and silver-haired, he carries himself with the quiet authority that comes from ending raids with single spells. His S-Rank badge gleams platinum against midnight-blue robes.
Every person in the room stands. Even Director Landstan rises from her chair in deference to the man who's led the Association for twenty-three years.
"Situation report," Ethella says simply.
Landstan activates the main display. Surveillance footage shows the ARES Guild's exterior, emergency lights painting the building in ominous red. "Leon Graves, formerly F-Rank Necromancer, upgraded to B-Rank two days ago. Currently engaged in systematic assault on ARES Guild leadership."
"Motivation?"
"ARES hunters attacked his mother. Left her hospitalized with multiple fractures."
Ethella nods slowly. "Family honor. Understandable." He studies the tactical displays with eyes that have witnessed more violence than most hunters could imagine. "I'll see this necromancer myself."
The room erupts in concerned murmurs. Deputy Thorne steps forward. "Sir, with respect, deploying the Chairman for a single…"
"It is appropriate," Ethella cuts him off. "This situation requires perspective that rank provides."
He turns toward the exit, robes flowing like liquid shadow. "Maintain current deployment patterns. I'll handle direct contact."
....
The lift doors close with mechanical precision as Leon reaches the thirty-second floor. The Virell family glyph fades from the display screen, leaving only dim brass and crystal.
The doors slide open to reveal a corridor unlike anything in the floors below.
Where lower levels showcased ARES Guild's military aesthetics, this floor whispers of old money and older power. Persian rugs cover polished hardwood. Oil paintings in gilded frames depict Virell ancestors in various poses of conquest. Shining crystal chandeliers cast warm light that makes everything seem peaceful despite the violence that brought Leon here.
Three figures wait in the corridor's center.
The ARES Guild Director stands behind two D-Rank guards, his expensive coat and cotton trousers immaculate despite the chaos below. Mid-fifties, silver at his temples, the kind of man who measures words like coins. His eyes hold the calculating coldness of someone who's built career on other people's suffering.
"Leon Graves," the Director says conversationally. "Quite the evening you've had."
Leon steps towards one of the chandelier's light, broken ribs screaming with each movement. Blood has dried on his clothes, painting patterns across torn fabric. But he stands tall, meeting the Director's gaze without flinching.
"Just getting started."
The Director gestures subtly. His guards flank him without a word. The first is broad-shouldered, D-rank Stone Warrior. The second carries himself with the careful balance of someone who manipulates protective barriers, also a D-rank but a Ward Keeper.
Leon summons his elite mage and assassin zombies. They materialize with the fluid grace of evolved undead, no longer the clumsy animations he'd created weeks ago. The mage's skeletal form wraps in purple energy while the assassin crouches in striking position.
Shadow-edge appears in Leon's grip, dark mana flowing along its edge like liquid night.
The first guard, the stone warrior, spreads his hands wide. Mana flows through his fingers into the floor beneath his feet. "Let's see how your pets handle real earth magic."
Stone erupts from the hardwood in humanoid shape. The golem stands eight feet tall, its body composed of compressed granite and marble torn from the building's structure. Ruby eyes glow in a faceted head that turns toward Leon's assassin.
The assassin zombie lunges without hesitation. Her blades seek the gap between the golem's head and shoulders, but steel scrapes uselessly across stone harder than diamond. Sparks fly as metal meets earth.
She adapts instantly, flowing over the golem's form like liquid shadow. Her feet find purchase on its shoulders as she leaps toward the stone warrior himself.
The man's eyes widen as twin blades punch through his throat. Blood bubbles from his lips as he collapses, his connection to the golem severing instantly.
The construct crumbles to rubble without its animator.
The second guard, the ward keeper, activates his defensive barrier. Translucent energy surrounds him in a dome of shimmering force. "Not so easy this time."
Leon's elite mage responds with elemental fury. Fire bolts, frost spears, and force blasts hammer against the barrier in rapid succession. Each impact sends ripples across the energy field, but the protection holds firm.
The ward keeper grins through his magical shield. "Can't keep that up forever, dead man."
But the mage zombie's enhanced intelligence recognizes patterns in the barrier's fluctuations. It times its next attack perfectly, launching a fire bolt just as the protection field cycles through its defense.
The flames sneak through a gap, washing over the ward keeper's arm. He screams as flesh burns, his concentration shattered.
The barrier drops like a broken window.
Ice magic follows instantly. Frost spreads from the guard's feet upward, encasing him in a frozen prison. His eyes remain aware but his body refuses to obey, frozen solid from neck to toe.
Leon turns toward the Director, who hasn't moved throughout the brief battle. "Just you now."
The older man smiles, revealing teeth too white and too perfect. Suddenly, a sword materialises in his hand, not a simple sword but something that pulses with its own internal light.
"Just me," he agrees, drawing the Soul-Forged weapon. "And them."
Five figures step from the shadows along the corridor's edges. Perfect copies of the Director himself, each one carrying an identical weapon that hums with contained power.