The Shambler’s head turned sharply towards the source of the sound — A man that looked to be in his early thirties, with striking green-colored hair that somehow did not feel out of place. One couldn’t even tell if it was natural or dyed. The green hair accentuated the man’s deep-black irises, making for a striking contrast that further enhanced his already good looks.
He had a cigar dancing on the edge of his lips as he surveyed the fight with a lazy air, disregarding the hulking soul mass that evidently took up most of the space in the building.
Instead, his eyes settled on Rick who was lying in a puddle of his own piss, knocked out cold from the raw oppression of chaotic waves coming off the Shambler.
The man’s brows furrowed slightly and he stepped in casually, striding towards Rick’s body first.
The Shambler stood unmoving. Despite its chaotic state, it looked as though even it was stunned into a lull of utter incredulity at the casual attitude of the man.
But that didn’t last for long.
After a short second of hesitation, as if its chaotic state was just returning from a vacation, it let out another piercing shriek and charged straight at the man as he squatted near Rick’s body.
A sharp ’shing’ of a sword was briefly heard, before disappearing, making one wonder whether there had even been a sound at all.
Abruptly, the Shambler’s view tilted. Mid-charge, it found itself falling to the ground, with no legs to carry it forward any longer. They had been sliced off so cleanly that it didn’t even register the action until it fell.
It thudded to the ground with a boom, its momentum skidding it forward a few steps behind the man, who performed weird gestures over Rick, causing wisps of black smoke to emit from his body.
The man paid the Shambler no mind at all, even as it frenziedly scrambled the rest of the five steps towards him, pulling its body forward with its hands alone, intent on pounding him into something unrecognizable.
Another ’shing’ sound cut through the air again, this time, severing the outstretched arms of the Shambler as it swiped down at the man.
The source of the sharp sound and cut was seen more vividly this time. It looked to be a large sword, one that barely had any notable feature besides its ability to slice the chaotic shadow mass cleanly every single time. The wielder of the sword, however, remained to be seen.
The Shambler’s hands thudded on the ground a mere step behind the man as he stood up, hoisting Rick over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He looked to be finished with what he was doing.
He turned and walked out of the building even as the Shambler continued to shriek, wiggling forward madly in a bid to attack him.
This time it wasn’t the sword that stopped its frenzy, but rather, Finn.
Out of nowhere, he was right by the Shambler’s head, arms bent at unnatural angles from the previous impact, but still grinning widely.
"Eh? You can still move?" The man slightly paused with a backwards glance over his shoulder.
Finn wasn’t the only one. His shadow wolf had also shaken off the previous blow. Now by the Shambler’s sliced legs, biting and twisting with a vengeance.
The man continued forward unabated, leaving the fight behind. He set Rick down a fair distance away from the building, far enough that the soul oppression from the Shambler couldn’t reach him.
"Now, what to do with the other two," he turned back to the building filled with bone-chilling shrieks and rabid growling. "This will be such a pain." His eyes glanced out towards the city. He could see a few curious people in the distance, afternoon patrons of the red-light district who were drawn to the high-pitched shrieks.
Their curiosity could only carry them so close, though. They dared not move further because of wards he had placed around a mile radius.
His eyes passed over them inconsequentially, they weren’t his point of concern, but rather, the Arcanists in the city.
"I have to wrap this up quickly." He ’tsked’ then headed into the building.
"Alright, playtime is over." His voice took on a serious air immediately he entered, causing the shadow wolf which was previously occupied in a brutal mauling of the injured Shambler to snap up. It growled and dashed straight at the man, deeming him the new threat.
The man snorted and waved a finger in a small diagonal slash.
Immediately, the sharp ’shing’ of a sword unsheathing and sheathing quickly was heard. After which, the shadow wolf’s body split into two clean halves, eliciting a pained wail that was cut short as the man stomped its head on the upper half into a shadowy mush.
He was no longer holding back.
His quick dispatch of the shadow wolf barely broke his stride as he continued forward, puffing a smoke of his cigar into the air as he did.
His expression had slowly become grim as his gaze fixed on Finn. The Shambler’s previous frenzy had quietened, it had gone completely still as Finn bit into the side of its neck, drawing out a black essence that turned his already black eyes a deeper, obsidian black.
More blackness spread across his body, crawling like a network of tree roots through his veins, giving him a visage of something not remotely human. The air about him had turned dangerous.
The man pulled out his cigar, flicking it the ground as he stopped right next to Finn, squatting to observe him up close. Intrigue colored his face clearly as he watched Finn feed on the Shambler soul mass like a being of chaos himself.
The Shambler groaned weakly like a dying beast but remained unable to move, as though the process was something sacred. The control it had wrestled from its master — the revenant — who was unconscious and nearly drained of all life-force, was being ceded to Finn.
"This is most curious," the man tilted his head, watching Finn’s black eyes focused on devouring. "So he’s actually not fully gone..."
Just then, the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps echoed from the distance before someone skidded to a stop at the doorway.
"Micah! The Arcanists are almost here!" A feminine voice shouted into the building.
"Shh!" Micah held a finger up for silence, uncaring of the outside development, the spectacle unfolding before him piqued his interest more.
The female newcomer, a young woman in her early twenties, with a petite figure and long black hair tied up in a ponytail, dashed to his side, about to launch into a hot tirade of scolding when she noticed what had grabbed Micah’s attention.
Her words caught in her throat as her brain processed the whole situation. With her knowledge as an official Ossuarist, she logically came to the same conclusion that made Micah watch in intrigue. But for her, she had a harder time believing the conclusion.
"W—Who the hell is this?! How is he still able to assimilate a soul mass?!!"