"Which direction did it take?" asked someone, the five scouts retreating from the ever-expanding rot abomination, none of them had noticed the slippery undead that went right past them.
"It went in a straight line" responded Échalas, the dark figure he had spotted having disappeared into the darkness further away, it went without saying that the interior of the sunken monument was suffused with nothing but darkness, the undead required no light to see, pure darkness was their preferred environment, where they could also make full use of their special sixth sense, darkness awareness.
The death hunters of course carried sources of light, lanterns and torches created with special means, both items carried by them having been sourced from now gone special castes of knights that proudly carried such tools.
Échalas hadn't gotten a good look at the intruder, the first time having gotten past him with neck-breaking speed, the second time, through his ability, as though knowing that he was watching over his subordinates, it had hung its head low, resembling nothing but a shapeless mass of darkness, reminiscent of a certain mass murderer in that aspect.
Moving around like a blood frenzied beast without making the slightest of noises, coupled with its manipulation of rot, rotten blood as well as the rare burning blood in spite of clearly not being a vampire, he worried for the well being of his scouts, the five of them together should be capable of pinning and defeating rather sturdy undeads.
The death hunters, unlike their founder, fought as groups, closing the gap in between them and the vile undeads using overwhelming numbers and underhanded tactics, those that could go toe to toe with proper undeads were in the minority.
Hurried footsteps echoed loudly throughout the unimaginable expanse of the underground tomb, coffins had yet to slide open, the creatures dormant here were deep in slumber, it would take more than the ruckus of five living to rouse them from this state.
This was to the advantage of the vampire hunters, clearly, this tomb was no simple one, the sheer architecture and numbers of coffins indicated this fact, the dead waiting here had to not be the bottom of the barrels as well, and even if they were, so many was not something they could hope to handle.
But they only needed to catch up to the rot manipulator, and put this undead down, their speed and endurance was the main reason they were the ones down here, their equipment was made to enhance this aspect.
By channelling the power of 'Life, Grant Me Strength', they soon managed to sense something moving ahead of them, it was still far away, and clearly, this undead was fast and knew exactly how to take advantage of its traits, sprinting at maximum speed without wasting any of its movements.
It was unclear whether this was truly the fastest it could go, or if it had forgone the usage of energy and such to be less noticeable, all that mattered was that the five scouts were not going to catch up by just running, and if they got too close, were noticed, a counterattack would certainly ensue.
Allowing this corpse to exert its rot again would spell their failure, tired and exposed, the undead would never allow them to even get nearly as close as they currently were.
Without having to speak, one of them brought out a large crossbow, the special weapon unfurling itself, already loaded with a bolt, each of the hunters of the dead used the life art empowering their movements on this one bolt.
One might be wondering, how could they feel so certain that the undead had yet to notice their approach, they were loud, using life force and not so far behind.
The answer was simple, two of the hunters were casting a simple spell concealing them, the greatest advantage of a hunter, was the element of surprise, getting the drop on an unsuspecting prey, by only dedicating their life to the destruction of death, they were especially proficient at fooling the senses of the abominable enemies of life.
As such, that bolt, would hit its mark, even as the target reacted to the attack, suddenly spinning around, raising both arms, crossing them as a layer of bone formed, blocking the combined might of the five hunters, but being so deeply infused with the bane of the undead, the defences mattered little.
The heavy bolt went right through with little resistance, blasting the bone formation to shards, ripping the dead's two forearms off and inserting itself into its chest, sending the corpse flying back.
"Did it grab onto it?" one wondered, the bolt supposed to tear right through.
Instead, their enemy had somehow seen an occasion to propel further away from them, using this unfortunate attack as an occasion to leave its pursuers in the dust.
The five did not give up however, by choosing to keep the bolt stuck inside of its body, the undead had also held onto the life force, they had a chance to catch up now that life was infesting their target.
"Don't forget, be cautious" Échalas reminded them, his words halted as the bolt that had been shots mere moments ago was thrown right back at them, infused with death instead, its surface already falling apart and rusted, rather than like a javelin, the undead spun it around to have it cover as much surface area as possible, forcing each of the hunters to jump away, hugging the ground.
Expecting a follow-up, they readied themselves, it did not come, only the sound of heavy door dragging against the ground reaching them, stone on stone, scraping filling their ears, hurting them like the cries of a banshee in the distance.
Having a bad feeling, their leader tried to tell to turn back right this instant, but as they took a few steps forward, as the door opened up a slight bit, it hit them, Échalas was thrown out of his own innate ability, feeling like someone had just struck him with a sledgehammer straight in the face.
His heart beating wildly, lungs expanding painfully against his ribcage, the fear of death deeply engraved into his very soul without knowing why.
Trying to reestablish sight on his scouts, he was met with failure, something was preventing even that.
"What is happening Échalas?!" Abraham shook him out of his stupor.
It took him a second to find words.
"Something… Something is down there…"
Something horrifying.
The five scouts were forced to their knees, emptying the content of their bowels, throat clenched, eyes wide open, muscles tense.
Meanwhile, Loimos basked in the glorious presence emanating from a lone stone coffin, resting in the center of a great circular room, barren of any furniture or decorations, only abstract carvings to the glory of this one being laid out on every surface.
This right here, this was it.