The Challenger was now in Harrington's hunting grounds.

  He started back on his journey, slowly growing used to his wounds, and as he did, the pace he set began to quicken. He was paying more attention to his surroundings and now understood the danger of New Midian.

  He had recovered his hatchet and was gripping it tightly now with his other hand on the handle of his bowie knife, still in its sheath. It looked like he had damaged his lantern in the fight, as the glass casing was cracked and the frame was dented. I suspect it happened when he hit the ground during the battle with Roberson.

  I was following him again from above and behind. I will keep my eyes out for Harrington, but so far I have not caught sight of him. That was not unusual, as if he had gotten ahead of the Challenger, he could be waiting in ambush. He was getting quite proficient with his shadow magic, now learning to use it in new ways.

  This, from the first description, indicated that he could do only one thing with it: use it to hide his position. But now he was starting to manipulate it more, as you practised with it over the years. Would it evolve on its own, or when should he use its next level up to force evolution? That was an interesting question I pondered as I watched the Challenger walk.

  During our conversations during his breaks in researching the arcane items I possessed, he told me something interesting about his time as a stage magician. He told me that a good magician constantly distracted their audience from what they were really doing. They would get them to watch the right hand as the left hand did something else entirely to create the trick. This was done through many methods, and he went into great detail about a few.

  I found everything quite interesting and wondered whether I could implement something similar in the future, if required. It would be a good way to distract people from New Midian. While people are disappearing in this area? Oh, we're not sure, but this is more interesting, look something shiny. Or I could look at it this way. Look, big scary danger, don't pay attention to what's coming up behind you, or what's happening over there.

  Distraction and trickery. Practical skills to have, I would have to think about what I could do with that knowledge.

  As I followed the Challenger, his shadow and the darkness grew. The sun was now more than halfway down behind the mountains, and New Midian was being submerged into darkness. I found it somewhat ironic that Harrington's shadow magic was actually more potent in the daylight. He needed a light source to create the shadows he would manipulate. The longer he waited, the weaker his ability to manipulate the shadows would become as the shadows disappeared into the night.

  As I thought about this, I noticed a shadow detached from the wall and realised it was Harrington. He had been ahead of the Challenger the whole time and had set up in a good place to allow him to walk past without the Challenger realising he was there. Now, Harrington had detached himself from the shadows; he was using his magic to manipulate and was behind his prey.

  I found it somewhat ironic that Harrington was a bit of a neat freak. He did like dirt, poor-quality tobacco, and even alcohol. He kept his clothes as clean as possible and was looking forward to a new wardrobe soon. Even with all his changes, he still saw himself as a more refined gentleman -type monster than the general ruffians in my domain.

  To that extent, he had cleaned his sword quite extensively. I had been surprised by this, as covering the blade in oil and grime helped hide it when he used his shadow magic. It was still not the sort that came here, brought initially by the cavalry sword he had taken up using. I have found out from Blackstone that Harrington had been enquiring about the construction of a new blade for his sword. Something more substantial and less prone to bending than the original metal that made up the blade. Blackstone wasn't sure he could make one, but found the challenge interesting.

  Well, that's what I thought from the few words and grunts I got from him on the subject.

  It was that neat freak nature that, unfortunately, cost him here. He was in an excellent position to drive it into the back of the Challenger. A few quick steps, leading with a heavy thrust through the back, and the sword would protrude from his chest. That would be the end of the Challenger as he drowned in his own blood, filling his lungs if the heart was not hit straight out. Shock would do the rest unless Harrington got a bit sadistic.

  As he lifted his blade, ready to thrust, it caught the dying light rays of the sun. The metal reflected the light ahead of the Challenger, alerting him to something behind him. His reaction times were good, and as Harrington lunged forward, the Challenger jumped to the side, impacting the ground and rolling. His satchel and lantern clattered as he did so. I saw him wince as he rolled over them.

  Harrington passed him by, cursing as he did so. The Challenger was to his left now and getting back up quickly. He lashed out with his sword, trying to cut him as he got up, but the Challenger got his hatchet blade in the way. The force of the impact knocked him back slightly, and the blade slid down, cutting the back of his hand, gripping the hatchet as it did so. His heavy gloves reduced the injury, but it was still there.

  Harrington repositioned himself to strike again, giving the Challenger time to get scrambled back to his feet fully. I thought that was a mistake. Now back on its feet, the Challenger pulled out his Bowie knife as well. He was holding the hatchet and blade ready to block any strikes from Harrington's sword. He was holding them higher, a bit like a boxer with his fists up.

  Harrington lunged forward with his sword blade, and the hatchet turned aside. The two pieces of metal screeched as the blade slid along the hatchet. The Challenger stepped in, thrusting with his Bowie knife, forcing Harrington this time to step aside quickly.

  The two were now separated, circling each other, each looking for an opening. Harrington was prepared to lunge again, but this time it was a challenger who acted faster. With a fast arm action, he threw the hatchet and Harrington. This caught my Hunter by complete surprise.

  The hatchet struck true, burying itself in his chest. The court in the upper chest, thankfully, was on the opposite side of the heart. It looked like it penetrated the rib cage and possibly punctured his lung.

  The impact of the hatchet caused him to stagger and look down at it, not understanding why it was suddenly in his chest. This caused a momentary stop to the fight as both combatants registered what had happened. I think that even the Challenger was surprised by how effective his throw was since he didn't follow up on this advantage.

  Harrington recovered some of his wits and reached down, grabbed the handle firmly of the hatchet protruding from his chest. With a sudden yank and grunt of pain, he pulled the blade from his chest. The dark red blood was staining the cloth around the wound, spreading quickly. He staggered back with several steps until a gravestone caught him before he collapsed.

  As he fell back, he dropped the hatchet and now was looking at both the Challenger and the wound in his chest. It was a severe wound that would be fatal to a normal man. Harrington was still not far along the path of the monsters of this place, so he was still not as sturdy as the others.

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  He recognised this fact and quickly vacated the area. The Challenger watched him leave, not interfering or moving from his position. He was ready in case Harrington turned and came out again, but even he realised with that wound it was highly doubtful.

  After a few long moments, he moved and picked up the hatchet. He had lost Harrington in the Greystones and tomb surrounding him, but the way he was staggering, I was fearful he would make it back to his lair.

  By now, the sun had set behind the mountains, leaving the Challenger in darkness. He paused and seemed to be considering lighting his lantern. The moon was full, casting pale silvery light over everything. This was obvious beyond the area where the Challenger stood, since he was in the shadow of a mausoleum. He turned and walked toward the church spire in the distance, moonlight guiding his way.

  In his current situation, it's probably the smartest thing to do. If the moon had not been out as fully as it was, the lantern might have been a better choice. There was sufficient light from the moon to guide him the rest of the way. Cloud cover was light, and the stars were out in force.

  Rodriguez was the last Hunter before the church and safety.

  The graveyard was denser near the church. The darkness grew as the moonlight decreased. Rodriguez was nearby, I knew this, where I did not know. The Challenger was in his hunting grounds, injured but still able to fight.

  I was interested in what would happen here. The Challenger had experience and skill, able to hold his own against the first two. He might be able to do this. I knew it would count on the remaining fights you would have to endure. But out of all the challenges that had recently visited him, he was the most competent. I remember the brothers who visited me, and how one succeeded through the other's sacrifice. This Challenger stood alone, but had a good feeling about him.

  Navigation through the darkness was becoming an issue for him now. He could light his lantern and take the risk to see better where he was going, but that would give him away. He was smart enough to know this was still not over, and that dangers lay abroad.

  The problem I had realised was that the darkness worked better in my Hunter's favour than his. It didn't bother me, which allowed me to spot Rodriguez coming in from an angle. Every so often, he would stop and lift his head, and I realised that Rodriguez was sniffing the air.

  That was new. Was he gaining the ability to track his prey by scent?

  I knew that his eyes were good enough to see in the dark almost as well as mine. The Challenger was well into the second ring now and nearly at the church's first ring boundary. Rodriguez could hunt him right up to the doors, but no further. He knew this was moving faster because of it.

  The Challenger was moving, then suddenly stopped and listened intently. Had he heard Rodriguez's approach?

  Rodriguez was unaware of his prey's pause and continued moving. It was subtle, but the sound echoed as he moved through the graveyard. The Challenger was probably aware that something was stalking him now.

  This was confirmed by the change in the Challenger's body language as he did his best to draw his Bowie knife quietly. He now held both weapons and was moving to find a place to ambush from. It seems he wanted to turn the tables on my Hunter and be the ambusher instead of the ambushed now.

  He found the narrow space between a statue and the wall of a mausoleum, where he could slide in and wait, hidden from view of the pathway. It wasn't narrow enough to prevent an easy exit when he needed it.

  He hid himself, there crouching, controlling his breathing, watching the pathway. It wasn't long until Rodriguez reached that point following his trail. My Hunter passed him. He only got a few more steps in the past when he suddenly stopped, realising that the scent he was tracking had gone no further.

  That was the opportunity the Challenger needed, and he emerged from his hiding spot to attack. Rodriguez's instincts were sharp, and he realised the danger he was in just as the hatchet swung at him. He dived to the side but not quickly enough, taking a glance strike to his arm.

  His heavy coat protected him from the worst of the hit, but the blade did slice in. A snarl of pain far more animalistic than human came from him. The two now face each other, and Rodriguez decided to return the favour, striking with his Tomahawk. This was the Challenger to step back to avoid the blade coming at his head.

  He replied with a stab of his own Bowie knife, which Rodriguez sidestepped with these. The probable combatants were confined to a narrow area, hampered by gravestones and structures. They had only limited space to move, and this would soon impact the fight.

  Rodriguez seemed to understand this. I knew he had the advantage in close-quarters fighting because of the increasingly animalistic form he was taking. He charged the few steps between them, colliding with the Challenger and knocking them both to the ground, with him on top. Rodriguez had abandoned his Tomahawk, and the impact knocked the hatchet out of the Challenger's hand.

  The two continued to fight this time, using every means at their disposal. The Challenger took multiple heavy blows from Rodriguez's fists and a bite to the shoulder. The Challenger cried out in pain at that.

  Unfortunately, I realise that Rodriguez was stabbed in the side with a Bowie knife. The blade had gone in deep and was up to its handle, the thick dark red blood of the Hunter flowing from the wound. His clothes were absorbing much of it, but more was coming from every route it could.

  The impact of his injury was felt quickly in the fight, as Rodriguez was pushed off the Challenger. He rolled onto his back, realising that there was a knife sticking inside. He tried to reach for it, but the Challenger punched him in the face. Rodriguez responded, but the knife wound caused great pain as the injury got worse. Moving with the blade inside of him was causing additional damage to his internal organs.

  The Challenger came back at him with two more fast punches, knocking his head back as he lay on the ground. The Challenger is now above him on his knees, punching down with all his weight behind the blows. They were not as accurate or damaging as they could have been because the Challenger was fighting in near darkness. He was relying more on instinct than on sight.

  As the Challenger pulled back, Rodriguez rolled into the Challenger and bit into his leg. The Challenger cried in pain again, punching Rodriguez in the head, but my Hunter will not let go. Rodriguez returned the favour by punching the Challenger now in his exposed groin, causing the man to collapse in pain across him.

  Rodriguez pushed him off, grabbing the handle of the Bowie knife and pulling it from his body. More blood pumped from his body now that the blade was free, and Rodriguez was in trouble. The challenge was trying to recover from the punch that had winded him. Rodriguez couldn't sustain the blood loss much longer and had to choose. I knew the choice he was going make already.

  He lashed out with his foot from the ground, pulling what weight we could behind the kick, catching the Challenger and head, knocking into the side. Rodriguez managed to drag himself to his feet, clutching his side to stem the bleeding, then retreated into the darkness.

  He was unable to kill the Challenger and even left his Tomahawk behind.

  He staggered away into the night, impacting various gravestones and mausoleums as he moved, leaving a trail of blood behind him. The Challenger got back to his feet, holding both of his weapons, now looking around for his opponent. He quickly realised that his opponent was running. He looked as if he were going to follow, but realised how close the church was. He turned and went for the building as fast as he could, no longer trying to hide his movements, but running. He wasn't running normally as his leg was sporting a nasty bite wound that stopped him from running at his top speed.

  He left his hat behind as Rodriguez left his Tomahawk.

  He reached the back of the building and quickly circled, looking for the doors. As soon as he found them, he entered, closing them firmly behind him. The centrepiece and sensation of violence swept over me.

  He had made it to the halfway point.

  He leaned against the doors, breathing hard. His face no longer showed concern or tension; it was far more relaxed. He had experienced the exact sensation I was, and we both knew that there was no chance for violence as long as it remained.

  After a few minutes, he took stock of his surroundings. Moonlight was slipping through the stained-glass windows, illuminating parts of the room, but most of it was in darkness. He reached around and, after a few attempts, lit his lantern. Yellow light from the flame expanded around him, giving him a better look out to a distance. The lantern was severely battered, dented and damaged along its journey here.

  He walked down between the wooden pews towards the altar, limping now more pronounced. He stood before it and the statue of the angel of death, looking at both. He seemed unsurprised by the existence of the statue and altar. He placed the lantern upon the altar and leaned on it, breathing hard.

  He needed to treat the wound on his leg and place his sacrifice on the altar. I waited to see what he would do.