Flomu’s burning head lolled from side to side as his nearly blinded eyes sent as much information as they could to his ailing brain.

Wooden bars surrounding him, a cage.

Two exceptionally strong looking men carrying his cage.

A large opening devoid of trees.

Makeshift huts lined with monster leather.

Dark-skinned men and women, scantly clad.

A pot of boiling water.

A woman shaking two rattles, dancing madly around the cage which held Flomu.

And a spit being cleaned.

Even Flomu, in his pain-induced craze, could put two and two together; he would be these cannibals’ feast.

He attempted to yell out, to plead, but all that came out was a garbled gag. The two men didn’t even turn their heads. Their iron stare centered on a larger hut than the rest, smoke pouring out of the top. Flomu’s gaze centered on this structure for a moment before he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Flomu awoke within the large hut. He had been removed from the cage and now lay on a thin cot, resting on four posts. Three people watched him wake: the old man, the young man who had struck Flomu in the head, and finally the female who had been dancing around the cage. She seemed even now to mutter words in a strange foreign tongue, some foolish spell, perhaps. What a pitiful group now stood before him.

“Michima,” Flomu growled to his friend who stood next to him. “Kill them for me, would you?”

The old man and the woman watching Flomu gazed in pity, as the younger man chuckled a bit. Flomu realized he had been talking to a figment of his imagination.

“Just get it over with,” Flomu growled.

“I’m afraid the process is quite time consuming,” the old man tranquilly answered.

“And painful,” the young man added with a smile.

The two men advanced on Flomu as the woman continued to chant in her foreign tongue.

---

They hailed from the land of Ecchidartimus, a small country bordering the Empire, and they were, in simplest terms, hunters. However, they were outcasts by normal hunter standards. This was to be expected, however. Those of Ecchidartimus did not hunt monsters.

They hunted people.

The Human Hunters, as most called them, were a band of mercenaries and assassins, barely unified by a passive government (a six man group called the Horde) and the lack of any established religion. In fact, the people were only tied together by their bloody profession and their warrior finesse in battle.

Whether it was financial reasons or merely the thrill of the hunt, the Human Hunters were pure-bred killers, each working for the highest bidder. And these bidders had a wide range, from the disgruntled wealthy commoner to an entire country needing more troops for an upcoming battle. The funds gathered by each assignment were split fifty-fifty; half the funds went to the ones who had performed the duty, and the other half went to Ecchidartimus as a whole.

Pure Human Hunters began training right at their birth; males were intensely favored, so most females who were born were victims of infanticide, save those who would become child-bearing matriarchs. Because females were rare in Ecchidartimus, pure Human Hunters were rapidly declining in number. Most inhabiting the land were outcasts, put into exile by their own people. Ecchidartimus served as a home for these people, no questions asked, as long as they proved their worth to society. The country was essentially a melting pot for a number of different cultures from around the world.

The young males were taught and trained by the elders. Their bodies were pushed to the limits to create a race of super soldiers of strength, speed, and wit. The last stage in this training period consisted of accompanying a distinguished Human Hunter on a myriad of different missions, ranging from political assassinations to mercenary work. If the distinguished Human Hunter passed on a satisfactory report to the Horde, the trainee would be declared a full-fledged Human Hunter, fully prepared to take on work of his own, alone.

It was this process of taking another under one’s wing that currently shamed Ludrous Partamichi. His last mission had ended badly to say the least, even if his target had been destroyed. It left him with a horrid burned reminder of the left side of his face. Even now, he could feel nothing from the affected area, and he doubt he ever would again. At least he had stopped shedding ashes… that was a disturbing sight. It wasn’t so much the fact that he had lost half his face. Instead, what troubled him more was the fact that, as each flaky bit of ash had fallen, another ounce of his dignity and honor was irrevocably destroyed. Walking through the streets of Ecchidartimus to his standard backyard battle courtyard was an embarrassing feat. He was well respected, one of the best Human Hunters. In fact, he was once of the few who had born within the country, so most on the streets remained quiet as they showed respect for the injury to his spirit rather than his body. There were a few drunkards who had chuckled a bit and asked “How does it feel to fall from the grace of fortune, Ludrous?” It took all of his restraint not to slip a dagger into their tracheas. Nevertheless, even if he had, he’d probably be doing society a favor.

But here, in his battle courtyard, was the next cause of shame and dishonor. The Human Hunter trainee, who had worked with Ludrous for nearly a year. Vialo Mavar, a dark skinned youth of nineteen years hailing from some eastern country performed his tear-inducing exercises with the barest of grunts, dutifully awaiting his masters arrival. He was lucky he had been caught exercising. If he had been caught sitting on the box a few meters away, Ludrous would have certainly disowned the youth. Either the boy was being dutiful or had done what Ludrous had intended and had secretly staked out the front of the house to see when Ludrous was approaching. Either way, Vialo had passed Ludrous’ test - for now.

Ludrous felt a wave of shame as he prepared himself to show his disfigured face to the youth. He was the teacher, so how could he show the badge of near failure? Would the child look at his glazed left eye, the missing ear, and the partially visible muscle and throw his respect for the man away? Would he grow unruly in the presence of a seemingly compromised elder? Or would he still hold admiration for his bulging muscle and violently efficient yet philosophical nature? Only walking forward would answer the question. Ludrous unlatched the gate and quietly stepped into the darkness. He would teach the youth one more lesson with this unique opportunity.

From his sheath, Ludrous pulled free a six-inch dagger. As he inched along the wall, waiting for the best time to strike forth, Vialo moved from practicing hand-to-hand to the weapons, starting with the single-handed Ancient Age laser. He grabbed the object and moved flawlessly, twirling and tumbling it, obliterating invisible foes in a flawlessly executed kata. Perhaps he showed some promise after all…

But, as if on cue, he suddenly dropped the pistol to the ground. As Vialo bended over to retrieve it from the ground, Ludrous took the chance and bounded forth in noiseless speed. Vialo, the perceptive youth he was, recognized the attack and quickly spun around to Ludrous’ back and hooked his arm around his throat, holding him still.

“Master,” he began. “You’re slipping. This attack was very easy to anticipate.”

Ludrous suddenly twisted his head around towards the left so the youth could view the tattered remains of his face. The boy was startled and loosened his grip but a fraction… it was all Ludrous needed. He grabbed the strangling limb and twisted hard enough to elicit a yelp of pain. In a split second, the roles were reversed. Vialo was kneeling on the ground, a dagger to the back of his neck.

“You’re dead,” Ludrous apathetically remarked as he sheathed his dagger.

“Master,” Vialo gasped in a mixture of horror and raw surprise. “Your face… what happened during the mission?”

Ludrous sighed. “A lapse in judgment. Let this be a lesson to you, Vialo. Always know that, no matter how blessed by fortune you are, luck can change in an instant. As for what happened… I really do not wish to delve into the events that transpired once more.”

“Understood…”

“And,” Ludrous continued. “Do not disregard the lesson I just demonstrated. A battle is unpredictable. Do not let the unaccounted surprise cloud your ability.”

“Yes, master,” the youth acknowledged.

The ancient communicator within Ludrous’ home suddenly bleeped. As he swiftly moved towards the communicator, he spoke without turning his head. “While I am within, take the coolia from its cage and practice coolia-back fighting. I shall return to watch shortly.”

Ludrous entered his lavish home and approached the white and black-veined apparatus flashing and beeping. Flicking a switch, he created a verbal connection with whoever had called.

“This is the Horde,” the voice announced. The members of the Horde never announced their individual names.

“Ah, hello. What is it you desire?”

“First, we would like to display our sympathy for your injury and wish you a quick recovery.”

“I am recovered,” Ludrous answered surely.

“Yes, but of course.”

“So, what is the reason for your call?”

“We have a new mission. It is, however, quite unprecedented. We are afraid of being tapped, so we are requiring you to come to the Horde Chambers.”

“What of the youth I have taken under my wing, Vialo Mavar?”

“Take him along, as well. Unlike the last mission, this does not require solitary action.”

As Ludrous exited into his courtyard, he noticed the coolia, who he affectionately named Cabarella, devoid of Vialo.

Ludrous lazily sidestepped as his apprentice landed from the roof to where he stood moments before. As Vialo’s feet touched ground, Ludrous’ kick met his ribs, bruising the bone. If he hadn’t held back, his ribs would have been pulverized.

As Vialo was flown backwards, Ludrous jumped forward onto his belly and pinned him to the ground in a painful arm bar.

“As you can see, Vialo, I haven’t slipped.” As Vialo struggled to his feet, Ludrous continued. “But I appreciate your courage to challenge your master.”

---

An hour later, the pair arrived at the Horde Chambers. The building was a large columned structure, ornately decorated with marble statues of soldiers. In the front garden, the Ecchidartimusan flag, a gold soldier flanked by a red background, flew high.

This ornate design could be viewed as compensation for the Horde’s near lack of power over the people of Ecchidartimus. Regardless, it was this beautiful building Ludrous and Vialo entered. Waiting in the reception hall were the six members of the Horde. They were burly men, whose only restriction from the battlefield was old age.

“What is the mission?” Ludrous asked. He could see behind their eyes their hesitance to send him on what seemed like a very important task, especially after his recent disfiguring mishap. Nevertheless, they spoke.

“Our employer refused to tell us the objective directly. Instead, he wants to meet with you, first.”

“But who is the employer?”

“The leader of a country who has persecuted us and banned communication with us. The leader of the only country bordering us that has never employed our services.”

Ludrous thought long and hard. He could not think of anyone bordering them fitting the description. Except, of course, for…

“You don’t mean…”

“We do. The Holy Emperor of the Empire.”