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false prophets, which from the number of his works, were
more numerous than I expected.
Initially, I continued with the journals, hoping to
convince the killer I was off my guard, too distracted to
afford a proper vigilance. But as I descended further into
a particular journal, something did in fact surprise me—a
drawing of a pack of daemonic, hungry wolves. It was as if
the Crucifier had transferred the image directly from my own
dream. However, unlike my dream, his picture included an
additional presence—a solitary creature standing amid the
sea of wolves, hooded and gripping a red crook. The words
scrawled above the figure read, “The Shepherd of Wolves.”
Unfortunately, my preoccupation did indeed cost me my
vigilance. The Crucifier was already upon me, cloaked in
hunter’s silence. As he charged from beyond the light, my
sister leapt into my hand, grinning through the shadows,
whispering a warning from betwixt her metal teeth. I took
several steps backward, placing Mr. Trill in front of the
candles, silhouetting him.
A large, ornate hammer was swung at me in a blur, and I
seized the arm holding it. I tossed Mr. Trill into the darkness
that obeyed him, cowing the shadows rising against me at
his behest. Across the chamber, I heard his hammer clang
to the floor, far behind the candlelight. I closed the distance
and the hunter bent low, avoiding my sister’s flashing teeth.
Stepping back and lowering his shoulder, he lunged at me
with the force of a bull. Anchoring myself in the shadows
that would have denied me, forcing them into service, I
stood immovable. His momentum crashed across me like
a wave tossed against a mountain. He stumbled backward,
stunned. I delivered him to the ground with a fist, readying
both sisters for the kill.
Immediately, Mr. Trill was thrown from the floor as if by
unseen hands, brandishing a small silver blade. Hissing like
a snake, it struck out all around me, arcs of blood tracing
its rapid movements. My sisters greeted polished fangs with
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