There they stood, the seven members of the Diablerie, each with their own weapon. Any second now, Kharatak, or that's what his code name was, a member of the Diablerie, would retrieve his knife. An hour after that knife stays in someone's body, it comes back to Kharatak. Kharatak was a discreet man, as any serial killer, but what made him special was his mask. It was like a piece of armour, a metal helmet with a slit for him to breath and two holes for his eyes.
Kharatak lay beneath his boss, the King of the Diablerie, the owner of the Supreme Sword, Anthrax. Anthrax also wore a helmet, but his was more menacing. It was a black helmet, with a T-Shape slit, like a medieval knight. He sheathed his sword as Kharatak began talking.
"My King," he began. "It is no secret that we are after the armour of our saviour, Lord Creed. That armour will bring us the power of his discipline, Necromancy. The ability to summon Dark Energy like it is fire, killing everyone on impact."
King Anthrax nodded as he spoke, and the other five members of the Diablerie seemed invested.
"May I?" said Jeremy Cofield, a Texan murderer with slick blonde hair, and a heavy southern accent. He was the owner of the sceptre, and his discipline was Teleportation.
"Sure."
"As you may know, that Caros girl destroyed it years ago, dipshit." Jeremy said to Kharatak.
"And there's my lead. That kind of Necromancy power can't be destroyed by a measly little Elemental. It has to be with the British Ministry."
"Go on." Anthrax said.
"The Sorcery President of the UK, Martin Flanery, must have it. He is a Necromancer after all."
Anthrax rose from his seat.
"Gentleman, I know what we have to do." Anthrax smirked.
YOU ARE READING
Diablerie
FantasyThe world is ridden by sorcerers, mages and the flourish of magic. Two detectives in this world seek to destroy the threat that is lurking in this world. But disaster strikes. What can they do to save the world?
