He stood up straight and opened his coat.

  The injuries and abuse he suffered on his journey here slowed him; I could see him wincing. He pulled out a piece of material that stood out due to its cleanliness. the white material almost shone in the light.

  He held it in one hand and slowly opened the cloth, revealing patterns around the edge, and I realised it was a handkerchief. Once it was open, a gold ring sat at its centre.

  The Challenger paused, looking at it. I can see many different emotions passing across his face. I positioned myself between the statue on the altar and watched him intently. Grief, happiness, and sadness are among the feelings I can identify, but there are many more.

  After several deep breaths, he reached down and picked the ring out of the handkerchief and, with great hesitation, placed it upon the altar.

  [Challenger's offering has been accepted.]

  A wave of feelings, images, and sensations assaulted me. I saw a woman, maybe in her 20s, having the ring placed on her finger by the Challenger, who was beardless and looked younger.

  The next flash was of her with a swollen belly. Then there was blood and pain.

  The final images I saw were of two caskets being lowered into the ground before a gravestone.

  As suddenly as they came, they were gone. He lost his wife and child not at birth but before, during the pregnancy. Something had gone wrong, and both had died.

  While I recovered from the images, the Challenger had gone back to the pews and sat down, taking the lantern with him. He began treating his wounds. He had many cuts and scrapes from the fights and a broken nose. It was the bite on his leg that was bothering him the most. Rodriguez had not ripped out a chunk of flesh but had definitely caused a serious injury.

  The Challenger pulled supplies from his satchel and began treating his injuries. He winced and grunted a lot as he worked. He ate and drank afterwards to restore his strength and rehydrate. He did, however, pull a smaller bottle of what looked like alcohol and took a quick few swigs to help deal with the pain that seemed. But mainly, he focused on water.

  He made a satchel into a pillow and lay down on the pews, extinguishing his lantern; lack of the lantern's light plunged the church back into darkness. The only source of light was the weak moonlight filtering through the windows.

  He wasn't going anywhere fast, so I shifted outside.

  I couldn't see any Hunters around the church, but I knew that they were there. I could interact with them even if I wanted to see them. I looked to the sky as the cloud cover thickened. If this continued, when dawn came, it would still be pretty dark.

  I shifted back down into the church. The Challenger was sleeping on the pew. He was snoring softly. His hatchet lay on the ground next to him, and he was lying on the opposite side to the Bowie knife. He was using his coat as a blanket.

  Not much to do now but wait.

  The Challenger stirred several times during the night.

  The first time, a nightmare walking up with a start. He jumped up, pulling his knife from its sheath. I had to respect those instincts. He was looking around wildly, his breathing fast and ragged. He realised slowly that he was not under any threat or duress. He sat back down, rubbing his face, seeking to calm himself and his breathing.

  He returned to trying to sleep, but it was fitful now. He often checked his watch, whose face was cracked, I realised. The mechanism itself seems fine, and it continued to tick away.

  He eventually sat back up again about an hour and a half from sunrise. He was rubbing his face again with both hands, and I knew that he was preparing to leave. He could remain a bit longer, but with all the Challengers, they wanted to get out of here quickly.

  I didn't hold that against them.

  McGregor was to the south and Blackstone to the north. The Spirit would be active in her hunting grounds. Rigger was off near the gates. Depending on which way he went, that would be the order of the Hunters he would encounter.

  The Challenger was eating and drinking again, preparing for the journey ahead. It was ironic that I had come to realise that getting to the church was the easiest part of the journey. Getting here normally left the Challenger battered and bruised, at best, but now they had to get back to the gates, and things would get a lot harder.

  The remaining Hunters outside were much more motivated now to stop the Challenger. It was partly pride that they kept them from completing the trial, but they also knew they had beaten the Challenger, who had driven off or beaten the other Hunters.

  The Challenger was now up and walking around, stretching his leg. He had lit his lantern to give himself light to work with. He was extremely slow-moving, around, stiffly, with a pronounced limp. After a few minutes, the pain eased as he warmed his leg and grew used to it. He reached down with a grunt of pain and grabbed the hatchet from the floor. He spent another 10 minutes wandering, stretching, and loosening up. During the whole time, he was glancing at the ring upon the altar.

  By the time he picked up his satchel and put it back across his body, he was still stiff but was moving far better. His back was to the altar, and I watched as his shoulders slumped suddenly. I could see that he was taking deep breaths, and I realised he was thinking about turning back and taking the ring.

  I couldn't stop him, and I wouldn't anyway. This was his choice. This was his sacrifice.

  He lifted the lantern, and he still hadn't turned. He checked his watch and then extinguished the lantern. With heavy footfall, he began walking away from the altar, leaving the ring behind. I watched him slowly pick up his pace as he approached the doors. He did not walk or seem any lighter, but he had made a decision.

  He paused at the doors, breathing deep. He reached out and gripped them, and I waited. He stood there for maybe a minute and then suddenly turned the handles, and both doors opened. He looked out across the graveyard in the near pitch darkness. The heavy cloud now obscured the moon, and there was very little light.

  He reaffirmed his grip on the hatchet and checked the knife at his waist. With a heavy sigh, he set off taking the northern route.

  Blackstone, it is then.

  If he had gone south, he would have had a better chance, I believe, of surviving. Those three Hunters back-to-back would break even someone who was at their best. He was walking along the path using the darkness to his best advantage. He made sure to secure the lantern in such a way that it didn't rattle as he walked.

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  As he left the central ring and went into the second, he pulled out the Bowie knife and gripped both his hatchet and the knife firmly. He knew trouble was coming and was doing his best to be prepared. I doubt if he was ready for what was coming.

  I had to give the respect he deserved again.

  Its instincts were sharp, and he was able just by a hairs bredth to dodge the hammer blow that sought to crush his skull. He fell to a knee as the hammer pass through the space that his head once occupied.

  I wasn't sure what had given Blackstone away, but the Challenger had reacted just in time. This caused Blackstone to slightly overbalance, which is expected to hit the Challenger, giving his opponent time to get back on his feet and turn to face his attacker.

  I could see the Challenger's reaction to what he could see of Blackstone. What he could see of the large Hunter was a wall of sheer bulk. In my world, expression would be: WTF!

  I completely understood.

  Blackstone swings his hammer again, forcing the Challenger to back up quickly or risk being hit. This had him backpedalling as fast as he could in the darkness, risking tripping. This was far less dangerous than being hit by that hammer.

  The moon decided to make an appearance to the cloud, giving the altercation a bit more light. Blackstone was pursuing, and the area's dense nature worked in his favour. The Challenger didn't have far to go or room to manoeuvre.

  The power in every swing can be heard as the hammer passes through the air. One hit, and I suspected the Challenger would not be getting up again. His problem was that he was rapidly running out of space to avoid the blows.

  Both Blackstone and I knew he was getting desperate. This made Blackstone press his advantage more aggressively, aiming for the kill. The Challenger had been backed up against the wall of a mausoleum and had nowhere else to go.

  Was this the end?

  Blackstone pulled back his arm to swing in one more time. The Challenger took this as an opportunity. He used the wall as a solid surface to kick off from. He jumped forward as the hammer swung at him. He got inside the angle of the swing. He braced his arm up and formed a U with his body. He was close in with Blackstone and used his body to stop the handle Blackstone was holding. The head of the hammer caught part of his back, but the bulk of the kinetic energy was halted as he stopped it.

  The impact still moved him to the side, and the hatchet was out of the fight for the moment. The Bowie knife in his other hand was not. He stabbed violently forward several times into the bulk that was Blackstone's body. Blackstone was incredibly sturdy, but even he could not endure such a violent attack.

  He punched with his free hand, catching the Challenger on the side of the head, knocking him back into the wall again. The Bowie knife was still in him, though, and he staggered back bleeding badly. He been stabbed only six times and was more like a prison shanking. The blade had torn into his lower abdomen, but he was still standing.

  The Challenger had recovered from the blow to his head and saw his last opportunity. I thought he might attack again, but instead he saw the opening and ran. This action surprised both Blackstone and me.

  I quickly realised that this was the best option for the Challenger. He left his Bowie knife behind, but it was still inside Blackstone. The injuries that my Hunter had sustained in that brief altercation would mean he would not be able to hunt him down fast.

  Blackstone did his best to follow, but it was clear that the Challenger was opening up a greater lead on him. He was frustrated as he watched the Challenger growing more distant.

  The Challenger's choice of tactics was excellent against Blackstone, but unfortunately, he did not realise he was now running directly into the Hateful Spirit's hunting grounds.

  I quickly caught up with the Challenger as he ran, not slowing. He was looking over his shoulder constantly while trying to navigate through the maze of gravestones and tombs.

  When he realised that Blackstone was not following him straight away, he slowed down as his leg was giving him trouble. He paused and began to breathe deeply, recovering as best he could from the run.

  Adrenaline can only take you so far before you burn out.

  He might have slowed down, but the Challenger was still moving forward. The pathways were guiding him northwards. He taken a few wrong turns along the way, but he was slowly making headway. I thought you had made excellent time and are now in the Spirit's territory. I watched as he crossed into it, completely unaware of the danger.

  Following him, I was looking around for the Spirit. She found him halfway through her territory. I caught the faint white light of her presence. She saw him before he noticed her. She changed course and headed toward the Challenger. She was approaching in her nonthreatening form, but he wasn't having any of it. He took one look at her, got a good idea of what she was, and once again chose to run.

  Again, the strategy I couldn't disagree with.

  The hateful scream and change only reinforced the wisdom of his decision. She was in hot pursuit, rapidly gaining on him, since she didn't have to worry about gravestones or statues getting in her way. She just went straight through them.

  He looked over his shoulder, and the Challenger saw her rapid approach, and it spurred him to run even faster, even with his injured leg. The terror of seeing her in her true form was something that he did not even bother to hide; he just used it to pump his legs faster.

  He dodged and weaved through the gravestones and around other obstacles as she approached. The irony was that he was moving so quickly that he might actually get out of her territory before she caught up with him, but it was only a very close-run thing.

  He did know this, of course, and was running for his life.

  The first strike with her talons just missed him. The second caught the satchel, ripping it to shreds and sending much of its contents tumbling out—the third cut through the lantern, causing it to fall to the ground.

  Each blow came closer to the flesh of the man. I will be waiting with bated breath, if I still breathe, for the eventual scream of pain.

  The fourth blow brought forth the scream of pain I was expecting.

  Her talon raked across his back, ripping through the coat and into the flesh below in a downward strike. It was not as deep as it could have been. The remnants of the satchel and his heavy jacket protected him against some of the strike, but it still tore right through the material into his flesh.

  His back arched as the talons raked down it. His face twisted in pain as he screamed, but he managed to keep moving. His cry of pain was returned with hate by the Spirit as she pressed on, seeking to end the trespass in her domain.

  The next court along the arm, ripping into both material flesh again. Thankfully for him, it was not the arm that held his hatchet. Another scream of pain elicited a reply of hatred. He kept moving back and started the stagger now.

  The Hateful Spirit was making to finish him off with one final attack when luck intervened on his behalf. He reached the edge of her territory and passed beyond it. This stopped her assault cold, but he did not realise at the time and kept moving, focused on staying alive.

  He only became aware that he was safe when the Hateful Spirit's glow around him dimmed, and he was no longer chased. He looked back and saw she was no longer advancing. He almost collapsed and was forced to lean on a gravestone to the point that it was the only thing holding them up.

  He was breathing extremely hard and bleeding from two nasty injuries. Unfortunately, he had lost all of his supplies with the destruction of the satchel. He was still present in mind enough to realise that if he didn't treat these injuries; he was going to bleed out. He took off his coat slowly, with great effort, and began using the hatchet to slash it to pieces. He fashioned rough bandages from the material and bound what he could. His back proved highly problematic, and he wrapped his ruined coat around himself, tying it off.

  For a short-term fix, it would do, I thought.

  In the east, the sun was beginning to rise as the sky changed colour. Even with the heavy cloud cover, you can tell that dawn was coming. Around the walls, you could hear birdsong beginning, heralding the dawn chorus.

  He was close to the gates, and there was only one Hunter now standing in his way.

  He wasn't aware of this and pushed on. He was heading towards the gates, but not in a straight line, staggering from blood loss and his injuries.

  Rigger was stalking him. It was impossible not to know where he was due to the Hateful Spirits screaming. I caught sight of him moving parallel to the Challenger, his eyes fixed on the gates in the distance.

  The two columns with gargoyle statues marked their location. The statues sat higher above their brothers that ringed the walls. Watching him, I realised he was at his most vulnerable now due to his weariness and blood loss. He was not paying close enough attention to the graveyard around him. He had become too focused on those gates.

  Rigger's odour alerted him to the danger, but it was far too late. The Challenger turned, raising his hatchet to defend himself, but Rigger had managed to get in close enough to slip inside his guard.

  Rigger pushed him up against a gravestone and, using his bowie knife, he disembowelled the Challenger. The man screamed in pain, desperately trying to fend off his attacker, but it was far too late. Rigger was relentless and without mercy.

  The Challenger's intestines hit the grass-covered ground with blood spraying everywhere.

  "I honestly thought he would go the distance."

  I said to myself as I turned away from Rigger and his bloody work. It wasn't long until the screams of the Challenger finally ended, and the notification I was waiting for came.

  [A Hunter has made a Kill.]

  I would leave Rigger to deal with the body and the horse. He will drop it off at Herbert's and take care of the animal. I turned my attention back to my Hunter and was momentarily stunned, but soon recovered and started yelling…

  "Rigger! Stop eating the body here! You have a lair, use it!"