Zariya’s boots crunched against the cobblestone streets as she walked through the shadowed alleyways of Oak City. The dim light of the setting sun barely illuminated the gothic architecture, casting long shadows that danced in her peripheral vision. Her destination, the Oakland Church, loomed in the background, a dark silhouette against the blood-orange sky. It was an old, crumbling structure with stone walls weathered by time, a haunting place in its own right, even without the malevolent spirits festering beneath it.

She pulled her cloak tighter against her body, more out of habit than necessity. The cold didn’t bother her much anymore, not since she’d been turned. Not since her life had been carved away piece by piece, until only the cold shell of who she once was remained. Phantom Lord. Akudama Syndicate. It all felt so distant now, like fragments of a bad dream she couldn't quite wake from.

She had fallen far, that much was clear. Once, Zariya had been a name people respected, while others feared it. Now, she was a ghost herself, a shadow slipping through the cracks of the underworld. She had lost her magic, the very thing that had set her apart. Her power, her identity, it had all crumbled into dust, and she was left wandering aimlessly, clinging to what little pride she had left.

But that burning desire for more, the gnawing hunger that had driven her from Skaal to Fiore, to Phantom Lord, to the Syndicate, it had resurfaced. She wanted more than just to survive. She wanted to claw her way back to the top, to reclaim what she had lost and leave her mark on the world again. The world would know her name, not because of her family, not because of her past, but because of her.

The quest beneath the Oakland Church was a start. Nothing major, nothing grand. Just a task. Clearing out spirits, some violent, some not, but all needing to be removed from the catacombs under the church. It didn’t require magic, and it didn’t require the prestige she once held. It required getting dirty, getting down into the muck and facing whatever waited in the dark. And she was good at that.

As Zariya approached the church, her sharp eyes caught the faint glow of candlelight spilling from one of the stained glass windows. The place was mostly abandoned, only a handful of priests and clerics remained. Word had spread about the spirits beneath the church, and most people in Oak City avoided it like the plague. But that wasn’t why Zariya had joined Phantom Lord—to live in fear of ghosts.

She pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the ancient hinges groaning in protest. Inside, the church was cold, the air damp with the scent of old stone and mildew. A handful of pews were scattered haphazardly, and at the far end of the hall, the altar stood beneath a massive, cracked crucifix. A figure moved near the altar. It was an older man, his robes marking him as one of the few remaining clergy members. He turned as Zariya entered, his face pale and gaunt, eyes haunted.

“Are you… the one sent to handle the spirits?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking louder might wake something.

Zariya gave him a curt nod, her gaze cold and unreadable. She wasn’t here to make friends. “Yeah, I’m the one.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if reconsidering whether to let her proceed, but then he simply nodded, gesturing toward a narrow stone staircase at the side of the hall. “The catacombs are down there. Be careful… they’ve been restless lately.”

Restless. Zariya scoffed inwardly. Restless wasn’t the half of it. She’d dealt with spirits before and restless didn’t begin to cover the chaos that could unfold when the dead refused to stay where they belonged. Without another word, she moved toward the staircase, her boots echoing off the stone floor with each step. As she descended, the air grew colder, more oppressive, the darkness thickening around her like a blanket. The smell of earth and decay filled her nostrils, contrary to the incense that lingered faintly from above.

The catacombs were exactly as she expected; narrow, winding tunnels lined with bones and ancient burial sites. Stone alcoves held the remains of those who had been interred centuries ago, their skeletal remains undisturbed by time. But the spirits weren’t so content to stay in their graves. She could feel them...the weight of their presence pressing against her, thickening the air with their malice and desperation. The first spirit she encountered was near the entrance. A soft wisp of smoke drifted from one of the alcoves, and as Zariya approached, it took form. A translucent figure of a woman with her face twisted in sorrow. The spirit hovered in the air, her hands clasped together as if in prayer, her eyes wide with desperation.

Zariya paused, her expression impassive. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice low and rough. She wasn’t here to play counselor to the dead, but she knew some of these spirits could be reasoned with.

The woman’s voice was a soft whisper, barely audible over the oppressive silence of the catacombs. “I… I can’t rest. My child… she’s still out there. Please, I need to know she’s safe.”

Zariya stared at the spirit for a long moment. This was one of the civil ones. She harmless, just lost. She could help this one, if only to get it out of her way.

“Where’s your kid?” Zariya asked, leaning against the wall with a casual indifference. “And why should I care?”

The spirit hesitated, her form flickering slightly. “She was taken. By men...bad men. They took her to the docks, near the warehouse. Please, find her. She’s just a child.”

Zariya sighed. Of course it wouldn’t be easy. But then again, nothing ever was. She didn’t have time to play hero, but if she wanted to clear this place out, it meant dealing with every spirit.

“Fine,” she muttered, pushing off the wall. “I’ll look into it. But no promises.”

The spirit bowed her head in gratitude before dissolving into a faint mist, leaving Zariya alone in the dark once again.  She continued deeper into the catacombs, her senses on high alert. Every step she took was met with the distant sound of whispers, disembodied voices drifting through the air like a breeze that wasn’t there. The spirits here were many, far more than she had anticipated. Some watched her from the shadows, their forms barely visible, while others moved closer, curious, but not yet hostile. But the further she ventured, the more malevolent the air became. She could feel it—the shift in energy, the way the shadows seemed to grow darker, more suffocating. She was entering the territory of the dangerous ones.

It wasn’t long before one of them made its move. Out of the corner of her eye, Zariya saw the flicker of movement—something fast, something unnatural. She spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of a spirit lunging at her, its form distorted and grotesque, more monster than human. Its mouth gaped open in a silent scream, eyes hollow and filled with rage.

Zariya didn’t flinch. She sidestepped the attack with inhuman speed, her reflexes honed by years of fighting, both in and out of the underworld. Her hand shot out, grabbing the spirit by its distorted arm, her grip like iron. The creature writhed in her grasp, its form flickering between solid and ethereal, but Zariya held on, her lips curling into a snarl.

“Be gone,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous.

With a surge of vampiric strength, she slammed the spirit into the stone wall, the impact reverberating through the catacombs, and causing debri to fall. The creature let out a soundless scream, its form flickering violently before dissipating into a cloud of smoke. Zariya wiped her hands on her cloak, as if ridding herself of some invisible grime.

One down.

She continued her descent, the catacombs growing more treacherous the deeper she went. The spirits here were not civil. They were angry, violent, twisted by centuries of torment and hatred. Each encounter was a test of her reflexes, her instincts. Without her magic, she was relying solely on her vampiric abilities; speed, what little strength she could muster, agility, and the combat skills she had honed over years of fighting in the underworld. The further she went, the more vicious the spirits became. They lunged at her from the shadows, their forms twisted and grotesque, their rage palpable. But Zariya fought back with cold efficiency, her movements swift and calculated. Each spirit that came at her was met with the full force of her vampiric strength, and one by one, they fell.

Hours passed, or maybe it was minutes. Time had a way of warping in places like this, where the line between the living and the dead was thin. By the time she reached the deepest part of the catacombs, she was covered in dirt and grime, her body aching from the constant onslaught of spirits. But she was alive, and more importantly, she was still standing. At the very end of the catacombs, she found what she had been searching for. It was a large stone chamber, its walls lined with ancient runes. This was the heart of the infestation, the place where the spirits had been sealed long ago. And now, they were breaking free.

In the center of the chamber stood a figure, its form almost completely covered an evil energy. This was no ordinary spirit. This one was powerful, ancient, and malevolent. Zariya could feel its energy pulsing through the air, thick with hatred and malice. The figure turned to face her, its eyes glowing with an eerie light. “You… have come to face me,” it said, its voice a deep, resonant echo that seemed to vibrate through the very walls of the chamber.

Zariya cracked her neck, her expression cold and unyielding. “Indeed, and I’m here to send you back to where you came from.”

The spirit let out a low, menacing laugh, the sound chilling the air around them. “You think you can defeat me? You, who have lost everything?”

Zariya’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. With a snarl, the spirit lunged, its form shifted into a monstrous shadow, tendrils snapping through the air with vicious speed. Zariya’s muscles tensed. She sidestepped just in time, the tendrils slicing into the stone wall behind her. The spirit was faster than anything she had faced in a long time, and each of its movements crackled with dark energy, reminding her this wasn’t just any restless soul.

It attacked again, a blur of shadowy limbs and gnashing teeth. Zariya ducked and weaved, her reflexes sharp, but the creature was relentless. One tendril grazed her shoulder, ripping through her cloak and skin. Pain flared, but she forced herself to stay focused. She couldn’t afford to hesitate.

Her fist shot out, striking the spirit’s core. The blow rippled through its form, causing it to shriek in fury, but the creature barely staggered. Zariya pressed forward, delivering another punch, her movements fueled by nothing but determination. The spirit’s form wavered, but its malevolence grew stronger. The creature retaliated, slamming a tendril into her side. Zariya grunted as she hit the ground hard. Before it could strike again, she rolled to her feet, dodging another lashing strike. In one swift motion, she grabbed hold of the tendril that had struck her, yanking the spirit closer. With a vicious knee to its center, the creature howled in agony.

But it wasn’t done. Dark energy swirled around the spirit, and with a final, desperate burst of power, it attempted to envelop her. Zariya acted quickly, driving her elbow into its core with everything she had. The spirit convulsed, its form destabilizing. With a final, earsplitting screech, it dissolved into nothingness, leaving the chamber eerily silent. Zariya stood over the dissipating shadow, leaning against the wall, breathing heavily. The fight had been brutal, but she was still standing.

The fight had left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. She wasn't victorious, not in the way that mattered. Yes, the spirits were gone, but this small victory did nothing to fill the hollow ache in her chest. It wasn’t about the spirits or the task. It wasn’t about earning money or reputation. She had lost more than just magic, more than just her past titles. She had lost herself.

Her head tilted back, eyes tracing the intricate runes on the ceiling above. These catacombs were ancient, older than the church itself. Phantom Lord had sealed these spirits here long before Zariya had joined, back when she still believed she could carve out a place for herself among the most powerful of mages. But now, she was different. She wasn’t the ambitious girl who had left Skaal, eager to prove herself. She had been hardened by the weight of her failures, by the death of her brother, Vali, and the collapse of everything she had fought for. A dark smile flickered across her lips. What a fool she had been, believing she could control her destiny.

In the silence, the words of the final spirit echoed in her mind: "You, who have lost everything.”

She clenched her fists. Those words stung, not because they weren’t true, but because she had lost everything and was still standing. But surviving wasn’t enough. She needed to feel something again. To break free from the numbness that had settled into her bones, gnawing at her like the dark abyss that once tried to claim her. With a growl, she pushed off the wall, her body protesting every movement. She could feel the bruises forming under her skin from where the spirits had slammed into her during the battle. Being a vampire had its perks, but it didn't make her invincible. It just made her less human.

Her mind drifted to the spirit of the woman she had met earlier, the one pleading for her daughter. She had no interest in saving some random child. Zariya wasn’t a hero. Never had been. But still, something gnawed at her, something unspoken. Maybe it was the fact that the woman reminded her of the ghosts she couldn’t shake? Her own mother, the memories of Vali, her father even. The people she had once vowed to protect, the people she had failed.

Letting out a long, frustrated breath, she made her decision. Zariya didn’t owe anyone anything, but if she didn’t at least look into it, that nagging voice in the back of her mind would never shut up. And she’d had enough sleepless nights without adding one more to the tally. Leaving the chamber, Zariya retraced her steps through the labyrinthine catacombs, her senses on alert. The air still felt heavy, as if the remnants of the spirits lingered, but she knew the worst was over. Her boots scraped against the stone as she climbed the winding stairs back up to the church, the oppressive cold gradually giving way to the musty warmth of the building above.

When she reached the top, the old priest was waiting for her near the entrance, his bony hands clasped together in anxious anticipation. His hollow eyes searched her face, hoping for some sign of success.

“They’re gone,” Zariya said flatly, her voice devoid of any satisfaction. “The spirits won’t be bothering you...for now, at least.”

The priest nodded, his shoulders sagging in relief, though the weight of his age and the burden of what he had witnessed remained heavy on him. “Thank you, Miss. The church—”

“Save it,” Zariya cut him off, her patience running thin. She wasn’t interested in gratitude or blessings. She had more pressing matters to deal with. Without waiting for a response, she turned and headed for the door, her mind already shifting to the next task. The docks. The girl. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but something about the spirit’s desperation struck a chord. Maybe she was a fool for chasing the ghost’s last request, or maybe it was just another distraction from the weight of her own misery. Either way, she was committed now.

As she stepped out into the night air, the cool breeze hit her face, carrying with it the familiar scent of the sea. Oak City’s docks weren’t far, just a short walk away from the church. She could hear the distant clang of ships being loaded, the calls of workers shouting orders, and the ever-present hum of the underworld’s activity just beneath the surface.

Zariya pulled her cloak tighter, her steps purposeful as she made her way toward the water. Whatever waited for her at the docks—good or bad—didn’t matter. She had a job to do, and she wouldn’t stop until it was finished. After all, there were worse things than the dead to face in this world. And Zariya Onfroy had never been afraid of the dark.