He turned the Dioket and rode towards the edge of the forest, towards where he felt the disturbance. A dark so black that a man couldn't see his hand in front of his face had descended upon the Drenzian. Viseron could see like it was daylight however, an ability that came from being linked to the Shadow Magic.

The voices of the Shadow Magic hissed in his head, telling him someone was in the forest. Someone who wasn't welcome. Someone who was trying to destroy the Drenzian.

He needed to stop the mages who were doing this before they did too much damage. As of late, he had fought many of them, all with the same goal. They were trying to find a way to stop its growth, to kill it. If they found their answer, he would die with the Drenzian.

As much as he hated this life of bitter cold, he didn't want to die, not yet. And the Drenzian wouldn't let him die so long as he was within its borders, so he wouldn't let it die either.

Viseron saw the flash of golden magic and heard the shouts as they heard him nearing. The raven cawed overhead and dove at one of the armored mages, blinding him. The man's cry of agony echoed through the night, awakening the darkness within Viseron.

Viseron stopped the Dioket as the voices in his head grew louder, as the dark magic within him threatened to take over. Viseron let the Shadow Magic take control, his body under its control, his thoughts replaced by the sudden need for blood to be spilled. His eyes were solid black, skeins of smokey black magic flowing from him like a cloak. Viseron drew his sword, the black shadowstone glittering in the moonlight.

The mages scattered as the Dioket leapt over them and turned to where they stood, Viseron's cloak whipping out behind him.

Viseron ducked as a golden spell flew over his head, hissing commands in the language of shadows.

One of the mages screamed in pain, the shadows destroying his magic, killing him from the inside out. Suddenly, the screech of the Dioket pierced the night and it pitched forward, a smoking hole in its side.

Black raven wings sprouted from his back and he flapped them once, snow creating a misty veil around him. Viseron whirled on the five men, throwing one of the shadowstone knives he had attached to his thigh.

One of the men stumbled backwards, the knife embedded in his chest. The others reacted quickly, casting spells at him. He blocked the golden streaks of magic with a shield of shadows, lashing out with his own spells. Viseron dragged one of the mages towards him and slit his throat, looking for his next target.

Suddenly a golden spear embedded itself in his shoulder with a spray of blood. Viseron didn't feel any pain, however, even as he pulled the spear from his flesh.

A golden chain wrapped around Viseron's leg, dragging him to the ground. He hit the snow hard, rolling onto his back as he was drug forward. He broke the golden magic, hissing in annoyance.

Then he saw the mage who had snared him, summoning a shadow dagger. He got to his feet in the blink of an eye; the mage crying out in agony as Viseron stabbed the blade through his shoulder as he had done to him, pinning the spellcaster to the tree behind him.

He struggled but Viseron twisted the blade deeper, shadowy magic enveloping both him and the mage. The mage tried to break free, tried to cast a spell but Viseron began to drain his magic, a scream of pain escaping the man's lips as his magic began to fade..

The man's scream of pain was cut short as the Shadow Magic corrupted the magic within the mage, Viseron taking his power as his own. It was a painful and fatal process for a mage to be subjected to Corruption. If a mage was separated from the tie to his magic, he would die. Viseron watched as the mage's skin paled, his eyes fading from gold to a lifeless gray.

Suddenly he felt someone stab him in the back, turning to see the last of the mages. The boy had to be no more than nineteen, and he held a bloodied gold dagger. Viseron saw fear flash in the young man's eyes, saw him back up as the Shadows writhed around him, reacting to his anger.

"Please don't kill me." He pleaded.

Viseron regarded him with cold eyes, his mouth set in a thin line. The Shadow Magic hissed at him to kill the boy, that he had to die. That his blood must be shed.

But through the darkness that controlled him Viseron was able to speak a single word in the boy's mind:

Go.

The boy's face paled and he turned and ran, bolting off into the twilight. He watched the mage disappear, fighting the urge to go after him.

With his life no longer in danger, the Shadow Magic released him. Viseron collapsed to his knees as he regained control of his body, as his thoughts and emotions returned. As the voices in his head became a whisper once more.

Agonizing pain tore a sound from his lips as his shoulder and back throbbed, the place where the boy had stabbed him stinging badly. He reached up, healing the wound to his shoulder and then the one in his back. 

Viseron often forgot that he was still, somewhere deep down, human. He was able to feel pain, able to suffer. He wasn't completely a monster. At least, not yet. Every time he lost himself to the Shadow Magic he lost a little of his humanity as well. The darkness began to take over his soul, which was why he tried to control the Shadow Magic. These moments where he lost control only happened when he was threatened.

Viseron took in several deep breaths, looking up at the bodies that lay in the snow, their now frozen blood spattered across the pristine snow. Five men had died by his hand tonight - five more to add to the tally. Five more faceless soldiers sent to die. Five more men slain by a monster.  Five more men who fell victim to the instincts of a cornered, wounded animal.

He stood, taking in a sharp breath as stinging pain raced up his back. He was a creature of shadow, and gold was a symbol of peace and purity. It burned his skin when he touched it, leaving a magical wound behind that couldn't be healed. His back and arms were marked with several jagged scars from gold weapons.

Viseron turned away from the battlefield, walking back through the shadowy woods, wandering as he so often did. Viseron had no need to consume food like a normal human, he could go weeks without eating anything. He never lost strength, he never got sick or tired.

That was a part of his life, merely existing instead of living, not even needing to eat or sleep. He was far from normal, roaming a world that was just as unnatural as he was. For that was what he was: unnatural. He was kept alive by dark magic, tied to a world that thrived on death, fear and violence.

One that resurrected the dead to wander its haunted trees, thousands of years of torment, pain, suffering and bloodshed whispering inside his head. Now it forced him to kill so he could stay alive, so that it stayed alive.

One and the same. He thought.

He watched the pale light dance on the snow, the crunch of it under his boots the only sound echoing through the night.

Suddenly, the wind picked up, howling through the trees, whispering of a darkness that destroyed all it touched. He heard voices whispering to him, telling of Dark Magic hellbent on ruling the Kingdoms. Of a man that wanted to complete what he couldn't twenty years before. For the first time Viseron felt fear. Every cell in body wanted to run from the darkness he felt, wanted to disappear, to hide.

He also recognized that magic, that angry, bitter cold that consumed all it touched. This was the Shadowalker, who he had defeated twenty years ago.

Or so he thought.

This dark magic could only be his, and he wanted revenge. He wanted to find him, to destroy the Kingdoms and rule the land with an iron fist. He was bloodthirsty, ready to kill whoever stood in his way. Viseron knew what he had to do, who he had to warn. But even if he warned her, whether or not she would trust him was another matter, and whether or not he could trust her was also a question left unanswered.

But if I don't try, I will never know.

He looked at the raven perched above him and made his decision. He would help the Kingdoms by warning them. If they chose to trust him, he would help. If not, he would stay out of the war as long as he could, if he could.

The Mage of Shadows was back, and he wanted blood.

His blood