The Khe'risi warrior straightened as the massive armoured corpse stood up from it's place of rest. A snowstorm was in progress, obstructing the view, yet it was not a major hindrance to either of them. A deep chuckle could be heard from the half-rotten demon.

     'You waste your life trying to capture me, mortal. Is it a compliment, a statement of worship?'

     The warrior, fully clad in Crysium, did not answer. Instead, he swung the sword from his back, a massive two-handed longsword. An ornate layering could be seen, copper woven through steel and pure iron. The blade looked somehow wrong, as if the very fabric of reality did not agree with it's existence. Muted sounds of chains and screams could be heard when witnessing the blade, and the demon's grin turned into a mask of complete horror.

    'I do not what are you, warrior, but I will kill you nevertheless, now without remorse.'

     The swords clashed with a deafening roar. The demon desperately tried to parry the whirlwind of metal, yet it could not withstand the hunter's frightening speed, and it soon lay on the ground, helpless to rise. The hunter came closer, and the terror in the corpse's eyes increased to a previously unthinkable degree.

     'Mercy, I beg you - I was once as you, a human, please, spare me-'

     The Raveda spoke for the first time.

     'You and your race claim to be as us, yet I cannot believe such a claim. Your kind doesn't even come close to the cruelty of humans, and you have stagnated, while our race flourished. Even now, the souls of your kin are tortured for information, and we have begun amassing a cold army using your ancient technology, an army to conquer the southern nations. We have learned of your soul-magics and we perfect them even now, creating our own undead. You were cold, merciless in taking our kin, and so we grew colder, colder than any, for otherwise we'd surely die. To kill your kind, we created this magnificent blade - it houses dozens of your kin already, and you will join them in their suffering. It is a beautiful thing; it uses the very power given to it by it's prisoners to fuel itself, so that it can only release it's victims when, in fact, no victims remain. Goodbye, remnant, for that is truly all you are.' 

     The sword thrust into the corpse's long-dead heart, and the undead's scream faded, embraced by the cold, merciless copper and iron of the blade.