With a flick of her wrist, the hag raised her hand, and a wave of chilling darkness swept across the ground. The air grew thick and heavy, the sunlight obscured by an unnatural gloom. The villagers, terrified, huddled together, their faces pale with fear.

  Gordon, feeling the chilling magic seep into his bones, knew he had to act fast. He focused his will, drawing upon the power of the wind, but this time, he channeled it not as an attack, but as a shield, a swirling vortex of air that protected him and Markus from the encroaching darkness while ignoring thousand screams that followed everytimes he called his power.

  The hag, enraged by the audacity of these mere mortals, turned her full attention to Gordon. With a chilling laugh, she unleashed a torrent of darkness, not just a suffocating shroud, but a wave of corrupted energy, laced with a paralyzing poison.

  Gordon, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, felt his limbs growing heavy, his senses dulled. His wind, seemed to falter, the protective barrier weakening.

  The hag, sensing her advantage, unleashed a barrage of razor-sharp thorns, summoned from the very earth itself. They erupted from the ground, seeking to impale Gordon. He dodged and weaved, but the thorns were relentless, closing in on him from all sides.

  He was trapped, surrounded by the hag's deadly magic, his powers fading, his body growing weaker.

  Markus, seizing the opportunity, drew his bow and arrow. He had spent years honing his skills as a hunter, and now he would put them to the test. With a steady hand, he aimed his arrow at the hag's neck. It soared through the air, a streak of light against the encroaching darkness. The hag merely scoffed. "A child's toy?" she sneered, casually swatting the arrow aside with a flick of her wrist. The arrow, deflected from its course, clattered harmlessly to the ground.

  Markus, his face pale, realized the futility of his attack. He was no match for this creature at all.

  The hag, enraged by this minor inconvenience, turned her attention back to Gordon. With a chilling laugh, she unleashed a barrage of attacks.

  First came the darkness, a suffocating wave that threatened to consume them. Gordon, tried with all his might to channel the wind, created a protective barrier, but the darkness pressed against it, unrelenting. Then came the poison, a noxious green mist that seeped into the ground, poisoning the air. Gordon, coughing and sputtering, struggled to maintain his shield, his strength waning.

  Finally, the hag unleashed a wave of earth magic, the ground beneath their feet trembling and shifting. Gordon, caught off guard, was thrown to the ground, his shield shattered.

  He lay sprawled on the ground, his vision blurring, the hag looming over him like a monstrous shadow. His breath was ragged and spent, he was at the mercy this creature while Markus stood on his side, his bow ready to shoot even if he know it may insufficient to hurt this creature.

  The hag, sensing her victory, let out a chilling laugh. "Such feeble resistance," she sneered. "You mortals are but insects, crushed beneath my heel."

  Just as the hag prepared to deliver the final blow, a pillar of fire erupted from the ground beneath her feet. The intense heat forced her to recoil, her form flickering and distorted.

  From the edge of the woods, a group of figures emerged, their faces obscured by the flickering flames. They were tall and imposing, clad in red and golden robe and wielding weapons of fire and stone.

  The hag, sensing a new threat, turned her attention to the newcomers. "Who dares to interfere?" she hissed, her voice laced with fury.

  The figures advanced, their weapons raised. They were no ordinary villagers. These were the Keepers of the Flame, a group of mage which famous for their fire magic.

  The hag, sensing the power emanating from the Keepers, realized she had underestimated her enemy. The fire burn all her spell and the pressure in the air from her darkness also had gone but She wasn't going to back down, one of her has been killed and she would collect the payment.

  The battle raged. The Keepers, with their fiery weapons, clashed with the hag's minions - shadowy creatures that slithered from the depths of the forest. Gordon, despite his injuries, joined the fight, channeling the wind to assist the Keepers, creating whirlwinds that disrupted the hag's attacks and aided their assault.

  The battle was fierce, the air thick with the scent of smoke and the cries of the combatants. But slowly, surely, the Keepers began to gain the upper hand. The hag, weakened by her wound and the unexpected resistance from the Keepers, was forced to retreat.

  With a final, defiant shriek, she vanished into the depths of the forest, leaving behind a trail of smoke and the lingering scent of sulfur.

  The villagers, witnessing this incredible display of power and teamwork, erupted in cheers.

  "The danger is not over," one of the Keepers warned, his voice deep and resonant. "The hag will return, you must be vigilant, always alert to the forest."

  Gordon, exhausted but exhilarated, looked at Markus, a silent understanding passing between them. They made it, Brock's plan had failed and they safe, at least for now.

  News of the hag's attack spread throughout the region. The village, once a quiet backwater, became a place of legend, whispered tales of the boy who battled the wind, the hunter who faced the darkness, and the mysterious Keepers of the Flame.

  Gordon, despite his success felt glommy inside. The hag, Brock's attempt to frame him and a lot of question from villager has wear him down. He was tired but he knew that the higher up from hunter guild would want to asked him a lot of question, soon they would calling him.

  The was no rest for the wicked, that what they said and althought Gordon never thought that he was wicked but still there was no rest for him too.

  The Hunter's Guild, having heard tales of the battle, summoned Gordon, Markus, and even Brock to explain their roles in the recent events. One of the Keepers, intrigued by Gordon's connection to the wind, also attended the meeting, observing from the shadows.

  The Guild Hall was packed. Hunters from neighboring villages had come to hear the tale, their faces a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. the Guild Master, sat at the head of the table, his expression grave.

  "So," he began, his voice echoing through the hall, "let us hear what happened. Start with you, Gordon."

  Gordon, still recovering from his injuries, recounted the events, from the hag's initial attack to the arrival of the Keepers. He spoke of the darkness, the poison, and the power of the wind. He emphasized the teamwork with Markus, how they had combined their skills to fight the common enemy.

  Brock, still smarting from his earlier humiliation, tried to interject, attempting to paint himself as a hero, downplaying his role in the initial conflict. But his words rang hollow, his lies exposed by the truth of Gordon's account.

  The Keeper, observing from the shadows, finally stepped forward. His presence commanded attention, silencing the murmurs of the crowd.

  "The boy speaks the truth," he said, his voice resonating with authority. "I witnessed the events. The hag is a powerful entity, a threat to all of us. Gordon and Markus fought bravely, defending the village against great odds."

  He then turned his gaze to Brock, his eyes narrowed. "Your petty rivalry almost cost them their lives, and endangered the entire village. Your actions were driven by pride and fear, not a desire to protect your people."

  Brock, finally realizing the gravity of his actions, hung his head in shame.

  The Keeper then addressed the Guild Master. "The boy possesses a unique gift," he said, gesturing towards Gordon. "The wind flows through him, a force of nature waiting to be harnessed. He may have no fire element like us but we still can give him some pointer."

  The guild master, after a moment of silence, nodded slowly. "Very well," he said. "We will heed the Keeper's words. Gordon and Markus, you have proven your worth to the Guild. Brock, your actions will be addressed according to our laws."

  The meeting adjourned, the hunters dispersing, their minds filled with the tales they had heard. They now understand that the forest wasn't just tree and animal but the dangerous creature like the hag also exist, who know what kind of other creature inside it.

  Gordon, looking at Markus, felt a sense of relief. He hadn't enough sleep these days worrying about what they gonna do to him but now that the Guild Master has giving his verdict he just want to go home and sleep.

  Brock, however, was not ready to accept his defeat and humiliation. He knew he had been wrong, that his pride and fear had almost cost the village dearly. He wanted to redeem himself, to prove that he was not the cowardly, vengeful hunter he had become.

  He approached Gordon and Markus, his face etched with remorse. "I… I was wrong," he stammered. "I understand now. You were trying to protect us."

  Gordon and Markus exchanged a cautious glance. They had seen Brock's true nature, his capacity for jealousy and violence. But they also knew that everyone deserved a second chance.

  "It's alright, Brock," Gordon said, his voice hesitant. "We all make mistakes."

  "I want to help," Brock pleaded. "I want to make amends."

  "Then do it," Markus said, his voice firm. "Prove to us that you've changed."

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  Brock nodded eagerly. He began to assist the villagers, helping to repair the damage caused by the hag's attack. He even offered to train the younger villagers in basic hunting and self-defense, hoping to impart his skills and knowledge.

  For a while, it seemed as though Brock was genuinely trying to redeem himself. He was more subdued, less arrogant, and genuinely seemed remorseful for his past actions.

  But old habits die hard. The other hunters, particularly those who had once looked up to Brock, began to mock him. They called him "Brock the Backstabber," "Brock the Coward," and other demeaning names. They reminded him of his humiliation, his defeat at the hands of a "mere boy."

  Brock tried to ignore them, but their taunts chipped away at his resolve. He began to feel resentment, a slow burn of anger that threatened to consume him. He had tried to make amends, but they wouldn't let him. They wouldn't let him forget.

  One evening, after a particularly harsh round of mockery, Brock snapped. He stormed away from the village, his face contorted with rage. He had tried to redeem himself, but they wouldn't let him. They wanted a villain, and he would give them one.

  He no longer sought redemption. He craved revenge.

  He would make them pay for their mockery, for their scorn. He would prove to them that he was not a coward, not a backstabber. He would show them the true meaning of fear.

  Brock knew he couldn't openly challenge the Hunter's Guild. That would be suicide. He needed allies, but he needed them discreetly. He couldn't afford to be seen as a rebel, a mutineer. He had to work in the shadows, whispering in the ears of those who were already disgruntled, those who felt slighted by the Guild, those who harbored their own resentments.

  He sought out hunters who felt overlooked, those who believed they deserved more recognition, more power. He found them in the taverns, in the remote hunting lodges, in the dark corners of the village. He spoke to them of injustice, of the Guild's favoritism towards Gordon and Markus, of the Keeper's seemingly undue influence.

  He didn't openly advocate for rebellion. He simply planted seeds of doubt, nurtured their discontent, and offered them a sympathetic ear. He spoke of the "good old days" when hunters were respected, when strength and skill were valued above all else, before "outsiders" and "magic-wielders" interfered with their traditions.

  He painted Gordon and Markus not as heroes, but as symbols of the Guild's decline, puppets of the Keepers, their "heroism" a carefully orchestrated performance. He reminded them of Gordon's "freakish" powers, the uncontrollable bursts of wind, the whispers of "dark magic." He subtly suggested that Gordon was not to be trusted, that he was a danger to the old ways.

  He was careful not to be seen meeting with these hunters too often, keeping his interactions brief and clandestine. He knew he was being watched, that his every move was being scrutinized. He had to be patient, play the long game.

  He was building his network of influence, not with open defiance, but with subtle manipulation, playing on the insecurities and resentments of those around him. He was gathering his allies, not for a direct confrontation, but for a more insidious purpose: to undermine the Guild from within, to turn the hunters against each other, and ultimately, to seize control for himself.

  He met with his friends in secret, in hidden clearings deep within the forest, far from the prying eyes of the Guild hunters. There was Willow, a woman as silent as the trees themselves, her eyes like a hawk's, always watching, always observing. She brought news of movements within the Guild, of whispers and rumors, of the growing unease surrounding Gordon's powers.

  And there was Carl, a mountain of a man, his fists like boulders, his loyalty bought with promises of power and recognition. Carl was Brock's muscle, his enforcer, the one who ensured that his plans were carried out without question.

  "The time is coming," Brock would whisper, his voice low and menacing. "The Guild is weak, divided. They trust these… outsiders. They fear what they don't understand."

  Willow would nod silently, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the distance. Carl would grunt in agreement, flexing his massive arms.

  "We will take what is ours," Brock would continue. "We will restore the old ways. We will show them the true meaning of power."

  Willow would then produce a map, marking key locations within the forest and the village, outlining potential weaknesses in the Guild's defenses. Carl would nod, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face.

  Together, they formed a dangerous alliance, a shadow operating within the very heart of the Hunter's Guild. They were patient, methodical, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to seize control and reshape the hunting community in their own image.

  Brock maintains a facade of normalcy within the Hunter's Guild. He participates in hunts, attends meetings, and even offers advice to younger hunters. He's careful to avoid any overt displays of dissent or ambition. He often uses Carl as a sounding board, venting his frustrations and refining his plans. He enjoys the feeling of power he gets from manipulating others, even if it's just on a small scale for now. He's always observing, always listening, searching for weaknesses he can exploit. He's particularly interested in Gordon, watching his every move, trying to understand the source of his powers, seeing him as both a threat and a potential tool.

  Willow is the most active of the three, constantly moving through the forest, gathering information. She's like a ghost, rarely seen, but always present. She tracks Gordon and Markus, observing their interactions with the Keepers and any other unusual activity in the forest. She also keeps tabs on the other hunters, noting their loyalties, their fears, their weaknesses. She's the one who relays messages between Brock and his scattered allies, using secret trails and hidden meeting places. She's patient, willing to wait for the perfect opportunity. She's also the most pragmatic of the three, less driven by emotion and more by calculated strategy. She sees Brock's ambition as a means to an end, a way to increase her own influence and power. She often disagrees with Brock's more impulsive ideas, suggesting more subtle and effective approaches.

  Carl's daily routine is the most straightforward. He's the muscle, the enforcer. He trains regularly, honing his already considerable strength. He's also the one who carries out Brock's more… delicate tasks. He might intimidate a hunter who's getting too close to their operation, or "persuade" someone to join their cause. He's not particularly bright, but he's fiercely loyal to Brock, seeing him as a strong leader. He enjoys the feeling of power that comes with being part of Brock's inner circle. He's often the one who lets slip details of their plans, requiring Willow to cover for him. He's eager for action, constantly pushing Brock to make their move, but Brock always reins him in, reminding him of the importance of patience.

  Brock, pacing in a hidden clearing, slams his fist against a tree trunk. "That fool, Finnigan, is getting suspicious. He's asking too many questions."

  Carl cracks his knuckles. "Should I… persuade him to be quiet?"

  Willow shakes her head. "Too risky. It would draw attention. We need to be more subtle."

  "Subtle?" Carl scoffs. "I'm tired of being subtle. I want to crush them now!"

  Brock silences Carl with a look. "Patience, Carl. We strike when the time is right, not before. Willow's right. We can't afford to make a mistake."

  --------

  During one of Willow's scouting missions, she discovers something disturbing. She witnesses a ritual deep within the forest, performed by a group of shadowy figures. These figures are not the Keepers of the Flame, but something darker, something more sinister. They're drawing on a sinister magic and they are powerful, perhaps even more powerful than the Hag. Willow, shaken by what she has seen, returns to Brock and Carl.

  "I saw them," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "In the deepest part of the forest. They were… different. Not like the Keepers. Darker."

  Brock raises an eyebrow. "Darker? What do you mean?"

  Willow hesitates, trying to find the right words. "They were… drawing power. Raw power. The kind the hag uses, but… amplified. It was… unsettling."

  Carl shifts impatiently. "What were they doing? Tell us!"

  "A ritual," Willow says. "They were chanting, moving in strange patterns. They were… summoning something."

  Brock leans forward, his interest piqued. "Summoning what?"

  Willow shakes her head. "I don't know. I couldn't see clearly. But it was… powerful. And I felt repulsive like it something disgusting."

  A chill runs down Brock's spine. He had suspected that there was more to all this chaos. Now, Willow's report confirms his fears.

  "This changes everything," he says, his voice grave. "We need to know what they're planning. This could be a bigger threat than we imagined."

  Carl grunts. "So, what do we do? Do we attack them?"

  Brock shakes his head. "No. We're not ready for that. We need to gather more information. Willow, can you identify their leader? Anyone you recognized?"

  Willow closes her eyes, trying to recall the details of the ritual. "Their leader… she was tall, cloaked in shadows. Her face was hidden. But… I saw something. A symbol. On her hand."

  She traces a shape in the air, a complex design of interwoven lines and circles.

  Brock studies the symbol, a look of unease on his face. He recognizes it. It's an ancient symbol, a mark of a forgotten cult, a group that was said to have worshipped one of the dark god, a group that was thought to have been eradicated centuries ago.

  "This is bad," he whispers. "Very bad."