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The cloak floated mere inches off the ground.
That is all it seemed to be. A cloak. There were no legs, the creature seemed to drift forward at the same speed, and the tunnel drafts did not move its cloak in the slightest. It soundlessly entered the room where the Archangel had done battle with the vampires.
Only ash and cloths remained. The figure extended a hand. The hand was wrinkled almost beyond recognition and painfully thin. One could almost see the bone.
The hand reached for the hood and seemed to touch where the face would be. Then it came away.
The hand flicked out, and a single drop of blood flew across the room. It hit the floor with a sizzle. For several seconds nothing seemed to happen. Then the floor began to boil. But not quite. If one were to look closely, they would see that it was the ash, not the floor, that was boiling. It began to take the shape of a man. Then it was a man.
"I have traveled far to bring you new life. You are a stellar example of what a vampire should be. It would be a shame to waste you here."
The once ash being spoke. "Who are. . . "
"SILENCE! You are not worthy to speak in my presence. You will listen."
The ash being did not reply, but nodded.
"I gift you the Black Sword. With it you will slay all mortals who fancy themselves hunters. It will shield you from the Archangel's sight and the sight of all others who would seek you. You must not use it to slay the Archangel. His death will cleanse the blade. Worry not. I shall be hunting the Archangel while you hunt the hunters."
The cloaked figure turned and swiftly swept down the corridor like some kind of angry ghost.
The ash figure looked at the sword that sat where the... what ever it was... had hovered mere moments ago.
He picked up the blade and felt its power. It would do nicely.
He lifted the blade above his head and screamed his defiance at the empty mountain.
"I am Nathanial Greyborn the III, bane of the mortal hunters."
He became very quiet.
"And tonight... I hunt."
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