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It had always just been the five of them: Krya, the thief, who could seemingly fade out of view and had a soft spot for cheesecake; Bralof, the swordsman, who could defeat a hundred enemies at once and loved collecting flowers; Twirol, the necromancer, who could raise armies of the dead and loved stargazing; Sohrel, the sorcerer, who could bring the heavens crashing down and devoured books at an alarming pace; Lamroh, the archer, who could hit a minute moving target through a dense forest and was an amazing cook. They knew they could rely on each other, trusted each other through all the trials of their adventures, were closer to each other than anyone else. The mutual love that flowed through the group was unbreakable. Or so they thought.
The evening had been like any other - Lamroh was cooking their meal, Sohrel was practising spells, Bralof was polishing his swords, Krya was perfecting their dagger tricks, and Twirol was in the woods, gathering medicinal herbs. The group was laughing, reminiscing about some old adventure, when suddenly. Bralof fell to the ground with a crash. "Stop messing around, Bralof, we're almost at your part of the story" laughed Lamroh. However, the laughter immediately stopped when they noticed the knife sticking out of his back. Whirling around, Lamroh angrily approached Krya.
"What did you do? You killed him! He was our friend! How could you?"
"It wasn't me, I swear! I would never!" cried Krya, when another thud sounded behind them - it was Sohrel, with an identical knife in her back.
"See! I told you it wasn't me!"
Stepping into the clearing, he coolly surveyed his surroundings. Noting the corpses of his former friends, a slight smile rose to his lips. His plan had worked perfectly. The two in the group who had any chance of defeating him were dead - only the weak ones remained. He heard the voice, the one who spoke to him in his mind, telling him "Well done". As he approached the remaining two, one of them spoke to him
"What happened to you, Twirol? We trusted you." The little archer. His pitiful pleas were music to Twirol's ears, the power they gave him flowing through his veins. Lamroh raised his bow, ready to fire, but Twirol was faster. A clean burst of energy lifted him from the ground and threw him against a tree, killing him instantly. As he stood, revelling in his victory, he heard a voice in his ear.
"I'm sorry" it said, and a dagger slipped between his ribs. Falling to the floor, he turned his head to see the crying face of Krya stood over him. With his dying breath, as he felt the presence that had been haunting him for months leave his mind, he whispered
"I'm sorry as well." Krya fell to her knees, bloody dagger in hand, surrounded by the bodies of her fallen family, and screamed. They screamed for the loss of their friends, their family, the ones they thought they could trust. As their screams quietened to sobs, they cried
"At least we can still be friends."