The days that followed were an unrelenting crucible, each dawn greeting them with the grim aftermath of the night's depredations. No matter how many of the twisted beasts Nick slew, more seemed to take their place – an endless tide of savagery that whittled away at their numbers with every soul-shredding encounter.
Loco's face grew more haggard with each passing day, the lines etched deep into his weathered features a silent testament to the toll the ordeal had taken. His once-proud warriors fell in droves, cut down with alarming ease by the remorseless onslaught.
Even the young ones were not spared the stark realities of their perilous journey. Lulu and Lala clung to Lisa with haunted eyes, their innocent laughter long since extinguished by the unremitting horrors they'd born witness to. The once-vibrant girls seemed to age before Henry's eyes, their cherubic features hardening into brittle masks of grim acceptance.
Bob, too, felt the weight of their grim circumstances press down upon him. The former soldier had seen his share of death over the years, had sent countless souls screaming into the abyss with his own two hands. But this... this relentless slaughter dredged up memories he'd long since buried, phantom echoes of the man he'd once been.
And always, looming over it all, was the indomitable presence of Nick. The yuletide spirit moved amongst them, an unstoppable juggernaut that left a trail of mangled corpses in his wake. Yet for every beast that fell beneath his wrath, two more seemed to take its place, an endless tide of malformed horrors that gnawed relentlessly at their dwindling numbers.
By the time the twelfth day dawned, a scant ninety-three souls remained of what had once been a formidable war party. The forest paths were choked with the bodies of the fallen, the air thick with the cloying reek of spilled blood and ruptured viscera.
The tendrils of dawn's first light crept over the horizon, bathing the forest in a sickly crimson glow. Loco surveyed the tattered remnants of his tribe with a weary resignation, the leaden weight of loss bearing down upon his shoulders. Too many had perished on this ill-fated quest, their souls consigned to the endless void that awaited all who dared defy the natural order.
His calloused fingers traced the jagged scar that bisected his face, a permanent reminder of the folly of hope. For untold ages, his people had endured in the shadows, eking out a tenuous existence far from the light of the realms beyond. They had survived – battered and broken, yet still breathing – by shunning the grand delusions that had lured so many others to their doom.
Yet here they were, embroiled in a conflict that transcended the petty squabbles of mere mortals. Loco's gaze drifted to the imposing figure of Nick, the spirit's implacable countenance betraying not a shred of doubt or fatigue. For him, this was but another skirmish in an eternal war, the latest chapter in a saga that stretched back to the dawn of creation itself.
But for Loco and his tribe, the stakes were far more immediate – and far more dire. With each passing hour, their numbers dwindled, the once-proud warriors falling like wheat before the scythe. He could see the toll it took on the others, the way the spark of life dimmed a little more in their eyes with every fresh atrocity they were forced to endure.
The children, too, had not been spared the harsh realities of their circumstances. Even the indomitable Bob seemed diminished, the ghosts of past transgressions haunting his every step.
Loco's gaze swept over the pitiful few that remained, a ragged band of survivors huddled in the shadow of almost-certain oblivion. They had come too far, sacrificed too much to simply surrender now. But the path ahead offered only further suffering, an endless gauntlet of torment that would surely break them all in the end.
His decision was made in that moment, the weight of responsibility settling heavily upon his shoulders. They would turn back, forsake this doomed crusade and retreat to the sanctuaries that had sheltered them for so long. Krampus' freedom would herald an age of unimaginable darkness, but they would weather that storm as they had so many others – by enduring, by surviving.
Henry reeled in stunned disbelief as Loco's words cut through the tense silence like a knife. Retreat? After all they'd endured, all the sacrifices made to reach this point, the grizzled warrior intended to turn tail and flee?
Nick's burning gaze swept over the beleaguered survivors, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his cowl. For a moment, the spirit seemed to weigh the merits of Loco's decision, his luminous eyes betraying neither approval nor censure.
Then, with a curt nod, he stepped aside, clearing a path through the tangled underbrush. "Go," was all he said, the single word carrying a weight that belied its simplicity.
Loco wasted no time in issuing his orders, his gravelly voice barking out a series of terse commands. Within moments, the tribe was in motion, gathering what meager belongings they still possessed and falling into a loose formation.
Henry watched in stunned silence as the procession began to move out, his mind struggling to process this abrupt turn of events. Beside him, Lisa's grip tightened on his arm, her knuckles whitening with the intensity of her grasp.
It was then that a slight commotion rippled through the departing ranks. Henry craned his neck, trying to discern the cause of the disturbance. At the rear of the column, a singe lone figure has broken off, their progress halted by...Abygail?
The young woman stood defiant, her expression set in grim determination as she blocked the path of those seeking to leave.
Loco whirled at the sound of the disruption, his face contorting in a mask of rage as he took in the sight of the dissenter. His voice carried clearly through the stillness, laced with a cold fury that sent a chill down Henry's spine.
"You would defy me, girl? After all we have suffered, you would spit upon the graves of our fallen and cast your lot with these...these invaders?"
Abygail confronted his scorching glower with an unflinching gaze. "Your vision has perpetually lacked depth, brother. If we flee today, our damnation will swiftly follow."
The two locked eyes, an unspoken battle of wills playing out in the weighted silence that followed. Henry found himself holding his breath, his heart hammering in his chest as the tension reached an unbearable crescendo. But he did not object to her decision. With one final heavy nod, he turned on his heel and stalked away, his tribe falling in behind him with nary a backward glance. Within moments, they had melted into the forest, swallowed up by the looming shadows that seemed to press in from all sides.
Henry looked to Nick, seeking guidance, but the spirit's attention was focused squarely upon the small cluster of rebels who had chosen to remain behind. His burning gaze swept over them, weighing...judging.
Then, inclining his head ever so slightly, he turned and began to walk, his footfalls leaving smoldering imprints in the loam with every step.
Abygail offered Henry a half-smile, her eyes alight with a fierce determination that belied her youthful features. "Let's move. Not a good idea falling behind."
Without another word, she turned and began to follow in Nick's wake, her stride purposeful and unhesitating. Henry exchanged a glance with Lisa, then Bob, before falling into step behind the young woman. The others trailed close behind, an uneasy silence settling over the group as they ventured deeper into the foreboding forest.
The first day passed without incident, the endless sweep of gnarled trunks and twisted branches forming an impenetrable barrier on all sides. Nick led them on a winding path, his unerring sense of direction guiding them ever deeper into the heart of the ancient woodlands.
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As the second day dawned, a palpable sense of unease began to take root within the weary band of travelers. The shadows seemed to lengthen and distort, taking on malevolent shapes that danced at the periphery of their vision. More than once, Henry caught glimpses of movement from the corner of his eye, only to whip his head around and find...nothing.
It was near midday when Nick suddenly halted, his hooded head swiveling as he scanned their surroundings with an intense scrutiny. The others immediately came to a stop, hands tightening around weapons as a deathly hush descended.
"Incoming," the spirit rumbled, his voice little more than a gravelly rasp.
Henry and Bob stepped forward, blades glinting in the muted light as they took up defensive positions at the vanguard. Lisa ushered the twins behind her, her own sword held at the ready as she fell into a fighting stance.
For a handful of agonizing heartbeats, there was only silence, the air itself seeming to hold its breath in anticipation. Then, without warning, four figures emerged from the tangled underbrush, their ragged forms shambling into view with halting, uneven strides.
Henry's grip tightened on his sword hilt as he took in their haggard appearance. Tattered remnants of clothing hung from their frames, the fabric stained and caked with a viscous crimson that could only be blood. Their faces were twisted into rictus masks of agony, lips peeled back from yellowed teeth in perpetual, silent screams.
Yet even as his muscles tensed, prepared for the onslaught of another attack, the figures staggered to a halt, their knees buckling as they collapsed to the loam in a jumbled heap. Closer inspection revealed the truth – these were no beasts, but rather the broken remnants of humanity itself.
As the rest of the group cautiously approached, Henry recognized the tattered insignia adorning what remained of their clothing. His gaze snapped to Nick, realization dawning.
"Scouts," the spirit rumbled, his implacable gaze sweeping over the fallen forms. "From Loco's tribe."
One of the figures stirred feebly, eyelids fluttering as he struggled to raise his head. His lips worked soundlessly for a moment before finally giving voice to a rasping croak.
"Ambushed..." he wheezed, each word seeming to drain what little strength remained within him. "Overwhelmed... had to...scatter..."
His head lolled to the side, eyes already beginning to glaze over as the spark of life faded from their depths. The others remained eerily still, their ragged breathing the only sound in the oppressive silence that followed.
As Henry looked on, dumbstruck by the grim scene playing out before them, the fallen scout's gaze found him, locking onto his with an intensity that belied his rapidly fading condition.
"Better...chances..." he rasped, the words little more than an arid whisper on the wind. "With...you..."
The fallen scouts' rasping words hung heavy in the air, their grave implications sending a ripple of unease through the group. Aby rushed towards them, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and desperation as she fell to her knees beside the stricken men.
"What happened?" she demanded, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "Where is my brother?"
One of the scouts stirred feebly, his battered frame wracked by a spasm of violent coughing. When he finally found his voice, the words emerged as little more than a strangled croak.
"Scattered..." he wheezed, each syllable a monumental effort. "Loco...ran ahead...with the vanguard..."
His eyes fluttered shut once more, the tenuous grip on consciousness slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Aby recoiled as if struck, her expression contorting into a rictus mask of anguish and disbelief.
Before she could respond, however, Nick stepped forward, his crimson mantle billowing with an unseen power. Extending one massive, gnarled hand, he traced a series of intricate gestures, the air itself seeming to thrum with arcane energies.
A warm glow suffused the fallen scouts, their wounds knitting together with unnatural speed as the spirit's magic flowed through them. Within moments, their pallid complexions had regained some semblance of color, the glazed look fading from their eyes.
Aby frowned, her gaze flickering between the revived men and the towering figure of Nick. Taking a hesitant step backwards, she shook her head slowly, her expression one of guarded mistrust.
Henry moved to comfort her, but the words died on his lips as he caught sight of the look etched onto her delicate features. It was an expression he'd never thought to see on the young woman's face – a twisted amalgam of rage and scorn that seemed to age her by decades in an instant.
"My brother is no coward," she spat, the words dripping with venom. "He would never have fled, not while there was still a chance..."
Her voice trailed off, but the sentiment hung in the air, a damning accusation that needed no further elaboration. Henry found himself nodding slowly, his mind struggling to reconcile the idea of the gruff, unyielding Loco abandoning his people to such a grim fate.
For all his faults – and there were many – the grizzled warrior placed the welfare of his tribe above all else. He would have fought to the bitter end, sacrificing his own life without a moment's hesitation if it meant granting his people even an extra minute to flee.
…
The forest erupted into a maelstrom of violence, the air thick with the metallic tang of spilled blood. Henry gritted his teeth, his bone sword a blur of motion as he parried the relentless onslaught of the lion-headed beast. Its mantis scythes slashed and rent, each blow carrying enough force to cleave through solid oak.
A glancing strike caught Henry in the ribs, the impact sending him staggering. He rolled with the momentum, barely managing to bring his blade up in time to deflect the follow-up attack. The beast's scythes sheared through the space where his head had been mere moments before, close enough for him to feel the displaced air rustle his hair.
Across the clearing, Bob fared little better, his own adversary pressing the attack with ruthless efficiency. The grizzled warrior backpedaled, his blade a whirling dervish as he sought to create some semblance of breathing room. But the beast matched him step for step, its wicked talons raking deep furrows in the loam with each missed strike.
The four scouts danced a deadly waltz of their own, their blades flashing in the dappled light as they fought to keep the cyclopean giant at bay. The brute's massive mace carved deep craters in the earth with every swing, the shockwaves from each impact sending tremors rippling outward.
And at the heart of the chaos stood Nick, an indomitable bastion amidst the storm of violence that swirled around him. Seven beasts assailed him from every angle, their claws and fangs seeking purchase against his impenetrable defenses. Yet for every strike they landed, the spirit retaliated tenfold, his wrath a whirlwind of destruction that rent flesh from bone.
One of the beasts lunged, its slavering jaws gaping wide. Nick pivoted, his movements a blur of supernatural speed. His hand lashed out, seizing the creature by the throat and wrenching it from its trajectory with contemptuous ease. Bone and sinew parted beneath his grip, the beast's agonized wail cut short as he tore its head from its shoulders in a single, savage motion.
The remaining six fell back, their bestial features twisted in expressions of abject terror. For a heartbeat, the clearing fell silent, the only sound the wet patter of the severed head hitting the forest floor.
In the eye of that fleeting calm, Lisa and Aby stood resolute, their makeshift bone daggers clutched tight as they shielded Lulu and Lala from the carnage that raged around them. The twins clung to one another, their eyes squeezed shut against the horrors that surrounded them on all sides.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the moment passed. The beasts rallied, their fury reignited by the scent of blood and fear that hung heavy in the air. As one, they surged forward, a tide of fangs and claws that threatened to overwhelm the beleaguered defenders.
Henry braced himself, his knuckles whitening around the hilt of his blade as he gripped it with all his strength. The monstrous lion-beast loomed over him, its razor-sharp scythes striking his body with the force of a battering ram. The blows sent his slender frame flying backwards until he slammed against the trunk of one of the towering pine trees surrounding them. He slid down the rough bark, landing in a crumpled heap at the base of the tree.
Henry's world spun, the edges of his vision blurring as the force of the impact drove the air from his lungs. He slumped against the tree trunk, his sword clattering uselessly to the ground as pain lanced through his left hand – broken, he realized dimly through the haze of shock.
The lion-beast loomed over him, its jaws gaping wide in anticipation of the killing blow. Yet it hesitated, some primal instinct drawing its attention elsewhere. Henry followed its gaze, his heart lurching into his throat as he saw the beast's new target.
Lisa, Aby, Lulu and Lala huddled together behind the dubious shelter of a gnarled oak, their eyes wide with terror. The beast angled its scythe-like appendages, the wicked blades glinting with a sinister promise in the dappled light.
Henry opened his mouth to cry out a warning, but the words died in his throat, choked off by the irony flood of blood. He could only watch, helpless, as the beast surged forward, its movements a blur of predatory grace.
Aby spotted the threat first, her eyes going wide as she registered the beast's intent. She flung herself in front of the others, her makeshift blade held before her in a futile warding gesture.
The beast didn't even break stride. Its scythe-arm lashed out, a contemptuous backhand that sent Aby tumbling aside like a ragdoll, her weapon spinning away into the underbrush.
Then it was on Lisa, the razor-edged blades punching through the soft flesh of her abdomen with sickening ease. The young woman's eyes went wide, her mouth working soundlessly as the beast wrenched its arm free, reopening the wound in a welter of crimson.
Lisa crumpled, a thin trickle of blood trailing from the corner of her lips. The twins watched in stunned silence, their faces blank masks of incomprehension as the gravity of what had just transpired sank in.