The forest seemed to show a darker facet as soon as his mother disappeared through the woods. Inside bushes, behind trees, and atop branches. Any of these places might be hiding a dangerous predator ready to pounce. No one would be coming to his rescue if another snake were to get the jump on him.

He even suspected the ground itself, fearing that the ghoul might be buried for whatever reason while waiting to ambush him.

If Dene’s intention was to get him to pay attention, then she had succeeded. Jon had never realized how much he used to rely on her for protection.

The ghoul’s trail continued for about half a mile before eventually veering right, back into the thick vegetation and away from the river, for which Jon was thankful. Drawing one sword and gripping it tightly, he stalked after the creature.

An eerie silence loomed over the forest all around him, as if all wildlife had been intimidated by the abomination wandering somewhere within.

The tracks continued for a while, turning left, right, and even backtracking, all seemingly at random. The ghoul continued limping as before but with no signs of falling over, invigorated after feeding. Though from how little of the deer it ate, Jon wondered if it hadn’t gained strength from killing instead.

The more he walked, the fresher the tracks became. He was getting close and, accordingly, began to slow down so as to make as little noise as possible. He didn’t want to announce himself until the time was right.

After about an hour, Jon finally found the ghoul, but not before hearing it. It was a deep growling that sent shivers up his spine. Settling the shovel down and drawing his other sword, he sneaked to a tree large enough that it would take three grown men to hug and then peeked around.

The ghoul was a northerner man with blotched, deathly pale skin stretched over its gaunt frame. The clothes around its body looked fit for someone double its weight, which Jon assumed might have been the case in life. In fact, the man had probably been well-off if the nice, albeit bloody and worn-out clothes were anything to go by. If it wasn’t, then there was also a heavy gold necklace to attest so.

Its greasy black hair clinged to its forehead, below which was a noseless face with dead gray eyes. Filled with jagged, yellow teeth, its mouth hung open, enough that the chin touched its chest and the tongue reached even farther down. It limped as it walked, left leg stiff and pointing too much to the left.

It was something so vile, so repugnant that Jon was immediately convinced of his mother’s words. That thing had no place in this world. But seeing it in person, he wondered if he had the power to do anything about it. The image of the dead deer flashed through his mind, its neck missing a chunk of flesh. Watching the creature’s grotesque mouth, he had no doubt it could do the same to him with ease.

If Jon wanted to accomplish this task with all the parts intact, then he needed to win the fight before it ever began. The ghoul wandered aimlessly, which made it hard to anticipate where it would head. The best he could do was sneak around, out of its field of view, and wait in ambush where he hoped the ghoul would pass by.

The first attempt was a complete failure, with Jon crouching behind a rock for a good twenty minutes before realizing the ghoul was not coming. The next attempt had him hiding behind a thick tree. He was right about the path that the ghoul would take this time, but the creature passed three steps too far for Jon to reach in a single jump. He could risk running to it, but then it might be alerted too early. Better to wait for the next opportunity.

On his third attempt, Jon nested high atop a branch with countless leaves to hide him. Not that it was required as the ghoul looked down at the ground most of the time. It rarely raised its head enough to look forward. The thing was about to pass underneath him when a rustle of leaves caught its attention, and it doubled back, limping toward the sound.

That’s when Jon gave up on predicting and decided to attract the ghoul instead. He waited until it was out of sight before dropping down from the tree. Then, he knocked both swords together and jumped behind the nearest bush he could find.

The ghoul arrived much sooner than its previous lethargy would suggest, arms swinging wildly as it spun its entire body to look around. Tense like a bowstring, Jon stood as still and silent as possible. If possible, he would have stopped his heart the same way he did his breathing.

That’s when a strange stillness washed over his body and he relaxed.

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There was no reason to be afraid. Killing is what he was trained to do, what he excelled at. Fighting against an undead just meant his work was halfway done from the start.

Then he returned to his senses. He trained to become stronger, not to kill.

Still searching, the creature hobbled towards Jon’s hiding place, and he readied himself. Attacking from behind was preferable, but he’d do with what he got.

Snarling, the ghoul reached the tree and clawed at it. It must have lost interest when the bark didn’t bleed because it turned back. That was Jon’s chance. Forgoing silence for speed, he darted from behind the tree and slashed at the ghoul’s exposed neck.

The ghoul turned slightly at the sound. Too late. Before it could lay its dead eyes on him, the attack connected. Rotting flesh gave way easily enough, but the spine held firm against the blade. The creature fell to the ground with its head only half-attached to the rest of its body.

What would have been a fatal wound to any living being had no effect on the creature. If anything, it was only enraged. Black blood sprayed from its neck as, on its hands and knees, it pounced at where Jon’s feet had been a moment before. Having missed, it snarled angrily at him, though the fresh wound turned the sound into an unsettling gurgle.

Jon slashed again, drawing two bloody lines on the ghoul’s extended arm, but it didn’t even flinch. He scrambled back when it pounced again. The ghoul could power through Ogum knows how many attacks. Jon didn’t have that luxury. One bite at his legs and the fight would be over.

The thought filled him with dread and calm in equal parts. Combat was always a dangerous affair, life and death balanced on a razor’s edge. And his mother’s training –the Yao training– taught him how to dance on that edge.

The Yao wore no heavy armor to cover for their mistakes, forgoing defense for attack. They were meant to always stay on the offensive. “If your opponent is too busy defending themselves, then they have no time to strike back,” his mother told him once.

That was all well and good until Jon was forced to face an opponent that didn’t care to defend itself.

After lunging, and missing, for the third time, the ghoul seemed to remember that it had legs and then pushed up, awkwardly standing back up. Jon allowed it, making use of the lull in combat to get his bearings. Plus, the ghoul being prone was a greater disadvantage to him, strangely enough. A standing opponent was more familiar.

Back on its feet, the creature hobbled towards him, neck leaking black blood and drooping to one side like something out of a zombie film…

Zombie… film…? What did that mean?

The sudden thought made him pause long enough for the ghoul to close the gap and claw at his neck. Instinct alone saved him. Jon narrowly ducked, a frayed sleeve brushing against his hair.

His training took over from there. Blades flashed, one cutting through the ghoul’s midsection while the other stopped a clawed hand aimed at his face.

When he jumped back to create more space, the ghoul followed. Slower than before. Rather than limping it now dragged its leg when walking, and its ear was pressed against its shoulder.

That’s when it dawned on Jon. The ghoul might not die from the injuries, but it was still affected by them. So when it closed on him again, Jon went on the offensive. Claws met with steel, and the metal came up ahead.

Two pale fingers plopped on the dirt after the first clash. An entire hand after the second. The ghoul moved in closer, mouth wide open so as to bite him. Jon didn’t retreat. Rather, he closed in the distance, slipping a foot behind the thing’s legs and an elbow into its forehead.

Its head jerked back, and the ghoul tripped on his foot. Its long tongue lashed at his arm, leaving a trail of green mucus as it fell backward.

Jon grimaced. As soon as he was back home he’d burn the clothes and take a long bath. He pinned the ghoul to the ground, hand pushing its head back and knee pressed against the arm that still had a hand. The other arm beat against his body, smearing and sprinkling black blood all over him.

Make it two baths.

Jon drew his hunting knife and drove it into the wound at the ghoul’s neck. He prodded with the knife’s tip, searching for the soft spot where two vertebrae connected. It would have been much easier if the ghoul stopped biting at him, but he eventually succeeded. Once he drove the blade home and severed the nerves, the ghoul stopped moving like a puppet with cut strings.

He didn’t stop cutting until the head was fully detached from the rest of the body, fearful that it might suddenly spring back to life. Only when it was done did he let out a sigh of relief.

The fight itself must have taken a few minutes at most, and yet his muscles ached as if he had spent an entire day sparring against his mother. His legs felt weak and shook unsteadily when he tried to stand up while his arms felt wrong somehow as if not his own. Worst of all was his head, pounding like a drum in one of the tribe’s festivals his mother told him about.

Jon glanced down at the blood and mucus seeping into his clothes, suspecting some sort of poison. “Fucking ghoul,” he cursed to his own surprise. He felt a mix of contempt for the ghoul, and bitterness that it hadn’t been a normal person when he killed it. If it were, then this would’ve been his fiftieth confirmed kill.

He caught himself. What was happening to him? These thoughts were not his own and yet they felt strangely familiar. The only time he ever felt something similar was months ago when he killed the boar. Though back then it hadn’t been just random thoughts and memories, but a will of its own…

The pain blacked out Jon’s vision, and he fell down clutching at his forehead. Only with one hand. The other hand spasmed and clenched outside of his control. Soon he had lost feeling of the arm entirely, and it still wasn’t over.

This is worse, he realized. Back then, he ended in a stalemate with a force just as strong as him. It wasn’t the case this time. Inch by inch that foreign will took over his body, and he knew that it would never stop until pushing him out completely.

He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t offer any resistance. All he could do was pray to survive.