Szeth stumbled through the dark forest, the wet leaves sticking to his skin and slowing him down as the twigs and branches ripped at his skin. The night was freezing and wet, his skin numb, and he felt the myriad tears and cuts only as an uncomfortable pressure and ripping sensation. Like the sensation that’s left when a surgeon starts cutting after the local has kicked in.
Or so he imagined. Goblins didn’t opt in for surgery much. Probably because his kind were killed on sight. Just like he would be now if he didn’t lose his pursuers. He paused, panting, and put a hand against a tree to steady himself, grimacing as his palm squelched into what he sincerely hoped was just a bit of wet moss. Taking his hand away and wiping it on his trouser legs, he strained his ears, but the pounding rain made it impossible to hear anything. The damn fanatics could have been a couple of metres away and he’d have no idea. In theory, it meant they shouldn’t have been able to track him once he fled the old, abandoned logging complex he and his clan had used as a base, but somehow they were still right on his tail.
Which meant they had mojo of their own. Probably that bloody Nephilim they had with them. Szeth had heard stories but seeing the creature in action had still come as a shock. It looked just like a young woman, and with her blue dyed hair done up in a messy ponytail and a ridiculous neon yellow puffer jacket, she would have looked like any of the other aimless youths on the streets of her home city, be it New York or Tokyo or wherever she hailed from. At least until the mask oozed across her face and the levitating blades materialised at her back.
Szeth shuddered. That mask would haunt his nightmares for a long time to come. It looked like one of those masks from Japanese theatre. A white face, almost completely blank except for the closed eyes as though the monster was asleep. When she had looked at him though, he knew it wasn’t the case, felt the intensity of her stare as the pressure of her presence alone threatened to pin him in place. Old Azatoth, ancient demon of Greed, Harvester of Souls, had ripped through a half dozen paladins and then set upon her. She hadn’t stopped looking at Szeth as her blades turned the unholy predator into hamburger mince. That had been when he ran.
Keep going.
He grit his teeth and forced his aching legs on, stumbling through the branches and brambles. Where was he going? What could he possibly find that would protect him from the nightmare on his heels? He didn’t know, didn’t think about it. If he did, he’d stop and consign himself to his fate and that he couldn’t do. Keep fighting, keep struggling until the last breath. It had been the way of his people ever since the humans had forced them, along with the rest of the Little People, underground, with their cold iron and superior numbers.
A branch snapped behind him and he turned, eyes wide with fear. He forgot to tell his feet though, and they tried to keep moving, tangling around themselves and sending him careening to the ground.
Whiiiiiich had abruptly turned into a downhill slope.
He swore and yelped as he tumbled ass over tit, bouncing off tree trunks and ploughing through stinging bushes until he slid to a stop in the mud at the base of the hill. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet, and his jaw hit the floor. There, in front of him, was a castle. Or at least, it looked like a castle. Great crenelated towers stood at the corners of the stonework building, draped in carpets of climbing ivy and lit from within by a weak yellow light. Running around the perimeter was a tall fence, the bottom half cut from the same stone as the castle proper, with black, wrought iron spears rising from within the base.
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He crept forward, cautious of this unexpected apparition but even more fearful of the hunting party somewhere at his back. As he got closer, the trees thinned until he found himself standing on a bitumen road winding up to a set of massive wooden doors set into the wall. Ivy grew over the surrounding gatehouse, but something glinted underneath it, just to the side of the mighty portal. He pulled aside the dank, green curtain with a clawed hand and gasped. It was a plaque, as big as he was, darkened brass with the words Sunny Twilight Retirement Home embossed in tarnished silver. There was a speaker box next to it.
He turned to retreat back down the road when he spotted a torch light bobbing through the trees. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the light was following the trail his battered body had left as he fell down the hill. In a half blind panic he spun back around to the gatehouse and started mashing his finger on the call button. He could feel his pulse in his long, pointy green ears while the waiting tone blared out at him, so loud he was sure the Paladin’s would hear it over the pouring rain and come running. After what felt like minutes but which had probably only been a few seconds, a croaky voice floated out of the box.
“Yes? Hello, deary?” a woman’s voice said. She sounded old and frail, as humans did when they passed their used by date.
“U-uh, hello,” Szeth replied, unsure of what to actually say.
“Hello.”
“Uhm… sorry I’m here to…” he trailed off, no clue where to go from here.
“You hear to visit someone, deary?”
“Yes! Yes, that’s exactly why I’m here, actually.”
“Oh, wonderful! We don’t get visitors often, who are you here to see?”
“Uh…”
“Oh, where are my manners? It’s raining out! Come on in and we can find who you’re after inside. Just let me… figure out… blasted machines. Sheryl! Get over here! You know how this contraption works don’t you?”
She kept chattering away, soon joined by another woman’s voice, equally frail sounding and equally as perplexed by the gate’s mechanisms, and Szeth’s new found hope began to flicker. The torchlight was perilously close to the road now, any second and the Paladin would step out from the trees and find Szeth, completely exposed. Just as the shadowy figure dogging him stepped out onto the street, his cold metal sword glinting in the moonlight, Szeth heard a loud click and the door groaning open behind him. He ducked through and slammed it shut, his breath coming in panicked, raggedy gasps as he sank down onto his haunches.
What to do now? He was inside the retirement home walls, which meant he was out of sight of the Paladin on the road, but they would most definitely be coming here, and soon. He needed to find another way out, if he was lucky, the old coot on the squawk box would distract the hunting party long enough for him to gain some ground. When he started to look around, though, he noticed a familiar and unpleasant smell, and his heart sank into his gut. He crept closer to the wall, his long, hooked nose sniffing at the blackened metal spears poking out of the stonework.
Iron. He had just gone and got himself trapped in a cage, there was no way he was making it over the cruel looking spikes. His heart, still somewhere near his small intestine, started hammering out a fearful staccato when he heard the dial tone again. The Paladin was at the gate.
Shit, shit, shit.
The tone disappeared, and he could just make out the muffled sounds of the Paladin’s voice. He went silent, and through the speaker came the old lady’s voice. Szeth couldn’t make out what she was saying, but from the rapid-fire pace of her words and the tone it sounded like she was giving the holy warrior a dressing down about something.
Szeth made a snap decision. Probably a terrible one, but he didn’t have many options. He cast a Weave on himself, feeling the image of a young man settle over him like a blanket. It was itchy, and didn’t sit quite right, but it would get him through the front door at least. The Paladin’s surely wouldn’t tear apart an old people home looking for him, maybe he could hide out inside until they passed, and then slip out. Get back to what was left of the clan’s operation, nab a borer and get back underground and away from retribution.
He trotted up to the castle doors and knocked.