“Yes,” I said quickly. “I sense it too.”

I turned casually around, trying to rein in the shaking in my hands and the sweat that beads on my forehead. The oppressive weight of the despair and misery, mixed with the vile presence of the demon, almost made me throw up. Time slows down and an unearthly strength flows into my muscles.

I stumbled into Florencia’s side. She grabbed me, steadied my feet, and looked into my eyes for answers.

Four guards had just entered the nave and were now walking amidst the survivors. They looked calm but alert, hands gripping the hilt of their swords. However, it was the last man who caught my attention. He appeared young and angular, but there was a wicked and hungry smirk barely on his lips. And his walk was peculiar, too straight and unnatural. Each step he took seemed too far apart for his shorter legs, and it was as if he tried to appear casual, but failing in my eyes.

It was within him that I sensed that void, that splinter, that was offensive to me. I felt my rage boil over and I had no other thoughts except for striking that man and its demonic parasite dead.

As he approached us unknowingly, his attention elsewhere, I saw the spiderlike shadow around his body; the claws that were buried into his back and shoulders, and neck. In his presence, light seemed to diminish. The flames of the candles withered ever so slightly, flickered, and danced, but none seemed to notice.

“It is a demon!” said Goxhandar urgently. “Engulfing his mind!”

I still had the element of surprise on my side. The guard, named Pecca, had not noticed me yet. Instead, his attention remained fixated on the miserable survivors. As his comrades forged ahead, his pace slowed down, causing him to lag behind.

But at that critical moment, when the chance was the greatest, I could not move. I stood frozen, seemingly paralyzed by the overwhelming noise of the world around me. It was the crushing weight of the misery, and the echoes of thoughts and emotions of the people on the streets some hundreds of paces away. My senses felt like exposed nerves, and I could not function as I wanted to.

“Master, we must act now!” said Goxhandar. “Don’t forget—your mere presence is torture to the demon. It will notice you any moment! We only have a single—”

But as Goxhandar said this, we were already too late.

The guard, who now stood only twenty yards away, froze mid-step and our eyes met for a single, sharp moment. His eyes were black as night, and in them, I felt no earthly thoughts or emotions, but only a hunger and malice that was even more overwhelming than the grief.

Then the shadow, the demon, recoiled as if burned by fire, turned around, and ran!

“Jonas,” said Florencia, still holding my arm. “What is it?”

But before she could finish, a sudden shout and screams erupted and her words were quickly drowned out by a loud howl.

The guard had rushed back towards the entrance, but accidentally trampled over the bedroll of an elderly man, and spilled over his small bowl of soup. The old man stood up quickly, much faster than I would’ve thought, and cried out in irritation. But Pecca was in no mood to argue over such a trivial matter and shoved the man forcefully. He fell down on his back, and with a whiplike motion, the back of his head landed into the square-shaped base of the granite pillar that held up the roof of the church.

Crack.

It was silent for only a moment, and then thundering cries and shocks of confusion erupted everywhere. Dark crimson blood exploded onto the church floor and everyone around jumped up and ran.

The old man was dead, his skull cracked open.

Pandemonium erupted in the church. Florencia turned toward the accident. Jaxine screamed at the sight of blood. Catia Zyla froze and watched, eyes wide. Iskander and Jace grabbed their swords but lost track of who had caused this madness.

Amid the turbulent masses, I also lost sight of Pecca, but he could not hide the empty aura of his soul from my senses. It was like a beacon of darkness trailed behind him, unmistakable in the whirlpool of fear. Without a moment of hesitation, I abandoned my companions and ran after him.

I heard Florencia and Jace yell something, but couldn’t make out what they said. But Iskander followed me as I ran, holding his greatsword sheathed in his hands.

The possessed guard Pecca escaped, and I ran after him, followed closely by Iskander.

Damned it, he was quick! He ran with a speed no ordinary man could. He dodged and weaved through and under and over crowds and pairs of passersby, and caused a growing amount of chaos the farther he got. And as I ran after him, I felt the heavy but complementary presence of Goxhandar on my shoulder. Its sharp and attentive assistance helped me keep up with Pecca.

“He went left, under that narrow place! Right, master! Through the crowds, there!” said Goxhandar just at the right time, with blood on its mind.

I ran faster and longer than I had ever done before, and my boots were tight and dug into my heel. I was certain that I was bleeding into them, but I cared not. All I had on my mind was to catch that damned creature and make it suffer.

We ran around and through hundreds of people, most of who broke up and escaped as they saw the approaching madness.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

He raced through a wide street with the urgency of a man marked by damnation, his movements wild and purposeful. No longer was he hiding behind a forced casualness, but he fully embraced the unnatural enhancements that he had. His stride was longer, his steps were faster, and his strength was greater than those around him.

It seemed like with little effort he shoved people out of his way or threw them into me to slow me down. Ribs cracked and bones broke with our impacts.

He crossed the Varda again—we had run so far but with very little time—and there were a pair of young lovers who were out on a walk. Pecca had to run between them, and with a swift, but ungraceful motion, he shoved the two into the river. The man fell into the foamy water, but the woman crashed into the deck of a small fishing boat. I had no time to see what had broken, but more screams and more shouting came from there.

After I had crossed the bridge, and Pecca ran in a straight line, I looked behind me for a moment. There I saw ten, maybe more, guards that were clumsily running after us. I saw Florencia and Jace follow Iskander, but they were hundreds of yards back. And out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jaxine, but as she passed a small crowd of six, I lost sight of her.

“Master! Turn!” said Goxhandar as I almost missed the turn that Pecca took.

I found myself in a massive marketplace that, funnily enough, reminded me of the one in Scorro. I saw around me countless tents and stalls sprawled across the square, each brimming with a mouthwatering array of food and goods. The air was saturated with an intoxicating mixture of scents—honeyed beer, sweet and salty pies, fresh bread, smoked fish, oilfried seaweeds.

Here I did not even have to rely on Goxhandar’s guidance to see where the possessed Pecca had run. His presence sent shockwaves of screaming and upset through the market, causing a commotion that was easy to follow.

I quickened my pace even more, as a caged beast was ever more dangerous than a free one. My calves and thighs burned, and I felt acid come up in my throat. I wanted to vomit, but I had no time. I pushed on. There was no way I was going to let Pecca escape. This guard was no mere thrall, but a full demon had overtaken his mind, or at least whispering truths and lies into his ear, and lending its own powers to a corrupt heart.

Then suddenly, I stopped dead in my track.

Pecca had stopped and was now standing in the middle of a small, circular clearing. Behind him was a wooden cart filled with apples and a barrel of apple cider. He held a slender dagger menacingly at the throat of an overweight baker. The baker still had on his apron and there was bright white flour on his thick, coiled arms. But now, he was weeping, with tears flowing down his cheeks.

“Please,” the baker whimpered, but Pecca, devoid of mercy, forced the dagger just a little deeper into his throat. Another trickle of blood flowed down onto his white apron. It was not white anymore.

“Shut up!” the possessed guard yelled to the baker and then turned his unnatural sight at me. “Let me go, or else the fat man dies! I’ll slit his throat. I’ll kill everyone here! Don’t come any closer!”

“You can try to kill however many you wish, demon,” I said with a voice so cold and cruel that I surprised myself. The words that came out of my mouth were almost not my own. “But you will die today.”

For a moment, I saw a chilling realization flash before Pecca’s eyes.

“No!” cried the baker once more, shattering the suffocating silence. But this time, his cries were silenced by a kick that landed squarely on his lower back. His knees buckled and his entire weight fell on Pecca.

I saw this as my one moment of opportunity before things spiraled further out of control, and more people would get hurt, or worse, die. The possessed guard, though formidable in strength and speed, was momentarily off balance, creating an opening I could not afford to miss.

“Catch him before it escapes!” said Goxhandar. For a split moment, I thought of summoning the Blood Maul here, in the middle of the marketplace, but thought better of it.

Instead, I acted out of instinct.

I reached out my arm and spread my fingers wide. In that singular moment, I tasted the essence of his fear—a pungent, acidic, almost sugary taste. I sensed the demon as well, thrashing around frantically, and its attempts to escape my presence. I took a wonderful delight in knowing that my runes of warding were keeping the monster trapped in the body of Pecca, and causing it an agony of pain.

Before Pecca could stick the dagger into the throat of the poor baker, I amplified my focus and closed my hand into a fist.

A deafening crash reverberated, sending both men hurtling backward and crashing down. The dagger slipped from the hold of Pecca and fell down on the ground, its tip bloody but not taken a life. The baker, his life saved, rolled forward, quickly gathered his bearings, and crawled away from his captor, but holding his limp wrist against his body. His breaths were raspy and a trickle of blood flowed from the corner of his mouth.

Pecca was thrown into the cart of apples. It cracked under the assault, and the apples spilled everywhere, and the cider barrel began to leak its contents all over as well. Pecca tried to get up but then collapsed onto the ground with a pathetic cry of pain. The entire right side of his face was a wreck, distorted and scraped as he had fought with a wild lion.

There were hundreds of people around us, and a chaotic scene unfolded before me.

They all began to swarm around like headless chickens, their instincts overriding all else. Some fled without thought, while others stood frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. Amidst this chaos, older or heavier men and women stumbled away, but many fell, their panic rendered them impotent. The young and agile jumped over them, throwing their food and drinks away in a desperate bid for speed. The weak and old were tackled to the ground, sacrificed so that the young would survive.

I had no time to waste, and I ran to Pecca.

Coming close from behind, I heard familiar voices.

“Jonas!” It was Florencia who had caught up with me and Iskander. “What have you done?”

She was holding the injured baker and looking at his broken wrist and, probably, ribs and shoulder. But an injured baker was not something I was concerned about at that time. I had only one singular goal in mind, and all else paled in comparison. It was the dark void of the demon that I felt deeply offended by. It was its mere presence that I needed to get rid of.

In the distance, I saw an entire company of Caffrian guards rushing toward us. But as they drew nearer, their confusion mirrored that of the few onlookers who dared to stay.

I sprinted to the body of Pecca, who was trying to gather strength for another fight, but I was faster. My heart was pounding as I loomed over him victoriously, and I stepped on his right wrist until I heard a faint crack. He cried loudly and began to wriggle around like a snake.

And all over his body, I saw glimpses of a spiderlike shadow that was the demon itself. It writhed here and there, unable to escape. It was held in the prison of flesh and blood by my intense focus, and the runes tattooed all over my body.

There was shouting and commotion everywhere, but I had to ignore it. The moment my focus would break, I feared the demon would escape, or kill Pecca’s body. I took a step back, grabbed his seagrey cloak, and pulled him up to meet his eyes. In there I sensed a bottomless hate and malice that was overshadowed by confusion and…fear.

“How, how could you keep up? How could you catch us?” asked the creature in a raspy voice that was not entirely from this realm. It was like gravel scraping against gravel. It was the demon that spoke, not the guard. “What are you?”

“I am… The demon hunter!”