Meddling.

That was all he was doing currently.

A more responsible and level-headed wendigo would have taken the reward for the slaying of a lesser monstrosity, as specified in the contract, and would have left town.

And that was the right thing to do, at least by wendigo standards.

Meddling never ended in the right way for his kind. Yet here he was, at odd’s end.

He had assumed that the beings of the mountain were not knowledgeable about affliction and its relation to greater monstrosities. That assumption further led him to dismiss the Ghost’s claims about the fact that it was the work of humans.

The ghost was correct, it indeed was the work of humans, just not in the direct way he had expected.

The being stared into his eyes, as they stood at the entrance of the ghastly cave.

[The only reason I decided to trust you, it was because your words were not dripping with falsehoods, and we can sense that.]

Beowulf remained silent.

[Consequently, it turns out your words were not correct. Not lies either, but they were words uttered out of mere ignorance. The correct course of action should be to kill you.]

There was hesitation it its voice.

“I am in no state to outrun or kill you. At best, I can injure you to some extent”, Beowulf laid it all out.

He knew he had no way of winning this one, but he wouldn’t go down without a fight either.

[I should kill you... but even now your eyes are still not that of a liar.]

Beowulf was about to respond when the being suddenly turned around, full of alertness.

“What happened?” Beowulf took a quick look at the perimeter, nothing had changed as far as he could see.

[More foul scents have appeared yet again, on the mountain, and also... near the town. But the one near the town seems different somehow it resembles the one in the cave.]

The being did not seem as invincible as before. In this moment, something about it seemed human. Perhaps he had subtlety expressed emotion, something he had not until now, Beowulf wasn’t sure.

“Are you headed towards the mountain”, he inquired, deep down he already knew what was transpiring. The monstrosity had most probably killed more cattle, which turned into an abomination due to affliction. That was the presence heading towards the mountain. The other one near the town... was most likely the greater monstrosity itself.

[Yes, my destination is the mountain.]

It readied itself but paused for a brief moment.

[The matter between us, I will deal with it later.]

Came a voice, as it roared, turned invisible and vanished into the woods.

Perhaps this was a chance, Beowulf could just take the coin, complete the pact, and be on his way. He had no obligation to meddle with this mess, no good could come out of it.

This town and its residents were of no concern to him, they brought this upon themselves.

That seemed to be the optimal course of action.

But... were they even given a choice?

Most of the residents probably didn’t have a say in the matter, in fact they probably were not even aware of these events.

Contemplating about this thoughts, he took a step towards the town, he would choose once he reached the town.

Azlan cursed under his breath as he vanished into the woods.

He really did hate ultimatums.

--------------------------------------------

As soon as he reached near the town’s entrance, it was clear that he too, had no choice.

The hadean smoke rising from the town, coupled with grieving cries and screams of anguish made it all too clear that he was too late.

There was no backing out now.

He increased his pace, deep down he knew this was a mistake. A mistake that was more than likely going to cost him his life, and yet he did not stop. A wendigo wasn’t made of valor and honor, he cared little for justice.

Then why was it that his body moved?

Onwards toward inevitable demise.

In a huff, he stopped and took a look inside guard barracks before entering the town. The more help the better, even if it was in a vain struggle.

However, it was empty, they were either already in town or already on their way out and away from town.

When the chips are down, even the most honorable is a coward. One can never know.

He hadn’t expected much either ways.

Moving hastily yet steadily, he entered the town. The place was far from a blazing inferno, but the woeful and distressed screams were nothing short of a chorus of despair being sung by sinners condemned to eternal suffering.

He hid behind a shabby hut, ill fitted to even be called a house and peeked from a corner. The source seemed to be behind the Crooked Hare inn, a few yards away.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

People were running in the opposite direction from the inn, while looking back with terror etched on their faces like a sculpture.

At times like these, you could see humans for what they truly were.

A child running away tripped and fell, prompting the child to grab ahold of another man’s leg. The man, clearly rendered deprived of understanding due to the fear, kicked the child in the face with all the force he could muster, it was a desperate act to save himself. He kicked a few more times until the child lost grip due to the pain or either due to falling unconscious, it didn’t matter either ways.

In hindsight, it would have been far efficient and faster to have just helped the child up on his feet. But now the child lay in the dirt, his face bloodied.

Humans didn’t understand, they never seemed to understand.

Perhaps he did have a choice.

Why should one risk their life for them? Over and over again. Thinking every time that they will change, but they never did. Most of them didn’t care what happened to others as long as they survived. They still were selfish, always were, and always would be. It was human nature, and that could not be changed.

Most wendigo believed in that doctrine.

He could just leave.

Then why was it that he came here? Certain of the fact that he would meet his demise.

He took another look towards the scene and his eyes widened with surprise.

Ah, so that was what it was.

Deep down, he already knew the answer.

In front of him, a familiar frail looking boy with brown hair was trying to lift the injured child and trying to carry him to safety. Barely managing to do both.

There were a few abnormalities among humans. Rare, but they always existed.

And these few humans were worth risking your life for.

Now, and always.

But the way things were proceeding, both Viglaf and the child he was carrying on his back would certainly be met with death. He could see the greater monstrosity now, appearing from behind the inn.

No matter how many times Beowulf encountered them, he never could get used to their appearances.

Each one them had a different, equally incomprehensible appearance.

This one in particular seemed especially contorted.

It seemed to be a blighted fusion between a mantis and a bird of some kind. It had a triangular head, with bulging eyes and an elongated body. It bore two pairs of legs, the spiked forelegs were that of a mantis, and the hind legs resembled a poor imitation of a bird’s talons.

There were some kind of premature wings developed on its elongated body, a shoddy combination of avian and insectoid wings. From appearances alone, it was discernable that they were not capable of flight. Its triangular head consisted of two bulbous mantis-like eyes with two sharp looking mandibles poking out of its mouth, the two antennas on its head were moving about abhorrently.

Its upper body was in an upright posture, with the hind avian legs supporting it, and the sharp spiked forelegs were being used to kill everything in its sight, as evident by the blood on them. But what stood out most were its bizarre insectoid arms, they were stationary and folded, as if it was praying.

The greater monstrosities were always made of a black, gulch-like substance, depriving them of any color. Its ten feet tall body was occasionally twitching randomly in a grotesque fashion as it moved forward.

There was not much time, Beowulf moved towards Viglaf, hoping that the foul thing doesn't notice him.

However, this time around Viglaf wasn’t as lucky, its eyes moved around sickeningly, taking notice of Viglaf and the child he was carrying. In a flash, it forelegs struck Viglaf in his side and he went crashing into a nearby house alongside the child.

“Fuck...” Beowulf cursed as he moved around houses, trying to stay out of its sight. He waited for it to move ahead and circled behind. And when he was directly behind him, he bolted towards the house, barely managing to avoid being noticed.

He didn’t have much time, it would eventually sense him, once it was done massacring the few people left outside. Which would in turn, needlessly endanger both Viglaf and the child.

He looked around hastily, trying to find where they were. It didn’t take him long, he soon found them under some rubble. As Azlan lifted the broken pieces of wood, he was surprised to see that Viglaf had his arms around the child, as if to protect them. Even in that brief timeframe, he had tried to protect others, as best as he could.

Beowulf kneeled on one leg and tried to access the extent of Viglaf’s injuries, his right arm seemed to be completely broken due to the blow he took from the monstrosity. His head was bleeding as well, and could be fatal if left untreated.

Azlan tried to think for a moment and then begun to take off one of the pendants he was wearing. It was a silver necklace, shining with a mystic emerald gem. He wrapped it around Viglaf’s neck, and in a few seconds his bleeding stopped.

However, Beowulf didn’t have the time to feel relived as the monstrosity could come here any moment.

He had to confront it.

Drinking one vial of vile essence, he stepped out.

Only one vial remaining.

It noticed Beowulf almost immediately, its antennas writhing around revoltingly.

He exhaled and took in a deep breath and braced himself.

It screeched quietly and prepared to attack. The next instant, its foreleg rammed into Beowulf, and flung him, causing him to go sliding against the ground, coming to a halt after a while.

He had seen it coming, yet he could not react. His senses were sharp as ever, but the same could not be said of his body, he had exerted himself too much already in a span of a few hours, not to mention his leg still hadn’t healed.

Ignoring the friction burns, he stood up.

Without wasting a moment, he rolled towards cover behind a house, while managing to avoid an attack. His hope was to catch it off guard from a blind spot.

Before he could even think of his next move, its foreleg shot forward, tearing through the walls, and took a hold of his leg.

This thing was extremely motile.

It dragged him near itself, and lifted him up in the air above its head, examining him with its noxious eyes.

These few moment of idleness were of utmost importance to Beowulf who was now hanging upside down. He looked at it, trying to find any weak spot in its physique. He could try to go for his hind legs.

No, they were protected by the forelegs. The best bet seemed to be its head and bulbous eyes.

But the persistent problem was the forelegs, with no choice left, he examined them again.

While they seemed to be very agile, they were still the legs of an insect, long and slender. He glanced at his own leg that was being grabbed by the monstrosity, holding him upside down.

His options were very limited. He had an idea, but most likely, it wouldn’t amount to much even if he succeeded.

But he was doomed either ways, he stopped thinking about harm at death’s door.

Suddenly, he bent his knees and curved his torso up. And with the monstrosity’s foreleg in the middle of his arms, he smashed his fists into each other, severing it and causing him to fall.

The wretched being gave out a shrill screech, as the served part fell on the ground and went into a flurry of spasms.

Beowulf himself used his falling momentum and swung his fists downward at its face, crushing both of its bulging eyeballs.

The screeching was now so loud that the immediate thing he could do as soon as his feet touched the ground was to hold his hands to his ears to muffle the sound.

A while later, its screeching subsided.

But something was off, its eyes could no longer work, yet it wasn’t frolicking around looking for Beowulf. Rather it stood still, as if it could still see him.

The idea was a failure.

And as if it was in a fit of rage, it started flailing its other foreleg wildly towards at Beowulf.

The first few blows he avoided due to probability and luck, but that can only last for so long.

Subsequently, the blows started to land on Beowulf’s body, each time tearing his flesh or stabbing him shallowly. But it didn’t stop there, when he used his arms to shield himself from the impacts, it grabbed his arm and started to swing his body around like a ragdoll, and rapidly slamming him into anything it could see.

Ah, so it did turn out like this, after all.

The truth was, the fight was unfair from the start.

His consciousness had started to fade, his mind could not even register the pain and ache his body was feeling. At this point, all he wanted was close his eyes and enter into the ever-so-welcoming slumber.

It wasn’t that he was eager to meet his death.

It just was pointless to struggle in the face of absolute opposition.

He was a few seconds away from losing consciousness, when he caught sight of something in the corner of his eyes.

--------------------------------------