Fast. The twang of Jor’s bowstring was a thunderous crack that shook the ancient trees around them. Ben couldn’t follow the movement. The arrow had vanished from the bow, and Ben felt as if an invisible force had tried to displace him from his position. The Archer’s unnatural, impassive face began to contort into an expression tinged with fear.
"Run," whispered the Archer.
The young man turned to see what destruction the crude arrow had caused, and to his horror, it seemed that Jor hadn’t managed to hit her mark, or at least not effectively enough. When Ben beheld the creature, he felt a cold chill run down his spine. It stood about two heads taller than him. An impossibly thin arm that ended in long claws clutched at a shoulder that was missing its appendage. It seemed that the creature had attempted to dodge the attack but miscalculated the area of effect.
The Witigo stood eerily still, about ten paces in front of him. Seemingly observing the party. Ben couldn’t make out its facial features, as when he tried to look at it, his vision went blurry, and he felt an invasive terror creeping in, uninvited, to the back of his mind. Nausea began to roil the deepest pit of his stomach. He felt as if he were falling back first, down a dark tunnel.
YOU
DARE?
Ben heard the question as a growl that permeated his being. He realized the Witigo had, somehow, gotten into his head before being ejected by the beast within him. He felt himself being pulled back towards the light that broke through the canopy.
He was jolted back to the forest just in time to see a large, cylindrical object shoot through the air to impact and smear the creature against a tree behind it. Black blood oozed down the bark of an old fir, and Ben still struggled to discern its features.
"Oi! I counted one more. Can you see it?"
The Berserker huffed from behind Ben. Jor seemed to shake the fear-paralysis.
"I… It fled," the Archer said with worry.
"Shit," Ainsle exhaled. "The bastards never flee. It’ll keep stalking us until we leave this part of the woods, or we kill it."
Ben saw a black patch of maimed flesh with spindly limbs in a heap on the ground behind him. A substantial amount of black blood seemed to soak into the dirt around the creature that Ainsle had slain. The Berserker walked up to the remains of the second Witigo and retrieved the cylindrical object that had been embedded in the tree. He realized that said object was, in fact, her great mace.
He was shaken. Both at the encounter with these terrible beings and as a result of witnessing the impossible strength of the old woman. He doubted an ordinary person could lift her weapon, let alone launch it at such stupefying speeds as she had.
Jor’s body seemed stiff, lacking the usual grace that seemed to accompany her every movement. Ainsle turned to the Archer after retrieving her weapon and noticed the expression of fear on her face.
"Get your shit together, princess. We need a Leader, not a scared little girl."
She reprimanded her and proceeded to grab her by the collar of her armor and pull her down to meet her eyes. The difference in height would’ve been comical if the diminutive Berserker hadn’t just completely demolished two powerful creatures in less than ten heartbeats.
Ben looked at the pair and saw that Ainsle’s wound had opened up again, as blood was running down her greaves from under the mail at her waist.
"I’m fucking dying here, Jor…" she said in a rasp that hinted at a plea.
Her words seemed to get through to the Squad Leader. Jor’s expression changed from fear to shock and then cold determination. She looked into the eyes of the old woman for a significant moment and then nodded.
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"Okay. Let’s go."
Ainsle released her hold on the woman and grunted in reply.
"Ben, I need you to carry her." She indicated the limp form of the Priestess in his arms. "We have to leave this area. Now. Witigos aren’t known to give up prey, so it’s likely that this one will stalk us and try to strike when it thinks we’re weak."
"What happened?" he stammered.
Jor paused. And glanced in the direction she had fired her arrow laced with her Avatar.
"I never miss."
He hadn’t noticed it before, but the direction in which the Archer had fired was a path of utter destruction. The area affected was bigger than what Ben had seen in the blight woods. Instead of fist-sized holes in trees, an entire swathe of flora had been destroyed. Ben looked on in disbelief. The creature should have been completely annihilated, yet, the only damage Jor managed to inflict was to its arm.
"I drank deep from my Avatar, and…these creatures are old. Ancient. They’re too much for Ainsle and I to handle." She closed her eyes and turned her head toward the Berserker. "She’s on her last legs. That power. I’ve never seen… I hoped never to have seen it."
Ainsle stood a distance away from Jor, Ben, and the Priestess. Her breath seemed labored, and her shoulders were slumped. Blood trickled to the thirsty forest floor between her feet. She stood guard in silence.
Ben felt lost. He resented himself for being so powerless. If only he had been dealt a better hand, these brave women wouldn’t have to die. He wouldn’t be the useless weight that dragged them to their doom in some random forest.
"Come. We really should move," Jor said softly. "Every moment spent here is a moment longer that we flirt with death."
"Okay. Help me get her on my back. I’m still too weak to carry her like this."
Jor nodded and complied with the request. Ainsle, still on guard, stood in a low fighting stance, her mace head dragging furrows along the forest floor as she turned to survey the surrounding woods. Once satisfied with her observations, she looked to Jor. Her face was pale, and her usually smiling eyes were tired and weary.
The Squad Leader spoke.
"Ain, take point. Ben, don’t take your eyes off Ainsle’s back, and whatever happens, don’t stop moving."
"Okay."
Ben’s nerves were on fire. He couldn’t manage any more than a simple affirmation. The Squad Leader seemed to have pity in her eyes.
"I’ll be right behind you. Now, move," she ordered.
The party made their way slowly through the woods. The young man was on edge, constantly scanning the trees for shadows. He was exhausted. His body was at its limit, and he felt his vision swim after what seemed like an hour of trekking through uneven terrain. He refused to give up, for to falter was to die.
The Berserker’s form was like a beacon in the dark due to the incredible power that radiated from the small woman. Ben tried to push the thought of her injury out of his mind, as to acknowledge it felt as if it would make its severity real. Jor had implied that a Berserker’s strength came from injury, and he assumed that the insane strength she exhibited earlier was the result of that grave wound.
She said she was dying. Stop. Don’t think. One foot forward. One foot forward. One. Foot.
He felt it again. The same terrifying presence in the back of his mind. Every breath burned with the sheer amount of fear that gripped his heart. His vision was darkening. He caught a glimpse of Ainsle being staggered by a dark form that flashed in front of him before he fell to the forest floor.
He kept falling. He opened his eyes, and he saw the familiar grey sky once more. This time, however, the clouds were an angry shade of black and red. He passed the clouds and saw the same midnight-covered ground of the forest floor. He braced for impact and found himself sitting in the cave back at the clearing. As he expected, he lifted his hands in front of his eyes in the dark, and the same strong hands greeted him.
He waited. A sense of anticipation welled up from the pit of his stomach, and he watched as a lazy fog rolled in from the woods. There were no sinister crimson eyes riding the wave of fog. He felt the breath of the beast on the back of his neck. The hairs on his arm rose, and he turned to face the source of his fear.
"What do you want from me?" He asked the pair of crimson eyes in the darkness.
WEAK
The beast conveyed more than spoke.
UNWORTHY
VESSEL
Ben felt frustration building up in his chest. His body felt heavy. Tired.
"So what?! Yeah, I’m weak. My body is-"
WEAK
WILL
The beast interrupted. The pair of eyes seemed to grow infinitely larger.
Ben felt his mind crack. Anger flooded his being. It scoured the fear from his veins in a furious rage.
SUBMIT
"NO!" He cried defiantly.
The beast seemed to react to his defiance. The crimson orbs burst into sickly flames. They oozed black, molten tears. Its presence had grown immensely, and Ben struggled to comprehend the scope of the being. He realized that the anger wasn’t his. He felt the control of his body slip.
ALL
WILL
SUBMIT