He was pacing again.

Every time Buck caught himself doing it he went and made another batch of herbal brew to soothe his nerves. This was the seventh one tonight, and his stomach and bladder couldn't take it anymore. He could swear his piss came out lavender-scented now. And it did nothing to calm him down. He'd have to ask Sivale for something stronger; this plant mix just wasn't helping anymore. He paused to stare at his hand. It wasn't shaking yet, thank Baar, but his unrest was growing by the hour. The temptation to go look for a bottle of his father's brandy was dangerously persuasive tonight, and only the memories of his previous drunken mishap kept him away.

Mishap. Hah! What a cute word for it.

He was already on the thinnest of ice, and one tiny blunder was all it would take to get him kicked out of Runrick permanently. If he was lucky. He'd get skewered by someone's rusty pitchfork if he wasn't. But he couldn't fault them for hating him. He deserved it, and then some. If it weren't for his mother, he probably would've thrown himself at the townfolk’s mercy, and let them punish him however they saw fit. Heavens knew there were enough mothers and fathers that wanted nothing more than to take out their anger on him. Anger he had caused. And grief. So, so much grief. It might even help him a bit with his own feelings of guilt, but he didn't think he deserved any absolution.

Common sense would dictate that he leave Runrick, preferably in the dead of night, when it was least likely that someone would be waiting for him around a quiet corner with a pocket knife. There was no future for him here. He had no friends anymore. Only a heart-broken mother and a disappointed father. And it killed him to see how the town's reproach was extended to his parents as well.

They had been nothing but supportive neighbors and productivemembers of this community, kind and welcoming to everyone, yet no one was willing to cut them some slack because they had the misfortune to be saddled with a useless, piece-of-shit son like him. The fact that there was a town gathering taking place right at this moment and they hadn't summoned his father was a loud testament to how ostracized their family had become. It was another blow to his father's weakened heart. He didn't know how many more he could take.

Yes, it would be in everyone’s best interest if he just left. Only…he had nowhere else to go.

Buck stared out of his window. He could see the tower of the prayhouse from here. Was the gathering still going on? It was already dark outside, and that meant the way home was more dangerous now. The thing came mostly at night, after all. Or maybe they thought it was safe now since the beast had just claimed someone and should be satiated (poor Bramby) That was a hunter logic, though. This thing wasn't an animal. A predator, yes, but from Shulffa's accursed lot. It had no distinct pattern of attack, nothing about its behavior was akin to any animal they knew; sometimes it was sighted twice in one day, sometimes it disappeared for weeks on end, then reemerged thirsty for blood at completely random intervals. And not just to eat. It often left entire carcasses behind, which meant it would also kill just for the fun of it.

It had first gone after their livestock, then started killing people, went back to cattle, and then back to humans. Even now, another assumption about the thing got turned on its head. Up until today, everyone thought it only attacked at night, but Bramber's remains were found early this afternoon. He had been seen alive this morning, which meant the creature had paid him a visit in the middle of the freaking day. And that wasn't even the worst of it. He had been ripped to pieces in his own home. So not only was it willing to hunt during daytime now, it also came after you in your own house. Bramber’s home was well away from the outskirts of town.

Maybe that's why the gathering was taking so long. Maybe people simply thought that the holy prayhouse was the only place left in Runrick that could protect them, and they were now stalling so that they could stay in it for as long as possible. If Baar's house of worship was indeed the only thing that kept the creature at bay, then he felt even worse for getting his parents shunned from it.

Deep down, though, he knew it would eventually come after them there, too. As long as the thing was alive, it would keep killing. Hiding wouldn't save them. It needed to be stopped. He believed this wholeheartedly. Even now, after his disaster of an attempt to personally rid Runrick of the monster. He also still believed that bringing together Runrick's strongest men, andgoing after the creature armed and prepared had been the right course of action; he just had been the wrong person to lead the party. Oh, he had looked the part, alright, and had actual military experience to boot. Sure, Buck came back a bit odd after his time on the front, had a bit of a drinking problem too, but hey, he was still good, ol' reliable Buckcrown. The rowdy but promising youngster turned Runrick's pride and joy when he had been accepted into His Majesty's army. The only man in town ever with that accomplishment.

That had to count for something.

Well, turns out, it didn't.

Buck cursed every story he heard as a child about brave and noble knights, cursed that one book he read over and over as a boy that made him dream of just wars and honorable soldiers, but mostly, he cursed his own stupid and naive younger self. Every one of his childhood friends had been content with becoming hunters and woodcutters and steelworkers. And they had all wanted to stay in Runrick. That hadn't been good enough for Buck. He had wanted more; strongly believed he was meant for more. Everybody told him so, too. So he enrolled in the army the second he found out about the war at Alcsania's border against the barbaric Borsecia nation. He wanted adventures, hoped for riches, but most of all, he desired glory. The prestige that came with a clean uniform and a shiny medal.

He came back with none of that. Instead, what he got was nightmares, an unsound mind, and a number of nervous habits that had mothers warn their children to stay away from him. The incessant pacing was only one of them.

Now that he reminded himself of it, the need to start pacing again returned. He kept still, but now his right leg started twitching. He let it. He kept staring at the tower.

There was probably nobody they wanted to see less than him right now. His campaign had been a tragedy. He had led their sons and brothers and husbands right into the creature's waiting maw. Those who hadn't perished right then and there, had come back either mauled or marked. Only him and Bramber had escaped without a scratch; Bramber, because he ran at the first sight of it, and him because he froze up. The creature ignored him in favor of screaming, squirming prey. Apparently, even monsters thought he was too pathetic to be worth their time.

Why in the world did he think he could pull off the brave leader bit?!

No, he knew why. Buck had wanted to relive the time when he had everyone's admiration and trust. A time when he stood in front of his friends boisterously, proclaimed bold dreams, and was cheered for it. He so, so desperately wanted to prove to them, to his parents, and to himself, that he was more than the sad, quiet man that drank himself under the table and then picked fights with garden fences. That the war hadn't broken him completely.

Reality had punished him for his selfish, childish aspirations once already. And he hadn't learned.

Now, the sound of firing canons in his nightmares were accompanied by the screams of his friends and the slash of overgrown claws ripping through flesh.

His breathing and heart rate was picking up. At this rate he'd lose another night of sleep. He needed to do something. He still kept staring at the tower.

They probably wouldn't even allow me in, much less listen to me.

For a while now, a semblance of a plan had been stewing in the back of his head. He had tried to snuff out the initial sparks of the idea, simply because he had failed so spectacularly with his first one. He had no right to go and form another one. Still, he had needed something productive to occupy his long, sleepless nights and so he let his mind wander. Or wander wasn't really the right word. His thoughts kept circling the same thing over and over. Fire. They had tried shooting it, stabbing it, poisoning it. Nothing worked. But they hadn't tried burning it yet. Witches and the bastards of Shulffa were tied and burned at the stake, after all. Fire had to be the answer. But how to capture the thing and keep it still long enough to light it ablaze? Well, this is where his idea turned grim. Someone needed to lure the monster inside a small structure - a shed maybe - somewhere it couldn't get out off easily, and that someone would then set the whole thing on fire with it, and himself, still in it.

That someone, of course, was supposed to be him.

As sad as it was, it made the most sense. For everyone. They'd get rid of not only the monster, but the town's useless drunkard as well. The self-sacrifice might help clear his name, his parents might be forgiven, and the aggrieved families would get their vengeance. Win-win for all.

If he presented it like that, they might listen to him.

…........

Alright, he'd give it try. What's the worst they could do to him for suggesting it?

His parents were down-stairs; they never went to sleep until they knew he was laying still in his bed. They must have heard him pacing and were now sitting at the table concerned that their son was going to have another bad night. If they saw him head out at this hour they'd just worry even more. He'd climb out of the window and return before they'd notice he was gone. He was tired of causing them heartache. This idea of his....it would hurt them too, but at least they'd have some peace afterward. He grabbed his tattered jacket and quietly opened the window.

He hadn't done this since he was a child.

Back then, he and the others would meet after night fall and have the best of times while everyone else was asleep. They'd play games; hide-and-seek was far more challenging in the dark. Or they'd go spy on the inn, the only place in town open at night, and try to listen in on what the adults spoke among themselves. Whoever brought back the most interesting gossip was the winner, whoever got caught would lose.

They'd even venture out into the woods, as a test of courage. He'd always win that one, going further and staying longer than anyone else. That game had been his idea, of course. Great Mother's mercy, had he been a stupid kid. He had been dragging his friends into danger since childhood, it seems. There weren't any monsters back then, but wolves and bears were regular visitors. The grown-ups always warned them to never go into the woods alone, but they wanted to prove they were as brave as their elders. One hungry, wayward wolf was all it took to finish a child, and it had simply been pure luck that nothing happened to anybody back then. Stupid, stupid kid. And he had stayedstupid. No one had died then, but Buck had to go and rectify that. Galb, Bolovan, Rokhau, Marou; they all had been his friends, and all were now dead. Egbrim's arm got ripped off; Mullber was still ailing in bed from his wounds; Nad lost his mind to madness after staring into the creature’s eyes for too long. The others escaped mostly intact, but with scars that would never fully heal. They were probably at the prayhouse now too. Meeting their eyes was going to be hardest part. If they could bear to hear him out just one more time, he'd promise to pay his dues to them. He took one deep breath, and stepped out.

________________________________________________________________________________

The air was brisk, the cold cutting into his flesh mercilessly. His jacket was barely of any help, but it had been difficult enough to climb down the vine even without a thick winter coat weighing him down. He walked fast with large steps, but didn't run. It was easier to pay attention to surrounding sounds this way, in case something was creeping around in the shadows. Buck had gotten used to having street lights while down in the south-western provinces. He didn't feel as comfortable as he used to be, walking around in complete darkness, monsters or not. And he wasn't the only one. He could catch the occasional flicker of the candle light inside the houses. Most buildings around here didn't even have a fireplace, and any form of electricity was completely out of the question. Before, when it got dark, people just went to bed. Now, there was at least one candle burning in each household every night, and at least one person staying up to watch over it. At least the local tallow business was getting a profit from this.

There, just one more turn around the corner. He contemplated going in through the backdoor to observe the group and the discussion secretly from the side before making his presence known. Feel the room so to speak, and assess whether or not it was safe for him to approach them. One the other hand, if he went in that way he'd might just chicken out and leave. By using the main entrance, he had no choice but to stay and face everyone.

One pause to collect himself, one more deep breath, and he swiftly turned the corner -

And stopped dead in his tracks. Blinked. Froze.

There was something moving in front of the prayhouse'sentrance. It was as black as the darkness surrounding it and the only reason he was able to notice it was because of its erratic back and forth movement.

It was the creature. What else could it be?

He was right, the prayhouse wasn't any safer. The large number of people was what must have attracted it all the way over here. It found its way right to the center of town, and was about to burst in and slaughter everyone. He couldn't let that happen. He had to rush it. No, it would just kill him instantly, and that would ultimately help no one. He had to yell, as loudly as he could. Get its attention, while warning the others at the same time. Maybe enough would manage to escape by the time it was done with him. It wouldn't save all, he realized this. Some would die, but if he could help save just a few, it would be worth it.

Except he couldn't get his throat to make a sound. He couldn't even get himself to start breathing. He wanted to make noise, any noise, but his body wouldn't cooperate. Buck could feel his lips moving, trying to form words, but there was no strength in his chest to push out any sound. He couldn't even whimper.

Again. He was going to stand by and watch people die, again.

Please, please, please no.

And then it stepped forward. The prayhouse was one of the only well lit structures in town, with a large chandelier and several other candelabras illuminating the interior. Some of that light was spilling out into the street from the round glass window hanging above the double doors. As it approached the steps leading up to those doors and stood in the sallow light, Buck could finally make out its actual shape and size.

It...was a man.

He was dressed head to toe in black. Who even had threads this dark? Clothes around here tended to be either white-gray, a variation of the color brown, and the occasional dirty green. No one wore black here, not even at funerals. The beast was pitch black. The beast was the blackest thing he had ever seen; a huge, misshapen splotch of living ink with long spider-like limbs. Whenever he thought of it, the first thing that came to mind was that deep, eerie obsidian. No wonder he had thought first of the monster.

Who was that man? He wasn't from Runrick, that was for certain. He doubted anyone from Pelase would come here anymore. A traveler?

Who in the holy fuck would willingly come to Runrick? Around this time, no less.

He suddenly felt very angry at the newcomer for having scared him like that. It was silly and irrational, but with the way his insides were still quivering from the shock, he thought a little bit of unjust irritation was excusable. He was about to open his mouth and call out to the man when the man suddenly turned around and went the other way. Two, three, four large steps, and then stopped. Turned around and walked up towards the doors of the prayhouse again. This time, he reached for the handles. Stopped. And turned around again. This was what he'd been doing before too, when Buck couldn't see him clearly. Pacing nervously.

Now Buck wanted to laugh. He didn't know if it was because post-shock hysterics were setting in, or because he found this image of the jittery mystery man hilarious, but he felt like he was going to start guffawing any second now. Then the man did something even stranger. He pulled off his hood, and ran his hand a couple of times through his locks. The movement was brisk, but vigorous, and not entirely a nervous gesture. Something gave Buck the impression that the man was now feverishly wishing he had a mirror.

He still couldn't see him very well, but the sight of that rich head of dark hair seemed familiar. He was still certain the man wasn't from Runrick, but he had met him somewhere before. The military? Was he here for him? He would've started worrying if not for the fact that he couldn't quite convince himself that that's where he knew him from.

The man arranged and rearranged his locks, then pulled up his hood, pulled it off again, picked at his tresses again, and pulled up the hood, this time for good, apparently. He then started to brush and smooth his clothes with his hands. As he bent down, he seemed to just notice how muddied his boots and lower side of his pants were, and cursed. He couldn't hear him that well either, but “Shit, should've at least changed these fucking pants!” sounded like a plausible conjecture. He saw him raise his shoulders and then lower them with an audible exhale. He was bracing himself for something.

Who was inside the prayhouse that made him so anxious? The man looked at the house resolutely, and almost rushed at it. With one motion he pulled open both large wooden doors, and stepped inside – a little too dramatically, if Buck were to be honest.

He had been so absorbed in his observations of the newcomer that it took him disappearing from view to snap Buck out of it and into action. Guess he was still a little woozy from that scare earlier. Either that or the lavender was finally kicking in. He looked at the slightly ajar double doors the man just walked through. He couldn't enter that way now, so he ran back around the corner and prayed Suisel had left the backdoor unlocked. He wanted to see what this was all about first before he let anyone know he was there.

The backdoor led to a small antechamber located at the far side of the left wall, right next to the main shrine. He could see the entire room and entrance from there, while still remainingrelatively hidden from the congregation. He didn't need to bother with being discreet though, since everyone's back was turned to him. They were all now facing the newcomer that had interrupted their exclusive gathering. Something had just been said before he came in. Buck only caught the fading echoes of someone's voice resounding in the room. He was pretty sure it belonged to the stranger. What had he said?

The room wasn't as full as he had expected, but it was still quite the turn out. Seemed like not everyone was willing to brave the darkness after all. Their small prayhouse wouldn't have been able to fit in even a fifth of their town anyway; but Buck knew that should disaster strike them, and this building was the only safe place left, it would the people present here now that would be given sanctuary before anyone else. Especially those seated on the newly added benches in front, right next to the shrine. These people were Runrick's gentry. Chief Slatrim, the priest and his wife, Olvic with auntie Eshe, Ogette and Olle, ol' man Ceric, Gulver and his whole family, Piencer and his whole family, Furcut , Utmar – anyone who was either of higher rank or a rich merchant, or a boot-licker to one of them. The rest had to stand.

Chief Slatrim was the first to speak. “Who are you?” He slowly got up from his seat, a chair placed right in the middle of the dais, right before Baar's shrine, so he could overlook the gathering. Next to him, Priest Santr chimed in. “How dare you say that name in Baar's house,” he croaked, but remained cautiously seated.

Buck heard the stranger huff in amusement. “Funny, you didn't seem to have a problem with saying that name over and over again last time I was here.”

Last time. So, Buck had been right, he had met him before. He must have visited Runrick in the past, before Buck left for the military. That voice didn't sound at all familiar, though. If he could only see the man’s face, but it was still mostly obscured by the shadows of his cowl. He was also too far away from where Buck was hidden.

He was just standing there, a dark frame hovering in front of the entrance, and seemingly uninclined to come any closer than that. There was something ominous about his presence in here, a stark contrast to the almost comical little routine Buck had witnessed out-front. The others grew more agitated too. He saw Suisel sneak up to the priest and whisper something to him. The priest then nodded, and Suisel disappeared behind the shrine. He came back out holding a shot gun and went to stand behind Santr and his wife. Chief Slatrim had his helpers with him too. Shumper and Slaop left the wall they had been leaning against to take up their positions as the magistrate's sentinels. They were large, bulky men, practically raised by Slatrim to be his personal labor dogs. “Don't make me ask again,” roared the magistrate. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“You should know, you sent for me.”

There was moment of silence as everyone looked at the magistrate, but Chief Slatrim just stared back in confusion and replied in a low, angry voice “I didn' send for no one.”

“Is that so,” the man replied with fake surprise. “Oh dear, then that letter must have been about a different town named Runrickthat is being plagued by a strange, dark-furred beast. Guess you folks don't need any help, then. My mistake. I'll take my leave.”

The entire room reacted at that. Chief Slatrim squelched the racket. “We do have...a problem,” the magistrate continued hesitantly,” but I don't remember sendin' anybody any letter.” He turned to look at Priest Santr questioningly. The priest shook his head, a little too urgently, “It wasn't me. I promised, didn't I.”

“It was me.”

Every head turned to look at Olvic. The merchant stood up, his face set in grim determination, but there was a little bit of guilt marring it. “I had to. There was no reasonin’ with ya no more.”

The room was quiet again, save for the sound of someone taking in a deep breath, and then releasing it slowly and unsteadily. The magistrate was furious, and fighting back his natural urge to start yelling. Slatrim was facing away from Buck, but he could already imagine the man's jaw quivering, teeth clenched and face flushed; those beady eyes peering sharply at Olvic. Slatrimhad always had a bad temper, but it had gotten so much worse with age. He didn't take too well to being disobeyed, but Olvicwasn't someone he could push around easily. The head-merchant stood his ground. “We’re bein’ killed here, Slatrim. How many more 'til ya see we can't take care of this on our own?”

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“If ya don't like how I run things, leave! Take ya own damn family and go!”

“I tried!” Olvic looked away in shame. “But Pelase won't take us. Said they don't want any of us comin' there. They're afraid we will bring misfortune, as well as that thing, with us.”

The room started buzzing with hushed discussions, people clearly concerned about what the merchant had just told them. It would seem quite a few of them had considered leaving the town themselves, and the news that it was no longer an option alarmed them.

“It gets worse,” Olvic continued,” they're thinking of blocking the road, so that none of us can leave. To keep the curse contained, they said.”

The buzz grew into an agitated commotion, people now outright frightened and despairing. It was one thing to not be welcomed anywhere else, quite another to be practically trapped in with the beast. Runrick only had one road that connected them to the outside world, and that led to Pelase. If they lost that, the only other way to leave would be through the forest, on foot, and that was practically suicide now.

Some yelled their outrage, others cried and moaned, but among the uproar Buck picked up one particular sound that took him completely aback. It wasn't loud, shouldn’t have been distinguishable in all that noise, but it was the dissonance that made it stand out so garishly. Everyone else started hearing it too, and slowly quieted down to look at the newcomer incredulously. The man was chuckling. When he noticed everyone staring at him, instead of stopping, he doubled down and started laughing. Soon, all that could be heard was the stranger's chilling laughter reverberate in the room. The magistrate's ire cut in. “This funny t'ya, boy?”

The man finally quelled his fit, but he kept his smile on. No, not a smile; that was a smirk. Even with him so far away, even without seeing that specific malicious glint in the eyes, Buck knew that there was disdain behind that upturn of the man's lips. It was wide enough to show a row of pearly white teeth, and there was something about that display that made Buck's blood run cold. He knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man was trouble.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly. “Very. And I think neither you, or anyone else here, would hold it against me if they knew why?”

“Well, then why don't ya share it with the rest of us,” hissed the magistrate.

“Alright,” chirped the stranger.

He then started moving forward, walking casually towards them. People bustled to get out of his way, all eyes on him. He walked down the center of the nave with long, purposeful strides, right up to the magistrate. The shorter man tensed, Shumper and Sloap also ready to jump in to help their boss. The man didn't stop, didn't even slow down, as he went right passed the magistrate. The old man had wavered and stepped aside when it became clear it wasn't him the stranger had been walking towards. He casually passed between Shumper and Sloap, both towering over the hooded man, completely unfazed by their attempt to intimidate him with their fierce glower. He walked down the aisle and climbed up on the dais, looked at the chair Chief Slatrim had been sitting on, turned around, and plopped down on it. The uproar was back. The priest and his wife, who had been sitting next to the magistrate, now jumped out of their seats too. “This is insolence,” cried the priest, but made sure to get off the dais before he did so. Instead of responding, the mangrabbed the now empty chair the priest had been sitting on and used it as a leg rest. Without so much as uttering a single word, the stranger had managed to insult both the magistrate and the priest more than they had ever been in their life. Not even his old teacher had ever gone so far. Buck wasn't particularly fond of either the magistrate or the priest, both having expressed their displeasure and disappointment in Buck harshly and condemning him to isolation without any remorse, but they were still his elders, and the leaders of his town. They still deserved some respect. Who is this cheeky little shit? He was close to Buck now, but the proximity didn't help any. His profile was covered by his hood, only a straight, sharp nose and a hint of lips peeking from behind it.

Chief Slatrim was still as a statue, only the muscles in his jaw twitching. He might have been a short-tempered, bitter old man, but he was shrewd enough to recognize a power play when he saw one. “Well?” he demanded. The man didn't reply immediately. Instead, he just kept staring at them. A slight rotation of the hood indicated that he was surveying the gathering, as if to take note of who was there. Buck made sure he was well hidden behind the corner of the room.

“Most of you were there that day, so you all should understand why I'm so pleased by all of this.”

The magistrate lost his patience “WELL?” he roared again. “Will ya just fucking explain yourself already?”

“Better than that,” the man chirped, “I'll show you.”

And the man pulled of his hood.

It didn't hit immediately. The anticipated reveal turned out to be underwhelming when the man's face didn't instantly tell Buck anything about his identity. But as he kept looking, it slowly came to him, bit by bit, separate pieces that he realized fit together. The more the puzzle filled out, the more familiar the image became.

The thick, black locks he had recognized outside suddenly appeared in a long-forgotten memory; a pale-faced boy sitting alone underneath a tree. The boy had deep dark eyes that always held a bit of resentment when looking at you, just like the man before him did now. The shape of the nose, the cut of his cheekbones, and everything else about his face matched a little with what he remembered. Some things were definitely differentabout him. He still had that same sickly complexion, but the dark circles under those eyes had disappeared, and his cheeks weren't sunken in anymore. He had filled out, you could tell. He was also radiating confidence now, to an obnoxious degree to be honest, whereas before he had been rather gloomy and skittish.

However, Buck's most glaring memory of him was that of his yellow-tinged pupils looking helplessly back at him, mouth too filled up with sharp teeth to speak properly. That memory was then followed by another one, just as vivid; the boy, bruised and beaten, was furiously yelling at them, the raw hatred in his voice and Ogette's frightened sobs spurring Buck into action. The last thing he did to Luric, before he left town to be raised and trainedby one of the most prominent and powerful families in the country, was hurl a rock at his head.

“Shit.”

It was only when he saw Luric blink in surprise and begin to slowly turn his head in his direction that Buck realized he had said that out loud. And Luric had heard. He immediately pulled his head back behind the corner, twisting so that his entire backside was now plastered against the wall between them. Buck needed the support; his legs were shaking. He was breathing hard, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Had he been fast enough? Had Luric seen him? He tried to listen if footsteps were coming his way, but there was nothing. He didn't dare peek around the corner anymore, so he kept his ears open.

Meanwhile, recollection started to dawn on the rest of the townsfolk as well. Buck could tell by the higher pitch and urgency in their voices, and the tumult kept escalating as doubt and confusion dissipated, and realization struck; the past had come back to bite them in the ass at the worst possible time.

“It can't be him.”

“No! No, no!”

“Are ya kiddin' me?!”

“There is no way, it's not him.”

“I told ya all. I told ya he'd come back someday. I said it!”

They were getting hysterical, just moments away from running out the door. Luric was here for vengeance, they were certain of that. So was Buck. He felt like at any moment he'd change into that horrible creature and maul everyone in the room. Buck's fears would come true in the most unexpected way. Same scenario, different monster.

“QUIET,” Chief Slatrim's voice thundered, and everyone got shocked into silence. Buck leaned his head forward only slightly, just enough for the chief to appear into his line of sight, but not enough to be visible from Luric's position. At least, that’s what he hoped. The magistrate had a steely glare fixed forward, almost as if he was trying to stare Luric down. Buck heard the preacher shriek at the merchant. “Who in Baar's beard did you write to?”

“To...the Institute of Occult Science or somethin'.”

“You what?”

“I have friends in Pelase. Or I used to. Before things got too bad, I sat down with Kishker. He has a cousin' down in Ratimu, and he said that they had their own troubles with a damned creature too. They sent for someone from the Institute. They came and got rid of it. That's what they do, they send people to kill these things.”

“Ya sure 'bout that?”, the magistrate rumbled. “As I recall, they said somethin' 'bout rounding 'em up to use the damned things.”

Shut up, you stupid, pig-headed old man, Buck thought anxiously. The magistrate was set to prove that Luric didn't scare him, but the barb could cost everyone their lives. The preacher and Olvic thought so too, and hurried to move past that loaded little moment. “D-Does it matter,” stuttered the merchant,

“if they took it with'em instead? Ratimu got rid of it all the same.”

“Does this look like we're in good hands to you?”

“Well, I didn't know they'd send him, now did I?”

Great! The last thing they needed now was for the priest and the merchant to go off at each other like they always did at the alehouse. But Luric's voice cut all of that short.

“I could leave if you want.”

What?

“What?”

“You're not obligated to accept our help. You are the town officials, after all. Just say the word, and I'm gone.”

This time Buck did look all the way around at Luric. This was a taunt, it had to be. The chief thought so too. “Really, now? Ya' not here t' finish what ya started? Or watch us get eaten by one o' yours? How are we t’know this isn’t all yer doin’.”

If you suspect that, don’t say it to his fucking face! Buck wanted to punch the magistrate right in his stupid, wrinkled mug. This stubborn old man will be the end of them.

“I mean it,” Luric continued as if the magistrate’s accusation wasn’t worth wasting a single thought on. “I'll go, if that's what you want.” Another commotion, another wave of doubt and hope. Buck saw Slatrim narrow his eyes in suspicion, butopened his mouth to speak. Luric cut in before he had a chance to say anything.

“However,” he started loudly, “don't expect anyone else to come in my place. The only reason they even sent someone all the way in the middle of no-one-gives-a-fuck was because of me. Because I volunteered. No one else was interested in coming to this pigpen of a town. Your case wasn't exactly high on our list of priorities.” He leaned forward and leered at them, smirk wide again. “Now, I'm telling you to consider this carefully: You have a monster creeping around and picking you off one by one. You can't get get rid of it on your own, and you can't escape it either, now that Pelase cut you off. Winter is fast approaching too, and once you're snowed in, it's over. I assume you're not doing too well with provisions either, what with that thing killing your animals, and trade with the outside stopping completely.” He leaned back in his chair. “So, I'm asking you just once. Do you really want me to go?”

Buck was stumped. Everything Luric had just said was right. They were trapped, in more ways than one. And with a great number of Runrick's young men either dead or wounded thanks to Buck, their greatly diminished man power left them weakened not only in the face of this threat, but in the face of the merciless winter as well. What choice did they have?

Buck had come here with the intention of offering his sacrifice in exchange for their safety and forgiveness, but he doubted he'd receive more trust and jubilation than Luric. But...were Luric'smotives as honest as he proclaimed? Was it wise to accept the help of someone who had once wished death upon them? He thought again of the young boy screaming at them, eyes mad and fangs bared.

“Do you speak the truth? Are you really here to save us?”

Luric looked at the priest. “I'm here to kill the monster. That’s all.”

“What can you do alone, that a dozen of our strong, young men couldn't,” yelled a brave voice from a safe distance.

Luric started laughing. “Well, I could give you all a demonstration of what it is exactly that makes me special and best suited for this job, but…I think you all already know.”

Everyone fell silent at that. Priest Santr kept glancing over at Slatrim, as if expecting him to say something. The old man was oddly silent, eyes still locked on Luric. Luric then sighed andreached inside his coat. He brought out a small hand book and tossed it at the priest's feet.

Santr hesitated but bent over to pick it up. Buck noted how he tried to touch it with only the tips of his fingers. He opened it, and his eyes grew large. He leafed through it, disgust more evident with every turn of the page. “What are these vile drawings supposed to be?”

“Those are renditions of the monsters I personally fought and killed,” Luric explained casually. “Consider that my letter of recommendation.”

Slatrim turned to look at the book then, and several other people behind them slithered closer to peek at it. Various exclamations of amazement and horror could be heard. Buck really wished he could get a look at it himself. “These things,” the priest started, “do they really roam our earth so freely?”

“Those don't anymore, but many more like them, or worse, do.”

“Great Mother of Baar!”

People whispered some more. There was a shift in the tone, Buck noted. Less trepidation, more debate. People were starting to consider.

“You'll note that most of those pages are empty. It gets filled with every monster I bring down. It depends on you whether or not the next page will have a drawing of your creature or not.”

The debate grew more heated.

Buck dared another look at Luric. There was a pensive expression on his face as he watched the townsfolk talk amongstthemselves. No, not pensive; it was cold and calculating.

“Do you finally understand what it was that the Duchess meant then? Why she traveled the country to find people like me?” All attention was on him again. “What you didn't understand back then is that there is a difference between a real monster and a man that change into one at will. Unlike you, she still regarded me as human...just with extra abilities that could be harnessed for the benefit of fine people such as yourself. You all know the saying 'fight fire with fire', don't you? Well, that's what this is. What you saw as a curse, she saw as an enhancement. A fire in us that could be used against creatures like the one you have now.” A pause as Luric leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. He peered into the crowd, an almost gentle smile om his lips. “I wonder, if you hadn't made me leave,” another pause,” if I had still been around when the creature first appeared, maybe, just maybe, I could've stopped it. Maybe nobody had to die.”

The crowd erupted. Luric's words had struck their target dead-center. It was especially effective because the gathering was full of people who had lost someone to the monster, and their painfueled the contention that was blooming in their mind. For the first time since Buck could remember, people were questioning the magistrate’s choices.

“YOU DID THIS!” Slatrim's ear-piercing roar echoed for what seemed like an eternity, promptly silencing the talk and the direction it was heading in. This had always been his method of garnering attention and securing orderliness; coerce everyone into submission with the force of his vehemency. The man was so convinced of his and everyone else's place in this community, and he bludgeoned that conviction into everyone else's head too. People questioning his decision was unfathomable, which is probably why Buck thought there was a hint of alarm in his eyes. “Ya brought this upon us! Back then, when ya cursed us. This is ya doin'! Ya just here t'see it through!”

“Didn't you listen back then, old man!? That's not how it works. I can't-”

“ I don't give am damn what that lyin' bitch told ya!”

Oh, no. Oh shit!

The magistrate was trying to bring back everyone on his side and did so with all the subtlety and finesse of a sledgehammer. Slatrim saw that he was losing ground, and the man was nothing if not territorial.

Buck held his breath and waited for hell to break loose at Luric’shands.

“I see,” Luric said with eerie calmness. “Well, guess that settles it then. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Wait!” That was Olvic. “Don't go. It is as you said. Ya leave, it's over for us.”

“Olvic!” yelled the magistrate.

“No, Slatrim. This time YOU listen! I will not let my family die because of yer pride and stubbornness.” He then turned to the rest. “What choice do we have? We can't save ourselves, that has been made clear. Don't y'all want this to be over? To stop fearing for ya life and that of ya loved ones?” Another buzz, and then-

“Baar's beard, I do.”

“Olvic's right, this has got to stop!”

“I want it gone!”

“Kill that wretched thing! Kill it!”

“We want vengeance for our son!”

“I want t'see its fuckin' head on a spike!”

And just like that, the current turned around completely in Luric’s favor. Where before there had been only apprehension and distrust, now there was anger-fueled exaltation, and it was only growing in intensity with each interjection. Buck understood it where it was coming from. They had all been living in a permanent state of fear and despair, and this was the first whiff of true hope they had gotten in weeks. It was what had helped Buck gain support for his attempt too. They needed release for all that built-up tension, and Luric had come in and opened the flood gates. Buck could practically taste their gratitude.

There was enough common sense left in Slatrim to understand that even his iron grip couldn't hold this back, so he endured it, mutely and stone-faced. The priest, on the other hand, tried to shrink and disappear.

Buck looked back at Luric again. His gaze was directed downwards, eyes hidden behind his bangs. He was smiling again. Luric had smiled a lot since he came here. And not once had it looked kind or genuine to Buck. All of his smiles had been disquieting, but this one in particular worried him. Just as he was trying to figure out what it could mean, Olvic's shout drew his attention.

“Apologize, Slatrim! Tell 'im to stay and help us!”

Oh,dear!

Obviously encouraged by the support, Olvic rounded on Slatrim. There was another power play becoming evident now, Buck realized.

Then Luric's voice cut in again. “I think we're well pastapologies, wouldn't you say?”

The room calmed. Luric suddenly got up, all hints of a smilegone. He stood tall and imposing, the platform he was on only adding to this air of dominance. He raised his chin slightly, and though his eyes were looking down on Slatrim and Santr, Buck knew he was addressing everyone there. “I want you to beg for my help.”

The chill in his voice sent a shiver down Buck's spine.

“B-Beg, my lord?”

“'My lord'? Wow,” Luric chuckled. “Quite a step up from 'bastard of Shulffa'. And let's not forget 'spawn of a whore', 'wretch', 'mongrel', 'sheep shit'. Some of those I think were even before we found out about my condition. Those really hurt, I tell you. But you know what hurt even more? Getting kicked and punched in the head and stomach repeatedly. Any of you remember that?”

The room was deathly still. Buck was afraid to even breath.

“I remember everything clearly. I begged. I begged you to stop, I begged you for help, I begged you for forgiveness, even though I had done nothing that warranted your forgiveness. None of you cared. You kept hitting and spitting on me. Do you remember? It happened right here.”

People were whispering again. The apprehension was back.

“So yeah, I really am fucking pleased about this. I think you're getting just what you deserved. For what you did to me and to Mr. Carshtin. And for your sake-” he eyed Slatrim and Santr, who were frozen in place “- I'd try not to spout that bullshit again about me being the one that attacked and killed him. Not in my presence. I was there, I saw who did it. I don’t know if you’ll ever admit to giving the order, but there’s never been any doubt in my mind that you were behind it.” Slatrim had the good sense to keep his mouth shut this time.

“So, you really are here for vengeance, then.”

As soon as the questions left his mouth, Buck started prayingthat he had yelled it loud enough for it to bounce of the walls and make it harder to discern where the voice had come from. Luric seemed caught enough in his own descant to not care about who had just spoken. He just raised his glare towards the cluster of confused faces.

“Don't worry,” Luric answered to no one in particular, “ I will only do what I was sent here to do. I will not raise my hand to hurt any of you. You're not worth the effort. Not to mention that I don't want to touch any of you. I will kill the monster and do nothing else. But as I said, only if you beg.”

There was no mistaking the malice in his voice. Buck had been right to suspect that he was here for far more than what he claimed. This was all about getting back at them. But that knowledge didn't change their circumstances in the end. Luricreally was their best bet at getting rid of it, assuming of course his oath of not raising his hand against them was true. If not,Runrick's bloody plight had just gotten bloodier.

The townsfolk were restless, some already pushing for Slatrimto start begging, others still reluctant. There was no clear cohesion among the masses anymore.

Even with Luric's contempt laid so plainly before them, somewere still willing to take their chances with him. Luric had dangled hope in front of their faces, and they had all taken the bait. Now they were hooked on his promise of salvation.

“I'm not beggin' for nothin'! Y'all wanna sell ya' soul to Shulffa'sbastard, go ahead!” Slatrim’s stance was firm, but Buck couldn't help but notice that the fire had gone out of his voice somewhat.

“Pigheaded fool! Do our lives mean nothing t’ya?” Olivicpushed himself forward through the crowd and threw himself at Luric’s feet. “Please! I beg ya, my lord, help us! Take yer anger out on me if you wish, but help us!” It was quite the show, and the audience was clearly moved. After all, nothing garnered admiration and devotion more than the willingness to sacrifice yourself for others. Luric’s cocked one eyebrow at Olvic’sgesture, one corner of his lips slightly upturned. He seemed a little impressed, but a whole lot more amused. He saw right through it. Buck was just close enough to see him mutter something under his breath. He was pretty sure it was something along the lines of, “Sly bastard.” For whatever reason, he went along with Olivic's game.

“I suppose that will have to do for now,” he said, while staring at Olvic’s bowed head. “Tomorrow, I will set out to find the thing.” He was speaking to Slatrim again. “I want you to prepare all documentation regarding the monster, so I can have a better understanding of what I am dealing with here. Expect me and my colleague around noon.” With that, he stepped down from the podium and strode towards the exit. This time even Shumperand Slaop jumped out of the way. As he passed Slatrim, Luricpaused, as if he just remembered something else he wanted to say to the magistrate. “Oh, and by the way” he leaned in, voice low yet still audible in the silent room. “I know I said I wouldn’t hurt anyone, but if you ever say anything disrespectful aboutLady Archvel again, I will kill you.” And without waiting for a reply, he continued towards the door. Before he walked out, he looked over at Utmar. “I’m staying at your inn, just so you know.” A screech, a loud clang, and he was gone.

Everyone stood in shocked silence.

They all had trouble wrapping their head around what had just happened. Buck too was absolutely stunned. Talk about anunexpected turn of events. So much for his attempt atredemption; how could he even compete with Luric waltzing in and stealing the show like that? If Luric really was as strong and capable as he claimed, then there was absolutely nothing left for Buck to do.

But….

Again, the image of that furious little boy flashed before his eyes, and the feeling in his gut tightened. Was it wise to leavetheir lives in the hands of someone who despised them so profoundly? Luric still held a burning grudge towards them, that much was clear. As long as he delivered on his promise and nothing else, then it didn’t matter, but it was hard to imagine that he’d be satisfied with simply verbally browbeating his past abusers while he was here.

Something about this just isn’t right.

When he heard the others move, Buck quietly slipped away through the back door. He needed to get home before his parents noticed his absence.

No, it was better to tell them where he’d been, and who he had seen. This way it will be easier to convince them to stay inside the house the next few days. He turned to look towards the square, in the direction he assumed Luric would be walking to get to Utmar’s inn. He swore he could still make out the blackness of his cape in the dark, right before he merged with it.