I stood there, shrouded by the mist of the storm. Above me, the sky cried and bellowed out the winds of despair, encapsulating the sense of the lightless night before me. With every breath that I took, my own moisture escaped my mouth and added to the unseeable air in front of my eyes, clouding my sight. But I didn’t need to see…at least that’s what I told myself.
After a few moments, I gathered my cold, steel-plated hatred and stared down the barren alleyway next to me. Based on how the fanged man’s feet moved, I figured that he had to have run down there—it was the only way he could’ve evaded me in such a short time. And so, I took my first frigid step in that direction.
With every simple step, the sound of disturbed water echoed down the hollow halls between the buildings, adding a gray sound to the already depressed stone walls. Rhythmically, I paced my approach and flexed my senses in order to observe every single detail around me. I focused every ounce of my being into tracking my prey. My eyes were heightened like a hawk, keeping point every speck of recently moved dust that betrayed his stealth. My tongue was forked like a snake in order to taste the fear that crept around every corner. My breathing was as silent as the night that surrounded me, blending in with and becoming one with it. Finally, my heart went still—it was beating for no one, not even myself.
Through the several twisting turns of the trash-filled narrows, I saw a couple of stray cats look at me with a manufactured expression of intimidation, but one that broke down the moment my deadly glance met theirs, causing them to cower behind whatever they could. There were a few small doves that hopped and pecked along the ground, and while they normally would fly away when something approached them, the moment I got near, something kept them frozen to the ground, locking up their wings against their bodies. Effortlessly, I lurked past them, furiously rubbing the valrose in my front jacket pocket.
Eventually, I found that my natural instincts had led me to a particular building. It was humble, shoddy, and crooked in nature. Its wooden exterior was damp with rain and stained with the weather of years gone by. The sign above the door was detached from one chain, dangling by another at an angle. There was no light that escaped the front two windows, almost leading me to believe that the place was long abandoned. However, something about it called out to me, forcing me to constantly pay attention to it. My vision tinted ever so red, and the droplets of blue heaven turned into beads of bloody hell as they passed before my eyes. My hair was stuck against my cheeks, stained with the color of the rain. I know that if I saw my own face, I would surely mistake it for the very things that I hunt.
I sauntered up to the front door, dragging my sword behind me, causing it to spark with the same eccentric energy that the sky was warring with. It scraped against the man-made pavement, barely sliding by the watery grease that covered the surface, occasionally dipping into the shallow pools that gathered within the imperfect divots. The wind continued to blow against me, getting stronger with every footstep I took towards that door, as if the world itself was trying to force me back from my own destiny—it wanted me away from something that I had sought after for so many years. No amount of outside resistance could stop me. It could only, barely, slow me down.
I opened the door. The hinges ached with a low-pitch moan when I forced them to swing to the side. The inside was darkened, but not devoid of life. Just as I completely consumed the doorframe, lighting flashed behind me, illuminating the immediate space in front me. I saw a few scattered tables and chairs, not thrown about, but rather moved towards the walls in order to make a central path to walk on. They seemed like they were rarely in use, but not useless.
Another flash, this one stronger than the last, lit up the very back of the room. Standing, leaning against the back wall, was a man. With the light fading, his glistening, brown skin began to blend in with the darkness that surrounded him. In those brief moments of clarity, I saw that his arms were folded, with one hand holding a book of sorts in it. Most of his facial features, however, were buried beneath the wide-brimmed, curled hat that he wore, which was conveniently facing downwards as he continued to read whatever was on the pages of his leather-bound book.
He didn't seem to react nor move with my entrance. Instead, he seemed to puff some sort of smoke out of his mouth and paid no attention to me. With a long, drawn out, and animalistic sigh, I began to approach him. Every hardened movement that I made shook off more of the rain, causing it to snake behind me, marking the path that I just took. With the limited light, one could even mistake those trails for blood, especially if they knew that they were connected to me.
“Where is he?” I forcefully asked, my voice rougher than the sharpest grains of sand.
I walked up to him, towering a whole head and shoulder over him. My posture was hunched, wicked, and twisted, much like my mental state. My breathing got more intense the longer I lingered in silence without a reply.
Blowing out a short puff of smoke from his mouth—although I still didn’t see him smoking anything—not looking at me, he replied, “I’m gonna need ya to be a bit more specific.”
There was an unwavering, calming confidence to his voice. It was hard to tell if his relaxed nature was from his stoicism, his lack of awareness of who was conversing with, his disinterest, his experience with people like me, or some combination of all the above. No matter what the answer was, I didn’t care.
Slamming my free hand on the wall next to his head, I opened my unhinged mouth, and said, “The fanged man—the monster you harbor here.”
My mouth began to slightly drool.
Lightning flashed, thunder clapped, and the air began to vibrate. And then he looked back up at me. His eyes pierced into me, far beyond the surface and into the essence of who I was, matching and even exceeding my body’s beasital insanity—although his was a silent madness that said more than words ever could.
“I harbor no monsters here, just people,” he solemnly stated.
It was at that moment that he seemed miles taller than me. His shadow nearly snuffed out the pitiful embers that dared burn within my heart. My body shrunk further down, causing my back and spine to arch closer to the ground.
“Lies! I can smell him!” I desperately countered. “I can sense him. Now tell me what I need to know.”
While his focus never shifted off of me, his eyes did glance downwards towards my jacket pocket. It was a brief moment, one that I barely caught in my crazed state, but it happened nonetheless.
“What kinda hatred burdens you so much that you would wear such a thing?” he asked, his body language slightly more inquisitive, and strangely, empathetic.
“A kind of hatred that you couldn’t even imagine!” I spat. “I’ve suffered for so many years. You wouldn’t understand.”
Instantly, he responded, “You’re right, I wouldn’t.”
It was less than a second, but I felt a small part of me freeze in place. I wasn’t sure why or what it even meant.
“Because,” he continued, “I don’t even know who you are. So why don’t we start there?”
In a fit of blind fury, I raised my sword up to him. My muscles were more tense than any iron cable. I felt steam radiate from my chest, nearly burning a hole right through my heart.
“How can you not tell?!” I screamed. “Do you not see this sword? Do you not see the scars of my past? Do you not see my pain?” My breath grew faster and faster. “Do you not see the crimson rivers that always follow me? I’m a Slayer. That is who I am. So why don’t you just—”
I didn’t ask what you did,” he softly, yet forcefully interrupted, causing me to, for some reason, obey the silence. “I asked who you are. I don’t even know your name.”
Stunned. Every part of me was stunned in place. There was a shock that locked up my mind, my body, and even my emotions. It wasn’t a cold stun, nor was it a warm one—it was something more profound than temperature could ever describe.
“I…” was all I could respond with.
As if he already knew my answer, he followed up, saying, “Why don’t I start? I am Bram, the owner of this home. What is your name?”
A calming light began to filter into the room, peeking in from the windows that encompassed it. It wasn’t enough to see clearly, but it was a start. In fact, in that moment, I heard nothing of the storm that was raging mere seconds ago. The only thing I heard was the warm, gentle sound of the wind, pushing the drizzling rain across the glass.
“Sebastian,” I answered.
My back straightened and I took a step back.
“Now that’s better,” Bram said, taking his hat off and hanging on the hook to his left.
His black, tumbling hair was freed from its containment, now flowing down a little past his shoulders. The color was accentuated by the acute darkness, slightly highlighted by the minuscule light. They curled at the ends and had a sliver of gray peppered in them. There was age there, but a kind of age that was like a fine wine.
I took a few seconds to try and gather the emotions that began to faintly bounce around my mind. There was still a fiery rage that burned within me, but I felt like I had to fight to maintain it at its current size—and that’s precisely what I did.
I gritted my teeth, cracked my neck, and inflated my chest. I took staggered, heavy breaths in order to stoke the flames in my heart…in order to keep that part of me alive, no matter how much it started to die.
“Why does it matter who I am?” I asked, seething with semi-manufactured rage. “It never has and it never will.”
“Not yet,” Bram responded, “but it will.”
He then broke eye contact with me, shifting his gaze towards the whip directly to his right. It was coiled up on a hook similar to the one he placed his hat on. The majority of it didn’t seem any different than any other whipping weapons that I’ve seen in the past. However, when looking at the end of it, there was a metal point affixed to it, giving off a slight red-gray glow. To the ordinary eye, it would look no different than misforged steel, but to me, I knew exactly what it was made of.
“I just don't want you to lose yourself down that path”, he continued, still looking at his whip.
“I chose my path a long time ago,” I retorted. “I’ve already made my choice.”
Bram then turned his attention back towards me, his eyes rigidly soft, like they were looking at a memory.
“It’s never too late to make a choice.” He then sighed. “But that’s not for me to decide.”
“Exactly. Now tell me where he is,” I pressed, although a bit apprehensively.
“Who, exactly?” He inquired, not breaking eye contact.
“The fanged…” I hesitated. I squinted my eyes, trying to look deep into the weathered, hardened, and somewhat familiar eyes of Bram. At that moment, they almost looked like an aged and refined reflection of my own. “Hunter,” I continued. “Where’s Hunter?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Wordlessly, he pointed his thumb directly above us. Continuing the sound of silence, I nodded, and began to walk away. Just as my back turned away from him, a slight, chilling breeze made its way down my spine, causing me to freeze for half of a second. Something in the pit of my stomach unsettled me. Something within that cold void in my heart became slightly restless. Perhaps it was the nerves of being so close to what I’ve been searching for. Perhaps it was the feeling of joyful anticipation. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else entirely. No matter the answer, I didn’t have time to ponder it any further, because before I realized it, I was already at the top of the tilted, spiraling stairs. Directly ahead of me was a door that had a slight amount of light bleeding through the bottom.
I took a few lurching steps forward and just stood there, my breath colliding with the door. I just listened to the muffled conversation coming from the other side.
“I’m sorry,” a voice said, “I’m sorry.”
A few seconds of silence passed, followed by a muffled sniff and some other pitiful sounds.
“I’m sorry, mother, I let you down,” the voice continued to cry. “I gave in and went out during the day. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.”
I knew for certain who that voice belonged to. This was it. He was right behind that door. There was nowhere left for him to run. A frigid excitement shook me to my core, rendering my feet stuck to the ground. I couldn’t believe it, but I knew that it was all going to come to an end.
“I’m so tired of running, mom,” the voice broke. “I messed up and now we have to go again.”
I lifted my foot in the air and pulled it back.
“C’mon, we gotta go!” the voice begged.
I flexed my legs muscles.
“We’re no longer—”
I kicked down the door, splintering it off on its hinges. The wood cracked and shattered into a dozen pieces. There was nothing that separated me from whatever was inside of that room—there was just a square hole of nothingness. However, what I saw on the other side was something that I wasn’t ready for.
As I glanced in, I was met with an image frozen in time—it was something that, even to this day, never leaves my mind. There was nothing in that room except a single bed, which had a single, ethereal maiden resting on it. She was softly laying down, surrounded by the muted, white light that cascaded in from the moonlit window, matching the radiant color of her hair. Glittering specks of dust danced around her gentle body, blowing with an invisible breeze, and those particles flowed down from her snowy eyes to her comforting, mellow hands, which were resting on top of another figure. That figure was a familiar one, whose shaggy hair was buried in the lap of the woman. His knees were buckled on the floor, like he was praying to the goddess before him, bathing partially in her light.
When time resumed, the splinters of the broken door collided with the floor, causing the man’s face to snap up in my direction. Plastered across his face was a look of pure dread. His eyes were flowing with water and sunken into his skull. His hands were shaking with what I could only presume to be the fear of the end. But what surprised me was how he immediately shot to his feet, unwavering.
He turned his back to the woman, placing his hand in front of her in a protective manner. His breathing was irregular and occasionally interrupted by snot and mucus that found its way inside of his throat. His yellow eyes were locked on me, stuttering with his clanking teeth.
I pointed my sword at the fanged man.
“This is it,” I proclaimed. “It all comes to an end now.”
He licked his quivering lips and replied, “I guess you’re right.”
His hand that was in front of the woman began to tense, its veins swelling and its fingers spreading out like a spider. Slowly, subtly, I saw sharpened nails begin to emerge from the tips of those fingers.
“Honey,” the woman calmly spoke, placing her otherworldly hand on his. Within a fraction of a moment, his body relaxed. She then looked up at me with immaculately white eyes and asked, “Are you alright?”
Taking a step forward, I replied, “No…but that doesn't matter anymore.”
“It always does.”
I took another step. “You’re wrong,” I stated. “I just want it to go away; all of it.”
“Your pain? Your hatred?”
I remained silent and simply closed the distance even more.
“Poor child,” she said, her voice whispering around my head, “you must’ve been suffering for so long.”
“Of course I have!” I snapped. “Why does everyone ask this? Why do you care now? I’ve already lost everything. You,” I turned my attention directly to Hunter, “took it from me.”
“I told you,” he countered with a firm whimper, “I ain’t done shit.”
“Shut up!” I shouted. “Shut up! Shut up! I don’t care!” I pulled my blade back, preparing to thrust it forward. “Someone has to pay!”
I then charged at him, fully prepared to take his life. I grabbed him by the neck and lifted him up as he struggled to break free. Just before I began to plunge the blade into his chest, the image in front of me changed. Instead of a monster, I saw myself as a child in my hands. Immediately to my left, for the first time in years, I saw my mother—she was laying on that ethereal bed.
I stopped my attack and dropped him, screaming out in exhausted anguish. I turned towards the walls of the room, slashing at them, carving deep scars into them.
“Fuck it,” I repated. “Fuck it! FUCK IT!”
I turned around and looked at the gasping man and the calm woman.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you!” I bargained—both with him and with myself. “Tell me!”
“Because it’s not me you’re looking for,” he barely answered.
“Then who?!
The sound of a vibrating silence returned to the room. And it lingered for the longest time. Then, like a haunting serenade, the woman spoke up, releasing any tension within the air.
“Your father might know who hurt him,” she proposed to Hunter.
Hunter just looked back at her with a ghastly expression. “You don’t mean that,” he responded.
“Your father?” I followed up, catching my breath.
His head then turned back towards me. “Yeah,” he answered, “my father. But I haven’t seen him in years.”
I straightened my back and lifted my chin a bit.
“You told me earlier that there were more of you,” I started to ask. “Were you telling the truth?”
“Yeah,” he replied, “and I haven’t lied to ya yet.”
I took a second to gather my thoughts. The raging fire within my soul continued to burn and fight against the rationality of my mind. That swirling mess of chaos continued to clash inside of me, fighting for dominance. There were temptations. There were reasons. There were memories. And most of all, there were choices.
Cracking a tooth and taking the longest sigh I ever had, I looked at Hunter and demanded, “Take me to him.”
“What?” he responded.
“You heard me. Take me to your father,” I repeated. “If he can really tell me who killed my family, then I won’t have to kill you. I just want this to end.”
Hunter then quickly glanced at the woman, who responded to his look with a nod. He then stared back at me and bit his lip.
“Fine,” he agreed. “I’ll take you to the den, but it’s a little ways away.”
“Where?”
He took a slightly hesitant, deep breath. “In the Carcernin Mountains,” he answered. “It’s about a night’s ride away.”
“That’ll do,” I coldly stated. “Go get whatever you need and come back here. We leave immediately.”
He squinted his eyes for a second before replying, “Now? Are you serious? ”
“Yes.”
“But why? I don’t—”
“No more talking,” I cut him off. “Just hurry up before I change my mind.”
He looked at me for a few more moments before taking slow, cautionary steps towards me. His eyes continued to be locked on me until his body passed right by mine, stepping outside of the room. And with that, I was alone with the woman.
I walked over to her and sat down on the edge of her bed, my feet planted on the ground. I buried my head in my hands, hoping to hold it still, seeing as the world around me started to spin faster and faster. I needed some semblance of control.
The moment I was able to find some sort of balance, without looking at her, I asked the woman, “Who even are you?”
“A mother,” she answered.
“A mother…” I repeated, the words lingering on the edge of my tongue and memory.
A few instances of time went by, although I had no idea how long they lasted. It could’ve been minutes, days, nights, or even months—it all seemed to blend together. There are moments where time itself doesn’t seem to exist, for better or for worse, and it allows one to escape whatever reality they found themselves in. Everything seems to be the same and nothing is what it seems…and yet it all makes sense. For me, those instances always happened at night.
“You know,” the mother spoke up, breaking the illusion of peace in the air, “you’re not so different from my boy.”
“Oh yeah?” I half-heartedly pressed, lifting my head up slightly. I then took a few seconds to slowly stand up, allowing my stiffened bones to moan and work again. I stepped into the doorframe and continued my thought, saying, “That’s because we’re both monsters.”
“No,” she disagreed, “you’re just in pain.”
I didn’t say another word; I simply continued to walk out of the room, never looking back. As I entered into the hallway, I glanced over towards the stairway just in time to see Bram making his way down it, whip in hand.
Am I ever truly in control? I wondered to myself as I walked down to the first floor.
When I arrived back down to the building’s entrance, I saw that one of the chairs was occupied. Sitting on the slightly chipped furniture was Hunter, wearing a small sack on his back and twiddling a piece of wood. After taking a few steps into the dimly lit room, I saw Hunter look up at me and then back down at the ground.
“You ready, uhhhh,” he started to awkwardly ask.
“Sebastian,” I answered him. “And yes, I am.”
As I passed him, placing my hand on the exit door, I continued my thought, saying to myself, “I lie too much.”
Both of us then wandered down the dimly lit streets of the night, walking with a pace between slightly quickened and casual. The entire night seemed to be still and eerie, tense with a palpable aura of mistrust. Every time we passed a shady alleyway or a group of hushed onlookers, my focus would always be on the fanged man next to me. I never allowed him to slack behind me nor cruise in front of me. I only wanted him directly next to me—on my level—that way he could never hold any sort of advantage, especially because it was night.
As we made our way towards the outer perimeter of the town, I noticed that he started to slow down, and eventually stop. I matched him and glanced at where his eyes were pointed. Following his gaze, my sight landed on a familiar bar, one whose windows were still broken. The moment I saw that, I harshly continued to move forward.
“Come on!” I called out to Hunter.
His body twitched for a second, but soon enough, he started to walk again. It took the better part of half an hour, but eventually I found myself next to the worn down stables on the outskirts of the town. Although it was a bit hard to tell, I could see a couple of the various creatures housed within the open pens, which were barely held together by loose nails and weathered wood. Some of those creatures were sholo-birds and some of them were jihls.
Sholo-birds are quadrupedal, feathered creatures that were normally splashed with numerous colors. Their backs are wide but not long. The most you could fit on one would be two people before it would become a struggle. Don’t be mistaken, the struggle would not come from the sholo-bird—they are phenomenally strong and muscular—the problems arise from the humans who take up too much space. The last thing of note about these creatures would be their shovel-like claws. While they may have the word “bird” in their name, everything about their anatomy was made for traversing the ground. Those claws would dig into the earth, making them nigh unmovable from anything less than a tornado.
That being said, the few that I saw had fading, dull colors, with some even missing patches of feathers, mostly around the neck. Their frames were malnourished and their skin constantly was pulled tight against the sagging muscles they shamefully wore. A pitiful display, really.
The jihl, on the other hand, is a creature built for speed and used almost exclusively so. While the sholo-bird can navigate any terrain at a slow pace, the jihl blazes through any flatland or marginally grassy region. Their hunched, four-legged frame is slim and adept, allowing for only a single rider, even on the most massive of them. They have tails that point behind them, acting both as a means of maintaining balance when turning and as a rudder for when they are in water—they are some of the quickest beasts in the water. With all of that being stated, their one major flaw is their thin, blue, lizard-like skin. Anything with a point or that’s slightly sharp could penetrate their exterior, leading to major damage. They, in rough terms, are a glass cannonball—fragile but extraordinarily fast.
While I only saw one jihl within the stables, it was obviously worse for wear. It hobbled on three of its legs, and some of its pointed, elongated face was mangled with cracks. The color of its normally vibrant body was, like the sholo-birds, faded. Still, while sad, the creature probably still functioned for its intended purpose.
“So what are we taking?” Hunter asked.
“Excuse me?” I responded.
“What rider are we takin’? Sholo-bird? Jihl? Or a stupid horse?”
I continued to walk forwards past the stables, eventually responding to him by saying, “We walk.”
He jogged for a second to catch up to me.
“What are you talking about?” he questioned.
“You heard me,” I firmly reiterated, “we’re walking there. And before you ask again, I’m aware of how long it’ll take.”
He didn’t say another word, although I could tell by the way he occasionally opened his mouth for the next few minutes that he wanted to speak up on multiple occasions. But he remained silent, which I preferred.
Eventually, we found ourselves at the border of the wild and the civilized. The only thing that stood between us was a few barren farms that seemed even more empty without the light of day shining down on their poorly grown crops. In fact, the entire open, moonlit grasslands before me looked even more depressing than when I entered. Perhaps that was just a trick of the mind. Perhaps it was how it always was. Or maybe, just maybe, I finally felt the same darkness that every human succumbs to in the night.