The lead cultist's voice cut through the night, his words shifting on a gradient of incomprehensible to harsh, fervent pleas in a tongue that twisted familiar sounds into desperate fanatic zeal, as if the world itself hung on his god's mercy.
"Mighty Volk! I beseech thee!" he bellowed, arms raised to the flickering sky, voice cracking with urgency. "We sacrifice this witch of the false shepherd to you! We bequeath her animus to you in return for your gifts!"
Shadows stretched unnaturally long from the robed figures, writhing like living things under the fire's glow, and with them came that familiar twist, like a subtle decay creeping in. The air thickened with rot, the forest transforming into a watchful graveyard, trees looming like ancient tombstones, their branches clawing at the sky. And in the darkness encircling the clearing, eyes appeared, there were hundreds of them, glowing faintly in the gloom, unblinking stares fixed on the scene, judging, waiting.
A prickling urgency clawed at my insides.
A feeling of reluctance poured into me, urging me to slip away into the shadows and leave this madness behind. A single eye burning with desperate fury bid me to stay, a plea from something beyond recognition. Thoughts of that girl being next, dragged into those flames, her innocence fed to whatever twisted deity these monsters worshipped, pushed me forward against the judgment in my own head.
A war began to build in me. Two opposing forces tearing me in half.
<
"Shut up!" I whispered, clutching my bandaged head.
This was my fight.
As resolve hardened, the glaive in my grip began to hum faintly, almost vibrating with anticipation. Whispers slithered into my thoughts, eager and insidious.
<
I froze for a moment, fear gripping me. I looked at the glaive. It almost felt alive, hungry.
What is this thing?
But then a surge washed over me, not my own: a compulsion to battle, a fierce confidence flooding my veins, urging me onward like an unbreakable command.
I stepped out beside the pine, resting one hand casually against its rough bark as if seeking support, the glaive gripped loosely in hiding against the trunk. With my free hand, I waved tentatively, forcing my voice to quiver like a lost child's.
"Hello? Can anyone help me? I'm... I'm lost..."
I played up the wounded little girl act. I hunched my shoulders, and stood there with wide eyes, and a limp that wasn't entirely feigned. In truth, that's what I was: battered and barely holding together.
The leader's head snapped toward me, his hooded gaze narrowing. He waved a dismissive hand at the two guards, who nodded and lumbered my way, their saw-toothed blades glinting ominously. Survival instincts flooded my mind.
That's a fair assessment. Fighting them on even footing was not an option.
They closed in, broad-shouldered and bearded, their mouths curling into toothy grins that sent bile rising in my throat. The closer one leered, his eyes gleaming with a sick hunger, breath reeking of rot and cheap ale as he chuckled low.
"You chose the wrong place, at the wrong time, little girlie," he snarled, voice dripping with psychotic glee, like he savored the terror he inspired. "End of the line, I'm afraid."
His hand shot out to grab me, fingers like meaty hooks. Panic surged initially, but a savage instinct took over guiding my clumsy thrust. I lunged, to my own surprise, with the glaive. Dragging me forward on tired, untrained arms. The blade sank deep into his stomach with a wet, horrifying squelch, hot blood spraying as he staggered back, yanking me and the weapon along.
He collapsed, and I tumbled free, ripping the glaive out in a spray of crimson that soaked my hands. The compulsion faded instantly as I let go, the battle surge vanishing, leaving me shaky and exposed.
Empathetic panic lanced from my heart, piercing my brain.
Did I really just do that?
I looked at my hands covered in blood. Real blood. A compulsion to clean them built up and I began to shake.
The fear was broken by The Revenant.
Swinging his saw blade in a wild arc, the other guard wasted no time. I dropped to the ground quickly, the whoosh of air ruffling exposed tufts of my hair. I fumbled around for my knife tucked into my belt loop. I gripped it with both hands and closed my eyes.
Thrusting upward blindly, the blade grazed his inner thigh, unzipping flesh in a ragged line that sprayed dark blood. I opened my eyes as he howled, clutching his wound, he fell and began to roll in pain laced with panic.
Heart pounding like a war drum, I scrambled atop his chest, knife poised at his throat. My hands shook, as adrenaline coursed through me.
His eyes met mine, wide with raw fear, tears brimming at the edges. "I... I don't want to die," he whispered, voice cracking like a boy's, pleading and broken. There was no hatred, only regret. He was a man caught in the wrong crowd and wrong life, tears streaking through the grime on his face as if realizing too late the path he'd stumbled down.
Empathy twisted in my gut, a reluctant ache. I hesitated, knife hovering.
A flood of emotion coiled around me, like a dense fog. Until a feeling began to ground me in logic and cruel reality.
My eyes slammed shut, but they snapped open against my will, as the slash raked deep and ragged, ripping through flesh with a sickening tear. Warm blood fountained up, soaking my sleeves, and he flailed weakly, gurgling as life ebbed away in seconds.
Wrong place, wrong time… for us both.
A boot slammed into my back, sending me sprawling. On a battlefield, emotion is a weakness. A liability that would get me killed. I took a breath and focused, rolling onto my back.
Clutching his gut wound, blood oozing between fingers, my enemy made his intentions clear. This was a macabre dance where one walks away.
He snatched my glaive from the ground and immediately howled in agony, a searing hiss like hot metal scorching flesh rising from his hand. He hurled at me like a spear. Instinct spun me aside in a clumsy twirl, the weapon thudding into the earth beside me, quivering.
I grabbed it, yanking it free, the vibration returning stronger now, humming through my palm as the compulsion flooded back.
Looking down, the blood I had on my hands was wicking into the shaft, like a vampiric offering.
<
Violence surged. A shrill laugh slipped out. A tickle in my mind, my heart beat slowed to a predatory crawl. I bared my teeth at my prey.
"You're the meat now! Come and play. Dance with me."
I raised my sanguine idol in a giggling prayer.
"You're insane! What the hell are you?" He said, clutching his stomach as fuel to my flames leaked from him. Fear leaked off of him, I could smell it.
"You're no child! Hiding your face like that! Y-you're a monster!"
Monster… Was I really?
He turned like the coward I now knew he was.
He began to run into the woods.
<
It didn't want to lose him. It wanted him and I was the weapon now.
Flipping the glaive blade down first I began to run. My pain with every other step was silenced. The only thing that mattered was the hunt now.
Following my wayward quarry, I laughed. I could almost taste his blood seeping from that hole. The darkness parted around me and my vision flicked back to that monotone palette. Parting brush I found my blade's meal.
Kneeling down blood pouring from his face, he turned around and said "Help… me…."
Claw marks tore down his face as if a brutal monster mauled him. Feelings of empathy leaked through the violent haze. The light of the fire danced through the trees.
The glaive arced up, and tore him up the middle. I yelled in surprise, I hadn't meant to do that.
My arms suddenly jumped.
<
Something ebbed from him, it wasn't just blood, but a fuzzy-black, coiling smoke. Whispers hissed in my mind: "I thought you were the only monster here… I was wrong. Tell my Angela, I'm sorry."
The smoke formed into a perfect black marble, before it shot into my chest. An umbral projectile. It slammed me against a tree trunk, and knocked the breath out of me.
My pains began to slowly disappear, fading as if they never existed. The weapon's influence began to fade. Was there a connection?
I heard the low chant of the cultists begin to rise once more.
This wasn't over.
I collected myself, feelings still numbed and I ran out back into the clearing. My vision adjusted to the licking of the flames.
As I passed the other body, another shadow rose, whispering regrets: "My son… I have to leave you behind… I'm so sorry! Please, I don't want to go! Spare me! I beg you, my son needs me."
A spike pierced my heart, melting the influence of the glaive. "I'm sorry… Maybe in a different life, we could have been friends. Please, go in peace." I whispered to it.
A black marble formed once again, I turned and ran.
I don't know what this is, but I don't want it!
A strike landed on my back. Knocking my breath away and sending me tumbling forward. I clambered back to my feet. My eyes felt pain, like they had some burning material from the fires in them. I felt this weight above my head settle with a chill.
I have no time to stand around. I need to finish this. Now!
The girl had noticed me now, her violet eyes wide with worry through the gag. The woman in the fire hung charred and silent, no more screams, but one remaining eye tracked me with grim appreciation.
The cultist leader droned on, oblivious in his prayer.
The glaive began to vibrate again. Its insidious claws raking into my grey matter.
<
I lurched up behind him, driving the glaive into his back with a grunt of effort. He let out a strangled "Hnnnnnnnng," collapsing in a spreading pool of blood.
His companions whirled, there were two men, and two women, faces pale and ordinary under the hoods, etched with shock. They stood in panic and scattered like startled deer, fleeing into the woods not from a little girl, but from the blood-soaked monster who'd been pretending to be one.
I shifted myself, looking at the girl. She looked vulnerable, an easy target. Her blood whispered to me.
<
Panic rose, as I was forced to walk step after step. The girl started to speak in muffled bursts. Yelling and finally screaming as I stood in front of her. The glaive willed itself up, It wished to dine on this forbidden feast. I desperately looked into her eyes, both prisoners to a new and terrifying reality.
In her eyes I saw my reflection, bathed in the light of dancing flames. Two crimson eyes, with bright glowing rings of gold lining them, glowing. Above my head, a dark halo, drinking in the light. My heart hitched and I felt terror building.
The glaive hissed. <
I felt something rising, a defiant rebellious energy.
Tearing through the dense sinister cloak, A voice began to reverberate.
NO! I refuse! This is my body, my mind. Leave me alone!
<
"Shut up!" I yelled at the weapon, voice sharp with frustration. "Or I'll bury you right here and leave you to rot for good!"
It snarled and fell silent instantly, the hum fading like a chastened animal shrinking back, obedient but sullen.
A black wisp rose from the leader's corpse, whispering fervently, "Praise be Lord Volk. I come to join you..." But then a rotting bear lumbered out of the woods, an undead hulk, fur matted and falling away in patches, eyes glowing with the same eerie blue. The mote twisted in the air, its voice shifting to desperate cries: "No, it's not done yet! I'll give you more—my daughters, my sons, even my wife! All for Lord Volk!"
The bear lunged with a guttural laugh, snapping up the black wisp like a floating morsel, devouring it in one crunch. It let out another deep, rumbling chuckle that echoed through the trees, then stumbled off into the darkness, ignoring us entirely.
As it vanished, the dark atmosphere lifted, the decay receding like a tide pulling back. The eyes in the gloom blinked out one by one, fading with distant echoes of that guttural laughter, leaving only the crackle of the fire.
Numbness settled over me, heavy and cold. I'd never killed before, and yet I didn't feel some profound loss of innocence or any real emotion. I only felt the surging adrenaline slowly wearing down.
Is this normal?
Approaching the girl, I untied the gag, her tears streaming as she gasped for air. "Why?" she whispered, voice raw. "Why come back and help me? You told me to leave, and you said you didn't need help. So why?"
I averted my eyes from her exposed form, cheeks heating. "I felt bad, that's all," I muttered, focusing on loosening her bindings. "Figured you needed help more than I did. Turns out I was right."
Glancing at the flames, the charred woman's single eye still gazed out, unblinking. Whatever she was, it wasn't human. Nothing can burn for that long and still cling to life. "I'm sorry," I called to her, voice cracking. "I'll... I'll have to wait for the flames to die down."
Her remaining eye shifted up and down, a silent nod of understanding. Pity welled up, but those flames were a wall of heat I couldn't brave. I was shocked I'd bested those men at all. In a fair fight, without surprise and without the glaive, I'd have been cut down quick.
I finished cutting the girl's ropes. "Scavenge some clothes," I said, nodding toward the scattered robes. "I don't think being so vulnerable out here is a good idea."
She nodded, rubbing her wrists, voice hushed with awe. "Thank you... for looking for me. I owe you my life."
"Shut it and get dressed," I replied, tossing her my knife. "If they don't fit, make them fit."
Surveying the carnage, bodies twisted in death, blood soaking the earth. I reflected on the fleeing cultists' terror. Were they running from fear... or am I really the monster here?