Mist clung to the mountainside like curtains
to a window, shrouding the man in darkness as he struggled up the steep incline
at a breakneck pace. He was deathly afraid of something, yet did not know what
it was. He only knew that a shadow was chasing him, a shadow that could only be
seen out the corner of your eye.
The man was what could only be described as ugly. His hair was cut all wrong, his nose was askew, his eyes did not
match—one was blue, the other was green—and his ears were scarred and
completely missing in some places. He wore a tattered cloak that hung down to
his ankles and carried a two-handed, hulking broadsword on his back. The man
had been in situations like this many times. It had hardened his body as if
cast from steel, giving him almost superhuman strength. Still, even he
struggled to outpace the thing, whatever it was, that chased him, which was
something the man had never experienced before.
The thought terrified him immensely.
Thunder cracked overhead as it began to rain, briefly setting the world alight as if it were midday, making it easy to spot
the man running if you were chasing him. However, the man was grateful for the
thunderstorm: even though it made him miserable, it washed away his footsteps,
making him difficult to track. Well, he hoped so at least. Maybe the creature
hunting him did not need any tracks to find its prey. Maybe the beast hunting
him would find him wherever he was, no matter where he hid.
He shuddered at the thought and continued to run forward. He could do nothing about it now.
The man continued his pace through the woods and up the mountainside while the wind bit at his face—changing directions
every couple of seconds—flinging the rain into his face with a fury that felt
like even the sky was angry at him. He would not give up though, he could not
give up. Giving up meant certain death, and he was not ready to die, even if it
was only for the boy.
Far too soon, though, the man had to start walking, as he could run no longer. There would be no giving in—he would
continue to trudge forward—but the man realized that if he kept running, he
would tire out and be unable to fight when the time came. By then, no amount of
running could save him.
Soon after the man started walking, he heard the rustling of leaves behind him and caught the movement of something,
he could not tell what, in the bushes to his left. He turned to face his
invisible foe and shouted above the storm, "I don't know what you are, but I do
know what you want, and I would sooner die than let you get the boy!" Even as
the man spoke, he noticed the words fell weak against his ears.
He felt the creature approach as it hissed,
"Then die!" The man said nothing as he pulled out his sword and looked at where he thought the creature was. This was the final
stand, and only he was what stood between the creature and the boy.
The shadow gave an inhuman shriek and charged. Once the man felt the creature was close enough, he swung, only to be
blocked by the creature's claws. While
it had no weapon, its claws were a satisfactory substitute. Luckily, the
man thought, they are visible when unretracted.
Now the creature swung at the man with
inhuman speed, and it took everything the man had to block the blow. The
creature merely laughed and swung again, knocking aside his sword like leaves
in the wind.
For the first time, the man was sure he was going to die. Tears filled his vision as he gave up hope. It was a pointless
venture, loss was inevitable. But, he would not give in, for he was no coward.
Then, the clarity that came from the
inevitability of death struck him. If he was going to die anyway, defense could
be forgotten for the sake of an offensive advantage. Yes, he would die, but he
was going to take the shadow down with him.
As the figure swung again, he made no move to defend himself, and when the blow struck his side, the shadow paused as if
shocked by the sudden opening. Despite the pain, the man did not waste his
advantage and drove his blade into where he thought the creature's heart was…
unfortunately, he missed it completely.
The creature uttered a piercing cry like
metal grinding against metal and tore at the man's throat. Unlike the shadow,
when the man was cut, blood sprayed out of the wound. The blood painted the
shadow's figure red, and the man saw in horror that its head was not as it
should be: it was upside-down, and its mouth was twisted in a horrific smile.
The creature tore at the man again and again, and
while the man kept fighting back, the thrusts from his sword became weaker and
weaker. Eventually, his arm hung limp by his side and the creature crowed in
victory. It took in large mouthfuls until sated, and in triumph it spun around
and walked back down the mountainside. It had a big job ahead and did not plan
on letting its prey win. No, surely its prey would fall, just as the man had
fallen.