Waves of crimson engulfed Grista as night hordes ravaged the heart of town. Cold wind streamed through the streets painted in blood as smoke billowed from blazing buildings. Bodies slumped dead to the ground as the Yao Guai massacred the formation of Knights and Crusaders.
Weapons—whether it be swords or crosses—dropped from their fingertips and fled from the army of demons, their clangorous stomping reducing the dampened brick streets into a dirt and blood concoction. Cries harrowed left and right as the panicked populace fled, but like caged rabbits, the Yao Guai picked them off in warrens as they squealed prayers of mercy.
"Looks like another purge. How many does that make now?"
Several hundred metres away from the chaos, a man observed Grista from the high branches of an ancient tree. Thin streaks of haematic light trickled down on the Messengers signature attire - a rugged hexagon-shaped hat, a carrier bag worn over one woollen coat shoulder, and a breast badge of a pigeon post. And before his eyes was a silver array made from curves and runic patterns that levitated before his eyes. It shimmered with a starry glow and displayed the live footage of Grista; the hellspawn clear as day to him.
"So this species of night hordes have a similar appearance to bats. Their wings are thrice their height and they have enough strength to bisect a horse with those claws. From their meaty pincer-like mouth, they secrete a strange yellow substance that sizzles the flesh so sensible precaution is advised. If we fight head-on against them, their superior mobility will overwhelm us in seconds… maybe an area of attack spell would do the trick."
The Messenger watched attentively at the town and gave the array a hard spin. Tick tick tick tick. Runic patterns spun around the rim like a carnival wheel, then slowed and stopped. His vision landed at the next location Grista had to offer, the local street bustling with market stalls.
Paper. Medicine. Timber. Livestock. These were the dominant centrepieces of the Shinrin region and flourished among the other regions. Farmers could earn a decent wage if they cultivated their land and raised their animals well. Merchants could live like nobles if they organised the movement of goods without incident. And if doctors had the right connections then, they could attain a standing equal to a priest.
It was a land people sought after, but now Grista's market was a garbage dump composed of spoiled produce where the night hordes foraged — a ground to search for human scraps like the other towns.
Tick tick tick tick. The array spun again and brought him to a new location. It was a collection of buildings that stood defiantly over the people who fell. Walls were smeared in their vulnerable flesh and weeds gossiped over the next line of execution.
Fingers gripped around the Yao Guai's arms as the Knight's toes struggled to reach the floor. A thin membrane of skin ran down the side of the demon's body and partway down its legs. It was probably purple and stuffy underneath the Knight's helmet. Give up. That way you won't suffer any longer. Then, the Knight's fingers released and his neck snapped in two, rolling down next to the other heads.
"Its wings bend with flexibility and have a similar to a human. But it has a more thin, skeletal structure so it should be easy to damage, yet, this is still a theory. These Knights and Crusaders are useless with night hordes."
The array zoomed out and the Messenger write the appropriate notes down with a feathered quill; eyes still glued to the flickering embers. Ink oozed from the quill tip and words flowed across the notebook page until he abruptly stopped. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a tiny speck leaving his field of vision—more specifically—the town. Unsure, he adjusted his runic patterns and zoomed in on the scene.
Trotting across the field, a woman and child brushed through the hip-length grass that curled with thin, white threads. As they moved along, the threads stuck against their clothes and forced them into a snail's pace.
I've heard that wikuyu grass produce a white thread called stamen when they've been cut. I guess the town must have regulated their height so they could improve their surveillance. To bad that the enemy came from above.
The duo continued their escape until the child finally collapsed to the grassy bed. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but from the woman's insistent pulling and the child's great gasps, he could speculate the situation.
It was then from the sky that a black cannonball crashed nearby them making the stamens jump. The intense tremor caused the woman to fall flat on her butt, her eyes enlarged and the hairs on her nape bristled with cold sweat. The child, exhausted mere seconds ago, crawled into the woman's embrace as her dress became damp.
By the time the threads of white settled, the Yao Guai was already towering over them. Drool salivated from its meaty pincer-mouth and spilled onto the woman's face covered in soot. It couldn't help moisten her face with its slug-like tongue but repulsed backwards in disgust when it took a sample.
"From the behaviour of these Yao Guai, they seem to follow their bestial nature indicating they possess low intelligence."
The man rubbed his left eye to temporarily remove the array and glimpsed at the page. He rubbed the gridelin quill feather up and down five times and a small ball of light formed at the tip. The ball of light then splashed onto the page causing a rippling effect to occur. Letters wavered into different shapes and the non-uniformed assembly of lines hurried to their respective positions at ten-hut.
Nothing that everything was fine, he returned his attention back to the field.
Clutched within the Yao Guai's claws, the woman frantically sent a barrage of kicks at it, but the Yao Guai's grasp only tightened every time she struggled. Snake-like veins bulged from her head and foam mixed with red discharged from her twitching mouth, the sea of bubbles drowning her eyes.
Pleased, the Yao Guai lifted the dangled body above the child and slowly whirled it around splattering the vicinity in Christmas colours. The Messenger grimaced inwardly at its actions and his grip on the quill tightened. He knew what crime the creature was about to commit and sent a silent prayer to the child. Using the momentum it built up, the Yao Guai slammed its cooking instrument into the feeble child crushing his body like a sand castle.
Over, and over, and over again.
It didn't end until the child turned into a small mound of meat paste served on a blood-red dish; a steaming main course homemade by the Yao Guai's own hands. It was an unsettling scene that would cause any person to turn away, but a Messenger couldn't.
"Hm… this unknown species of Yao Guai… bashes its victims up before eating them. Their actions might seem pointless at first glance, but… it might be their method to soften flesh… even if it's a child's flesh."
The man stopped writing and scratched a rough drawing on the next page. From the sketch, the bat-like Yao Guai was two metres tall and its wingspan was thrice its body size. It looked skinless at first but a thin layer of brown hair was discernible and its mouth looked like two meaty bulbs stuck together.
He examined the Yao Guai at the grass field. It was slurping the meat paste up in euphoria and had a white fuzz around its chin. Sharp ears pointed upwards with glee but its right beady eyes remained pitch black. By the time it finished, the Yao Guai slumped to the ground with a full grown beard and red belly.
The Messenger drew the main features and added side notes to the sketch containing characteristics the Yao Guai might own.
"Claws strong enough to bisect a horse."
"Sharp ears that can probably detect distant sounds."
"Eight beady eyes that are pitch black. It might indicate that it's nocturnal and hunts during the night."
He slapped the book shut, the ink specially made by the Agency dried up already. The Messenger looked away from the fat Yao Guai and glanced at Grista's passionate glow for the last time. Across the town Yao Guai roamed the streets; some were feasting on children and chugging down blood from beheaded corpses while others searched scurried across buildings hoping to find a present.
Although people died horrible deaths before him, he had a nonchalant expression plastered on his face. "Fucking Priests," the man mumbled under his breath. "All because they threw holy accusations at the innocents. And what did that bring? Destruction, disease, discord, his wrath."
He turned his back and pointed his gloved fingers towards the back alley of ancient trees. A ball of light formed on all his fingertips and with a series of graceful movements, an array formed. It had no structure but when more lines connected, an encirclement of runic patterns surrounded him. The runic pattern then entered his body and surged throughout his limbs with newfound energy.
He heaved a silver breath and leapt off the branch. Each jump caused the branches to tremor and freed a few leaves. The leaves fell and waved their goodbyes before landing on the forest floor. A howl of wind followed, but the settled leaves never budged from their spot. The tiny strings of white holding the leaves captive away from their home.
…
Thin streaks of moonlight probed through the slits of the wooden shutters. Lam's eyelids twitched in annoyance and pulled the blanket over his head, but a kick stopped him in his tracks.
"Can you not. This damn blanket is already too small as it is." The cold breath tickled the back of his nape and a second later, the warm embrace of his blanket disappeared.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry okay. So give the blanket back already," Lam muttered as he desperately tried to pull the blanket back. "It's freezing tonight so forgive me already. Don't let me freeze here to death."
Hollow eyes stared back at Lam; his cold stare conveying his answer across. Lam wanted to smack this old owl, but he restrained himself. If he did smack him, then he would fan his silent wrath and dig a deeper pit for himself, so with reluctance, Lam sat up and scanned the dark room before him. On the worn-out table, there was an absence of supplies, namely fruit that had diminished. The thin walls had gaping holes for the breeze to rush in and out. And the door was hung on its hinges at a jaunty angle as it creaked complaints.
Lam rubbed his glabella and ambled towards the open window shutters where he could breathe in some fresh air. The cabin always had a musty smell to it and over the years it had only worsened. He looked outside the window and saw tiny lights illuminate the night sky and the scarlet moon that peeked from behind the drowsy clouds.
He couldn't help become disheartened. At first, nothing happened when the new moon appeared, but as several months passed, life within the forest seemed to dwindle. The herd of white-tailed deer didn't appear beside the spring lake for their daily drink, the song of birds became quiet, and he couldn't feel the daunting presence of predators anymore.
Dark eyebrows rested above his intense brown eyes as he stared into the swaying forest. The disappearance of the buzzing life worried him.