Ingvar watched his mother's back with nervous eyes, frightened by the amount of blood on the ground and slightly curious. She was crouching further ahead, near the forest and the mutilated body of the dead cow, and he was just watching from afar, being forbidden to approach.
His mother was... tense. He could see it. Her shoulders were stiff, her features serious.
He hardly ever saw his mother like that. The last time he had seen her that way was when he was still ill, some years ago.
But still, there was something... different. The concern was evident, but there was something about the way she behaved that made him curious.
Without being able to control himself much, he carefully approached his mother, slowly running his eyes over the surrounding area.
Before he could get closer, he stopped when he saw what looked like a footprint, right next to a wide trail of blood leading to the mutilated cow ahead. A huge footprint, with long claw marks at the end.
He had never seen any kind of creature, but he had a little knowledge. Stories told by his parents or strange engravings in the books he read. He always thought it was just stuff from books and stories, his parents always said that the south was considerably safer than the north.
One of the reasons his parents moved there.
"I told you to stay in the pen." His mother's serious voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he turned to the approaching woman with an unusually serious expression.
"I... I know, but... you didn't answer when I called you." He said, a little startled by the look on his mother's face, and surprised when she took him by the arm and started walking hurriedly back to the house.
She didn't answer, just kept walking as she pulled him along.
"You don't leave the house today. We'll wait until your father returns." She said, looking back briefly, as if to make sure that whatever was in the forest would not be after them at that moment.
"But what about the other animals? What if that thing comes back?" Ingvar asked, alternating his gaze between the pigs and the chickens. His mother released him and walked over to one of the baskets. From inside, she took a bag full of corn and walked to the chicken coop.
A few moments later, she returned without the bag in hand and again took him firmly by the arm.
"It's not coming back.'" She just said, and he blinked in a mixture of surprise and confusion.
"How do you know?" He asked, but his mother didn't answer, she just walked through the door of their house and closed it firmly.
Ingvar stood still for a few moments, watching his mother close and lock all the windows as she muttered something. She was restless, nervous in fact.
"Eat. After that go study. Your books are on your bed." Petra said quickly, lighting two single candles due to the darkness that had remained in there.
Ingvar stood motionless for a few moments, watching his mother uneasily. He wanted to ask more questions, but from what was happening, he doubted he would be answered.
With a slight sigh, he walked to the kitchen and sat down on a chair in front of a table. His eyes fell on the sliced apples in a pot along with some peeled oranges. Next to it, a fresh loaf of bread with a glass of milk in front of it.
He took the bread and took a generous bite, chewing a few times and drinking some of the milk.
Ingvar, knowing he wouldn't get many answers from his mother, ate quickly and then went to his room. As he passed through the living room, he watched for a few moments as his mother opened the trap door hidden under a carpet that led to the basement they had.
He went down there only a few times. It was where his parents kept their old utensils and items they used to use in the old days.
The boy took one of the candles his mother had lit and walked to his room. When he arrived, he put the candle on the table beside his bed and looked at the books in front of him.
Philosophy, math, physics... he didn't dislike, but he didn't love these topics either. Ingvar would say that he liked history. He liked to learn more about where he lived and what he had never seen. What he never witnessed and what he would like to.
Occasionally his mother would let him read some book that was not about literature, or important philosophers, or mathematical techniques discovered and studied in the capital. Stories about heroes facing adversity in their lives, facing incredible monsters that seemed only to be the fruit of human creativity.
He sat down on his bed, in a position that allowed the candle flame to illuminate the words in the book, and let himself be pulled into the story he was reading.
Not much time had passed since he had started reading and he heard some knocks coming from the basement. His curious eyes went to the still open trap door, and he mentally wondered what his mother was doing at that moment.
Ingvar just shook his head and turned his attention back to his son. As he flicked the page, he focused his eyes on the figure of a creature drawn just below, with the hero just in front of it, holding a sword, facing it.
The story was different from those considered "common". The hero was not exactly the hero, but the villain. The book showed how a nobleman beloved by his people, protector of his lands, became someone who simply spread the chaos.
The monster he was facing was just one of the creatures protecting the chambers of an old friend. A friend who was one of the central reasons why the protagonist became corrupted, so to speak.
Ingvar took a good look at the creature. It was large, with long bat-like wings. Its arms were long and muscular, similar to human arms, while its hands had long, sharp claws. The face consisted of a huge mouth with serrated teeth and a small deformed nose. It possessed no eyes. It had small black dots drawn on the side of its head, probably its ears.
The boy wondered what it would be like to face such a creature, what it would be like to come face to face with such a monster.
Again, the noise in the basement caught his attention, and Ingvar looked at his mother walking back up to the room.
"What were you doing?" He asked curiously, watching attentively as his mother closed the trapdoor and cleaned up some dust that was on her hands and staining some of her clothes.
"Nothing. You don't have to worry about it. Just... concentrate on studying." She said, walking toward the kitchen, moving out of the boy's line of sight.
Ingvar looked at the floor for a few moments. If his mother was acting that way, then that creature was certainly somewhat dangerous.
He didn't know how he could get his mind off it, how he could concentrate on his book. But at least he pretended to be interested.
------
Conrad finished setting up his small tent. He takes a basket that was beside his wagon and carries it close to a cloth that he had left on the ground, leaving his merchandise on display.
He sold everything he grew at the end of every month. In good months, what he produced was enough not only for his family, but for a good income.
He had left some bottles of milk on a table he had rented, and the fruit was on the side of his wagon, right next to the vegetable stand.
It was still early, but he was a little surprised to see so few people walking around. Usually, despite the time of day, this place would already be crowded with people trying to buy goods for the lowest possible price. Normally, whenever he went into town, most of the merchants there sold their goods within a few hours.
He himself was hoping that he would return home sooner. However, he wondered if that was really going to happen.
With a slight sigh, he sat down in a wooden chair beside his small stall, put his left leg over his right thigh, and briefly looked at the ring on his finger. Golden with a bright purple sphere made of amethyst mixed with some of Petra's energy.
His wedding ring... he gave her an identical ring, but with a diamond in place and a bit of his own energy.
Running his eyes around, he arched a confused eyebrow and brought both hands together on his lap
. He could count the number of people present there on his fingers.
It wasn't only he who was surprised and somewhat confused by the lack of people there. The other merchants seemed to be in the same state as he was.
At first Conrad just shrugged. It was normal to have less movement from time to time. So he decided to wait for a while, thinking that in an hour or so the flow of people would return to normal.
And he was right, as time went by, more and more people arrived.
However, something else made him somewhat... surprised?
None of his usual customers showed up. Neither at his stall, nor at the market itself. None of the people who were used to talking to him and buying his products even showed signs of life.
Occasionally he saw one or two people who had bought from him before, but who were not exactly customers. But these people would not even approach him or look in his direction.
Not only that, but almost nobody bought from his merchandise that day.
Which was a bit... unusual. Other establishments operated normally, but very few people approached his stall, even when items such as fruit and milk were missing elsewhere.
He narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion. Nothing had happened, not that he knew of. It wasn't as if he had done anything to irritate his customers, after all, he only went into town once every month.
Conrad wasn't angry or frustrated, just... curious and confused.
He would not go hungry for not having sold anything. He grew his own food, took care of his own animals. The money he would get there would mostly be saved for Ingvar's studies and some other things they needed, like clothes, candles, etc...
For the most part, he just decided to start selling because otherwise all that food would spoil. It was too much for his family alone.
He sighed slightly and stood there, waiting to see if anyone else would stop to buy something.
The hours went by... he would say that a total of 9 people bought something from him that day. Considering that he usually came home with an empty wagon and a full pocket, it was not a day of much income. Not even close.
With a tired sigh, he runs his left hand through his black hair, now with a few gray strands, and looks up at the sky. Night was coming. If he wanted to get home before dark, he would have to leave soon.
He ran his eyes over the place once more, already sure that he would not be able to sell anything else. So the man decided to put his things back in the wagon. Well, he would try again next month. Maybe he would have to come back a few weeks early, but, it wasn't exactly a problem.
He started with the vegetables, and then put the fruit away, leaving the bottles of milk last.
However, the moment he picked up the wooden tray with the milk bottles, one of the handles broke, and the tray fell to the floor, breaking all the bottles right near his feet.
"Oh, damn..." He muttered softly, putting a hand on his waist as he looked briefly at the small mess he had made.
Running his right hand down the back of his neck, he walks over to his wagon and leaves the broken wooden tray in a corner.
Soon, he turned and crouched down where the bottles had broken and started picking up the pieces of glass, throwing them into a trash basket about a dozen steps away on the corner of the street that led in and out of the market.
As soon as he was done, he finished packing up his things.
Before he decided to go home, he decided to stop by the nearby blacksmith shop.
In three days time it would be his son's twelfth birthday. Ingvar has never been one to care much about gifts, apart from the sword that he occasionally mentions wanting.
Petra would certainly kill him if he brought a sword for his boy, so, although he didn't think it was a big deal, he decided to bring something a little more useful.
And, well, it wasn't often he could do business with a dwarf.
After picking up the gift, he bids farewell to the dwarf blacksmith and walks out of the establishment. Soon, he walked a few dozen steps straight ahead and climbed into his wagon, starting his way home.
He felt a bit uneasy. His eyes ran again over his surroundings when a bad feeling came over his chest. He didn't know what it was, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
The man just tried to put it aside.
After a few minutes on his way, he saw the large gates of the city entrance. Some of the soldiers keeping guard turned toward him, and others even waved at him.
"Hey, Conrad. Bad day?" One of them asked, a young soldier named Olav. The armor he wore hid most of his features, leaving only part of his face visible.
The soldier looked for a few moments at the nearly full wagon of the man, who shook his head in confirmation.
"Yeah, I wasn't so lucky today. It happens. I'll be back next month." Conrad said, resting his two arms on his thighs for a few moments as he shook his head.
"Be careful. We received a report that there may be some monsters prowling the area. Vouverdor was attacked by a griffin last week. They managed to kill the beast, but many people died. In the capital they reported the presence of a royal gargoyle, but luckily there was no attack." Olav said, and Conrad blinked a few times, both in surprise and disbelief.
"A royal gargoyle?! Here in the south?!" Conrad asked, wanting to make sure he had heard correctly.
"Yes. There was an attack on the border a few weeks ago. The guard post was destroyed as well as the crossing to some towns further north." Olav said, shaking his head briefly.
Conrad stared at the dirt road as his mind wandered.
A royal gargoyle was an extremely dangerous and powerful creature. Their appearance was similar to that of a gargoyle, the difference was that they were huge and had no wings. The strength of such creatures could cause fully armored soldiers to be reduced to a heap of crushed and chewed flesh.
With that, that bad feeling in his chest had just increased.
"I recommend you stay here. At least for today. It's almost dark already." Olav said, and Conrad considered the possibility for a second less, before shaking his head in denial.
"No. I can't leave my family alone. Not to mention that I should get home before it gets too dark. Thanks, though, Olav." Conrad said, and after a brief sigh, the soldier nodded.
Conrad swung the reins of his horses and began to move down the dirt road, waving one last time to the soldiers in front of the gate before turning and focusing on his path.
The path followed quietly. Darkness was coming, the sun was already setting on the horizon. But Conrad took comfort in the fact that he was already past halfway back.
Another few minutes and he would be home.
At a certain moment Conrad felt the wagon shaking. The sound of something breaking filled his ears, and he felt the wagon come down hard. The horses neighed softly and stopped.
With slightly wide eyes, the man gets down from the wagon and looks at the two rear wheels that had broken.
"... Fucking hell..." He muttered, putting both hands on his waist and looking cheerlessly at the small disaster.
He ran his left hand through his black beard and took a deep breath. One broken wheel wasn't exactly a problem, he could handle. But two...
With a disgusted grunt he walks to the back of the wagon and picks up a small metal box next to the broken wooden tray.
From inside he takes a large cloth. No matter what he did, the wagon would not move from there. So he would take the horses and walk home. He would cover the wagon and return in the morning with Ingvar and some materials to fix the mess.
He didn't feel very comfortable leaving his products exposed like that, almost in the middle of the road. But he would take comfort in the thought that no one would pass by there at night. And if they did, they would hardly steal milk that would probably be already sour. They could keep the fruits and vegetables.
Conrad covered the wagon with the cloth and walked over to the horses. He grabbed the reins of both of them and unhitched the wagon.
On the bright side, he was close to home.
------
Ingvar was focused on the floor. His arms were calmly moving the broom he was holding, while next to him in the kitchen his mother was cutting some vegetables next to a pot over the fire.
The boy walked to the opposite corner from where his mother stood, gathering the dust there.
"Ingvar, put more wood on the fire, please." His mother's sweet, though still serious, voice caught his attention.
The boy placed the broom propped on the wall and walked to the corner of the kitchen, picking up some of the wood that was gathered on the floor and throwing it on the fire.
He watched briefly as the flames grew stronger. Then he focused his eyes on the strands of hair that fell across his face, and finally, observed his mother's hair.
He had always been curious about it. Why was his hair so different from that of his parents? He had wondered about this a few times, and had even asked them.
The only thing they said was that he was special, that that hair color was so rare that almost no one else in the whole world had it.
At the time it was enough to satisfy his curiosity, but... as time went by he had a slight feeling that it wasn't quite that.
Maybe it made sense that his parents always covered his hair with some cloth, hat or piece of clothing whenever they met someone else. His unique hair would certainly attract attention, but they never explained why.
What's so great about him having red hair?
Before either of them could say anything, they both heard knocking at the door.
Three knocks, loud, followed by the silence of the night.
"Open the door, honey." Conrad's voice echoed through the place.
They both turned their attention to the door, and in moments, Ingvar walked toward it, thinking it was his father who had just arrived.
However, before he could get close enough, his mother grabbed him tightly by the shoulders.
Confused, the boy looked at her, and was startled by her expression.
Again, the knocking was heard.
"Open the door, honey." Conrad's voice said again, and Ingvar arched his eyebrows in mild confusion.
His mother's eyes were wide in concern and terror, her mouth was ajar, and he swore he could feel her hands shaking.
Ingvar opened his mouth to ask what the problem was, however, his mother was quicker and put her left hand over his mouth, preventing him from speaking and quickly pulled him back, with some violence even, causing the boy's eyes to widen in surprise.
"Open the door, honey." Conrad's voice echoed again, awkward, neutral and a bit drawn out, causing Ingvar to look at the door with a startled and confused expression.
Petra quickly pushed the carpet out of place, trying not to make too much noise. She had moved the carpet just enough to leave half of the trapdoor visible, enough so that it could open and both Ingvar and herself could squeeze down.
The knocking on the door continued, more frequent, stronger even.
The woman practically pushed the little boy into the trapdoor, climbing down soon after.
Before closing the trapdoor, she raised both hands and began to pull the large rug over it, having some difficulty doing so.
Ingvar, though confused and frightened, stood by his mother's side and held the trap-door while she pulled the carpet again.
The woman looked at him for a few moments after the trapdoor closed, and then she pushed him down into the basement.
The basement was dark, the little light it had was coming through the cracks in the wood, and even then, it wasn't enough to make the place even remotely visible due to the distance of the scattered candles.
However, it was enough for him to see the face of his mother who was hugging him. She looked scared, terrified even. This only made him even more confused and lost.
The knocks on the door became louder, much louder, to the point of making the small wooden structure shake.
"Open... the door..." The voice no longer sounded like Conrad's. It was distorted, deep, frightening. It was as if someone was trying to impersonate his father.
Silence reigned for a few moments, but the two of them almost screamed in surprise and fear when the door, as well as the surrounding wood, was suddenly destroyed by a huge calloused arm, with scars running across its flesh.
A creature had entered their home. A monster, just like the ones the boy was used to reading and seeing in books, but much more frightening.
The monster was corpulent. Its head had horns the size of small swords, long teeth like knives in its mouth without lips, showing only its flesh, yellow eyes in its expressions similar to that of a human, but showing a ferocity uncommon for anyone. The nose was non-existent, leaving the creature with a fearsome appearance and causing the sound of its heavy breathing to send shivers through the bodies of the two hiding.
"... Hoooonnneeeeeeeeeeyyy..." Its distorted voice made both mother and son cringe. Petra had both hands over her own mouth and the little boy's.
The monster walked in, causing them both to look at his body through the gaps.
He had a long torso, walking on all four limbs. His arm, though humanoid, sported hands with long claws, similar to the monster in the book Ingvar was reading earlier.
The monster's grayish skin outlined veins all over its body, as well as red, wound-like blisters on certain parts of its back. A long tail accompanied the monster. At its tip was a sharp stake-like bone.
The monster took slow steps inside the house. Its head was slightly raised and it took a few deep breaths, smelling its prey.
The creature turned and walked toward the kitchen. The floor creaked as the monster moved, causing the two of them to pray that the wood would not give way.
Ingvar could hardly believe it. His heart was beating fast and, despite his fear, he could not close his eyes. His gaze was focused on the movement of that frightening being through those small cracks.
The monster, smelling meat, eventually dropped the pot of food on the floor, not caring about the temperature, and devoured the pork mixed in the stew.
However, another fragrance caught his attention. A somewhat faint smell, but one that made him salivate.
The monster began to move following its nose, or what was left, close to the ground, breathing heavily as it followed the scent of one prey... no, two.
The wood creaked again, threatening to give way from the weight. The creature stopped moving in one particular spot.
Right above where they were both hiding, to their dismay.
Ingvar stared in terror at what little of its face he could see through the crack.
It didn't seem to have seen them, but it certainly seemed to have found the source of such a smell.
It was then that the monster turned its face slightly to the side, staring with just one of its yellow eyes through the crack in the wood.
Its eye narrowed. It found its prey.
With one strong movement, the creature broke the wooden floor with great ease, intending to grab them both with its huge arm. However, the fragile floor gave way by its movement, causing it to fall into the basement right next to them.
Ingvar screamed in fright without even realizing it. His mother pushed back hard as she stood in front of him, moving as fast as they could away from the beast, but without taking their eyes off its direction.
The beast was briefly stunned and confused by the fall, but soon focused its animalistic eyes on its two prey and moved toward them.
The basement was not very large. Conrad, for example, had to bend slightly to walk in there. This made the monster's movements a little difficult, but not enough. Again, it was destroying the wood like it was nothing.
Petra moved quickly away and opened the trap door again, lifting Ingvar up.
The creature raised its huge arm and attacked her, forcing Petra to throw herself to the side, causing the creature to hit the ground. The attack was so strong that they swore they felt the entire house shake. Pots upstairs, boxes, glass utensils, everything fell through the tremor, breaking on the floor or making a loud thud.
In the kitchen, a few glasses of alcohol fell on the ground near the flames, starting a small fire.
"Mom!" Ingvar shouted for her, reaching out his small hand toward her, worried to see her so close to the creature.
The monster stared at Petra with a fierce stare. The woman felt as if the thing was watching her soul.
The beast again tried to grab her. The little boy watched as the creature came dangerously close to his mother. Its arm was almost touching her and he couldn't even scream. It was as if time had slowed down, and he could see it in every detail.
The enormous distress he felt in his chest gave way to relief. His fear gave way to surprise.
His mother stretched her arm forward. She whispered something that he couldn't hear. The diamond in the ring his father had given her when they were married sparkled blue.
A sword appeared out of nowhere in his mother's hands. A silver blade with black details on the sides. There were a few runes glowing blue that ran down the center along the entire length of the sword. The handle was made of wood with some small silver details. The diamond that had been in the ring was now in the pommel, bigger and brighter.
Ingvar didn't even knew how to react; he just stood there, watching.
Petra drove her sword into the side of the beast's forearm, pulling her arms straight back while simultaneously throwing herself backwards, making a wide, deep gash in the creature's flesh, which roared in reaction.
The woman quickly exited the basement, standing just in front of Ingvar, taking a few steps away from the trap door while her mind worked fiercely, thinking of some way out.
That monster would chase them, that much was clear...
The woman gritted her teeth as she watched the creature rise up on its two hind legs, keeping its yellow eyes focused mainly on her. Good, Ingvar might have a chance to escape from there.
However, she was not very relieved to know that... Conrad had not yet arrived. He was very late, considering the time he usually returned, and her chest heaved at the thought that this creature might have done something to him.
She was taken out of her thoughts by the abrupt movement the creature made. A horizontal attack, from left to right, with its huge claws.
Petra dodged as she crouched, seeing two opportunities in front of her. To attack the creature, or to move Ingvar away from the danger.
The woman chose the second option and quickly pushed the boy aside with force, causing him to grunt in surprise and fall to the ground a few steps away, near the entrance to his room.
A good choice, since the creature's tail had now stuck to the wall, in the exact spot where the boy had been moments ago.
The creature acted quickly, however, giving the woman almost no time to react.
The beast threw its huge body towards Petra, while attempting a vertical attack from the bottom up with its left arm.
Due to the limited space, the woman could only move to the side, raising her sword soon after to counterattack. However, the creature was faster and grabbed her by the stomach, lifting her in the air and throwing her hard against the wall.
The wood shattered, the creature's arm went through the wall with some ease.
Petra grunted loudly in pain as she felt the heavy thud. Her brown eyes went to the huge hand that was still holding her. But there wasn't much she could do, the creature pulled her close again, only to press her against the wall beside it, controlling its strength so as not to destroy the wood again.
"Mom!" Ingavr shouted again, getting the creature's attention. The monster looked at him only for a few moments, before turning its attention back to the woman and opening its mouth to devour her while its sharp tail moved quickly towards the boy, who just stared at it with wide eyes.
Before either of them were hurt, they both watched in surprise and somewhat relief as Conrad's figure leaped onto the creature's back and drove a sword into the back of its neck, causing the monster to release Petra and move a few steps away.
A choked roar echoed through the ears of those present. The creature squirmed, and Conrad was forced to jump away.
"Are you guys okay?!" He asked, his voice almost breaking from the concern and distress he felt, especially when he saw the front of his house destroyed and the noise of destruction coming from inside.
Neither of them could answer immediately. Ingvar looked at his father's sword, so similar to his mother's, the only difference being that the runes were purple, and diamond had been replaced by an amethyst.
The creature roared again, apparently irritated, and turned toward Conrad. Its animal-like eyes seemed to glow in that small space that slowly filled with more smoke.
The monster raised its huge arm and tried to strike Conrad, who dodged it as he moved back a few steps quickly.
Grunting even more annoyed, the beast turned and struck the walls around them. Conrad realized its intention, but it was too late. The entire house shook, the walls collapsed, and the ceiling fell at great speed.
Conrad tried to protect himself while, at a glance, he saw Petra holding Ingvar in her arms, shielding the small boy with her body.
The impact caused the man to fall to the ground. A small cloud of dust and smoke was raised with the crash. The fire had begun to spread further, spreading dangerously close to where Conrad was lying.
Before he could even get the debris off of him, he gasped as he felt the creature grab him by the stomach and lift him into the air. And quickly, the creature threw him to the ground, causing Conrad to grunt from the pain of the impact and to feel the air being expelled from his lungs as he was crushed by the creature's huge hand.
Glancing up, he could see his wife. She was dirty from the wood dust, blood dripping down the side of her lip, as well as down the side of her forehead. Ingvar, still in her arms, didn't know whether to look at him or at her, his little head confused and terrified.
The beast lifted him up again and opened its mouth. However, Conrad reacted, thrusting his sword into the center of the beast's head and supporting his left foot a little below its neck.
"Get Ingvar and get out of here!!" He shouted, feeling the creature squeeze him even harder.
Petra looked at him a little tired and pained, she seemed in an internal conflict whether she should really listen to him or help him. However, she soon made her choice, and taking the boy's arm, she began to run towards the dirt road, in the false hope that maybe they would make it to town.
But this creature was clearly intelligent. If it could imitate human voices and form short sentences, perhaps it could understand them.
Conrad drove his sword into the creature's forearm, forcing it to let go.
As soon as his feet touched the ground, Conrad took a deep breath, ignoring the pain, and drove his sword into the creature's stomach, walking away in long strides soon after.
There was no way he could defeat the thing. His fighting days were over 15 years ago. But he was experienced enough to get away.
The man began to run backwards. If he entered the forest, he could use the trees as obstacles. That creature might be strong, but that many trees would certainly get in the way. And if he made it to his plantation, he could run to the small creek ahead, hopefully that thing wouldn't be too good at swimming, and he would continue down stream until he reached the river that flowed around the town.
Hm... yes, he could do that... if not for the tail of the creature that had pierced him in the back, puncturing his lung and impaling him.
Conrad's eyes widened. The pain was spreading rapidly through his body. His body began to shake. His throat closed and from his mouth, a certain amount of blood began to flow.
The creature lifted him into the air again, watching him intently, almost as if it liked what it saw, its suffering. Then the beast grabbed him firmly, turned around, and, with one swift movement, threw him hard toward the two prey that were trying to escape.
Ignvar and Petra were running as fast as they could. The boy was trying to keep up with his mother, who was still holding him tightly. He wanted to ask about his father, he wanted to turn around and look at the situation behind him, but for some reason he couldn't, he didn't feel he had the strength... in fact, he didn't feel he was in control of his own body at that moment.
He could only hear it, the frightening grunts of that creature, the roar of the fire, and the faint grunts of his father.
Maybe he should have looked back. Maybe then he would have been able to react.
They were both hit by Conrad's body, hard enough to knock them to the ground, stunned by the impact.
Ingvar gritted his teeth as he fell to the dirt. He felt a strong blow to the back of his head that confused all his senses. The corners of his vision blurred briefly before they returned to normal. He felt something run down the side of his face and into the back of his head.
"Ingvar, get up, come on!" His mother's distressed voice brought him back to reality, he looked at her for only a few moments before he felt himself being lifted.
As soon as he was on his feet, his eyes focused on the body ahead, mangled, deformed.
His father's body was maybe twelve, thirteen steps away. Blood stained the clothes he had worn that morning. The lower part of his body was turned backwards.
Ingvar felt a lump in his throat, his eyes were moist and his mouth was hanging open. But even if he tried to say something, he wouldn't be able to.
The creature was fast, that was clear, for in a matter of seconds it was already beside Petra.
The woman tried to defend herself, but she was not fast enough. The huge hand of the creature advanced towards her in the blink of an eye, causing both she and the boy to be thrown through the air.
The sound of breaking bone echoed loudly, like lightning striking close to him, or a hammer smashing into his head.
Ingvar felt himself rolling across the grass a few times. As soon as he stopped, something touched his side, and he looked weakly at his mother's body, wounded by the blow.
He couldn't say anything, the pain was overwhelming, the fear was paralyzing, and the terror was suffocating.
The beast approached, its yellow eyes seeming to glow along with the full moon, just behind that beast. It would be a pretty picture to some sick minds, if it wasn't so frightening.
The monster advanced on his mother first, a larger and more appetizing prey perhaps, or, was just angry because of the injuries she had caused to it.
Whatever it was, the creature began to devour her flesh with ferocity, tossing her body from side to side as if she were some kind of doll, as if having a feast.
The little conscience Ingvar had witnessed the whole thing. The blood that splashed across his body and face bothered him much more than the pain he felt. A tear trickled down his right eye before his consciousness left him.