The forest seemed to cower, the tall trees bowing under an invisible weight, their skeletal branches groaning in protest. The malice was palpable, a pressure that crept through the icy air and settled in the pit of Jol's stomach.
The nest should have been a sanctuary, a haven where predators would not tread. It was an unspoken law of the wild: beasts did not invade the domain of another predator. But laws held no meaning to what stalked them now.
The crunch of footsteps broke the oppressive silence. Slow, deliberate, they drew closer, crushing the frost and brittle twigs underfoot. Each step was a drumbeat, counting down the moments to their doom. Jol's breath quickened, his heart thundering in his chest as he clutched at his sides, shivering not from the cold but from dread.
The figure emerged from the darkness, its outline becoming clearer in the firelight. Relief surged through Jol as he recognized the man before him. "Chief Julian!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with a mixture of hope and exhaustion. His knees nearly buckled, but he forced himself to stay upright, dragging his feet toward the figure.
Bada stirred at the sound of Jol's voice, her hand instinctively reaching for her twin blades. She squinted through the flickering light, her instincts screaming even before her eyes fully adjusted. "Jol, stop!" she roared, leaping to her feet. "That's not Julian!"
Jol froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. The firelight revealed what his mind refused to process at first. The left side of Julian's face was no longer a face at all—it was a grotesque tapestry of exposed muscle and sinew, dripping blood that froze as it fell. His clothes, usually so pristine and fitting of his station, hung in tatters, clinging to him like rags.
"Chief?" Jol whispered, disbelief etched across his face.
The thing wearing Julian's face tilted its head, its movements unnervingly fluid, almost serpentine. It took a step forward, its expression devoid of anything human.
Bada didn't hesitate. She lunged with a roar, her twin blades flashing in the firelight. The figure sidestepped her first strike with an almost casual grace, catching her second blade in its bare hand. The force should have split its palm, but the creature held firm, twisting the blade free from her grip as though it were a child's toy.
Bada was thrown back, her body crashing into the remnants of the nest, scattering leaves and branches into the air. The flames of the fire flared and hissed, embers dancing around her as she groaned in pain.
Jol barely had time to react before the creature turned its attention to him. He raised his hands in a futile attempt to block, but the backhand struck him like a battering ram, sending him flying into the same pile of debris. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, and for a moment, all he could hear was the ringing in his ears.
El Ritch lay motionless, his body cold and still as death. The creature's gaze lingered on him for a moment, but it showed no interest. Whatever malice it bore was reserved for the two who still clung to the fragile threads of life.
It circled them slowly, its steps deliberate, savoring their helplessness. Bada struggled to her feet, blood trickling from her temple, her grip on her remaining blade unsteady. Jol coughed, spitting blood onto the frost-covered ground as he tried to push himself up.
The thing didn't rush. It didn't need to. It had already decided that they would die here.
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Bada's blade struck with fury, a whirlwind of steel aimed to carve through the figure's defense. But it might as well have been striking stone. The creature didn't flinch, didn't recoil—it simply stood, raising its weapon with the unnerving grace of a predator to meet her strikes.
The clash of metal against metal echoed in the frosted hollow, reverberating like a funeral bell. Each blow was met with a parry that seemed almost effortless. When her blade came down in a savage arc, the creature's horizontal guard absorbed it without so much as a tremor. The recoil shuddered through Bada's arms, forcing a grunt of pain from her lips. Jol saw her fingers tremble in the firelight, her grip on the hilt wavering.
'How are you keeping up...Bada?'
Desperation drove her forward again. She lunged, her blade aimed straight for its chest. The figure didn't move. It angled its own weapon, meeting hers at the tip, the edges bending under the force of the clash. For a fleeting moment, the blades groaned under the strain, and then the creature flicked its weapon upward with a sharp twist. The force sent Bada stumbling backward, her footing faltering as the firelight danced across her blood-streaked face.
"Did this thing really kill the Chief?" she asked, her voice shaking, more from exhaustion than fear.
Jol could see the answer in her eyes before she even asked. She didn't believe it, but she couldn't deny what stood before them.
'I am as afraid as you Bada, but how come I am the one running away...'
He wanted to speak, to reassure her, but his throat felt dry, the words stuck somewhere between despair and disbelief.
"It doesn't matter if it killed the Chief—" he started, but Bada cut him off, her voice sharp as a blade.
"It does matter," she snapped, her breath hitching. "Because if it took down Julian... then what in all the hells are we supposed to do?"
Jol couldn't argue. Her words were truth, bitter and undeniable. If this thing had defeated Julian, the strongest of them, then what hope did they have?
But no. That wasn't right. Jol shook his head, the flickering firelight catching the stubborn set of his jaw. Julian couldn't have been killed. He wouldn't have been killed. The Chief had fought an unauthorized beast before, alongside Aldric, and Jol had seen a glimpse of his power that day. A monster like this couldn't have bested him. It wasn't possible. It shouldn't be possible.
"Run," Bada said suddenly, breaking through his spiraling thoughts. Her voice was firm, but her eyes betrayed the fear she'd been trying to hide. "Take the kid and run."
Jol stared at her, his breath caught in his throat. "What? No—"
"Please!" she roared, her voice cracking under the weight of her plea. "For once in your God-damned life, Jol, listen to me! This is the first time I'm taking initiative. So just... please. Do what I say."
Jol opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. He'd never seen her like this before—her composure stripped away, her strength worn thin. She wasn't asking. She was begging. And that terrified him more than the figure that loomed before them.
The figure tilted its head, as though watching them with detached amusement, its blade lowering slightly. It didn't rush. It didn't need to. They were already at its mercy.
Jol's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms, blood soaking his nails as it drippe down and some fell on El Ritch's face. His eyes flicked to El Ritch, still unconscious, still helpless. He knew what Bada was doing. She was giving him an out, a chance to save the boy. But at what cost?
He tried to take the boy and run, finally.
But...
Jol's legs gave way beneath him, his knees hitting the frostbitten earth with a hollow thud. He could barely draw breath, his chest tight as if bound by invisible chains. El Ritch slid from his back like a ragdoll, his limp body crumpling against the frozen ground. The boy's head struck the earth with a sickening crack that made Jol wince. Beside him, Bada grunted, her arms trembling with the effort to break free, but the invisible force binding them allowed no escape.
And then the thing spoke.
"Stop. Stop."
Jol froze, the words of the creature tearing through the air like jagged steel. Its voice wasn't a voice—it was voices, two of them, overlapping and disjointed, their rhythm unnatural. It grated against his ears, against his very thoughts, making his skull feel like it might split. He tried to push through it, to fight against the unseen ropes binding his body, but his limbs refused him. "Stop. Stop." The voices came again, echoing within each syllable, as if the air itself carried their weight. Bada, her twin blades raised in defiance, froze mid-stride, her muscles twitching uselessly against whatever force had taken hold of her. She gritted her teeth, her eyes filled with equal parts fury and dread, but her body betrayed her will.
Jol couldn't move, couldn't breathe. All he could do was listen as the figure advanced, its grotesque form shifting in the flickering firelight.
"Your, your chief, chief has, has caused, caused us, us a, a lot, lot of, of problems, problems," it said, the right side of its face moving first, then the left following, like a marionette controlled by two conflicting hands. The words weren't just spoken—they seemed to embed themselves in the air, in his mind, as though the creature wasn't speaking to them but into them.
Jol's chest heaved as his breath returned, his body suddenly free. He collapsed to his knees, his fingers clawing at the snow as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. "What are you?" he rasped, his voice raw with desperation. "What do you want?"
The creature tilted its head, the motion disjointed, as though its very understanding of movement was flawed. "We, we came, came here, here to, to liberate, liberate you, you," it said, its twin voices harmonizing in a way that sent shivers down Jol's spine.
Bada staggered back, her swords trembling in her grip as she regained her footing. "Liberate us?" she snarled, her voice sharp with disbelief. "From what?"
The creature's mangled face didn't shift, but its tone carried a strange calmness, a mockery of reassurance. "Your, your chief, chief controls, controls your, your perception, perception," it said, driving its sword into the frozen ground with a force that sent cracks splintering through the earth. The sound reverberated through the clearing, and for a moment, everything else was silent.
Jol swallowed hard, his eyes darting to Bada, then to El Ritch's limp form in the snow. "We have nothing to offer you except a pleading for our lives," he said, his voice shaking but steady enough to carry the weight of his resolve. If it meant saving Bada and El Ritch, he would bargain, grovel—whatever it took. His pride was nothing compared to their survival.
The creature's twin voices spoke again, each word carving deeper into Jol's already fractured psyche. "Do, do sit, sit, and, and be, be patient, patient," it said, gesturing with a grotesque mockery of politeness.
Bada's lips curled into a sneer, but she obeyed, lowering her blades slightly. Jol followed suit, his body trembling as he sat back on his heels. He had no choice. None of them did. The air was thick with an unseen power, suffocating and absolute.
"What do you want from us?" Jol asked again, his voice low and hoarse.
The figure tilted its head once more, its fragmented visage somehow conveying amusement. "To, to talk, talk," it said. "About, about how, how, your, your chief, chief twists, twists your, your world, world."
Jol felt his breath catch in his throat as the creature spoke. It was wrong, hearing that rasping, echoing voice shape it's identity, into something humane. Its words gnawed at his resolve, prying open doubts.
"What, what do, do you, you think, think of, of the, the tournament, tournament?" the creature asked, its voice a rhythm of repetition, like the beat of some warped drum. Its wide, lifeless eyes locked onto him, commanding an answer as though it had stolen the very air from his lungs.
Jol swallowed hard. "The glorious battle of the new generation of the horned tribe, ushering in hunters to protect the people of the Hornet." The words came out wooden, rehearsed, slipping easily from his lips. It was what they'd been told, what they were supposed to believe. But in his heart, he finished the thought: ...But you all destroyed it.
The figure's skin on the right side stretched, curling into a mockery of a smile, jagged and unnatural. "Lies, lies, feeded, feeded to, to you, you," it croaked, a grotesque attempt at laughter. "It, it is, is culling, culling of, of the, the weak, weak."
Jol's fists clenched at his sides. He didn't want to believe it, but the creature's words pierced him like thorns, pricking at the fragile veil of his beliefs.
"Julian, Julian, does, does, not, not, protect, protect you, you," it continued, its tone almost mocking. "His, his service, service are, are not, not unconditional, unconditional. He, he does, does not, not love, love you, you." It tilted its head, the movement jerky and disjointed. "But, but we, we love, love you, you. We, we wouldn't, wouldn't be, be here, here without, without you, you, Jol, Jol."
Jol's blood ran cold. His name. It had said his name.
He should've wondered how it knew him, how this abomination could have such knowledge. But instead, another question filled his mind: Why am I the reason for it being here?
"I, I am, am your, your and, and several, several others', others', hate, hate manifested, manifested," the creature rasped. "That, that is, is why, why join, join us, us. We, we will, will save, save you, you."
The smoke, the fire in the village, his fear...A small nudge of hint by the beast but he overlooked it or ignored it completely, distracted by the dread.
The offer hung in the air, as poisonous as the breath of the beast itself. Jol's mind raced, desperation clawing at him. He could say yes. He would say yes, if it meant saving Bada and El Ritch. What did it matter if he damned himself in the process? What was one soul traded for two lives spared?
'I love you Bada, losing you is the last thing I want and El...even though it has only been a day you remind of my brother, I bet he would've enjoyed your company...'
But before he could form the words, Bada's voice cut through the air like the edge of her blade. "Whatever lie Chief may speak of, it brings peace here, and therefore we won't be joining a beast who has no regard for the preservation of life."
Her hands trembled as she spoke, but her voice was unwavering. Strong. She was afraid—Jol could see it in her eyes—but she wouldn't falter. And in that moment, she was everything he wished he could be.
The creature's head twitched, jerking to the side. "You, you will, will die, die," it intoned, its voices dragging out the words like a funeral dirge.
Jol pushed himself to his feet, his exhaustion momentarily cast aside as adrenaline surged through his veins. "We do not fear you," she said, her voice sharper than she'd intended, but there was strength in it.
It wasn't so easy for him to speak, to bare himself the way she could. Words knotted in his throat, the weight of his guilt and fears choking them before they could escape. Why did he always need to mask everything in childlike bravado or some material act? Why couldn't he just say what needed to be said?
The creature's warped face shifted, as though amused by their defiance. "Then, then you, you, will, will die, die braver, braver than, than the, the rest, rest," it croaked.
With a limp, it turned and dragged itself toward its blade, embedded in the frozen ground. Jol's heart pounded as he glanced at Bada. This was it. There would be no more words. No more second chances.
...
Jol moved like a man possessed, his body screaming with exhaustion but his heart ablaze with the need to protect. He charged first, knowing full well he was outmatched. He wasn't a warrior—he never had been. But for Bada and El Ritch, he'd play the role. He'd be the bait, the distraction, the shield.
His fist arced upward, aiming for the figure's twisted jaw. It was a desperate move, telegraphed and clumsy, and the creature dodged it with almost insulting ease. It bent backward with an inhuman grace, its warped face unmoving, unreadable.
Behind it, Bada struck. She moved like the wind, silent and swift, her blade aimed for its back. But the figure was faster. It twisted around, a blur of motion, and with the blade it had taken from her earlier, it parried her strike with brutal efficiency. The force of the counter sent her arm flying backward, and the kick that followed hit her stomach like a battering ram, dropping her to the ground in a heap of pain. She clutched her abdomen, breathless, as the creature loomed over her, unhurried and implacable.
'I want to express myself like you, Bada,' Jol thought as he moved again, his limbs feeling like lead. 'Not through masks, not through stolen laughter and borrowed strength. Would you understand me if I told you this? Would you even want to hear it?'
He grasped the creature's arm, the one that held Bada's blade, and yanked hard, trying to disarm it or at least throw it off balance. But the figure moved with a maddening reluctance, as if Jol's effort was beneath its concern. It twisted effortlessly out of his grip, dropping low and pivoting behind him. Jol didn't even see the punch coming. His nose exploded with pain, and he stumbled back, blood dripping down his lip and chin. Warm blood trickled down his lip, the metallic taste filling his mouth.
'I'm not strong like you, Bada.' His thoughts came in fragments, each one sharper than the last. 'I've never been strong. This madness—this is your world, and I've always been too afraid to live in it. But you let me in anyway. Why? Why didn't you choose someone better? Someone stronger?'
Bada didn't hesitate. Despite the pain etched across her face, despite the blood staining her side, she pushed forward. She wouldn't stop. She couldn't. Jol saw it in her eyes—a determination that would carry her to victory or death.
He tried to warn her, to call her back, but his voice caught in his throat. She swung her blade, a desperate diagonal arc, and missed. The figure didn't. Its counter was swift and merciless, carving a deep wound across her torso. She stumbled, her breaths ragged, but still she didn't fall.
'I'm a coward, the most cowardly man in history. I couldn't even tell you, Bada. Not with my words, not with my heart. I've loved you, and I couldn't say it.'
The figure raised its stolen blade, its intent clear. It would end her.
"No!" Jol roared, his voice breaking. He moved without thinking, snapping his fingers to swap places with the figure. The figure resisted, its presence an unyielding wall against his ability...or perhaps something else. His heart thundered in his chest, each beat louder than the last. He couldn't swap with it. He wouldn't make it in time. The hare was stopping him.
'My friend, I know it's much for me to ask of you, but please for the last time in this pathetic life of mine, lend me your ability. Let me take the place of one that matters the most to me. Please...'
Desperation clawed at him, and he made the only choice he had left. He swapped places with Bada instead.
The blade pierced his chest before he even realized what had happened. It was cold, so cold, and he couldn't feel his legs anymore. His eyes closed before the pain registered, and all he could see was her face, beautiful and fierce, her lips parted in a scream he couldn't hear.
I've loved you, Bada, he thought as the darkness claimed him. And this is the one thing I could give you that was truly mine.
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[If my words had a form, it would not reach you standing in the light.]