The Hunter's Mark

The ground beneath him felt rough, unforgiving.

A web of roots arched overhead, weaving through each other like fingers interlocked, letting the last streaks of daylight filter through in fading beams. He watched the motes of dust swirl, floating from light to shadow, then back again. The cadence of his breathing was as steady as the steps of creatures cautiously emerging from their lairs and caves.

Still as a stone he lay on the rough, makeshift bed-what he would have considered a bed in these times-was uncomfortable. Rough layers of dried hay and worn, brittle strips of cloth cushionThe ground beneath him felt rough, unforgiving.

Slowly, ever so painfully, the sun sank behind the jagged mountaintops. The last of its rays swallowed so deep and obscure that he could barely see a star twinkling in and out of the void as dark as the recesses of his mind.

He counted in his mind to pass the time. Memories of his past had long since eroded into the recesses of his mind, overshadowed by survival, blood lust, and vengeance so deep it had become his sole reason for living.

And so, he lay still as a stone on the cot, counting to one hundred, then back to one. Numbers-one of the few mental exercises he could do without much strain. It was one of the few things that reminded him of his humanity, that once he had existed as something other than this weapon of mass destruction.

Before the curse.

The growling of throats was closer now. His ears inclined to their movement, sharp and fine tuned from decades of warring against the beasts. He could hear them drawing near, their forms a heavy lumbering weight drifting from side to side. Their elongated claws digging into the soft earth, dragging along the tree barks to sharpen. The strength of them so deep, he would often see thick barked trees torn in half from the simple act of tracing a claw down them as if lighting a match.

With eyes shut their image bleed forth vividly. Those mouths gaping wide to reveal rows of teeth sharpened like iron, dripping with ropes of saliva hot enough to burn through a man's skin. He would know. Absentmindedly his thumb rubs a spot on his palm where the acid had burned a hole through. His bone had never looked so pale.

Slowly, his eyes opened to the dark space above him. He waited.

And then rose.

The bed groaned as his hulking form lifted, the dents where he lay springing back like they had longed to expel him. He reached for his sword, the length of it nearly three quarter of his towering form, its width spanning his half his broad back. And the colour of it like onyx, darker than sin.

He does not remember when it was given to him, or how he had come across it. All he could acknowledge was how it fit into his hand like it had always belonged there, familiar as his own bones, an instrument of destruction that swung with the lethal grace of a reaper's scythe.

The sword was imbued on the blood of the creatures, yet it yearned for more. Its insatiable appetite drawing him from the shelter of the crevice and out into the forsaken night.

Sometimes, he wondered if he ruled it or perhaps, it ruled him.

Stepping into outer darkness, his footfalls as quiet as the wind that lulled through the air, undulating the grass around his ankles.

He stood at the edge of the forest where the clearing began and the next woods began, trees looming like sentiels somberly gazing upon the bloodbath that would happen. The moonlight cast a pale cold glow over the forest as he moved forward, each footfall heavy.

The scent of death drew near as he navigated towards them. The scent of decay and rotting wood mingled with the metallic tang of blood threading the air, resting heavily on the back of his tongue. His nostrils flared wide, chest heaving as each breath drew itself greedily. The dark skin of his knuckles paled with the tension and calloused from endless battle.

In the darkness that held its breath before him, a pair of red eyes appeared.

Glowing like suspended lanterns they watched him quietly. More eyes flickered in and out of the darkness. He counted three... no five... seven... ten. The beasts paced in the black, eyes winking in and out of sight as they passed behind thick tree barks.

Ten.

The hunter rolled his neck back and forth to relieve any tension. His heart began to thump, not out of fear, but a righteous anger. Ire so deep and hot it set his veins alight with a desire of vengeance that could only be quenched by blood spilled with the sword he held.

He stood still gazing at them. Waiting.

The beasts remained in the shadows as if in contemplation, sizing up their prey like wolves circling a deer, eyes gleaming with feral hunger and malice, each step calculated and tense, as if savouring the taste of blood that hung thick in the air.

His breath misted before him.

And then they lunged.

One by one, then in pairs, hulking shadows with teeth hardened like iron and yellow as shattered stone. Their fur was matted with the filth of death, coats speckled with blood of earlier kills- kills of lower ranked beasts.

The hunter drew his sword from its sheath with a damning hiss.

Moonlight glimmered on the sharp edge of it as it settled by his side. With a calm determined look, he set his eyes on the leading beast that charged towards him head down. The corner of his butchered mouth curled. And he broke into a sprint towards the animal.

The sword was merely an extension of his body, drawing him forth into the battlefield with the one pulsing appetite for nothing other than death itself. He swung the sword down, meeting the beast in midair lunge with a sickening crunched as steel met bone, splitting the creature's skull open down the middle. Blood and brain spilled forth like a brimming cup.

His boots touched the blood briefly as he glided past the carcass towards the next victim. His teeth bared white in a snarl, the sword meeting flesh and bone, flesh and bone, flesh and bone... he twisted with the agility of a bird catching a beast that lunged for his exposed flank. The sword scythed upwards in a curve that claimed the creature's limb. Hot blood sprayed out in a scarlet arc, speckling his face.

He turned in time as another pair lunged simultaneously, willing to drive him down in numbers. His movements flickered in and out of vision, the sword gracefully painting a poem of slaughter on the forest floor. His breaths came in short bursts. They surged forward like a flood and he raised himself to the standard, tapping into the darkness within, the very core on which he built his foundation.

Rage.

As he caught the gaping maw of one beast in a horizontal slash, the creature's tongue lolled out from muscle paralysis. The silver arched down and severed its head from body. Another darted from the shadows with extended claws. He turned a heartbeat too late. Curled claws slashed across his shoulder blade, digging into his flesh. Pain lanced down his vertebrae and for a blinding moment his vision narrowed to white.

Then black.

I will end you, mind bent on nothing but the beast that wounded him. He careened towards it, muscles coiling tight as the sword glided across the blades of grass, rising like a crested wave and with a snarl deep in his throat. Bone shards and brain matter exploded from the splitting of its skull. He smote it again, severing its vertebrae in a single thrust forward. It convulsed horribly then folded onto the grass in a heap.

More poured in, a writhing black mass of nightmares from all directions. He did not grow weary, fuelled by a primal strength that seemed inhuman in that moment. The muscles beneath his skin flexed and strained, coiling tight like red hot wires. His pupils had been swallowed whole in an obscene black. Each harsh breath leaving his nostrils like that of a raging bull.

The grotesque faces of each creature shifted into a watery mirage as another image formed. A man. A king. His smile wide and suave as he proclaimed the judgment upon the hunter. The curse that shackled him to this reality.

I will end you.

No longer was he fighting the beast but the very image of the man. His sword curved in wide arcs, each strike a savage release of his fury. The blade chased after that face with ruthless efficiency. Body parts slumped onto the ground. Blood drenched his form leaving his sleek and the ground slippery. His boots squelched with body matter and refuse.

Still, that face remained just outside of his reach. Just beyond the very edge of his fingertips. Mocking. You think you can have me? He taunted, mouth splitting wide as if to devour everything he ever had. And it did. I will have you whole.

They tore at him, claws reaching for his claws. He no longer moved with the conscious of a man but the shadow of one. No longer could he tell reality from fantasy, darkness from darkness. It was all one and the same.

The forest came alive with the sounds of carnage-- the hiss of blade meeting flesh, the shattering of bones like thunder, the pained yelps of dying beasts that folded beneath his feet like flowers. And still he did not stop.

Not until he was soaked in it. His body a horrifying visage of a man desperately wearing the remnants of his enemies. The final beast fell in a crumpled mess edges from him, its side rising and falling with every ragged helpless breath. A whimper escaped it and he stood quietly, his own breath harsh in his ears.

He watched its fractured claw rise weakly and cling to the earth in a futile attempt at hauling its body away from the reckoning. His boots crunched over bone and matter as he moved towards it with a slowness that suggested he preferred it to suffer just a little bit more.

Firmly planting his feet on each side of the beast. The hunter gazed down at the limp mass of struggling life with eyes void of life. Lips pressed thin, he raised the sword high, its pointed tip focused on the base of its skull.

The beast tilted its head then. Single eye mirroring the reflection of the blade as it drove downwards.

The hunter stepped back, his body bearing fresh wounds and gashes that split down his arms and torso. The pain was a distant foghorn, a sound he could not quite hear. Not right now.

He sheathed his sword, fingers and muscles trembling from exhaustion. And, taking a final shuddering breath, turned away from the carnage weaving his way silently back to the forest. Away from death, from the face and back into the darkness he called his own.

Unaware that a single flame of light hovered in the distance.