Chapter II
"To tread upon redemption’s path is to bear sacrifice’s cruel mark. For each soul left unburied, the burden groweth, and no penance shall cleanse it."
— Book of Penance, Church of the Three
The morning mist clung to the ground, thickening as Alec and the sheriff’s men approached the scene. A narrow clearing held the skeletal remains of caravans, scattered, twisted, and broken. Wheels lay shattered, canvas torn; splintered crates spilled grain and shards of glass across the blood-darkened mud. Flies buzzed thick around the scene, their droning the only sound as Alec dismounted, his boots sinking into the sodden earth.
The stench hit first—a pungent blend of charred wood, blood, and something fouler, lingering in the damp air. Alec approached, letting his eyes sweep over the devastation. He noted the deep grooves in the ground where carts had been overturned, the dark stains that pooled around them.
The Sheriff’s men hung back; their gazes wary as they surveyed the destruction. Hadrian moved beside him, his gaze scanning the scene with a hardened look. “Didn’t leave much behind, did they?”
Alec crouched near a broken crate, his fingers brushing over a claw mark gouged deep into the wood, straight and segmented. He lifted his head, eyes narrowing as he observed the pattern of destruction. “Shroudspawn wouldn’t leave anything this… methodical,” Alec said quietly, examining the scene. “No interest in supplies, no bodies left. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”
“Are you suggesting that…” The Sheriff started.
“It’s too soon to come up with a conclusion, yet” Alec answered, his fingers pressing onto small holes on the wood “but, perhaps this isn’t the work of a Shroudspawn.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, no human could do this,” Hadrian muttered, though doubt flickered in his eyes as he surveyed the scene.
“There are no bodies, Sheriff. The Shroudspawn eat the dead, but there’d still be a carcass,” Alec answered, his fingers tracing over more holes in the wood. “Besides,” he murmured, his voice edged with suspicion, “I’ve yet to see a Shroudspawn wield a gun.”
Hadrian knelt beside Alec, pulling a roll of dried vyr leaf from his pocket. Striking a match, he lit it, inhaling deeply before exhaling a plume of aromatic smoke that curled and dissipated in the air. “Could be from the caravaners,” he said, casual but doubtful. “Might’ve been their last stand against the monsters.”
He extended the vyr roll toward Alec, offering it with a flick of his wrist. Alec shook his head, holding up a gloved hand in polite refusal. “Dulls the senses,” he replied, his gaze never leaving the scene. “And if they were defending themselves… they wouldn’t be firing into their own supplies.”
Hadrian scoffed lightly, taking another drag as he scanned the scattered crates. “Stranger things have happened on these roads, hunter. Caravaners aren’t all sober-minded folk—they’d do what it takes if they thought they had a chance.”
Alec rose, wiping his hands on his coat before gesturing to a set of uneven tracks leading away from the wreckage. “Possibly,” he allowed, his voice thoughtful. “But these marks aren’t consistent with panicked shooting. Whoever did this had precision, almost… restraint. They left some things untouched.”
The sheriff raised an eyebrow, skepticism shadowing his gaze. “Restraint, you say? Or maybe you’re just seeing what you want to see.” He gestured with his hand, dismissing Alec’s notion. “Could be any number of things, Alec. No one knows what goes through the heads of travelers once they’re out in these wilds.”
Alec crouched again, letting his fingers graze over another series of small, circular indentations in the ground—a pattern that hinted at a kind of familiarity, though he couldn’t place it yet. “Maybe. But I’m not one to dismiss patterns when they show themselves.”
Hadrian watched him, his gaze narrowing, a faint sneer curving his lips. “Patterns or shadows. Either way, if this were just another monster attack, we wouldn’t be here standing over splintered wood instead of bones.”
Alec’s eyes lingered on the ground, his brow furrowing slightly. “We’ll find out soon enough. Whatever made these marks… they’re not random.” He rose, giving Hadrian a curt nod. “Let’s keep moving. If there are tracks, they’ll be fresher deeper in.”
The sheriff took another drag, exhaling a long, steady stream of smoke before nodding. “Alright, hunter,” he muttered. “Lead the way.”
Alec mounted his horse, settling into the saddle. The sheriff’s men exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of doubt and unease as they fell into line behind the two leaders.
As they rode deeper into the forest, the road narrowed, hemmed in by ancient oaks whose gnarled branches twisted together overhead, blocking out the weak morning light. The mist clung stubbornly to the ground, swirling around the horses’ hooves. Alec’s gaze swept the underbrush, noting the way the ferns lay trampled, faint impressions, barely visible, lingered on the mud.
“Tracks are inconsistent,” Alec murmured, more to himself than to Hadrian. “Heavy at first, then lighter… like they were carrying something, then abandoned it.”
Hadrian snorted, grinding the butt of his vyr roll between his teeth. “Or maybe the rain washed away half the prints. You’re reading ghosts in the mud.”
Alec ignored the jab, dismounting again as something caught his eye. He crouched low, fingers tracing a shallow groove cut into the soil. It was narrow, clean, like the drag line left by a wagon wheel—yet there were no matching marks beside it, only the uneven pockmarks of disturbed earth.
“This cut is too narrow for a standard wagon,” Alec said, glancing back at Hadrian. “And it’s fresh. Whatever passed through here did so after the attack.”
Hadrian’s expression tightened, the skepticism giving way to a flicker of unease. “Another caravan, maybe? Following the same route?”
“Maybe,” Alec conceded, rising to his feet. “But if so, they came through knowing what they’d find and left no sign of stopping. That, or they were in a hurry to get away from here.”
The sheriff spat out the remnants of his vyr roll, grinding it into the dirt with the heel of his boot. “You’ve got a knack for making things sound worse than they are, hunter.”
Alec gave a thin smile. “I call it as I see it.”
They pressed on, the forest closing in tighter around them. The sheriff’s men rode in uneasy silence, casting nervous glances toward the trees. It was quiet now—too quiet, Alec realized. The usual chorus of birdsong was absent, replaced only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant creak of branches swaying in the breeze.
Alec slowed his horse, lifting a hand to signal the group to stop. He leaned forward in the saddle, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the treeline. There, half-hidden among the roots of a tree, was a splash of dark red. He swung down from his horse, drawing his knife as he approached.
Hadrian dismounted with a grunt, following close behind. “What is it now?”
Alec crouched beside the tree, touching the crimson smear with the tip of his blade. The blood was dark, sticky to the touch. It clung to the steel like sap, half-coagulated, fresh enough to suggest it hadn’t been here long. He wiped the knife on his coat, casting a glance back at Hadrian. “If the bodies were taken, we might have found where they were dragged.”
Hadrian’s face twisted in a grimace. “Dragged off, you mean? By what?” He lingered, his gaze fixed on the bloodstain, a flicker of unease breaking through his usual composure.
Alec stood, sheathing his knife as he met the sheriff’s eyes. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
The sheriff muttered a curse under his breath, motioning for his men to fan out. “Alright, spread out and look for more signs. But stay close. I don’t want anyone wandering off into the woods alone.”
Alec watched the men disperse, their movements tense and uncertain. He turned back to the dark stain on the tree, his thoughts racing as he gazed at the tree line. “Whoever—or whatever—had left this mark may be nearby” he said.
“And if you are right, maybe we are being watched.” The Sheriff commented, his voice barely a whisper “Get your gun ready, hunter”
Alec nodded, as he straightened, taking a deep breath of the damp, earthy air, and cast one last glance at the shadowed woods “we continue on foot” he said, taking a rifle from his horse’s saddle.
“On foot?” Hadrian hesitated, glancing back at the horses. “You’re sure about this?”
“We’ll be more silent this way” Alec answered. His fingers tightened around the rifle’s grip as he gazed at his surroundings.
The Sheriff motioned to the remaining men “You two, stay here and guard the horses”, before turning back to Alec “Lead on, then. Let’s see where this trail takes us.”
Alec nodded, holstering the rifle. “Keep your eyes open, Sheriff.” Alec said, his voice low. “We’re not alone out here.”
The forest seemed to close in around them as they moved on foot, the thick canopy above muting the daylight to a dim, perpetual twilight. The mist swirled at their ankles, clinging like the breath of something unseen. Alec led the way, his rifle cradled in his arms, each step careful and deliberate. Behind him, Hadrian followed with a wary gaze, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the sheriff’s men fanning out in a loose formation.
Alec paused, his head tilting slightly as he listened. It was subtle, almost imperceptible—the crack of a branch far off to their left, followed by the faint rustle of underbrush. He tightened his grip on the rifle, eyes narrowing as he scanned the dense foliage. Nothing moved, but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, a familiar sensation of being watched.
“Something wrong?” Hadrian asked, his voice low.
Alec didn’t answer immediately. He took a step forward, bending low to examine the ground. The mud here was churned up, as if several pairs of boots had passed through in haste. He pressed his fingers into one of the prints, feeling the cold, wet soil. It was fresh.
“More tracks,” Alec muttered, straightening. “Human, but they don’t match the caravaners’ route. These veer off, deeper into the forest.”
Hadrian spat into the dirt, his expression darkening. “Could be scavengers, picking over what’s left.”
“Or scouts,” Alec said quietly, his gaze darting to the shadowed treeline. He felt it again—that prickling sensation, like a pair of unseen eyes following their every move. He glanced back at Hadrian, lowering his voice. “Keep your men close. We’re not alone out here.”
Hadrian’s face hardened, and he gave a sharp whistle, signaling his men to tighten formation. The sheriff’s men closed ranks, their weapons drawn, eyes darting nervously between the trees.
The group pressed on, each step echoing louder in the silence of the forest. It was as if the very air held its breath, the usual sounds of the woods—birdsong, the chitter of squirrels—noticeably absent. Alec felt the tension coiling tighter with each step, an unspoken understanding hanging between him and the sheriff: whatever was out here wasn’t afraid of them.
One of the guards shifted uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. “Feels like we’re being watched,” he muttered, half to himself.
“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” Hadrian snapped, though his own eyes darted to the treeline, searching the shadows. “Let’s move on.”
They came upon another clearing, smaller than the last, where the underbrush had been trampled flat. Alec knelt, brushing aside a cluster of ferns to reveal a circle of disturbed earth, darker and wetter than the surrounding soil. He ran his fingers through the muck, lifting them to his nose. Blood—old, but not more than a day.
“Here, too,” one of the sheriff’s men called out, gesturing to a nearby tree trunk. Deep gouges marred the bark, claw marks crisscrossing the surface. But as Alec moved closer, he saw the scratches were deliberate, almost purposeful, like a pattern.
“Not an animal,” Alec murmured, tracing the marks with his fingers. “These were made with intent.”
Hadrian frowned, stepping closer to inspect the markings. “Intent? What kind of intent?”
Alec met the sheriff’s gaze, his expression grim. “To mark territory.”
“So, it is a Shroudspawn, then?” Hadrian asked.
“Maybe” Alec answered, “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions.”
The Hex Breaker’s words hung in the air, heavy. One of the younger men let out a nervous laugh that quickly stifled when Hadrian shot him a glare.
A gust of wind swept through the clearing, rustling the leaves overhead. It carried a faint sound with it, imperceptible to the common man, a breath of noise that vanished as quickly as it came. Alec’s eyes snapped to the treeline, but there was nothing there. Just the darkened woods that seemed to suck out the morning light.
Hadrian noticed the shift in Alec’s stance, the sheriff’s hand instinctively hovering closer to his revolver. “What is it?” he asked, lowering his voice.
“Nothing,” Alec replied after a beat, though his gaze lingered on the shadows a moment longer. He turned away, but the uneasy sensation didn’t leave. Clinging to his skin.
The group pressed on, the forest’s embrace growing tighter as the canopy closed overhead. The light was dim, a muted gray sliver that filtered through the dense tangle of branches, casting shifting patterns on the ground. Alec moved cautiously, rifle at the ready, his eyes scanning the underbrush for any sign of movement.
Hadrian fell in step beside him, the sheriff’s men trailing a few paces behind, their earlier bravado dulled by the quietness and dense atmosphere. The scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filled the air, heavy and cloying. Alec paused, crouching low to study a patch of disturbed ground. The mud was churned, as if by many feet, but the prints were too faint, half-obscured by the morning’s mist.
“More tracks,” Alec muttered, his voice barely more than a breath. “But they split off here… like they were following two different trails.”
Hadrian glanced down, frowning. “Maybe Scouts? If they’re splitting up, it means they’re covering ground. Looking for something, or someone.”
“Or trying to confuse us,” Alec replied, his tone grim. He straightened, the same sensation as before emerging, as if a cold breath had passed over his skin. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder, instead keeping his focus on the shadowed forest ahead. “Stay alert.”
“Should we split?” Asked Hadrian, his gaze on the tracks bellow.
“No” Alec answered, gesturing to a single trail, “if it is a trap, we’ll just be doing what they want.”
They moved deeper, the path narrowing into a rough animal trail, barely visible beneath the thick undergrowth. The sheriff’s men exchanged uneasy glances, their hands tightening around their weapons. One of the younger guards, a young boy, barely old enough to shave, stumbled over a root and let out a muffled curse.
“Watch your step,” Hadrian growled, as the other men helped the boy to his feet, his voice was edged with a tightness that hadn’t been there before. Alec caught the sheriff’s gaze, noticing the way his eyes darted to the treeline, the shadows playing tricks on his vision.
A low rustle came from the right, followed by a brief, hushed silence. Alec held up a hand, signaling the group to stop. The forest stilled, the silence stretching thin, taut as a bowstring. He lowered himself to one knee, listening. There it was again—a faint crack, like the snapping of a twig, and then nothing. The sound had come from somewhere just beyond the brush, too deliberate to be the wind.
Hadrian’s hand hovered near the grip of his revolver, his breath shallow. “You hear that?”
Alec nodded, his eyes narrowing. “We’re not alone,” he whispered, the words meant more as a warning than an observation. He raised his rifle slightly, aiming into the dense foliage.
The sheriff’s face darkened, his hand tightening on the worn leather of his gun holster. “If there’s someone trailing us, then they’re waiting for something. An ambush?”
The sheriff’s men stood frozen, their faces pale in the dim light. One of them, a burly man with a thick beard, stepped closer to Alec. “Should we call out?” he asked, his voice low, but loud enough to break the fragile silence.
Alec shot him a sharp look. “No. Whatever’s out there already knows we’re here.”
The guard swallowed hard, nodding as he took a step back. The group began to move again, slower this time, each man’s gaze darting from shadow to shadow. Alec felt the sensation deepen, that familiar prickling awareness of eyes watching from the dark. But every time he turned his head, there was nothing—just the empty woods, thick with mist and silence.
They came to a small stream, its waters dark and sluggish. Alec knelt by the bank, dipping his fingers into the cold water. The current was weak, almost stagnant. He raised his hand, rubbing the liquid between his thumb and forefinger. It left a thin, oily residue, tinged with a faint, sulfuric scent.
“There’s shroudspawn residues tainting the water,” Alec murmured, standing. He glanced back at Hadrian. “Their scent are all over it.”
The sheriff’s face hardened, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “How come?”
Alec shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Perhaps one got killed here. However, it’s recent—whatever caused this did it not long ago.” He scanned the forest again, his eyes shifting between the tree line. “We’re already being followed. Perhaps we’ll get our answers soon.”
Hadrian’s gaze darkened, his hand tightening on the grip of his revolver. “If you are right, Hunter, then we are exposed, we could fall into an ambush at any time”
“Yes, we could,” Alec replied, stepping away from the stream. He swung his rifle to his shoulder, gesturing for the men to fall back into formation. “We move fast and quiet. No noise and stay close.”
The group continued; their faces etched with fear. The forest seemed to close in around them, the shadows lengthening, contorting unnaturally at the edge of their vision. Alec felt the pressure building, as if something impatiently observed them.
Then, cutting through the silence like a knife, came the sound of a woman’s voice—ragged, breathless, filled with raw terror.
“Help! Please, help me!”
The woman’s scream was filled with pure terror. The men froze, exchanging startled glances. One of them, the young guard with a nervous twitch, broke the silence first.
“Did you hear that?” he stammered, his eyes wide with fear.
Alec’s jaw clenched and he held out his arm, blocking the man’s path. “Hold your ground,” he ordered, his voice low but firm. “You don’t know what this is.”
The sheriff’s men faltered, glancing between Alec and the shadows ahead. The voice came again, louder this time, filled with desperation. “Please! I’m hurt! I can’t move!”
“We have to go,” another guard urged, stepping forward. “Someone’s out there!”
Hadrian’s face twisted with uncertainty, his grip tightening on his revolver. “Alec, you heard that. It sounds like a woman. Could be a survivor.”
Alec’s expression hardened. “Or not. This could be leading us to a trap.”
One of the older guards, his face twisted with uncertainty, shook his head. “What if you’re wrong, hunter? What if there is someone out there?”
The voice rose again, a wailing sob that echoed through the trees. “They are coming, please!”
We can’t just leave her!” another one of the men shouted, bolting forward before Alec could stop him. Another guard followed, the rest hesitating only a moment before rushing after them.
“Damn it!” Alec spat, swinging his rifle up as he sprinted after them. “Hold your positions!” he shouted, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the men crashing through the underbrush.
He pushed forward, the mist swirling around him, the cries growing louder and more distorted with each step. The air vibrated with the wailings and screams.
Ahead, he saw the first of the men stop abruptly, their faces twisted in horror. The clearing beyond was shrouded in thick mist, but Alec could make out the towering silhouette of a Ragoss—skeletal, grotesque, with long limbs dripping in sinew and bone, its hollow skull turned toward them, its gaping mouth stretching wide as it a scream.
The Ragoss’s scream tore through the clearing, a bone-rattling howl that felt like shards of glass scraping against Alec’s skull. Blood trickled from the men’s ears, their faces contorted in agony.
Alec took a deep breath and fired, the crack of his rifle splitting the air. The blessed bullet struck the creature’s shoulder, causing it to lurch back with a guttural, echoing growl.
“Fall back!” Alec roared, aiming again. “Regroup—now!”
The men scrambled to obey, stumbling over roots and rocks as the Ragoss lurched forward. Alec fired once more, the crack of the rifle a brief respite against the overwhelming noise. The blessed bullet struck true, but the creature lunged with terrifying speed, its clawed hands ripping through flesh and bone, tearing apart those who couldn’t move in time. Their cries for help were drowned out by the Ragoss’s roar—a chilling scream that twisted into a chorus of overlapping voices: men, women, children—all begging for mercy in a cacophony of terror that overwhelmed every sense, driving the men to the brink of madness.
The sheriff’s men drew their pistols, firing wildly into the creature’s skeletal frame. The bullets sank into its sinew and bone, but the Ragoss barely flinched—each shot only seemed to enrage it further. With a bone-rattling roar, the creature lunged, its claws slicing through flesh and shattering bones with ease. Blood sprayed as the men crumpled beneath its onslaught, the force of its scream driving crimson rivulets from their eyes and ears.
“Keep moving!” Alec barked, drawing a syringe from his belt. He plunged it into his neck, the alchemical concoction burning like fire in his veins, sharpening his senses against the cacophony.
Hadrian’s hand trembled as he hauled one of the younger men up. “You heard the hunter—fall back!” A flicker of fear in his eyes. He glanced back at Alec, as he dragged the guard away from the clearing, the unspoken plea for guidance clear in his face.
Alec rolled his shoulders, feeling the burn of the alchemical mixture course through his veins. The world around him sharpened, the chaotic sounds of the forest falling into a crisp, almost painful clarity. He could feel the world slowing to a crawl, the weight of the Ragoss’s gaze on him, its hollow skull tilting, as if studying him
The remaining sheriff’s men, stumbling and half-deafened by the creature’s scream, broke into a full retreat, their footsteps pounding away through the underbrush. Hadrian cast one last look at Alec, his face pale, before he vanished into the mist, dragging the younger guard with him.
The Ragoss let out another howl, the sound warping into a mocking, echoing laugh that seemed to come from all directions at once. Alec gritted his teeth, raising his revolver—a heavy, six-chambered weapon with a dark iron barrel, its grip adorned with a worn cruciform charm dangling from a thin chain. The charm swung as he leveled the gun, its edges smoothed by years of use. He loaded another blessed bullet, its surface glistening with a crimson sheen, infused with alchemical concoction.
He closed his eyes and narrowed his focus, and the world seemed to slow around him, the chain of the cruciform charm swinging lightly with each breath. The chaotic sounds of the forest faded into a distant hum, leaving only the steady beat of his own heart.
The world around him slowed, the chaotic noise of the forest fading to a distant hum. Alec’s eyes snapped open, a faint glow flickering in his irises as he tracked the Ragoss’s every movement. Time seemed to crawl as he lined up his shots, the revolver barking three times in rapid succession. Each bullet found its mark, shattering bone and tearing through sinew.
The world around him slowed, the chaotic noise of the forest fading to a distant hum. Alec’s eyes snapped open, a faint glow flickering in his irises as he tracked the Ragoss’s every movement. Time seemed to crawl as he lined up his shots, the revolver barking three times in rapid succession. Each bullet found its mark, shattering bone and tearing through sinew, but the creature pressed forward, ignoring the damage to its skeletal frame.
He fired a quick succession of shots, each crack of the gun echoing like thunder through the forest. Blessed bullets tore through sinew and bone, but the creature pressed forward, ignoring the damage to its skeletal frame.
Alec sidestepped as the Ragoss lunged, its claws slicing through the air where he’d stood. He swung the rifle like a club, slamming the butt into the creature’s skull with a sickening crack. The impact sent a shiver down his arm, but the Ragoss only snarled, snapping its jaws a few centimeters from his face.
“You’re not making this easy,” Alec muttered, slipping a hand into his coat and drawing a silvered knife etched with runes. He plunged the blade into the creature’s side, twisting it deep into the rotting sinew. Dark, viscous fluid oozed from the wound, hissing as it touched the earth, but the Ragoss didn’t falter.
The creature reared back, its sinew-covered tendrils whipping out like serpents, one lashing across Alec’s chest. The force knocked him back, sending him sprawling into the dirt. He felt the sting of the blow, the metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth. But he rolled to his feet in one fluid motion, gripping the knife tightly.
Alec spat out a mouthful of blood, feeling the sting as it dripped down his chin. He didn’t waste a second. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he hurled the knife at the Ragoss. The silvered blade spun through the air, embedding itself into the creature’s chest with a satisfying thunk. The Ragoss staggered, its howling laughter warping into a shriek of pain.
Alec’s breath hitched as he felt the Ragoss’s claws swipe toward him, the air humming with the force of the strike. He narrowed his focus, tapping into the arcane energy coursing through his veins. Shadows coalesced around him, his form blurring as he sidestepped through the darkness. He reappeared a few meters away, the creature’s claws slicing through the empty space where he’d stood moments before.
The spell left him momentarily breathless, a sharp ache spreading through his ribs, but he pushed the pain aside.
The Ragoss quickly took advantage, lunging against him one more time, its skeletal frame bending unnaturally as it swiped at him. Alec rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the claws that dug deep furrows into the ground where he’d stood. He came up in a crouch, reaching for his revolver again. The gun’s barrel gleamed with faint etchings; old prayers carved into the steel.
“Let’s see how you handle this,” Alec muttered, loading a blessed bullet etched with runes into the chamber. The bullet glowed faintly with a pulsing, silver-blue light—infused with a warding charm meant to pierce the arcane sinew of Shroudspawn. He snapped the cylinder shut, feeling the familiar click as he aimed and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, sharp and clear, like the toll of a distant bell.
The bullet struck the Ragoss square in the skull, the silver-blue light flaring as it made contact. Bone cracked, and a shockwave rippled through the creature’s skeletal frame, sending shards of dark, viscous fluid spraying into the air. The Ragoss reeled, momentarily disoriented, its sinew-like tendrils flailing wildly as it let out a guttural, echoing wail.
The creature’s head lolled, but it lashed out with a sinew-covered tendril, wrapping it around Alec’s ankle. He felt the icy burn of its decaying touch searing through his boot. With a snarl, Alec swung the rifle like a mace, smashing the tendril loose. He stumbled back, breathing hard, but his eyes were locked on the Ragoss, calculating.
“Getting sloppy,” Alec muttered to himself. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial of oil, uncorking it with his teeth. The scent of sulfur and herbs filled the air as he poured it over the blade of his knife.
The Ragoss lunged again, this time slower, as if it sensed the danger. Alec sidestepped, slashing out with his knife. The blade bit deep into the creature’s sinew, and a sizzling sound filled the air as the oil burned through its rotting flesh. The Ragoss screeched, the sound sharp and grating.
Alec pressed the advantage, slashing at the tendrils that snapped toward him. He ducked low, spinning out of the way of a wild swipe and drove the knife deep into the creature’s side. The Ragoss convulsed, its limbs spasming as the oil spread through its veins like poison.
“That’s right,” Alec hissed through clenched teeth. He ripped the knife free, dark fluid spraying across his coat. “You’re not the only one who knows how to play dirty.”
The Ragoss reared back, its form shuddering, the mocking laughter now replaced with a garbled, pained cry. Alec holstered his knife, pulling free the last vial from his belt—a thick glass container filled with a volatile, crimson liquid. He uncorked it and hurled it at the creature’s chest. The vial shattered on impact, and the alchemical substance ignited with a burst of blinding light.
The Ragoss’s scream split the air as the flames licked up its skeletal frame, consuming the tendrils and sinew in an instant. Alec shielded his eyes, feeling the heat wash over him. He didn’t wait to see if the creature would rise again. He raised his revolver one last time, sighting down the barrel as the flames danced in the creature’s hollow eye sockets.
“Burn,” he muttered, pulling the trigger. The final shot rang out, a blessed bullet piercing through the Ragoss’s skull. The creature crumpled, its body collapsing into a heap of smoldering bone and ash.
Alec exhaled slowly, lowering his revolver. The forest was silent again, the echo of the shot fading into the mist. He took a moment to steady his breath, the adrenaline still thrumming in his veins, the alchemical concoction slowly burning out of his system.
He wiped the dark fluid from his face, glancing down at the remains of the Ragoss. “You were a tough one,” he muttered, retrieving his knife from the ash. He glanced around, noting the trampled bodies of the sheriff’s men lying on the earth.
Alec took a deep breath, letting the quiet settle back into the forest, the only sound now the faint crackle of the smoldering remains. He holstered his revolver, casting a final look at the mangled bodies of the sheriff’s men scattered around the clearing. Their faces, twisted in fear and pain, were now forever frozen in death.
He knelt beside the nearest body, a young guard whose life had ended far too soon. Alec removed his glove, placing his bare hand over the man’s bloodied chest. He bowed his head, murmuring a quiet prayer, the words barely audible in the still air.
“May your soul find the way back to the Heavens,” Alec whispered, his voice rough but sincere. “And may the Three carry you there.”
As he finished, he rose to his feet, feeling the weight of the lives lost settle heavily on his shoulders. He glanced up, the mist swirling around him, thickening as if it were mourning the dead as well.
Then, a voice broke the silence.
“You know the problem with you Church Hunters?” said Blackwell, his voice familiar, yet older and raspier “It’s too easy to catch you with your guard down.”
Alec’s hand flew to his revolver, but he stilled when he felt the cold press of a gun barrel against the back of his head.
“Reinard Blackwell,” Alec said evenly, his tone devoid of surprise. “I was wondering if you’d show up.”
“I was admiring the spectacle,” Blackwell replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It seemed like you had it under control.”
Alec’s fingers curled around the grip of his revolver, his movements slow and deliberate. He exhaled quietly, his body tensing as he prepared to move. The faint hum of arcane energy flickered through his veins, and the shadows around him began to waver. Just as he was about to teleport, Blackwell’s voice rang out again.
“Don’t even think about it, Corvain,” he warned, chuckling. “You didn’t think I’d come alone, did you? Got eyes on you, hunter. Save yourself the trouble.”
Alec’s gaze shifted through the tree line, catching the glint of a rifle barrel protruding from the treetops. A second figure was perched among the branches, their body hidden by the foliage.
“You blink, and you’ll drop before you even hit the ground.” Said Blackwell.
Alec’s grip tightened on the revolver, his knuckles whitening around the dark iron barrel. He didn’t draw, but the tension in his body was unmistakable. “And here I thought you’d have the decency to shoot me in the front.”
The pressure of the gun barrel didn’t lessen. “Decency’s in short supply these days, especially among our kind.”
Alec slowly raised his hands, keeping his movements deliberate. “You planning to pull that trigger, or are we going to have a conversation?”
Blackwell was silent for a moment, then he lowered the gun, stepping back. Alec turned to face him, meeting the man’s cold gaze. Blackwell’s face was partially obscured by the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, but Alec could still see the glint of amusement in his singe piercing gray eye—the other hidden beneath a rough leather eyepatch. A jagged scar ran down his face, vanishing beneath the patch. His beard was grizzled, flecked with silver, framing thin, chapped lips twisted into a smirk. He wore a battered leather duster, its hem frayed and stained with mud, a faded bandolier slung across his chest.
“Nice trick with the bullet,” Blackwell said, nodding toward the smoldering remains of the Ragoss. “Didn’t think you still carried those.”
“Old habits,” Alec replied, slipping his revolver back into its holster. He dusted off his coat, the gesture casual despite the tension in the air. “So, you’ve been following me.”
Blackwell snorted, holstering his own gun with a practiced flourish. “You give yourself too much credit,” he said, his voice edged with sarcasm. “This Ragoss was my quarry. Tracked it all the way from its nest.”
“Yeah?” Alec’s tone was dry, his eyebrow arching as he crouched beside the smoldering remains of the creature. He drew his knife, its blade catching the dim light, and began slicing through one of the still-dripping sinews. “Funny. Didn’t see you fighting it when I arrived.”
Blackwell stepped closer, leaning on his rifle as his eye narrowed. “Fucker ambushed me when I was investigating the caravan attacks,” he growled. “Got our horses killed and tore up the supplies. Had to lie low. Lucky for me, it got distracted when it heard your little posse stumbling through the woods like drunken fools.”
Alec didn’t respond immediately. He twisted the blade, freeing a shard of bone that oozed with viscous black fluid. Holding the blade steady, he tilted the creature’s body and let the thick, dark blood drip into an empty vial. The smell was sharp, sulfuric, and sweet. He glanced at Blackwell, smirking faintly. “Sheriff thought you might need some help with the investigation.”
Blackwell scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. “Help? Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need some puffed-up lawman or his greenhorn guards getting in my way.”
“They weren’t much help,” Alec admitted, carefully sealing the vial. He rose to his feet, holding it up to the light for a moment before tucking it into his coat. “But they gave their lives trying. Long enough for you to hide, apparently.”
Blackwell bristled, his hand tightening on the stock of his rifle. “I didn’t hide,” he snapped. “I was waiting for the right moment.”
“To do what? Get yourself killed?” Alec countered, his tone cool as he drew another vial from his belt and knelt to collect more of the Ragoss’s blood. “There’s plenty here, by the way. Care to take some? Might help next time.”
Blackwell waved the offer off with a scoff. “Keep it. I’ve got my own methods—ones that don’t involve dragging a posse of amateurs into the woods.”
Alec chuckled under his breath, rising again. “Lucky for you, those ‘amateurs’ kept it busy long enough for me to kill it. Next time, maybe show up in time for the fight.”
Blackwell’s eye gleamed with irritation, but he kept his voice steady. “I don’t need lectures from you, Corvain. I’ve been hunting these things longer than you’ve been swinging that fancy knife of yours.”
“Sure you have,” Alec replied, his tone dripping with amusement. “And yet, here we are—me standing, the Ragoss dead, and you… admiring the aftermath.”
Blackwell let out a dry laugh, shaking his head as he stepped closer. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But don’t think for a second I owe you anything.”
“You don’t,” Alec said, meeting Blackwell’s gaze steadily. “But if you’re smart, you’ll remember that next time you need saving.”
Blackwell straightened, tilting his head toward the trees. “Come on out. He knows you’re there,” he called, his voice carrying a mix of irritation and begrudging approval.
From the treetops, a figure descended with practiced ease, landing lightly on the forest floor. She stepped into the clearing, lowering the rifle slung across her back with a smooth motion. The young woman was lean and wiry, her movements deliberate and confident. Her face, framed by loose black hair, and smaller, faint scars. Her sharp eyes flicked to Alec, assessing him with a cool detachment, though a faint smirk touched her lips.
Alec’s gaze lingered for a moment before he raised an eyebrow. “And who’s this?” he asked, his tone more curious than hostile.
“My daughter,” Blackwell replied curtly, his gruff voice carrying a hint of pride.
Alec blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching as he glanced between them. “You have a daughter?”
“Yeah,” Blackwell grunted, his expression daring Alec to comment further. “Unlike you Church folk, we’re allowed to have families.”
Alec’s lips curved into a dry smile. “I’m just surprised someone was willing to fuck you.”
The young woman let out a short, sharp laugh, cutting through the tension. Blackwell’ glare could have split stone, but Alec shrugged, unfazed.
“Name’s Lenora,” she said, her voice steady as she extended a hand toward Alec. He shook it briefly, noting the firm grip. “And you must be Alec Corvain. My father’s told me… a lot about you.”
“Let me guess. All glowing reviews?” Alec quipped, earning a faint smirk from her and a grumble from Blackwell.
“Enough,” Blackwell snapped, turning his attention to the smoldering remains of the Ragoss, his expression darkening. “This thing wasn’t behind the caravan attacks.”
Alec nodded, his gaze shifting back to the carcass. “Agreed. It’s too far into the woods. Ragossi wouldn’t go to the roads unless something drives them out—and they don’t care about supplies or wagons.”
“Exactly,” Blackwell said, stepping closer to the creature’s remains. “This thing was hunting, sure, but not with the precision we’ve seen at those ambush sites.”
Alec crouched beside the carcass, poking at the singed tendrils with the tip of his knife. “Whoever’s behind the attacks is methodical. Ragossi can be strategic, but they are also brutal. This was just... an inconvenience.”
“An inconvenience that took out half your posse,” Blackwell added pointedly, his tone sharp.
Alec’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he stood, wiping his blade clean on a rag before sheathing it. “Then we’re back to square one.”
“Not quite,” Lenora interjected, stepping forward. “We can rule out the Ragoss. And if this thing was here, it means the real threat is still out there.”
“Any theories?” Alec asked, earning a glare from Blackwell.
“Well, perhaps a Threxul?” Mused Blackwell “Coordinated attack, ambushes and strategy are the mark of those fuckers”
“Or perhaps bandits” Alec said “I’ve noticed a pattern, bullet holes and even… an intent.”
“Could be, but it is too brutal, for common bandits” Blackwell mused.
“Well, whatever it is, we should get moving” Alec said. “We’ve got a sheriff and a handful of survivors waiting. Let’s get back before something else decides to take a bite out of them.”
“Yep” Blackwell said “Guess you folk won’t be needing all those horses, right? I might need two”
Alec nodded, adjusting his coat as he turned toward the path they’d come from. “Fine. But once we’re back, you’re explaining why you’ve dragged your daughter into this mess.”
Blackwell snorted, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “She dragged herself into it. I didn’t have a say in the matter. Guess she’s as stubborn as her old man.”
Alec smirked, glancing at Raina as she fell into step beside them. “Stubborn, huh? Sounds like it runs in the family.”
Lenora raised an eyebrow, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “You’ve only just met me, Corvain. Sure you’re not jumping to conclusions?”
Alec chuckled, his tone light but teasing. “Just a hunch. Besides, you're the one crazy enough to be walking through these woods, with him.”
Lenora grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Careful, Corvain. Keep talking, and I might start liking you.”
Blackwell muttered something under his breath as they started back toward the sheriff and what remained of the posse. The forest loomed around them, its shadows watching as they left the clearing behind.
The trio moved through the forest, their steps cautious but steady. The mist had thinned slightly, but the oppressive weight of the Shroud still lingered, like an unwelcome presence pressing against their skin. Alec led the way, his eyes scanning the path ahead, every rustle and snap of a twig keeping his nerves taut.
Lenora walked a few paces behind him, her rifle slung across her back. “So, what’s your plan, Corvain?” she asked, breaking the silence. Her tone was light, but there was a sharpness to her gaze as she watched him.
Alec glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “Get back to the sheriff, regroup, and figure out our next move. Whatever’s behind those attacks isn’t done yet.”
“And you think it’s bandits?” she pressed.
Alec hesitated, his gaze shifting to Blackwell, who trailed behind them, his wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow over his face. “It’s a possibility. But if it is, they’re organized—too much precision for your average highway gang.”
“Or,” Blackwell interjected, his voice gruff, “it’s something worse. Threxul are cunning bastards. Wouldn’t put it past one to coordinate attacks like this.”
Lenora gazed at her father. "I’ve read that Threxul tend to stick to ruins and temples. Not much out here for them to covet.”
"I’ve told you before," Blackwell interjected sharply, his tone tinged with irritation. "You spend too much time buried in books, girl. Out here, it’s not about what they should do. It’s about what they will do. Practical knowledge beats whatever you’ve read any day.”
Lenora stiffened, her jaw tightening, but she said nothing.
Alec glanced her way. “Desperation changes everything,” he said, his tone calm. “Same as with the Ragoss. Something’s driving them closer to the roads.”
Lenora’s expression softened slightly at Alec’s words. She nodded, falling into step behind him as the conversation lapsed into silence once more.
They reached the site where the sheriff’s men had waited, only to find the group huddled in tense silence. The survivors looked up as the trio emerged from the mist, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear. Sheriff Hadrian stepped forward, his coat streaked with blood and grime, his expression grim yet relieved.
“You’re alive,” Hadrian said, his voice heavy with relief. “Thought the creature might’ve finished you off too.”
“It tried,” Alec replied evenly, resting his rifle against his shoulder. “But it’s dead now.”
Hadrian’s gaze shifted to Blackwell and Lenora, his jaw tightening as they emerged from the mist. “Reinard,” he said, his tone clipped, barely concealing his frustration. “Took your time, didn’t you? Thought you’d be halfway across the land or dead by now.”
Blackwell tilted his hat back, his eye glinting in the dim light. “I was already going to deal with your monster,” he replied, his tone casual. “Figured I’d let Corvain here soften up the Ragoss first. He’s got the Church’s blessing, after all.”
Hadrian’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as he looked them over. “So, the monster’s dead. Bastard took too many lives—both my men and the caravanners. Glad this is over. We can discuss your payment once we’re back in Briar’s Hollow.”
“About that,” Alec said, his tone grim. “The Ragoss wasn’t behind the attacks. The creature doesn’t fit the pattern: no bodies, no looted supplies. This was something else.”
Hadrian’s face darkened. “Something else? What the hell does that mean? The monster’s dead. What else could it be?”
“It means your problem isn’t solved,” Blackwell added, his voice sharp. “Ragossi are predators, sure, but they don’t plan this sort of ambush. Whatever’s hitting those caravans is a different beast.”
Hadrian exhaled sharply, frustration flickering across his features. “There’s another site,” he admitted reluctantly. “An ambush further up the road. Same kind of mess, but worse. I was planning to take you there once we buried our dead.”
Alec shook his head, his expression stern. “I prayed for them, Sheriff. The Three will see to their souls. Burn the bodies here. Don’t waste daylight. Whatever’s behind this is still out there, and we can’t give it another chance to strike.”
Hadrian scowled, glancing at his remaining men. “Fine,” he muttered. “The wounded can stay behind to gather the bodies and bring them back to Briar’s Hollow. The rest of us will press on.”
Blackwell smirked, stepping toward the group of surviving horses. “Speaking of moving on, I’ll need two of these. You lot won’t be needing all of them, will you?”
Hadrian’s eyes narrowed, but Alec waved a hand dismissively. “Take them. We’ll move faster that way.”
Lenora quirked an eyebrow at Alec as she mounted one of the horses. “You’re awfully generous for a Church Hunter.”
“Just practical,” Alec replied, adjusting his coat as he climbed into the saddle. “Let’s move.”
The group rode on, the mist swirling around their horses’ hooves as they left the clearing behind. The weight of the dead hung heavy on their minds, but their focus remained on the road ahead, the shadows of the forest pressing in closer with every step.
