The notion of such a thing didn't seem real, yet here it was. After all, this was the Mourning Forest. Predation, death, violence, and everything in between had resided in this ominous place.
"Don't think moving any further will do us any good," Cal said warily.
Vincent swallowed before looking around the forest, the bushes and darkness concealing something that could only be anticipated as harrowing.
"You mean," he began shakily. "You mean we're going to fight our way out?"
Cal didn't look at Vincent's panicked expression, simply holding onto his sword's hilt with grit and vigil. "You have any other bright ideas?"
Vincent opened his mouth to retort, only to realize that there were indeed no other bright ideas. If they had indeed been followed ever since they set foot, then whatever was out there would not let them advance further without a confrontation.
"N-No," Vincent replied. "I don't have any."
"Then yeah," Cal said, his gait turning tensed. "We fight our way out."
As the two stood back-to-back, the bleats increased in volume, until the sources of the noise emerged from the bushes and darkness of the Mourning Forest. The sight that fell before the two of them was nothing short of repulsive.
The darkness didn't open all at once. It peeled back, bit by bit.
One shape stepped forward, then another, then several more — tall silhouettes emerging between the trees with deliberate slowness. Their hooves made no sound against the forest floor, yet each step felt heavy, as if the ground itself recognized them.
They were stags.
Massive ones.
Their frames were long and gaunt, ribs faintly visible beneath stretched, ashen hides. Antlers branched outward like twisted crowns, jagged and asymmetrical, some splintered as though broken long ago and never healed correctly. Their eyes reflected the faint light with a dull, crimson sheen.
Then the blood was apparent. Cal's eyes widened.
It streamed steadily from their eyes, thin rivulets tracing down elongated muzzles before dripping from their chins and staining the earth below. None of the creatures made a sound as it fell. They simply wept as they walked, as though the act required no effort at all.
Vincent's breath hitched. "Cal..."
The stags did not rush them. They didn't snort or stomp or lower their heads to charge. Instead, they spread out, moving with eerie coordination — one slipping to the left, another circling behind, two more stepping into view from the right. Each time Cal or Vincent shifted their footing, the creatures adjusted in response.
They had been doing this the entire time.
Stalking. Observing. Waiting.
Every pause Cal and Vincent had taken. Every moment they had stopped to listen, to breathe, to argue. The forest had never been empty — only patient.
Cal tightened his grip on his sword, the metal cool and steady in his palm. His instincts screamed at him to move, to strike, to do something — but the way the creatures watched him made his skin crawl. Their heads tilted slightly, antlers creaking as they adjusted their gaze, tracking every minute motion.
One stag stepped closer, blood dripping from its chin and splashing softly onto the leaves between them.
Vincent took a half-step back before stopping himself, realizing too late that the circle had already closed. The stags now stood at every angle, their silhouettes hemming the darkness inward.
"We can't just stand here," Vincent whispered.
"I know," Cal replied, eyes locked on the nearest creature.
Yet neither of them moved. Because if they did, the horror before them would respond in kind.
"What the hell are these things?" Vincent asked in fear.
Cal exhaled shakily, gripping the hilt of his sword even tighter than he was before, if such a thing was even possible.
"How would I know?" he responded irritably.
The stags completed their encirclement without urgency, each one taking its place as if following a pattern long rehearsed. No two stood too close, yet none left an opening wide enough to exploit. Their silhouettes formed a living perimeter, antlers overlapping like the bars of a cage.
Cal turned slowly, measuring distances. Six. No — seven of them. Maybe more, lurking just beyond the edge of the dim light. The ones he could see stood unnervingly still, heads angled just enough to keep both him and Vincent in their line of sight.
They hadn't attacked yet. Just simply waiting.
Vincent's breathing had grown shallow, each inhale carefully controlled, as if the forest itself might react to anything louder. He shifted closer to Cal, back brushing against his shoulder.
The blood had continued to drop from the eyes of the stags, with the soft patter from hitting the leaves being the only sound that Cal and Vincent could hear. Cal's instincts screamed at him to act. Every second they remained still felt like another thread tightening around his chest. He took a cautious step to the left.
Immediately, the stag opposite him shifted as well, mirroring the movement with uncanny precision. Panic kept creeping in, cold and insistent. There was no charge to react to, no obvious opening to exploit. Just pressure. Silent, deliberate pressure.
One of the stags lowered its head, but not in a full charge. Rather, it was just enough for its antlers to angle forward, the jagged points catching faint light. Blood slid faster down its muzzle as it took a single step closer.
That was enough reason.
With no warning or indication, Cal moved forward, simply shifting his weight forward and drew his sword in one smooth motion, closing the distance before the creature could respond. The blade flashed once through the dimness.
There was no resistance.
The sword passed through the stag's neck as though it were slicing through mist-dampened cloth. No jolt traveled up Cal's arm. No drag, no sensation of bone or sinew giving way. Just a clean, effortless cut.
The stag collapsed.
Its body hit the forest floor with a wet thud, legs folding beneath it as blood poured freely from the severed flesh. The sound echoed far louder than it should have. Normally, such a successful kill would be a good indication in such a hostile situation.
Cal froze mid-breath.
That wasn't right. It didn't feel right.
He stared down at the fallen creature, at the pooling blood staining the leaves, at the head lying at an unnatural angle. His grip tightened instinctively, bracing for the recoil that never came.
Behind him, Vincent flinched — but stayed close by regardless.
Cal adjusted his stance, blade raised again, eyes flicking to the others. The remaining stags had recoiled slightly, but none fled. None charged. They simply watched, heads tilting in near-unison, as if reassessing him.
Vincent swallowed hard.
He'd seen Cal fight before. After all, his fight was saved because of it. Back when those scavengers cornered him on the road — with their plans completely abandoned — Cal had moved with the same efficiency and power he did then. There was no cruelty or pleasure found in the deed, but rather it was a simple way of securing survival.
But this felt different.
Cal's movements were sharper now. Quieter. Almost distant. His eyes never left the stags, his breathing controlled to the point of being unnaturally steady.
He took another step, positioning himself fully between Vincent and the creatures. The stags shifted once more, tightening the circle, their blood-slicked faces unreadable.
The forest seemed to hold its wind back.
------
The last stag fell with a sound that felt far too heavy for the body it belonged to. Cal was now panting slightly, his chest moving slowly from the exertion.
Its legs folded beneath it as the blade passed cleanly through its neck, blood pouring freely from the severed flesh as it collapsed among the others. Leaves darkened beneath the pooling crimson, the forest floor soaking it up as if it had been waiting for it all along.
Cal stood back up straight, holding onto his hilt for slight support as he adjusted himself properly. The seven bodies were strewn about from the clash, antlers tangled in roots and low branches, eyes still open — still weeping blood even in death. The steady drip of it striking leaves and soil was the only sound left, soft and persistent, like rain that refused to stop.
Vincent stared at the sight, wondering if there was any more obstacles to come across before they could proceed. Such a sight felt traumatizing to look at, but every time he looked back at Cal, his mind and heart rested a touch more, knowing this was all done for themselves. However, while Vincent pondered on this, Cal had something more mysterious near him that he had not noticed yet.
He finally exhaled, but it wasn't a sigh of relief.
It was sharper than that, as if he were forcing something tight in his chest to loosen. His shoulders shifted, tension rolling out of him in a slow, visible release. The grip on his sword relaxed just enough for his knuckles to regain some color.
For the first time since the stags had encircled them, Cal blinked.
Once. Then again.
Vincent took a careful step forward, boots slipping slightly against damp leaves and blood. He slowly touched Cal's shoulder, trying to see if his friend was wholly there. Cal whipped his head in Vincent's direction, his eyes widening a moment before settling once again.
"Oh, it's just you," he said, rolling his shoulders. "You alright?"
Vincent jumped at the sharp reaction, before calming down as well. "Y-Yeah... I'm alright. I was going to ask you."
Cal turned away before nodding. "I'm fine. I think so, anyway."
Only now did it hit Vincent just how quiet Cal had been during the entire fight.
No shouts. No curses. No heavy breathing.
Just motion.
Vincent opened his mouth, trying to further ask if Cal was alright, but it was all put to a halt when he heard a high-pitched chime in the distance.
He froze, turning his head towards the sound. Hollow.
He frowned. "Huh...?"
The sound came again, clearer this time. A gentle, uneven ringing, like metal lightly striking metal.
"Wind chimes?" he asked. "Did someone hang-"
"No," Cal interrupted. "Not chimes."
The disagreement cut through the air, sharp and immediate. Vincent stiffened and Cal had gone rigid. His grip on the sword tightened once more, knuckles whitening as the blade lifted slightly. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as a familiar pressure flared behind his eyes — no, not pressure anymore. A pull. Stronger than it had ever been before.
Damn it! This can't mean anything good... Every time this happens, something wrong comes about! Is... Is this my body warning me of danger before it comes? Something... only an Ecliptic would bear?
The bells rang again, closer this time. Vincent followed Cal's line of sight, peering through the trees ahead. At first, he saw nothing — just shadows and trunks and hanging moss. Then the forest seemed to part.
Figures stood in the trees. Humanoid and motionless. They were tall and thin, silhouettes barely distinguishable from the darkness at first. As Cal and Vincent took a cautious step closer, details began to emerge—arms hanging limply at their sides, heads tilted at unnatural angles.
Then they saw the bells. Dozens of them.
Small, rusted bells embedded directly into flesh. Some hung from torn skin, others appeared fused into muscle and bone, their metal surfaces slick and dark. With every subtle shift of the forest air, they chimed softly, the sound uneven and wrong.
Vincent felt his stomach drop. "Cal..."
Cal didn't respond. No words would possibly be formed. Instead, his eyes dropped to his blade.
It was clean. Perfectly so.
No blood clung to the blade. No streaks, no flecks, no residue of the seven creatures it had cut down moments earlier. The metal reflected faint light, pristine and stainless, as though it had never tasted flesh at all. The sight then made him remember something.
Back in that alleyway, when I saved Vincent! My sword... it was spotless then too! Just like it is now! Don't tell me... Is this a part of Blightless Dominion?
Slowly, Cal turned his head. He looked back at the bodies.
Blood pooled freely around the fallen stags, soaking deep into the leaves and earth. Their wounds were real. Their deaths undeniable.
A chill crept down Cal's spine. But before he could contemplate the phenomenon for any longer, the bells began to ring louder.
And humanoid figures began to scream.
It wasn't one sound, but many layered into one — a dying rasp dragged from ruined throats, fused with a distant, echoing scream that sounded like someone crying out in the final moments before murder. The noise tore through the forest, reverberating between the trees, setting the bells ringing wildly as their bodies shuddered.
Vincent recoiled, hands flying to his ears. He stared at Cal in fear, sticking closer than ever. Cal held his sword like a vice.
The screams cut off abruptly, and the notion that came with the silence was all too clear.
Nothing in this forest was not a beast.