Kingdom of Morteluna, outskirts of the capital Sellafun, the road to Villcorrmor village.
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Morning. A forest. It stank. The reeking smell of dead animals hung in the air. The clearing was covered in crows, feasting on wolf corpses, mutilated as if not one but several packs of hungry predators had worked on them. But upon closer inspection, it became clear – the torn flesh, the limbs smashed into a bloody pulp, the spines shattered into splinters… A horrifying number of stab and slash wounds spoke of cold, methodical work. But the most prominent was the body of a bear, thrown closer to the flowing stream. Its carcass was also covered in wounds, and its belly had been slit open with a long, clean cut. Something was moving inside. Or someone? The crows that had already claimed the bear's carcass took off in fright as a human figure, shrouded from head to toe in a black leather cloak, slumped out of the slit belly with a sigh. Slick bile enveloped it, making nauseating sounds.
"I don't want to wake up… That was such a dream…" a desperate whisper escaped the lips of the man who had been torn from sweet dreams back to reality. A dream where he didn't have to leave the clan's palace for a mission that had already taken fifteen years of his life. Coming to his senses, he shook his head and began to rise to his feet. "Damn bear," cursed the unknown man as he stood up and inspected his cloak. The entire surface was smeared with viscous blood, stuck-on bits of entrails, and bear shit. "Should have ripped its guts out first, and then crawled inside. Now I stink like a manure cart." With these words, the man tore off his cloak, revealing light armor of toughened leather covering worn, time-weathered clothing. When he looked around and sniffed the air, his face contorted even more, and a thought raced through his mind. "How I hate all of this. Can't believe I've fallen so low."
As he knelt by the stream and began to wash his cloak, the downstream water immediately started turning red. Chunks of bear entrails and shit were washed away by the current. His expression was blank as he watched this. He was disgusted. Bitter bile rose in his throat. Not from the stench of rotting entrails – he had long grown accustomed to that. It was from the realization of the depth of his fall. He was tired of all this. Scrubbing the cloak, he peered at his reflection in the bloodied stream, and memories of recent events flooded his mind.
---
The guest room was consumed by chaos. All the furniture was broken; a dagger blade was buried to the hilt in the back of a shattered oak chair. The blanket was torn to shreds and scattered everywhere. Empty bottles of cheap moonshine lay on the floor. A map of Morteluna hung on the wall, dotted with red and black crosses. 511 red marks, denoting visited villages, and 102 black marks for visited cities. There wasn't a single unvisited place left on the map. Sitting on the broken bed was the man who had caused all this, his eye, red with rage, fixed intently on the map, his fists bruised, and fresh blood dripping from his fingers onto the floor.
"Again!" he screamed, grabbing his head with trembling hands. "They're not here again! Another dead end! There are no more settlements on the map, and they're still nowhere to be found! Where the fuck could they be?!" With these words, his hand grabbed a nearby bottle and hurled it at the wall. The room erupted with the sound of shattering glass as the bottle broke against the wall. Shards rained down on the floor, and splashes of the remaining contents flew in all directions. "I've been everywhere! Absolutely everywhere! Every godforsaken hamlet, every farm, every fucking city! This was the last village on the map! They have nowhere else to hide! Everything's been checked…"
Despair began to take hold of him. Failure of this mission meant the end of everything. Years of wandering, hundreds of murdered innocents, the loss of pride and honor, his arms covered in blood up to the shoulders. All of it would become meaningless if he accepted that the mission had failed.
"This is the end." A desperate sigh escaped his lips as he studied the map on the wall. "I must… return." Saying this, his gaze turned to the brand on his left hand. A sundered shield with three thick scratches on it. The shield itself was overlapped by a clawed paw holding an inverted dagger. The clan's emblem was burned into his skin, a mark of his belonging to the elite. "Curse it… Return?! Don't fool yourself, idiot! Fifteen years without a single word from you, and suddenly you show up on the doorstep and tell the Lord you didn't find those two! Walter, you fuck, they'll just throw you out or finish you off." At this thought, he jumped to his feet and burst into hysterical laughter.
Madness seized his sick mind; anger at the wasted years made his blood boil. His temples throbbed, causing discomfort; his legs began to shake under their own weight. But the most unsettling thing was that he was smiling. He wants to return, but he can't because of the lack of results. He needs to do something, find a way out of this desperate situation. But nothing came to mind. He was too drunk, too angry, and too insane to think clearly. Walter's body pressed against the map, his intense gaze almost burning through the old piece of parchment.
"Come on, map! Tell me, where are they?! Show me where they could have gone?! I've checked all the places you show me!" A deafening cry erupted from the very depths of his soul. His eye darted across the map as he began to scrutinize every fragment of its contents. "The wild wastelands? No, I checked every nomad camp there. The icy mountains? Those softies wouldn't survive the frosts. The Spirit Swamp? The fauna is too aggressive towards all living creatures." He muttered, assessing every possible habitat, until his gaze lingered on the thickly crossed-out Sellafun. His attention was caught by something almost completely swallowed by black ink. "Wait… What's this? 'Vilk'- damn it, it's painted over. Stop…" The hunter's eyes widened with realization.
Tearing the map off the wall and pulling the dagger from the chair, he stormed out of his room, searching for a clean map. Walter burst onto the first floor of the tavern, brandishing the dagger, causing the people, mostly women and children, to run out screaming. Finding a clean map, he immediately began to examine it.
"'Vilk', 'Vilk', 'Vilk'… What the hell is this damn 'Vilk'? I was sure I hadn't missed anything…" he muttered, peering at the map, until shock and rage washed over him. "What the…" A deafening silence hung in the air. Shock left him speechless. On the map, right next to Sellafun, was a small village named Villcorrmor.
All these years, Walter had been chasing people who had been hiding all this time very close to the capital. Fifteen years ago, while marking Sellafun as a checked city with thick brush strokes, he had, without noticing it, also painted over the nearby village. Such an ordinary mistake had cost him almost everything. The consequences of this one tiny mistake had haunted him all this time.
"No… I don't believe it. I don't believe it!" The bar counter cracked under the blow of his fists. Walter screamed in despair and rage.
Walter's clenched teeth grated, his nails dug into the palms of his clenched fists, his whole body convulsed and trembled. He felt the last drops of his sanity slowly evaporating from his mind. But in place of clarity, a new hope began to fill him. The one who had just despaired of failure had received a final chance. Suddenly, his moment of solitary madness was interrupted by the door swinging open, through which a couple of armed men entered, led by the tavern owner.
"We've had enough, Walter!" shouted the old man. "Our patience has run out! You've been acting like you own this village, you wrecked the room you haven't paid a copper for, and now you're scaring people with your dagger! Lads! Time to deal with the bastard. Chain him. If he resists, kill him."
"Surrender, lay down your weapon, and you'll be treated more gently," a man barked, taking a few steps forward and pointing his spear at Walter.
"What… did you just say?" Walter's breath caught. Not rage. The first thing to come was ice. Ice that froze everything inside and made the world freeze in an unnatural silence. He slowly, with mechanical smoothness, turned his head. His single eye, wide open, was empty. Like a dead man's. "Say that again…"
"What are you mumbling about, blockhead? You were told to lay down your weapon!" yelled another guard, tightening his grip on his sword. A sudden fear gripped him as he looked into Walter's eye. A premonition of catastrophe. But the first one stopped him with a shout.
"Calm down," he ordered, then turned back to Walter. "I repeat for the last time. Surrender, and you'll be– Kha!.."
The guard's words were abruptly cut short by the sharp crunch of tearing flesh and the crack of bones. In an instant, Walter was right in front of him and pierced his chest with his fist. He didn't even swing his arm. It wasn't a strike; it was a disappearance. His fist, wrapped in leather, was inside the guard's chest cavity. His knuckles shattered the ribs like rotten twigs, with a disgusting, juicy crunch. His fingers, accustomed to gripping a dagger hilt, closed inside on something still warm and pulsating. The guard didn't scream. He just blinked doomedly, looking at the arm that had disappeared into his chest. Crimson foam gushed from his mouth. Seeing this, the tavern owner turned around with a cry and ran out to call for backup.
"Let me give you a little advice, worm," Walter whispered as he pulled the guard closer. "When you see a desperate man who just a second ago received a new chance and new hope… Never tell him to surrender."
"Y-You bastard!" the frightened man shrieked. The flickering torchlight reflected off the blade of his sword as he swung at Walter with a cry of terror, but in the next moment he fell dead as Walter, with a precise throw, plunged his dagger right into his mouth.
"Annoying…" he muttered, then turned his gaze back to the dying guard. "Let me teach you a lesson, for which you'd better be grateful to me, before I send your soul back to the Whirl of Rebirth." His voice was quiet, his gaze intense, as if he were looking right into the man's soul. "When a man who has lost everything regains hope, receives a new chance, he will be ready to do anything to achieve his goal and not miss this chance. He will walk over heads without regret, gnaw at others' throats, and destroy other lives to get what he's striving for." Saying this, he shoved his hand deeper into the chest, reaching for his spine. "When you start a new life, remember my words."
These words were the last thing the guard heard before Walter clenched his fist, crushing the guard's heart in his hand, then pulled it out, allowing the now dead body to fall into the pool of blood that had accumulated beneath him.
"Thanks for listening to me… Not that you had any other choice. At least I managed to get it off my chest to someone," said Walter, shaking off the blood as he sighed with relief. The effect of the alcohol on him had long since vanished, yielding to his reason. "Can't leave witnesses or evidence. I'll burn the village and all the inhabitants, and be done with it." A cold thought raced through his head, and he began to act as planned.
Walter tore a burning torch from the wall and threw it behind the bar counter. Within minutes, fire and smoke spread quickly, billowing outside and attracting the attention of the locals, who were already running with buckets of water to put out the fire. But inside, something more terrible than the fire awaited them. As soon as the first man opened the door, Walter jumped on him, piercing his forehead with his dagger.
"Thank you for gathering all together, you worthless peasants," said Walter, pulling out the dagger, looking coldly at the horrified crowd. "To your grievous dismay, all of you will have to die."
Without waiting for anyone's reaction, he lunged at the crowd, delivering precise and lethal blows with his daggers. Blood flowed in all directions; cries of horror, the rare clang of clashing blades, and pleas for mercy merged into a single cacophony. The walls were painted red, puddles of blood grew relentlessly, and the fire began to leap to neighboring houses, slowly engulfing the entire village.
---
A sharp punch shattered the smooth reflection, and Walter recoiled from the stream, shaking off the recent events.
"Damn it all…" said Walter, his breath rapid, his hands trembling as they continued to hold the cloak. "What have I become? A wild beast? A maniac? A monster? I don't understand… I'm not like myself anymore, I've stopped following the clan's commandments. Over the years, I've managed to wipe out seven villages." With these words, Walter's eyes turned to the sky as he tried to remember. "What did Instructor Rudolf used to say… 'The Three Great Commandments – the sacred law for all members of the Blacktalon Clan. Violating one of them is considered a sin equal to betrayal. Remember them once and for all. The first commandment states…'" At this point, his memories of that lesson became foggy, which infuriated Walter. "Fuck! I can't remember…" Doubts crept into his mind. Perhaps he was no longer worthy of being a clan member? Or had they long considered him dead or a deserter? But before his thoughts could go too far, Walter punched himself in the face. "No! When I return and bring those two, they will surely take me back!" Walter shouted desperately. "I can return without any problems! Even if I broke the commandments, no one will find out. Those two committed crimes too grave against the clan. If I can bring them in, and I definitely can, then my sins will be forgiven… Right? Yes, I will undoubtedly be accepted back…"
Suddenly, Walter's monologue was interrupted by the rustling of leaves and the fluttering of wings, forcing him to jerk his head upward. Crows began landing on all the trees surrounding the clearing. But they were… different. They were very different from the crows currently eating the wolf corpses. No, these crows were larger, and their plumage was black as night. Their piercing gaze led in only one direction. With every second, more and more crows began landing on the trees, and all of them were looking only at Walter. They didn't caw, didn't hop from branch to branch, didn't move. They just watched, motionless, like lifeless stuffed animals.
"I don't like this… There's definitely something wrong with these birds. Very wrong." With these words, he gripped his paired daggers, searching for any movement from the crows. "What the hell is this? Monsters? No, they look too normal for monsters. Magical puppets? That doesn't fit either. There are too many of them for simultaneous control on such a scale, and they don't look like dolls. Undead? I doubt it. They look too alive. Then what is it?!"
As Walter's reasoning hit a dead end, the birds' appearance began to change in a horrifying direction. Their flesh tore apart, making way for the growth of something far more terrifying. In just a few seconds, a huge wall of indescribable horror blocked off the entire clearing. The normal crows that were eating the bodies took off in fear, cawing loudly. Walter's entire body froze at the nightmarish sight; the daggers in his hands shook; his eye darted madly from side to side. An icy chill ran down his spine; his skin was covered in goosebumps.
"W-What the hell is that?.. I can't move. My body won't obey me! I've never seen anything like it! Were-monsters?! Hell no, no were-creatures can merge into a single mass!" Walter's breathing became erratic and disordered as he tried to comprehend what was happening, but he couldn't. A primal feeling awoke in him, one he hadn't felt in a long time. "Scared… I'm… scared?" A quiet whisper escaped Walter's lips, after which he shook his head. "U-Unacceptable! I am a warrior of the great Blacktalon Clan! I do not feel fear!" After a desperate cry, Walter managed to break free from the stupor of horror. "I don't give a damn what you are! I won't let you stand in the way of my goal! I've come too far to give up because of a creature like you! I always complete my missions! And it doesn't matter how much time I spend!"
After Walter's desperate words, the wall of horror froze, silently staring into his eye. At that moment, Walter threw his dagger with all his might, intending to pierce this something. But as soon as the tip of the blade touched the feathers, everything was covered in darkness for an instant. In the next moment, everything returned to normal, and the dagger was sticking out of a tree trunk, split in half by that very dagger.
"Was that… just a fucking illusion?" thought Walter, staring at the split tree. But he dismissed the thought. "Bullshit, it wasn't an illusion. The other crows were scared of that thing too." With these words, he pulled the dagger from the tree. "I can't waste time. Perhaps the forest is cursed, or something worse. I need to get to Villcorrmor faster, find the scum, and then get back to the capital."
Sighing, Walter sheathed the dagger with a dull click. A step. Another step. And another. With each movement, he accelerated. A wild beast was approaching Villcorrmor, breaking through the forest thickets. Bloodshed would be inevitable.