Flames devoured the wooden huts, embers drifting through the night like dying stars. Two wounded soldiers stood amid the fire and smoke, blood soaking into the dirt beneath their boots.
"We're dead! We're dead!"
"Do not come near us!" the other gasped as he watched a massive shadow move through the flames.
It stepped past a hooded man as if he were nothing, the firelight revealing a huge black werewolf. Its fur was matted with blood. Thick droplets fell from its claws, drenching the ground red.
One soldier lay broken on the ground, arrows buried in his hips and calves. The other raised a trembling hand, fire crackling in his palm. With a desperate scream, he hurled it.
The werewolf lifted an arm. The fire burst into sparks and died against black fur. The creature did not slow.
The man unsheathed his sword and yelled at the creature as his heart pounded hard against his chest.
It lunged at him. Bones cracked as it slammed the soldier down, tearing his arms free. His screams shredded the night as the beast devoured him alive.
The wounded man dragged himself away, nails scraping dirt, heart pounding. Behind him came the wet tearing of flesh-the chewing, the growl. Footsteps approached him with every shallow breath he took.
"Where do you think you're going?" he heard a voice chuckle.
Steel whispered.
KRAK!
The blade drove through the back of his skull, pinning him to the dirt. Blood soaked the earth as his body went still.
Behind him, the werewolf continued to feed.
"Fenris! Where did the others go?"
"Hunting for the remaining villagers." The werewolf growled as he continued eating again.
The barn was quiet and wet. Firelight bled through the gaps in the warped wooden walls, painting the interior in trembling bands of orange and black.
A long brown haired boy was peering through the narrow gap between wooden walls.
A red haired recruit sat on the hay-strewn floor, his breath slow and measured. Another boy, a skinny, blonde haired knelt against a post, teeth clenched as blood streamed down his right arm, soaking into the straw beneath him. Every pulse sent a fresh tremor through his body.
Styke was shaking. His lips moved soundlessly at first, then words slipped out-broken prayers whispered through sobs.
"Please... please, God... please..."
The red haired boy snapped his head toward him and hissed, barely louder than breath.
"Quiet, boy. Quiet! Stick to the plan."
"W-What are we all doing here? Do you folks wanna d-die here?" Styke's eyes widened as his breath quivered.
"There are five of them, all with weapons!" the brown haired recruit said.
"I said stick to the plan" The red haired boy leaned towards him. Styke stepped back as he let out a deep breath.
They came slowly, almost lazily, their figures stretched and distorted by the flames devouring the village behind them. The men looked like walking silhouettes of demons. Their armor caught faint glints of brown; their weapons were dull and dark.
"They are here guys!" The brown haired recruit looked back at them, eyes widened.
The men kept walking towards the barn. Then, they saw a movement in the distance.
The barn door creaked open as the four boys ran into the night through the crop fields.
Laughter followed them.
"No use running!" one of the men called.
Another laughed, long and sharp. "Let them try."
"Please-let us go! Have mercy!" Styke screamed.
Arrows hissed past him, cutting the air.
Firelight faded behind them, replaced by shadows layered upon shadows. The forest closed in, branches clawing at them, the trees blurring as fear narrowed Styke's vision.
Everything grew darker.
And darker.
The laughter did not fade.
The four boys ran towards the forest.
Styke followed the red haired boy as he forced his way into the overgrowth. Thorns tore at Styke's clothes and skin as he stumbled after him. He looked back once-only once-and saw the other two of them veer deeper into the woods, their shapes swallowed by darkness.
An arrow screamed past and sliced through Styke's arm.
He cried out, pain flaring white-hot as blood spilled down his sleeve. Another arrow thudded into a tree beside him.
Two men ran in his direction. Styke ran.
"How far are you two going to run?". The men laughed.
Without saying a word, Styke plunged after the red haired boy, branches whipping his face, breath tearing from his chest, until the ground suddenly vanished beneath his feet.
They skidded to a halt at the cliff's edge.
Beyond it lay nothing but darkness.
The red haired boy quickly ran towards a tree at the edge of the cliff and hid himself there.
Without a second thought, Styke hid behind a thick bush near the cliff. He crouched low with his hands pressed into the dirt. He forced himself down, trying to make his body as small as possible, careful not to break the bush's silhouette against the dark blue sky.
The red haired boy stood a few paces away, half-hidden behind a gnarled tree growing from the cliffside. From where he stood, he could see Styke shaking behind the bush-and the two men standing, only a few metres away from the bush.
One carried a bow.
The other held a sword.
"I wonder where the boys went," one of them said with a laugh.
"Maybe they're hiding below the cliff," the swordsman continued, dragging the tip of his blade through the dirt. "Or maybe..."
He lifted the sword and pointed it toward the tree. "Behind that tree?"
The red haired recruit shifted his weight, angling his legs toward the forest. Small pebbles fell down the cliff. His heart raced, tightening his grip on the tree.
"Or maybe behind the bushes?" the archer said. He let out a wicked laugh and slowly drew an arrow.
Styke's breath hitched. He pressed his chest as the sound of his heart thumping was becoming deafening. Tears ran down his eyes as he pissed his pants.
Mercy! I don't want to die!
Styke yelled in his head as he whimpered.
He held his breath as he felt the forest went quiet. Silence stretched the forest as the village was still burning in the grim night.