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!"
"Shut up," the other gasped. "Don't say that."
A massive shadow moved 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, hissing against burning rubble.
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. 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 stone, heart pounding. Behind him came the wet tearing of flesh-the chewing, the growl.
Footsteps approached.
"Where do you think you're going?" he heard a voice chuckle.
Steel whispered.
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.
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 brown haired boy was peering through the narrow gap between the planks.
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."
"We're all going to die!" Styke whimpered. He pressed both hands over his mouth, but the sound of his crying leaked through anyway-thin, panicked.
"There are five of them, all with weapons!" the brown haired recruit said.
"Oh no! We are going to die! We are going to die!" Styke stood up and ran to the door but the brown haired boy grabbed him by his arm.
"You're not running away alone." the brown haired boy glared at him as his breath hitched.
They came slowly, almost lazily, their figures stretched and distorted by the flames devouring the village behind them. The men looked less like men and more like walking silhouettes of demons, their edges flickering as if the fire itself clung to them. Their armor caught faint glints of brown; their weapons were dull and dark.
They were not rushing.
The barn door creaked.
Then it burst open as the four of them ran into the night.
Laughter followed.
"No use running!" one of the men called.
Another laughed, long and sharp. "Let them try."
Styke ran until his chest burned. His heart hammered so hard it felt like it might tear free. His stomach twisted with every step, bile rising as the laughter chased him through the dark.
"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.
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 others 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, the shaft still trembling.
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 thorny bush near the cliff's edge, 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. His knees trembled.
The red haired boy stood several 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 searching the edge of the forest not far from them.
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, already measuring the distance-hoping there might still be a chance to run.
"Or maybe behind the bushes?" the archer said. He let out a wicked laugh and slowly drew an arrow.
Styke's breath caught. Tears ran down his eyes as he pissed his pants. Styke held his breath as he felt the forest went quiet. Silence stretched the forest as the village was still burning in the grim night.