What creature was lurking above him, he didn't exactly know, but Cecil was in trouble, and he couldn't let it go. He hesitated because of the corpse that was blocking his way. The passageway had already slid closed, leaving behind a wall of dark, cold stone. Every cell in his body wanted to incinerate every rotting cell of the old man's corpse and the maggots that gleefully crawled all over him. Just the mere sight of it made him woozy.
There were two puncture wounds on the side of the corpse's neck where more maggots crawled out.
"From the depths of hell, these flames I churn,
Cast your flames upon those I wish to burn.
"There was a light spark, and a flame emerged from the corpse's forehead. There was a high-pitched shriek as the maggots too combusted, but the whole process was taking longer than expected. Something glistened in the left pocket of the corpse's tattered robe, and he quickly grabbed it. A golden key. Could it be the one to Sylvia's glass case? He was about to break it anyway, but these made it easier. The key slid smoothly into the keyhole of the huge lock, and a satisfying click was heard upon turning it. He removed the lock and threw it aside, quickly lifting the glass casket.
Once the case was open, the preservation spell was broken. He grabbed the sword's handle, but her grip tightened, surprising him. He hesitantly shifted his gaze towards her face, expecting her to wake up, but her eyes twitched and gently closed shut as her skin turned grey and slowly turned to ash. Right before his eyes, her whole body disintegrated, leaving behind the iron armor and sword. The armor was usable, but it was a little too big, and it didn't match his fighting style. Besides, all he wanted was the sword.
He could've taken a picture of Sylvia Ravenhide, but he didn't have his phone with him, and now it was too late. The historian's descriptions of her were far from accurate. Or perhaps they deliberately made her look like a helpless princess to make it more appealing to people. He knew the truth, though. If he were to arm wrestle with the great Sylvia Ravenhide, he'd lose.
"What am I thinking? I have to save the kid before…."
He grabbed the sword and felt a surge of energy rush through his entire body. Traveling to every nerve ending like electricity finishing off with a sharp tingle at every fingertip. It felt good, like a power boost that he did not see coming. The sword glowed, and one of the seven symbols that were etched into the blade was illuminated with yellow-orange light.
He stood there captivated by the sword's appearance when another sword manifested right in front of him. It was none other than his own sword, which looked very much like Sylvia's. His sword merged into hers as one. The second inscription was now illuminated, and the sword molded itself to match his preference. It was a little smaller, sleeker, and lighter than Sylvia's, which perfectly matched his style. He emphasized dodging and delivering swift strikes, only parrying when necessary.
Through years of meditation, his focus had greatly improved, allowing him to predict his enemy's movements. This happened when the mind was perfectly in tune with its surroundings. When your rhythm was in tune with the universe. To be able to do it, though, you had to be completely calm and at peace with yourself. To be able to hear what the ears can't, to be able to see what the eyes don't, and feel that which can't be felt.
His master's training had taught him how to fight without sustaining a single injury.
People were always baffled at how he fought and trained so much, yet not even a single scratch could be seen on him. Something that he was very proud of until recently when he got his ass handed to him over and over, most likely because he had forgotten almost all of his training.
He realized that he was losing touch. He positioned himself at the base of the stairs, and with two swift strikes, two golden shockwaves of light crisscrossed towards the stone passage that was blocked by the bookshelf. It left measly scratches over the hard surface, but the block of stone tilted forward and fell, crushing the bookshelf behind it. When he stepped out, he heard a whimper. Rika was lying at the cabin's doorstep, severely injured. She was in a partial werewolf form, stuck midway between a wolf and a human. He ran up to her and noticed that the finger where she had the ring was chopped off.
"That creature… It took the form of the storyteller. It's not just….,"
"Rika….? Why…? How….?" There weren't any serious injuries to her and yet she was dying. He carried her into the cabin and set her shivering body next to the fireplace that ignited spontaneously with a simple snap of his fingers.
"It took Cecil…. The vampire, no…. The shapeshifter?… something's wrong with it. It took the ring… I should've been able to smell the shifter…It's my fault.
"There was nothing he could do. On the nape of her neck, two similar puncture marks oozed some kind of yellow fluid mixed in with blood. The real storyteller was also bitten. Is this how the creature took on the appearance of his victims? By biting and feeding on them? Perhaps its bite was laced with poison. It was a known fact that a vampire's bite was lethal to werewolves and vice versa.
If this were true, then to a werewolf, the potency would be doubled. She reached towards his face and gently caressed his cheek.
"Don't worry… about me…, save the boy." She took her last breath as her hand flopped lifelessly to her side. He was now fuming.
"It's not your fault…, It never was. No one could've seen this coming."
If only he had listened to his instincts and turned back. Two of his friends were dead. Maybe it would have been better if he had worked alone. Maybe it WAS all his fault. Someone was creating hybrids, and the same someone was probably after him. First, it was the Domina, and now there was another abomination.
An abomination with a hostage. It wasn't a shapeshifter, nor was it a vampire. It was probably both, with some other DNA mixed in. He wanted the creature dead more than anything. It was time to hunt.
***
There was once a book that he had read titled "Eye of the Beast" that taught people how to identify monsters by their eye color. It also stated that most hybrids were heterochromatic with two different eye colors or two colors in the same iris. This creature, however, was changing its eye color at every glance, which had made him doubt whether it was the old storyteller. He had brushed it off as a play of the lights. The cabin was lit dimly by lanterns, and the various colorful glassware and trinkets could have cast reflections upon the creature's face, making it seem like it was changing the color of its iris.
There were always signs, and he had always missed them. It was his fault for not paying more attention to detail, and by the time he was aware of it, it was too late. The price that he had to pay was the lives of his friends, and it was too much. He hoped the boy had not been eaten yet. There were tales and old manuscripts about how vampires fed on the blood of young virgins to keep themselves youthful and strong.
The old storyteller was the perfect victim, usually surrounded by children when it was nearing dusk. They gathered around the fireplace, waiting for his stories, songs, and poetry. The children were mostly orphans, so no one came looking for them, and Ravenhide had a curfew that was unforgiving even to children. If you were out alone after dark, you were on your own. Not even the authorities cared about the happenings at night. It was a good thing because it was less work for them, not that they were reliable, to begin with, anyway. All they had to do was scrape the remains of those unfortunate souls and clean up after the monsters had their meal.
He marched across the forest floor, his heartbeat matching the rhythm of his footsteps. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves as a few dried ones fell off, spinning gracefully towards the ground only to be crushed by the sole of his bunny slippers. He wasn't going to sneak up on the creature, nor was he going to try hiding. He was going to make his presence known, and he was prepared to die fighting. It had a lot to do with anger and hatred, the same emotions that he felt while fighting the Domina.
There was a surge of power that was brought on by the combination of those particular emotions, and it awakened something in him. Something dormant that waited patiently for him to snap. Eliminating fear was the first step towards unlocking this potential. There was a thin moral line, and he had to control himself from going overboard. The dial had to be kept dead center, otherwise you'd fall off the edge.
"This isn't revenge, all I want is to prevent conflicts. To keep people safe, to keep my friends safe."
Cecil was in sight, lying unconscious against the bark of a huge tree in front of him. The boy was mostly unscathed from what he could see from the little streaks of moonlight, obstructed by the leaves and branches of the thick foliage. An obvious trap, the creature was following closely behind him all along. He turned around to see it standing there.
An attractive man about his age, with broad shoulders, chiseled features, pale skin, dark brown hair, reddish eyes, and a confident smirk. He was wearing a blue hoodie and khaki pants with lots of pockets. As of now, he looked pretty normal.
"So.. you decided to drop the old storyteller facade," GK faced him, keeping a deadpan expression. The one thing he learned from the lizard woman, keeping an expressionless face made it difficult for enemies to read you.
"Unlike everyone else, I'd prefer to show my true form first. Otherwise, I'd lose my real identity."
"True form? From what I've seen, shapeshifters rarely look like male characters from Spanish soap operas."
"You𑁋, you have terrible fashion sense. He mocked GK, pointing at the pink bunny bedroom slippers. Oh..wait, you were complimenting me, weren't you?" He flashed GK an apologetic look, which wasn't convincing in the least bit.
"Anyways, I'm not exactly a shapeshifter, but you already knew that. The blood of the young and pure has preserved my appearance. Shapeshifters have it tough. By claiming so many different identities, they tend to become disfigured, looking no different from lesser monsters. But hybrids, on the other hand…
Our generous master has embedded us with the genetics of other species." GK's eyes widened at the mention of the word "Master". He wanted to know more, but he doubted that this guy would provide him with any information unless beaten to a pulp.
"The blood of a matured virgin, even tastier than children, like fine wine that's rested for ages. You know, this would be a lot more invigorating for me if you were a woman. That way, I could savor you inside and out. No offense, it's a vampire thing.
Oh, wait, there is another way. I almost forgot that I'm a shapeshifter, how ignorant of me."
He started transforming, slowly shedding his pale outer skin, taking on a darker tone and a smaller frame. Right before GK's eyes stood Rika, her dark brown skin illuminated gold from the bits of light. The transformation was completed with a scar across her nose that GK had given her during their fight. Her innocent eyes shone helplessly, just like he'd seen her when she took her last breath.
"Better now? Less alpha male, or did you prefer men to begin with? So.., did you have feelings for the she-wolf? I'd give anything for even a small trickle of your virgin blood." He showed off the ring that he had cut off Rika's finger.
GK tried his best to keep his emotions in check. He knew his enemy was trying to provoke him.
"You know what? I bet I can make it more enticing for you." He started to take off his clothes when a single shockwave of light sped towards him. He jumped in the opposite direction, amazed by his newfound agility. The attack missed him by a few inches and set a nearby thicket on fire.
"Oooooo….that was a close one. I didn't even see you move. Okay, I'll keep the clothes on, although it is a little too big."
GK swung his sword from left to right with intense precision, tearing a horizontal line in the space in front of him and letting loose another shockwave of light and rushing behind it. His opponent was a little slow to react, but the shifter managed to do a combat roll at the last moment, avoiding the attack while taking out a dagger that was strapped around his waist, slashing at GK's ankle, barely scraping the fur on the bunny slippers. GK shook off the annoying slippers. He would be able to move better barefoot anyway.
GK leaped and flipped behind him, bringing the sword down onto the shifter's shoulders but deciding at the last moment to sever the monster's carotids. A gush of blood sprayed out like a pressurized burst pipe as the shifter clutched his neck, howling in pain.
"Fuck you. Do you not have feelings for your friend?"
"Stop trying to act like Rika, it makes you look pathetic, and it's not doing you any favors."
"Do have mercy, I haven't fed in days. The children have stopped coming all of a sudden, and I'm not sure why."
"Maybe your stories suck," GK shrugged. The creature scowled.
"Hmph.. smart ass."
GK glanced over at Cecil. The boy was still fast asleep.
"Don't worry about the boy, he was dosed with a mild sedative. He should wake up soon enough." The shifter reassured him, still clutching his neck. The wound was starting to heal, but the process was slow. GK nodded and walked closer.
"Let's make a deal, I'll give you my virgin blood, (he stressed the word "virgin") and you will tell me about your Master. A contented smile adorned the creature's bloody face.
"I'll gladly take the offer, but what about the sex?" GK made a swinging motion with his sword, threatening to conjure another shockwave when the shifter abruptly stood up and shouted.
"Please stop, the blood will suffice."
"Don't you dare touch me," GK said as he snatched the dagger from the shifter and slit his wrist allowing his blood to trickle along the cold blade. The shifter bent on his knees and opened his mouth, allowing the dark crimson liquid to flow onto his tongue.
He behaved like a hungry dog that hadn't eaten for days, savoring every drop of fluid that touched his tongue. His wound was healing quickly as he fed, and his eyes had an on-and-off reddish glow.
"I guess not all hybrids are super strong." GK thought.
He transformed back into his preferred form while feeding. GK wiped his wound with the sleeve of his shirt.
"Now… where were.."
GK was tackled and pinned down before he could finish. He struggled against the creature's strong grip around his neck. The dagger had flown out of his grip, and his sword was a foot away. The creature was strangling the life out of him, way stronger than before.
"Who's pitiful now, idiot? Unluckily for you, I haven't had enough….yet."
The shifter's face inched closer to his neck as he continued to struggle. He conjured up enough heat to burn the creature's skin, but it healed too quickly.
"Didn't you know what the blood of a matured virgin does to vampires? Well… you're about to find out. The creature's eyes turned a deeper shade of red and stared into his amber ones, searching for something.
"Is this guy reading my mind?" he thought as his memories started flashing again, memories that weren't all his own. There was an important note about vampires at the end of the book. An important note that he could not recall.
To slay the monster that thrives on blood,
One must....?
Otherwise, you'll die as it feasts,
Staring through the Eye of the Beast.