Scraping.
Thudding.
Heavy, uneven steps echoed through the fog behind him. Something dragging, something hunting. The noise clawed its way into Vlad's skull, each sound a promise of death that grew louder with every heartbeat.
He bit down on his lip, hard enough to taste iron, and pushed himself up. But his boot slipped on the wet leaves and he lost his balance in an instant. He almost toppled over again, but his left arm hadn't left the ground. It anchored him, trembling and numb, fingers digging into the soil to keep him from falling flat.
Every movement felt like getting stabbed all over again.
Pain bloomed through his ribs and tore into his gut like broken glass. It radiated from the metal rod still skewering his side–sharp, brutal, refusing to let him forget it was there.
Fine… He gritted his teeth, forcing his weight onto shaking legs. I'll kill the last one myself!
He remained hunched, unable to stand straight, the rod pulling at his skin with every breath. His left hand braced below the wound, fingers curled in tight as blood trickled in thin lines down his side.
He turned back to Lex–crumpled, broken, and half-buried in leaves.
He raised his earth-covered blade and gently tapped it against Lex's forehead. His voice came out as a whisper, low and shaking, "I'll kill that bitch. Don't worry."
Then another sound. A scraping cough of breath from deeper in the trees. The fiend was near!
Vlad moved downhill, every step a lesson in restraint. His boots pressed into the damp leaves without a sound, blood trailing behind him in soft, red droplets that speckled the undergrowth. The rod in his side tugged with every shift of his torso, a cruel reminder of how close death walked behind him.
Then…
A scream.
From above.
Sharp. Human. A gurgled shriek torn from somewhere in the trees behind him.
Another followed, even more strained, and cut short by a wet, cracking noise that echoed through the trees.
Vlad paused mid-step.
He turned his head just enough to glance back. His lips twitched into a smirk.
Thanks, he thought, voice filled with amusement in his mind.
The screams faded into the fog, muffled by wind and distance, swallowed by the same woods that had hidden everything else. Soon, there was nothing but the whisper of the breeze and the thud of his slowing heartbeat.
He came to a flatter stretch of forest–not level, but tame enough to walk without sliding. Trees thinned slightly, their empty skeletal branches twitching overhead like grasping hands.
He stood a little straighter, jaw clenched, every nerve still on fire. The fog lingered, thin in places, coiling low around trunks and roots.
The silence was complete now.
"Hope you had a quick death–" he muttered under his breath, the words half-hearted, half-mechanical.
Then…
A flicker.
Orange.
Just at the edge of his vision.
His head jerked toward it, his eyes narrowing.
A fire.
Faint. Flickering. Dancing between the trees, hidden partially by the fog.
Someone was nearby.
And Vlad had a guess as to who.
His breath caught, but only for a second.
He sprinted.
His boots tore across the forest floor, crunching through wet leaves and cracked twigs. The wind surged past him, hissing in his ears. The fog parted in ragged streaks as he ran through it, cloak flaring wildly behind him, hair whipping in the wind like black strands caught in a storm.
His hand clenched tight around the hilt of his sword.
He didn't care about the noise anymore. Thanks to Lex, he had time.
Vlad's body stuttered.
His legs locked mid-stride. A sharp, tearing pain stabbed up from his right side, ripping through flesh and radiating into his chest like wildfire.
"Gah–!" he gasped, stumbling to a halt as the metal rod inside him twisted slightly with the force of his sprint.
The pain caught up with him now that adrenaline had run dry.
More blood seeped out, fresh and hot, sliding down his side in thick, steady lines. It clung to his skin. Soaked his shirt. Pooled inside his boot.
He dropped low, stumbling behind a wide tree trunk, one hand braced against its rough bark, the other still clutching his sword.
Panting.
But that wasn't what stopped him.
Something was wrong.
The sound, the crackling of the fire.
It was gone!
He leaned out slowly, just enough to glance toward where the fire was.
His eyes narrowed. His breath held.
The fire still burned. There, just ahead.
Just a second ago…I could still hear it. The fire was flickering…
But now… it was silent. Completely silent.
No popping of sap. No snap of twigs. No shifting of wood.
Just an eerie, impossible glow.
Vlad's fingers curled tighter around his blade.
Why did the sound stop? Vlad pondered for a second then rose slowly, knees trembling. He gritted his teeth, suppressing every gasp of pain. Then, step by step, he began to move.
Quiet.
Deliberate.
Tree to tree–each trunk a momentary shelter, each pause a chance to catch his breath and listen. His blood dripped steadily, soaking into the earth, but he kept going. The warmth leaking from his side was constant, yet distant–muted by the pounding of his heart.
He wanted to use the element of surprise he held to the best of his capabilities.
But the trees began to thin.
Less cover. More exposure.
And the fog… it was acting strange.
Then he saw it–no, her.
Short hair. Small frame. A pink water bottle resting in the crook of one elbow. She sat against the trunk of a wide tree facing the fire, her head low. The flame beside her, cast soft orange on the unnaturally pale skin of her cheek.
Vlad's eyes narrowed to slits, and he thought bitterly, Enjoying the warmth while we fucking die, huh?
He crept forward, shifting toward the next tree.
Crack!
His boot landed square on a twig. The sound snapped through the silence like a gunshot.
Crap.
Vlad lunged behind the next trunk, breath caught in his chest.
Across the clearing, Tori's head shot up.
She scrambled to her feet, taking a small knife from her waist. Her movements were fast…trained. The blade was small—just a standard survival knife—but her grip on it was steady. She stepped to the left, turning, scanning the woods.
Trying to locate the source.
But she couldn't.
The fire behind her continued to burn…
Silently.
Her footsteps, despite stepping on leaves, were also completely silent.
She doesn't have the broken sword. Good. Vlad's eyes narrowed. But I still can't hear anything…
He could see the flame flicker, the wind catch her hair… but no crackle. No shifting of branches. No crunch of leaves beneath her boots.
Yeah, he thought grimly. This shits not normal.
He stepped back behind the ashy tree–tall, pale, bark flaking. He pressed himself against it, still as death, wrapping the cloak like glue to his skin with his bloodied left arm. Even calculating when to breathe. Seconds passed. Minutes.
His muscles ached. Blood oozed down his hip. His fingers numbed around the hilt of his blade.
Time was running out. The amount of blood he'd lost was too much.
But he waited.
Almost a dozen minutes.
Finally, Tori lowered her guard. Her shoulders eased. The blade at her side drooped.
She turned sideways and reached for something just out of sight.
That was all he needed.
Vlad sprang forward, every tendon screaming, every joint threatening collapse. But his focus was locked.
Left hand stretched forward, straight for her neck.
He ran with every ounce of hate and pain in his body driving him forward.
Tori spun around at the last second. Like she had sensed it coming.
Her wide and afraid eyes met his.
She swung the knife in a quick arc. But her body did not comply with her wishes.
Her timing was off. Her stance unbalanced. And her limbs compared to Vlad...were tiny.
She missed her target.
And Vlad was already there. His hand slammed into her throat.
He gripped hard, his fingers tightening around her windpipe with everything he had as he picked her up. Tori's body jerked as the air caught in her throat, eyes widening in shock. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. Just a strained, wet wheeze.
"Finally…" Vlad muttered as he squeezed tighter.
But her neck didn't snap.
Damn it...
He didn't have the strength–not with blood pouring from his side, not with the rod still embedded in his body. His grip trembled from the sheer effort, his teeth clenched, muscles straining.
Tori's blade recoiled, her arm pulling back for a second try.
But Vlad's blade moved faster than hers.
Steel cut through air and then through flesh.
Her wrist came clean off.
The knife clattered to the forest floor still gripped in her dismembered hand. It landed with a dull thud in the dirt, blood already splattering the earth.
Tori's mouth opened in a silent scream, tears streaming down her small red face, her body twisting in pain and panic.
But Vlad wasn't done.
Without wasting a beat he drove his blade straight into her left shoulder. The sound it made was dull and thick, like splitting wet wood. The sword sank deep, piercing through flesh and tendon, locking bone.
Tori buckled, gasping, as her left arm fell limp, flopping uselessly to her side. The pink bottle she'd been holding slipped from her grip and hit the forest floor with a soft thud, rolling a few times before coming to a halt by a stone.
Finally, he could hear. The sound of fire flickering and the bottle dropping.
Was I just hallucinating or something because of the bloodloss? Vlad sighed and looked up at Tori's ghostly pale face.
"You had your chances," he said—quiet, final—as he let go of the hilt.
The sword remained buried in her shoulder, still quivering slightly from the force of the blow.
He wiped a thin, hot line of blood dripping down his cheek with the back of his glove–smearing crimson across his face–and locked eyes with her.
"You shouldn't have brought the Valley Demon to the cabin," he said, voice low and guttural, his tone laced with exhaustion and venom.
Then he chuckled. The dry, cracked sound barely resembled laughter.
"Well… I do admit it was a good plan. You just didn't account for an owl."