Hunter's Moon

The air was thick with the taste of ash; a low-lying, nearly impossible-to-place tickling at the back of one’s throat. A slight annoyance that nevertheless made every moment a chore.

Jonas trekked on regardless, knowing under normal circumstances that he should raise his bandanna or at least turn up his coat to try to protect his throat and lungs.

Hardly matters, he thought to himself. It’s not in the air, it IS the air.

Stopping to rest his legs, Jonas looked up. The proof of his point hung in the grey sky, staring down back at him.

The Eye, red and horrible, remained there. It remained in place of the moon, visible now that the sun had declined over the horizon about three hours beforehand.

Yet it was nowhere in sight when I crossed the border into Plivain less than two ago.

The Hunter contemplated the dark tendrils extending from the nightmarish center of the….thing? Object? It was next to impossible to tell. It certainly had seemed alive (for lack of a better term) when it had first erupted across the night’s sky four years ago; for a full nightmarish week then it had been visible across the entirety of the known world.

Now it merely sat there, dormant, seeming almost asleep. The Eye was open, but listless, the tendrils waving slowly in the dark sky.

The sight still chilled the bone though, and Jonas had no clue had the people of Plivain could live under such a vision every night without losing their minds.

Well…maybe they have.

The Hunter sighed, searching the twisted limbs of the trees around him for any signs of movement or ambush or exit.

Maybe we all have.

Jonas pushed onwards, only looking down to take stock of himself. His thick leather boots had held up admirably, crushing the gnarled twigs and roots beneath him underfoot. The solid greatcoat that he wore had fared less well, however. He could see deep gouges and patches of torn leather, exposing the thin, overlapping bands of steel sewn between the layers of fabric. Somewhere along the way he had lost his hat, revealing his thinning brown hairline.

Moving silently was difficult, but since making it through the checkpoint crossing he was less concerned about being undetected: detecting whatever might be lurking ahead of him took much greater priority. As did protecting himself from it.

At the thought, his fingers unconsciously brushed the worn wooden stock of the musket secured by his side. It was a gift from his uncle back in Neu Mikkelsburg; before he left for the Capital and received the Transfusion. As they worked their way up and down the silver traceries of the elegant metalwork, shining starkly against the burnished black wood of the barrel, he once again admired the level of craftsmanship that went into the weapon.

Pangs of loneliness and heartache flared up within Jonas as he recalled his home, his uncle, and his old life. He shook himself and made the Sign of the Cross.

No time. Need to keep moving.

He could worry about nostalgia later. It was bad practice to linger for too long in the woods at the best of times, much less a place like this. Jonas focused his senses on the trees ahead and around him. Everything seemed still, except for the slight breeze rustling the dead and dying leaves. Jonas knew better than to trust normal eyes and ears, however.

Taking deep breaths, he listened to the rhythm and especially the beating of his heart. After a moment he felt it.

The unnatural Blood in Jonas’s veins called out, reaching through the darkened copses and shadowed tree trunks to touch something moving towards him. The Hunter couldn’t yet tell anything more, except that it was big. Jonas slid the musket off his shoulder by the strap and quietly raised it up. As he did so, he quickly checked to make sure it was primed and loaded.

Hanging on his other hip, within easy reach of his right hand, was the broad-bladed head of an axe. It was of curious design: something between a woodsman’s axe and a weapon of war. It had a metal ring securing it through a loop on his belt, and a thick leather grip wrapped the bottom third of the handle. Its edge was sharp but well-worn, and curious black score marks stood out against the bright steel.

Jonas Rostock was still focused on the darkened space in front of him, patiently waiting. Now he did take the time to raise the faded cloth around his neck over his nose and mouth.

Finally, it exploded out from the trees, roughly one hundred feet ahead.

It looked something like a bear: perhaps it had been one at one point, or it still was one. Whatever it was, its head, back, and shoulders were covered in unnatural purplish-white growth. The thick, gnarled spines and horns that spread out and pockmarked its mottled fur looked to be something between bone and fungal growth, and longer, spindlier tentacles lashed out at the branches ahead of it.

Jonas had never quite gotten over the sense of revulsion he felt at sights like this, but the Hunter had gotten used to them. He scanned the monstrosities’ body as best he could in the thick grey moonlight, and coolly noted several bleeding wounds. Someone had gotten to it beforehand. His mind methodically ticked off the implications.

That someone likely could be someone like myself, a thought which on its own gave neither comfort nor concern.

That would have to wait, however. He likely only had one shot before the beast was upon him.

While the gun was ready to fire, one last step remained. Opening the flash pan, he slid this thumb along a sharp spur of metal he had filed out of the hammer; the only alteration he had made to his Julius Rostock’s handiwork. Thick, dark, viscous blood welled up, then slowly dripped into the barrel and down into the carefully packed powder and shot.

Jonas sucked in his breath as he felt weakness spread through his body; it always felt like he lost more blood than he had actually spilled. He used the inhalation to his advantage though, letting it steady his aim as he drew a bead on the charging creature.

Its eyes glowed sickly yellow in the shadows, and Jonas for a moment worried he wouldn’t be able to get a clean shot.

He felt the steady, strong grip of a broad hand on his shoulder as the musket roared. The sparks that erupted from the flint striking steel lit up the forest path around him, shooting off further than any normal shot would. They crackled with blue arcs of electricity that traveled down the length of the gun, and suddenly the unholy thing in front of him was entirely visible.

The bullet impacted with a crash of thunder, punching through chitinous membrane. The monstrosity reared up onto his hind legs in pain and rage, and its tendrils stood out on either side of its body.

Jonas nearly missed his opening. The warmth on his shoulder felt so real, so powerful. For a moment he was back in the clear, well-lit woods around Mikkelsburg; little more than a child, hunting much less fearsome game. The same calm, reassuring grip was matched in the quiet, powerful voice telling him to breathe in…

A branch snapping overhead brought the Hunter back to reality. The creature was regaining its sense, and the long whip-like tentacles were searching the air around it angrily. He had to move now.

Charging forwards, Jonas Rostock let his musket slip and wrenched the axe from his hip. He was able to clear half the distance before the bear-beast focused in on him, and he relied on the brief glimpse he had seen of the forest floor to keep him from tripping or staggering; he had wasted enough time.

A sharp, pointed limb came thrusting down at him from above as he neared with thirty feet of his prey. It was languid, still not entirely in control of itself though, and Jonas rolled and let his momentum carry himself to his feet. The tendril buried itself in the ground behind him as he raised his axe and hacked down at a second strike, this one much surer of itself.

The tentacle cracked like a split tree trunk, but warm blood dripped out onto the dirt below. The beast bellowed again; Jonas was within ten feet of its maw. If it weren’t for his raised bandanna the stench probably would have overpowered him. He couldn’t stop himself though from catching a brief glimpse past the edges of its too-long teeth.

Its tongue was long and sticky like that of a normal bear, but it was abnormal; instead of a thin and flat pink ribbon, an ugly writhing mass covered in spines short forward. Jonas reared his head and body back, watching in disgust as it shot past him.

He barely saw its paw in time as it clawed at him. He was too close; his evasion of the mace-like tongue had brought him right into reach. Jonas gritted his teeth and jumped.

It was too late to dodge the blow entirely, but the sharp edges caught and clattered against the thickness of his coat. They came away with more pieces of leather as they skittered across the bands of metal contained within, but Jonas ribs and side screamed and groaned in protest from the sheer force of the massive forearm. He could see pieces of exposed steel bending inwards.

His feet found purchase on the abominations matted fur though, and he shoved the pain aside and forced his body onto its massive back. It began to rear up again, and he could see the drill-like tendrils trying to turn to strike at him.

Dear God, please…please. Have I not been through enough?

Jonas Rostock, reluctant Hunter and wearied survivor raised this axe above his head in both hands and brought it plunging down on the monster’s neck, right where its flesh seemed the most exposed. He put every ounce of force he had left into the blow, and it landed with a heavy crunch and a spray of cursed blood.

The abomination tried to raise itself again, this time shaking furiously to try to dislodge him. He had no time to worry about defending himself or even holding on. Raising the axe up again, Jonas drove it down once more into the wide channel he had cut from its tough flesh. He felt bone snap.

Suddenly he was sliding, as the ursine body slumped forwards onto its front legs. The tentacles straightened and then began to fall limp; one that had begun wrapping itself around his foot unraveled and slid onto the dirt.

Panting heavily, Jonas pulled himself to his feet. His coat was stained with the monster’s vital fluids (not an unusual occurrence), but he knew his job was not yet done.

Ripping the cloth from his face, Jonas Rostock took in deep gulps of the ashen air. He stumbled towards the fallen form and peered at his handiwork.

Sure enough, he saw webs of blood beginning to form between the edges of the deep slices in its thick neck. They struggled as if alive, trying to reform muscle and sinew and arteries. If the creature had still possessed enough Blood in its distended underbelly, it could restore itself.

He had to be certain.

Taking his axe once more into his hands, Jonas swung downwards again and again until the beast’s skull lay in fragments, and its brains had been dashed onto the earth around them. He could have sworn he saw maggots and other indistinct crawling things skittering out of the bear’s head and into the darkness.

Peering for his fallen musket, Jonas saw it glinting now too far from where he landed. He picked up the weapon with stiffening fingers.

“Well done boy; that’s quite the kill! We’ll make a fine hunter out of you yet.”

Jonas turned, his eyes wide. For a moment he thought he saw a broad, bald face smiling at him.

Then he blinked, and all that was there was the gnarled bole of a tree.

Clutching his forehead, he took a moment to steady himself.

It’s only getting worse.

Staring upwards, he found the unknown glare of the Dreaming Moon looking back down at him.

The Long Hunt would go on.