The Ring Thief - Chapter 6 - The Dark Woods

 Chapter 6 - The Dark Woods

“Come on guys it's probably just a wolf or something,” Grizzel said. Another howl could be heard in the distance, as if in reply to the apostle. This time, however, it was more of a pained cry that was quickly cut short after a short snapping noise. 

With a short inhale, Taenith raised his scimitar and pushed through the brush. “We should go before it’s done. We can go around it and whatever it’s eating now.”

“Are you crazy?” Han asked to no avail as the draconian disappeared into the thicket. Grizzel followed closely behind with his mace raised for light. For a moment, Han stood completely alone, and several more pairs of yellow eyes peaked from the darkness to look at him. 

“Uh,” he said, looking side to side, the sound of snapping twigs and footsteps slowly encroaching on him. “Wait up!” he said, wiping a river of sweat from his forehead as he rushed up behind Grizzel.

As they ventured deeper into the black woods, the blood trail eventually thinned until it disappeared entirely. Even the footprints of the beast had seemingly vanished. Noticing this, Taenith held up his hand and paused.

“What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” Grizzel asked.

“The trail ends here,” Taenith said, looking ahead where the trees became evermore dense. 

“So, let's keep going,” Grizzel said, his feet itching to continue forward.

“Han?” Taenith asked.

Han, who had been listening to the noises of the forest, began to feel more at ease since apparently Taenith had been right. Whatever creature was out there, it was no longer attacking animals, and thankfully, not them either. 

Taking a deep breath, Han said, “Let’s keep going.”

Taenith nodded, glad the bowman had found his strength. As they moved on, the trees became far more dense and practically hugged against each other, making it extremely difficult for a draconian like Taenith to squeeze through. Normally, he would fly over, but the entanglement of the forest blocked out the sky completely, and he didn’t want to leave the two alone with whatever was roaming the woods, even if Grizzel did have his divine mace. 

Minutes passed like hours for Han, who listened anxiously to the chirps and hums of the forest. At least…until they stopped. 

“Hey. Do you hear that?” Han whispered to Grizzel, who shrugged and tapped Taenith’s shoulder. 

“What?” he asked as he finished cutting through a rotted trunk that practically turned to sludge once its twisted bark met the steel of his blade. Maggots and other slime-ridden pests extruded from the rotted mulch as it exploded onto the muddy ground. Both Han and Grizzel’s stomachs turned as they witnessed Taenith smash his feet in and over the pile of the sprawling insects, smearing an orange, pulpy soup of blood everywhere in his wake. 

After recovering himself from the gruesome sight, Han said, “Listen.”

Taenith dropped his oozing blade to his side and listened. Indeed, nothing - not the caws of crows, nor singing of crickets, nor croaking of frogs - could be heard. All that remained was the whispering winds drifting softly against their exhausted bodies.

“It’s close,” Taenith said, wiping his sword on the trunk of a nearby tree.

Han’s heart froze. Out of the darkness, hundreds of scarlet eyes appeared above the draconian. They were all different shapes and came from different angles, but they each trained on the unassuming draconian.

“Tae-” Han tried to say, his throat choking as breath flew from the creature’s hundred mouths. All he could muster was a shaking hand outstretched and pointed towards the beast, or…

Beasts. 

Taenith’s eyes widened as he felt a foul moist air brush against his neck, followed by thousands of grumbles, hisses, growls, and countless other unholy sounds. 

Without even a moment to respond, wood splintered and twisted behind Taenith. He turned to face the commotion, but as he did, a large black, bear-like mass the size of a small elephant exploded from the darkness. It smashed into Taenith and thrashed its multi-headed jaws at Grizzel, who dipped out of the way, leaving Han in the grasp of the beast. The sudden impact sent Taenith reeling. His skull bashed against the side of a tree, and a numbing pain rocketed down his spine before his vision went black. 

There was too little time to react and Hans’ frozen form stood staring in horror at the maw that opened before him. Teeth snapped down on his shoulder, lifting him with ease off the ground as he screamed shrilly in pain. The beast shook like a wolf on a defenseless rabbit, spraying blood and chunks of flesh over its maw before throwing him to the ground. With a roar, the beast raised its claws above a barely conscious Han, ready to bring them down upon its wounded prey. Reeling backwards, Grizzel shouted several religious slurs as he watched the massive monstrosity bite down and swing Han’s body around like a ragged doll before unceremoniously dropping him to the dirt.

“Han!” Grizzel screamed, raising his mace towards the creature as it swept a claw across Han’s chest, stealing away half his shirt and cutting through his flesh like a hot knife through butter. 

Bloodied and in shock, the bowman’s screams choked. Shock carved through his body at the pain but that pain was numbing. The world and noise was numbing. His vision faltered and with a wheezing breath a darkness collapsed on his vision and he lay motionless in a growing pool of his own blood.

Before the apostle could bring his mace down on the beast, it reared backwards, standing on its hind legs to reveal its full form. Its face, or rather, faces, was an amalgam of forest creatures. The heads of crows, squirrels, hogs, deer, coyotes, wolves, guivespear, and countless more creatures protruded from the neck of its central, wolfish face in every direction. Grizzel’s jaw trembled, and in his daze he hardly noticed the pair of bear arms bursting from its shadowy torso towards him. Thankfully, his instincts forced him to act, and he just barely managed to duck out of the way of its sword-like claws. 

“Any day, Taenith!” Grizzel shouted, teeth rattling inside his mouth. Alas, his pleas fell on deaf ears. The draconian lay unconscious a short distance away, covered in a gross mixture of blood and mud. 

The beast roared, its voice a cacophony of sounds uttered by the various faces fused to its bizarre, amorphous form. Its mutilated, sad wailing forced Grizzel to cover his ears, and his eyes to instinctively shut, shielding his mind from horrors of the miserable abomination before him. When the cursed symphony concluded, the creature pivoted, whipping its quill-covered tail in the air. Spikes the length of swords flung from its tree-length appendage, all aimed at its dazed prey. 

Grizzel opened his eyes to the wall of spikes. Skipping a breath, he dove for the nearest tree and hugged his back against its trunk. Exploding chunks of wood peppered his hair and shoulders, and he squeezed the hilt of his mace until his fingers turned pale. “Come on, Griz. It’s just an eldritch forest demon. You got this.” 

Looking around his surroundings, he noticed his backpack was only a few yards away. Before he could even think about running for it, however, dozens more quills sprung from the creature, piercing everything around him - the tree protecting his back, the ground around him, and perhaps worst of all, the bag, whose viscera was the spilled gold he had claimed. 

Rage and greed ate away at the fear in Grizzel’s chest, so much so that he didn’t even notice that one of the creature’s spikes had lodged itself firmly below his right shoulder blade. 

Gritting his teeth, Grizzel reached a hand around his back and forced himself off the spike boring into him. A river of blood trickled down his shining armor, sullying its pristine glimmer. The pain was numb to him, however, as he watched countless gold coins scatter onto the forest floor. "You're going to regret that," he growled. Clenching the hilt of his humming mace, he took a deep breath, then charged forward. 

The creature sprouted several viper heads from its neck like tendrils, ready to end the apostle with their corrosive venom should he come within striking distance. Before they could make such an attempt, however, a barrage of blinding pale magic burst from the orbed tip of Grizzel’s mace. The dazzling light show momentarily wiped away the forest’s darkness, and glazed over the beast’s massive form, shredding skin and muscle from its many heads and limbs. Even Grizzel had to look away in fear of being blinded from the sun-like radiance.

Bestial howlings, chatterings, and hissings erupted from the creature as the light melted through its body, cutting through many of its heads and forcing it further into the darkness of the woods where it whimpered and limped, leaving behind a trail of black blood that steamed and boiled under the light. Its hide was left smoking from the burning power of the mace.

Breathing heavily, Grizzel stared into the darkness of the woods. 

“I did it,” he breathed, closing his eyes for a small moment.

“Hells yeah! I DID IT!” he cheered, waving his mace in the air victoriously. In that moment, he could almost feel himself back in the training fields of the apostle’s school in Kingswatch. The excitement bubbling in his chest reminded him of the times his father actually approved of him; when he was able to strike down the other apprentices in combat. In that moment, he could feel the warmth of the Grand Paladin’s hand on his shoulder, praising him for his skill.

“You’ve made me proud,” he would say. Or at least, he hoped he would say.

But reality shook Grizzel back to the woods a moment later, where he was alone. No father was there to praise him, or even by his side to love him. When those joyful memories faded, he forgot about Taenith and Han. Their existence had been purged from his mind. Rashes exploded from his neck, and his eyes raged with a redness that practically blinded him. Tears rivered down his steaming face once he realized there was no one - no father - around to say anything about the deed he committed. No one to witness his heroic endeavor. 

His tears fell to the forest floor as he turned around. The bodies of his friends were blurred into the bloody forest scene, still and unmoving. His own hands and form seemed out of focus as well. Only the gold scattered across the dirt and mud maintained its bright clarity. 

The pile of shining metallic coins glared at him, and began speaking in his father’s voice. A memory from long ago.

“Your crimes have weighed you down. Vomit up your sins in gold. Only then will you be worth gazing upon.”

Outstretching his hands, practically drooling over himself, he dropped to the ground and began piling the gold into his arms, hugging the shining mass like a child would their mother.

But when Grizzel began picking at the gold pieces, he could hear Taenith suddenly cough. Twitching his neck back, the red haze that was Taenith’s form cleared, making way for the physical draconian he knew. The apostle’s frantic heartbeat returned to a more normal pace and he began to understand his friends were still in danger.

His FRIENDS were in danger…

“No...No no no no,” Grizzel mumbled, dropping the coins. He remembered what had happened to Han, how his torso had been ripped to shreds and that he was probably dead by now without his attention. He wanted to curse himself for losing himself to the gold, but his gut didn’t tell him his actions were wrong. In fact, the voices in his head rung a constant melody of discouragements to him. 

“Leave him! Prove your worth!” the voices of his father shouted to him as he rushed away from the gold and to Taenith.

"Are you okay?" he asked, kneeling beside the draconian.

Taenith blinked his sore eyes. A piercing pain shot through his body in all directions. Running his hand over his chest, the draconian could feel a massive bruise bulging over a pair of broken ribs. They were accompanied by gaping wounds that gushed rivers of blood out of the holes in his now torn and mangled armor. His tongue tasted like hot iron. Tapping it to the top of his mouth, he winced. He must have bitten it during his trampling. Ignoring the pain, he looked to Han. Unable to summon the words to speak, he nodded faintly to the bowman who still lay unconscious.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Grizzel repeatedly cursed to himself for not checking on Han first. He rushed over to his friend, who was covered in blood, dirt, and fallen leaves. Throughout his body were gaping lacerations that continued to pour crimson. Grabbing his wrist, Grizzel checked for a pulse, only finding a faint and occasional blip after a few moments of checking.

"Taenith!” he shouted desperately, panic setting in. 

Taenith grit his teeth and dug his hands into the ground. Every muscle in his body screamed as he forced himself upward. But urgency took over when he saw just how badly the creature had torn into Han. His shirt was nothing but ribbons and his skin was a mangled and bloody mess. Nothing short of a miracle could save him now. Against all instincts, Taenith felt only one answer coming to the front of his mind as he limped over to his downed friend. 

“Have faith,” his mother’s words echoed.

"Pray," Taenith wheezed, nearly choking over the word.

Grizzel raised a brow at the draconian. "What?" he asked. 

"You're the apostle. Pray," he nearly spat.

Grizzel paused, then nodded before pressing his hands against Han's chest, hesitating briefly as blood seeped over his fingers.

"Well?" Taenith said, coughing. The apostle paused his ritual.

"I don't even know the name of my god so I'm not exactly sure what to do here," he said, heart racing.

After a few moments of silent thought, Taenith tried stretching his wings. To his surprise, they were unbroken and only stung a little when he bent them. It seemed his body was what took the blunt of the monster’s attack.

"I'm going to find help. You keep trying," Taenith said.

 "What? And leave me here? What if that thing comes back?" Grizzel said, panicking.

Looking up at the nearly black wall of trees, Taenith managed to spot a small opening into the sky where light barely managed to creep beneath the leafy haze. “You’ll be fine. Whatever you did clearly worked. I’m going to try and find a healer.”

“But healers cost a fortune. We can’t-” Grizzel said, wincing as realization settled in.

Taenith looked to the pile of gold coins that laid strewn about in the mud, then to the bag that lazily sat opened next to Han. “That gold’s worth fifty trips to Kanda. And that mace can cover the rest if needed,” he said. “A powerful weapon such as that would go for hundreds of thousands of gold pieces.

Taken aback by the suggestion, Grizzel’s mind found itself practically splitting in two pieces, each side arguing over the value of the other.

“I...I,” Grizzel choked.

“I love you son,”  his father’s words spoke. 

“Please Grizzel,” echoed Han’s.

“N-Okay,” he said through clenched teeth, his voice shaking along with his hands as tears swelled and dropped from his eyes and onto Han’s face. 

Taenith took a raspy breath, wincing as his bruised and battered chest expanded. His eyes began to dampen along with his mind. He did his best to stay conscious as he knelt and picked up a handful of coins from the mud, placing them in a leather sack at his side. 

“I’ll be back shortly,” he said, rubbing a hand over his head as a sudden blunt, burning pain arched through his forehead. 

Staring into Han’s features, Grizzel began uttering a few words of prayer towards his nameless god in hopes of saving Han from his bloody fate. A few sparks and flashes of magic shot through his finger tips occasionally, closing the wounds slowly, but it was still a losing battle without a professional or a god’s direct presence.

  Taenith extended his wings and pounded them against the air, sending him skyrocketing up from the ground and past the small opening in the forest canopy. In mere moments the sky above the wooden curtain exploded with stars as the draconian's mighty wings lifted him above the treeline. Each beat strained his chest with new sharp pains but the thoughts of Han dying - of losing a companion on his watch - were far more agonizing. Exploring the winding skies above, he quickly found himself enwreathed in moonlight, as the sun had already retreated over the horizon. 

The cold of night sent chills down Taenith’s spine as he looked in the distance where he could see the outskirts of a large city filled with tall towers that basked beneath the night. He then noticed several torch-lit roads that extended beyond the walls like spider legs. These farmlands speckled the countryside, and with the growing pains straining his body, he opted for the closest building.

With a heavy breath, Taenith plummeted, propelling himself towards the nearest site. If he could even find a villager, he would be able to find out where the nearest church would be. Then, he’d be able to bring Han back to full strength. 

Each time he beat his wings against the wind, he felt his broken ribs skyrocket into a nauseating pain, causing him to slow significantly. Despite this dizzying nausea, he managed to carry himself towards the closest farm. He considered passing it to make it closer to the city where the healing clinics would be, but a rush of heavy exhaustion overcame him and he was forced to the ground where he barely stood on his shaking knees. Once he settled onto the grass he took a moment to try and just catch his breath. Each motion was practically a desperate struggle for air. Across the field was a generously sized farmhouse. White painted oak sidings, stone foundations, and silver-crusted linings all suggested the owner of the establishment was rather wealthy. And if there was anything he knew about the wealthy, it was that they were always the greatest praisers of the gods. That meant a great chance of expensive healing potions.

Taking no time to delay, Taenith approached the front door and knocked. Seeing as it was the middle of the night, he wasn’t surprised when no answer came to him.

“Is anyone there?” he asked, coughing a few times as he waited for a response that never came. The pain of coughing made his stance wobble. He rested a hand against the door frame for balance and gathered himself again.

Blood dripped down his armor, pooling on the porch beneath his feet. A gate creaked in the soft breeze somewhere nearby as Taenith stood there in the silence of the night. He looked towards the noise and saw a small cow chewing on grass. Somehow the small thing had managed to escape its gated pasture.

“One of your cows escaped,” Taenith said, knocking once more. After a few more moments of no response, he shook his head and kicked in the door, forcing it off its hinges and slamming it against the polished wood flooring with a loud thud that echoed throughout the house. Again the strenuous action left him light headed and dizzy. The throbbing soreness in his ribs shrieked at him, along with the growing pain in his neck and spine.

Taenith hobbled as best he could into the home, leaving a small sanguine trail behind him. The floorboards creaked beneath him as he slowly explored the first floor of the building. He was first met with a standard kitchen. Pots and pans littered the countertops, and the dining room table was covered with varying sizes of bowls filled with obtuse and freshly plucked garden fruits and vegetables. The sight was almost comforting to him, and even eased the pain in his body as the scents of a well kept home reminded him of what it was like to live comfortably and safe from the dangers of the wilds. Now that he thought about it, this was the first time he’d been inside a real home since he was just a child. 

His stomach grumbled at the site of food, but he resisted the urge to swipe anything. Moving on, Taenith found himself in a living room where there was a large wooden chest beneath some sort of crested mat. With his blurring vision, he wasn’t too sure what it was, but upon further inspection, he could see the decorative fabric was covered in symbols of the goddess, Lunas.

An intoxicating surge of heat rushed down his body and into his hands. In a fit of rage, Taenith snatched the fabric from its place and ripped it in half. 

Heaving with contempt and exhaustion, Taenith spat on the pieces leftover before turning back to the locked chest. Leveraging his sword against the chain and lock piece, he snapped it open with a loud crack. Kicking the box over, nearly popped out of his skull. Heaps of gold and jewelry flooded onto the wood floor.

Maw slightly agape, Taenith took a few pieces in his hand. To his dismay, the gold was imprinted with the same emblem of Lune, his home. Because of his inspection, he barely noticed as a pair of footsteps creaked from behind him. It took everything to drag his stare away from the gold and to the small human standing in the hallway adjacent to the stairwell that led to the rooms above. 

“Hello?” the boy asked, wiping his tired eyes as he tried to process the sight of a 7-foot tall, crouching dragon man.

Dropping the gold pieces and standing to his full height, Taenith grit his teeth and drew his sword. 

“Quiet,” Taenith seethed, as his claws dug into the hilt of his sword. This caught the child off guard. His tired eyes cleared enough to catch a glimpse of the deathly, bloody behemoth looming over him. To the boy, Taenith may as well have been a demon standing in his living room. Only his tears seemed able to move, as they ran down his eyes while he stood frozen in terror. 

But gazing into the child’s trembling green eyes, Taenith could only see a premature killer bred from and for war. If they were an apostle’s child, that was the only fate fit unto them.

“Look at him. So young, yet so intoxicated. Kill him. For you are my blood,” the voices of his soul spoke through the draconian, numbing his senses and blurring his vision once more. Like with Han or Grizzel, the boy’s face became nothing. No soul, no personality. Just…

Evil. 

Blinded by himself, Taenith raised his scimitar to strike down the cruel thing. He could see various tears running down the child’s red, flushed cheeks. This caused his sword hand to falter for a moment. Though his features were blank and humans were corrupt and hollow, they were still tears. The creature’s soft sob pierced his hazy thoughts.

“How could something so evil cry?” Taenith thought.

As he asked himself this question, he began to see the child’s features more clearly. His eyes were green. His brows were brown. His cheeks blushed hot red under stress. And snot dribbled from his wet, rosy nose.

The child's tears ran the same as his once had...

“Dammit,” Taenith said, biting his tongue as his scimitar shook in his grasp. It was then when he felt his body begin to shut down from pain. His ribs felt like they were on fire, and  blood continued to pool over the polished wooden floor while he stood, unsure of what to do next. 

Soon he could hear another pair of footsteps stomping down the stairs. This time, however, they were heavy. Before he could shake himself from his own haze, he was face to face with a man dressed in a cloth bathrobe. Beneath it was silk sleepwear. In his hands, was an iron sword adorned with the symbol of Lunas at its hilt.

It was an apostle. 

“Demon!” the warrior shrieked as he shoved the boy behind him and shot towards Taenith with his sword raised. 

“Kill him!” Taenith’s instincts screamed. Yet, he was unable to move.

The apostle roared as he brought his sword down on the draconian. 

Then, darkness folded over Taenith’s golden eyes, and fire blistered from his battered maw.