I skid around a corner, following the last cries I heard that seemed to be coming from this direction, but stop dead in my tracks when I see the shadowcreature hunched over a bloodied Crusader at the opposite end of the street.
Horror stories of demons are told to children to scare them into obedience. Though they can take many forms, they are mostly described as savage animals overcome by raw, concentrated evil. They resemble the most ferocious beasts that roam the land—bears, wolves, cougars—but their fur is stiff, not soft, and their skin is as black as hate. They fuel our nightmares and cripple us with fear.
But the creature before me puts them all to shame.
It has no face. No eyes, or nose, just a smooth, membranous skull with a crescent slit for a mouth. The teeth inside are as thin as fish bones and as green as seaweed. Even from here, I can smell its fetid breath, the sickening stench of blood from its recent kill.
When I notice the weapon in the Crusader’s hand, a shadowsteel shortsword, I muffle a soft gasp. I’m looking at Sai’s body.
The shadowcreature cocks its head, spying me down the road and grinning with deadly intent.
My knees quiver.
The beast screeches and takes one step toward me, his leg like a spider’s as it juts from his torso and bends in odd, unsettling angles.
I shuffle backward, but I trip over the pole of my axe and stumble to my rear.
The shadowcreature’s grin widens. Its bony, horrid limbs are as jagged as the barest branches of winter trees, and it moves like a predator on the prowl.
I am nothing more than a puddle of fear now as I scramble backward, scooting and crab-walking as fast as I can, unsure of where exactly I think I’m going. I can’t outrun him—he’s almost as tall as the two-story inn on my right, and as I stare at it, eyes wide with terror, I realize it has wings anyway—two large, membranous wings that are curved and as sharp as hooks.
Never in my life have I seen its equal. Even in our studies, the scholars never described a beast quite like it. They only ever eluded to there being more than just demons in the Shadowthorn, and that we didn’t know of all of them yet.
Fear strangles me, my thrilling heart beating so violently in my throat that I can barely breathe. My hands won’t scoot fast enough, while my feet suffer from shuffling too quickly.
The creature gains on me, even with its languid movements. It watches me with its eyeless face like it knows it, too, like it will take great pleasure in watching me suffer as it plucks the flesh from my bones.
My back slams into something—the outside wall of a building I think, but I don’t dare pull my eyes away to confirm.
The creature stalks forward, a thin string of saliva dripping from its dark mouth and pointed chin.
Just when I think it’s over for me, just as I begin to make peace with my life and hope I’ll be reunited with my departed family, I catch a glint of shadowsteel behind the creature’s gnarled legs.
Maxwell tiptoes out from a shed with his lance held stiffly before him. He nods at me too vigorously to convey confidence and too rapidly to convince me that whatever he has planned is going to work.
Before I can think of a way to tell him to stop without giving his position away to the stalking shadowcreature, Maxwell cries. He bolts into a run, knuckles white on the pole of his weapon, and leaps. He throws the weight of his entire body—which isn’t much, but is better than nothing—into his jab and spears the shadowcreature in the calf.
The beast shrieks, a fluid sound like a bird drowning on its final squawk. It jerks around to face him.
Maxwell is already backing away, lance readied again, but he’s too close. The shadowcreature sees him now and the only thing it knows is how to kill.
He needs to run.
And he does, but, not the right way.
By the time I’m on my feet, Maxwell is charging the beast again.
“No!” I cry, racing toward them.
The shadowcreature swings his skeletal hand at Maxwell. The force of it sends him flying across the courtyard and crashing against a building. The wooden boards splinter and quake, but he doesn’t break through the foundation entirely. He slumps into a limp heap of limbs, and I can’t tell from this distance if he’s alive or dead, but I know that if I don’t do anything, soon the shadowcreature will finish him off.
The nightmarish beast seemingly casts all notions of me aside as it redirects its attention on Maxwell, moving on him with lethal intent.
With my axe raised, I charge. Deftly, I’m aware that this is the same thing Maxwell did and I know how poorly that ended for him. But what choice do I have? If I do nothing, Maxwell dies. If I do nothing, I might die.
As I race forward, I notice the well on the far side of the courtyard for the first time. The shadowcreature is about to pass it, but if I can get there before the beast moves too far away…
I push my muscles harder. They ache with every reverberating, thrashing step, but still, I dash. I run like the beast is chasing me, like there’s an entire horde of demons and shadowcreatures slashing and snapping at my feet.
The well draws nearer, and I prepare for something that I’m fairly certain is never going to work. My plan is so reckless and dangerous and overly confident that I’m sure it can only fail. But the only alternative is repeating Maxwell’s mistake and striking the creature in an innocuous place. My blow has to count. It has to kill.
With bounding strides, I leap onto the stone wall of the well. In the fraction of the second that it takes me to press my weight into the leg on the wall, I anticipate the rocks to wobble, for my foot to slip on the dampness of the stones, and for me to plummet down into the dark abyss. But my foothold is solid, strong. If this part of the plan is working, then the rest just might too.
Using the momentum of my run, I shove off the stone wall and spring into the air. I become weightless, timeless as my legs kick and the beast draws nearer. The axe is heavy over my shoulder, but my grip is tight. I swing hard, shadowsteel burying into the creature’s skin to the hilt.
The beast shrieks wildly, back arching. It stumbles to the ground, twisting, and writhing, shoving itself back to its feet only to fall again, all the while its cries carry through air like a death toll. If the Crusaders didn’t hear Maxwell or me earlier, I’m certain they hear this now. And if they can hear, so can every other creature in the Shadowthorn.
I run to Maxwell in the broken wood, keeping a cautious eye on the shadowcreature as it continues writhing. Its twitching has already begun to slow, its cries quieting behind its rasping breaths for air and life. I take comfort in knowing it’ll die soon, but we can’t stay here. Depending on how far away any demons are, this place will be crawling in no time.
“Maxwell,” I say, giving him a shake.
A snarling howl rumbles somewhere behind the buildings, maybe a few streets over. We don’t have much time.
“Maxwell, we have to go.”
I glance over my shoulder to the giant creature and its stilled limbs. My axe is still buried in its heart through its back. I feel so naked without it now, the dagger at my hip doing little to nothing to soothe my nerves as the snarling seems to circle us. There must be a dozen demons in the area coming to the aid of their fallen monster.
Maxwell’s eyes remain closed. I grab him by the arms and heave him over my shoulder. He’s small enough that I can carry him, but he’s still a full-grown man. The weight of him almost buckles my knees as I shuffle to the fallen beast. I drop Maxwell, leaning him against the creature’s dead body while I wiggle my axe out from the beast’s back.