by N Felts
becomes clear. A brief gallop turns into a pounce as the beast leaps over the concentrating Geist, and toward the plank of wood. His eyes scanning furiously, Geist grins contently as a hind leg drifts just close enough, and with a short hop, he touches the tag bearing the bats new name to its ankle for the briefest of moments. A flash of light isn’t registered by Reek’s useless eyes, but the loud banging of metal beneath his feet is. As he spins in a circle, Geist must stifle a laugh as the monster is practically chasing its tail, searching for the source of the noise. Finally locating the culprit, Reek snatches the chain off the ground, wobbling slightly while he struggles to maintain his balance. Sniffing the stale metal, he snarls angrily, bearing his teeth at the irritating trick.
“Don’t do it my friend,” Geist muses, content in simply watching for now. Without hesitation, the bat chomps down on the chain, the frail metal no match for its powerful jaws. The sting of pain jolts up the creature’s spine before it manages to apply enough pressure to sever the shackle, the resulting shriek reminding Geist he should probably be leaving. Unbeknownst to him, Reek’s new accessory is intimately fused to his leg, even bearing scales and hair upon the metallic links closest to his ankle. The attempt to remove the shackle felt as if he tried to bite off his own leg, the loudly clashing tag blinding his senses as he thrashes in pain. Forced to hobble away as quickly as possible, Geist spots Cale across the marketplace peering through the open window of a two-storied building. His luck finally turning around, the reaver isn’t prepared when his senses simultaneously fail him, a piercing screech whipping through the area as Reek blindly exerts his rage before clumsily fleeing the scene. His whole body numb, Geist doesn’t feel his cheek collide with the ground before his vision blurs and consciousness leaves him.
“Tch, damn you, Cale.” Geist mumbles, turning toward the forest. He doesn’t want to stand up the girl waiting for him, but Cale made the forest sound pretty important. Nimbly working his way through the crowd, he seems to pass through the busy streets instantly, his friends figure impatiently waiting outside of the trees. Jogging to meet him, Geist stops short when dozens of shadows appear between the trees, none of them quite entering the light. His eyes wide with fear, Geist tries to shout a warning, but the words bunch up in his throat. Unable to produce a sound, his dread intensifies as he reaches for his friend unsuccessfully.
“Sounds like he’ll be fine,” Romoro chuckles, patting Cale on the shoulder with a bear paw of a hand before moving away. His senses returning slowly, Geist manages to focus on the ceiling before tilting his head to find a smirking Cale.
“You owe me,” he starts, condescendingly. “Bigtime.”
“Oh save it,” Geist groans, his muscles beginning to cooperate again. “What about the time we—”
“Nope,” he grins, breathing a little easier now that his friend is okay. “This is bigger.”
“Where were we going anyway?” Geist asks, ready to change the subject.
“To your old house,” Cale sighs, depressed his bold plan fell flat.
“Are you crazy?” Geist snaps, sitting upright. “Want to advertise while you’re at it? Come and get it! Survivors now conveniently located,” he mocks, his disapproval of the bold plan apparent.
“That just the point,” he reveals, shrugging his shoulders. “Why would they ever think to search there?” Unconvinced, Geist decides to leave it at that, breathing a sigh of relief to have made it back essentially unscathed. The majority of the survivors busy themselves with organizing the new rations while some of the reavers plan for the move in a small circle. Despite the serenity, Geist feels dreadfully uneasy, like the aching bones of a sailor before a storm appears on the horizon. The day is all but gone, faint traces of twilight breathing on the fogged windows of the barracks. Soundless in the winter wind, a single keese lands on the windowsill, catching Geist’s attention. Staring at him thoughtfully, the creature’s eyes betray its sinister intentions. Something about the way it stares, those piercing red eyes looking beyond the reaver’s flesh and into his soul. The moment seems to last an eternity, neither of the two willing to tear their eyes away from the other. A brief flapping of wings grabs several of the inhabitants attention, and the fear begins to swell. Three keese now gaze into the structure, and the number begins to multiply rapidly, each of the creatures simply landing, and waiting.
“No,” Cale breathes, his voice all but stolen away. “It’s not possible.”
“You weren’t followed?” Geist asks, trying to phrase the question rhetorically. His friend is clearly not present mentally, struggling to suppress the obvious revelation. He was so careful, but it seems he has underestimated his enemy’s cunning for the last time. Without warning, all of the bats simultaneously leap whence they were perched, beating their wings rapidly and screeching randomly. Panic grabs the entire room instantly as the chaotic shadows eclipse the room in darkness, the women and children quickly congregating in the windowless corner as the reavers prepare for battle as quickly as they’re able. Springing from his cot, Geist aims to be the first one out the door, but is stopped short by Grahn.
“Don’t be foolish, boy,” he warns, his eyes and tone deadly serious. “We must—“ he starts, cut off by the barred door exploding inward. Hundreds of keese swarm into the room like the air out of a punctured balloon. A black, devilish hand wraps around the doorframe, its evil essence radiating as its owner pulls himself into the room. Gomess, the keeper of souls, drifts into the room languidly, his gargantuan scythe knocking against the ground as he hovers forward. Ghostly green eyes seem to glow with delight as he relishes in the coming slaughter. Pushing Geist back, the leader of the reavers conjures a torrent of ethereal swords, all of them screaming across the short distance to Gomess instantly. An effortless twirl of his scythe causes the blades to shatter harmlessly, and within an instant, the demon is upon him. The hundreds of keese swarming through the structure prioritize protecting their master, encircling his form in a dark, living tornado as the minority continue to menace the survivors. Dashing to their leader’s rescue, the remaining reavers lose their drive instantaneously when the ghastly creature’s dozens of twisted fangs part, and a roar unlike anything every heard bursts every window of the building. Before Grahn can even attempt another offensive, Gomess has scooped his scythe around him, the blade tenderly biting into his flesh as the demon slowly pulls.
“Noooooooo!” The man screams, his voice fading and fluctuating as his very soul is gently cleaved from his physical body. A hand of darkness wraps around the spiritual neck of the harvested man as his body falls limply to the ground. Frigid winds and merciless snow spin into the structure, the atmosphere now matching the desperation in the survivor’s hearts.
“You bas—“ Romoro growls, pouncing upon the dark entity. Before he can utter another syllable, the scythe sweeps overhead soundlessly, stabbing down through the man’s clavicle, and leaving him stunned and breathless. An otherworldly noise sounds as Gomess opens his horrifying mouth, pulling Grahn’s spectral form from his grasp in a twisting stream. Having devoured one soul seems to expedite the process, Romoro’s eternal spirit rapidly harvested and consumed in the same manner as the creature of swirling darkness begins to satisfy its insatiable hunger. Their morale eviscerated, the remaining reavers stand idle, clueless as to how they could possibly defeat such a foe. Confident he can inflict some measurable amount of damage, Geist ready’s himself to charge when a squeal of fear grabs his attention. Mercilessly swooping and snapping at the children, the keese are barely kept at bay by the women swinging brooms and buckets aimlessly. A sixth sense causes Marta to catch Geist’s stare, her hopelessness conveying one simple thought.
“Don’t let him take the children,” her eyes plead. Geist hears Gomess claim another reaver behind him, but Marta’s eyes hold him in a death grip. “Please. Not the children.” His focus shifts, and as Marta becomes blurry, an old lantern resting atop a table seems to glow wi
th a kind of salvation. Left without an instant to hesitate, Geist limps away from the front line in a desperate sprint, and after clamping his hands onto the table, he briefly slides to a stop and locks his gaze onto Gomess. Oblivious to any degree of threat, the demon continues to strike down the courageous reavers, each of them falling without so much as landing a blow. His concentration dramatically spiking, Geist knows he cannot soulbind such a powerful opponent. If he is going to protect the children, if he intends to save any of the survivors of his race, there is only one solution. Even now, at the most dire moment of their entire struggle, he isn’t sure he can bring himself to do it.
“You want a piece of me, snaggletooth?” Cale quips, dodging past the blur of a scythe with daunting reflexes and dashing two steps up the wall opposite his opponent. Aggravated by his elusive prey, Gomess slashing again, ripping a deep gash into the wood as Cale leaps overhead. Pulling his ethereal arm-blade from his clenched fist, the boy narrowly misses the demon’s head as he passes with a swipe. An immediate horizontal counterattack misses the mark once again as Cale ducks