Netherealm

Chapter One: Enter

I sprinted through the woods, ducking under ashen limbs gone dormant for the winter-so that I didn't break my neck. Wind ran through the trees as the shadows seemed to laugh. If you could describe a night as wild, this was it. The sky was dark grey and angry; night was coming fast, and with it a storm. My arm burned like it had been touched by a white-hot rod-I must have brush burned it very badly when I escaped the dungeon. Torches glowed in the distance: I was nearing another village. Great. Escape was near.

I tripped and stumbled-a stupid mistake. That gave the hunters time to catch up to me. Why would they never leave me alone? And how in the name of Maghelda the Elder did they run so fast? You'd think, what with being on my case twenty four hours a day seven days a week (or so it seemed to me) they'd eventually drop dead of exhaustion. Or go into a coma. Or hibernation, Something.

"This way!" someone called. "The beast went this way!" Oh, so I'm "the beast" now? I thought ironically to myself. That's definitely an upgrade. Last week I was "the gargoyle" and last month I was "Beelzebub incarnate in female form". I didn't know Beelzebub had a female form. Despite my mental comments on the situation, I'll admit it: I. Was. Scared. It's only a natural reaction when about ten experienced hunters, two novices, and a mob of angry villagers all want you dead. Or... well quite honestly, anything but what you are.

And what am I? I am descendant of the creatures that most humans think only exist on the imagination of Bram Stoker, Darren Shan, and in the image of Bela Lugosi. I am a shadow-dweller, night's child, a dark one. I am the scorner of the Twilight books! (No, that has absolutely nothing to do with what I am. I just don't like those books. If Stephanie Meyer was in front of me I'd probably slap her.) All joking aside: I am a.... now fill in the blank. Let me give you a tip: the common term begins with a V....

"Vampire!" someone shrieked as I ran by them. How can they tell?! I look like any other teenaged hooligan running from a mob! Do I have it tattooed on my fore-I looked down at my bare arm. A fresh, giant, ugly "V" was branded there, in white and red flesh, like I was some kind of fanged cattle. Anger was the only emotion I could process as I ran through the village. Some dove in fear into their huts' others ran for their swords, torches, or pitchforks. Luckily by the time they got there, I was already gone. A burn. A burn. They branded me. They burned the letter V into my forearm in event of escape. I'd never heard of this happening before. I had to give it to whoever came up with this: Burns are the one type of wound that I can never naturally heal. These humans were getting clever. Far too clever.

I stumbled again-half an hour of hard running can disorient you, especially when you are naturally a klutz. Luckily I was close enough to the edge of the cliff that it didn't matter anymore. I allowed the villagers to come close to me, so close I could lean out and touch a pitchfork if I felt so inclined. (Which I didn't.) I took a step towards the edge. About two hundred feet below me, I knew, was a slope with harsh turf and large, rough edged rocks. Well, more like monoliths, really. No human could survive such a fall. If they did not die on impact, they'd roll down the slope and slam into multiple monoliths at high speed, killing them painfully.

I, however...

"I tell you, I'm not a vampire!" I yelled, stepping towards the edge. Careful, now... it has to be just right...

"There's no hope fer it, wench," snarled one of the villagers, a grimy redhead. "Me boy Damien saw ye with blood on yer teeth las' night. It's the stake fer you!"

"That's impossible!" I screamed. I hunted the night before that! "Your boy's mistaken! I swear!" Am I laying it on too thin? Better do a dose of the puppy eyes...Wait, that's right. My puppy eyes don't exist I'll stick with the pleading. I was on the edge of the cliff now... one more step and I'd have this lot off my back.

"Run 'er through!" shrieked a blonde, wide-eyed woman-probably a Norse immigrant. "Run 'er through, John!"

"It won't kill ye, but it'll hurt," chuckled a brown-haired boy barely my age. I yelled as the pitchfork, rusty and dull, came forth-and it barely touched me. I stepped-or was pushed-off the cliff. A gasp shuddered through the people... and I impacted hard with the ground."Lord ha' mercy!" shrieked someone above me. Pain, agony, slammed through my body. My spine must've broken, because I heard a sickening snap and could no longer move. I rolled for a while, feeling a sharp pain at several places in my skull, then came to a sharp halt against a monolith. My arm ached like hell. My back to the people, I shut my eyes against the brute agony my stupid nervous system was putting me through. I might have been dead.

Yet, I had shallow, light breathing-so faint that even if someone held a mirror to my lips, there would be no fog. I had a pulse so faint that no medieval doctor could detect it-yes, this is possible. First of all, otherwise catalepsy wouldn't be such a big problem. Second of all... those witch doctors are bumbling fools.

I was alive. And the pain was beginning to dull to an ache, like my entire body was a bruise that was healing itself.

"Ah, mannie," someone whispered. "Lads, I think that really mighta been a lass."

"An may'ap we ought ter go down there?"

"Ach no," someone mumbled. "Wait'll the hunters get here. It migh' be a trick on the creature's part."

"Not very likely. She looks like a proper Highland lass teh me. But fer caution's sake, 'tis a good idea," someone agreed. "Meantime, let us ge' away from here, in case the lass's ghost decides to take some revenge on Damien 'ere."

"But-but..." someone who must have been Damien protested angrily.

"Ye were at the poteen, laddie. Ye saw things. We all know how it goes. Come on then, come now." A great stomping of feet commenced. Obviously they had left.

It wasn't safe to move yet. My spine was not fully healed. I could feel it. I waited there another minute, then sat up and looked around me. No one. Nothing. Good.

I got up, stretched, and stalked towards the forest. Another plot thwarted. Another scheme pulled off successfully. And all this for a little blood? I hadn't even killed my victim. We hardly ever do, you know. I certainly haven't. Granted, there are those who go batty and completely decimate entire populations. I am not, not not (do you see the NOT?!) one of them. Nor are any of those that I know. Heck, most of the time my "victims" are asleep and/or zoned out and they'll think a mosquito bit them.

Oh, I should mention: vampires aren't the only creatures of your nightmares running around. Let me name a few others:

I. Werewolves, you might know them as lycans.

II. Pixies. Why do I call them creatures of your nightmares? Because... those little devils.. are... evil....

III. Ever heard of ghosts? Yes, well... they're real too.

This world is not for the faint of heart, I'm afraid.

Which world is this, you ask?

Yours.