A variety of words could be used to describe the cave that now stood before Darren: dark, foreboding, and dangerous being only a few. Bleached bones and strips of flesh lay scattered around the entrance, acting as a warning to any who would be foolish enough to get too close. Any sane man would turn and run from this place as fast as his legs would carry him, but unfortunately for Darren the beast resting within was to be his prey. Darren examined the cave entrance, then the bones, then finally his sawed-off shotgun.
"Yeah... this was a good idea," he said with a sarcastic smile. He then looked to the sky for possibly the last time. It had taken him a full day to find this cave and it was now dusk out. His prey, while not entirely nocturnal, was often more active at night. Cursing himself for not being faster, he could only hope that his window of opportunity hadn't slammed shut. If the creature was fully awake or worse, leaving its den, he wouldn't stand a chance.
With a heavy sigh, Darren looked back to the cave. Adjusting his armor one last time, he took a deep breath and entered the gaping maw of what he feared would become his tomb.
The smell hit Darren like a power fist to the face. It overpowered his senses, and if it hadn't been for his life in the wastes it would have made him gag. It was the stink of rotting carcasses. Darren could almost taste the blood in the air, and his eyes were beginning to water from the stench. Darkness was almost all he could see here, it was so thick that he swore he could have cut it with his knife if the damn thing hadn't been so rusty. luminescent cave fungus growing on the cave walls and floor served as the only source of light. Thanks to this fungus, Darren was only just able to navigate the winding tunnel. As much as he hated the idea, he would have to move slow.
Darren moved cautiously, his shotgun held at the ready and his footsteps falling in a silent steady pattern. His vision was blurry, the foul air stung at his eyes and as he brought a hand up to clear the tears he failed to notice the pile of loose rocks in his path. He stumbled as his left leg slid out from under him.
"God damn it..." he growled through gritted teeth as he struggled to maintain his balance. He managed to avoid falling to the hard stone floor, but the stumble had reminded him of another problem. Recently, he had a bad run in with a pack of feral dogs, one of them having managed to get a good hold of his leg. His armor had managed to absorb much of the damage, but its teeth had still punched through and the dog had twisted it pretty bad. Not wanting to use his last stimpack on the injury, he had been trying to nurse his leg back to health naturally before he took this job. It was now throbbing in pain again, a constant reminder of how stupid this idea was.
Darren knew that this was the last place he should be. He needed rest, he needed to maintain his pistol, but he understood that what he needed the most was the trust of his new neighbors. They were suspicious of him, though he couldn't blame them. If a man covered in blood, dust, and looking like he was fresh from a raid had limped his way into his home, he would be worried too. The local sheriff had been willing to give him a chance however, and allowed him to stay in the common house while he tended to his wounds.
The town, as Darren understood it, had been built using parts salvaged from old pre-war planes. While this was an impressive feat on its own, it wasn't what drew his eye when he had first entered. No, what had drawn his eye was the giant nuclear bomb that lay in the center. If it hadn't been for his injuries, he would have left the second he saw the thing. His leg wanted to stay though, giving out before he could reach the gates.
The smell was getting stronger, he was getting closer. Darren checked his shotgun once more, two shells of questionable quality rested within. Clicking the gun closed, he massaged his temple to try and numb his returning headache then continued on.
After spending a few days in the town, Darren had begun to enjoy it there. The walls and sheriff gave a sense of stability and security that he hadn't felt in over a year. His old family had taken strength in skill and by staying mobile, they did what they needed to survive. This place though... this was a settlement, a place one could call home. Darren was tired of running. He was so very tired. The idea of staying was becoming more and more appealing to him, even if it meant he would have to share space with a bomb and that weird cult that worshipped it.
The locals however, weren't so keen on the idea of this stranger hanging around. He looked dangerous, those who carried weapons kept their hands at half draw when he was nearby and those who didn't kept their distance. Rumors had begun to spread that painted him as a raider or slaver scout. These rumors didn't bother Darren, he had expected such talk given his appearance and knew it would die down in time. There was one theory about him however that had caught his attention.
The day before he left on his hunt, Darren's supply of med-x was nearing empty and his leg was aching as a result. Hoping his old friend alcohol could help him through this he limped his way to the saloon for a drink. The place was nothing special, it was dirty, hot, the owner was an asshole, and for some reason they had a radio blaring static all day. Well actually the radio wasn't always screeching, on occasion some old guy would fiddle with it and it would start playing some old pre-war messages. Darren preferred the static.
The establishment may have sucked, but the drink there got you just as drunk as the drink anywhere else. Darren was in the process of ordering a second shot of his old buddy, when he heard his name being murmured in the corner. At first he simply tried to ignore it, he was getting used to people talking behind his back, but four of their words pierced his ear like a needle. They crawled from his ear and down his spine leaving an icy chill in their wake.
"Darren The Yau Guai."
To avoid any unwanted attention, Darren waited until he finished his drink before calmly leaving the saloon. Once outside he hurried to the common house to lay low. Upon entering the town he had given his name and thought nothing of it. He'd never expected the stories to have spread this far east, nor did he think they would recognize him from the description.
"Darren The Yau Guai" was the title he carried before he left his old family over a year ago. The story goes that "The Yau Guai" was a monster of a man who killed any and all who crossed his path, and only obeyed the commands of his master. He was so savage, that he would attack small settlements and kill and maim all the inhabitants just to prove he could. He showed no mercy, he would laugh as he killed men, women, and children without a hint of remorse. They of course didn't know the whole story, and Darren didn't think it would be a good idea to correct them and confirm their suspicions. His old "master" was dead, and when he had tried to leave his old family its new leader took it as an insult and tried to hunt him down.
It was believed that "The Yau Guai" had been killed months ago, Darren's encounter with a similarly built and unfortunate raider had made sure of that. Of course someone in this town would know the story, of course they would recognize his scars. Darren had tried so hard to leave that name behind, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. To think there had been a time when the title had made him feel so proud...
The tunnel was getting wider, and the stink in the air was starting to make Darren dizzy. What was left of a man was spread out before him in a gruesome spectacle of gore and violence. His arm had been torn from its socket and his face ripped from his skull, he had been disemboweled and his innards now stained the floor and walls of the cave. It at least looked as if he had put up a fight in his final moments. From his clothing he appeared to be a scavenger or treasure hunter. As he navigated the mess, staining the bottom of his boots red in the process, Darren silently berated the man for being enough of a fool to come here alone, he then tried to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that now laughed at him.
Once clear of the scene Darren thought on why he was here, and why he may share the scavengers fate. Frustrated by the idea of the townsfolk discovering who he was, he had been desperately trying to think of a way to gain their trust when he remembered the caravans. Apparently, a large yau guai had moved into the area and had been preying on the merchants that traveled the wastes. They were considering skipping the town all together for their own safety. The supplies those caravans brought was the life blood of the settlement. Sure they had a few shops of their own, but the salvage, meds, and weapons the caravans brought in provided what they needed to keep going. This was Darren's chance.
Convincing the people that he was nothing like the Darren from the stories was the only way, that he could think of, to kill the rumors. After all, 'The Yau Guai' would never risk his life for them. Actually, 'The Yau Guai' would have murdered them all by now, and fashioned their skin into his wardrobe. Darren hoped that maybe, just maybe, by doing this the name would fade from memory, and that he would finally be able to rest and start over.
After convincing the sheriff that he wasn't joking about hunting the yau guai, he had asked him if they had any weapons or supplies they could spare. Ten minutes later he was given the rusty knife and rickety old sawed-off shotgun he now carried. Darren wasn't stupid, he knew that this was on purpose. The sheriff clearly didn't think he was actually going to do the job, and was simply trying to get some free weapons before leaving town. Darren left early the next day.
So here he was, trying to rid himself of his old name by killing the very thing he was named after. Darren recognized the potential for poetry here, but he had never been very good at that kind of thing.
The tunnel was opening up into a large cavern now, jagged rocks stuck out of the ground and hung from the ceiling like fangs. More bodies lay scattered around the area, some were whole while others were in pieces. He had found the beast's den. The next few minutes of his life would decide whether he would have a chance to start a new one, or die shackled to the old.
Today it ends, he thought, carefully moving towards the center.
Today The Yau Guai dies.