The Black God had granted her many abilities – most of which she's mastered by now. Such as shapeshifting, and to cast her mental net across the entire expanse of the village. To divide her consciousness into many different eyes; to keep track of happenings going on around the village. Her pets. Her spies.
Molded into the form of a crow, Mother Miranda watches as Erika dashes through the pines surrounding Heisenberg's factory.
His kidnapping of the girl had indeed stalled her plans of converting her into a vessel for Eva, but perhaps she can use this to her advantage.
She'd planned on breaking the girl anyway, but this might be beneficial.
Heisenberg and his lycans might just wear Erika down enough, perhaps even kill so Miranda might plant her with the cadou.
Perched atop a gathering of branches, Miranda watches as the girl runs through the trees, as graceful as a stag. Nothing more than a streak of red while a trickle of lycans follow after her.
These things had learned to hunt in packs. This one comprised of ten.
In her crow form, Miranda chuckles.
Heisenberg deeply underestimated the girl to only release ten.
With the autumn season having stripped the trees and foliage of their cover, Miranda wonders how the huntress will gain distance, how she will be able to gather herself to face the horde.
None of these lycans are on horseback, those ones live further outside of the village, in the old ruins she could never bring herself to demolish, for whatever reason. It did provide a decent home for the creature, and they've done a decent job of keeping the mortal herd thin these past few centuries.
But this group, they do carry weapons, and the few that lead the pack raise their arms to throw their makeshift hatchets. Some at the back of the pack stop, pulling forth bows and arrows they'd also crafted.
She hadn't realized how advanced these creatures had become. She'd assumed all of their humanity had been snuffed out due to the parasite. It is rather remarkable.
Arrows twang from bows, and a veil of them shoot into the sky. Aiming for her on the exposed hill as she breaks past the trees into a clearing.
Erika begins zagging, depriving them of an easy target.
Left to right she darts over the hills, slower with each bump she clears, each step towards whatever sanctuary she could stumble across.
An arrow spears for her back, but Erika lunges to the side, skidding in grass and dirt. She is up again in a heartbeat, the rifle still in hand, charging for the hills and hollows.
The pack leaders – four of them – throw their hatchets at her, Erika still dodging and sprinting. Her feet skid to a stop, bringing the rifle up in time to catch an axe that would've cleaved her skull in two.
The fools don't realize who they face. What they face.
The makeshift axe in in Erika's hands. Then the first lycan's head explodes with the crack of the rifle.
The second one can't even contemplate before the axe is embedded between his eyes. They wilt to the ground as the rest begin to charge, but not before they pause in confusion.
Even in her crow form, Miranda smirks at the creatures' hesitation.
At the realization that they've been chasing a sheep, only to find a wolf wearing its skin.
Erika is already running like hell into the next patch of trees. Too crowded for the lycans to fit, especially with all the entangling branches and rocks littered throughout. Good girl.
Their pace slows, and they shift their stature into a stalking gait. Miranda herself had lost sight of Erika, until she sees movement out of the corner of her eye, at the center of the lycan pack.
Erika hadn't just gone into the trees to save herself. She'd gone after another hatchet embedded in the trunk of a pine.
The blood coating seems to have worked, as they lycans each lift their noses to the air, sniffing and huffing to try and find her scent. But they all grunt in annoyance, slapping and hooting at each other in irritation.
They begin to fan out, slowly prowling with stiffened nerves as predator slowly becomes prey.
Miranda thought she'd still be able to see Erika with the blood, but she is lost within the dying leaves and tangling limbs of the skeletal foliage.
The rifle cracks to life – like bottled lightning – sending a bullet piercing into the chest of another lycan. The fourth is beheaded with another bullet before they can pinpoint her location.
And Miranda watches as the girl creeps up behind a distracted lycan and drives the hatchet into its skull.
The lycan screams, thrashing to grab her, even as it crashes to its knees.
Where she wants it.
The axe is swinging again before its scream finishes sounding.
The sound is cut off a heartbeat later as its head bounces to the dried grass.
With the rifle slung across her back, she palms the knife, and Miranda watches as Erika unleashes herself upon the pack.
They didn't stand a chance.
She is a hurricane rising, bloodlost a song in her veins. And as Miranda watches her cut through the lycans as though they were stalks of wheat in a field, she understands why her father had worked the girl into exhaustion every day.
And at last, Miranda sees the lethal predator she expected to find since the girl's sixteenth birthday.
There is nothing human in Erika's eyes, nothing remotely merciful.
It pulses Miranda's core.
The priestess flutters off the branch to move to another, keeping an eye on the one remaining lycan now seething at her—
But it pivots and runs.
Erika throws the blood-dripping hatchet.
It misses the lycan's head by a whisper of wind.
The axe slams to the creature's ankle, taking out a chunk of flesh, revealing a protruding white bone.
Still the creature roars and crawls, embedding its nails into the dirt to drag itself back to its dark cesspit from which it came. Its foot only attached by a few meager veins, blood pouring and leaving a ribbon of red.
Miranda watches as Erika picks up the axe and walks toward the hissing, broken beast.
It lashes at her with its claws. Erika easily sidesteps the swipe.
It screams as she stomps on its wrecked leg, halting its crawl to freedom.
Tears roll down Erika's face, silent and unending as the wrath now sculpts her features into a thing of mighty and terrible beauty.
The lycan might have been whimpering as she lifts the axe over her shoulder.
Erika smiles down at the lycan as she swings it into his face.
Flesh and bone and blood spill onto the crusted leaves. Sprays her legs.
And then, silence.
The wind that trickles through the trees sounds like a sigh of relief. As if Nature herself is relieved to have such impertinent creatures executed from her domain.
A sound echoes from the west, and Erika's head turns towards it.
Even Miranda cannot describe it – a cacophony of mammal and machine mingling together.
As her crow eye turns back towards Erika, she nearly startles when she finds the girl staring at her.
Erika takes a few running steps and hurls the axe at the priestess with all her remaining strength.
Miranda's ebony black wings flutter and push her out of the way in time as the axe decapitates the tips of the branches she'd been sitting on seconds before.
Whether it was by intent, or a funneling of rage, Mother Miranda caws in ire as she turns and flies further east, towards the village.
She'd seen the creature that broke into Dimitrescu's castle – an armored reptile that still used the lower half of a man, though it mingled with a large tail that tinned to a tip with hooked barbs.
She thought it was one of Moreau's experiments with the gleaming scales, but Heisenberg had proven himself innovative.
Which reminds her, Lady Dimitrescu is no doubt summoning her.
Looking back, Mother Miranda sees Erika staring after her, towards the direction of the sound.
Heisenberg said he had another little gift for Erika.
And while she'd love to stay and watch Erika skin whatever that thing is, she has a meeting to get to.
Blood that is not my own drenches my clothes, my hands, my neck, but all I can see is the glass shattering into jagged diamonds. All I can hear is Bela screaming as the cold skinned her alive.
I'm not ready for the bloodletting to end. Not by a long shot.
Another roar – deep and guttural and raw – echoes again throughout the valley, rumbling the cliffsides that border the factory grounds.
Something in my mind had tucked that roar away, had engrained it within my brain to moment it smashed through my window, had hurt Bela.
Heisenberg's latest pet, no doubt.
My fingers curl into claws at my side. Red washes over my vision. I welcome the rage into my heart. Every destructive, raging frozen ounce of it.
East will bring me back towards the village, towards sanctuary and relief, maybe even towards Lacy.
But I don't go that way.
I go west.
It doesn't take long to find Heisenberg's new experiment – mostly due to a large trail of broken trees and footprints.
And that smell.
But apparently it's smaller than I imagined; what I thought I'd envisioned when it poked its snout into the side of the castle, through my windows. It seems twice the size of a large horse, but still, it's unnervingly terrifying.
It bears features that are eerily human but isn't quite human. Like the Varcolac.
A combination of human and alligator, it still bores the makeshift armor Heisenberg seemed to half-ass in putting together. Walking like a hunched human, its long tail sways back and forth, the spikes at the tip reflecting in the late-morning light. The roughened vertical plates trail along its back in pairs, reminding me of an ancient reptile long since extinct. Its triangular head remains covered by that pathetic excuse of a helmet, that alligator snout and jaw still free to open and close and chew and chomp on the bodies of this other dumping ground.
I ignore this new sprinkling of humans and lycans alike – my heart doesn't feel for them, not right now.
I double check my inventory of bullets. Three left. My knife, and the axe I took with me, still covered with bits of flesh from the lycans.
I'll have to get it on its back. I can't shoot it in the head with that helmet on, and I don't know how I could remove its helmet without high risk.
A quick, cold breeze tickles my face, bringing with it the smell of fresh water.
The fog in my mind lifts for a moment of clarity; the beast beneath my skin registering that Moreau's reservoir is not too far from here. Perhaps a straight dive down the cliff's edge.
The alligator-like creature prowls on its misshapen feet, trouncing through the blood-stained dirt and crunching bones of every shape and size like beetles.
I don't care to know what its intended use is for, but Heisenberg left it just for me, so I might as well make acquaintance.
I step out towards the edge of the trees, standing at the top of the hill that rolls down into the creature's death pit.
I pull the dagger from my belt and draw the crusted blade across my palm, splitting open my flesh. Blood wells, bright and shining as a ruby. I let it build before clenching my hand into a fist.
It is then that I notice the silence.
The pit is empty.
I'd been so lost in thought I hadn't heard the creature move.
The hairs on my neck stand on end, a primal instinct my father helped me hone, and told me to never ignore.
I bolt, getting a few feet before the wall of trees behind me explodes, earth spraying as the creature bursts through, a mass of shredding teeth just inches away.
I am already running, so fast that the trees are a blur of greenish brown.
I need to turn around. I need to head back to the factory.
But the creature is chasing me down into its pit. I have no choice but to follow. It thinks it's luring me in, forcing me down the steep decline, but I slide onto my tailbone and roll, stabbing the lycan's axe into the side of the hill.
The air from the creature's passing swings me out of its way, and it slides down back into its pit with a roar.
I scramble up the side of the hill and sprint again into the trees. The ground rumbles as I feel the creature regaining its footing and clearing the hill in a matter of seconds.
I drop the axe, but hold the rifle close, willing to gain just an inch of speed, but not yet ready to leave myself unarmed.
My breath is a flame ravaging my throat, lungs burning like a hearth. My one hand keeping the rifle pressed against my side.
The creature is a raging, crashing force behind me, but my steps are steady as I fly down the thin ribbon of a path Heisenberg created on his many trips around the property.
I'm back at the factory faster than I realize, than I'd calculated. Regardless, I push forward. I veer slightly left towards a small rise that just clears the barbed wired fence of Heisenberg's factory. My blood roars in my ears as I make a running jump for it.
I hit the side, my fingers and feet immediately finding purchase, digging so hard my fingernails crack. I scramble up and over the wall and leap over the curling metal wires.
Pain barks through my bones, my head, as I collide with the muddy ground and roll. I flip over myself, grabbing the rifle and balancing on my tailbone as I shoot a single round into the direction I'd fled.
The creature roars again, breaking through the trees in time for my bullet to graze the side of its helmet, sparks lighting for the shortest of seconds.
Two bullets left.
I clock a stack of wooden crates and some familiar barrels and use them to scale this section of the fence.
I hit the ground on the other side, falling onto my hands. Somewhere in the back of my mind I register the pain in my palms, but I am already running again.
The creature plows into the fence with a stumble, but shakes everything off and continues after me, its roar quivering my bones.
The edge of the cliff looms, and I leap.
There is only open, crisp air, reaching up to swallow me.
Despite my stomach flying out of my ass, I tighten my grip on the rifle.
Destruction sounds behind me as the creature destroys the other section of fencing, careening the crates and barrels and other debris with it; plummeting over the edge of the cliff, its mouth opening wide to still devour me before it meets its end.
But I close my eyes to block out the blinding, stinging wind. Muscle memory and control bringing the rifle close to my chest. Fitting it to my shoulder.
There's a good amount of rust on the creature's helmet. But I'd played a deadly bargain in hoping that there'd be some aluminum in those crates.
I begin taking swift, deep breaths. Fast, fast, fast –
I whirl midair and aim down the iron sights.
A barrel tumbles and spins into the creature's open maw, as if guided by a goddess's hand.
I close my finger around the trigger.
The crack of the rifle firing is devoured by the searing wind, but the bullet flies true spearing through the creature's left eye. I'm swung from side to side with the recoil, but I steady myself.
One bullet left.
Closer and closer the water approaches, the scent of fresh algae and moistened wood breaching my nose.
The barrel tumbles deeper into the blackness of the creature's throat.
Headed by the crack of my final shot, and fire erupts within the creature's mouth.
The heat greets me first, the creature's frantic cries second. It's dry, scaly hide is alight in seconds, spreading like a red and orange wave rushing for shore.
The creature rears its head back as the rust catches from the flames, spiderwebbing like veins infused with searing white light. Metal and meat and leather burn, the heat licking along my back and my shoulders until my skin is instantly tingling.
I release the rifle and adjust myself, straightening my legs and flattening my feet before crossing my arms.
Plunging beneath the surface, the frigid water threatens to snatch the precious little breath from my lungs.
I refuse to think of the cold, of the lingering pain as a massive, wet, crunching sound rumbles throughout the water. A large shadow blocking out any precious, navigating light.
And I am left in a deafening, cold cradle.
I need to keep moving. If that thing sinks, it'll take me with it.
I flail in spinning darkness. I dare open my eyes a sliver, but I see is a blur of brown and green and white. I'm pushed by the water's invisible crest of force, quickly losing my sense of direction.
I am dead. I know I am dead, and there might be no way out of this.
I had consumed my last breath, and I will be aware of every twitch and spike of pain until my lungs give out and my body seizes and swallows that fatal mouthful of water.
My spine tingles again as the darkness closes in on me, even behind my closed lids, and I frantically swim blind. Muffled rumbling is my only warning before something hard and rough collides with my side, forcing a grunt of pain that bubbles the last of my precious air out of my lungs.
No, I can't end like this —
Spindly hands slam into my chest, one wrapping around my throat as my back hits something soft and silty. The bottom.
Lips and teeth collide with my mouth, and I scream as something kisses me. A forked tongue grazing along my bottom lip.
For a heartbeat, I'm not beneath the water, but against the floor of my old home, a hard mouth crushing into mine, his hands pawing at me—
I struggle to wrench my head away, to free my mouth, but air fills my lungs. As if breathed into me.
The creature withdraws, and I have enough sense to shut my aching, brutalized mouth, to trap in that breath it had given me. To not question how such a thing is even possible.
Those same spindly, webbed fingers snatch me by the crook of my elbow, and I'm pulled into smooth, scaly arms.
As another hand grabs my waist, my chest suddenly seizes and I open my mouth, water shoving in, cutting off my thoughts and filling me with panic –
Debris and algae shoot past me, and I have the vague sense of being hurtled through the water, so fast the water burns beneath my eyelids.
And then cold air – fresh, frigid air, but my lungs are full of water –
A fist slams into my stomach and I vomit water across the bank of the water's edge. I gulp down air, blinking at the vast, cloudless expanse of the sky.
I sputter and gasp, trembling on my elbows as I begin to cough more than I can gulp air.
A wet hand slaps at my back, hitching my breathing and clearing my throat. Immediately blood begins to dribble from my mouth, stinging and burning; sections of my hair slipping over my shoulder, having regained its cornsilk color. No doubt that plunge shattered my blood armor.
Frantic footsteps crawl along my left side, a shadow merging with mine in the mud before me. Something dark blue reflects in my eyes, and while I still cough, I slowly turn my head to face my savior.
Onyx hair plasters to her strange head like a helmet; large, dark eyes blink at me with a furrowed browbone. With her slitted nose and curving fish teeth, her body – lithe and lean but skeletal – glimmers with dark scales that turn bright blue in the sunlight. Her chest is flat, her waist having shrunken to display her ribs, but something about the shape of her form speaks female.
"Our lord's debt to you is paid." Her voice is frayed, trickling on the S's like garbled water.
She is already gone before I can even thank her, slipping beneath the water with only a ripple to verify she was there.
Quiet, timid footsteps found behind me, and I whirl to find Lord Moreau standing with his hands at his front, fiddling with them nervously.
He waddles over to me and helps me to my feet. My knees wobble and the world seems too bright, too unstable, but the lord holds me firm until I've gained my balance.
He guides me over towards a small shack used for storage, setting me down along its wall as I try to let my body rest.
The lord doesn't say anything, and neither do I.
At least for a moment.
Then Lord Moreau says, "You can't kill him."
"I know I can't." My voice sounds like sandpaper.
I turn over and vomit up more water.
"However," Lord Moreau says after I've deposited the contents of my stomach, "there are others ways to execute revenge."
I honestly can't think about that right now, but as the sound of stirring water reaches my ears. We both look to find the charred carcass of the creature wash over to the shore, splashes and hissing quickly following.
No doubt Moreau's 'sisters' are enjoying their free meal.
"You did well."
I look towards him, "Did you know about this?"
"No. I never would've expected him to trounce on Dimitrecu's territory."
Another moment of silence safe for the water creatures devouring that creature's flesh.
"Thank you, My Lord." I quiver, my voice frayed from the vomit and emotion.
"My debt to you is paid, Erika Pavel. But not without my eternal gratitude."
I weakly nod.
"But I do have one request."
My shoulders sag as I look to the lord once more.
Through his bulbous chin and jagged teeth, I see him smile. "Unleash hell upon my brother."
And that monster within me opens an eye once more.