Chapter 3
SCALIC
As he walked the snow drifted down lazily and collected on his shoulders. His team had gone, they had run at the first wind of the S class grim, a Beowolf of immense proportions. Of the brief glimpses he caught the beast it stood almost three times his height. Looking down for its tracks he saw its deep prints continuing northward. 'Damn, if I go any further north I'll end up in the north pole .' A smirk touched his lips at the thought; however, it quickly disappeared as he trudged on.
He followed the deep tracks further and further north. Hours passes and finally a break in the monotony of the pine tree loomed ahead. His hands wrapped tightly around the weapons that rested on his waist. As he reached the break a curse flew from his lips, the tracks of what seemed like a whole pack criss-crossed the clearing in confusing patterns. A guttural growl rang from the tree line and his arms fired into action. Two shots shattered the silence. A yelp rang in the cold air and he smiled 'Bring it on you fuckers.' His index finger felt a small button below the trigger and with a definite push both pistols extended into swords 'My beauties.' He readied his blades, the three feet of steel glinting dulling in the dim cloudy light. The first black shadow leapt out of the trees. With a deft swing the Beowolf sprayed blood across the clearing staining the snow. Another two moved forward 'Am I going to have to kill the whole pack?' he flicked another button and his swords went limp. The Beowolf's seemed to laugh at him. With a flick of his wrist the first wolf exploded into red chunks. The atmosphere grew more serious and the wolf's eyes burned through the darkness of the trees. Now ten more wolves stalked out of the trees. It was as though they communicated telepathically, all ten lunged simultaneously. Strain showed on his face as he willed he semblance forward. The world seemed to slow, the wolfs were almost on him. Then he vanished and appeared across the clearing. His swords swung in graceful arcs through the air. Almost dancing, he dove into the fray. Blood splashed and splattered the ground, but no corpses stayed. Seconds turned to minutes and no break came. Then a howl silenced the field. The Beowolfs backed off at once. It was a mix of skill and luck that he only had one scratch. While he blessed his luck his query stalked out of the trees. The sight left him awestruck… the beast stood three times as tall and twice as wide, but it still moved with a unmatchable grace. He shook clear his head and began firing. His action became a blur as bullets filled the air. A sound like smashing bone crashed through the air, shards of the Grims bony plate flew off in every direction. It moved, almost too quickly for the eye to track. He leapt into the air a fraction of a second before the space he had occupied was filled with fangs and claws. He landed lightly on the grims back and drove his blades in. The beast howled with pain and tried to rolled over. Quickly he extracted his blades and hopped off, so as to avoid being crushed. He glanced around… nothing. Suddenly he took flight, pain searing his side. He plowed into a tree leaving behind a red splat. His face was buried in the snow, he raised his head and saw the mass of fur approaching him. He sent off his final prayer and cursed his foolishness. He struggled to sit up and faced the Beowolf. Its mouth opened and spittle dripped down its long fangs. Its warm breath rustled his hair which he assumed was now black as pitch. What an ironic situation, to die on his birthday. A whistle resounded and the Beowolf reared, an arrow protruding from what once would have been an eye. Another arrow whistled past and caught the beast in the nose. A horrible gurgling noise emitted from the beast, the sound clawed at his ears. From the tree above him a silhouette dropped. The crack of wood resounded. He clawed at the ground trying to get away, a red streak followed him as he struggled forward 'NO, NO! I can't get caught' he thought hopelessly. Another crack came followed by a yelp; Then three more and the sickening sound of a snapping neck. He rolled over and the silhouette stood over him. It said something unintelligible Scalic tried his hardest to hear, but his vision faded to black.
'Oum, what happened to me… ' He tried to sit up, but his side burned too badly. A gentle hand touched his shoulder. He recoiled from the touch and tried to jump up. His side seared and he fell forward. The same hands caught him before he face planted and straightened him up. He looked up and saw dark blue eyes filled with concern. He opened his mouth and only small rasps came out. She smiled lightly, stood up, and turned to her bag. He glimpsed her signa, a water droplet crossed with two blue arrows, as she rooted through the contents of her bag. She stood up and waved her hand, water gathered on her finger tips and filled up a small bowl. She gently raised the bowl to his lips. The water soothed his throat and he drank eagerly. When he had his fill he pushed the bowl away and said "Who are you and where am I?" "You are in Cynthia home, my home." , he ,assumedly Cynthia, said. "and where is that?" He asked. "The north." She waved her hand vaguely. "But where?" He prodded. She shrugged and said "This is where I grew up, beyond a few miles of here I know nothing..." He decided that he was being impolite and raised his hand "I apologize for my manners, I'm Scalic Ragth." She tentatively took the hand "I'm Cynthia Safire, and for a second was wondering why I saved you." She smiled warmly. "Hahaha! My thanks," he stammered. She smiled again, got up, and walked into the other room. He fell back onto his pillow and stared at the beams above him. 'She is so, beautiful! With her blonde ,blue tipped, hair and that smile!'' He thought warmly. Then he looked around, the room was small with hewn log walls and a small stone fireplace set into the wall to his right. A fire licked the logs hungrily and curled up around a large iron pot. Cynthia entered the room with bandages tucked under one arm, a bowl of steaming liquid in the other. "Hang on," she said, "why is that streak your hair now pink?" "Uh…" he stuttered. "Hmm now it's purple… strange." She muttered as she tossed the bundle into the pot and set the bowl on the nightstand, the only piece of furniture he had failed to notice. It was a fine dark wood, carved with small snowflakes of every shape and size. She stirred the cloth a few times and drew them out, droplets ran off and down into the fire. She looked at him as though asking permission. He sighed and slid off the blanket. The wound was hidden by bandages stained with three long red blotches. He groped at the bandages and found the knot. His fingers fumble with the knot pulling it loose. The bandages fell away exposing the three long ragged gashes set into his flesh. Blood seeped out of the cut and beaded along the wounds. He drew out a small package and ripped it open with his teeth. Small, long, leaves poured out of the package and he began to mat them across his cut. Finally his wound was dressed and he though 'This is going to be a long few months.'
I wrote this chapter, and as usual, I apologize for any grammar mistakes I might have missed. Of course I'm sorry to say that the next chapter may be a week or so out, so hold on tight.
Thanks for reading, Ciao
