A/N: Surprise! I felt like updating the story so here it is. Do be aware this chapter is quite graphic so read at your discretion. There are strong themes of blood, gore, and dismemberment. Happy Halloween!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: It only took one tragic moment to turn his world upside down. Experience a tale of transformation that will shake the foundation of friends and camaraderie in Astera. But one thing's clear; the Hunter will become the hunted. Who will rise to stop them from painting the New World red?
Chapter 6
Thunk!
No matter what he did, no matter how long he resisted, the beast writhe inside claimed victory. Propelled by the need to eat, his bloodied hand dove into the center of his prize, crushing the ribs like twigs before snatching up the tasteful organ; the heart. Biting, ripping, and tearing into it, the Field Team Leader felt alive, his soul nourished from the tasty morsel. More, more, his thoughts sung, ripping into the top half of the organ with his teeth. Diving in again, his hungry fingers coiled around the gut, snatching it out from its enclosure and right into his mouth. Fuck, he tasted the remains of Grammeowster's signature stew through each bite. At the corner of his eye, a cluster of small bodied jagras inched closer, trying their best to steal a bite. But no, not on his watch. The man emitted a low growl from his throat—a trait he didn't know how could do—at the yellow and green beasts. The reptiles sulked, melting back into the shadows from whence they came.
The arrival of silence prompted his ruby eyes to fall onto the lifeless Hunter before him, sunk in a red puddle. He was a young man with a crossbow, who had just arrived at Astera's shores three and a half weeks ago. The side of his head dented. His left eye hung out of its protective socket. To think the young lad was excited to finally hunt in the New World only to have his life snuffed out. Humans were fragile creatures at best.
"Your life feeds mine," Richard said.
He followed the rules of nature and he, for one, chose to be the survivalist. After all, the man was born and bred in the New World; it made sense he stood at the pinnacle of the food chain.
"How long has it been now? Four months?"
Four months. Four fucking months of dealing with aftermath of the poison snaking inside his veins, just beneath his skin. Glancing down, he watched his veins writhe in black. It was fucking disgusting. Four months of keeping his composure in Astera, around meetings, fellow Hunters, and maintaining a straight face as if nothing was wrong with the world. He hated it. Maybe the worst of it was getting invited—which was in fact, mandatory—to the Gathering Hub to celebrate pointless events. The smell of cooked food made him gag. Yet to keep up appearances, he mustered his willpower to eat and drink and sometimes dance in a drunken stupor. He hated it. Oh and it gets better. Eventually he'd have to excuse himself to vomit it all back up only to do it all again. For fuck sakes.
Leaning down onto the soggy grass, his red eyes locked onto the silver moon peeking through the canopy. Heh, even the silver pendant was afraid of becoming tarnished by his very existence.
"Will I ever lead a normal life?" he asked the trees. Not even the insects dared to make sounds. "This isn't me. I'm not a monster. I'm a Hunter."
Hunt. Richard was born to hunt titan-sized beasts, not humans. Quite ironic how his life shifted from hunter to hunted and hunter again. Nonetheless, Richard didn't despise the transformation; in fact, he embraced the transcendental experience giving him abilities far beyond human capabilities. He was faster, stronger, and instinctively superior than the rest. The only thing he loathed with his new self was in the inability to eat regular food without hurling his guts out instantly. That he could do without.
Lifting his blood-soaked hand before his face, a droplet splashed on his cheek.
"I wonder if there's a cure? Am I worth saving after all the people I've killed in the name of survival?"
His brown eyes wandered to the ocean of boundless sky. The blanket of blue and black was stunning tonight, like it did every night regardless of the terror on terra firma. Richard's wandering gaze fell on the Mother Star, the brightest star in the expanse. She glimmered brightly, bestowing her light to her subjects and offering protection. Protection, huh? The man growled and grounded his teeth. What bullshit. He recalled tales of the Mother Star Marten told him before bedtime as a child till his teen years. Marten described the Mother Star as a beautiful goddess adorned in white and blue gown weaved from the cosmos. During the darkest nights, the Mother Star shined, granting light to Her children, to those who lost their way in the dark. Her light fought off the evils that lurked in the shadows watching, waiting.
Richard huffed. Whatever. The Mother Star wasn't real, anyway. It was just some folklore grandfather made up to ensure Richard stayed obedient. Still, if there was divine intervention, the Mother Star would have acted and prevented him from turning into a monster Astera now feared. Closing his eyes, he expelled a deep breath; what happened in the past stayed in the past and the best thing to do was focus on the future, a future he could carve out one day at a time.
Bodies. The sight before him churned the pits of his stomach as violent as the crashing waves. Countless bodies laid scattered across the grounds each with missing bits and whole body parts, left dead in a bloody pool. Plants and rocks festooned in red. Kneeling down, the sides of his mouth dipped; he couldn't wrap his brain around who could have committed this atrocity. Inching close to a deceased male Hunter, the tin man picked up a stick, carefully pushing up the Hunter's sleeve. Similar to the other bodies, the deceased had a large wound—a possible bite mark—from the perpetrator. The wound was jagged, suggesting incisor teeth marks except for two areas. Whatever it was, they possessed sharp canine-like teeth able to puncture and with the utilization of inhumane strength, tore out chunks effortlessly.
"You should stop looking," a voice sailed from behind. "It's unhealthy."
A grunt escaped the Huntsman's lips. Arriving on his right was the Admiral with a stern look stitched on his face. His aged eyes scanned the terrain absorbing the grotesque sight. Pulling out his leather notebook, he carefully jotted down his observations making note of each person, weaponry, and the state of their bodies. A crew of volunteers entered shortly carrying white sheets in their arms. One by one, they fanned out to their fallen comrades accounting to eleven corpses and covered each one with a sheet. It was the least they could do as Hunters battled tear-soaked eyes and bleeding hearts. Another group of Hunters arrived with weapons and stationed close to their friends, defending the bodies from scavengers. They were exhausted, tired, and heartbroken to hear about the death of a comrade once every week or two weeks without any indication on who did it. Why? Why did the inquiry take so long? How many more lives must be lost until something is done?
Chatter brewed between Hunters. Each man and woman talked about the prospects of going home, back to a safe haven far away from this spawning madness. Some Hunters returned home, leaving Astera less lively than it started many years ago. Others remained vigilant and headstrong, determined to assist the Huntsman in his quest to find the culprit and bring it to justice, no matter the cost. Even if it meant exchanging their lives for an answer. They'd do it.
The silent death needs to stop!
"Have we made any progress on the investigation?" The Huntsman inquired, directing the Hunters.
Drake shook his head. "Negative. Believe me when I say Fay and I are trying our damndest to figure out what's causing these deaths." He drew a breath and continued, "We've investigated every scene. We released scoutflies onto the bodies thinking the flies would catch on to any organic samples such as saliva, for instance. They'd buzz for a moment as if they caught onto a clue and thinking they'd lead us in the right direction, the flies return to their containers. And fun fact, the scoutflies die afterwards after sampling the wounds."
Retrieving his trusty leather notebook from one of his pouches, Frederick presented Drake detailed sketches of each corpse he personally examined. The Admiral's eyes traced each pencil stroke, especially at the arrows pointed to the wounds. With each page turned, similarities between the victims leapt out of the page.
"Teeth marks," he voiced as his fingers rubbed his chin.
"Teeth marks." Frederick reassured and directed the blonde's attention to a drawing. "Each person was bitten by the same set of teeth. Look here and here,"
The Admiral paid close attention to the teeth marks and each point of contact was undoubtedly made by the same teeth pattern. More disturbingly, human teeth. Storms brewed in this mind. For the longest time, Drake refused to believe the possibility of a human culprit but with evidence like this, it was difficult to not to take notice. His heart sunk to the soles of his feet.
"It's not surprising if you didn't catch onto it," Frederick said quietly. "The nature of the wounds make it challenging to identify what the hell you're looking at. But all you had to do was look between the lines, clearly a trait you clearly lack, old friend."
"This is madness," The Admiral exclaimed. "All this time we thought—"
"You thought incorrectly." Frederick cut him off. Looking into his friend's eyes, he asked, "Have you been able to interview everyone?"
"Almost, except one. Richard."
Now, it was the Huntsman's turn to express puzzlement.
"Richard," he repeated. "How so?"
Drake made a face expressing annoyance. "Every time I or we try to schedule an interview with him, he's nowhere to be found. And when we corner him, he comes up with excuses or is summoned onto the field." Drake crossed his tree-trunk sized arms. "Sometimes I wonder if I have bad timing, y'know?"
The Huntsman tucked away his notebook. Moving his gaze to the last of the Hunters returning home, a small thought took root in his mind. He never wished to address it but since the conception of this madness, he noticed Richard's constant absence from Astera. He missed Council meetings which was very unlike him. Frederick wondered; does Richard have to—no, that's preposterous. The brunette was the Fifth's rising star and beacon of hope.
A breeze rolled through the Ancient Forest gifting life to stagnant flora. They danced with the motion of the wind until they danced no more.
"I'm going to find Richard," Frederick declared. "He should be in his quarters either working or sleeping. I'll get the answers I need."
"Are you sure about that?" Drake asked. "Don't go in throwing accusations you cannot support, friend. You know how Richard gets when he's accused of a crime he didn't commit. Remember, it's his bad habit since he was a small boy."
"Bah," Frederick dismissed his friend with a wave of a hand. "I know what I'm doing. You and Fay continue working in the field and gather as much evidence as you can."
Drake watched his friend return to Astera. Once he was out of sight, he expelled a long and tired breath. It was going to be a long day.
The Huntsman stood in front of Richard's room as still as stone. For the past eight minutes, the tin man didn't move with his arm pressed to his sides. Standing in the confines of this heavy armor amplified the sounds of his heartbeats into drums. With each passing second, the sound grew louder and louder, prompting the man to swallow a ball of spit. His thoughts ran marathons, reliving the moments of the gruesome discoveries, Lyre's death, and the sight of scattered body parts. Drawing in a deep breath, he knocked.
There, he stood still as time rolled on. Seconds turned into minutes. The Huntsman knocked again, louder. Silence. As if the soles of his feet were on fire, he hastily turned the doorknob, rattled the damn thing. He had to know. Twisting and turning, the door creaked open, its rusty hinges turned. Frederick stepped inside, inhaling stagnant air. Odd. Taking in another step, his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room with curtains pulled together preventing the sun's intrusion.
"Richard?"
Nothing. The pits of his stomach churned yet he pressed on placing his foot in front of the other, piloting his frame deeper into the depths of Richard's dark chamber.
"Richard? It's me, Frederick. Are you here?"
He half-heartedly expected a response and yet he was delivered silence. The man's ears suddenly picked up on a dripping sound from the bathroom. Venturing closer, the sounds got louder. His heart thumped inside his ears, the tips of his fingers and toes tingled in terror or excitement, he couldn't tell. Inching closer and closer, the helmed man silently peered in; what was he going to find?
Submerged in the bathtub was a naked woman with gold locks draped over her once porcelain-colored face. Eyes rolled into the back of her head. The woman's lower lip was chewed off. The rest of her body was submerged in blood hiding the long vertical gash down the center of her cleavage. There was nothing but an empty void. Her limbs dangled outside, etched in vicious bite marks and other traumatic injuries. Casting his eyes downward, a tongue rested by one of the tub's legs.
"By the Mother Star…" Summoning his voice, he whispered, "My god, Richard. What is this?"
Pulling out his notebook, Frederick hastily sketched the injuries as quickly as his fingers commanded. The tips of his fingers trembled from the terror but he pressed onward, capturing as much detail as possible. He made sure he drew every dip, divide, and groove hoping the sketches were proof enough the culprit was human. And it was. He momentarily paused. Examining the sketch, he flipped to previous sketches and placed it beside one of the bite marks.
"A perfect match."
His heart pulsed quickly, ramming against its bony imprisonment. Was this the answer? Shaking his head, the Huntsman spun around to make his exit; he didn't want to stay longer than he needed to and the last thing he needed was an encounter with Richard. No, not now. He was not ready. Before tiptoeing out of the room, the tin man strained his ears for any sounds that might come from the living room. Nothing. Still, he didn't let his guard down as he traversed into the large room, a hand securely around the sword's hilt. Frederick's eyes scanned side to side for the Field Team Leader in anticipation of the fateful encounter. Drawing in slow and steady breaths, he expelled a soft wisp through his ginger beard as he would when trailing prey.
Steady, steady. The man recited his mantra. Keep your eyes peeled for any movement. You may not be alone here.
Journeying half way through the room felt as if time stood still. Only a couple more steps until he reached his destination; the door. Quickening his pace, his gloved hand reached out to the doorknob only to have it turn and the door swung open. Quickly composing himself, the Huntsman straightened his back to face whoever was on the other side of the door. Richard. The two met eye to eye without any words exchanged. Frederick, being the wordless man, waited for Richard to make the first move. And he did.
"Teacher? What brings you here?"
"I came to ask you something," Frederick answered. Steeling his voice and heart, he spoke, "Drake's been looking for you to participate in the inquiry. He tells me he hasn't been able to get a hold on you for months."
"Ah, about that," Richard sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "You know, I've been busy training the new recruits as suggested by grandfather. I take them into the field to learn how to scout and hunt."
How could the Field Team Leader act so calmly knowing there's a dead, mutilated body in his bathtub?
"I'm sure you can make free time in your schedule, Richard. Why don't you meet Drake tomorrow night and assist him with the inquiry?"
"But—"
Frederick grunted. "No buts. I want this investigation to be concluded as soon as possible. I already have a lot on my plate penning letters to the families of the deceased. Now, I have to deal with Lyre's family who insists on suing the Guild for negligence and emotional damage."
The statement surprised him. "Oh." He responded.
"Please, do me a favor and promise me you'll meet the Admiral in his office? He should be back in around eight, maybe nine or whenever the hell he returns. If you can't locate him, find his assistant."
"Alright, I promise." Richard hesitantly agreed. He kept a straight face.
"Good. And—" The Huntsman paused. He lifted his hand, pointing to the edges of his vest. His mind immediately projected the image of the disfigured corpse in the man's bathtub."Is that blood?"
"Anjanath. It's no big deal."
Frederick didn't press on. Instead, he nodded and left. Richard's eyes trailed the man while he walked off and soon vanished around a corner. Upon the disappearance of the Huntsman, Richard closed his door and bolted it shut. His eyebrows knitted with his eyes scanning the room, searching for things the Huntsman may have touched. From first appearances, everything seemed in order. Marching to the bathroom, Richard gave the room a couple of sniffs. Ah there, the scent of the Huntsman lingered in the air, defined by the man's sweat and unmistakable stench from his rusty armor.
Dropping his eyes to the corpse, his eyes glowed red.
"Snooping around for a monster, did you? Did you like what you found?"
Kneeling down, Richard gingerly picked up the arm and cradled it close to his face as if she was alive, waiting to stroke his cheek. He purred and licked her tarnished skin, dragging a fang over her ring finger. His fingers tiptoed up and down her arm.
"You're so beautiful when you're dead, Hunter." He murmured, pinching her skin between his teeth. "You gave me everything and I gave you death. Life's not fair, is it?"
Pinching her skin between his teeth, the Field Team Leader ripped a small chunk of skin off her.
"Frederick found out my secret. Our secret. I thought we promised each other our secret was to remain between us, isn't that right?"
The corpse remained wordless.
"I wonder what I should do about the Huntsman, do you have any ideas, my prey? I could kill him but that wouldn't be fun, wouldn't it? I fancy them trying to hunt me, track me down for months only to fail. I pity them, I really do." Richard took another bite out of the woman's arm, further disfiguring it. Strings of blood vined down his mouth and onto his vest. "But now, it seems I've been caught. Maybe it's only a matter of time before the Guild calls for my head. It's quite exciting."
He chuckled, licking her bone.
"But I promise it won't come to that, my prey. I'm stronger, faster, and intellectually superior than their collective whole. They can't touch me. I'm unstoppable."
Richard was in absolute bliss. Drinking her blood calmed his mind, calmed his heart that no longer beat but remained suspended inside his chest. Painting his face with blood, he belted out sinister laughs. The veins beneath his skin writhed, transforming into charcoal black vein by vein. Awash in bliss, the Field Team Leader was excited for the coming days. With his secret now discovered by his dear mentor, he wondered how he'd present this evidence to the rest of Astera, the Fifth Fleet, and the Guild? By the time the old fool and the rest of the Council stormed his chambers, this beautiful corpse would be no more. He'd be a laughing stock. Now, that would be cruel, wouldn't it?
Pulling out the corpse from the tub, he danced with her, twirling her lifeless body round and round.
"Or maybe I should let them catch me, what do you say, my prey?" Richard bit into her neck. "That should shake things up since I am getting quite bored with the neverending chase. A bunch of dullards, they are."
Stroking her silky golden hair, Richard dropped her onto the floor.
"Well then. Let the games begin. "I'll show them what a true Hunter is capable of when he's cursed by poison. Just you watch, teacher. From now on Astera shall bow down to me and the terror I soon shall inflict on the living."