Hesitating, I bump him with my muzzle and present my back to him once again.
“You can’t carry me injured as you are, and someone has to live to tell the Captain about this.” He shoves my side. “Go!”
I may have thought I was willing to leave him behind, but that's all they were: thoughts. Thoughts comprised of fear and irritation at the situation at hand. Calder was right. We shouldn’t have gone on patrol without a suitable team. But even if we did have the appropriate number of guards, we still would have been ill equipped to deal with a band of Soulless this size. It's not something anyone could have predicted. Yet, this isn't merely unusual behavior. This is a sign that something is wrong, very wrong. A change of behavior could be a precursor to much darker times, and that's something we must relay to the Captain. Our vow as a guard demands it.
But what Calder fails to realize is that the Guards’ vow is to protect Cascadonia and all its citizens. The last time I checked, Calder was a born and bred Cascadonian.
Turning my back on Calder, I stand before him, a fae shield between him and the Soulless.
“What are you doing?” He shoves at my shoulder. “Go! Save yourself!”
Ignoring him, I face forward, waiting to meet the mob of undead rushing toward us.
“Fine, you stubborn ass,” he grumbles. Unsheathing the sword – Finally! – he steps forward and positions himself beside me, holding his stance as the Soulless slam into us as a roiling, jostling swarm.
Growling and snarling, monster meets beast in a tangle of claws and fangs. Torn fur, gouged throats, severed heads. The red blood of the living and the putrid blood of the dead swirl and coalesce, painting the Cursed Woods in tainted crimson as life and death battle for the right to exist.
Uncertain where I begin and the Soulless ends, I kick, paw, claw, and bite, striking at anything and everything that moves. When Calder cries out and collapses beneath a horde, I don't hesitate before charging forward, batting them away. Something slams into my side, flipping me onto my back, and three Soulless pounce onto my chest. I slice my claws through one Soulless’ neck and move to swipe at the other, but before I can, another stabs its claws into my gut. Dazed by the pain, yet another monster drops down onto my chest, stabbing its claws into my shoulders and pinning me to the ground.
The most intense, excruciating pain I've ever felt pierces into me, dousing me in glacial fire as icy flames travel from my wounds to burn through my extremities. My heart slows, blood spurts from my wounds, and when I attempt to lift my paws, they refuse to answer my call.
My emerald gaze meets those unnatural, glowing ruby eyes and I realize in that moment that this is where I will die. This monster will feed off me, inject me with its venom, and rob me of my soul, turning me into one of the Gods Cursed’s demons and forever barring me from the gates of Elysium.
It answers my roar of fury with a rumbling growl. It then elongates its maw, exposing daggered fangs, before the frothing creature strikes down on my neck, burying its fangs into my throat.
Another set of fangs pierce my hind leg, its claws scrabbling at my abdomen and shredding my gut. No longer paralyzed, my body convulses from the venom beneath the creatures feasting on me. The glacial fire intensifies, incinerating me.
The Soulless feeding off my leg is suddenly ripped away, its claws and fangs tearing at my skin and fur before the one sitting on my chest is thrown back as well. I search for my savior and I'm shocked to find a bloody Calder standing above me. Panting for breath, he meets my gaze for only a moment before he swipes his sword clean through a Soulless’ neck, then skewers another through the heart.
There are two types of males in the world. Those who roll over and allow death to have its day, and those who are willing to survive no matter the cost. You can't really look at someone and know which person they are until you throw them into a life-or-death situation such as this. But I’m ashamed to admit I assumed Calder would be the former.
Yet, he’s not. He’s a survivor.
Cutting down Soulless after Soulless, the guard I once saw literally stab himself in the foot because he thought a rat had scurried across his boot, is now wielding the sword as if he was born to do so. Skilled and precise, he uses every technique the Guard has taught him better than more experienced veterans I’ve seen. But all veterans will tell you that no matter how strong your will is to survive, there are some things you just can't overcome.
I was afraid in the moments before the Soulless began feeding on me. Its daggered fangs and glowing eyes were terrifying to watch as it slunk closer and closer until it bit me. But when a Soulless pounces on Calder’s back, terrifying isn't an adequate word to describe the all-consuming guilt and horror coursing through me as I watch the demon extend its jaw, tear its daggered teeth into Calder’s throat, and feed off the brethren I’m charged to protect.
Arcs of crimson blood gush from where the creature savagely chews on Calder’s throat, clashing with the black blood splashed across his skin. Another Soulless grasps Calder’s face with its claws, jerking his chin up to strike down on the other side of his throat, all three tumbling to the ground. As I watch the creatures feed off Calder’s venom-induced twitching, jerking body, all I can do is wait for the remaining Soulless to converge on me.
But they suddenly stop. Stop feeding, stop growling, stop hunting; they cock their heads to the side and sniff. Discarding their meal in the face of this new prey, they toss Calder aside and search by scent.
“You really are some nasty little creatures, aren't you?” a female’s voice says.
“Vile,” a male voice agrees.
Weakened by my injuries and blood loss, I can only move my eyes as I search for the source of the voices, but I'm unable to spot them. That is, until a flash of movement within the darkness catches my eye. Concealed within shadows just as much as the Soulless, four cloaked beings with blades in hand and hoods shielding their faces slip from the darkness into the clearing.
The Soulless pause, staring at the intruders in silence before they all toss their heads back and release an earsplitting screech into the night. The high-pitched noise reverberates within my ears and echoes throughout the forest, until they all issue a series of disconcerting clicking sounds from their throats. Another sound I've never heard from the creatures before. Almost as if they’re communicating with one another, or calling for someone.
A female points a sword at the Soulless, tsking. “No need for that. You’ll not capture anyone today.”
Confused by her comment, I watch the Soulless growl and snarl at their group as if, unlike me, they understood her perfectly.
That's not right. Soulless don't communicate with anyone but Breccans. How could they possibly understand her? Unless they are Breccans…
“Stop toying with them,” a male voice orders. “We have to get back.”
The tsking female sighs, peering at the speaker over her shoulder. “You can't ever enjoy yourself, can you?” Turning to face the Soulless, she raises a palm and beckons them forward. “Come, now. Like he said, we don't have all night.”
The Soulless snarl in a blood-lusted craze and converge on them in a crushing throng, but the Soulless don’t get anywhere near them. They claw, slice, growl, and snap their teeth, barely coming within reach of the newcomers before one member of their party is slicing off their head or stabbing them in the heart. Moving at a speed I can barely keep track of, they hold no fear as they laugh and taunt one another before slicing and dicing with a skill far exceeding any I've ever known. They are the very embodiment of death as they slaughter dozens of Soulless within minutes.
“That was a bit underwhelming,” the tsking female pouts, standing with her companions in the middle of a massive grave.
A tall, broad-shouldered male almost as large as the Captain steps forward and pats the female on the back. “Don’t be like that. Maybe it wasn't as much of a fight as we were hoping for, but it was nice to stretch the muscles.”
“How can the Cascadonians be so terrified of these things?” She nudges a prone body with her boot, lifting it off the other bodies it's piled atop of. “They’re nothing more than annoying gnats.”
“Silence,” a different female orders, rushing towards me to kneel at my side.
With her hood still up, I can't search her cheek for the swirling mark that distinguishes her as a Cursed, but how can she not be with the way she and her companions move? The way the Soulless reacted to them? There's no way she’s fae or immortal. She's Gods Cursed. They all are.
“Let's take a look at these wounds,” she mumbles, weeding through my blood matted fur to inspect my wounds.
Now that the Soulless no longer have their fangs and claws in me, I've regained some movement, but I'm still in no condition to fight. Not that I believe I could hold myself against them even if I was at my best, but I still raise my head and growl, unwilling to lay here and do nothing as this creature places her tainted hands on me.
She swivels her hooded face towards mine and whacks me on the muzzle. “Don’t you growl at me,” she scolds, wagging her finger. “I'm trying to help you.”
Did she just slap me on the muzzle? As if I’m no more than an unruly cub?
