Bump in the Night

Chapter 1 : Bump In The Night

“So, you’re completely certain you know where we are?” Damon said, a knowing grin playing his lips.

Thomas kept pace beside him, aged frame showing no signs of fatigue. He was a balding old man, with a large nose and thin wispy lips, his body however, seemed to refute the ravages of time. A large burlap sack was tied firmly to his thick shoulders, while he toted a hefty iron hammer in one arm, a slice of bread in the other.

Thomas shot Damon a rueful look before pointing a finger at the earthy darkness in front of them.

“I know my way around this forest, like I know my way around a woman. Have you no faith?” he inquired.

“That must be your way of admitting that we’re hopelessly lost.” 

 

 Thomas gave a hearty chuckle, nudging Damon playfully in the side with his hammer.

“Very funny, Damon you’ll be worshipping the ground I walk on in a little under an hour. So best watch your words, we’re nearly there.”

The crisp night air felt reshreshing against Damon’s bronze skin, and the rhythmic crunch of soil under his boots, was a soothing melody in his ears. Above, the moon hung fat and milky in the dark back drop of night sky.Its light casting a silvery hue atop the canopy of trees below.

Somewhere far off in the distance, a lone wolfs howl for its pack mates could be heard.

Damon’s senses spiked.

The wolves were on the move; they would have to proceed with extra caution from here on out. Instinctively his left palm found the elegantly curved hilt of Claudia, its sheath strapped comfortably to his hip. The cold metal felt good in his grasp, and helped calm his tense nerves. 

They trudged on.

A light sweat began to build itself atop Damon’s brow, traveling tunic now clinging to his body, heavy with heat. His throat was dry and his breathing was clogged with the smell of damp pine. He strained his eyes as far as he could see in front of him. Nothing but a pasture of more trees and darkness met his gaze.

His mood elevated, beginning to match his body temperature.

“Uncle,” he started, his tone a little more serious than he meant. “If we are indeed lost, we shouldn’t waste any more time and energy. This is a good spot to make camp.”

Thomas stopped abruptly at his words, placing a cautious arm across Damon’s chest. He peered intently around the forest floor, before cupping a seasoned hand to his right ear.

“Do you hear that?” he said quietly.

Damon listened for a beat.

“No, nothing, I don’t hear a thing.”

“Exactly.”

“Uncle�"“

A muffled thud emanated from a cluster of massive oaks a few meters off to their right.

Damon’s fingers wrapped themselves tightly around Claudia’s hilt. 

Someone or something had been tracking them. For how long Damon could not know, but they had made it quite apparent that they wanted to remain undetected.

How could he not have noticed this earlier? 

“If you be human, you have nothing to fear of us. We are but peaceful wanderers, we mean you no harm.” Thomas spoke up, his voice a mass of tension.

Silence was his reply and the wind began to pick up, its momentum turning the forest floor into a curtain of flying debris. The excess air lashed angrily at Damon’s cloak and shoulder length hair, forcing him to scrunch up his eyes as a means to see through it. 

Readying himself, he relaxed his knees, grip tightening around the lump of steel in his hand, body suddenly alive with a flutter of anticipation.

There was a rush of air then another thud, this time not so discreet.

Damon gritted his teeth. Something was not quite right here. He was picking up on a subtle intriguing aura, but was unable to pin point exactly where it was emitting from. The aura definitely did not belong to an animal, at least not any animal Damon knew of that could stalk its prey so well.

That only left two other options. 

He  watched his uncle’s bulky muscles contract with unease out the corner of his eye. He was unnerved just as much as Damon was.

“Alright demon--or whatever you are. We wish to avoid conflict, but if you seek battle, we will gladly oblige.” Thomas said, lifting his large forging tool in rigid hands.

 A sharp whizzing noise cut through the night air, and Damon found himself doubled over on the ground in agony, a penetrating bolt lodged deeply in the bone of his left shoulder. 

He heard his uncle call out his name, and watched with gritted teeth as he made his way toward him. 

“Damon, my boy, are you alright?”

Damon nodded stiffly, returning to his feet. Wincing a little from the pain, he cradled his lightly bleeding shoulder, leaning his back against a sturdy oak for support.

“So,” Thomas said, pacing the patch of earth warily in front of them, eyes combing every dark nook in the underbrush.“How does it look?”

“It looks a lot worse than it actually is, but I'll be alright. It's going to be a bother getting it out though." He replied dryly.

The steel bolt was seven inches long and at least half an inch in diameter. It was forged with a nasty sharpened tip, designed to penetrate materials many times more durable than that of Damon’s flimsy tunic and cloak.

“Uncle,” he said, wrapping the fingers of his right hand around the protruding end of the bolt. “I want you to go on ahead. I will handle this creature.”

He pulled in a few breaths, closing his eyes in preparation. This was going to be painful.

Thomas gave a deep sigh, from somewhere next to him. “Damon, you need not do everything alone. Let me help you. I am very capable of holding my own."

With a grunt of discomfort Damon pulled hard on the metal, tearing it from his flesh. The pain weakened his joints and he collapsed to his knees panting for breath.

“Of course Uncle,” he said through swallows of air. “But our friend isn’t playing fair. I’d hate for a stray arrow to do to you what just happened to me. I can regenerate, you can’t.” He finished tartly, running his hand across the smooth expanse of skin where his gaping wound previously sat.

There was a faint clicking noise and Damon shoved Thomas away, just before a razor tipped arrow sunk itself into the massive oak beside him.

“Run!” Damon roared, as he leapt to his feet, tearing Claudia from its sheath. With bated breath he watched out the corner of his eye, his uncle disappear into the brush.

A sliver of tension eased itself out of his person, and he caught a second wind, body coming into its stride. Sword aloft he now concentrated his full intent toward his unseen quarry.

Damon held the magnificent rapier in front of him like a torch, allowing the soft glimmer along the blade to be his light. A whisper of muffled footsteps echoed from behind his back and he turned hastily, pointing Claudia in the exact direction of the noise.

“Tell me something stranger," He called out airily to the night.  "Am I up against a coward?”

A thick silence for a moment prevailed, and Damon nimbly side stepped the volley of projectiles fired after his remark.

“I suppose that answers my inquiry.” he said coolly, mild tone echoing through the darkness.

From this proximity, Damon could make out a medium sized humanoid figure standing just barely out of sight at the edge of the clearing. It teetered in the blackness, just half a paces length out of the moon light, shadowed in between a thatch of young ash trees. The being seemed to be wielding objects in each hand, and remained quite still, as though it had no muscle or tendon to animate its figure.

This show of blatant disregard set Damon at a slight unease. It was one thing to combat an adversary alive with the heat of battle. It was another thing entirely to be up against something quite so…mundane.

He lowered Claudia to his side, but kept his body tensed.

“If you have lost your will to fight, I shan't rekindle it. You may leave, I will not harm you. It is much too late in the day for such bloodshed.”

Damon observed through mystified eyes as the strange being took slow, deliberate steps into the clearing, a faucet of grey light illuminating its peculiar features.

The man was encased head to toe in a half iron, half leather armor Damon had never seen before. The designs were attractive and elaborate and the high quality black leather fit concise and snug around his form. In one arm he sported a short, black and rather menacing looking lance. The other held a large multi-shot cross bow, now pointed harmlessly at the ground. An oddly constructed metal helm obscured his facial features.

Damon was taken aback. This man looked like he was ready for a war; what quarrel could he possibly have with him?

“What is it that you want?” he asked.

The mysterious man plunged the lance into the ground, reaching into his holstered hip for something. He withdrew a fresh bundle of the needle tippled bolts, and began to intently load them into his crossbow; not a care in the world.

A thrum of anger boiled in the pit of Damon’s stomach.

Assuming his battle stance, he raised Claudia acutely at his side, heart hammering in his rib cage as he veered into a mad dash.

The man glanced up moments before Damon drew Claudia into a diagonal curve, aiming for his chest. In a flash he gracefully dodged the lethal arc, and before Damon had any time to recover, sent his armored fist slamming into the side of his exposed jaw.

The surface of Damon’s temple crackled with pain. There had been a lot of force behind that blow; it was like being struck with a small boulder. Dazed he held a comforting palm to the broken bones in his right cheek, feeling the flesh stir and churn under his touch until it was completely healed.

When he looked up, his foe was standing immobile a few yards away, lance back in hand.

How was it possible he could move so fast, while wearing so much?

The man raised the crossbow and Damon went on the assault. 

Two bolts were launched, consecutively one after the other. Damon expertly weaved in between them, feeling the kiss of the second bolt gently on his throat as it went zipping by. Adrenaline surging through his veins, he parried the painfully obvious lance thrust by his opponent, sweeping it effortlessly out of his way with the aid of claudia.

The man was thrown off balance and had no time for a counter. Damon brought his great rapier down, preparing to end the skirmish with a practiced incision.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, for a moment, and Damon couldn't help but blink. He had  never seen anyone move so fast in his life. Before he had a clear idea of what was happening, his body exploded with torment as twin needles were pumped into his lower stomach.

Claudia fell from his hand, and he gripped at his burning abdominals, sinking down to one knee from the pain. He spat out a wad of blood; insides on fire.

If he were to survive this, his only chance was to heal, but first he needed to remove the rods from his body.

He tried tugging. His mind became a frantic blur and he had to brace an arm on the forest floor for support. 

The sound of movement filled his popping ears and he forced his body towards it.

Before he could bring himself to standing height, however, a black lance pierced his body, biting him square in the middle of his torso.

He sank back to the soil  in shock, arms hanging limply at his sides, unbelieving of what happened.

Damon gazed empty eyed, over at his tormentor,  mind racing with a score of unanswered questions. He watched silently as the man dropped his weapons to the ground and cocked his head inquiringly to a degree, observing him as though he was a rather peculiar piece of meat.

For what felt like minutes he stood there, just watching him. Head clinched at a bizzare angle,  standing absurdly unmoving and eeirily mute.

Damon slumped forward with a low moan, right arm fumbling for the hilt of Claudia's blade.

This man-this thing-gave him a nasty plummeting vibe. If this was how he was meant to depart from the world, he would embrace it wholly, sword in hand.

"Tell me, what exactly are you?"