Shadows Among the Trees

At the moment of his death, Denver still clutched his sword tightly in his grasp. The shadowy woods made a pitiable scene, with him seated at the base of a tree, his face etched with shock—a look that suggested his own terror had slain him before death did. Noah observed the massive wound carved across Denver's chest, now dark with congealed blood, his gut split open, mouth ajar, teeth coated in sanguine bubbles.

Noah didn't feel sickened, only a deep sorrow.

Two demon hunters, one seasoned and one green, discovered the corpse of their comrade from a distance.

"Don't shy away from his eyes; you need to grow accustomed to death," advised Logan, Noah's mentor with over three decades of demon hunting, to whom such sights were all too familiar.

"Yes," responded Noah, promptly.

Noah Graney, the apprentice of Logan, had followed the veteran hunter for just over a year, a fledgling among the hunters' ranks. He had studied the craft of demon slaying, immersed in countless dreadful tales—once mere figments of imagination, now a grim reality before him.

Logan, noting Noah's panic, remained silent, giving the young apprentice time to adjust.

"How… how did he die?" Noah inquired, eyeing the vast wound, clearly not the work of man.

"Who knows? Perhaps the Blade Demon itself dealt this blow," Logan speculated, scanning the dimming sky. "If we don't reach the rally point by nightfall, we'll be next to face it."

Noah swallowed hard, his fear palpable. The Blade Demon had claimed Denver—would he be next? And what could a novice hunter like him possibly do?

The Kingdom of Roman, perched on the continent's western edge, was in turbulent times. Dark heresies were rife, unrest plagued all quarters—prime conditions for demons, beings that fed on souls, unable to quell their insatiable hunger. Thus, to battle these soul-reapers, hunters took up the cause as their sacred duty.

Noah and seven other hunters united, lightly equipped, in pursuit of the Blade Demon—a sly demon lord, a high-ranking devil from hell, now weakened in the mortal realm and cornered into the Twilight Forest by the hunters. However, the demon's shrouded movements forced the hunters to split up and broaden their search to prevent its escape.

Amid this strategy, their ranks were being decimated. Noah sensed the plan's folly but held no sway to protest, and Logan, too, stayed quiet without elaboration.

"What's your impression of Denver?" Logan asked.

"He was a good man," Noah replied, a wave of intense grief washing over him. "He spoke with me just days ago, and now he's gone. Life is so fragile."

Denver had been a peer in age and similarly a novice among the hunters. His build was bulky, in contrast to Noah's lanky frame.

"When someone is good for nothing, we say he's a good man. Rookies come and go; their loss is no surprise. Now, strip him of his gear. He won't be needing it anymore," Logan remarked, surveying their surroundings. "Stay alert for ambushes. The Blade Demon might be lurking right above you."

Noah couldn't resist looking up.

The thick leaves of the oak trees could indeed hide a savage demon. Demons, from another world with powers beyond human ken, commanded over a thousand dark arts. Consequently, demon hunters must be well-trained and shrewd to stand even a slight chance against them.

Survival was paramount... Ever since they entered the forest, nothing had gone right. Arguments erupted, decisions were divided, everyone acted on their own, and Denver had been singled out and slain... Could they truly succeed in hunting the demon? Noah pondered with trepidation.

He braved the corpse's stench, scanning the vicinity for any sinister sigils or cryptic warnings left by demons, masters of spells that could warp reality and manipulate the will.

Noah unbuckled the blood-stained sword sheath from Denver's waist and strapped it to his own, then collected his crossbow, bolts, and potions. Rifling through the backpack, he took what was inside.

Crossbows, though banned by Roman law, were a staple for demon hunters who operated on the fringes of normal life, usually disregarding such rules. Potions were crafted by the otter school's witches. The one on Denver's person—a concoction for keen senses and heightened perception—remained unused, his life cut short too soon. His pack was filled with jerky, wine, and cheese, which Noah claimed for himself.

Now stripped of his belongings, Denver's body lay even more forsaken in the depths of the Twilight Forest.

Noah offered a silent prayer for Denver's soul, hoping the gods would grant him peace.

"Let's go. Once the Blade Demon is slain, we'll come back to bury him," Logan instructed.

"Alright." Noah followed Logan without a word.

"Denver was Julius's apprentice. With Denver gone, Julius's fate doesn't look promising," Logan mused aloud.

"Mr. Julius... where could he be?"

"I hope he's fled. Escaped the Twilight Forest for the civilized world, to give us a moment of mourning."

"Are we going to die?" Noah asked, shocked.

"Not necessarily, but our situation is perilous," Logan said, looking around. "See for yourself, young Noah. We're so vulnerable, and the demons, so powerful. You've grown quickly, but not quickly enough."

Noah followed Logan's gaze.

The environment of the Twilight Forest was dense and overgrown, with wild grass and shrubbery thriving in the absence of human touch. The dim sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shadowy patterns. All was eerily quiet—the wildlife, sensing the supernatural presence, had long fled.

Only they remained, stubbornly striving to confront the demon.

"Scared?" Logan inquired.

"Yes," Noah admitted, aware of his inexperience and youthful naiveté, the peril of his task overwhelming.

Yet, the demon hunter's path allowed no slow learning curve; he had to join seasoned hunters in every endeavor, mastering survival in the face of extreme danger.

"Fear not," Logan turned to face Noah, the elder hunter's visage lined with age—fifty-seven and battle-worn, yet his stature unbowed. "Complete this mission, and you'll conclude all trials. I'll personally bestow upon you the hunter's honor in the sacred hall and declare you a true demon hunter, free to wield the powers I've taught you."

"Really? A true demon hunter!" Noah's anticipation surged.

"You remember the hunter's oath, don't you?"

"I swear, henceforth, never to trust demons, never to save demons, never to forgive demons," Noah recited with conviction.

"Draw the sword you've acquired."

Noah drew the sword that had once belonged to Denver, gripping the hilt and feeling its heft.

It was his first time wielding a sword, the sensation foreign yet exhilarating.

"Humans are animals, yet the most formidable among them," Logan said, unsheathing his own blade and swinging it through the air, its edge catching a faint light. "Our eyes are sharp, seeing far and wide; our bones are hardy against impact, yet light enough for swift movement; our muscles, strong to wield a five-foot sword to cut through the air with such a whoosh. And the sword in your hand, forged by skilled blacksmiths from the finest iron mined by our people, will not fail your trust."

Noah swung his sword with force, the silver blade whistling as it sliced through the air. He inspected it, admiring the sharp edge, a fine weapon crafted for battle, capable of cleaving armor and flesh.

"To find the Blade Demon, we must act separately, delving deeper into the woods. Yes, you've seen Denver's fate—defenseless, eviscerated... But we are humans, the elite among them—demon hunters. Aware of the death trap, knowing we might be torn apart the next second, we still must try. We must find and defeat it, and not let it escape. Even if it means sacrifice... it's worthwhile. Or rather, it is precisely because of sacrifice that everything gains meaning," Logan spoke slowly.

"We can't leave," Noah said.

"Indeed, we cannot. The safety of the entire region depends on us. We're not strong, our numbers dwindling to merely eight, even as we suffer losses. But only we know how to fight demons, Noah. Only we have a chance to defeat them, even if outmatched. Demon hunters cannot flee at times like these."

"I understand," Noah said, his spirit rekindled.

"Oh, and one more thing—if you die, do it with a smile, keep your dreams intact for a better impression. Look at Denver; he didn't die pleasantly, probably died in despair. It's distressing for others to see," Logan continued ahead.

Noah's expression darkened.

His parents had sold him to traffickers, who in turn handed him over to a cabal of wicked sorcerers. They bound Noah on an altar for sacrifice, but in the midst of the ritual, Logan burst in, taking on many foes single-handedly, vanquishing the sorcerers, and rescuing the children.

Facing the kidnapped children, Logan set all but Noah free, choosing him to learn the ways of demon slaying.

The profession posed a complicated predicament for Noah. It presented unprecedented dangers, yet he learned an arsenal of hunting skills—archery, spells, demonology—whose use he could never predict.

In essence, he had no choice but to march on.

They made their way through the forest for several minutes until the silence was abruptly broken.

"Help—," a hoarse cry echoed from afar.

Logan clicked his tongue, gripping his sword tightly, and hastened towards the source of the cries.

Noah followed closely, not daring to fall behind. Alone in the woods, he would be an easy target for the demon.

The call for help led them near an aspen tree.

To Noah's horror, he saw Julius, the demon hunter, strung upside-down, his leather armor torn, a black rope cinching his ankles to a branch, forcing him into a torturous dangle. His possessions scattered below, his hands frantically clawing the air.

"We need to save him," Noah blurted out.

A vile, unusual stench wafted to his nose.

"Think, man. Who could've strung him up?" Logan scoffed. "Now's not the time. Let's go."

Julius looked desperately, catching sight of Noah and Logan, and cried out, "Logan! Save me!"

"You know you're done for. For the love of Roman gods, give us some peace," Logan readied himself for combat, perplexing Noah with his heightened wariness.

"No—save me! You saw Denver? He's been killed by it! It's nearby! Save me—please—Logan, don't be like this—please—," Julius begged.

Noah vividly remembered Julius's composed demeanor, his dark beard, and his signature wide-brimmed hat—all lost in the face of danger, his strengths now vanished, replaced by desperate pleas.

"Stop the nonsense," Logan reprimanded. "You want to drag us down with you? Noah, let's move."

"But—" To leave him to die?

"Move," Logan insisted firmly, then whispered, "Didn't you smell it?"

The stench... that same scent as Denver's.

They stepped away, and then a harsh rending noise erupted behind them.

Crack—crack—

Noah turned to see Julius's suspended body swiftly decay, his skin bursting apart, revealing deep gashes as congealed blood resumed its liquid form on the ground.

"Illusion!" Noah realized the demon's trickery.

Logan narrowed his eyes.

"You just don't know when to quit," Julius's shriveled lips parted, and from his split belly emerged a bloodied cleaver—a foul creation of the demon. Propelled by unknown forces, it hurtled through the air towards them, spraying blood in its dreadful arc.

Logan readied his defense, then, realizing the gravity of the threat, shouted, "Noah! Get out of the way!"

Noah instinctively attempted to dodge, but the Blade of the Fallen was already upon him.