Chapter 17 - Stranger
A chill wind whipped around the stranger's black cloak, tugging at the worn fabric. Beneath it, an ankle-length, black, long-sleeved cassock, the same inky black, clung to his wiry frame. A silver crucifix, worn smooth by years of faith, hung heavy against his chest. A word was printed in his tunic that read, Venatores Sacri. He pressed himself further into the shadows of a building in Perstone City like a ghost in the throng.
Across the wide avenue, a sea of red surged forward. Every figure was cloaked in the same crimson hue, their faces obscured. Candles, like flickering crimson eyes, danced in their hands. A slow, rhythmic chant rose from the crowd, the melody an unsettling mix of reverence and dread. With each syllable, Father Noah's brow furrowed further. He recognized the tune, a twisted hymn from a forbidden text, one that spoke of dark rituals and forgotten gods. A shiver, not from the wind, snaked down his spine. This wasn't a mere celebration - it was something far more sinister. He had stumbled upon something far deeper, far more dangerous, than he could have ever imagined.
The rhythmic chanting was abruptly shattered by a panicked shriek. A spotlight from atop a distant building sliced through the crimson crowd, illuminating a cloaked figure being wrestled to the ground by a group of heavily armored guards. The shriek turned into a desperate roar, quickly drowned out by a chorus of panicked yells as the red tide began to ebb. The robed figures scattered, weaving through the narrow streets and alleyways like startled vipers. Father Noah remained rooted to his spot for a heartbeat, a silent observer amidst the sudden chaos.
Then, as if a hidden switch had been flipped, his calm demeanor shattered. Ignoring the fleeing figures and the shouts of the pursuing guards, he broke into a run. His pace quickened, his strides lengthening, until he was sprinting through the deserted streets. His face, previously etched with grim determination, now held a chilling mix of irritation and worry. And then he went inside a silent narrow alley. He looked behind him and notice that the commotion died down. The crowd was nowhere to be seen. He went ahead and then the sight that welcomed him make him mad.
The lone house in the middle of the forest had been attacked. The interior was destroyed, windows shattered, and pools of blood were everywhere. The gruesome scene made his stomach churn and his blood boil. Though he was accustomed to such sights, what pierced his heart were the victims—two young, innocent children. The howl echoed again, closer this time, sending a tremor through him. He made his way to the back of the house and into the heart of the forest. He followed the trail of blood on the ground until it led him to the center of the woods. The trees were thick, forming a cloak-like cover over the forest. The moonlight illuminated the area, but it was insufficient. Clearly, the priest was at a disadvantage. He walked silently and carefully, checking his surroundings.
He removed the hood of his cloak, revealing his face. Father Noah had clear blue eyes, black hair, and an athletic build. Tall and in his early thirties, he scanned the forest with a keen gaze, trying to sense any danger. He drew the crossbow from his back and prepared to aim.
The place was eerily silent, with no clamor or any sound except for Father Noah's breaths. Though he was no stranger to danger, tonight the air crackled with an unsettling tension. Suddenly, footsteps echoed through the forest—someone was running toward him. Father Noah steadied his stance and directed his aim toward the noise. Out of the bushes emerged a frightened boy. Thomas, who had been crying, now stood before him, an incredulous look on his face. The boy held a kitchen knife in his right hand, barefoot, and with a dried blood on his clothes.
Father Noah put down his weapon as he stares at the boy. The boy has the same features on the victim of the house. A black hair and tan skin. The knife his holding was the same knife the dead boy was holding in the kitchen. He's probably a relative and the lone survivor. "Who are you?" the boy asked him. Before he can answer, a growl was heard. Suddenly, a flicker of inky black emerged from the dense forest.
A monstrous wolf, its fur the color of a moonless night, stalked towards Noah and Thomas with a chilling grace. Moonlight glinted off its fangs smeared of dried blood, and its red eyes glowed with predatory hunger. Thomas's heart pounded a steady rhythm against his ribs, a familiar dance of fear and adrenaline. Suddenly, a large black wolf lunged at him. Thomas was neither prepared for the attack nor had he anticipated it. Fortunately, the priest's reflexes were swift; he pushed the boy to the ground just before the wolf could bite him.
The wolf confronted them, its inky black fur matted with blood. Its long, menacing fangs were smeared with fresh gore. The young boy stood rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear. Though he had lived in this forest for years, it was his first time encountering such a monstrous creature. His knees shook, and no sound escaped his mouth, though he wanted to scream. "Boy, that monster is the one who killed your siblings. Stay here. It's dangerous," the priest stated.
He raised his crossbow, a weapon he trusted more than any firearm. With practiced ease, he loaded a bolt, aimed for the beast's broad chest, and fired. The air sang with the twang of the released string. But the wolf, quicker than Noah anticipated, twisted mid-leap, the bolt whipping harmlessly past. A guttural snarl ripped from the wolf's throat as it lunged. Noah flung himself to the right, the mud crunching beneath his boots. The massive beast missed its mark by a hair's breadth, the stench of its fetid breath washing over him. He scrambled to his feet, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
His hands became a blur as he loaded another arrow, his weathered face grim with determination. He let loose a shot, another, and another. But the wolf, a creature of shadow and speed, dodged each arrow with uncanny agility. Frustration gnawed at Noah, but he wouldn't give up. He knew brute force wouldn't win this fight. It was a battle of wits as much as skill. He needed to get close, force the beast into a confined space where its agility wouldn't be an advantage.
Taking a calculated risk, Noah began a slow, deliberate walk towards the wolf, never breaking eye contact. The wolf, momentarily confused by this tactic, hesitated. Noah used that split second to launch a final, desperate shot. The arrow flew true, grazing the beast's leg. A pained yelp erupted from the creature's throat as it faltered. Seizing his opportunity, Noah charged forward. The air whistled in his ears as he closed the distance.
As the wolf turned to face him, his powerful legs propelled him into a flying kick. The impact connected with a sickening thud, sending the wolf sprawling backward. It slammed into a nearby tree trunk with a bone-jarring crack. The fight seemed to drain from the creature in a single, agonizing moment. Noah approached cautiously; crossbow aimed. The wolf lay whimpering, a single, defiant snarl still flickering in its eyes. Noah knew the danger wasn't over. With a heavy heart, he ended the fight, the echo of the crossbow bolts the final punctuation mark in their deadly dance.
Father Noah surveyed the scene. The wolf then turns into ashes, disappearing into the air. He heard sobs coming from the boy as he crouched on the forest floor, tears streaming down his face. Kneeling down to the boy's level, the priest gently asked, "Boy, what's your name?" Thomas looked devastated, unsure of what to do. In a small voice, he answered, "Thomas." "It was my fault. If I hadn't stolen, I wouldn't have been in jail, and I would have been with them. But I couldn't help them," the boy confessed.
"It's not your fault," the priest consoled the boy. After a while, the priest went inside the house to clean the mess and buried the body. He prayed and interred the body at the backyard. Thomas picked some wildflowers at their backyard and offer it to the deceased. "Who are you?" he asked the stranger beside him. "You can call me, Father Noah," he answered. "You're a priest?" Thomas confirmed. "It is ok, to bury them like this, maybe I should inform the guards, so they know what happen and so that they will investigate".
Father Noah looks at the child before him and with a sullen look said, "You really think the guards, nor the regents will pay attention to your family?". Thomas was taken aback by the harsh reality, making him silent. "I am sorry for your lost, but don't trust anyone, nor the authority. You should live this place, start a new," he said. "Where are you going?" Thomas asked as Father Noah start to leave. "To hunt" was his short reply.
"Another wolf?"
"It was my first time seeing a wolf that big? What was that monster?"
"What a father doing in this place? You know something do you?" A series of questions come out of the boy as he trailed behind the priest. "Don't follow me. It is dangerous". "I will not leave you, until I know what's happening".