The beasts foam at the mouth with rage. Their claws mar the ground, leaving tracks that follow them. Their hair seems to stand straighter than before, but is still nothing but matted blackness disguised as fur. I peer into their eyes, but there is nothing there to look back at me. Black voids sucking the light from the air. Steam falls from their snouts with each breath expelled.

  These beats are more terrifying than any that I have faced before. Is it because they are more similar to humans than animals? They walk. They talk. Fear runs through my body, but I do not let it paralyze me. I gave my word to that woman, and I must hold true.

  I am no hero, but I will fight.

  The first of the beasts charges at me in a fit of rage. Each step scores the earth. Its arms flail like whips, each finger is a tiny dagger ready to rip me from groin to throat. It unleashes a guttural wail as it charges, sending a shiver down my spine.

  I fire off a shot but miss the beast as it side-steps with a quickness that can only be described as magic, vanishing and reappearing in another place.

  that raspy voice echoes through my mind.

  I try to concentrate, but my mind is lost and racing with other thoughts. I shake my head and think of my survival. Thinking of my daughter, I draw the sword from my back. It rests in my right hand. I draw a dagger and rest it in my left.

  We meet, a fit full of fur, foam, and blood. I feel the claws graze my body, feeling that tingling burn of a new wound, feeling the slow trickle of blood leaking down my body. Blood splashes my face. I’ve hit it but have no idea where.

  We clash with fury and vengeance. The beast howls when struck with the sword or dagger and growls when it makes contact with my skin. I look down to see a gash forming at my stomach and slowly leaking more blood by the second. I look around but do not see the other beast.

  There is a scream from the shack.

  I must move more quickly.

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  the raspy voice calls.

  I concentrate on my blades, thinking of fire. A fire so hot that it would singe trees that are too close, catch leaves in a blaze, and melt ice caps. An inferno fit to take the sun’s place if it fell from the sky.

  I slice the beast with the sword and watch as blue flames sing on the blade’s edge and caress fur that comes too close. The beast lets loose a mournful yelp, but does not stop its onslaught. I dance around the beast, twirling and ducking its limbs that rage and whip. The dagger’s blade shines with blue, singing a smaller, softer, more regal melody.

  The beast is now caught, and fire spreads over its body. It is no longer a shadow of black fur, but a tapestry of black, blue, and red. The colors mix like paint as we dance. Now, I can see all its moves. I predict what it will do next. I see where it will appear once it vanishes.

  I catch the beast with the dagger, driving it into its belly. The flames spread like a forest fire, and the blood boils as it stains the fur. Meat burning under hot coals rides the wind and lingers under my nose. It is not the most pleasant of smells when mixed with the smell of wet dog and rotting wood.

  One final spin, graceful and calculated, and the head of the beast rolls away from its body, still foaming at the mouth, its eyes locked on the moon.

  Screams still come from the shack. They are screams of pain, terror, and sorrow. Cries for help. I’ve never heard a woman scream like this before. There is raw emotion attached to each note. It is very rough and inhuman. As I make my way towards the shack, it begins to soften, becoming filled with fluid, gushing, and choking.

  The shack is a very rough building made almost entirely from wood. It looks like it was built in a hurry from the cracks between some of the pieces that line the outer walls. The windows are opaque and cloudy with dirt that is baked into the glass. There is only one step onto the small porch; the overhang is supported by two beams that would snap from a soft kick.

  The door is wide open, but all that I can see inside are shadows. A massive shadow of blackness is looming over a shadow that is limp on the ground. I step into the shack and get a look at the grotesque play before me.

  The beast’s clawed hand is wrapped around the woman’s throat with those daggers digging into her skin, blood rolling from the tiny holes on her neck. Laserations run the length of her body, her skin and cloak torn, leaving her exposed. The beast gropes her with a crooked paw and licks her body as if it’s trying to clean the blood. There is a sound coming from the beast that tingles my spine, and spikes rage within my body. I know what it is planning to do to this woman; I watch it play out in my mind.

  There is a second of darkness, a gasp for breath, a thud on the floor, the smell of blood, the smell of grime, the smell of death, then nothing but a silent night and thumping hearts.