Chapter Text
The Wolf kicked the spindly corpse of an old woman aside with a rough scoff and an unsympathetic, “Crazy fuck.”
The corpse, lips still pulled back in a terrible snarl, did not reply. The Hunter committed a further indignity of wiping her axe blade on the corpse’s skirts, nodded once, and moved on through the long grass.
There were rumors of a witch spreading through the fields and the town. Bodies had surfaced, with arcane symbols carved into their flesh and their eyes torn cleanly from their sockets. Neither man nor animal was safe–the earliest whispers had been about horses. Witchcraft was as likely as anything, but the Wolf cared only for putting an end to it. Yarnham had enough trouble without this.
Hemwick had always been an unpleasant region, she thought. Cold, damp and dark, and treacherous to boot; one wrong step would land you in the mire, and most folk never walked back out of there. Aside from that, the area was littered with hags, and if it wasn’t some old crone throwing molotovs, it was her slavering dog, covered in spikes, trying to tackle you to the ground. It was, to put it bluntly, a pain in the ass and only worth the bother to keep the witch–or would-be witch, if that be the case–from causing more problems in the city.
An old house, rotting from the inside out, rose up on the tor and the Wolf changed course to move towards it. It looked deserted enough, but most places did, these days. But nothing came at her, not even a bird, and when she stepped through the doorway, the little room was so dust covered that she almost thought twice…if it hadn’t been for the reek of blood and death, and the scarcely-imperceptible whispers that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. And, well, all the bodies. Some hung from the ceiling, some merely lay on the floor, but all of them were missing their eyes.
Something was here. Or using this place, at least.
She adjusted her grip on her axe, drew comfort from the weight of her gun, and stalked forward. Seemingly empty, but there was a smaller room on the far side, half-covered with mangled horsehide. As good a place to start as any.
Her lantern threw manic shadows on the walls and twice she leapt back at a sound that turned out to be creaking rafters, but soon enough she was pushing the horsehide aside with her gun.
This room was small, but busy: it was filled with broken-down bookshelves and heavy wooden tables laboring under the weight of knives and books. The floor was littered with decaying papers, a metal jug lay broken on the floor, and the planks were stained red with blood. Far more interesting, however, was the corpse bound to a chair in the middle of the room. The blood was likely his, given the damage to his clothes, and he hadn’t been here long enough to decay.
Poor bastard, she thought, advancing on him to check his pockets. What did she do to you–
The corpse sucked in a desperate breath all of a sudden, head snapping up. His face was battered and bruised, and at this range she could see that there were patches of skin flayed off his ribs, but his eyes were clear and if she squinted, she could see on his neck the same mark she had on her left palm.
“Good Gods,” she said, dropping to her knees and drawing a knife. “What the hell happened?”
The man’s throat worked, then his jaw, and finally his lips as he spat up a gob of blood. She peeled the ropes out of his wrists and chest before shrugging off her pack and rifling through it for a blood vial and some bandages.
“Rituals don’t quite stick,” he rasped. “You wouldn’t believe what it feels like to get your eyes scooped out.”
The Wolf hid a grimace behind her scarf. She’d had her fair share of mishaps, especially when she was still very new, but not that one.
“Lovely.”
“Mm-hm.” He flicked the syringe, found a hole in his ragged trousers, and rammed the needle into his thigh. “Thanks for the rescue. Much longer and I’d have gone mad.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.” He sat up a little more, clothing clinging to the chair for just a second, and raised his arms enough for her to wrap his ribs. They’d heal soon, but the sight of the bone, gleaming amongst tattered clothing and ragged flesh, was enough to unsettle even the hardiest of souls. “It isn’t just one witch. It’s two. Sisters, I think.”
Well, wasn’t that just wonderful. Lone witches could be rough, if they were strong enough, but two of them fed off each other, strengthened each other, and could easily cause a massive amount of trouble in a minimal amount of time.
Something in the main room screamed and she turned to her new companion. He still looked ghastly, injured and underfed, but she’d looked worse in her day and still come out on top.
“You up for a little revenge?”
Cracked lips split further when he grinned, blood spilling over his teeth and down his chin.
“You think you can keep up?”
She offered her hand to help him to his feet and he waved her off, instead reaching down for a cane and using that to lever himself upright. The brief glimpse she got showed serrated metal on the stick and a raven’s head that fit neatly into his palm. His gun was smaller than hers, a narrow pistol rather than a blunderbuss, with flying ravens engraved on the handle. She would be lying, now, if she said she wasn’t a tad nervous; the Raven was not a Hunter to cross. A witch, even two witches, getting the drop on him was not a good omen.
Something screamed again, something inhuman, and she adjusted her grip on her axe. Beside her, the Raven flicked his cane, loosening the whip, and nodded to the horsehide.
“Ladies first, or hide behind me?”
“Such a gentleman.”
And with that, she charged into the main room.
There was only one witch, or only one visible one. A hunched old crone, all but crawling along the floor, with long, sharp talons scratching at the wood. They descended on her, slashing at her eyeball-covered body, and she shrieked piteously.
Then something shrieked back.
The shadows melted and molded and moved, slowly, oh, so slowly. Humanoid yet not, with long, spiky hair and misshapen fingers wrapped tight around sickle handles, something shuffled out of the black.
A Mad One. She had only seen one once before, in a dark place, and she’d let it alone, then.
It kept coming, steps slow and patient, eyes glowing, and she shot it. It staggered and howled, and then, above on a decayed walkway, she saw more.
Dear Gods.
The Raven’s whip lashed out, catching it across the chest, and before it could recover he flicked it back the other way, this time snapping its head sideways with a sickening crack.
“Find those little bitches, I’ll keep these at bay.”
The witch had melted away, but there was an odd shimmering across the room and she dashed for it, raising her axe above her head and bringing it down just as the shimmering became an eyeball-laden back. The witch screeched, arching and clawing at the wooden floor, and she hacked at her again, blood and pus and mucus spattering across her clothes. She was already flickering again, trying to get away, and the Wolf made one last vicious slash at the back of her neck. It wasn’t quite enough, but it was damn fine all the same, and one more good whack should bring her down.
A gunshot rang through the room, followed immediately by a shriek and the tearing of flesh. A Mad One fell and the Raven whirled, whip glittering like stars, to slash at the two others trying to come up behind him. Above them, the air shimmered and she ran for the stairs.
Come on, come here, you sorry little–
What felt like a squeezing fist stopped her in her tracks, tightening until she could hardly breathe, let alone move. A choked curse and the sudden spooling clatter of metal said her companion was in the same boat.
This witch wasn’t injured like her sister, but that was the only difference. She came close, robe leaving sticky tracks as it dragged on the ground, and reached up, up, up towards the Wolf’s face.
True to her name, she bit the questing fingers and held on tight, jaw clenched and tongue rebelling at the taste of putrid flesh. The witch’s scream reached a new height as she yanked on her hand, thrashing the Wolf’s head back and forth, before a Mad One finally slashed her across the back. The shock and pain made her let go.
“You,” the witch hissed, clutching her fingers to her chest. “You are no better than the Beasts you hunt.”
“I learn from my prey.”
The witch cackled. The clenching fist dragged her towards the middle of the room, nearer to the Raven.
“Lovely, lovely eyes, sister!” she crowed. “We’ll have an infinite harvest of eyes now!”
The Wolf tried to kick out, to thrash free, to do something, but the invisible fist held firm. Beside her, the Raven was breathing slowly, his eyes closed as the blood dripped down his cheeks. The injured witch flickered into view, laughing breathlessly, and hitched towards him.
“I say we start now,” she wheezes. “I need to feed.”
She drew a finger through the blood trail and slurped it, too-long tongue winding around her skinny digit. When it was clean, she moved closer, fingers (talons) scratching at the rough bandages around his ribs.
Her mistake.
She’d moved too close, and the hand wasn’t a total restraint, certainly not enough to keep him from headbutting her. She squealed and staggered and the hand around the Wolf’s body loosened enough for her to kick and claw her way free, hurling herself at the nearest monster.
They hit the ground in a snarling ball. Fire enveloped the Wolf’s chest, burning through her clothes and her skin and deep into her bones, but she kept her knees firm on the boney hips as she brought her axe down on the head. Finally, mercifully, the flames died as the body shuddered and fell silent.
Gugh!
What felt like a rope wrapped around her throat, pulling taut and squeezing. Her axe hit the ground with a clatter as she clawed at it, trying in vain to get her fingers under it and just breathe just breathe just fucking breathe–
SQUELCH!
The witch shrieked and the rope was gone. The Wolf scrambled away, gasping, and turned in time to see the Raven rip his hand back out of the thing’s chest, fingers clenched tight around stringy, mangled organs. The creature finally fell to the floor and did not move.
“All right?” the Raven asked, dropping his bounty atop the corpse. She nodded.
“Thanks for that.”
Her chest still burned. It ought to–it was still smoking, even–but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It would heal.
She got up, snatching her axe as she went, and looked at the corpses. They were an ugly pair, even without having been hacked at. Their cloaks were the worst, covered with eyeballs as they were, the glassy, dead things gazing into the void.
The Raven kicked one over and crouched down, flicking out a penknife as he did so.
“Think I’ll take these,” he said easily. “Could do with some upgrades. You want the other?”
May as well. Waste not, want not.
Now, without the adrenaline, her back was stinging and her muscles were aching. She was looking forward to getting out of this filthy hovel, taking a minute to breathe before throwing herself back into the fray.
“You’re bleeding.”
“So are you.” Ugh. Eyes were slippery and thoroughly unpleasant to handle, gloves or not. “I’m low on vials or I’d offer you another one.”
“Be still.” He knelt down and scooped up a handful of the witch’s innards. “This’ll help the burn. Forgive me the impudence…”
His hands were firm under his gloves, but still gentle as he rubbed the innards against her smoldering chest. True enough, the burns felt soothed. When she risked looking at them, they looked less red than they should have been, the skin less flaky.
“There.” He sat back on his heels. “Little better, anyhow.”
“Thank you.” She suddenly remembered she ought to be breathing. “I need to take stock of my supplies, but I’m not doing it here.”
“Agreed.” He eyed the fallen witches warily. “If I never come back here, it will be too soon.”
“I know a house nearby,” she said suddenly, the words tumbling out without permission. “If you’d like a safe place for a few hours.”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
She stood up and thrust her hand out to haul him to his feet. Her back twinged at the pull, but she ignored it. It wasn’t the worst injury she’d suffered, not by a long shot.
“Right, then. With me.”
Hemwick had always been a wretched place. But this excursion had turned out all right.
THE END