An Errant Dawn
Chapter 1
I run.
I run because my life depends on it.
The creature hunting me drives me to run faster. I need a clearing to make my stand; the trees are its world, not mine. It has been chasing me long enough I know some of the signals to listen for.
Its breath pauses while the running continues. It is preparing to leap. I time my stop for a few seconds later, forming a blade from the black skin that marks me as not human over my right hand, to use its momentum to impale it. Instead, I skid on the dew-covered grass and dead leaves. I lack its claws for traction.
I turn on my back as it flies over me and slash at it. My black blade connects with its dark-brown hide, but ripples move the slash aside, leaving only a small cut instead of the gash I hoped for. I scramble to my feet as it lands five feet away, and I am running again.
Claws in the Dark had warned me the creatures of the wilderness were more dangerous than demons, more dangerous than he was. I believed him; Claws never lied to me. But in this last year of wandering, the worst I have dealt with is the occasional demon—too young or too stubborn to walk away from the fight—and army units still chasing me, although those have left me alone since entering the Anounga District.
The unknown sickness permeating the district serves as a better deterrent than any injury I cause them. I am immune to sickness; I was made to be so. The demon essence in me can fight any sickness, except those created to target demons.
I have fought creatures of the wilderness that challenged me. The demon part of me needs the hunt to feed; it needs a challenging hunt for the feeding to be effective. And I enjoy hunting, pitting myself against the cunning of the creatures living in the ever-dwindling wilderness.
One creature I hunted on the plains has dark green fur to match the long grass, long legs, and horns it can shift along its head and neck, and it injured me severely enough I had to rest for days while I healed. Another, slithering among the rocks, nearly caused me to fall to my death, but neither time, nor any of the others, did I worry I would be the meal.
I ignore the cuts I have received from its claws over this hunt and push myself. If I survive, they will heal, the pain will pass. Those claws are its biggest weapon, the hide the most effective armor.
It doesn’t have a demon’s ability to reshape its body, but it can move the hide over itself, deflecting blows, moving aside killing strikes. It is also resilient enough piercing it takes much of my strength, leading me to tire quickly. In turn, its claws cut my dark skin too easily; my main defense is near worthless against it.
The burn of that first cut, when I had not realized it had made me its prey, reminded me that I was not always the predator—that for the first time since I was learning how to hunt demons, something has the upper hand. This forest is its world. It has lived here. It knows the landscape. I am simply a traveler heading for whatever lies ahead of me.
A hurried look over my shoulder as I change direction again does not show it to me, not even its body heat. I skid again and rush to rebuild my speed. Demons can adjust their body heat to match their surroundings, a form of camouflage, but it is not instantaneous; any motion reveals them. This creature’s heat remains hidden from me even as it runs.
I hear water ahead, smell it. Maybe it cannot cross water?
Many of the creatures of this world have odd quirks of behavior. Demons feed off the hunt more than the meat they will eat at the end, although both are required for the feeding to be complete. A tree-dwelling creature I encountered months ago will not touch the ground. If forced out of the trees, or captured while it glides from one to another, it will shriek and thrash, fight to regain height. If unable to get up in a tree, it simply dies.
If water is what the creature hunting me fears, I will have time to rest, to heal. I will be able to return knowing what to expect, and be the one to hunt it.
The trees part, and I nearly stop in surprise at the sight, but I hear a branch creak and throw myself down, ignoring the pain as I roll to my feet. I watch it and its claws, piercing where I had been moments before.
It is between me and the water, pacing left and right, watching me.
Does it know of my intent? Is there purpose in interposing itself before my escape, or is it simply instinct? The hunter getting ahead of its prey.
I cannot judge its intelligence on this one hunt. The creatures of this world vary too much. None are as intelligent as demons or humans, but just like demons’ ability to reason grows as they gain control of their hunger, some of the creatures’ cunning shifts in cycles I do not understand. The reasons why do not matter. All that does is that I cannot count on the water to save me.
What I expected to be a creek, or a small stream, is a large river. The soft sound a result of the calm flow, not its size.
I can leap far. With enough running distance, I can clear hundreds of feet, but that would only put me in the middle of the river, and that is as deadly as the hunter’s claws.
I look human. The man I was before I was injected with the demon essence was human, but that essence changed me beyond erasing that man. I am denser than humans—my muscles, my bones. Jason explained that was how I was so much stronger than humans, and also how I survived using that strength.
It also means I have no buoyancy.
Even if the man I was before knew how to swim and I had retained the knowledge, my strength would not let me keep the water from pulling me down.
I am not afraid of water, but I respect its deadliness to me. Like all creatures that walk the land, I need air to survive, even if I can go longer without it than humans.
My options have been removed.
I extend the blade from my hand again and face my opponent. The blade’s edge is jagged this time, instead of smooth. A response to my fear. My black skin obeys me. I can will it to shift to cover nearly half my body now, make it a weapon or thicken it into armor. But beyond my will, it is connected to my emotions. It serves as a reminder that I am no longer the cold, calculating machine I once thought I was made to be. This emotional instinct has saved me too often for me to still hate how it will behave without conscious thought.
For the first time in this hunt, I have a good view of my opponent as it paces before me. It is three times as long as I am tall, more lanky than bulky, but under the mobile skin, I see muscles. It has the strength to go along with the agility.
It studies me as I study it. Its eyes are black, with the glint of red that seems standard to the creatures of this world. In the unobstructed light, I see the skin resemble the bark of the trees when it is still.
Not only does it have thermal camouflage, but it also has a visual version.
I turn as it paces around me.
I cannot afford for it to strike my back again. Training and reflexes saved me from a severed spine that first time. I do not wish to put it to the test a second one.
I attempt a feint and immediately break off when it doesn’t react to it. Does it have senses I don’t? Can it read my intent? If it can, it’s not perfect, otherwise I wouldn’t have survived the previous attacks.
The bunching of its hind legs is the only warning I get as I throw myself to the side as it jumps. It lashes out sideways, and claws dig deep into my side in spite of my black skin. I crash to the ground, then scramble to my feet as fast as I can with the strength I have left.
That was a new move; I didn’t know its joints could move that way. I can’t survive by just dodging it, or only scoring glancing blows. I’m bleeding more than it is, and it has more blood than I do, based on its size.
I slow my breathing as it turns to face me. I don’t see the intelligence in its eyes that I see in demons who have gained control of their hunger, but I see cunning. It knows I am nearly done. It growls in anticipation as I level my gaze on it, and I sense something in the sound. Victory, sated hunger, superiority. Maybe it is my imagination, or maybe other creatures can also send feelings with their roars and growls, the way demons do.
My blade’s edge is a collection of jagged shards now, and more grow as the creature bunches together for another leap.
I stand, waiting.
I was created to hunt demons. Dying was always my fate. It isn’t a demon, but if this is where I die, this was a worthwhile fight.
It bounds, lands halfway to me, and jumps, jaws apart, growing wide as it approaches, showing large teeth. Large brown claws sink into me and my blade sinks into it, its mass throwing me on my back and to the ground. Its teeth bite into my shoulder.
Wetness drips over my hand and chest as I wait. I wait for it to tighten its jaw, to rip out my shoulder. For the claws to rake my body, tear me apart. I wait for it to bring this fight to a decisive end.
It does none of that, and I smile under its dead weight.
This was a good hunt. Will I feel as satisfied when I eat it, having been the one hunted as I do when I am the hunter? I will find out soon.
I close my eyes as exhaustion pulls on me.
Does it have a soul stone inside its head?
Do I?
The thought floats up as it sometimes does. I will never know if I do, but I will look for one in it. After I have eaten. After I have rested.
I am so tired.
I should feel stronger; I won, I survived. But all I want to do is sleep, even if I feel my skin turn jagged at the thought. Something about resting now scares it, scares me.
It’s alright.
I will feel better after a small rest, after I have eaten.
I only need a small…
I run because my life depends on it.
The creature hunting me drives me to run faster. I need a clearing to make my stand; the trees are its world, not mine. It has been chasing me long enough I know some of the signals to listen for.
Its breath pauses while the running continues. It is preparing to leap. I time my stop for a few seconds later, forming a blade from the black skin that marks me as not human over my right hand, to use its momentum to impale it. Instead, I skid on the dew-covered grass and dead leaves. I lack its claws for traction.
I turn on my back as it flies over me and slash at it. My black blade connects with its dark-brown hide, but ripples move the slash aside, leaving only a small cut instead of the gash I hoped for. I scramble to my feet as it lands five feet away, and I am running again.
Claws in the Dark had warned me the creatures of the wilderness were more dangerous than demons, more dangerous than he was. I believed him; Claws never lied to me. But in this last year of wandering, the worst I have dealt with is the occasional demon—too young or too stubborn to walk away from the fight—and army units still chasing me, although those have left me alone since entering the Anounga District.
The unknown sickness permeating the district serves as a better deterrent than any injury I cause them. I am immune to sickness; I was made to be so. The demon essence in me can fight any sickness, except those created to target demons.
I have fought creatures of the wilderness that challenged me. The demon part of me needs the hunt to feed; it needs a challenging hunt for the feeding to be effective. And I enjoy hunting, pitting myself against the cunning of the creatures living in the ever-dwindling wilderness.
One creature I hunted on the plains has dark green fur to match the long grass, long legs, and horns it can shift along its head and neck, and it injured me severely enough I had to rest for days while I healed. Another, slithering among the rocks, nearly caused me to fall to my death, but neither time, nor any of the others, did I worry I would be the meal.
I ignore the cuts I have received from its claws over this hunt and push myself. If I survive, they will heal, the pain will pass. Those claws are its biggest weapon, the hide the most effective armor.
It doesn’t have a demon’s ability to reshape its body, but it can move the hide over itself, deflecting blows, moving aside killing strikes. It is also resilient enough piercing it takes much of my strength, leading me to tire quickly. In turn, its claws cut my dark skin too easily; my main defense is near worthless against it.
The burn of that first cut, when I had not realized it had made me its prey, reminded me that I was not always the predator—that for the first time since I was learning how to hunt demons, something has the upper hand. This forest is its world. It has lived here. It knows the landscape. I am simply a traveler heading for whatever lies ahead of me.
A hurried look over my shoulder as I change direction again does not show it to me, not even its body heat. I skid again and rush to rebuild my speed. Demons can adjust their body heat to match their surroundings, a form of camouflage, but it is not instantaneous; any motion reveals them. This creature’s heat remains hidden from me even as it runs.
I hear water ahead, smell it. Maybe it cannot cross water?
Many of the creatures of this world have odd quirks of behavior. Demons feed off the hunt more than the meat they will eat at the end, although both are required for the feeding to be complete. A tree-dwelling creature I encountered months ago will not touch the ground. If forced out of the trees, or captured while it glides from one to another, it will shriek and thrash, fight to regain height. If unable to get up in a tree, it simply dies.
If water is what the creature hunting me fears, I will have time to rest, to heal. I will be able to return knowing what to expect, and be the one to hunt it.
The trees part, and I nearly stop in surprise at the sight, but I hear a branch creak and throw myself down, ignoring the pain as I roll to my feet. I watch it and its claws, piercing where I had been moments before.
It is between me and the water, pacing left and right, watching me.
Does it know of my intent? Is there purpose in interposing itself before my escape, or is it simply instinct? The hunter getting ahead of its prey.
I cannot judge its intelligence on this one hunt. The creatures of this world vary too much. None are as intelligent as demons or humans, but just like demons’ ability to reason grows as they gain control of their hunger, some of the creatures’ cunning shifts in cycles I do not understand. The reasons why do not matter. All that does is that I cannot count on the water to save me.
What I expected to be a creek, or a small stream, is a large river. The soft sound a result of the calm flow, not its size.
I can leap far. With enough running distance, I can clear hundreds of feet, but that would only put me in the middle of the river, and that is as deadly as the hunter’s claws.
I look human. The man I was before I was injected with the demon essence was human, but that essence changed me beyond erasing that man. I am denser than humans—my muscles, my bones. Jason explained that was how I was so much stronger than humans, and also how I survived using that strength.
It also means I have no buoyancy.
Even if the man I was before knew how to swim and I had retained the knowledge, my strength would not let me keep the water from pulling me down.
I am not afraid of water, but I respect its deadliness to me. Like all creatures that walk the land, I need air to survive, even if I can go longer without it than humans.
My options have been removed.
I extend the blade from my hand again and face my opponent. The blade’s edge is jagged this time, instead of smooth. A response to my fear. My black skin obeys me. I can will it to shift to cover nearly half my body now, make it a weapon or thicken it into armor. But beyond my will, it is connected to my emotions. It serves as a reminder that I am no longer the cold, calculating machine I once thought I was made to be. This emotional instinct has saved me too often for me to still hate how it will behave without conscious thought.
For the first time in this hunt, I have a good view of my opponent as it paces before me. It is three times as long as I am tall, more lanky than bulky, but under the mobile skin, I see muscles. It has the strength to go along with the agility.
It studies me as I study it. Its eyes are black, with the glint of red that seems standard to the creatures of this world. In the unobstructed light, I see the skin resemble the bark of the trees when it is still.
Not only does it have thermal camouflage, but it also has a visual version.
I turn as it paces around me.
I cannot afford for it to strike my back again. Training and reflexes saved me from a severed spine that first time. I do not wish to put it to the test a second one.
I attempt a feint and immediately break off when it doesn’t react to it. Does it have senses I don’t? Can it read my intent? If it can, it’s not perfect, otherwise I wouldn’t have survived the previous attacks.
The bunching of its hind legs is the only warning I get as I throw myself to the side as it jumps. It lashes out sideways, and claws dig deep into my side in spite of my black skin. I crash to the ground, then scramble to my feet as fast as I can with the strength I have left.
That was a new move; I didn’t know its joints could move that way. I can’t survive by just dodging it, or only scoring glancing blows. I’m bleeding more than it is, and it has more blood than I do, based on its size.
I slow my breathing as it turns to face me. I don’t see the intelligence in its eyes that I see in demons who have gained control of their hunger, but I see cunning. It knows I am nearly done. It growls in anticipation as I level my gaze on it, and I sense something in the sound. Victory, sated hunger, superiority. Maybe it is my imagination, or maybe other creatures can also send feelings with their roars and growls, the way demons do.
My blade’s edge is a collection of jagged shards now, and more grow as the creature bunches together for another leap.
I stand, waiting.
I was created to hunt demons. Dying was always my fate. It isn’t a demon, but if this is where I die, this was a worthwhile fight.
It bounds, lands halfway to me, and jumps, jaws apart, growing wide as it approaches, showing large teeth. Large brown claws sink into me and my blade sinks into it, its mass throwing me on my back and to the ground. Its teeth bite into my shoulder.
Wetness drips over my hand and chest as I wait. I wait for it to tighten its jaw, to rip out my shoulder. For the claws to rake my body, tear me apart. I wait for it to bring this fight to a decisive end.
It does none of that, and I smile under its dead weight.
This was a good hunt. Will I feel as satisfied when I eat it, having been the one hunted as I do when I am the hunter? I will find out soon.
I close my eyes as exhaustion pulls on me.
Does it have a soul stone inside its head?
Do I?
The thought floats up as it sometimes does. I will never know if I do, but I will look for one in it. After I have eaten. After I have rested.
I am so tired.
I should feel stronger; I won, I survived. But all I want to do is sleep, even if I feel my skin turn jagged at the thought. Something about resting now scares it, scares me.
It’s alright.
I will feel better after a small rest, after I have eaten.
I only need a small…
