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Chapter 6

Out of nowhere, something collided.

Something massive slammed the side of the undead wolf with such incredible force that it was thrown off its feet and lost its grip on the hunter. It hurled some distance away to crash hard into the dirt, forming a dust cloud to mingle with the smoke.

Daron fell on his back to immediate awareness, the pain flooding over his body, mainly the neck, like a sledgehammer. He stirred violently in a terrible fit of cough, unable to breathe. He jostled his helmet straps with one hand to jostle it loose, inhaling deep and worsening his condition into more severe hacks of cough.

It didn't do him good, given the air remained toxic from the smoke, but Daron didn't care. He welcomed it if it meant to preserve his life.

Despite the growing desire for a peaceful slumber, Daron's mind raced into alert, remembering that there were monsters about. With a grunt of effort, agonized by the constant misery of his neck and his back, he rolled to one side and pushed himself slowly to his feet.

Managing to stand upright despite his body resisting, Daron immediately scanned his surroundings, his eyes hardened for any threat like the undead monstrosity. It didn't take long to spot the dead thing as he fixed his gaze on the bulky silhouette that still sprawled on the floor.

It remained prone at the spot, creating a smeary line of blood and other unhealthy liquid just several distance from the hunter. Daron cautiously approached the undead, but quickly retreated as it stirred to life from the force of impact earlier. As his eyes squinted with just a little effort, he thought he saw something that pinned the undead mammal down. Something heavy and bulky that was near size and length to the undead.

The first thing that Daron noticed was the smell, and he gagged as the acrid stench of cooked rotten flesh permeated from the area. A charred corpse rested on top of the undead, its shape merely a burning torso as a reminder of its brutal demise. Its limbs had singed away just below the shoulder and pelvis region as well as its head, leaving nothing to bear in identifying this unknown character.

No sooner than later, it dawned on Daron that this must be the source that actually brought the undead down in the first place. And if that was the case, whose burnt torso did it belong to, and what manner of monster could have done it?

By way of answer, heavy footsteps alerted Daron to a new and sudden threat. He whirled about, not caring about the pain of his poor back, readying for the worse.

He saw nothing but heard the sound anyway and attempted to heft his crossbow, only to realize that he no longer had it in his possession, destroyed by the undead creature that still sprawled on the floor. Instead, he brandished out a knife. It was a tiny thing meant for utility purposes and nothing else, but he held it firmly, ready to sell his life dearly if necessary.

The footsteps were getting closer, and Daron scanned frantically for a way to escape. He was clearly at a disadvantage, boxed in by monsters that would rip and tear his hide without a glance. This was no place for ordinary folk, and he cursed the day he ever accepted the contract.

A warm wave of heat radiated not from Daron's location. It kissed his wrinkled face, feeling the sudden warmth like he was near a fireplace. Then the temperature slowly rose to dangerous levels that Daron felt almost lightheaded, his body already perfusing sweat.

Daron expected some kind of mage or some arcanist user to elemental might. If so, reinforcement had arrived to whisk him to safety from this awful predicament. He liked the thought and wouldn't mind being detained by the authorities if it meant he was away from this nightmare.

Although slightly optimistic, the hunter doubted that a lonely magic user, if his ears managed to pick up the footsteps, could ever succeed against such a foe. Perhaps this individual, wrought by generosity and compassion to save others, could buy him enough time to make his getaway. It galled him to leave warriors behind, but he would not spend his energy and effort on a bunch of animals or his traitorous kin that allowed themselves to be slaves to selfish, pugnacious gods.

However, when Daron did manage to picture the vague shape of a figure closing in crystal clarity, his eyes broadened. He had expected aid, but instead, he got something worse.

The creature had been a wolf, its head nothing more than a skeletal frame where its elongated snout revealed its many teeth and fangs. The rest of its body remained fleshly intact, but much of its fur and clothing had singed away, leaving none but the mammal's ugly charcoal layer of skin. Bloody veins that acted like mere cracks to a statue thrummed in a reddish glow, pulsating in a steady, rhythmic beat. Though the wolf was naked, the only object that hadn't been consumed by fire was a necklace, simple iron chains dangling around its neck, and at the center was a circular red gemstone that flickered in soft flashes of light.

The charcoal wolf half glanced down at the stone and held it delicately close. A sound slithered out from the wolf, and Daron thought he heard it singing some lullaby.

Regardless of the madness he witnessed, Daron thought this was his chance to make a run for it. He slowly pushed the attempt, then stopped immediately in place as the wolf stared right at him, the song fading into silence.

Their eyes made contact, and Daron's heart grew suddenly cold the longer he stared at its dark, hollow eyes. It lasted only two and a half seconds before he broke away into a madden sprint, unable to explain the terrible fear that gripped him.

And he kept running, pacing into obscurity, and never once did he look back.

******

The wolf, once Eoin Neylan, kept staring at the fleeing human, furthering away into the smoke until he was gone from his sight. As he stood there, silent as a grave, Eoin had the barest flicker of sympathy for the coward.

How pathetic the human must have been, knowing that he could not fully grasp the enormity of its presence. How his life was given freely due to its mercy. Eoin would undoubtedly experience a strong impulse to run away when confronted by a monster. Then again, perhaps he wouldn't when he saw the truth within the stone.

Eoin cast his eyes down to look at his open paws, blackened and charred and pulsed alive with a veiny red. When he slowly balled them into fists, subtle sparks flickered, then finally ushered out in great plumes of fire.

The sight alone would have frightened him if Eoin had been a normal wolf. Now, he saw this as nothing but an extensive part of his will, a gift given freely from the stone.

He could have ended the bounty hunter on the spot if he so wished and exacted his revenge for the humiliation. However, the stone from the necklace had other plans, and he grudgingly was forced to let him go.

The stone flickered a light to message meaning, and Eoin nodded slightly, somewhat content for the time being, as he would definitely find the hunter later now that he had its scent. It wasn't words or mental projections of thought that conveyed an exchange of information but a strange symbiosis of emotion and moments, interactable that confluence with one another on a higher level.

Right now, just as the stone messaged again internally, he was feeling that he should focus on other matters as a monstrous roar boomed to dumbly make its presence known.

The undead wolf finally managed to push itself to its, baring its rotten teeth at him, its pale, anemic eyes evident with malice and hunger. Eoin recognized that gaze, for he, too, felt a great urge of need to consume. Not out of flesh, but the manner of arcane powers this corpse had shrouded itself with.

Though the stone had been dormant for so long and would kill for the tiniest hint of magic, it seemed hesitant to take this one. Eoin suspected the stone to be a picky eater as a youngling refrained from vegetables, and he found it odd for a being of great power.

Regardless of its distaste for the arcane of death, the stone had demanded sustenance, which Eoin was loyally obligant to follow. He raised his fists, body crouched low in a boxer stance, as the foe rushed in a straightforward charge.

It was a predictable move, Eoin thought and lacked the intelligence behind it. Still, what lacked for brains, its bulky size, height and strength merited a factor to challenge him.

While he easily torched the other undead with contemptuous ease, this one had been completely transformed to its full capability, boosted further by the foul powers of its original caster.

When it came close within range for Eoin, he was ready. The undead mammal brought its rending claws in a downward arc meant for his head, but he backstepped the blow with predictable swiftness, dodging just precariously close to his face, and then closed in the distance with a flaming right hook.

The undead mammal had been reckless with its attack, bringing its entire frame down enough for Eoin's punch to connect to its rotten face. He was rewarded with the sound of fractured bones, the fire burning some parts of its face, but his opponent kept with its feral assault, no longer feeling the sensation of pain or exhaustion.

It was a formidable opponent, but Eoin believed himself to be faster and stronger thanks to the stone's generous boon. His footwork became nearly excellent as he danced around his opponent, dodging and weaving, returning the blows with a flurry of his own. The partnership with the stone melded organically to his very being, and Eoin became more alert to his surroundings. He saw the right moment to strike, when to dodge and when to inflict the most terrible harm, even though the undead would not stay down.

From this point, the stone had grown tired of this little farce and signalled Eoin to end this quickly. He mentally complied even as he ducked another from its mighty swing. His opponent had been battered, its body marked and charred by his flaming fists in some places, but it showed no sign of slowing.

However, it seemed even more reckless than before, and Eoin could use that. The flames around his fist suddenly grew brighter and hotter as he lunged forward to an all-out attack.

If the abominable undead had any semblance to grasp its predicament, it didn't show it, for Eoin slammed his fists at the centre of its centre and burst through at the end with a sickening, spilling squelch of blood and guts.

The undead stiffened, then collapsed forward on top of Eoin. He managed to hold its weight, but to his growing annoyance, the thing stirred and grabbed him by the throat with one paw. He was up from his feet and levelled just at its height to see hate and triumph behind the gaze. He would disallow this small victory.

Paws extending just both sides of its head with palms open, Eoin unleashed the gathered flames and engulfed the undead's rotten skull entirely.

When its strength had finally been abandoned, the undead let go of its grip to collapse hard like a toppled tree and did not move, leaving its head but smouldering ruin. Able to move freely, Eoin walked towards the dead thing and studied it momentarily before stomping its brittle head, shattering it in a push of ash.

The fight had ended in mere minutes.

The stone from the necklace pulsed a pleasing light that conveyed satisfaction, and Eoin took a few steps back at his destructive work with a grin. The sight alone of his gruesome efforts would sicken the old Eoin, but he was so much better. His mind transcended beyond what bound him, and the stone had burned all the doubt and fear away as if it were a bad dream.

Eoin had been foolish about everything: his new life at the militia, his father, Sergeant Lometh and the ambition to make a name for himself. It was nothing compared to the power and the absolute wonders if the world knew its existence.

Of course, from the very beginning of his attachment to the stone, Eoin understood that the stone was not the avatar of Pirhoua, the Sun Bull, or any gods he had come to recognize.

No, it was something better, and he was but a start to an even greater plan than he could ever imagine. Or so what the stone had tasked him to entail its meaning.

With a will, Eoin gladly followed this new patron of power and turned to his next task.

However, just as the fiery wolf managed to take three steps, his foot dragged against the earthly floor. Eoin grew sluggish in movement, feeling suddenly drained as the flames that coated his body sputtered and died out. His mind wobbled to the brink of dizziness until a stab of pain hit him with so much pressure that he could no longer sense the signs from the stone.

An unwelcome sensation of exhaustion flooded his body like a disease as he misstepped his balance and tumbled flatly to the ground. His infernal shape, blessed and bestowed as an allegiance to his chosen patron, fizzled away to revert back to his original form.

Eoin was exposed, helpless. He could not move, could not rise. His eyes scanned the place to see nothing but a cloud of dust and smoke. But then, he noticed that the cloud started to fade a little, and an outline shape of a person slowly strode towards him.

"A bit overmuch, it must be said," a feminine voice from the figure said softly, almost conversationally even. As the figure approached a little closer, a flash of recognition dawned on Eoin to see the cloaked stranger he was supposed to escort.

When the smoke finally cleared to reveal the smouldering destruction, the cloaked figure stood near Eoin in her entire presentation. The woman was a tall figure, lithe and slender in form, but something about how she carried herself, the way she moved, implied to Eoin a regal bearing and willfulness in her step that grated his nerves.

The tall woman went on one knee, her furred paw, white as the icy frost of snow, extended to reach out for Eoin's necklace. The being within the red stone responded viciously to this intrusion, flashing a fiery glow so hot that a single touch from it would burn her paw away.

However, as the woman touched the red surface, nothing happened. She delicately brushed the gemstone, almost uncertain at first, then she began to fondle it with increasing reverence, leaning in closely for inspection. She seemed to bristle with undeniable delight, Eoin saw, and a burning rage filled him.

Teeth bared, he growled contemptuously at the gesture, at the impertinence of such blasphemy. Any attempt to move to strike the woman down remained fruitless, and whatever dark powers that impeded his action held him stationary in place.

He tilted his head slightly, not without some great difficulty, at the identity behind this mysterious woman. Crimson light from the stone shone to expose her features, but what he saw made his eyes bulge wide with fear.

Revealed by the emanating light from the stone, the woman brooked the hallmarks of unparalleled beauty. With pristine white fur that brushed across her sprightly face, ears as long and sharp as a knife, and eyes a startling emerald green, she was a beast similar to Eoin, but unlike him, she was a being of grand significance.

Eoin had come to struggle to accept what was in front of him, but he could no longer deny the evidence. One word spoke his mind out loud, so clearly and vividly.

Jackal.

Eoin's thoughts flooded with many questions. Questions that he couldn't speak. He'd heard the stories of their magic powers, how they weaved the winds with ease since their first inception of the world.

Then again, Eoin had dismissed these stories as nothing more than fanciful tales concocted by the wealthy and the unscrupulous to impress foolish travellers. But now, he saw one in the flesh, and he cringed visibly, feeling a shiver run down his spine as the woman bore down at him with her green, piercing gaze.

"I apologize for the discomfort," the woman said, flashing a friendly smile. But Eoin saw the cold, calculating gaze of a viper beneath the surface.

As Eoin watched, the woman grasped the stone necklace around her neck. "You will know that the effect will wear off soon," she said, her voice growing soft and quiet. For a moment, he thought she would say more, but instead, she abruptly pulled the necklace off with a yank as simple and easy as a gesture.

Power quickly drained from Eoin's body, and with that, his connection with the stone. All semblance of sanity flooded back into him in such quick succession that he wanted to scream. Only, he couldn't move his muzzle as tears fell before his eyes, his mind cracking bit by bit until the dam shattered itself to uncontain such emotional trauma.

The white jackal stood up slowly, fixing her eyes on the gem that flickered pointlessly and uselessly in protest. She ignored everything around her - the battle, Eoin, and the escorts she had used for her necromantic charms - regarding them as mere nuisances and retreated into the background quickly.

As she walked halfway to her exit, the woman came across the wolf and stopped briefly. She recognized the old wolf, Lometh, who remained pinned down by his fallen mount. She studied him as if weighing her options. Then, she reached under her cloak and fumbled out a small, ragged pouch that jingled around her clawed fingers.

The old wolf had promised her something worthwhile from this trip, and he had fulfilled it and more besides. Though she suspected, the ancient sergeant had never expected it would turn out like this.

Still, the jackal had always kept her word and was never one to break it.

"For your trouble." the jackal said softly without mirth and tossed the pouch in a perfect arc. It landed next to Lometh, where gold and silver pieces of coins spilled out before his empty, colourless eyes.

After completing the transaction, the jackal resumed her pace and silently blended into the scenery.