Unwanted and Wanting

Shnk

There's a thud and the clanging of metal as an undead knight crumbles and falls facedown in the snow. There's a slight delay as a few of the other members of the shambling horde stop their march to turn around and investigate. The torchlight shows a uniform set of smooth punctures through the chest of its already ruined and rusted armor. If they can feel dread or panic, it cannot be communicated through the frostbitten flesh that barely clings to their skulls. The knights glance around while waving their torches, looking for the perpetrator and motioning to alter the rest of their group.

As they do, a dark-cloaked figure bursts from amongst the trees and pounces on the closest knight, driving a clawed hand through its chest like the armor isn't even there. The other two react immediately, one bringing its sword down from overhead as the other wildly brandishes its torch in an attempt to either bludgeon the attacker or set them aflame. They roll out of harm's way just as the blade clangs against the fallen knight and the torch scorches what remains of the other's face. Before the pair of undead can react, the cloaked figure is upon them again. They dive at the knights, sending one tumbling onto the other with themself atop it. Their long talons repeatedly pierce through the toppled knights as they thrash and futilely try to right themselves.

The struggle doesn't last long, but it's enough to attract the attention of the rest of the horde. At least a dozen more knights with torches and blades in hand all face the figure. Standing above them is the imposing figure of a horse with flames spouting from its neck in place of a head, hoof pawing the ground. The knights incircle the cloaked figure to keep them disappearing into the woods again and, with a flare from the horse's neck and a chorus of unintelligible groans, they attack.

Although they were in varying states of decay, they were still knights, and memories of battle clung to their spirits. The figure is able to evade and counter the first few attacks with relative ease, but the knights adjust quickly. Any roll or sidestep leads them into another attack that must be evaded, and no matter how many fall, more seem to wait to join the fray. The tip of a blade slices into their cheek and catches on the hood of their cloak. With one hand they chop cleanly through the blade and, with the other, lop the offending knight's head off.

With their hood forced down, the mysterious figure is revealed. Dark feathery hair frames a sharp, feminine face with scarlet eyes peeking from between their bangs. The cut on her cheek stings as blood surges forth, but it isn't anything she wasn't used to.


"Sure it's a good idea comin' out 'ere?"

"Course it isn't, but we've got a job to do. Now hush up. We're getting close."

Two men make their way through the forest in the dead of night, their path lit by lamps. Though not too far from their village, they're in a particularly untamed part of the woods away from any road. There isn't much to be found here. Only a small clearing with a decrepit old shack. However, that shack is exactly what the duo is looking for, and the trio approaches with equal measures of dread and enthusiasm. They loiter amongst the trees muttering to themselves as they build up the courage to push onward. Finally, they begin slowly creeping towards the shack.

"Well, what now? How's we s'posed to know she's 'round?"

"You want to check?"

"Hell no."

They share a look and one of the men produces a canister that something sloshes about inside. He sets to dousing each wall of the shack with the liquid, allowing a large amount to pool in front of the door that barely clings to its hinges. Once he's done, both stand a fair bit away as the other strikes a match with a shakey hand. With a flick of his wrist, the shack erupts in a fireball. For only a moment, they stand in awe of their work before they rush back into the forest. Even the more cowardly of the pair feels his chest swell with pride.

However, they find themselves frozen with a sudden and intense fear. Their bodies simultaneously want to run from something and are unable to muster the strength to. Then, they hear it. The sound of ragged breaths and soft sobs rises above the pounding of their hearts. Its source is a petite girl standing several feet to their side whose body trembles uncontrollably, her messy hair obscuring her face. Even so, there was no doubt that this was the beast they had come to slay.

It was by pure coincidence that Morrigan hadn't gone up in flames along with what little she could call her own. She was in the habit of wandering into the village from time to time at these hours. Scavenging for scraps and whatever discarded bobbles caught her eye were part of the reason, but just being there was a delight. Sometimes, she spent hours curled up beneath a window listening to the chatter of a family having dinner and preparing for bed. Other times, she would check up on the strays littered about and make sure they were fed. All of it allowed her to be close to them in a way she couldn't be when the dark of the night would not conceal her.

She never thought anyone would come to her. She never thought they would do this.

"Why?"

Neither of the men responds. The atmosphere is too suffocating for them to breathe, let alone find the words to answer her question. All they can do is watch and listen as she repeats the question with increasing intensity and desperation.

It didn't make sense. She'd kept her distance. She'd been careful not to make herself a bother. She couldn't even bring herself to look someone straight on, so she was sure she hadn't hurt anyone. So, why was this happening? Was even existing on the outside too much to ask for?

Was her existence really so detestable?

Her tantrum reaches its climax with a shriek as she collapses to her knees, resigned to simply letting out panicked breaths as she clutches at her dusky locks. The two men also take desperate gasps for air as the pressure on them lightens, though the fear remains. The more cowardly of the pair scurries away as soon as his body allows it while the other still stands in place, shaking like a leaf.

One hand reaches into a pocket as he slowly approaches Morrigan. Burning the shack might push her to leave, but that was never their goal. No, she needed to be permanently dealt with, or else she might decide to continue haunting the village, or even take revenge. So, he draws the knife from his pocket and readies himself to finish the job.

And as he does, he's met with a teary glare.


Many of the knights find themselves crushed under the weight of Morrigan's presence, fear seeping into their souls. Those who aren't are easily dealt with now that their accomplices are demoralized. The only thing that stops her from sending the gang of knights to rest is the threat of being trampled. The headless horse stands unbowed and attempts to rally the knights as it spits jets of flame at the girl.

Instead of troubling herself with evading the flames, she slashes through them and stays on the offensive. Some of the undead knights find the will to fight again, but she barely pays them little mind. Their swings go wide and her talons make swift work of them as she puts distance between the rose and herself, even shoving a knight into its path as it charges again. Its hoof effortlessly crushed the knights and it orients itself for another charge. This time, she doesn't try to dodge. Instead, she simply stares at the charging horse with her talons at the ready. As the horse gallops forward, the blaze emitting from its neck dwindles and flesh sloughs off its body to fade into nothing. Maybe it's the single-minded desire to annihilate life. Perhaps it's just the moment. Whatever the case it continues its charge its body rapidly breaks down and fails. Once close enough, Morrigan springs into action. She rushes forward and to the side, sinking her talons deep into the horse's barrel and dragging them through until they exit its hip. Her eyes linger on the horse as its body completely falls apart and its flame flickers out.

After finishing off what remains of the knights, she takes only the smallest moment to clean herself before pulling up the hood of her cloak and disappearing between the trees again. It's just in time. Further along the path, she spots more knights. However, this group was clearly not of the undead variety. The style of their armor is different and more or less in good condition. They also lacked any obvious signs of decay and she doubted that the undead would bother carrying their wounded. If those observations weren't convincing enough, then the woman who leads is undeniable proof. A well-dressed Lionkin woman with lustrous hair stands at the head of the group, a spear in hand. Morrigan has to force herself to avert her gaze and she recedes deeper into the brush.

As the group draws closer, they stop for a moment and take note of the fallen undead. Some guards share worried looks, wondering if worse creatures than the undead might be waiting to ambush them. In contrast, the woman leading them only gives a few curious glances before continuing on.

"Ha! Looks like someone saved me some trouble. Come on then, let's get your friends back."

And with that, they're off again. Morrigan listens to the sound of their steps fading into the distance before moving to follow from the safety of the trees. This was what she'd come for, after all. Even if it felt futile, she hoped to meet people.

If she could prove she was useful, then maybe she could at least be tolerable.

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Pub: 14 Aug 2024 00:01 UTC

Edit: 14 Aug 2024 04:11 UTC

Views: 235