Stomping and clambering about, the intertwined passage of the elder trees’ roots force me to slow down. Gasping for breath, each gulp of air was finally what my lungs needed to calm down. Everything is still shaking, the world tilting and spinning about. I was back at the patch where I left my buckets. The saltwater bucket was flopping about- reminding me that the unattended salmon inside were running out of time.
This was supposed to be a sneaky offering for the nearby village. They were filled with medics, but hardly any fishers or farmers. Out of all of them, there was 1 hunter for every 4 or 5 healers. Those odds made it a constant struggle for food and resources. Outsourcing it was out of the question; neighboring villages charged a lot for their catches. So, in the quietest parts of the evening, when no babies could be heard crying, I’d slip in the fish I could catch for each household. It was hard work, but if there’s any good to this form, it’d be the art of the hunt. Rather, the instinct of it all. Hunting sucks for all sorts of reasons. The mosquitos, the bears, the showers afterwards. However, if there was one thing that did make it worth it, it would be knocking at the windowsills of those houses to see the villagers' eyes shine and glow with glee. They would look around, wondering where the food came from, but I was satisfied knowing they didn’t know. It was better that way. Who knows what would happen if they did.
Gripping the handles of the fresh and saltwater buckets with my hands, I begin to walk to the village. It was more to the east of where the fallen one had impacted, so all it was going to take was retracing my steps. Following the dirt road, my mind lulls back into inner monologuing. If I walk to the village, it should take me no more than five minutes to do so. If I were in my human form, it would have taken 30. It pays off to be a 9’2” behemoth. At least my legs are long enough for this kind of walk. Nothing compared to the sheer sprint these muscles can do; clearing the hills in a matter of 2 minutes nonstop was an achievement in itself! It was less like running and more like gliding high in the sky. It was exhilarating, but so straining. Based on the way my hamstrings were creaking, there was no doubt in my mind that it’ll come back the next evening to haunt. The only reason that this happened was because of the fallen one! It was a fight or flight situation- there was a ball of fire and an innate fear of extinction! There’s nothing wrong with trying to prevent it- it was the right thing to do. Once that was out of the way, there was nothing else to do. Right?
…
No. No, that doesn’t make sense. Why would I leave them behind? They were obviously injured- but what if they could hurt me? They did come from the sky- who knows what they could have done! The pinkness could have been a distraction for all I knew. Or maybe the pink was just because they really liked pink. But then again, they did resemble a siren. Who knows what kind of wavelengths they could have hit! Hypnotism? Disorientation? Mind control? My fears were completely justifiable! But… maybe they were just as terrified, too. Crashing here, breaking the troposphere in the middle of it, and having to familiarize a foreign world all over again. What could I have done? Say ‘hello’, or ‘how are you’? Yeah, right. As if a big ball of fur and claws with sharp rows of teeth could ever be considered friendly to an outsider. They would have fought first, asked questions later. Then again, I do out-armor them, what with the helmet and chestplate. Yet… what kind of technology might they have? Or is their skin acidic? Can it corrode my plates of steel like nothing?- Pull yourself together, Vortex! You can’t afford to overthink this. What’s been done has been done. You saw someone in danger, and you helped them. They can help themselves after that. The only reason you saved them was because you could; who else would have a warm fireproof cloa-
…
Where is my cloak?
Circling round and round, all I could find behind me was my own fluffy lion’s tail. There’s no way that this is happening. The cloak was tailored directly from and by a fire faerie’s hair! That cloak could withstand all the possible pressure, all the tears in the world, so how did this happen?! Oh no, Priestess is going to strangle me if she finds out (more or less lecturing me about responsibility for an hour, but that feels the same). Okay, calm down. Focus. When was the last time you had it? The impact? Huh. It might have had limits to how far it could protect after all. Quickly settling down the buckets once more, I undo the clip from the front of the remaining cloak, turning to face the free space from my visor. Lifting the visor up momentarily, I inspect the cloth carefully. There are no signs of singing from the fire. Strangely enough, it looks more close to it being torn off than being burnt to a crisp. There’s no way that could be the case. How does a fire faerie, the very definition of a juxtaposition, have their magic torn asunder? The fallen one is a force to be reckoned with, alright. No matter- I can simply trace back to where the cloak is in case of another fire emergency.
What I didn’t expect was for that fire emergency to be RIGHT NOW!
In the near distance, countless waves of soot and smoke took flight into the night air, expanding outwards to affect the forest next to the village. Screaming and crying were all that I picked up with my ears; pleas to “save my baby!” and “my grandfather is still in there!” echo and reverb, rattling my mind. This is no good. The village is in trouble, and all I have are my buckets. They aren’t enough to take down the raging embers consuming the concrete. I still have enough of a cloak to act as a small shield; it’ll have to do! I was ready to throw my body into danger, but doubt continued to plague my mind. This moon awakened sharp, pearly ivory teeth that could tear into squishy flesh in even the most wimpy bites. The dirt-dragged nails I call my claws could pass on the curse as well. One wrong move, and I’d be dead in an instant. Shaking my head until the rattling of the helmet got through to my brain, my resolve hardented. I have to try. There are people in danger, and damned if I’ll let them perish.
“AYÚDAME!! POR FAVOR, AYUDAME!” was the first thing uttered by an escaped villager. The lady was on the older side, an abuela in what appears to be her 60s. The lady was quivering, begging others in Spanish to find her grandchildren, but falling on rushing deaf ears. Everyone was occupied tending to immediate gashes, burns, any possible wound that could get infected. Her eyes were bleary red from crying; that’s when she saw me. She didn’t seem to register the fact that I am an oversized dog because the rush towards me was certain. Meeting her halfway, I steady her from falling forward. “Qué está pasando?!”stumbled out of my mouth. My Spanish-speaking wasn’t the best despite being Hispanic, but it gets me by in times like these. The lady’s eyes lit up, possibly in hope that someone did speak her tongue. “Mi-mis bebes!! Mis pobres hijos, están atascados en mi casa! ¡Todos están en el incendio- todo! Ayúdame, por favor!!”
Biting both of the handles into my mouth, I galloped to the village, taking to the main streets and dashing from house to house. The vague cries of young children grasp my long fennec-like ears, yanking myself to the right direction. The aforementioned house was absolutely ablaze; from the looks of it, this might have been the first one that was set on fire. Backing up a few steps, my hind legs gear up for the lunge of my life. Crashing inside, the burnt wood clambers and clashes to the ground. Tuning my ears back to the children’s cries, my limbs automatically navigate through the danger to bust into the right room. They were huddled in the corner, squirming away from the heat of the flames as far as possible. I bark out, as if to say ‘help is here!’, hacking up a lung from letting more of the smog invade my alveoli. Even without my fireproof cloak, the adrenaline running through my veins renders me temporarily invincible as I scoop up the three of them out of the way. Holding them close to my torso, I bash my helmet through the wood. My instincts manage to get all four of us out of the house in one piece.
The next house, however, had a pterodactyl screech for a rescue come out. From the sound of it, it was a baby crying out for its parents, inhaling smog in the process. Setting the children down quickly, I tell all three of them to stay where they are, and bash into another rotting house. The screeching erupts again, guiding my body to worm in the westward side of the home to find the child in its nursery. There was too much smog filling the room, almost drowning all possible senses I used. Despite the ventilation in my helmet being poor, it did keep a lot of the smog out, allowing me to stay conscious; soon, I reach down in the crib, gently scooping the baby up. It continued to tear its tiny throat out crying, wriggling in my grasp. Pressing it gently on to my chest fluff to offer what possible protection from the smog. Storming out of the burning house, I find the kids right where I had left them, holding one another for a sense of safety.
“Come on! We’ve gotta get you to your parents,” my gruff voice comes out, an octave or so lower. They stiffen up for a moment, but slightly nod their heads. I kneel back down to let them grab on to my back. “Hold on tight- I don’t want to lose any of you. Give me your little sister.” The little sister in question was the first baby rescued for the grandmother. The older sibling hands her over to my open left hand, gently placing her on the other side of my pec.
One house after another, the rescue for the families trapped or fainted by the smog are carried out to safety. It’s a miracle my fur didn’t singe and catch fire from the chaos of it all. There were orders, coordination, along with the first response administered to the victims. Each healer carried countless children to the outskirts of the village, where they were safe from the burning everything. Following the pack, I set down an elderly couple, a few siblings, and the two babies down from my grasp. It was a challenge to not whimper or yelp from the fur tugging, but I knew they were just as rattled up as I was. The baby was returned to the grandmother’s family, their stumbling ‘thank you’s overwhelming my ears. A few of the saved kids ran back to hug my legs, patting me with their uncoordinated child-like hands. For a moment, it almost felt like they were okay that a big beast saved their life. Like if I wasn’t going to kill and eat them…
“Gracias, gracias, gracias dio. Eres una bendición,” the grandmother babbles out, hardly seeing through her tears. I hand over the second baby to one of the medics, happy to be of help.
Unfortunately, that’s when someone realizes what’s going on and screams.
“You! You were the one that caused the fires, weren’t you!?”
Taken aback, I stumble away from the crowd, unsure how to respond. Of course I didn’t set the fires! I was nowhere near the village when it happened. There’s no possible way- I can’t handle a little matchstick’s heat to begin with! The families being treated at the outskirt’s improvised medic station stare on, some with confusion, others with anger. This is no good; coming here was a risk on its own. One unwritten rule in the Beastly Barrier is not to speak to the nearby villagers- it risks the existence of the hub. What could I possibly say to escape these accusations?! Wringing my mouth open, I utter out a “no, I- I didn’t-” before a booming voice cuts the atmosphere, a tiny hand dragging me by my finger to a nearby station.
“YOU! You’re bleeding out all over from your legs covered in glass wounds. Sit still and let me do my job.” Taking a quick glimpse at my legs, I realize that the doctor is right; thankfully I’m a slow bleeder! Guess I didn’t notice because of all the adrenaline. It seems to matter to her little, as she gets to work on grabbing the glass shards out with the forceps. She was a petite one- no taller than a meter and a half in height. Her redhead set of braids were pushed up into a bun, the net keeping it there. She wore thin, circular glasses, having an oddly sharp set of yellow eyes (hazel?) focusing on the cuts. Her dark complexion is sharply contrasted by the bright blue scrubs she’s wearing. Protects herself from any blood by the looks of the stains. Bit by bit, she removes the large ones from my skin, leaving me hissing from the movements. An occasional ‘stay still!’ command sternly sets me still.
“What are you doing, Mekra?! You’re treating an actual MONSTER!” the accuser shouts, their shoulders shaking. They’re this big, bulky form with a few scars showing on their face. The shininess from the moonlight hitting their head shows their baldness, a small goatee being the only patch of hair on their face.
They seem to be the only warrior in the village- possibly a defender?
“Will you shut your trap for a second? I’m trying to focus! Monster or human, our duty as medics is to treat anyone, regardless of who they are,” she retorts back, outstretching her arm to grab the gauze from the medic box. She made quicker work of my wounds than I thought; perhaps she’s one of the leading mentors in this village? Nevertheless, she places the patches on the spots where they were most exposed, bandaging up both of my legs with practiced ease. Maybe not ease, seeing as how there’s still an ongoing fire in the village.
“Who cares if this outsider has their little feelings hurt over some cuts? Why are they here in our village?!”
The warrior keeps on pushing for answers, yet I don’t have them. The cuts? I thought any cuts on the legs were up for infection given where we’re at. Wet clumpy grass and dirt don’t exactly mix well on the skin… “GRAAAGH!” shredded through and out of my throat; a particular shard of almost microscopic glass is pulled out from my thighs. The forceps’s cold, metallic tips jabbed at my flesh to get that one out. Working faster than the blood could spill out, the one called Mekra stuffs some green herbal paste and slaps gauze to slow it down.
“Easy on the patient! We’re trying to save them, not kill ‘em even more,” a medic says, attempting to lighten the situation up. They have a red cross on their shirt, some long blue sleeves for his shirt, and long, baggy white pants. Their hair was also pulled back, dirty blonde locks pulled out of the way. They were much lighter in skin tone compared to mine, the combination of the moon light and fire light from behind him setting a sharp glow.
“Sometimes you have to stab to save a life, Miguel,” she absentmindedly says back. ‘A weird motto,’ I thought to myself, ‘but to an extent, she’s right.’
“Hey Ravat! What did I just say?! Stop worrying about the knight and get back to your tent!” Based on where she’s looking, the big bald warrior was Ravat. Mekra wasn’t fooling around; before I knew it, she’s checking my arms in case there were any burn marks. “Miraculously, your arms didn’t catch any burns or splinters. Just exactly who are you, and where did you come from?” I didn’t have enough time to give her an answer because the one named Ravat interjects once more- literally. He squeezes himself in between the space of my and Mekra’s personal space. “Who’s to say they’re not the one who started the fire?!” Good lord, it’s one accusation after another. Can they please let me speak before they shove words in my gullet!? I turn my head to face them directly, a low growl rumbling. Standing back up, I unfold myself to show him that his aggression needs to be checked. While he is two meters tall, give or take, I still outdo him by a near good extra meter (0.8, specifically).
“Why in the world would I do that if I just saved three different families from it?!” He appeared to be taken aback, attempting to toughen his resolve once more by squaring his shoulders. He shouts back with, “Obviously so you could play Mr. Hero and swoop in to save the day! ‘Whoo’ shouts the village, ‘you saved us’ is the last thing they’d ever say before you force them to constantly give and give back to you for it!” Where are these outrageous ideas coming from?! I’m not wearing anything that could be indicative of having ANY sort of pyrotechnical skills! Not even a gas mask- “Ravat, if you haven’t noticed, there is STILL a blazing fire that is STILL trying to KILL us! Get back to water duty and let me handle this, you oversized dunion!” Mekra shouts out before being interrupted by a deafening whiz of fire aimed at the medical supplies. Noticing it in time, I jump up far enough to block the fireball by stretching the fire blankets, breaking and dissolving it. That moment felt similar to one of those fake stories your friends would tell you to hype themselves up. Alas, the impact was incredibly real, and incredibly painful. Luckily, my feet hit the ground rather than any other possible body part, but the stumble does a number to my knees. Mental note to self: find and ask the blacksmith to make armored kneepads. Clambering back up, my eyes dart around to find the source for the fireball. Nothing but smog as far as I can see from the stations set up. But… wait… this smog is different. It isn’t waving and flying off to the sky like dying flames at all. There was a dance to them; some sort of sentient pattern to their movements. I’ve seen this before. But I had only thought of this shadowed smoke to live in the Misty Outskirts. “That demon,” escapes from my mouth. “That demon is here. And it’s out for blood.”
Suddenly, my nose is overwhelmed with various smells, shortly realizing that it’s because many of the medics surrounded me to check if I was okay. Lifting me up off the ground was a three person job, but their willpower was stronger than my weight. The brute from earlier is not pleased at this new information. “Demon? Oh great, just great. DEMONS?! How do you know this- out of ALL things we had to worry about, it turned out to be a DEMON?” Ravat rambles on about. “That’s it-” he adds, “- the only way you’d know about this is if you were a warlock. I’m having NO MORE of this respectable bulls-”
A̰̮ͯ̐̒͐ͧ̄͋͟A͈̲ͬ͆A͕̫͈͕ͤ̅̀̈̅͘͟A̳͙̙̼̩͚ͤ̎͋̈͛ͫͮ͋͌Ạ̡͆́́̈Ã̤̦̙̰̰͕̌̆ͬ̍ͣ̓̎͞͞Å̭͍̘̻̩̩ͨ̉͋̈́͂̔̊A̻̠̞̫̜͕̯͊͋̉̒̔̚͟A̭̯͖͖͂̌̓̒A͙͍̺ͪͫ̅͛͋̈͗̚͞Â̡̩͚̜̺̞̦͎̯̱̓̀̄͒̕!̯͎͚͉̜̫̋͂ͫ̔ͪ̎ͧ
This time, the shrieking came from the far off distance, around the same direction where the fireball was seen. All of us turned our heads to the source. The scream was followed up by an eerie, power-drunk laughter, taunting all of us. I couldn’t get a good look at the pillager in question, but there were flickers of green in the sky that undoubtedly told me all I needed to know. The smog was here simply to take advantage of the chaos; still, it was not the chaos sower. There were still people rushing out of the village, coughing and screaming to watch out for ‘his evil eyes’. Taking a deep whiff in, my nose takes in all life forms around me. As if the world was slowed down, I could smell burning clothes… singed skin… smoky leather… strong cigarette ash…
There!
“It’s him! The Headless Horseman!” I shout, my lungs accidentally taking in another whiff of ash and smoke, coughing from it. I clear my throat out just in time, as the big horseman makes his grandiose introduction, cackling to the night sky.
“Ah, so I have fans out here!! Even on the dirt road, my name squeals out like a freshly chopped pig.” So it was him. I’d know the lack of brains- head - anywhere. Donning his trusty, heinous steed, he wore his signature dark gray leather vest. Draped above it was a tan poncho, faint dyed red decorations coloring the cloth. From the looks of it, this might have belonged to him when he was still alive. More old, yet indestructible leather armor plated his body- from his shoulderpads, to his scratched and scathed boots. Finally, lying underneath his armpit laid his signature pumpkin head; you could practically feel the evil from his eyes alone. The inside burned an eerie, unnatural green fire than any old warm autumn orange candle. Thanks to his undead nature, the pumpkin head was reanimated to replace his own human one. I can’t remember if it was because his past life had his brains blown out from a cannonball during a war. It could have also been the old Irish fairy tale of him as a demonic fae inhabiting the land as a reminder of heinous evil in all of us.
“Don’t assume you’re the only one running this show, brother,” a smug, condescending voice spoke out. Floating to be beside the Horseman was… oh no. Come on- when I make jokes, they’re not meant to be taken seriously. Is that SERIOUSLY a Horseless Headman!? The floating brains happened to be a head as well, and if it’s any indication, it’s not Headman’s old one. Staring down at us with a sneer, this man gripped a Cuban cigar between his yellow, rotting teeth. His voice was also scraggly, gruff, but still slightly effeminate. What I can only make out to be brown hair with silver threads slicked back, a natural look on an already freaky situation. Several wrinkles hung on his face, some accentuating the skull underneath. His appearance vaguely reminds me of an old Cuban grandfather- the kind that will lecture you about not being machismo enough to get into a girl's pants. I never really liked those dads…
“What do you want from us!?” Mekra shouts, a large amputation saw in her hands. Where did she get that so fast??
The headman scoffs, rolling his dead olive eyes before taunting with, “Oh, please, don’t get ahead of yourself honey. What are you gonna do, chop our heads off?” That alone got the two laughing, intentionally making the villagers around them more and more pissed by the second. Internally, I did think it was a little bit funny, but a merciless killer wouldn’t get a chuckle out of me. Not even a pity one. Mekra grits her teeth, tightening her hold on the saw. This isn’t good- they haven’t made any moves to actively attack the villagers. Anything involving taunting with these two can only mean one thing. “Why are you here?!” I shout, the armor muffling my full voice. “You can’t simply be looking to loot and pillage- you would have done away with everyone here right now!” I move my body in front of Mekra, guarding her form. “Answer me!” Wincing slightly, the pain from the burns are starting to catch up to me. While it doesn’t look like it on the surface, some of my skin and fur was burned off from taking the brunt of the fireball. Whatever I do, I cannot afford to show weakness or an opening for these horrible men.
“Wow, what an insightful little one. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re a fan of me and my brother’s work!”
“Fat chance! I despise men like you, piercing fear into the hearts of the innocent to get what you want!” It was hard not to snarl viciously at these pillagers, but what’s important is to keep my cool. Losing my temper would mean risking losing myself more to the beast inside me. Every time I lost control of my emotions, I would black out and wake up with some form of blood on my hands. Priestess would assure me that the blood came from an elderly deer, but I know better than to believe all of that. No more blood shall stain my hands tonight; the bleeding from the elderly and children at the hands of these two ends HERE.
Unsheathing my claws from both the ones on my hands and gauntlets, I point at the Headless Horseman’s chest. “What are you hiding!? Have you caught a villager and are just hiding the fact for some ransom deal??” The whispers from the villagers pump it up to a full on scatter of speculation. Things like “did we miscount!?”, “where’s my baby?”, and “who could he possibly have?!” shrill inside my ears. Man, if there’s one more downside to this form, it’s that the super hearing makes it difficult to block out the chismoso types. Focusing back on the two, I see their haunting bright green flames flicker and dance, practically flaring up to the sky when the two burst back into their annoying cackle. Once the flames cool down, my stomach drops down low.
No. No, it can’t be. That’s-
“THE FALLEN!!” my hackles rise without my permission, every vein in my body pounding with coursing blood. They don’t look good; they’ve got a sword right to their throat, eyes glossed over with tears, trying to wiggle away to freedom.
“Oh? You two are good friends, then.” the Headless Horseman remarks, that stupid, toothy, cocky smile growing larger on the gourd. “How wonderful.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls- I come to you for a special announcement! I’ll offer you- a town full of medics, the poor souls who hardly know how to hunt or fish- a free community lesson! Gutting, cleaning, and cutting a catch to prepare for the reckoning! Our guest? A special little fish that’s not only the catch of the day- it’s one for the centuries!!”
“NOOOOOOO!!!” They let out a shrill scream, and attempt to make a getaway, but the Horseman quickly grabs them and throws them to the ground. They desperately tried to shove him off, but Horseman’s strength was inhuman. “HELP!!! PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME!!! I DON’T WANNA DIE!!!” They squirm helplessly, trying to get away, but the Horseman’s vice grip keeps them from budging an inch. They’re screaming, tears streaking down their face. A spinal fin is raised in an attempt to scare off their attacker; flailing hands and gnashing teeth attempt to scratch and bite as well. But not even a dent was made in the Horseman’s armor.
“Ah ah ah- fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I’ve already seen that old trick, and there’s nothing you can do to scare a soul like mine. Be a good dead dear and stay still!”
The village is in a shrieking uproar, families shielding their children’s faces from the horror in front of them. “This can’t be happening, right?” I heard vaguely. “Someone, do something!” “But what can we do? We move, and we’re all dead! Nobody can stop that monster from killing whatever that THING is!” I couldn’t recognize the voices. My eyes were tunnel visioning; no, no! I can’t lose control here!! I need to stop him without stooping low to the animal inside of me! But nothing could stop the motion of the bipedal to quadruple; the low growl vibrating in my throat, humming vaguely from the neck parts of the helmet. Before I knew it, I could only taste leather and some form of iron.
Coming back to my consciousness, the vague whinnies of a beaten horse reach my brain. I… I bit the horse? The world keeps tilting up and down so fast. Where am I?! Where did I bite!? I need to get off of the horse, and NOW. Their hooves could do massive damage not only to my bones, but the fallen one’s! Spitting the leg out, I take the opportunity to swipe at the horse’s neck. Unfortunately, I forgot that my horses can kick in the front as well (just not as powerful as the back), so the wind gets knocked out of me and then some more. Wheezing for air, my handpaws stand their ground, keeping my posture upright. Looking forward, I see that the Horseman is thrown off by my attempted equine slaughter, charging head-first to his sight. Literally! My helmet did enough damage to knock him away from the fallen one, but the Headman zooms into the scene to puff out a fat smoke of substitute smokescreen. Coughing and hacking, I make a mental note to rip that cancerous stick away from the man’s mouth; it’ll do all of us good.
“You… dumb dog! YOU UTTER MUTT! How DARE you challenge my power-” the rider yells out, moving to grab at his sword. However, all he grabbed was air, visibly confused question marks popping left and right of him. “Wha- where- Headman!!” The Headman looked like he’d seen a ghost scarier than him, skin turned downright moonlight pale. “Th-the dog…!”
There, right in between my feet, laid the menacing murderer’s own sword- it radiated some sort of neutral power. The jagged curled teeth on one side of the sword were still there, its steel reflecting back at my armor. Before, it had glowed the same green as that man did. But now… it appears to be blank. As if waiting for someone to take grasp of it and fill in the blanks! Thinking quickly, my left paw swipes at the base of the sword, holding it tightly. Pointing straight at him, I bark at what I do best: challenging other’s abilities. “You want it back!? You’ll have to TAKE IT!” Taking a sharp turn away, I dash with three legs to the top of the hill that acted as a barricade for the village’s left side. The plan now was to divert the Horseman as far away from the village as possible; that way, they’ll have enough time to evacuate, AND fight the fires. This way, the fallen one stays safe as well.
“I’ll make you pay with your LIFE!” Off in the distance, the whinney of his horse reminds me that this divergence would be a battle between hooves and paws. I don’t like my odds, but I’ll have to outsmart that dumb horse if I want to survive. Climbing to the top of the steep hill, I await that man’s flying steed to catch up to me, panting for breath. Just a little closer, and…
“Who are you? You’re not the Horseman.”