The wilderness pressed in around him, brittle and black under a sliver of moon. The cold gnawed, a familiar ache now overshadowed by the predatory hum vibrating through his newly heightened senses. He moved like a shadow given form through the skeletal forest, the void inside still howling for the blood denied back at the firelight trap. Every crack of twig underfoot, every rustle of wind through dead leaves, registered with jarring clarity, amplified beyond human range.
He paused, head tilted, catching something dissonant beneath the natural sounds of the woods. A faint, rhythmic friction – leather on leather, muffled but distinct. Then, the almost inaudible scuff of multiple boots moving with practiced care on the frozen earth, too coordinated for scavengers. Further off, the metallic clink of gear settling, quickly muffled. The faint, sharp scent of oiled steel and old sweat drifted on the frigid air, overlaid with the acrid tang of fear.
Not dregs. Something else. Hunters.
He melted behind the thick trunk of a lightning-scarred oak, senses straining, mapping the sounds and scents. They weren't clustered. Spread out. A wide perimeter, moving inward, methodically sweeping the woods. Their gear, what little he could glimpse—worn leather patched with cruder materials, blades nicked, bows functional but clearly old—looked battered, suggesting men driven by desperation rather than privilege. He counted the distinct patterns of movement, the subtle shifts in weight, the overlapping traces of scent – woodsmoke, steel, sweat, fear. More than five. Far more. A dozen? Maybe more. The scale of it sent a cold prickle down his spine, momentarily silencing the hunger. This wasn't a patrol stumbling upon him. This was a dedicated hunt. Disciplined... Trained. What did she offer them to face something like me? Supplies? Protection? Or did she just break them long ago?
Sent by her. The conclusion felt cold and certain, pieced together from the timing, the location, the sheer capability aimed directly at him.
A grim smile, sharp and humourless, touched Nikolai's lips. The old caution whispered, urging retreat, evasion. But the raw power thrumming beneath his skin, the memory of the scavengers falling like brittle twigs, snarled back. Good. Let them come.
No hiding. No running. Only the hunt.
He scanned the terrain ahead—a narrow gully choked with deadfall between split rocks offered shadows, choke points. Moonlight fractured into blades through the skeletal canopy. Perfect ground. He moved towards it, sinking low, still as the stones, the predatory hum intensifying, hunger coiling tight within him.
First blood will be mine.
The first hunter passed close, unaware, a bow slung across his back, knife gleaming at his hip. He moved with the quiet confidence of a man who believed himself the predator.
Now.
Nikolai exploded from the shadows, a sudden burst of speed that seemed to surprise even himself. His hand clamped over the man's mouth before any sound could escape, the rough texture of stubble scraping his palm. He dragged him backward into the deepest shadow between two gnarled roots. The hunter struggled—a brief, panicked contortion, stronger than the scavengers—but Nikolai's other hand found his throat, fingers digging in with startling, unnatural strength. There was a sickening crunch, felt more than heard, vibrating up Nikolai's arm. The tension went out of the body instantly. The bow fell with a muffled thud against the frosted earth.
One.
Nikolai let the corpse slump, melting back behind the oak, his own heart hammering with a strange mix of adrenaline and disorientation from the speed , before the man's partner, moving ten paces behind, could have registered more than a flicker of movement.
He waited, senses sharp. The second hunter paused, head cocked, listening. A low murmur, questioning the silence. He took a hesitant step towards the shadows where his partner had vanished, hand moving towards his blade.
Too late.
Nikolai darted from the side, a disorienting rush rather than controlled grace. He slammed his shoulder into the hunter's side, driving him off balance against a rough tree trunk, the impact jarring through his own bones. The man grunted, twisting, trying to bring a knife up. Nikolai reacted purely on instinct, his hand shooting out, fingers finding the base of the skull. A brutal twist. Another crack, sharp and final in the frozen air.
Two.
This time, there was a reaction. A sharp hiss from further down the line. The coordinated sweep faltered. Voices murmured, low and urgent, laced with a rising tremor of fear Nikolai could almost taste. The sounds of movement became less cautious, more directed. They knew something was wrong.
Good. Come find me.
They tried to regroup. A voice, tight with command but edged with fear, cut through the night: "Spread out! She wants him dead! The reward's the same!" Pairs formed, moving more cautiously now, back-to-back. Lanterns flickered to life, casting jerky circles of yellow light that only deepened the surrounding shadows, making the darkness seem alive.
Fools. Light just paints targets.
Nikolai circled them, a phantom in the oppressive dark, moving with uncanny quickness between the pools of shadow. He used the trees, the rocks, the uneven, root-snarled ground, forcing them to constantly turn, unsure where the threat lay. An arrow hissed past his ear, close enough to feel the air stir. Another grazed his arm, a brief flare of pain before the blood sealed almost instantly, leaving only a faint sting and torn cloth. The lanterns cast harsh, dancing shadows—perfect cover for the thing stalking them. He let their own attempts at caution expose them.
Three fell quickly, caught from behind as they focused too hard on the shadows ahead. A knife dragged across an exposed throat, silencing a warning cry with a wet gurgle. Four went down with a choked gasp, pulled into a thicket of brittle, thorny bushes no one had thought to check. Five stumbled back from his partner's suddenly lifeless body, swinging his sword wildly, only to have Nikolai dart inside the clumsy arc and shatter his ribs with a blow that caved armor into flesh, the sickening crunch echoing faintly. Each kill demanded focus, a brutal dance of reaction and instinct, fueling a cold, rising confidence within him.
The hunters broke.
The disciplined net dissolved into panicked individuals. The professional coordination frayed into desperate survival instincts.Some fired wild arrows into the darkness, loosing shafts at imagined movements in the rustling leaves. Others spun in place, brandishing blades at phantoms born of fear and flickering lantern light. Their shouts turned from commands to ragged cries, thin threads of terror in the vast silence.
Nikolai watched them scatter, a cold predator assessing panicked prey. Then he began to pick them off, one by one. Not always cleanly; sometimes needing to rely on sheer resilience to absorb a glancing blow that sent fire down his side , or recover from a stumble on the treacherous, ice-slick ground. Swift. Merciless. Efficient.
Six collapsed clutching his chest, unsure what had even hit him in the confusion. Seven screamed as he was dragged backward into the undergrowth by an unseen force, the sound abruptly cut off. Eight managed to turn and fire an arrow that thudded into Nikolai's shoulder, the impact staggering him for a split second, a jolt of agony quickly swallowed by adrenaline , before his hands closed around the hunter's neck from behind. He ripped the shaft out later, the wound already knitting closed, leaving a deep ache.
Blood steamed on the frost. The night drank it greedily, the coppery scent thick enough to taste, stoking the embers of the hunger Nikolai kept ruthlessly banked.
One pair, braver or perhaps just more terrified than the rest, managed to stand back-to-back near a cluster of jagged boulders, panting heavily, short swords held ready, eyes darting wildly into the oppressive darkness. Their breath plumed white, ragged clouds in the moonlight.
Better. Still useless.
Nikolai observed them from the low-hanging branch of an ancient pine, the rough bark cold beneath his grip. He dropped silently, landing behind them with a soft thud that barely disturbed the frosted leaves. One hunter spun at the sound—managing to get his blade up in a clumsy guard. Nikolai drove his shoulder hard into the man's gut, ignoring the scrape of steel against his side , lifting him bodily off the ground like a child's doll, and hurled him with contemptuous ease against the unforgiving trunk of a nearby tree. The crack of breaking bone echoed loud enough to snap the other's nerve completely.
The second man didn't even try to fight. He turned to flee, scrambling over the ice-covered rocks.
Nikolai was on him before he took two steps, a burst of speed fueled by predatory instinct. A hand tangled brutally in his hair, yanking his head back. The hunter's skull met the sharp edge of a granite boulder with a wet, hollow thump that made Nikolai's teeth ache.
Nine. Ten.
Only two remained now. Somewhere deeper in the woods, one sprinted blindly, crashing through underbrush, abandoning everything in sheer terror.
Nikolai let him go. A messenger was useful.
The last—the leader, judging by the slightly better quality of his worn leather armor and the steadiness, albeit terrified, in his stance—stood firm near the gully where it began. Bow discarded, short sword drawn. Blood streaked his face, whether his own or from his fallen comrades, it hardly mattered now. His eyes, wide with a terror that couldn't quite extinguish a kernel of hard defiance, fixed on Nikolai as he emerged from the shadows.
"Monster!" the man spat, the word tight with fear and hatred. "She promised us a reward!"
Nikolai tilted his head, observing the man with a detached curiosity, the thrill of the hunt still singing in his veins. "You came to kill me," he stated, his voice rough from disuse and the night's exertions.
The leader didn't waste breath on a reply. He lunged, a desperate, final attack, feinting low before thrusting high.
Nikolai reacted instinctively, almost surprised by the feint, catching the blade mid-swing, fingers closing around the cold steel. Heat sizzled instantly against his palm, flesh smoking and burning—the pain sharp, immediate, agonizing, a stark contrast to the dull aches he'd ignored. The smell of his own scorched skin filled his nostrils. With a low growl that was more animal than human, he wrenched the sword aside, the metal groaning in protest, and drove his knee sharply into the man's exposed ribs. The hunter collapsed, air exploding from his lungs in a pained gasp, the sword falling from numb fingers.
Nikolai knelt beside the gasping man, grabbed him roughly by the collar, and dragged his face close.
"Tell her," he whispered into the man's ear, breath steaming in the frigid air, the predatory hum vibrating in his voice. "Tell your mistress—I'm coming."
He flung the hunter aside like broken meat, leaving him wheezing and clutching his side, but alive.
Eleven.
The woods fell utterly silent, save for the dripping of blood onto frost and the leader's ragged gasps.
Only Nikolai's breathing—heavy, ragged, yet somehow triumphant—filled the empty night. He stood alone amid the blood-spattered frost and cooling bodies, heart hammering a fierce rhythm against his ribs, the void within roaring with a savage, terrible satisfaction.
Victorious.
Undefeated.
Invincible.