Demon Ridden Ch. 01: Wrath

CW: violence, gore (not in any sexual context)

With the strange magic of bad nights, I tossed and turned for what felt like hours and still found morning arriving far too soon. Dawn sunlight streamed through the shutters' many cracks, and some sadist had positioned the bed so that the light would be right in a sleeper's eyes.

I threw an arm over my eyes and considered rejecting the morning and going back to sleep. I was usually a morning person, but my dreams last night must have knocked me for more of a loop than I thought.

But I was stiff and sore from sleeping on a cheap bed with no pillow, and as soon as my stomach realized I was awake it started demanding food as if I hadn't eaten for a week. More rest was not in the cards.

I dressed slowly, torn between hunger and lethargy. There was no need for armor, thankfully--Karthaven was pretty safe for one of the Free Cities-- so it didn't take long. Sturdy canvas leggings, just tight enough not to interfere with my movements, and a pair of worn leather riding boots took care of my lower body. I hesitated for a moment, then decided not to bother wrapping my breasts today. I wasn't particularly well-favored in that area to begin with, and I wasn't planning on anything strenuous. A dark red tunic and matching scarf completed the ensemble, and I stumbled blearily downstairs.

First order of business, breakfast. After that, I needed to find a new job--no one had been paying me to dig through Frostmorn Cave, and my funds were starting to run low. But I suppose it could be worse. I could be trapped someplace nice and civilized, where I'd be lucky to find work as a guard. In the Free Cities, though, there was always someone in need of a little violent problem-solving.

I waved at the serving girl and held up two fingers to ask for a double portion. Limited funds or not, I was starving.

#

It wasn't a very glamourous task. "Get my cow back from the thieves who stole it" wasn't exactly fodder for song and verse, but after my failed expedition I wasn't in a position to be picky. And hey, I wasn't in charge of how other people spent their money. If some rich landowner really wanted to throw away two hundred gold for someone to rescue her prize stud, I might as well be there to catch it.

Besides, the scenery was worth it.

"Oh, but you simply must find him," Simone dvaLena was pleading, her hands fluttering nervously. "He's ever so delicate."

The rancher was tall and slender, with jet-black hair and skin so pale I suspected she had some ancestors in the Dirge Empire. Lovely green eyes and sharp cheekbones rounded out her beauty, and if the fluttering layers of brightly-colored silk she wore was ill-suited to the setting, it was wonderful suited to her graceful body.

"I'll find him," I reassured her, offering my most confident smile. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes at her words. I was looking at the "delicate" creature's stall right now, and the walls had been repaired in half a dozen places where the bull had kicked through four inches of solid oak.

"Are you sure?" Simone stepped back, then closer again, eyes wide. "Are you a Trusted? Are you going to track him with magic?"

She really was standing quite close, now. For some reason I was acutely aware of one of her outermost layers of silk brushing my leg in the breeze. Thankfully my chest bindings were thick enough to hide the way my nipples perked up at the sensation.

"I'm afraid not, lady dvaLena." Watching her face fall was enough to make me want to wrap her in my arms and kiss the sadness away. Or better yet, work a hand under those layers and finger the sadness away.

"But then how? They were--they must have been ghosts!" The rancher's hands continued to draw nervous patterns in the air before her. "My guards saw nothing! My hounds found no scent! They had magic! Powerful magic!"

By the Dominions, what was it about this woman? I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so drawn to someone. It usually took weeks for a partner to work their way deep enough into my heart to attract the attention of my libido. But I'd barely met Simone, and already I was wondering what it would be like to peel her out of those silks.

Trying to clear my mind, I bent down and examined the ground outside the bull's stall closely. I might have started my career in the army, but I'd spent four years now as a sword for hire. There were times when a little woodcraft was worth a dozen swords.

"Perhaps, lady dvaLena," I acknowledged, taking a few steps forward as I found what I was looking for. "But no mage, no matter how mighty, can stop a cow from shitting everywhere."

#

To be fair, I probably could have done it without the turds. The thieves had done a decent job of covering their trail, but I was able to pick out enough signs here and there to keep myself moving in the right direction. But the frequent piles of bullshit were a helpful extra.

As I followed the crappy trail, I tried to work out how many thieves there were. Based on the signs they left, there could have been as few as two and as many as eight accompanying the cow. I was betting on the low end, but I'd taken the time to don my armor just in case I was wrong.

After almost five hours, the trail reached the Calling Hills, and I muttered a few curses. The area was a mess of near-vertical slopes, and trying to cross it meant finding your way through a labyrinth of narrow, winding passes. It was easy to get lost in there, and even easier to get ambushed.

The smart thing to do would be to turn around and leave. Two hundred gold pieces was not enough to be worth that kind of risk. If I left now, I could get back to town with enough time left to check the boards again.

A sudden ache in my sex reminded me of what lay on the other side of this contract. Simone was way too attached to that cow of hers. Once I retrieved it, she'd be only too happy to express her gratitude any way I could imagine.

And right now I was imagining a lot of ways.

Besides, the kind of characters who steal cows aren't usually the time to lie in wait for pursuers. I took a moment to string my bow and make sure my sword was hanging comfortably on my hip, then boldly followed the thieves into the natural maze.

#

I've been wrong many times in my life. Wrong that I was suited for a life in the army. Wrong that I was straight. Wrong that I could trust my adventuring mentor. Wrong about there being treasure in Frostmorn Crypt.

But I don't think I've ever been as wrong as I was when I said the thieves weren't the type to lay ambushes. And unless I was very, very lucky, it would be the last time I was wrong about anything.

#

The first arrow came in at a bad angle and glanced off my breastplate, setting me staggering. My foot hit a puddle of mud and slid--I fell, and the second and third arrows zipped through the space where I'd just been.

Someone was shooting at me!

The trail was narrow here, little more than a dry streambed with overgrown banks steep enough that you'd need to be a mountain goat to make it up them. The clouds overhead were grey and threatening, but hadn't quite decided to rain yet. There was nothing but dirt and bushes anywhere within fifty feet. Nowhere to take cover and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

At least I could tell what directions the arrows had come from. I dropped my bow and rolled, coming up with my sword in hand as I scanned the hills ahead.

The twang of a bowstring gave me just enough warning to see the arrow arching towards my head, and I knocked it out of the air with a quick snap-parry. Several more followed on its heels, forcing me to backpedal as I barely managed to deflect each one in turn.

What? I said I was an adventurer. It's not my fault you didn't think I knew how to fight.

Trying to keep up with the barrage was draining my stamina fast, but I finally spotted the hidden archers. Forty or fifty yards ahead, someone had carved a chunk out of one of the cliff faces and created a small level area. Three men with longbows were crouched there, firing with smooth precision.

I growled under my breath. I couldn't keep this up forever, and I couldn't get at them easily. I needed... I needed something. I...

There. A nasty-looking thicket of thorn bushes to my right, thick enough to block line of sight, maybe even absorb an arrow or two. It would have to do.

Diving head-first into the thorns hurt, but not nearly as badly as getting shot would. Several arrows hissed into the shrubbery around me, either passing clean through or getting trapped in the thick tangle of branches and leaves.

And--miracle of miracles--my bow was only a few feet away, right where I'd dropped it. Flattening myself to present a smaller target, I wiggled towards the fallen weapon. Too far to reach, but... I reversed my grip on my sword, holding it carefully by the blade as I stretched out to hook the bow with one of the crosspieces. Perfect.

In one smooth motion, I notched an arrow, rose to my feet, took aim and fired. One of the distant archers screamed as my shot took him in the side, and all three instinctively dove for cover.

I took a deep breath and sprinted towards them, trying to cover as much ground as I could before they regained their nerve. There was real danger here--with every step, my angle of fire got worse and theirs got better--but battles aren't won without a few risks.

As I ran, I loosed a few more arrows in their general direction. I could barely draw my bow while running like this, much less aim, but it kept them down long enough for me to reach their perch.

I dropped my bow again and turned to the cliff, letting momentum carry me as far as it could before I was forced to take over. I scrabbled at the dirt, forcing my way uphill with hands as much as feet, but I was almost there, almost--

Something hit me from the side, and my hard-won distance vanished in a confused, painful tumble. Brown and green wheeled frantically before my eyes, then vanished in a burst of red as I hit the ground and my full weight dropped on my unprepared left arm.

Bone snapped. I screamed.

Someone else landed heavily next to me, only with considerably more control. He grabbed my right arm and dragged me upright, and my eyes tried to focus on the heavyset, unshaven visage of a man with a deserter's brand on his cheek.

I tried for one of my knives, but my left arm wasn't cooperating. I snarled, as much at my own weakness as at my foe, and managed to hook a foot behind the man's leg. An awkward tug and we both toppled over. The pain of impact on my broken arm nearly knocked me unconscious, but the unexpected fall had also broken my attacker's hold.

We both scrambled to our feet, going for our swords in almost the same instant. He drew his heavy-bladed shortsword with the speed of a professional soldier--but years of adventuring had had honed my own skills to a razor's edge. I had my sword fully drawn before his was halfway out of its sheathe, and by the time he had a working stance I was already well into a lunge.

Before he could even start a parry, I'd sunk eight inches of good Korenthian steel into his chest and nicked his heart.

If he had any fight left in him before dying, that vanished in a spray of blood as I savagely yanked my sword free. I felt my lips stretch into a savage grin as he collapsed, and slowly turned to aim it at his companions.

Four more men had appeared on the path around me, all dressed in dirty brown cloaks and carrying a mix of spears and shortswords. And I could sense more than see the archers still in their perch.

"All this just for me?" I said grimly, tucking my broken arm behind my back. "I'm flattered."

"Remember Kyslin?" The closest bandit spat on the ground.

"That wasn't me," I protested, though I knew it wouldn't help. Fury burned in my breast, overwhelming trivial concerns like pain, and it was all I could do to stop myself from going straight for his throat--but talking had a slim chance of changing the situation, whereas fighting was certain death. "Bloody George set those fires."

"Yeah, I don't really care." The man smiled in a way that didn't touch his eyes. "We're just the muscle. It's the guy who hired us what hates you."

"Jake dvoLivia?" The word came out more snarl than speech. "That snotty prick is still mad his house burned down?"

"It's not the kind of thing you get over," one of the lesser bandits muttered, and I shot him my nastiest glare.

"Jake runs a shipping company and has estates on half a dozen islands," I said slowly. "A murderer was hiding in one of them and tried to burn it down to throw me off his trail."

"Again. Don't care." The leader shrugged, idly twisting his sword hand so the blade traced a circle in the air.

"Fine. How about if I give you something identifying and we go our separate ways?" I tried a charming smile, but I wasn't very good at those even in the best of times. "You can tell your boss I'm dead and get paid, and in return I don't have to kill any more of your men."

I didn't want to go our separate ways. These fuckers had tried to kill me; death was too good for them. I wanted to rip them limb from limb and beat them to death with their own arms. I wanted to break every bone in their bodies while they screamed. I wanted to--

I swallowed. Usually danger made me cold and calm--this burning rage was as out of character as it was unhelpful.

"No," the bandit said, glancing at his fallen man. "I liked Bill. Think I'd rather take it out of your hide."

So much for talking.

My only chance was to take them by surprise. I was outnumbered and outgunned; no-one would expect me to start screaming and charge into melee range.

So, you know. That's what I did.

I hit the leader with a low cut across his stomach, only for my blade to scrape across the mail he must have been hiding under his cloak. Damn it!

A spearman to my left reacted faster than his companions, and I jerked back to avoid his thrust. He didn't fall for a low feint, but when he blocked my follow-up slash I dragged my sword down the haft of his spear and took off a couple fingers. He screamed and staggered away from me, and there were too many enemies too close for me to follow. Damn it!

An arrow streaked in out of nowhere and hit me in the back. My armor absorbed some of the force, but the head still dug into my back deep enough to bleed and... well, it should have hurt, but I was too angry to care.

"Fucker!" I shrieked, and kicked the nearest bandit in the chest. Something cracked under my boot and he went down struggling to breathe.

"Mother fuckers!" I launched myself at the leader, driving him backwards with a flurry of brutal thrusts. I dimly registered the impact of another arrow burying itself in my thigh, paying it no more heed than I would a bug bite.

Another spearman swung her weapon in a two-handed overhead strike, using the haft as if it was a quarterstaff. Acting without conscious thought, I grabbed the descending weapon with my left hand and yanked. She stumbled forward, off balance, and I damn near cut her in half with a single savage blow.

"Shit-eating mother fuckers!" I spun on the last swordsman, slamming my blade into his block so hard the sword went flying.

More arrows came; I honestly couldn't tell you if they hit me or not.

The leader came at me, and I hewed bullied my way past his guard and hacked through his mail with brute strength. At the same time, I grabbed the last, disarmed man by the throat. I felt my fingertips dig into the soft flesh, then I tensed and hurled the body at the archers above.

Someone went down with a cry, then I was racing up the cliff like it was flat.

I screamed back at them, so angry at their feeble attacks that I couldn't even bother with words. It came out something like a lion's roar, but louder and more hateful. Both of the standing archers-- the man I'd shot earlier and one other-- dropped their bows and clapped their hands over their ears, blood dripping from their noses.

I flung my sword at the uninjured man, the sheer force of the throw knocking him to the ground and pinning him there with barely a foot of steel sticking out of his chest. The other fell just as quickly as I slashed at his belly with my left hand and my nails ripped through flesh with uncanny ease.

"Oh, Maljaef, lord of Mercy, please, no," the last man whimpered as I loomed overhead, fingers spread. He was still partially pinned under the corpse of his fellow, and his face was bone white with fear. "Please, please, I have a family, I never hit you, please!"

My sword leapt into the air all by itself, spinning end-over-end once before the hilt slapped into my outstretched hand. I took a two handed grip and raised it over my head. Please. This miserable son of a bitch would be better saving his breath for curses than pleas for mercy. As if I'd spare him after all the shit he and his friends put me through.

"Please, please, please..." he continued to whimper, eyes wide. He tried to scramble away, but his limbs were shaking too much to move him. "Please, mercy, please..."

Like you deserve it, asshole.

When his head rolled free of his body, I stretched my arms out and screamed my victory to the sky. Stupid little bitches thought they could just hurt me like that and get away with it? One death was too good for them. I wondered if I could drag one of them back to life for long enough to kill him again. Or maybe...

A raindrop splattered on my head, and I was faintly surprised it didn't immediately hiss into steam. A few more fell in quick succession, sending a chill down my back as cold water worked its way under my armor.

I smiled as I stood there, letting the rain cool me off after my exertions. It felt good. A cold bath after a hard workout; all I needed was a beer and I was all set.

And as my wrath slowly faded, rational thought came streaming back. I blinked a few times, realizing the rain was washing fresh blood into my eyes. My blood? No... not mine...

On the ground, a severed head stared up at me accusingly.

What had I done?

I looked around at the scattered corpses of eight fighting men and women. They'd died hard. Brutally, even. When their faces retained any expression, it was universally one of wide-eyed fear.

What had I done?

My sword arm trembled slightly as memories of recent impacts briefly surfaced. I'd never fought like that before. Never. I was better than this... this... butchery.

What had I DONE?

I couldn't help it--my stomach heaved, and I barely managed to aim away from myself before I was messily sick all over the nearest corpse. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had to puke after a battle; that kind of innocence was long since past. These deaths weren't even that bad, compared to some that I've seen.

But I hadn't been the one responsible for those bodies.

That anger... it had come out of nowhere and completely overwhelmed me. I'd heard warriors from Korenth speak of "going berserk"-- was that what happened? I'd been completely out of control. I hadn't wanted to control myself, hadn't even realized that I needed to control myself.

I stared at my blood-soaked hands. The right one looked like it always had. The left one had turned a dull red, with a leathery texture extending up to my elbow, and my fingers ended in short, vicious claws.

What had happened to me?