When the two Derboul had stopped just before cresting the hill, they could not have picked a worse spot. The place they stood was the very place Kwernoss had used to range his bow and arrow skills. Several large deer had fallen in that very spot. Letting out a long slow breath, Kwernoss notched his arrow and drew his bow back waiting for the right moment. He felt the empowerment of his masks eye emblem steady his hand and even help guide his adjustments in the fine muscles to place a killing shot on the slightly larger of the two warriors.
A thought came to his mind, one that was not rational or even wise. The whispers wrapped in anger that surged from his soul told him to strike fear in his enemy. They were not prey to be cleanly killed and harvested. No. They needed to suffer, and fear him as a human, and maybe just maybe they would finally leave them alone. Adjusting his aim, he switched targets to the slightly smaller of the two and aimed at her leg. Just as the two enemies clasped each others arms, he let his arrow fly. It had struck inside the thigh of the warrior on the leg farthest from him. If this alien was anything like a human, major arteries would be kept inside the leg. His intuition paid off: when the arrow passed all the way through the leg, a large amount of blood began squirting rhythmically as a shriek came from the warrior. With a smirk he jumped from his elevated position.
Light as a feather he landed in the grass, and in the shadows he felt the camouflage ability activate. It wasn't true camouflage, bending light in a way that made him impossible to see. His ability made his clothes and bear-skin cloak blend more with his surroundings. As long as he was carefully stalking and avoiding anything that would make noise, he could easily be mistaken for a bush, or maybe another animal. Reaching down into his quiver he notched another arrow and held the third in his draw hand. His mask automatically marked his arrow for him to find with a red outline that could be seen through brush and trees.
At a frightening pace, fueled by adrenaline and rage, Kwernoss circled his victims.
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Migoene rushed to bandage the wound, noting the excessive blood loss. Reaching forward he placed a hand on the wound and felt energy leave his body, and a faint smell of cauterized flesh reached his nose through his mask.
Myene spoke through gritted teeth, "The bleeding effect has stopped. The shot came from up and to your right." Myene winced as she motioned with her head at the direction of where they had been attacked. Miogene caught a subtle shift in the shadows from the corner of his eyes and knew that their enemy was on the move. His heart raced and he whirled to try and track the beast. He cycled through his visions and finally settled on heat, a faint heat signature moved quickly and silently. Pretending to be oblivious, Miogene moved and put his back to the village to keep his eyes towards his incoming assailant, but also lifting his companion to her feet. When she stood, two more arrows whistled from the shadows of the trees. One buried itself in her right lower arm, the other Miogene caught in his hands. Myene screamed again as she ripped the arrow from her flesh.
"This one has no honor. He seeks to wound, when he could've killed cleanly." She spat as she crouched and put herself into a lowered combat stance, moving to pick up the first arrow that was stuck in the ground near a splatter of blood.
"I was able to spot him with heat, he seems to blend well with the foliage around him, and he hasn't made a sound yet." Migoene whispered the information, scanning their surroundings. After moments waiting for an attack that never came the two warriors turned and ran to the village.
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Kwernoss cursed himself, caught in his blood lust he had forgot to protect the village. He cursed again that the enemy had picked up his arrows, leaving him with no other weapon than a butchers knife. A panic began to eat his calm realizing that two of these invaders could massacre the village in moments. He hurried to make chase but a moment of clarity told him to not rush headlong into a likely ambush. So he took a longer route in hopes to strike one more time while these oppressor targeted the non sentient villagers. When he made it to the edge of the village he rounded a thatch roofed hut and saw one of the enemy killing the butcher in the street in front of his storehouse. A whistling noise was all that he heard as one of his arrows hit him in the chest.
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Derboul's fingers are longer than humans, and when combined with their lanky arms, each of the four arms and hands became more like an atlatl, when holding an arrow. Myene's aim was true as she threw each arrow one after the other at the sub boss's center of mass. One arrow went straight through him, another buried itself in his thigh, the last ricocheted off the humans mask and flying off into the woods. By the looks of him, the fight was over. Dismissing the now disabled human, Migoene and Myene moved house to house, person to person, methodically eradicating the beasts in their simple homes. Even with her wound Myene managed to partake in the slaughter with little more than one arm tucked against her torso and a slight hobble to her step. Lost in their task of senseless slaughter they began to laugh maniacally. Covered in blood they finished and walked back up the dirt road, taking deep breaths and steadying the adrenaline rushing through the veins. The looked and saw the sub-boss trembling with faint life in the kneeling position at the opposite side of the village.
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Blood seeped from Kwernoss and he felt despair take him. He had failed. The village was silent. The silence... brought a profound pain from his soul with all of the implications that came with it. He felt his vision begin to tunnel, and his heart beat weakened. Words whispered from the beyond on the breeze, filling his mouth.
"Now I shall shoot at another mark... one that man yet has struck... If I can hit it and Luck grants me glory." Gritting his teeth and mustering strength he lifted his mask up and off his face. Feeling the breeze blow against his skin, his trembling hand shakily grasped the arrow in his leg, and in a state of shock he ripped it up, out, and notched his bow in one motion. Loosing the arrow he smiled, whispering his final words as darkness took him.
"Your guest has not disgraced you... I did not miss what I aimed at..."
About the Creator
Everett Scaife
I have always enjoyed writing and I have always dreamed of publishing my own series of science fiction books
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Beginners Luck: The Outsiders 3
Trueno felt his left arm be torn from his body by the force of the harpoon launched at him. He felt his head spin in shock from the pain and sudden blood loss now draining out of him. In this small moment of eternity, Trueno thought of the words he had said. He had never read a book in his life, but somehow in his moment of madness the words had flowed through him like an echo of long-ago ages. He felt that the words were a curse, a biding of fates somehow. He breathed in and smelt iron, dirt, and saw seagulls fly overhead. Reaching across himself he grabbed his own severed arm and yanked it loose from the cobblestone wall. With his last bit of energy he could muster, he threw the limb and harpoon at the beast that was walking towards him. The beast back handed the flimsy attack and the limb arced over its shoulder, clattering to the ground behind him.
By Everett Scaifeabout 14 hours ago in Fiction
The Last Light of Valenbruck A
In the northern valleys of Europe, where pine forests met gray mountains and rivers ran like silver threads through stone, there stood a quiet town called Valenbruck. For most of the year, clouds covered its sky like a heavy blanket. Sunlight visited rarely, and when it did, people paused in the streets just to feel its warmth. The townsfolk believed this was normal. It had always been this way, or so the elders said. But Elin Marceau was not like the others. She was nineteen, with dark hair tied in careless knots and a habit of staring at the sky as if it owed her an explanation. Elin worked in the town’s old lighthouse—a strange job, considering Valenbruck sat beside a river rather than the sea. Yet the tower had existed longer than memory, built on a cliff above the water, its lamp facing the mountains instead of the horizon. Every evening, Elin climbed its spiral stairs and lit the great lamp, even though no ships passed and no travelers came. “Why do we still light it?” she once asked her grandfather, Henrik, who had been the keeper before her. “Because the light reminds the valley that it still belongs to the world,” he replied. “And because one day, it may guide something home.” Elin never knew what he meant. A Letter from the Past One winter morning, while cleaning the lighthouse storage room, Elin found a wooden box buried under old maps and rusted tools. Inside lay a bundle of yellowed letters tied with blue thread. The handwriting was careful, elegant, and unfamiliar. They were written by a woman named Sofia Valenbruck, over a hundred years ago. Sofia described a different town—one full of summer festivals, bright skies, and music drifting from open windows. She wrote of a time when Valenbruck was known as “the town of light,” a place travelers visited just to see the sun rise between the twin mountains. But then the letters changed. Sofia wrote of fear. Of a night when the mountains trembled. Of a storm that swallowed the sky and never truly left. “We dimmed the great lamp to hide ourselves,” one letter read. “And in doing so, we lost the sun.” Elin felt her chest tighten. “What great lamp?” she whispered. She ran down the tower and showed the letters to Henrik. His face grew pale as he read. “So it’s time,” he said quietly. “Time for what?” “To tell you what we buried.” The Secret of the Lighthouse Henrik revealed what the town had forgotten: Valenbruck’s lighthouse was never meant for ships. It was built to reflect sunlight using a massive crystal lens hidden inside the mountain behind it. Long ago, the lamp did not burn with fire but with captured daylight, spreading warmth across the valley even in winter. But when a violent storm came generations earlier, the people believed the light had angered the mountains. In fear, they shut the system down and sealed the tunnel leading to the crystal lens. Over time, the story became myth, and the purpose of the lighthouse faded into ritual. “We chose darkness because it felt safer,” Henrik said. “And then we taught our children that darkness was normal.” Elin stared at the tower window, where thick clouds hung low over the river. “What if the sun is still there?” she asked. “What if we just stopped letting it in?” The Climb That night, Elin did something no one had done in decades. She took a lantern and entered the forbidden tunnel behind the lighthouse. The passage smelled of damp stone and forgotten years. Her footsteps echoed like a heartbeat in the dark. At the tunnel’s end stood a massive circular door carved with faded symbols of stars and waves. With effort, she turned the rusted wheel. The door groaned open. Inside, a giant crystal lens rested in silence, covered in dust but unbroken. It looked like frozen sunlight trapped in glass. Elin cleaned it with trembling hands. When her lantern touched its surface, the crystal caught the flame and scattered it into dozens of tiny sparks along the walls. Her breath caught. She climbed to the old control platform and pulled the final lever. Above her, gears shifted. Stone plates slid away from a hidden opening in the mountain ceiling. For the first time in generations, sunlight poured inside. The Return of Morning The light shot through the crystal lens and up into the lighthouse tower. The great lamp burst into brilliance—not yellow, but warm white, like the memory of summer. Outside, people stepped from their homes in confusion. Children pointed at the sky. Old men removed their hats. Women shielded their eyes and laughed. The clouds above Valenbruck thinned, slowly, as if pushed aside by an invisible hand. A beam of light crossed the valley, touching rooftops, trees, and river alike. For the first time in living memory, the town saw a true sunrise. Elin stood in the tower doorway, tears on her cheeks. Henrik joined her, his voice shaking. “Sofia would have been proud.” A New Story for an Old Town Valenbruck changed after that day. Not suddenly, but gently. Flowers began growing near windows. Travelers returned, curious about the “town that found its sun.” Children painted pictures of blue skies instead of gray ones. Music returned to the streets. And the lighthouse was no longer just a ritual. It became a promise. Every evening, Elin still lit the lamp. Not because she feared the dark—but because she understood what light meant. It meant memory. It meant courage. It meant choosing hope even when fear felt easier. And sometimes, when the clouds gathered thick again, the people of Valenbruck did not complain. They simply waited. Because now they knew: The sun had never abandoned them. They had only forgotten how to open the door. Moral of the Story Fear can make people hide from the world. Tradition can make them forget why they once believed in light. But all it takes is one person willing to climb into the dark and turn the key
By Iazaz hussain6 days ago in Fiction
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