The Witch and the Beastfallen – Part 02
Beastfallen were strange, half-men, half-beast creatures—monsters, so to speak. For some unknown reason, a Beastfallen would sometimes be born from completely normal human parents, just like I was.
Witches sought Beastfallen to use as tools for their rituals, which made me extremely popular among all kinds of crooks who wanted to sell my head for some quick coin.
The first attack came when I was thirteen years old. My village was raided by bandits because of me. Young and weak as I was, I couldn’t protect the villagers from the armed assailants.
In the end, I survived, but three villagers died. And like every other Beastfallen, I left town and became a mercenary. In other words, I turned into a thug so I could escape thugs. Since then I spent my life wandering between chaotic countries in search of conflict.
Mercenaries were warriors, hired with coin to fight other mercenaries to the death. As depressing as it might sound, as long as men never stopped killing each other—be it a conflict between two huge countries, skirmishes in the provinces, or tribes fighting over land—mercenaries would never be out of jobs.
As beings with exceptional combat prowess, Beastfallen were welcomed in every battlefield. Thanks to that, I never had to join any formal mercenary guilds. I could live my life as a soldier of fortune on my own terms. It would be more accurate to say, however, that Beastfallen couldn’t live their lives any other way.
Every country, town, and village didn’t welcome Beastfallen. The Church treated us like vile creatures. Powerless, normal humans found me terrifying.
On top of that, witches—vermin of society—wanted the heads of Beastfallen, so bandits would drag them into fields of conflict. I had never been attacked by a witch directly before, but it seemed my luck had run out.
I always thought witches were devious beings, manipulating crooks to get my head. As of today, however, their status was elevated to a direct threat. But I digress.
My ears caught a sharp ear-piercing sound, as if the air itself was being rent, and I quickly slid behind a tree. A bolt of light pierced the bulky trunk, snapping it in the middle. Slowly, the tree toppled over.
“Shit! What the hell is going on?! Since when did Sorcery allow witches to use rapid-fire bowguns?!”
I heard the witches here used never-seen-before Sorcery, but I didn’t expect it to be this crazy. Cursing, I bolted once more.
Now I wasn’t too well-versed in Sorcery, but it was common knowledge that Sorcery required large-scale rituals. Countless heroic tales were told around the world of how Knight Templars managed to stop a witch right before she could cast a powerful spell, one that required a month-long ritual and would allow her to destroy a whole country easily.
Sorcery took time, so witches lay low in their lairs, ordering their numerous subordinates to guard their hideouts, while they focused solely on performing rituals. At least that’s what I thought.
History books never mentioned witches able to fire bolts of light in rapid succession while running, or blowing up a tree without using blast powder. My mind was in a state of chaos. But I knew one thing: the only way I would survive was to run.
“Is that Steim?” the luggage on my shoulder muttered.
Ignoring them, I continued running. Then I felt taps on my head.
“Do you really have to run away?” the traveler asked.
“Of course! Or we’re dead!”
“Not true. Let me down.”
Without a moment’s delay, I tossed the luggage aside with nary a shred of pity. They wanted to get down, so I let them down. I had no obligation to keep carrying them. Farewell, traveler. I will live on.
A few strides later, however, and I was rolling on the ground helplessly. All of a sudden, the ground started shaking violently up and down.
“Ugh… Shit…”
Groaning, I lifted my head up. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The witch screamed, staggered, and fell over. The earth around the witch swelled, swallowing trees as it gradually formed a wall.
“What the hell is this? What’s going on?!”
My glance darted to the traveler. I simply wanted to know how they were doing, but I found myself glued to them. The traveler’s hood had come off, revealing their glistening silver hair, disheveled as though a gale had blown past.
A woman. A strikingly beautiful one, at that.
I probably shouldn’t be having these thoughts—not when my life was in danger—but in hindsight, the body I was carrying did feel light and slender. I wasn’t sure if she was a woman, as her voice sounded too calm, but it was indeed too high-pitched for a man. What a shame. I should’ve felt her up some more. You couldn’t really blame a man for having inappropriate thoughts.
Is she the one doing this? The only ones present were me, the witch, and the pretty lady. The extraordinary phenomenon occurring before me was clearly targeted at the witch. Needless to say, I couldn’t do all this, which meant by process of elimination, there was only one person responsible.
In the blink of an eye, a huge box made of earth—seemingly natural, yet clearly out-of-the-ordinary—stood there, looming with its intimidating presence.
“This is from the Chapter of Capture, Verse Three — Etrach,” the woman said. “It would take a whole day to get out of there using something as weak as Steim. Breaking out is possible with Redaest, but it seems they are exhausted. They would have to rest before they could have a chance of escaping. Now then, I have a few questions.”
Her red lips curved into a derisive smile. She had long eyelashes and mystical, clear violet eyes, like a pair of jewels.
Still down on the ground, I stared at her, mouth agape like an idiot.
“Are you… a witch?” I asked.
The woman turned around, her smirk now gone. Her beauty instilled dread. I caught a glimpse of innocence in her bold expression that looked oh-so-humane. It almost felt like she was a completely different person from moments ago.
“Indeed. I am a witch,” she replied. “I find meaning in the meaningless, create something out of nothingness. I am a witch of the Murky Darkness!”
I see. Okay. I get it. I rose to my feet and took off at full speed.
If there was anything good about being born a monster, it was the exceptional physical abilities. Nobody could catch up to me if I sprinted at full speed. If I fought a normal human, they would most likely end up dead, while I’d be unscathed. I had the perfect body for fighting.
Thanks to that, I could get away even from witches. I ran through the forest and stumbled out of the woods onto a barren path. Breathing heavily, I hid behind a tree and peered into the forest now covered in darkness. No one seemed to be following me. Just to be safe, I watched carefully with bated breath. Once I confirmed I was safe, I slumped down on the ground, heaving a sigh of relief.
Man, talk about bad luck. I surveyed my surroundings once more before preparing to camp for the night.
I couldn’t care less if they were the most beautiful woman in the world; witches were the scum of society and my natural enemy. Although I probably wouldn’t mind dying in the hands of such a beauty, my desire to live was stronger than my sexual urges. No one would grieve for a dead Beastfallen anyway, so I wanted to at least value my own life.
The world shunned Beastfallen for two reasons: first and foremost, people found their appearance unsettling. Second, the majority of Beastfallen became mercenaries or bandits—in other words, murderers. If I were a parent, I would prohibit my kids from getting anywhere near a Beastfallen. People wouldn’t let these creatures enter towns, stores, or even their sight. Not one person in the world would befriend a Beastfallen.
As a mercenary, I never had to worry about getting hungry, but being dragged into battles of life and death was quite draining. All I wanted was to open up a tavern somewhere, settle down with a pretty woman, and live out the rest of my life in peace. Unfortunately, the universe wouldn’t allow that.
“Not when I look like this…”
Breathing a sigh, I gazed down at my densely furry hands. Most Beastfallen took the form of huge carnivores, like bears and wolves. However, I had no idea what I was. I probably belonged to a family of cats, albeit a little too grisly. My fur’s color was white with streaks of light-black. Calling it striped might not be all accurate, as there was more white than black. I quite liked it personally, but the color stood out at night, so I had to don a black cloak at all times.
“Well, it’s better than not having any pattern at all,” I muttered as cheerfully as possible and let out a bitter laugh.
I had come to terms with what I am now. But it wasn’t always like that. Back when I was in my mid-teens, my appearance bothered me so much that I would rip my skin open. The pain, however, made me give up doing that eventually.
After leaving the village, I wandered a secluded mountain alone and covered in blood, yet I didn’t die. Just like an animal, I fed on birds and mice to survive. Perhaps that was when I came to accept myself for who I was.
No one would mourn the loss of a monster like me anyway. I made up my mind to at least live on.
More than a decade had passed since then, and the wounds from those days had all but healed. The feeling of crushing loneliness had long faded into memory, but it still remained, although dull.
Comment (0)