《Cold Hands: A Monster Lit-RPG Necromancer Story》
Prologue: The Pale Beast and the Dying Man
Minthar grunted as the palething crawled above the snow.
The soft hiss that escaped his lips, unbidden, told him much of his failing control; he was dying. His blood slowly seeped into the whiteness around him, staining the ground crimson. The cold air in his lungs made breathing hard. His staff, a relic of the Greatest Necromancer, was only a few inches away; it might''ve been capable of saving his life if he could reach it. But alas, things were never as simple. His limbs were frozen and purple. He couldn''t feel or move them no matter how much he wanted to. At the very least, the biting cold made the pain a distant thing.
Weakened by blood loss and mana-exhaustion, Minthar could hardly muster any power to save himself.
The end was coming.
Maybe he really should''ve invested a few more points intoEndurance.
But that was neither here nor there.
Minthar breathed in the cold air and hung his head back against the trunk of the tree behind him. The corpses of his enemies lay strewn around him; assassins they were, sent by the Church of Healing. In death, they succeeded; he''d give them props for that. They were good at what they did. He never even saw that last arrow that made its way into his inner thigh and cut open an artery. And the dagger that sliced apart the tendons of his right hand, making him incapable of even holding his staff, was a stroke of unparalleled martial genius. The buggers must''ve been around level 50 or 55 to put up as much a fight as they did.
Sadly, no one would ever congratulate them for ridding the world of Minthar, the last Necromancer, because they were all dead.
Then again, the assassins likely wouldn''t be the ones to have the honor of taking his life. Oh no, that honor would, unfortunately for them, fall towards the creature that now feasted on their corpses.
It could almost be described as human-like. But it was thin, far too thing to be human. It was tall and gangly - pale, and hairless skin pulled taut over a vaguely muscled form. Its bones seemed to jut out of its abominable body; everything about it was unnatural. It shouldn''t even be capable of surviving the cold of the wilderness. And yet, as the creature slowly devoured the dead flesh of Minthar''s would-be assassins, it didn''t seem fazed by the ice and snow. In fact, it seemed right at home in the ice. Its face was sort of humanoid if one ignored the fact that its mouth seemed to open far beyond what its jaws should''ve been capable of, revealing rows of shark-like teeth in its maw, which were apparently sharp enough to bite through plate armor with little difficulty. Its eyes were all black, like windows into the deepest depths of the void.
He recognized it as a Wendigo, one of the rarest naturally-occurring forms of undead in the wilderness; but, with his vision slowly turning hazy, he couldn''t entirely be sure. It could''ve been a mangy and unnaturally ugly Polar Bear for all he knew.
"So, you''re the one that''s going to kill me, huh?" Minthar would''ve chuckled if he was physically capable of the act. The pale beast didn''t seem to understand him, despite its humanoid shape. It definitely heard him, unless Minthar was mistaken about the slight movement of its dagger-like ears. The old necromancer breathed in and sighed, "I guess that''s fair enough. The sins I have are many; if I listed them all down on a piece of paper, I''d have a sheet that spans the whole bloody continent."
The beast moved to the next corpse, having already devoured one of the assassins. It took only thirty seconds for the pale creature to eat a full-grown man, clothes and bones and weapons included. And yet, its gaunt stomach did not appear larger and neither did it appear any less hungry as it tore into the flesh of the next assassin. Minthar watched with avid fascination as, once again, the gangly thing devoured another man in less than a full minute. Only one other corpse remained after that and then it would be his turn.
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His mind was growing weak with blood loss; soon, he would lose consciousness. But, while awake, Minthar had a moment to ponder on the thing humanity often pondered on the doorstep of death - legacy.
What would be his legacy in this stupid world?
No doubt, much of the continent would remember him as Minthar the Terrible, the Necromancer-King who razed entire towns and villages and impaled the heads of kings on spikes atop the walls of their own cities. Many would remember him as the dreadful conqueror, who brought the Golden Empire to its knees; he would be remembered as the butcher, who led an army of the dead. The few who would remember him as anything more were already dead, old friends who knew Minthar the man, the human being who laughed when he was happy, cried when he was sad, and drank and made merry with his family.
Oh, how he missed the good old days....
Now that he had a chance to really think about it, he didn''t really have much of a legacy, did he? With his death, his undead legions would lose cohesion and become a rampant force that will easily be mopped up by any army worth its salt. Whatever territory he managed to conquer would be retaken by the Golden Empire or whatever Kingdom managed to splinter from it. The Healing Church would quickly cover upwhy he decided to attack, but Minthar figured that part hardly mattered.
Minthar, the greatest necromancer of his era, would die and leave absolutely nothing behind, but ashes and blood. In a century, the world might just forget about him and all he stood for.
"Atlan was right," Minthar chuckled. Already, he''d lost all feeling over his thighs and could hardly feel his ears, nose, and lips in the biting cold. The pale beast was already crawling towards him, having eaten the corpses of his assassins as he pondered on his legacy. Minthar would''ve shook his head if he could move his neck. "My path would leave me with nothing in the end; don''t you agree, beast? I have nothing. And, soon enough, I would be no one."
The pale creature ignored him and began gnawing on his frozen feet. Minthar chuckled hoarsely at the fact that he felt nothing as his right foot was swallowed whole, including his boots.
And then, an interesting thought came to mind - the darkest of heresies that even he, if he were not at the crux of death, would not attempt. The System of Power, a means by which the mortal races were able to grow in strength and gain powerful abilities by leveling up, was a sacred thing that even the most despicable miscreants revered. The Church of Healing liked to preach that it was the final gift of the Old Gods, before they sealed themselves in the heavens forevermore. It was what kept the sapient races - Men, Elves, Orcs, Dwarves, Ogres, and Halflings - separate from the beasts of the wilds and the dungeons. To be born without the System of Power was the height of shame; parents often killed their children because of it.
But Minthar no longer cared for sacred things. He was dying and he was absolutely sure that it would be Malkath, the God of Evil, who would claim his soul. What more could he possibly do to deserve hell? Nothing.
And so, the Necromancer reached deep within himself and, with the last of his strength, performed the Ritual of Inheritance, a ritual that was meant to pass one''s System of Power to the unfortunate few who were born without it; it was considered an act of the ultimate self-sacrifice and love, to give one''s System of Power to another. There was no one, Minthar figured, profane and crazy enough to gift their system to an actual monster. The very thought of doing so would''ve definitely secured him a cozy little spot in hell if he didn''t already have one.
No one else had the gall and the profanity to eventhink about performing the Ritual of Inheritance on a man-eating monster.
"No one," The Necromancer smiled as the pale beast ate both his legs and began gnawing on his innards. "Except me...."
This would be his last act; this would be his gift to the world that took everything from him - a monster with a System of Power.
His eyes blazed for a moment as he felt his spirit, the very fiber of his being, ripping itself free from his body, before surging right into the pale creature. The beast did not seem to react as Minthar''s system became one with it. It wouldn''t notice for a while, really; the System of Power took several days to fully integrate itself into a being that''d previously lived without it. Whatever experience he''d accumulated, levels he''d reached, stats he''d upgraded, and skill he''d unlocked would cease to be. But, the System of Power would come from Minthar the Necromancer, a fragment of his will would always linger.
"You," Minthar rasped as the pale monster moved from his torso and took a gnawed off his right arm. "Will be my legacy. Grow strong... my child... grow strong and finish my work for me. Or don''t... hehe... just make sure the world trembles before you."
And then, he breathed his last. And Minthar, son of Telvor the Blacksmith and Maria the Seamstress, saw darkness and was welcomed into Malkath''s dark embrace.
Chapter 1: Man-Eater
The interior of the cave was dry and quiet. The captured prey has long ceased its struggle and has resigned itself to its fate. The Pale Hunter crawled towards the still form of the prey, a human female ¨C heavily pregnant, still alive. The prey¡¯s heartbeat was steady, but was slowing down. Its flesh would still be warm when the Pale Hunter would next take a bite out of it. But it would be dead soon, claimed by cold, hunger, or thirst. Fresh and warm or dead and cold, it mattered little to the Hunter; flesh was flesh and it would eat its fill.
But, living flesh tasted best. Cold and dead meat was not its preferred choice, but it was still edible.
The prey stirred awake; its eyes widened immensely, before screaming loudly. ¡°GET AWAY FROM ME! HEEEEEEELP!!!¡±
It tried to fight the Pale Hunter, but was incapable of doing anything more than flail as it hung from the ceiling of the cave, suspended by its feet, using a combination of resin and animal droppings. The Hunter also broke the prey¡¯s spine to ensure it couldn''t run away if it did somehow escape the ceiling through excessively flailing its arms.
Urine began streaming from between the prey¡¯s legs and drenched its second skin, a layer of external skin humans were fond of wearing over their real skin. Sometimes, the second skin would be armored, but, in most times, it was just as soft and easy to rip as their real skin.
The prey screamed and screamed. Most living prey did so; it was only natural. This one struggled more than usual.
It was afraid for its life and the life of its child, the Pale Hunter surmised. But it did not need to fear, not yet. The Hunter¡¯s hunger was slaked and its thirst sated; it had no need for more food, at least, not for the next few days. And if the prey died, the cold would preserve its flesh for a long time; if the cold intensified even further, then the meat would never spoil at all, frozen solid, but edible all the same.
The Pale Hunter eyed the screaming human for a moment and wondered if it should take a bite, but decided against it. Perhaps, it will do so later; hunger was a distant thing, for now.
Uninterested in examining its food any longer, the Pale Hunter turned away and crawled to the mouth of its cave, where it sniffed the open air. More prey was always good ¨C more food to eat when it grew hungry in its cave. A single human female, despite the addition of an unborn child in its womb, would not suffice.
The winds blew in from the west and towards the east. The air was much warmer today than it was yesterday; perhaps, the rivers would thaw and it could enjoy a nice dip in the cold waters.
Blood!
The Pale Hunter¡¯s head snapped to the left.
With its sensitive nose, it breathed in the frigid winds. The Hunter¡¯s maw hung open at the scent; jagged teeth that were sharp enough to cut through solid rock were on full display. Its black talons lengthened and its muscles coiled beneath its luminescent skin.
The Pale Hunter breathed in once more.
There was fresh prey out in the open, a fair distance westwards, where the Big Horns often grazed with their calves in the tall grasses that peeked out of the snow. The Hunter had no quarrel with the gentle giants; it couldn¡¯t eat their flesh or the flesh of their young and neither could it eat the flesh of any other creature, save for that of the flesh of humans and their taller and shorter ilk. It was the taller men with pointy ears that tasted the best. But the blood in the air was not of the pointy-eared men, but of the short ones, whose flesh was far less flavorful, but far more filling.
The Hunter leapt to tops of the tall trees, where it began leaping from branch to branch, steadily moving westwards, following the scent of fresh blood in the air. This was its preferred mode of movement in the woods; very few humans ever deigned to look up and, when they did bother to, it was usually too late for them. Ambushing its prey was the safest and most efficient method. The Hunter¡¯s Claws were sharp and its teeth even more so; the Hunter¡¯s skin was durable enough to shrug off the bite of a bear, a fellow hunter in the wilds. But its preferred prey had their own ways of fighting back. Prey that fought back was annoying. While the Hunter was more than capable of a frontal attack if the need ever arose, doing so was a waste of energy and, more than likely, it would give its prey the opportunity to escape.
Ambushes were perfect, safe and efficient, especially when used against wounded or vulnerable humans.
The other reason it stuck to the branches atop the tall trees was the presence of other Hunters on the forest floor.
There was a natural pecking order in vast and icy wilderness the Hunter called its home. At the bottom were the mundane beasts, Giant Boars, Big Horns, and the Ice Bears that hunted them. The Pale Hunter worried little about the mundane beasts; they were mostly harmless, even when they did attack. Above those creatures were the more dangerous of beasts that were somewhat capable of hurting the Pale Hunter in specific circumstances, but not quite enough to be a true threat; these beasts were the Ogres, Tree Horns, Wyverns, Ice Wolves, and White Horns. Standing at the top of the order, however, were the creatures that the Hunter actively avoided, apex predators that suffered no challenge save for those that came from each other: Dragons, Giants, Dogmen, Red Horns, and Thunder Horns.
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The Pale Hunter stuck to the trees, because the apex predators ruled the world beneath. The only other creatures that lingered in the branches were birds and rodents, beasts of no particular note ¨C not a threat. Such beasts were not a part of the pecking order. No predator hunted them and so they proliferated.
The Hunter continued further westward, cold winds blowing against its face, bringing the scent of blood. Not only blood, however, as the winds also brought information. The prey was moving eastwards ¨C very slowly, but steadily. The Pale Hunter sniffed the air once more; the prey¡¯s injuries were not fatal, but were serious enough to hamper its movement.
The Pale Hunter hurried onwards.
Below, the ice-covered forest floor shook as a herd of Big Horns passed, gargantuan beasts with curved horns whose ramming charges were powerful enough to shatter trees; their thick, fatty, and muscular forms were covered in an even thicker layer of wool that protected them from both the cold and the predation of those that actively hunted them. True enough, adult Big Horns possessed hides thick enough to withstand the crushing bites of Wyverns and small Dragons, which was why only their young were targeted by predators. The herd passed underneath the Hunter. The trees shook, but did not bend. There were hundreds of them, mothers and fathers and their children.
The Pale Hunter eyed them for a passing moment, before leaping away to another branch. Big Horns were gentle and often passive, but will charge if provoked or otherwise threatened. Many humans learned this the hard way, impaled to death by the beasts¡¯ massive horns or crushed beneath their massive hooves. And, each time, the Pale Hunter would be there to gorge on the remains.
The Hunter¡¯s prey neared, still moving slowly across the snowy woods. It sniffed the air and noted the smell of blood had lessened; the prey must¡¯ve used some strange human tool to close its wounds. The Pale Hunter had seen such things occur often; wounded humans would drink some oddly colored water from a container of clear ice, causing open wounds to stop bleeding or close entirely. Humans were, in general, a physically-inferior species when compared to other predators. They were weak. Their muscles were soft and their skins lacked fur to protect them. They possessed no claws and lacked sharp teeth. Most of them ran slow; sure, they were capable of running for hours without stopping, a feat that most predators were incapable of, but they were slow and very easily caught, especially by Ice Bears, who bore a preference for human meat.
The Hunter increased its pace, blurring from one tree to the next.
It stopped and circled the trunk of a massive redwood tree that overlooked much of the snowy lands. The prey was close, within viewing distance. Resting on the roots of a gnarled and dead tree was the stout form of the short human subspecies; it was still wounded, a fact that was made clear by the blood in the air, though it did not appear at all to be seriously injured, beyond the gash on its right thigh and several other cuts across its body. Its second skin, made of interlocking plates of some gleaming, dull grey material, was ruined and covered in holes and rends, whereupon the prey¡¯s wounded flesh was exposed, bleeding slightly through the second skin and onto the snow. The human was lucky to still be in one piece; the other predators in the woods still hadn¡¯t noticed its presence.
They will ¨C soon. The Ice Wolves will soon come running down the hills, teeth gnashing in hunger as they poured out of their caves.
The Pale Hunter had to move quickly to secure its prey. And so, it crept from the tops of the trees, making not a single sound. The Hunter¡¯s lithe form meant it was lighter than most creatures, such that its weight did not disturb the old branches that would¡¯ve snapped if the Hunter had been any heavier. Despite its lightness, however, the Pale Hunter was strong ¨C much stronger than it had any right being; it¡¯d long noticed this of course, after the course of many hunts. Somehow, the Hunter was stronger than all the beasts at the bottom of the food chain ¨C strong enough to easily overpower an angry Ice Bear, despite a clear lack of natural bulk. It was also capable of picking up scents over great distances, chewing through rock, or slicing open trees with its black claws.
It didn¡¯t make sense, but the Pale Hunter did not question its circumstances too much; it was strong, it was fast, and it was silent. All these things allowed it to capture prey and eat to its hearts¡¯ content. There was no need for further questions. All that mattered was the Hunt; everything else was a passing and fleeting fancy.
The Pale Hunter moved from atop the branches of the tall and massive trees of the woods, observing its prey.
The prey was exhausted its breaths were quick and its heart hammered in its chest ¨C exhausted and afraid. Although it was frantically scanning its surroundings, even aiming its sharpened stick thing at random places, the prey never bothered to look up. The Pale Hunter stalked down the bark of the massive tree, upon whose roots the prey rested, weary and fearful. The stench of urine and musk permeated the air, mingling with the scent of blood. Its head and its neck were its most vulnerable parts, exposed as they were.
The Pale Hunter paused for a moment and considered its next course of action. When it struck, it would have to be decisive and immediate; the prey could not be allowed to fight back or else the Hunter would find itself in a prolonged fight that would waste valuable time and energy. Worse still was the possibility of other predators arriving to steal the Hunter¡¯s prey or the prey itself would simply find a way to escape. The Pale Hunter wasn''t perfect; it had failed in its hunts before, especially when it was¡ younger and lacked experience.
The best course of action, when hunting humans, was to immobilize them and then paralyze them. Paralysis was easily achieved by breaking the lower portion of its spine, quick and efficient.
The Pale Hunter stayed in place, watching, and waiting for the perfect moment.
The prey below huffed and made pained noises as examined the massive wound on its thigh, no longer bleeding, but still very much open and painful. Still, the stout human forced itself back up onto his legs, seemingly deciding that it was safe and all was well. It began limping away from the tree.
With the human¡¯s back turned, the Pale Hunter surged down and clamped its jaws around the prey¡¯s shoulder, its sharp teeth punching through its armored second skin. The prey immediately screamed in pain and fear, blindly flailing its arms in a panicked struggle. Its efforts were for naught; the hunter¡¯s maw was locked and the only way the prey could escape was if it tore out its own shoulders.
As the short and stout human continued struggling and screaming, the Pale Hunter reached down, grabbed its waist, and twisted hard.
Chapter 2: The Beast Awakens
The new prey screamed as the Pale Hunter dragged it across the icy wilderness and back into its cave to be processed and hung with the other one. It wasn¡¯t bleeding. The Pale Hunter had been careful not to break open or cut its skin to minimize the interest of other predators with a taste for human meat. Thankfully, most of the other carnivores in the wilderness did not actively search for the flesh of humans; no, most creatures and beasts were content with hunting each other. They were unlike the Pale Hunter itself, who could only feed on the flesh and blood of men.
No other creature would suffice.
Once, the Pale Hunter thought to gorge itself on the meat of deer and wild boar, but quickly found that it simply couldn¡¯t eat. The skin and fur from atop their muscles and the flesh from their bones would all turn to ash and dirt in the Pale Hunter¡¯s maw and carried with it such a harsh and powerful bitterness as to force the hunter to spit everything out. Beasts and animals were not food, it¡¯d learned quickly enough when it was still young; only the flesh of humans were edible.
The Pale Hunter reached its cave soon enough. The prey had gone silent by then ¨C still alive and breathing, but unconscious. The other prey within, the pregnant female that¡¯d soiled itself earlier, was awake and immediately began screaming when the Pale Hunter crawled in, lugging the short and stout human¡¯s still-bleeding form behind it.
She roared and shouted and flailed her arms as she did before.
The Pale Hunter ignored the female human. The noises she made were not particularly troubling. So, the Hunter left her be ¨C for now. The female would, of course, be its first meal with the cold of hunger came. But that wouldn¡¯t be so for a while. Its last feast had been abundant, after all ¨C four humans, three dead and one at the doorstep of death.
The Hunter crawled to the center of the cave.
Something was different about the place¡ somehow.
The Pale Hunter breathed in all the scents and smells and found nothing amiss; no other creature had been here save for itself.
So, why did it feel such a sudden and intrusive sense of strangeness about?
And then the Pale Hunter stopped, dropping its latest prey onto the floor as it felt something abruptly blooming within itself, a rapid explosion of tingling warmth that came from its head and spread further. In its eyes, blacker than the blackest black of the void, came a spark of recognition, a spark of memories long forgotten, a spark of fire, a spark of life¡ a spark of intelligence, and a spark of power.
Its body suddenly felt weak and heavy. But it was a different sort of weakness, not like the one brought by hunger and thirst.
The Pale Hunter fell to its knees.
Why did it feel so weak?
Its mind was a haze, its consciousness lost in a stream of thoughts, of knowledge it shouldn¡¯t possess, and of memories that didn¡¯t belong to it. The Pale Hunter groaned and lashed out with its claws at phantom images of¡ humans.
And then, the Pale Hunter fell on its face and all was darkness¡.
The wind blew in from outside the cave, ruffling and rustling the dried leaves and twigs that lied within. Ancient bones lay prone amidst the growing cold, a human skull peeking out of the darkness, surrounded by old, rusted, and decayed things that, long ago, were once armor parts and weapons. Among the piles of dirt, covered in cold grime and withered by time, were several sheets of paper, the words upon it etched in old and brown blood¡.
I don¡¯t know where I am. I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ll last here. If you¡¯re reading this, then I¡¯m probably dead. The¡ food has run out and I have long since been bereft of water. It is cold. I am probably going to die. It is inevitable. Death draws near.
And yet, I still live. And¡ with the last of my breath and the last of my strength, I shall write my deepest regret and my last apology.
My name is Orys Daegor. I am an adventurer ¨C or was. I joined a party to venture deeper into the unknown that anyone ever has, a contract that spoke of hidden treasures beneath the Titan¡¯s Spine Peaks. It was a dangerous and, in hindsight, foolish venture. But, I dragged my younger brother into it, regardless. It was his first contract. Aside from a few outliers and freaks of nature, the monsters in the cold wasteland were mostly weak. And there were twenty of us in the party, anyway.
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My little brother would¡¯ve been safe, I thought.
I was wrong.
We trekked across hundreds of miles of snow and tall trees. We lost two of our number in the first day, a couple of young and foolish Bronze-Plates who thought Polar Bears were harmless. They were mauled to death and eaten alive. We killed the beasts responsible, but it was too late. Our leader, Markus of Helhaven, a Gold-Plater, told us we should continue. Their corpses were left behind ¨C not even buried.
We should¡¯ve turned back.
In our haste and greed, we overlooked the signs and clues that would¡¯ve saved us from our doom.
We lost four good people in the second day. These were veteran, Steel-Platers, who should not have perished lightly. We never found out what killed them. They died while on patrol duty, their bodies crunched and broken when we found them on the pale snow.
It was supposed to be a safe and simple mission.
Six people died in two days.
Markus decided to push on, regardless. The promise of ancient treasures and powerful magical artifacts also spurned us all on. My little brother expressed his doubts, but I told him everything would be fine. I was, after all, a Silver-Plate and the remaining fourteen were all veterans of many adventures, mostly fellow Silver-Platers and a few Steel-Platers.
We lost none in the third and fourth days, though we were relentlessly hounded and attacked by packs of Frost Wolves. We weren¡¯t worried about them. Deep in the wilderness, magically-mutated canids were the least of our worries.
No, Markus, our esteemed leader, was worried about the ever looming threat of the Dogmen tribes, who called the forest their home. I¡¯d never fought a Dogman before, but I have heard stories of their savagery and their strength, claws and teeth strong enough to puncture and rip apart mithril.
We reached the base of the Titan¡¯s Spine Peaks on the fifth day and established a base camp atop a small hill that overlooked much of the surrounding woods. For all its dangerous, the White Hell was certainly beautiful.
We ventured into the mountains and found the treasure, hidden amidst ancient caves, mounds and mounds of gold and silver, armories of ancient and powerful relics; it was everything we thought it would be and more.
We divided the treasure amongst ourselves, but saved a jewel-encrusted crown for the client. Our inventories were full and life was good. We stayed in our base camp until the seventh day.
The Dogmen descended upon us early in the morning. Our scouts and patrols were killed first. There was no warning. All was chaos. There was death everywhere. I grabbed my brother and ran into the mountains. A few of the Dogmen chased after us.
I¡ don¡¯t know how long we ran and how many monsters we killed. At some point, I ran out of Health and Stamina Potions. Exhaustion quickly came. My brother and I found this cave and hid in it. The Dogmen didn¡¯t chase us here. We were both wounded and weary. The cold did not help. The food I had in my Inventory wasn¡¯t going to last for long. My brother¡¯s leg was broken and covered in cuts. I did what I could with what little Healing Magic I knew, but it wasn¡¯t enough to stave off infection and disease.
He died some six weeks ago.
I ran out of food three weeks ago.
I couldn¡¯t venture out to hunt¡ the Dogmen were there¡ just waiting to kill me.
I would die, either way.
In hindsight, this quest was doomed to fail from the start. We were underprepared. We did not respect the dangers of the White Hell. And we paid the price for it.
If you¡¯re reading this, then I¡¯m probably dead. My greatest regret was that I brought my little brother with me¡ forgive me¡ brother¡ mother¡ father¡ I was supposed to protect him. He deserved a better life. I never should¡¯ve pushed him to join us in our quest.
I am cursed¡.
Forgive me for committing a sin most foul¡.
Forgive me¡
May my brother find himself in Asha¡¯s loving embrace¡ for my sin, I am sure to be welcomed by Malkath.
Forgive me¡ brother.
Name: N/A
Race: Cursed Undead, Wendigo, Level 1
Classes: Necromancer (level 1), Assassin (level 1)
Experience: 0/100
Endurance ¨C 0
Strength ¨C 0
Dexterity ¨C 0
Willpower ¨C 0
Spirit ¨C 0
0 Points Left to Spend
Racial Abilities:
- Voice Mimicry (level 1)
Necromancer Abilities:
- Raise Zombie (level 1)
Assassin Abilities:
- Celerity (level 1)
Perks:
- Natural Camouflage
- Cursed Spirit
- Abomination
- Cannibal
- Inheritor
The Pale Hunter¡¯s black and hollow eyes snapped open.
It gazed at its prey, one squirming and screaming as it hung from the ceiling. The other was unconscious on the floor. Both reeked of fear.
The Hunter was hungry. It needed to feast.
Chapter 3: Havoc
The female human screamed as the Pale Hunter, burdened by a sudden wave of hunger and thirst, bit into her left hand. She struggled ¨C harder than she¡¯d ever struggled before ¨C but to no avail. She was too weak. And she had no claws or teeth with which to fight back. Humans were, in general, weak when without their external weapons ¨C those gleaming, shining things they used to kill predators that were far superior to them.
The Pale Hunter chewed and gnawed on the female¡¯s fingers first, taking great care to savor the flavor of her flesh, blood, bone, and sinew, despite the hunger that burned in its stomach. All of it crunched and squelched in its maws as it chewed thoroughly. The woman screamed in tears and thrashed against the dying of her fate.
The Pale Hunter cared little for her struggle; she was too weak to do anything, too weak to escape.
All she could do was wait until it was finished.
"NO NO NO NO! LET GO OF ME! GODS! PLEASE LET ME GO! HELP MEEEEEE!!"
Once the fingers were all eaten, the gaunt predator bit down on her knuckles and did the same to them, crunching and breaking her bones as it gnawed hungrily.
Why was it so hungry?
Its stomach felt painfully empty ¨C far more so than the usual. This hunger was different, too. It wasn¡¯t merely a simple need for food.
The hunger was powerful and primal, and yet it was so much more than what the Pale Hunter understood. All it knew was that it needed to feed, to devour prey ¨C a waste of good food.
The two humans made the perfect stock for when food was scarce, especially in the dead of winter when men almost never left their homes. The gnawing hunger in the endless pit that was its stomach was making a mess of that perfection. It would have to hunt once more, after this, after the two humans were in its belly.
It still didn¡¯t make sense. It shouldn¡¯t have been hungry.
But, the Pale Hunter pushed the thoughts away as it continued eating.
Its hunger would be sated first and foremost; it would wonder on the why, afterwards, but not before.
The human woman went silent when the Pale Hunter¡¯s hungering maw reached her shoulders, tearing chunks of flesh from her torso. The hunter reached in and tore a single rib bone from her chest, and sipped on the copious amounts of blood that flowed outwards shortly after. Her bones snapped and crunched, her flesh tore and ripped; all that she was, the very essence of her being, was consumed. The human woman¡¯s unborn child was not spared, its soft and mushy form quickly devoured alongside its mother¡¯s organs.
And then, the Pale Hunter felt the spark of something within itself, a surge of¡ warmth that spread across its form.
It liked the feeling. It was new, but not entirely unpleasant. And it couldn¡¯t recall the last time it ever felt the feeling of comfortable warmth.
And then, the words appeared in its vision ¨C no, that wasn¡¯t entirely right. The words appeared in its mind¡¯s eye, making themselves seen without intruding upon the Pale Hunter¡¯s view.
+100 Exp!
Level Up!
You are now a level 2 (Cursed Undead, Wendigo)!
+5 Points!
Strange
Somehow, the Pale Hunter understood what the words in its head meant.
How it came to know at all was a mystery best left for later.
And so, deciding to ignore the words for now, the Pale Hunter turned to the other human, who thought it had been discreet in its attempt to escape by slowly crawling towards the mouth of the cave. The stout human couldn¡¯t walk; the Hunter had already broken both of its ankles. It couldn¡¯t grab anything, either, as its wrists were similarly broken and shattered. It could do nothing but crawl and writhe on the ground, like a worm.
The Pale Hunter did not humor the human by letting it get far. Instead, it bent down and chased after the stout human, who very quickly begun screaming and whimpering as it frantically tried and failed to crawl faster. The Hunter scaled the cave walls on all fours and dropped down from the ceiling, before biting down on the human¡¯s exposed shoulder. The human¡¯s scream grew much louder as the Hunter reared back and tore a chunk of its flesh. A geyser of blood spurted from the man¡¯s shoulder.
As the human struggled beneath it, the Pale Hunter simply grabbed both the human¡¯s arms and snapped the both of them, cracking and shattering the bones that lied within the flesh.
¡°AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH GODS HELP ME!¡± The stout and hairy human screamed. But, the Pale Hunter noted, its struggles were becoming weaker. It was losing blood ¨C quite a bit of it, in fact.
A waste of good blood¡.
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And so, the Pale Hunter sank its down on the torn chunk of skin, bone, and flesh on the man¡¯s shoulder and begun drinking all the blood that flowed freely out. The prey struggled for a bit, but all it could afford to do was flail its broken arms about and lash out with its legs. Soon enough, however, its resistance grew feebler and feebler until there was no longer any fight left in its form; it stopped moving at some point. And it was then that the Pale Hunter begun to devour it as it had done with all its prey. By the end of it, not even the human¡¯s bones remained.
+100 Exp!
But the Pale Hunter was not yet satisfied.
It needed more.
And, unfortunately, it could only gain sustenance from the flesh, blood, and bone of humans. No other creature would suffice ¨C no other creature would ever sate its hunger and quench its thirst.
And yet, hunger was not all there was that lingered in its mind, even as its blood-soaked tongue lapped up whatever bits and pieces of mortal flesh clung around its mouth. It was also curious. Foreign thoughts, ideas, and even tidbits of memories floated around in its head. The Pale Hunter recognized none of them, of course, but it understood what they meant. It knew, for example, that there were numerous human habitations along the edge of the woodlands, far from its lair. It also knew that there were strange and powerful humans who often ventured into the forest, seeking to kill the great beasts that dwelled in it to gain further¡ strength?
The images in its head did not explain how it worked, but the act of killing ¨C of taking life ¨C was the key to growing stronger.
Just as it took the lives of those two humans and partook in their flesh, so did the Pale Hunter grow in strength and power; this, as it understood, came in the form of Exp.
How did it know any of these things?
The Pale Hunter knew not and neither did it care to find out.
Its curiosity laid in finding out if its knowledge about the human¡ settlements was even remotely accurate. The Pale Hunter, after all, had never ventured far from its lair. To think that there was a place where humans gathered in droves¡ they would be ripe for the picking, fat sacks of meat and blood to be harvested at its leisure. Of course, they would fight back, humans always did, but they were helpless in the deep woods, where their feet sank into the snow and their strange weapons and glimmering skins did not protect them from the bite of the cold and the wrath of the elements ¨C both things the Pale Hunter did not need to fear.
Yes, humans were weak.
Sure, as it had observed, a few of them were capable of¡ unnatural things, such as spewing globs of fire from their hands or any summoning strange creatures from black holes in the air. But, a good and quick bite to the back of the neck was usually more than enough to put down even the strongest humans.
And so, for the first time in¡ an uncountable number of years, the Pale Hunter ventured out of its cave with not a single intent of returning.
Winds cold enough to freeze rivers into solid blocks of ice greeted it as it crawled out of the mouth of its home. It was comforting ¨C the biting cold ¨C despite a lack of blubber or fur to keep itself warm as most beasts did. It was a strange thing, the Pale Hunter decided, that it didn¡¯t seem to obey much of the laws that governed the lives of beasts. The fact that it still wasn¡¯t a frozen icicle despite its constant exposure to the cold was a testament to that.
Then again, the Pale Hunter hardly cared.
It leapt towards the tops of the trees, crawled up the snowy canopy, and stood there, drinking in the vast whiteness that seemed to encompass everything as far as its eyes could see. It smelled blood in the air, but it did not come from a human. And so its hunger was not roused.
Its thoughts drifted back towards the letters and symbols in its head. And, sure enough, they reappeared.
Name: N/A
Race: Cursed Undead, Wendigo, Level 2
Class/es: Necromancer (level 1), Assassin (level 1)
Experience: 100/200
Endurance ¨C 0
Strength ¨C 0
Dexterity ¨C 0
Willpower ¨C 0
Spirit ¨C 0
5 Points Left to Spend
It understood the meaning of the symbols ¨C somehow. It appeared almost like a distant dream, a faint memory that made little sense without any context. At the very least, however, the Pale Hunter understood enough. Endurance, for instance, would harden its bones, muscles, and skin. Strength would increase its overall physical prowess, while Dexterity increased its speed and agility. Willpower and Spirit¡ were two things it could not understand, even with the strange and distant flutters of memories in its head. These ¡®Points¡¯ were used to raise them.
With something that might¡¯ve been a shrug if a human did it, the Pale Hunter dumped all its points into Dexterity, which would increase its speed and agility ¨C two of its most useful weapons, especially when ambushing humans and running away from greater threats.
Endurance ¨C 0
Strength ¨C 0
Dexterity ¨C 5
Willpower ¨C 0
Spirit ¨C 0
0 Points Left to Spend
The changes it felt were¡ strange. Its muscles seemed to shift underneath its skin, writhing and coiling as though taking on a life of their own. It lasted for several seconds, before his muscles finally seemed to settle and stop. When the Pale Hunter experimentally moved its arms and flexed its legs, it found that movement somehow came easier. Despite never being heavy at all, it felt lighter that it had ever been. Moving had never felt as easy as it did now.
I crawled under the canopy and leapt towards another tree.
As expected, its movements were lighter and faster than before ¨C not by much, but there was certainly enough of a difference for it to be noticeable.
The Pale Hunter leapt from branch to branch, moving further and further away from its immediate territory, the vast swathe of snowy woods that surrounded its cave. If the faint memories in its head were even remotely correct, venturing to the edge of the woods should lead it closer to where humans made their nests, closer to its food source. But¡ there were other things that seemed to linger in its mind.
More than the urge to kill and feed, more than the urge to sate its hunger and thirst, was curiosity.
The Pale Hunter wanted to know the world beyond its little cave, to see what lay further in the horizon. There had to be more out there - more than the hunt, more than the constant hunger that burned in its belly.
As it leapt over the forest floor from one tree branch to another, an all-too familiar scream caught its attention.
The Pale Hunter¡¯s head snapped to the right. It sniffed the air. There was blood ¨C human blood - in the winds.
Chapter 4: Corpse
The Pale Hunter perched on a thick branch, high above the snowy ground. Snowflakes clung to its pale skin. Its black claws dug into the bark. Wind rattled the canopy. The Pale Hunter remained still. It listened.
Metal clashed somewhere ahead. Two voices rose above the groaning trees. One voice sounded deep and ragged. The other was lighter but rasping. The Pale Hunter caught the distinct smell of iron in the air. Human blood.
It crawled along the branch, moving one limb after the other. Its bones did not creak. Its weight did not bend the wood. The Pale Hunter paused and inhaled. The blood was fresh. It picked up the scent of sweat too. Heated breath, frenzied movement.
The Pale Hunter leapt to another branch. Its long limbs gripped the trunk. From there, it peered down. Through a tangle of smaller boughs, it saw them.
Two humans stood in a clearing. The first was tall and lean. It wore strips of animal hide over its body, along with some overlapping hard plates on its shoulders and arms. The second was slightly shorter, covered in heavier armor, with a padded cloak draped over its back. Both dripped blood onto the snow.
The tall one gripped a slender weapon with a thin edge. Its arms shook whenever it swung. Its breathing was harsh. The shorter one gripped a heavier weapon, broad and chipped, with half of its length stained red. The shorter one¡¯s left arm hung limp at its side. A cut ran along that arm¡¯s length, leaking drops onto the ground.
They circled each other. Frost clung to their hair. Their eyes were wide, scanning for a gap in the other¡¯s stance. A deep groan slipped from the tall one¡¯s throat. The shorter one coughed. Neither looked up at the trees.
The Pale Hunter watched. Their struggle stirred something in its mind. This was not the first time it had seen humans fight each other. It remembered glimpses of many hunts. But those memories were hazy. It only knew that, when humans bled, it fed.
Hunger flared within its stomach. A persistent emptiness. It had devoured two humans before leaving its den, but that meal felt distant. The hunger was deeper now, more urgent. The Pale Hunter flexed its talons. It observed the humans from above. They were moving unpredictably, swinging and dodging, each step sending flecks of blood onto the snow.
The tall one swiped its slender weapon in an arc. The shorter one parried with the broad blade. A clang rang out, echoing across the clearing. Sparks flickered. The tall one staggered back, favoring its right leg. The shorter one pressed forward, weapon raised. Its breath came in ragged bursts, forming white puffs in the air.
They clashed again. The tall one snarled and forced the shorter one to step back. Snow kicked up around them. The shorter one¡¯s boots slipped, nearly losing footing. The tall one tried to lunge, but pain flashed across its features. It froze, gripping its side. Blood stained the hide around its ribs.
The Pale Hunter waited. It eyed the angle between the trees. A direct leap might land it on one of them. But they still moved too much. A poorly timed ambush could lead to a wild slash. The Pale Hunter disliked direct conflict when it could be avoided. Quick kills were safer.
The shorter one pressed its advantage. Its broad weapon came down in a vicious chop. The tall one caught it with its slender blade. Another shriek of metal. The tall one¡¯s face twisted. Its teeth bared. It tried to push the shorter one away. The shorter one used its weight, shoving forward.
They locked weapons. Their bodies shook. The tall one¡¯s slender blade cracked under the pressure. A sudden snap rang out. The tall one lurched. The broad blade came in, slicing across the tall one¡¯s midsection. A thick spurt of red sprayed out.
The tall human staggered back and dropped to one knee. Its eyes bulged. It pressed a trembling hand against the wound. The shorter human clenched its teeth. The weapon clutched in its hands rose again, but a cough rattled its chest. Blood flecked its lips. The shorter human spat crimson onto the ground.
The Pale Hunter tensed, readying itself. Both humans were slowed. Both were too weak to flee with any real speed. The Pale Hunter wanted them alive for at least a moment. It liked warm meat.
Below, the shorter human advanced. The tall one lifted a feeble arm, broken blade still in hand. Their eyes met in grim finality. The tall one bared its teeth and tried to stand. It managed only a slight wobble before collapsing forward.
The shorter one grunted and swung the broad weapon. The tall one¡¯s head jerked to the side. Wet sounds followed. Then the tall human slumped face-first in the snow, blood streaming into the white drifts.
The shorter human stood there, panting in shallow bursts. It lowered its weapon, letting the tip rest on the ground. Steam wafted from the open wounds across its body. One deep cut marred its thigh. Another slick gash crossed its shoulder. The Pale Hunter smelled the metallic tang of fresh blood swirling in the air. The human¡¯s eyelids drooped. Its chest heaved. It took one shaky step, then another. It looked around, scanning for threats. It did not lift its gaze upward.
The Pale Hunter crawled sideways on the branch. Its limbs moved with careful precision. The shorter human turned its head one way, then the other. It wiped blood from its mouth with the back of its gauntlet. The Pale Hunter bared its teeth.
It leapt.
It landed in the snow behind the shorter human. A burst of powder lifted into the air. The shorter human whipped around, eyes widening. Its lips parted, but no scream came. The Pale Hunter sprang forward, claws spread. The human tried to raise the broad weapon. It was too slow.
Black talons sank into the metal plates on the human¡¯s arm. Screeching metal gave way. Blood oozed from beneath. The human¡¯s face twisted. A guttural howl burst from its throat. It tried to swing the broad blade anyway, but its arm trembled. The Pale Hunter felt the rush of air as the weapon passed too wide.
The Pale Hunter snapped its jaws and tore into the gap between the plates on the human¡¯s shoulder. Its long, jagged teeth found flesh. The taste of blood and muscle filled its mouth. Warm fluid trickled down its chin. The human gasped. Its arms flailed. It dropped the weapon in the snow.
A meaty fist pounded at the Pale Hunter¡¯s head. Another hammered against its ribs. The hits were frantic, fueled by terror. They left shallow bruises, but did not break the Pale Hunter¡¯s hold. The creature growled deep in its throat. It tightened its bite. The human released another ragged cry and sank to one knee. Its gaze flickered to the side, searching for something. A smaller weapon, perhaps, hidden under its belt.
The Pale Hunter smelled fresh fear in the air. It recognized the wild, desperate thrashing of prey. The human¡¯s hand darted to its hip, fumbling at a small sheath. The Pale Hunter did not give it a chance. It yanked backward, snapping the joint in the human¡¯s shoulder with a wet pop.
A raw scream tore from the human¡¯s lips. Its free hand scrambled for the Pale Hunter¡¯s face, but found only clammy, pale skin. Its fingers tried to gouge an eye, but the Pale Hunter jerked its head aside. A black talon raked across the human¡¯s helmet, carving a deep groove in the metal. Sparks danced briefly.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
A final crash sent them both tumbling. The human collapsed onto its back. Blood matted its hair and dripped onto its cheeks. The Pale Hunter landed atop the human¡¯s chest, pinning it with spindly limbs. The human¡¯s left arm hung useless. The right arm clawed at the ground, looking for a grip on the blade it had dropped. It came up empty-handed.
The Pale Hunter sank its teeth deeper. It chewed at the tender sinew. The human thrashed weakly. Its eyes grew unfocused. Then they rolled back. The Pale Hunter felt the twitch of life fading beneath it. The hunger roared in its belly.
It could not feast here, not out in the open. The smell of blood would spread. Larger predators might come. The Pale Hunter had no real fear of lesser beasts, but apex hunters roamed these woods. Some creatures, like Dogmen or Giants, could kill even something like the Pale Hunter if given the chance.
Still, the Pale Hunter needed to eat. Now. A compromise. It bared its fangs and ripped a chunk from the human¡¯s collar. Blood sprayed. The Pale Hunter swallowed. Warmth slid down its throat.
A faint flutter still came from the human¡¯s heart. The Pale Hunter placed a claw against the chest and felt the trembling beat. It leaned down, tore open the human¡¯s face, and drank in the rushing blood. A low shudder rattled the human¡¯s body. Then it went limp.
+100 Exp!
Level Up!
You are now a level 3 (Cursed Undead, Wendigo)!
+5 Points!
Those strange symbols appeared in the Pale Hunter¡¯s mind again. It blinked, feeling a small surge of warmth in its limbs.
Now it was level 3, or so the symbols implied. More points to distribute.
Name: N/A
Race: Cursed Undead, Wendigo, Level 3
Class/es: Necromancer (level 1), Assassin (level 1)
Experience: 0/300
Endurance ¨C 0
Strength ¨C 0
Dexterity ¨C 5
Willpower ¨C 0
Spirit ¨C 0
5 Points Left to Spend
The Pale Hunter paused, half-buried in the human¡¯s chest cavity. It tried to recall how it spent those points before. Last time, it chose speed. That speed had served it well. Maybe more speed would serve it again. Or maybe it needed more strength or something else.
It considered its options¨Cwhich of them would serve it best¡ it was better to be patient, for now, and decide later.
Its black eyes roamed over the bloodied snow.
The tall human lay crumpled ten steps away. That one was already dead. The shorter one¡¯s body remained under its claws, half-consumed. The Pale Hunter¡¯s gaze flicked from the corpses to the trees beyond.
Movement. Far off, the forest stirred. A snap of twigs. A faint rustle of leaves. The Pale Hunter lifted its head. Droplets of blood dripped from its maw. It sniffed. The smell was old pine. Wood and bark. No fresh blood there. Perhaps a small animal. It smelled no other humans.
For now, the Pale Hunter could feast. It tore into the human¡¯s flesh, savoring the wet crunch of bone. It devoured organs that still pulsed with leftover heat. The snow beneath the body turned slushy and red. The Pale Hunter used one black talon to keep the chest cavity open, letting it scoop out bits of muscle. Its jaw worked, cheeks bulging. Streaks of gore covered its chin.
As it ate, it felt that surge again. Another wave of heat. More lines in its vision. Another message.
+20 Exp!
It had not realized the kill could grant more. The Pale Hunter did not dwell on it. It only knew that more humans meant more strength. Killing them meant growth, and growth meant easier hunts.
The Pale Hunter wiped its claws in the snow to clear away the slickest pieces of gore. It rose and stalked toward the tall human¡¯s body. That one had bled out. Its slender weapon lay snapped beside it. The Pale Hunter squatted and sniffed. This corpse was fresh. The blood was not yet frozen. The Pale Hunter dug its talons into the tall human¡¯s chest. It peeled back the hide and metal plates. Underneath lay battered ribs and a deep gash. The Pale Hunter pried the ribs apart. It feasted again, gulping down the raw flesh.
The kill was messy. Icy wind whipped against the Pale Hunter¡¯s skin. It ate until the emptiness in its stomach faded to a manageable throb. A few scraps of bone and flesh remained. Normally, the Pale Hunter devoured everything, but caution whispered in its mind. Feasting too long in one spot attracted trouble. The smell of blood would linger for miles.
With a soft hiss, the Pale Hunter rose. It wiped strings of muscle from its fangs with the back of its forearm. It scanned the clearing. One glance at the trees told the creature enough: no immediate threats. Still, it did not wish to wait. It had enough sustenance for now.
Strange whispers stirred in its mind, reminiscent of an echo. The Pale Hunter paused, remembering memories that were not its own. The thoughts came unbidden, but they were clear. Raise Zombie. The Pale Hunter had not tried it before. It did not even know what the thought meant.
It crept back to the shorter human¡¯s corpse. That husk lay in a dark pool of blood. The Pale Hunter peered at it. It reached out, placing one palm over the battered chest. An itch spread across its consciousness. There was a sense of power, dormant but waiting. It focused on that itch.
A slight tension crackled in the air. The Pale Hunter¡¯s hand glowed with a faint, sickly shimmer. Then a surge of cold breath whipped around the clearing. Loose snow whipped into spirals. The shorter human¡¯s body shuddered. Its limbs jerked. Bones grated together. The battered torso rose inch by inch, as if pulled by invisible strings.
The Pale Hunter felt a tug at its own spirit, like a piece of itself was draining away. The body stood, hunched and shaking. It faced the Pale Hunter with empty eyes. A blackish ooze trickled from its open wounds. Its face had teeth marks, but the jaw hung slack. The corpse made a soft rasp.
The Pale Hunter tilted its head. The figure did not move on its own. It simply stood, swaying. The Pale Hunter flicked a claw at a nearby tree. The figure stumbled in that direction, dragging a broken leg behind it. Its movement was slow and awkward. But it moved.
The Pale Hunter clicked its teeth. It had raised a thing. A husk. It turned and pointed at the tall human¡¯s corpse. The husk walked over. Blood still dripped from the wide slashes on its body. It stared down at the other corpse with blank eyes. No reaction. The Pale Hunter pointed again, this time making a small snarl from deep in its throat.
The husk bent down. It picked up the tall corpse by the arm. The body dragged across the ground, leaving a smear of fluids. The Pale Hunter studied the effect. The husk was strong enough to carry a good portion of the load, but half its body was ruined. Muscles and bones no longer fit together. The husk¡¯s movements were jerky. Still, it obeyed.
The Pale Hunter hissed approval. More corpses meant more of these things. A small advantage in hunts. But that might also draw attention. Humans would see these walking corpses. They would gather in larger groups. They would bring better weapons. The Pale Hunter growled softly, uncertain.
Another swirl of wind rattled the pines. The Pale Hunter looked up. No sign of danger, yet. It turned back to the husk. If the husk could obey, maybe it could help carry kills to safer feeding grounds. But how long did it last? Did it remain until it rotted away? Could the Pale Hunter control more than one?
It decided to experiment. It placed a clawed hand on the tall corpse, the one now half-dragged by the husk. The remains were even more damaged. The chest was ripped open. The arms were nearly severed. Still, the Pale Hunter tried again. That itchy sensation came once more.
A wave of cold pulsed along the ground. The tall corpse quivered. Broken limbs snapped. A severed finger twitched in the snow. The chest gaped wide, exposing half-eaten organs. Despite that, the corpse jerked upright. Another hiss sounded in the clearing. The second husk had risen.
The Pale Hunter staggered a step. Its mind felt stretched. Its head throbbed with pain. It pressed one palm against its forehead, black claws tapping its own pale skin. The tension in the air receded. The forest grew silent again. Two husks now stood, bodies swaying. The tall husk was even less stable than the first. Its spine bent sideways, causing it to lean crookedly. One eye socket was empty. The other stared blankly.
The Pale Hunter tested them. It walked to the nearest tree, then pointed. The husks followed, limbs scraping and crunching. They moved slower than the Pale Hunter liked. One husk kept stumbling. A leg buckled. Bits of flesh peeled off. The Pale Hunter decided this was enough. For now, it had no further use for these broken forms. They could not hunt. They could only shuffle around.
Perhaps they could distract bigger predators if needed.
The Pale Hunter looked at its new minions with disinterest. A short, choppy growl rose from its throat. The husks stopped. The Pale Hunter devoured them where they stood and returned to the trees.