《DOGHEAD Demons & Goats》


 Prologue

    A violet hooded figure strides through woods, following no path, only the babbling of water and chatter of young girls. Following a few steps behind, a giant alsatian with a dark stormy coat of blacks and browns.


    It is a perfect autumn day, warm and clear. Ideal for hunting.


    Flowing water caresses the waists of two young girls. Magali''s enviable slender body glistens in the daylight as she lathers her friends hair. Anne is altogether more humdrum; the figure approaching regards her as you would a beast being washed by its keeper.


    "... I like duck meat but they are a nightmare to care for. When I get a house of my own¡ª I''m sticking to chickens! ... Wait, who''s that? Hello?" Anne smiles, waving at the approaching woman in a pastel purple robe.


    The robe is open revealing a neat outfit, hugging a fit figure. Apart from the robe her top is covered only by risqu¨¦ dark purple tuxedo style vest.


    "I don''t know, I like her vest. Hello!" Calls out Magali, waving with a wide smile.


    Nearing the river bank the woman drops her hood, revealing dazzling pink hair. Showing as she does, hands adorned by many rings of assorted metals and mismatched gems. Her ears glimmer, weighed down by piercings and jewels. Decorated too are her left nostril and bottom lip.


    Her mask of precise makeup breaks into a smile, flashing brilliant white teeth. She waves with both hands as she strides, hips swaying, onto the surface of the water.


    The girl''s smiles falter, eyes widen as their breaths get caught. How was this woman walking on water!?


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "Helloooo, lovely ladies, wonderful day for a dip isn''t it?" Her eyes gleam, focused on the fairer girl. Each step makes the smallest of ripples, her thigh high purple boots not breaking the surface.


    Her dog emerges from the treeline; as the woman stops in front of the girls, the dog stops too. The girls both step back, now both angled toward the busy, reality defying woman. They hold each other''s arms with looks of shock and confusion.


    "Hey! We¡ª We don''t want any trouble." Anne sputters out, not knowing she should keep her quivering maw shut!


    "Please, leave us be." Even trembling, Magali''s words sound sung from her pretty pink lips.


    The woman squats down, extending her bangle and bracelet covered arms out with all the flourish of presenting herself to an audience. Her robes flowing onto the water''s surface, sweeping with its flow but not going in or getting wet. Around her neck layered necklaces of varied lengths. Now closer, the girls could have seen impressions of nipple piercings, were they not both staring in horror at the woman''s saccharine smile.


    "Shhhh ladies, stress adds wrinkles."


    With lightning speed the woman snatches Magali''s wrist, then goes to stroke it. Shouting, Anne tries to grab the stroking arm while her friend pleads, tugging and slapping at the hand holding her wrist.


    Slap!


    Anne recoils at the backhand, crashing into the water.


    Despite the brutal lashing out, the woman''s eyes had remained fixed on her prey. The thrashing ox being unworthy of another glance. The hand she had struck with is held aloft as if having completed a flamenco move, it shoots forward seizing her victims breast.


    "Mmmm... You''ll do." Her unfaltering smile and eyes widen as she squeezes.


    Her victim faints, shock or magic, the reason is unclear.


    "No! Get away from her!" Anne lunges forward, only to see her friend become a blur, as Magali is snatched from the water. The streak of flesh tones and purple soar into the distance.


    Woof!


    As Anne turns back, she raises her head, tracking the arc of the massive beast as it clears the river in a single bound. Her ear bursting scream follows, as it vanishes among the trees.

 Chapter 1

    Now in a violet apron, the witch tends to the flowerbeds outside her isolated cottage. No road, path, or even track leads to the idyllic cottage. Surrounded by a circle of Rune marked stones, and deep forest; the cottage and its garden take moderate space. From afar, it would go completely unseen, hidden by the trees.


    A small pruning knife seeing to any undesirable stems, as she hums sweetly, enjoying the warm sunshine. A gentle breeze carrying pleasing woodland scents perfects the moment. She stops humming to close her eyes, breathing in the wonderful spring day.


    Crick!


    A twig snaps behind her. He''s here. Without turning her back, without giving anything away, the witch uses her mind''s eye to see. The witch hunter is lurking just within the trees, the tip of his polearm gleaming in the sun, is he even trying to hide? At least he has his helmet and the shadows hiding his ill-bred visage.


    She knew he would come. He''d taken so much already, her dog, her magic robe, and now he came for her head. She steadies herself. The potion is ready in the cauldron, a knife in hand, just one drop of his filthy blood... She smiles relishing the thought of the immense suffering he''ll experience when the potion is activated.


    The delectable thought turns to a surge of pure hate, that powers her transformation into a superhuman blur.


    FOOM!


    The witch slashes, the pruning knife slicing clean through the helmet''s chin strap. Crucially, she nicked his chin, drawing blood. Good, the fucker pulled his head back in time, it would''ve been too easy if her super speed delivered slash killed him.


    FOOM!


    The horrid hexer zooms to her cottage, stopping within her threshold. She sees, but does not acknowledge, the hunter throwing himself down against the ground. She paces over to her cauldron, knife ready to dip and stir.


    SNAP!


    The magically enhanced sound of a finger snap causes the wicked magic user to hesitate, knife just above the potion.


    BOOOM!


    The wiccan woman''s cottage is saturated by fire. Her screams are drowned by the roar of the flames.


    Perhaps not having magic would have been kinder in these brief moments, keeping her alive as it does. Hair reduced to smoke, flesh being seared off, her nerves cease to register the overwhelming pain.


    CRASH!


    The cottage surrenders, collapsing onto the dark sorceress.


    The evil enchantress opens her eyes to darkness and agony. She can''t move her right arm, her left barely and her legs... she can''t feel them at all.


    "Wrah!" Shrieks the malicious magic user, telekinetically blasting away whatever''s on top of her.


    Debris rains down as her eyes adjust. Still hazy, she sees clear enough the bane that is her undoing.


    Raising her burning left arm, she points at the approaching prick. Even in so much pain, she knows throwing out death spells wouldn''t work. His magic, whatever charms he might have, even his metal armour would protect him.


    The witch knows she is dying, finger pointed at her killer, she accepts it. She can just about make out something interesting, his helmet has blown off. Had she still lips, they''d curl into a smile. Madness consuming her, she musters all her strength, uttering her final words... Then jabs her finger toward the witch hunter''s face.


    * * *


    Jari dives to the ground as the witch zooms into her cottage. His buckler, a small shield, is positioned in front.


    Jari lets go his polehammer. Adding a little magic, he readies his fingers to¡ª


    SNAP!


    BOOOM!


    The witches cottage erupts into a ball of fire. Closing his eyes to the blast of heat and light, Jari feels relief. This quest that required him to become a witch hunter, seemed finally over...


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Helmet blown off, padded cowl still on, Jari furtively approaches the collapsed cottage. His weapon ready to strike.


    CRASH!


    He shields himself against the debris, as part of the roof violently flips over. Bitch couldn''t just die!?


    Jari''s steel grey eyes meet the jet black witch''s, none of her pink hair is left, her burnt face is contorted by rage. Right arm and lower half still trapped, she lifts her burning left arm to point at him.


    . . .


    Heavy breathing, or rather... panting? And the beat of his heart are all Jari could hear as he lumbers forward. Every few steps he stops. Against the pounding in his head, he has to focus. Which trees look familiar? Can he see one of the inconspicuous markers he''d left?


    It would help if he could see right, the world seems bigger, his periphery more distracting. A crazy thought, could he see further around? He can also now see his nose further out in front of him, was it so swollen?


    The last thing he remembers is his cowl feeling tight, hearing the toggles snap before the deafening sound of bones breaking. The excruciating pain knocked him out.


    He dares not touch his head, he feels no pain but perhaps some skin around his eyes was missing. Or his eyes were damaged? Colours save for the blue sky, hues of yellow and shades of green were dulled to shades of grey. The rest of his body seems uninjured.


    A low hanging branch snapped in two places, he''s close. The wind shifted bringing a gust of smoke riddled air from behind him. He coughs... but it sounds... wrong. First he heaves, then he... barks?


    Why was the world now suddenly so full of smells? He can practically see smells around him. Deer droppings a couple paces away are radiating an odour that ripples and dances through the air. The dirt, fungus, bark, the woodlice and grubs beneath, it all seems to hum around him. Beyond his immediate vicinity a throng of odours, too many to list, too distracting; he has to keep moving.


    He reaches the memorable remains of a tree. The splintered top matches his height. A small, fresh, crudely carved notch sits just above the moss line. Positioning himself to the side of the engraving, Jari traces an invisible straight line from the notch to a tree standing well within those around; he remembers it was nine and a bit paces away. The tree didn''t stand out at all, the pile of leaves beneath could have been anything, that had been the point.


    Jari drops his polehammer, before plunging his hands into the pile, wrenching at twigs and leaves, hurling them aside. He heaves out his prize, the leaves not hitting the ground before Jari staggers away with the bundle, over to clearer ground.


    Collapsing to his knees, Jari almost falls onto his stash. He prises apart the knot, flicking the fabric aside. He grabs at his waterskin, pops out the cork. Clutching with both hands, he rushes it up¡ª


    Rowr!


    Having stabbed the mouthpiece of his waterskin into his upper lip and nose, he reaches for his face. The waterskin drops.


    "Fuck!" he thinks, grabbing it up to shove the cork back in. Looking at the splash lost, he sighs. He throws his water down against his bag. His thoughts awash with expletives . He wants a drink so fucking bad. What the hell is wrong with his face?


    He closes his eyes. A few moments pass. His breathing slows. The throbbing, the thirst, a wave of dizziness forces him to open his eyes for bearing...


    As the world steadies around him,he reaches again for his face. His hand stops before even getting above his neckline, his fingers feeling the air instead. He lowers his hand with a whimper. His heavy breathing cuts, an idea forms.


    He pulls his large tubular bag upright, fervently opening it. Plunging his arm in, it thankfully only takes a quick fumble to feel what he''s looking for. He wriggles and yanks out a cloth pouch.


    Jari allows his sack to fall backward, then arranges his items to make a clearing atop his coat.


    As he fiddles with the knot on the pouch, he pauses, hearing himself... is he whimpering?! He shakes the thought away.


    He has to slow down, not throw everything about. With care, the contents are extracted from the pouch. He unfurls his towelling rag, revealing his meagre wash kit.


    Jari raises a pocket vanity mirror, pointing it straight up. He opens it just enough that the polished surface that serves as a mirror is fully exposed. Taking a deep breath, he points it toward himself.


    He has to grab his forearm, then even press his wrist and lower half of the back of his hand into his knee to steady the trembling image. Keeling over he stares down into his reflection.


    He sees fur. He sees a black, dry looking snout, a long tongue, rows of sharp teeth¡ª Fangs! Moving his head about, the beast in the mirror moves too. He sees one big pointed furry ear, then the other... They are his furry ears, his fangs... in his muzzle.


    Jari has the head of a dog. In place of his human head, Jari has a human proportioned canine head.


    In another wave of dizziness, Jari scrunches closed his eyes, dropping the mirror as he does. The darkness seems to swirl like a stormy sea. He opens his eyes, fights back the urge to puke.


    He plucks up the mirror then reaches for the waterskin, fumbles with the cork. Too many things in his hands! He places the mirror down atop his bag, his hand hesitates. Seeing it stays put on the uneven surface, he carries on. He drops the cord attached cork the moment it''s clear and snatches up the mirror. One eye on his reflection, he guides the mouthpiece to the end of his muzzle, and finally pours some water in.


    He savours, with eyes closed, the sweet relief.


    Quite a bit had spilled out from the sides of his mouth, so as he raises it again he closes his mouth more, curling his tongue to form a gutter down to his throat. He chugs down a third of his large waterskin. As the water goes down, a sense of calm washes over him.


    He lowers his water but keeps the mirror up, pulling his head back while stretching his arm out as far as it can go. It''s a shitty little mirror, looted from a vain human or literal monster. Polished metal set in wood, not very clear; he gives up trying to see more.


    On his knees, in a forest, with the head of dog, Jari ponders what the fuck was going on. "Dog head" he thinks. A memory surfaces making him smile (though it doesn''t look like much through the dog face). The witch''s final words,


    "You dogged fool. Urgh [coughs up blood] ...Mongrel prick!".


    Jari snorts and arfs, chest heaving. An onlooker might mistake his laughter for suffering, then again, he''s laughing through suffering.

 Chapter 2

    Jari''s patch riddled, smudgy black, wool, duster coat has once more found a use, thrown over his shoulder as a makeshift sack. A fresh singed hole shows a glimpse of the ribcage inside. His left hand strains to keep a hold of the now sweaty mass of material. The lingering headache pounds as he trudges through the forest, combined with the awkward extra weight, Jari hadn''t registered crossing the threshold into the clearer land around the village.


    Jari''s shorter handled polehammer now serves as a walking staff, the end cap leaving a trail of holes, as his right hand grips the dark brown leather overstrike collar. His pace slows as the muddy cropland grips at his boots.


    Jari''s battered buckler has been retrieved and returned to its usual place, strapped to his left forearm. Though dull and blackened, parts of the small shield still glimmered in the sun. Various items clink, clank and clatter about his person; the cloth wrapped sabre on his left side rocks like a boat on choppy seas.


    Most of all his helmet swings loose from the outside of his crossbody travelbag. Bodged with some string due to a cleanly severed chin strap; under Jari''s muzzle is a small patch of bloody fur. His gabison hooded cowl, flaps beside. Fortunate was the forethought to attach it to his bag, it would no doubt be lost in the woods if stored how it usually is, stuffed within the helmet.


    "Yahhhhhhh!" The screaming woman drops her trowel, scrambling up from the ground.


    "Monster! Monster!" She vanishes between two nearby cottages.


    Brooding interrupted, Jari realises he has reached the village. Shaking away dark, self-pitying thoughts, he stops.


    Putting his polehammer down, he then uses both hands to heave his makeshift sack to in front of him. He whips his coat from under the contents, flaps and rolls it before stuffing it between the strap of his waterskin and side.


    Weary villagers appear, forming a crowd. The men are armed with a variety of farming implements. The head of the village steps forward through the crowd, holding aloft a rust mottled arming sword. Jari takes stock of the situation, deciding to pick up his polehammer.


    As Alain nears, he scans Jari up and down. His eyes widen with recognition, darting over the familiar polehammer, boiled leather torso armour and distinctive wrapped up sword a couple more times to make sure.


    Jari remains still, holding his arms to his sides, hands open, his right hand managing to hold his polehammer with his thumb.


    Children begin to join the crowd, a few more women too, some trying to drag their children back.


    Alain, a barrel chested, middle aged man, raises his sword higher. Pointing it at Jari''s head whilst inspecting it. The sword lowers as his gaze does, to what the adventurer had dumped at his feet.


    The charred remains of the witch, what Jari had bothered to drag out from the rubble, lay not far from his boots. A burnt, skeletal torso. Its right arm is broken and missing fingers; only the upper arm bone, elbow and small parts of the forearm bones remained on the left. The ends of the forearm bones look melted and extruded, as though warped by an unnatural force.


    A few ragged bits of flesh cling to the remains. The rib cage is empty, the spine severed just below. Jari had to cut it, the pelvis and legs too trapped beneath heavy debris.


    "Stay back cursed beast!" Alain''s hesitation clear.


    Jari hadn''t moved. Alain, frantic, looks about, searching for an easy get-out. A woman of similar age runs up, taking hold of his free arm.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Drive it away Alain! Get it away!"


    "Hold on Marie!... I think it''s the adventurer we sent after the witch"


    After ''witch'' had passed Alain''s lips, Jari raised his left hand higher, with a flick of his fingers. He now points down at the remains.


    "Is that supposed to be the witch, beast?" The woman steps forward, taking charge, eyes narrow.


    Matching her husband, she has skin like tanned leather, her face paler thanks to use of her wide brim straw hat. Peach fuzz instead of stubble.


    "That wretch took many our young''uns! You return bearing some kind of curse! Begone beast!" She spits and hisses from a mouth of discoloured, not all there, teeth.


    Jari grimaces at her foul breath. Shaking his head, fanning away the stench but also signalling his disagreement, he lowers his arms. The crowd tenses, tools raising in unison. More motioning for calm before once more pointing at the remains.


    "What beast!? Go away!"


    "Marie please!" Alain steps between his wife, and the remains, his sword now wavering within arms reach of Jari.


    "Is that the witch? Are you the adventurer... Jari was it?"


    The adventurer nods, the movement appears exaggerated as his muzzle bobs up and down. He raises his hand, then jerks it toward Marie noticing she was about to say something, she shoots him an offended look. Turning to Alain, Jari then rubs his index finger and thumb together.


    "You want the reward? Err.. Well... Just err¡ª"


    "You''ll get nothing from us, beast! You''re working with the witch I bet! That one of ours ain''t it! No Alain! [Slapping him away] You burnt part of the forest down, could''ve been this whole area! And you come down here with a dog''s head, no words, just a few darn bones!"


    Marie snatches the sword from Alain''s shaking hands with ease before slashing at the air between Jari and her. Jari catches the sword by the blade, its dull edge doing nothing to his tough fingerless leather gloves. Yanked from her bony hands, he flings the weapon over his shoulder. Marie pitches forward, she kicks aside the witch''s skull, stumbling onto the collarbone, breaking through, before her left foot lands on top the right shoulder blade.


    "Wah! Ahhhh!" Marie jumps back. Her straw hat falls off. Some men in the crowd step forward. Alain too makes a move, putting his arm out across the front of his wife while holding out his other arm, showing his palm to a not fussed Jari.


    Once more the adventurer signals for calm, however the bobbing of his polehammer causes confusion. Members of the crowd step forward again, jeering, some shouting similar bile as Marie.


    "We''ve nothing for you! Leave us, Beast!" This time it''s Alain screeching. Jari catches movement to his left, his arm already raised halfway, now shoots up as he simultaneously dips his head. A stone grazes his ear.


    Grrrrrrr!


    Out of reflex Jari closes his fingers around his polehammer. With a light grip, he flicks it forward and up. The shaft slides through his hand, his grip tightening further down. He slaps the air trying to motion for calm. The movement loosens his buckler, which begins to flop about the chainmail sleeve, pulled over a gambeson wrap on his forearm.


    Tink!


    Jari bats away a stone from his right. Ducks below a clump of dirt flung from the left. Alain is pulling back his aghast wife. Villagers step between them and Jari. He jerks his left forearm downward, catching both straps of his buckler, he squeezes the straps together while thrusting it up to bear against a thrown basket.


    Jari considers charging forward, grabbing Alain by his stupid collar, lifting him off his stupid feet, and barking into his stupid face. Maybe that would make him pay up...


    "Daddy no! He''s good! Daddy, leave him alone!"


    Jari focuses in on a young boy, tugging at the sleeve of his father. Before heading to the witch he had shown the curious boy his gear, was wished good luck and enthusiastically waved off by the lad.


    A swung hoe gets batted aside. Jari''s eyes meet the hesitant stare of the father. The man looks away in shame, dropping the clod of dirt in his hand, to take hold his son and leave.


    Jari doubts they ever had the promised reward.


    He scans the crowd. If he was so inclined, he could hurt them all. However, attacking even one villager while affiliated with this curse, he''d no doubt be hunted down as a monster the rest of his life.


    Wruff!


    Swinging wide with a defiant bark causes the crowd to lurch back. Then he charges right, first sprinting a few paces before slowing to a jog. His gear bouncing all about.


    He slows, glancing back as projectiles land around him, the crowd isn''t pursuing. He jogs a little further then slows to a fast walk. He holds his right hand aloft and loosens the grip on his polehammer, it falls through his hand and he catches onto it by the leather collar. He stabs the metal capped shaft into the ground, pulling himself forward, he then wretches it from the ground behind him. Dirt flings to the side.


    Too pissed off to use it properly, Jari holds the polehammer by his finger and thumb tips, allowing the end to drag beside him, leaving behind a thin line in the dirt.


    Grrrrrrrrrrrrr....


    Head down, Jari stomps past the village sign, ''Beau-Noisetier''.


    "Beau my arse!" Thinks Jari.