The Hunted

Discarded folage, crisp with frost crackled underfoot.  With deliberate steps, Shimura stalked through the forest, his mind alive as he absorbed a multitude of sensations.  The soldiers raced ahead of him, their flight burdened by their captive.  His heart raced, as he revelled in what was to come.  He was right, Nakura was wrong. 

A sudden darkness veiled his eyes.

He stopped.  A cold dread washed over any feeling of joy.  His chest tightened and an ache gnawed at the pit of his stomach.  His sword flashed from its sheath.  On some inclination, he drew his knife, but after a further moment's thought he recast his mind, returning it to his waist.  The muscles across his back twitched.  His grip tightened on the hilt.  He could not move, his feet as though taken root through the frozen earth.

He felt, rather than saw a disturbance in the mist beside him.  The dark skeletal trees, blackened by winter's touch, seemed to lengthen.  His eyes ached and he felt his temples throb.

When it struck, it slammed so hard as to beat the breath from his chest and tear his feet from the ground.  He was aware of his flight through the air, his body oddly limp and mucles relaxed.  What could only have taken an instant was betrayed as time stalled in its passing.  His body turned as he bounced over the ground.

He rolled onto his back, gasping at the air.  As a reflex he lifted his arm as the next blow fell.  Some idle thought marvelled at how he had managed to retain his sword.  Catching the blow on his blade, he diverted it to his side as he rolled away.  He staggered for a moment as he found his feet.

Shrouded in mist and shadow, the bulk of a dark figure hunched over where he had just lain.  Slowly it straightened, drawing itself to its full height of a man and half.  Shimura identified it as human in shape, but only as no other description could adequately provide.  Deep bursts of its breath fogged like a blacksmith's forge.  It's panting like that of a tethered ox.

It was the demon.  His demon.

His mind raced as it grasped at the lessons learnt of past battles.  He snatched at the knife in his belt with a hand as he relaxed his muscles.  His brow creased as he dismissed a wave of nauseousness.

Perhaps aware of its effect, it waited, giving its prey time to unsettle. 

Its shoulders dipped.

The two launched at each other.  The knife flickered, hurled underarm.  The demon swatted it away with the back of one arm.  Shimura swooped low, a two handed stroke cleaved to the heavens.  He was rewarded as he felt the razor tip catch, carving a long arc from the demon's waist to shoulder.  The blow was shallow, merely a few thumbs in depth.  As it turned, its fist rammed into his side.  Shimura had been prepared for this attack, his return stroke hammering down like a butcher cleaving a ham bone.

He was slow to stop the blow, which lifted him below his ribs.  Only as he had been able to turn in time was he spared broken bones, though he felt the throb to the top of his shoulder.  The demon slashed at him, its talons snatching past his face.  He stumbled to one side beneath the monster's reach after the raking claws swept past.  Pushing off his toes, he thrust forward, his sword spearing through the demon's chest.

It roared, a bestial cry unlike that any creature of nature could produce.  Shimura looked up aghast.

He lurched backwards, half turning as a fist struck the side of his head.  The sword wrenched from his hands.

The demon plucked the sword daintily like a blade of grass and discarded it to one side.

His brain rattled in his skull, his eyes ached and he tasted blood.  The creature lurched towards him, pausing briefly to give final regard.  He awaited the final attack to descend.  His mind grasped for opportunities, seeking a way to strike first.  In some recess of his mind, this seemed an odd sentiment.

A short crack echoed out.

The sound was sudden, but unlike the distant roar of thunder.  It was more like the echo of two heavy rocks breaking against each other, though the sound was short and close.  As quickly as the shot had rung out, the demon retreating, vanishing into the fog.

Approaching footsteps crunched in the undergrowth and Nakura appeared.  He pointed one pistol at the trees, keenly surveying the fog.  In his other hand hung another pistol limply, its rank discharge wisping through the mist.

He turned to Shimura quizzically."What in hell was that?"
Shimura returned his stare incredulously.
Nakura snorted, then shook his head dismissively.  "Come on, I think they came this way."
He hauled Shimura up by one arm, who grunted as he found his feet.