[WP] Write a scary story from the monster/killer's POV

...

They were hunted like deer, run endlessly until there was no fight left in their body and only death awaited. Still, Chief Harleq of the Blackened Tribes ran on with grim expression. Goblins were never ones to surrender in peace, and nor were they accepting in the face of imminent fate.

Goblins were the creatures that survived where none else would dare to live.

Rough soled and blistered feet pressed on, running in the fading light of the forested roads. Behind them in the fog of the Northern hills, another monster: One with glowing eyes of violent light and a horrible growl of metal and thunder ran after, never tiring as the trail pressed on.

Chief Harleq shouted to his warriors, urging them to quicken pace, to head towards the distant border of the blackened lands miles ahead. It was there whatever hope they had still remained, but he knew their chances were dwindling. The distance was much too far for all but the strongest, and as the night closed in their chances of finding the exact location the pack might cross unhindered lessened further still.

Should any make it there at all.

For the group of Goblins ahead of beast, fear was setting in just like the sun was now dipping towards the horizon. Their pack had been running for a full hour at break-neck speed, green soled feet thumping along the gravel with wild abandon- yet the creature behind them never slowed. In fact, as the dust lifted behind it like a herd of wild horses, it only seemed to quicken. Those still with the energy to do so screamed and barked, many turning to shoot whatever scarce arrows left in their quivers of bark and thread back at the monster- rewarded with the sounds of their shafts and stone broad-heads harmlessly ricocheting off of the creature's metal armor.

It did not slow.

Harleq knew there was no hope. It would not be defeated by them- perhaps could not be defeated at all.

The horror of roles reversed weighed heavily upon him as his lungs began to burn, and sweat dripped from his warty brow. In this land of men, they had never thought to find such dangers- not trained by the Blackened Lands as they were. Indeed, for all the hunting they had done: besetting lone travelers and wagons, taking their women and feasting on men; never had they been prey themselves.

Who could hunt a pack of swiftly moving Goblins afoot in the hills and Forests?

The clumsy Knights of their perfect shining armor might walk the trails and roads? Any smart pack would let them pass by, unhindered- perhaps giving short chase until growing disinterested in the thick of woods or trail. A pack of wolves? Any strong pack would kill them with arrows and spear, then feast upon their flesh.

But this... this was different.

This was a beast that did not relent, and with it came men not set about with heavy armor and prancing steps. With it came hardened and scarred faces, soft and quiet leather boots, and arrows that flew with force and speed.

So very many men.

For all that ran off into the woods and fields, torches in the distance slowly followed, and bolts rained beneath shouts and the barking of hounds: But ahead of those was a different sort. It was a hound of hell itself, a demon or metal and iron wrought from the blood of ten-thousand beasts, the reckoning of all sins and transgressions.

And so the Goblins ran.

Another fell, screaming as the beast pressed on, gaining distance at frightening speed before carelessly running it down. A sickening crunch met the unfortunate soul gurgling from smashed throat and lungs, followed by several more as it was rolled underfoot of the strange monstrosity's many limbs. Never in all their years of creeping over the Great Western Wall to scout hunt among the peaceful lands, had the Goblin tribe encountered such a beast. All the demons and cruel monsters of this world should have been slain long ago by their Master of the Blackened Spires- yet proof of the opposite was more than prevalent now as another fell exhausted, screaming as it was run down.

The Demon of glowing eyes was only feet from them now, hardly twenty paces distant, and it's purring roar hissed with unnatural hunger. A deep grumble that needed not a single breath of air to continue indefinitely as its assault.

Of the Goblin pack, those remaining with life in their bones risked the Forest to either side, knowing full well that the wood might belong to wolves and ordinary creatures of the night that cared little for the workings of thought or loyalty, while others still tried to run further.

But the beast didn't slow. Even as the tribe's chief turned, tattoos of strength and proof of conquest over dozens of battles readied his stone-axe to strike his opponent, its smashed him beneath, crushing him ruthlessly to the stone before finally coming to a stop.

The Demon stared at Harleq's crumpled form, uncaring and unresponsive to the one horrible blow the Goblin had landed. A wing opened in the dimming light, and the soft steps of boots crunched slowly as a single human stepped out from within it. In the haze of coming night, fae seemed to waft out on the open air as they approached alone.

Three warriors remained, and in exhausted courage all three rushed to strike with weapons raised high. One after the other each's chest exploded in horrible blasts of light and sound. Their forms crumbled, whatever blood remained to their corpses soaking quietly into the rocky soil of the road, heavy shudders of death .

A human Mage then, and a fearsome one. Harleq reasoned from his resting place upon the ground, for who else might tame a demon such as that?

Even in the Goblin Chieftain's horrid form, limbs broken and neck hung to terrible angle, he could recognize the strange swirl of fae that gathered about the man. In the Blackened Lands, the Shamans of his tribe often spoke of them, whispered of them- imbued their weapons with blood and carnage to attract them further, but through Harleq's vision he could only think of the similarity.

So similar... So strangely similar something the Chief had seen long before.

The dark figure stood above his crumbled form, murmuring quiet words as Harleq let his soul drift on and join the rest. Those strange and swirling specters in the air, each spinning endlessly about the Mage who watched, looking on with a quiet expression of pity.