Chapter 9: Reaching Age (Part One)

I wear the colors of red.

And my foes drown in the colors of red.

I was born in blood. I was raised in blood. And I will die in blood.

-The Blood Father

I wandered the Magus library, searching through years and years’ worth of books on my day off from advanced training with Hunter. The off-days were rare and few in between. It only happened when Hunter would go for an expedition, a hunt, or when he felt we deserved the day off. Today was for the former reason.

Hunter and a band of older Demona Hunters along with a few Magus and tradesmen were in the Desolate Forests Range to the far north. They were on an expedition to hunt for rare materials from beasts, monsters, metal veins, and plants. On the way, they would also be visiting one of our closer neighboring tribe called the Sun Cherishers.

There were a total of eight tribes living near us and more than twenty tribes further to the east and south-east where the Eastern Grasslands were at. Further beyond that lies a chain of mountain ranges called the Dark Shadow Mountains. These were the places where the Dreads lived.

From the older members of our tribe, the ones who had traveled far and wide, I had heard many tales of the skirmishes between the Dreads and the various tribes living in the Eastern Grasslands. The danger from the Dreads was great enough that the twenty tribes in the Eastern Grasslands had formed an alliance.

We, along with the eight tribes living near us, were also part of this alliance. But that was really only on the surface. The problems of the Dreads and the tribal alliance did not really applied to us. Our tribe was an isolated one—there were about two to three months of walking distance apart from the nearest tribe in the Eastern Grasslands.

With forty days in one month, it was a total of eighty to over a hundred days of traveling, depending on your speed. Thus, the reality and danger of the Dreads was a distant problem for us. Like bedtime tales you would hear in the night and forget in the next morning.

On the desk of the library, I laid out multiple books related to Blood Essences and anything to do with Surges. But I found none that would give me insight into the troubles I was facing.

I sighed again. I had probably already looked through the whole library, yet there was nothing! Not even one clue as to what was happening to me!

I let out a small growl in frustration. Almost instantly, every head in the Magus library turned toward me. They belonged to the glaring Magus disciples and the librarian.

None of them wondered what I was doing in the library. They knew my face. I was infamous in the tribe. I was the half-Demona half-Wraithborn Hunter who had lost his Surge and his chance of becoming a Magus.

“The Broken Surge Hunter,” they would whisper behind my back. But these whispers were just limited to the Magus disciples who would study in the library. After all, it had been many years since my Surge had been destroyed in the attempted Surge Awakening.

If Dance of First had been in the Magus library, she would have yelled at her peers and rebuked them. But this morning, she was with Teacher Prina and some other Magus disciples learning about refining Essences.

I could take care of myself, however. I would have lost both face and pride if I were to be protected by Dance of First, who was younger than me by five days. I was also the more mature out of the two of us, and much, much taller. Demona-born Hunters, matured both mentally and physically faster than any other in our tribes.

I paid the curious stares and whispers no heed, standing up from my chair and soon leaving the library. Outside of the library in the Magus section, I strolled around aimlessly, wondering at what was happening to me.

Almost all my day-offs and free time in the last three years had been spent in the Magus library, practicing with my weapons, or in the northern forests. And even though I devoted time in leafing through the papyrus pages of the books, I was still as lost as three years ago in what was happening to me.

My aimless frustration was soon interrupted by a familiar voice from behind me.

“Good morning, Hunter Wolf Under Stars.” It was a bittersweet voice. A voice that reminded me of my childishness.

“And to you too, Magus Embracing Flower,” I said, turning around to meet the owner of that bittersweet voice. She looked as she did six years ago, even though I no longer looked at her through the lens of childish love.

Her long red hair. Her eyes of passionate fire, sky-blue. Her slim Wraithborn figure with the sleek white tail. Twenty-three years old, yet she looked like she did six years ago. “I see the child within you is growing bigger every day,” I said with a smile. A bitter-sweet smile, though I didn't let the bitterness show.

“He will be born soon,” she said, lightly touching her swollen belly.

I arched a brow. “He?”

“Yes, I can feel it.”

I bid her a farewell then, saying that I had something to do. It wasn’t a lie. I did have something to do. Something which had been on my mind for the last three years.

Looking back at her retreating figure, she seemed smaller than she looked when I was a child. But I suppose it was just from my new perspective. I was taller now. Older too. Six feet and a half worth of height and three years’ worth of time could do that to someone.

I headed toward the Hunters section of the village, entering the longhouse my seven Brothers and I lived. Only one of the rooms was occupied. Brother Hidden Shade was reading a book. Most likely about forest and monster lore.

I didn’t struck up a conversation with him. We only nodded at each other. I knew he didn’t like to be disturbed at times like these.

My room, just like many of the Hunters, was sparse and simply furnished. There was only a bed, a stool, a chair, a desk, and some various clothing folded neatly on top of a basin. Then there were my weapons. They hung against various racks in the corner of the room.

I cared for them meticulously, like one would care for an infant. Or a lover, I suppose. I had many lovers. My blade-spear the foremost among them. Love your blade and it will love you back.

It was a childish notion of mine back then. I didn’t realize it until many years later that a weapon was just a tool. Nothing more, nothing less. It could kill or it could protect. A tool did not judge, only the hands wielding it did.

Still, treat a tool well, and it could treat you back with the same attitude. You could also wield it to hold lives, like your hands and feet, and to hold a heart. In the end though, it was just a tool.

I traced a hand over my blade-spear. A shaft forged from the dark brown wood of a Strong-Heart Tree. A blade forged from black Chronat metal. It felt familiar, yet different. I was a slight bit taller than my blade-spear now, which was little more than six feet. I wouldn’t be getting a new blade-spear until my Ritual of Age a year later, which would mark me as a full grown Demona Hunter. Until then, this familiar weapon would serve me.

I would hate to leave the blade-spear.

Leaving something familiar was always hard.

I sighed, then grabbed at the blade-spear and a few other things. Today was a good morning for a small hunt. It would help alleviate my frustration. Not to mention my hunger.

With that in mind, I set out for the forests, arriving at the northern gates of the village in short time.

“Greetings, Hunter Wolf Under Stars,” one of the watch-guard called out.

Miam—I recognized his short and heavy-set frame, rare on a Wraithborn. They were usually slim and a little taller, reaching up to six feet. He had ragged dark blue hair that hung in locks around his square face alongside his square nose, framed further by a striking blue beard. Not the handsomest out of the lot of Wraithborn males, but he was a good one.

“Good morning, Miam.” I waved a hand at him.

“Going to the northern forests again to hunt, eh?” he said in that deep voice of his.

I nodded. “Want me to bring back something for you?”

He laughed. “You want to make me fatter than I already am? My wife would kill me.”

“I hear the spinneret of an Arachne goes quite well with fire-blood.”

He made an exaggerated frown. “Stop tempting me. And that is definitely a lie. You just want to poison me out of jealousy.”

I laughed a little then and greeted the other three watch-guards. All of them were Surge-less and Wraithborn except for one Demona.

Like the Demona, the Wraithborn also had various body types. In general, there were the Surge and Surge-less, which were both divided into two categories—Normal and Abnormal. The Normal ones looked similar to humans except for their sharper pointed ears and slightly longer limbs which almost strayed from disproportionality. Their skin colors were also similar, ranging from tanned to pale white and ash grey.

The Abnormal ones, however, would be born with extra appendages, and unusual skin and hair colors. The chances varies for having the traits. One could have unusual hair color and that would be it. Teacher Prina, for example was a Surge-born Abnormal Wraithborn with her green hair color. Strict, but pretty, she was.

Miam belonged under the Surge-less, divided further into the Abnormal category. He had an extra finger in addition to his four normal ones, and great big claws growing out of them. They couldn’t be called nails anymore. They were more like little daggers.

You had to watch out for them if you tried to shake hands with him. I had done that once, and had gotten a small cut as a prize. He immediately apologized, his pale blue skin becoming even paler from embarrassment. I didn’t mind.

I liked Miam. He was a funny Wraithborn. And I didn’t give up on shaking hands with him. So by the time a few months had passed, I had perfected shaking hands with Mian into an art. I could have shaken his hands blindfolded. He was quite happy about it, really.

When I arrived at the boundaries of the northern forests, probably half an hour or so had passed. But that was only because I was walking slowly, tracing the paths of the earth, and my thoughts filled with more thoughts. I emptied them when I entered the forest.

Prey was scarce near the edges of the forest. And they were all small animals, none of which interested me.

I went deeper within.

Three years had caused many changes within my body. My senses had improved. I had a sharper vision now, almost as well as Brother Hidden Shade. My strength was also no joke. On some days, I could go head to head with Brother Big Bear.

Those were all lies, though. A façade I put up.

Hunter and the rest of my Brothers figured that it was due to my half-blood and me so nearing the age of ten. They thought that I had been born with a stronger body than they had initially thought. I was, after all, the only Halfling that had been born with a Demona Hunter type body.

In truth, I was already far more than that.

The northern forest trees loomed above me like giant behemoths, splaying their shadows over everything. In certain parts, they blocked the sun itself, so wide were their canopies and their outreaching branches.

In the three years since the First Hunt, a total of 42 months, I had already hunted every type of creature in the northern forests. Well. Almost every type. There was only the Multis Gargantuan left, the undisputed king of the northern forests.

But I didn’t bother to look for the Multis Gargantuan this morning. Time was something I did not have today. Come afternoon, I would have to meet up with Dance of First. It would take a few days to hunt down a Multis Gargantuan. Just one morning was not enough.

I moved further ahead, as cautious as I can be while sharpening my senses. How long I did not know. Perhaps an hour. Perhaps less.

Up ahead, a ring of trees, surrounded by overgrown brushes. The ring of trees stood atop a slightly elevated ground. A ridge of perhaps five feet. Below the elevation, there was crop of boulders spread haphazardly, as if a giant had gathered up these stones in one big hand and thrown it.

I recognized the area. I had come here once before on a hunt. I moved toward the boulders.

A rustle. Not one made by the caress of a wind against a shrub or against leaves. Nor was it made by small animals.

I strained my ears at the sudden noise, my hands and legs already moving into an Assailing Stance, blade-spear at the ready. A sleek grey figure jumped out, coming out from behind the ring of trees. It landed atop a squarish boulder.

The creature was a Grey Lamenter.

I gave it an once-over, a quick inspection. Large for a Grey Lamenter. And the pairs of dark eyes on its two raised heads looked cunning. Most likely the leader of the pack.

From atop the boulder, the Grey Lamenter howled. More rustling and the sound of dry leaves crunching from heavy footsteps.

Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a dozen Grey Lamenters of various sizes, most of them full grown adults. There were only two younglings. All of their muzzles were dyed red. They had most likely returned from a successful hunt, and had found another easy prey—

Me.

I smiled. A battle-smile.

Brother Leaping Fox had told me that my smile before the start of a battle had become stranger and stranger ever since the First Hunt. Creepy, to be blunt. It was a half-twitch that looked as if I had an unending thirst upon me. A cold within me that needed to be satisfied by the warmth of blood.

I looked around me, counting their numbers again. Still twelve, excluding the leader.

A pack of Grey Lamenters could range anywhere from ten to a little over twenty members. A normal pack of ten Grey Lamenters with a leader was worth 25 points. Add two more and it would be worth 30 points. Add four and it would be worth 35 points. And so on like that.

Just two months back, I had encountered a pack of twenty Grey Lamenters and a mutant three-headed leader in this area. A total of 75 points, and worth the same as a purple male Arachne.

It was an easy slaughter. For the whole of that morning, I had battled the twenty Grey Lamenters and its leader, before scattering the whole pack and chasing down the remnants. Then I dug into the flesh and blood of the mutant leader.

I stared into the eyes of the Grey Lamenter leader, which was just shy of twenty feet away from me. An easy distance for the Grey Lamenter to cut across. So was it for me.

Mistakes are easily made. Most turn into regrets. Some mistakes you regret for the rest of your lives.

And a few mistakes you can even lose your life on. This was one of those.

Not for me, but for the Grey Lamenter leader.

I figured that most likely the territory left by the pack of Grey Lamenters I had killed two months ago had become void. Then, afterwards, it was taken over by this pack of Grey Lamenters.

Before the start of some battles, there is this strange clashing of wills between the opponents, as if acknowledging each other. Then in some battles, there is a stillness, a silent moment before the battle begins. There is no acknowledgement in this, only a winner and a loser. And the loser dies.

This was one of those battles.

There was no acknowledgement between the Grey Lamenter and me. Only a stillness. Then its howl broke it, and the encircling Grey Lamenters charged toward me. The creatures didn’t know, but I had let them surround me on purpose.

I moved quickly, matching my own speed with that of the Grey Lamenters. Heading in one direction, I arrived closer toward the incoming group of seven beasts, while in the other direction, I left the other group of beasts in my dust—and dirt.

The fastest one out of the group pounced at me, its jaws wide open, almost enough to rip my head out in one bite. Or most of my arm, for that matter. It would depend on which of my body parts reached the creature first.

My blade-spear did. It went straight through the beast’s underbelly, through its lungs, and out through the end of its back, almost near the tail end. There were no spurts of scarlet redness, only faint traces of darker colored arterial blood—my blade-spear was still stuck inside its body.

The growl that was still in its throat died instantly, and instead of a growl, it coughed up blood. I had timed it well enough so that my spear would puncture the lungs, slide past most of the harder muscles, and past its spine.

The Grey Lamenter still impaled onto more than half my blade-spear’s length, I took a step back. Then I swung my blade-spear around like a large club, smashing into the creatures that were still in mid-pounce. The impaled creature on my blade-spear made for a good club. Two clubs actually, since the creature had two heads.

I heard the crunch of bones, and the whines of anger, half borne from pain as they were flinged away by my club. The four of them went down for a while. I didn’t pay any more attention to them.

There were more important matters behind my back.

I made a soft turn, and with a quick spin of my spear, the hilt faced toward me, blade toward the ground. My foot moved in procession, and I booted the corpse of the beast from my blade-spear.

Once done, I was just in time to see the five other Grey Lamenters sprinting toward me, just about two spears length away. Further behind, the Grey Lamenter leader had gotten off its boulder and was rushing toward me, already having closed half the distance between us. Their thick thigh muscles tensed and bulged from the strain as they rushed at me, most likely preparing to pounce.

They didn’t. Instead, two of them on each side split up to flank both my right and left sides. Smart. But they were outmatched today. A second or two was wasted as they flanked around to my sides.

Just a mere second or two, but it was enough. Already in lower Assailing Stance once again, I entered Executing Moon using the momentum gained from sprinting toward the Grey Lamenter to the front of me. Like the name suggests, Executing Moon was an overhanded swing that came rushing down like an executioner, like the scythe of a death god. The left head of the Grey Lamenter almost split in half, and I felt the resistance as my blade-spear cut through both skull and brain matters. The force of the swing flattened its whole body into the ground, and its other head carved a small dent into the ground, muzzle first.

I sidestepped the dying creature’s body, and rushed headlong toward the Grey Lamenter leader. Stronger, quicker, smarter, and larger than the rest of the Grey Lamenters, it fitted the role of the alpha and the leader perfectly.

It was a shame it didn’t make a howl to signal a retreat. That would have been a smart decision.

The Grey Lamenter charged toward me, crunching and throwing up both leaves and dirt with each step. I evaded the attempted bite and swipe from the beast by sidestepping to its right side, then moving into Small Whirlwind with a wheeling turn.

The blade-spear bit deeply into its side. I didn’t let it end there. Continuing the flow, I moved into Big Whirlwind, this time with a bigger wheeling turn that used both shoulders and the full range of my waist.

An agonizing howl, lamentation at its darkest nature, accompanied the deeper gouging of its side.

I had no doubts in me, nor fear, just a desire to finish the one-sided battle. Without even pausing for breath, I stuck the blade-spear into the soft side of its right neck. Quick and easy. A push, a twist, and a pull. I did the same for the other head.

Then I did the same for the other surviving Grey Lamenters. They didn’t run far after seeing their leader die. Most of them were injured, limping along. I eased them into their deaths. Eleven Grey Lamenters died that morning.

I headed back to the ring of trees, where the body of the Grey Lamenter leader laid as still as the rocks, its two pair of eyes half-opened half-closed.

I let a small breath out, and attempted to find a good spot of fur to wipe my blade-spear clean. And a small pond. I knew there was one close by here.

But in the next moment, before I could even take my next breath, I found myself on my knees, hands frantically planted onto the earth, trying to support my body which was growing heavier by the second. The strength in my arms was fading, and I heard the thud of my blade-spear fall away to my side.

I coughed up blood. Red against the green and brown of the forest floor.

“Shit, not again. And why is it so powerful this time?” My attempt at words came as a wet gargle. I tasted the blood in my mouth and in the back of my throat. I even tasted it in my nose, so strong were my senses. A wet scarlet trickle ran down from my nose, onto my lips, and down my chin, which turned into steady droplets that eventually gave way to the weight of the world.

My entire body felt besieged, and each and every one of my veins felt as if it was on fire. I felt my heart beating louder, as if attempting to tear through both flesh and bones, and out my chest.

My arms gave way to the weight of my body, and I hit the ground hard, face-first. My face on its side, resting my cheek against the coldness of the forest floor, I attempted to take a breath. It only made it worse.

I choked on my own blood in my nose and throat. I stopped trying to take a breath after that. My vision was becoming blurry now and I could see a small puddle of blood pooling around me.

Was I going to die like this?

Immobilized. Surrounded in a pool of my own blood. And surrounded by one less a dozen corpses of Grey Lamenters, their corpses like figures of lamentations looking at me?

I refuse to die like this!

At that, something burst open inside me. Like a flood breaking open a dam after centuries of trying.

I willed at the scarlet blood pooling around me. I willed at my own blood. Blood was what I was born in. Blood was what I was raised in. Blood was what I would die in.

OBEY ME!

And it obeyed.

My will sang to the blood flowing inside of me, to the blood flowing outside of me.

At that moment, I Knew of blood—my blood.

And everything was fine.

The weakness left me as if it had never been there. My strength returned to me, and I could feel my heartbeat slowing down, no longer like hammers against my chest, shaking the bones of my ribcage.

I stood up then from my own pool of blood.

Blood in my hair. Blood on my face. Blood on my chest. Blood dyed me, made me.

I looked around at the multitude of corpses around me. Hunger afflicted me. It was sharp as the sting of a freshly made wound.

I drank from the still-warm bodies like a starved rat that had not seen food in weeks. And when I was finally full—

I felt myself stronger than before. Like I had been reborn.

========

With blade-spear in one hand, I went to the small pond to wash myself of the blood on my body, which was still wet. There was too much of it to dry easily.

Kneeling beside the pond, I brought the water to my face, and the coolness of it was a blessed comfort. I washed myself quickly. Morning had already turned into afternoon, and Dance of First would be waiting for me.

I stood up to leave, but then noticed the trembling reflection of myself on the parts of the pool which were still clear enough. There, in that clear patch of water, my eyes had turned scarlet from my previous grey eyes. They were red as blood on freshly fallen snow. Then they reverted back to their normal colors after I willed it, as if answering me.

I left the pond with just a trace of worry.

It was time to confess my secret.

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AN: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It became longer than I originally intended, so I had to split it into two parts. OTL.