Lord Of The Lost

"Enough!" The young hunter's voice cut through the thick mist of the forest, sharp and urgent. "Little Red Riding Hood, I don't have time to argue with you. You don't understand; werewolves mark their prey. It doesn't matter how far you run, even to the ends of the earth; they will find you."

Little Red Riding Hood stared defiantly at him, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with a fiery determination that seemed out of place for her small frame. "You can't stop the wolf pack's hunt by just running," he continued, his voice softening with frustration. "Don't you see? The only way to disrupt their hunt is to go after the leader, but that means facing the whole pack. You'll be surrounded.

But that's our only chance; only by killing the werewolf leader can we end this forever."

She clenched her fists, refusing to back down. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath. "I'll face the leader myself," the hunter said, his voice now low and dangerous. "I'll keep him busy. He won't have a moment to focus on chasing you. And when the time comes, I'll strike, break his limbs, tear out his throat.

The werewolves will pay for their greed, for daring to hunt you."

A guttural roar echoed through the forest, chilling the air. It was a sound that made the trees tremble, a noise too terrible for human ears to comprehend. William, standing nearby, took a step back instinctively, clutching the lantern that provided some small comfort against the darkness.

His ears rang with pain, as if needles were piercing into his brain, but the light of the lantern shielded him from the worst of it.

"Then you'll die!" Little Red Riding Hood shouted, her voice trembling with fury. "You'll die right here!"

Her shout echoed off the trees as she stomped her foot in anger. But the pain in her right leg surged, sharp and relentless. She gasped and stumbled, her strength leaving her. The ground rushed up to meet her, damp and fragrant with the scent of soil and grass.

Her leg throbbed with an intensity that made tears prick her eyes, but she refused to cry. She wouldn't give the forest, the wolves, or the hunter that satisfaction.

The young hunter was beside her in an instant, his strange tentacle-like limbs wrapping around her, gently lifting her back to her feet. "I'm not going to die," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Werewolves are hunters. But so am I. And when hunters face each other, the outcome is never certain."

There was something in his words, an unshakable confidence, tempered by the years he had spent living as an outcast, part man, part monster. "He may be able to kill human hunters," the young hunter added, his voice softening, "but he can't kill a monster hunter."

Little Red Riding Hood's eyes flashed. "You're not a monster!" she whispered fiercely, shaking her head. "If anyone calls you that, I'll tear them apart with my own hands!"

For the first time, the young hunter's hardened expression softened. He smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. "I'm already dying, Little Red. There's no cure for what's happening to me. This path you're walking; you'll have to finish it on your own."

She blinked, willing away the tears that blurred her vision. It must be the fog, she told herself, thick and suffocating, getting into her eyes. She clenched her fists tighter, not knowing who she hated more; the werewolves, the forest, or the hunter who stood before her.

"I'm leaving!" she spat out, her voice cracking with the weight of her emotions. "I'm not scared of anything. I can handle myself from now on."

Her breath hitched as she continued, her voice trembling with old resentment. "You don't know how much I used to hate you. Back in the village, you always acted like you knew better, always interfering with my life because you were older, stronger. I hated it!"

There was a long pause, and then she added, softer this time, "But now… now I'll finally be free. No one to bother me. You don't know how happy that makes me."

The young hunter's eyes darkened, but he nodded. "I'm glad you feel that way."

His gaze shifted to William, the weight of something unsaid hanging in the air. "Do you have any spiritual oil left?" he asked quietly, as the mist around them thickened, and the howls of the werewolves echoed once more through the trees.

William reached into his satchel and retrieved the last two bottles of spiritual oil, their shimmering contents swirling inside the glass like captured moonlight.

The young hunter took only one bottle from him, his hand steady as he gripped the vial. "One is enough," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent. "This is a rare spiritual substance. I won't take more than I need."

Without hesitation, the young hunter lifted the jar and, with a strange grace, absorbed it into his body. The spiritual oil was more than a tool for survival; it was life itself, binding him to something far deeper and more mysterious than William could fully understand.

"You've given me this gift," the hunter said softly, his voice carrying the weight of gratitude. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

William smiled warmly, brushing off the hunter's concerns. "It's nothing. These were gifts to me. I don't expect anything in return. The real gift was never mine to begin with."

He paused for a moment, considering something, then continued. "I have hunter friends in other villages. If you take this token with you, they'll recognize it and offer you help."

The young hunter reached into the folds of his clothing, pulling out a crescent-shaped pendant. Its silvery glow seemed to pulse with an ancient power, delicate yet formidable.

"Here," the hunter said, extending the pendant toward William. "This is Little Bob's keepsake, a heritage token." The crescent moon shimmered as he spoke, its significance clear even before he explained it.

William examined the pendant, a deep reverence settling over him. He could feel the weight of its history, its connection to something far greater than himself.

"The Moonlight Goddess," the hunter whispered, his voice distant, as if recalling a memory long buried. "She's not just the Goddess of the Moon; she's the Goddess of Hunting. Every hunter, every warrior who faces the darkness knows her gaze."

William's hand curled around the pendant as the hunter explained further. "Wearing this will grant you the blessings of the Moon Goddess. You'll feel calmer, more focused. Your instincts will sharpen, your senses heightened. It will give you the experience of a seasoned hunter, help you handle prey, and see through the dark as though it's daylight."

The pendant hummed with life in William's hand, and the weight of the hunter's words settled over him like a heavy mantle. "It can help you become a hunter," the young man added softly.

William nodded, the gravity of the situation clear to him now. "I understand."

The hunter's voice grew quieter, colder, as if a part of him was already slipping away. "But if you don't want to be a hunter… then pass it on to someone who can bear that responsibility."

William noticed something unsettling in the hunter's tone, a fading trace of humanity. He could feel the hunter slipping further into the shadows, the cost of living as a creature of the night. The chill in the air seemed to deepen.

"I don't know the full story between you and Little Red Riding Hood," the hunter said, his voice now barely above a whisper. "But if things go beyond repair, please… take her out of here. Get her away from the Black Forest, away from Moonlight Village, away from Border Town…"

"Shut up!" Little Red Riding Hood's voice pierced the silence like a dagger.

She glared at the hunter, her face twisted with anger. "Why should I listen to you? You think you can just tell me what to do? You can make your own decisions, but don't try to make mine for me! You want me to run away? You don't get to decide that!

It's not your choice to make!" Her voice was shaking, but it was filled with fire, her defiance a force of nature.

The monster; once a hunter, now a creature of shadow, extended a trembling tentacle toward her, as if to comfort her, to show some kind of sympathy. But Little Red Riding Hood's eyes were filled with nothing but rage and sorrow.

She knocked the tentacle aside with a swift movement, her breath ragged. "Don't think you can control me!" she spat, her voice venomous. "I will always hate you

Little Red Riding Hood lifted her head slowly, her breath catching as her eyes landed on the motionless form of the monster before her. For a moment, it lay utterly still, its grotesque tentacles sprawled out across the forest floor, as if frozen in time. She waited, unsure if it was truly over, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

Then, without warning, a faint sound escaped from the creature; a low, indistinguishable noise, neither fully a groan nor a sigh, as though it were trying to speak but had long since forgotten how.

"Ah..." it murmured softly, the sound barely cutting through the dense mist that hung around them.

Little Red Riding Hood gasped as the monster's hundreds of eyes; embedded in its twisted, tentacle-covered body, slowly shifted their gaze toward her, watching her in eerie silence. Each eye stared, unblinking, as if waiting for something, some sign of what was to come next.

The young hunter, once human, suddenly felt his mind pulled back through the haze of years. His memories surged, plunging him into the past, to a time long before he had become this... creature.

It was ten years ago. The night had been dark, the sky heavy with thick, falling snow that blanketed the village. He was just a boy then, twelve years old. The villagers of Moonlight Village had gathered by the fire, huddling together for warmth and protection from the cold. The village chief had spoken in a loud, authoritative voice: "Tonight, Moonlight Village welcomes a new resident."

In the center of the group, a tiny bundle was passed into view; a newborn, wrapped snugly in swaddling cloths, her rosy face peeking out from beneath a big red hood. The child's eyes, wide and innocent, had scanned the faces of the villagers, showing no fear despite the unfamiliarity of the world around her. Instead, she laughed, a joyful sound that seemed to lift the spirits of everyone present.

He remembered that moment with perfect clarity. He had been curious, stepping forward, drawn to the tiny child. His hand, cold from the biting winter air, had reached out cautiously, and he touched her tiny hand, fascinated by her delicate fingers. To his amazement, the baby smiled up at him and grabbed his finger with surprising strength.

In that instant, something shifted inside him. His heart had been captured, as if by magic. He felt, for the first time, the weight of responsibility, the fierce and undeniable desire to protect this small life. The village chief's words echoed in his mind: "We must protect this child."

"I will protect you," he had declared that night, his voice firm with youthful conviction. And in the years that followed, he lived up to that promise. He watched her grow, cared for her, and looked after her with the devotion of an older brother or perhaps something more.

But as the seasons passed, the sweet, innocent child in the cradle became wilder, more reckless. The werewolf blood within her stirred, and the well-behaved girl who had once laughed at his touch now grew defiant and uncontrollable.

He had tried, with all the patience he could muster, to guide her, to teach her right from wrong. Like a parent scolding an unruly child or an older brother trying to steer his younger sister back to the right path, he corrected her, hoping that one day she would understand.

But she never did.

The little witch, with the blood of wolves running through her veins, resented him. She despised his discipline, his stern lectures. No matter how hard he tried to reach her, to show her the right way, she rebelled against him, pushing him away at every turn.

There were nights when he felt lost, his heart aching from her rejection. But no matter how many times he was hurt, he never gave up on her. He held onto the hope that one day, the rebellious girl would grow into the strong, wise woman he believed she could be.

And yet, now, standing here in the misty forest, he heard her voice again; angry, defiant, and distant. It was as though the years had flown by in a flash, the memory of that snowy night feeling like a lifetime ago.

The cradle had long been empty, and the baby in the red hood had become this fierce, angry girl standing before him now. But to him, she was still too small. Too fragile for the world she faced.

He longed to reach out, to touch her again, to feel the connection they once shared, the one that had made him promise to protect her. But this time, his fingers; now twisted and monstrous, could not be caught. The bond between them seemed broken, lost to the years of misunderstanding and resentment.

He opened his mouth to speak, to say something, anything, that might bridge the chasm between them, but no words came. Only that low, inhuman sound escaped his throat, echoing through the misty forest.

"Ah…"