These Hallowed Bones - [Monster Evolution, Dark Fantasy, Heroic Undead]

They don't realize they're already short a number.

Those that survive speak of crops to harvest, fences to mend. They laugh about last night and nights before. Blood still clots beneath fingernails that shift from claw to keratin, but they pay it no mind.

A broad-shouldered man in a ragged tunic heads toward the well. His face is set in that kindly mask, but I've seen the muzzle of a beast behind those eyes. His shoulders roll with predatory ease, too fluid for true human motion.

Another, an older woman with wiry hair pinned beneath a cloth, leads a younger man by the elbow, chiding him to fix the stable door. Her voice carries maternal concern, but her eyes scan the hamlet perimeter with hunter's vigilance.

A cluster of three stride to the largest cottage, the one with the false orchard out back. Their feet leave faint red prints on the packed earth, blood not yet washed from their midnight hunt.

They talk about fresh bread, as though that oven doesn't reek of old gore.

They do not see me yet.

I remain still, watching their charade through gaps in the thatch covering.

The biggest one, call her the Alpha, lingers near the gate, half-shifted. Power radiates off her thick shoulders. She's a full head taller than her packmates, her frame poorly concealed beneath a dress too small for her transformed limbs.

She scans the hamlet with eyes of gold, expecting to find it unchanged.

She's right, on the surface.

But below?

I watch her lips peel back, revealing ridged canines. A silent snarl. Something unsettles her. Perhaps the faint reek of disturbed soil, or something more fundamental.

She stands guard as the others fan out, spreading through the settlement in their usual patterns.

Fine.

Let her watch.

A smaller pair, man and woman, walk on the main path between cottages. Their shoulders touch occasionally, mimicking affection their kind does not truly feel.

They pass the first rigged threshold, tripwire drawn tight near shin level. One absentmindedly lifts a foot over the cord, pure luck guiding his steps away from danger.

Another step, two steps, then one more.

The woman clips the line with a foot. The wire holds for half a second, then snaps taut.

Snap.

The tripwire pulls a hidden lever. A half-dozen barbed nails spring from the shallow pit on her left. She shrieks, cut off mid-gasp as iron points sink into her calf, tearing through muscle and striking bone beneath.

An ankle collapses, twisting at an angle no human joint should bend.

The man beside her jumps back, wide-eyed, then howls as the ground shifts under him. Looser soil gives way, revealing the pit beneath. A crude stake rips through his thigh, impaling him where he stands.

Fur erupts across exposed skin. Jaws lengthen, teeth extending into fangs. Snarling, half-beast shapes thrash against trap lines, pulling hooks deeper into transforming limbs.

One tries to scramble out of the hidden pit, but hidden net wire loops around his flailing arm. A pull, a yank, a twist from the weighted mechanism - the limb tears from bone and socket with a wet, cracking sound.

He bellows, a frantic, animal roar that echoes through the hamlet. His cry triggers awareness in the others, heads turning toward the sound of packmate in distress.

Their transformations ripple through muscle and sinew. Bones crack and reform beneath stretching skin. Where villagers stood, monsters emerge in their true forms. Balverines - taller than men, with elongated limbs and jaws that could tear steel.

Their screams draw packmates closer. Three more rush toward the commotion, halfway transformed, clothing tearing as muscles expand beyond human proportions.

These bones remain patient.

Let them come.

Let them gather.

Another trap triggers nearby. A female balverine steps onto the cottage porch, weight activating the pressure plate beneath worn boards. Above, a basket filled with sharpened farming tools tips. She looks up at the creaking sound just as rusted scythe blades and handsaws plummet.

Metal meets flesh with wet, tearing sounds. Her scream cuts short as a blade finds her throat.

Nearby, a male trips a hidden line. Barbed wire whips around his legs, cutting deep into transforming muscle. He crashes forward, face striking another trip line. The mechanism above the door activates, dropping a heavy woodcutting axe. Steel splits his skull like ripe fruit.

The true hunt has just begun.

Sounds of wire and wood and iron follow, one trap after another triggering in sequence. Bodies fall as my carefully laid preparations find their marks.

I surge forward from my hiding place, shedding dirt and thatch. The rotten cloak falls away, revealing yellowed bone where flesh should be. Then Duke's skull-fragment bearing Haven's mark.

The woman-thing tries to free her foot from the barbed trap, claws scrabbling uselessly against iron spikes. She sees me approach, mouth stretching wide in bestial rage mixed with dawning comprehension.

I close the distance in two strides.

Aeternus arcs downward. The blade catches light as it falls.

Rage ends in a choking gurgle. Fur and sinew part in a spray of gore. The balverine's head separates cleanly, body collapsing while limbs still twitch with fading life.

Twenty down. Twenty-one remain.

The one-armed balverine lunges from its trap, desperate and wild. His remaining claws rake air where my skull had been moments before.

I pivot, hooking my demon shield under his jaw, then lift. His neck strains against sudden pressure, vertebrae grinding beneath stretched skin.

One twist.

Vertebrae separate with a wet snap. His body goes slack, dropping in a heap of fur and failed transformation. The corpse shifts, features flowing back toward human semblance as death claims it.

Twenty remain.

Chaos ignites across the hamlet as more traps trigger. A group of three balverines barrel down the central path, chasing what they believe is simply an intruder.

The Alpha howls a warning from the village edge, finally recognizing the scope of the threat. Her words come too late.

My trap springs.

Hidden pulleys screech, rope tension releasing all at once. A wall of sharpened fence posts drops from the rafters where I secured them the night before.

Three balverines look up at the sound. Recognition reaches their eyes a moment before impact.

Wood meets flesh with meaty thuds. Posts stab through fur and muscle, pinning the creatures where they stand in a grotesque display.

One tries to wrench free, only driving the posts deeper into its chest cavity. Another claws at the wood piercing its torso, not yet realizing that death has already claimed it.

The third goes limp immediately, head lolling forward as blood pools in darkening soil beneath its suspended form.

Seventeen remain.

The Alpha's howl shifts to something closer to human speech. A command, sharp and urgent, directed at her remaining pack. They respond immediately, movements becoming more coordinated, less panicked.

But these bones care nothing for the authority of monsters.

A male balverine leaps across rooftops, trying to gain higher ground. His claws tear chunks from thatch as he scrambles for purchase. He doesn't see the wire stretched across his path until too late.

The trap springs. Wire wraps around his throat, yanking him backward with brutal force. His momentum works against him, body continuing forward while head remains caught. The wire cuts deep, nearly decapitating him in one clean stroke.

Sixteen remain.

In front of the well, another male leans against stonework, halfway transformed. His claws scrape against ancient rock as he calls to packmates.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

He shifts his weight. Instantly, wire triggers, yanking a heavy bucket-rigged wedge into his chest. The impact crushes ribs and punctures lungs. He drops, twitching.

Fifteen remain.

Screams rise from behind a cottage whose doorframe I rigged during the night. The structure collapses inward when a balverine's weight triggers the mechanism, dropping a sharpened saw blade onto the occupant's neck.

The slash is fast, neat, clean, leaving behind a half-beheaded figure gurgling out final breaths.

Fourteen remain.

Across the lane, two more thrash in a hidden pit, rage building as barbed posts stake their limbs to unforgiving earth.

One manages to trigger the secondary trap. An oil-soaked rope connected to an overturned lantern tips, spilling flame into the pit.

Fire engulfs them both. The oil catches instantly, hungry flames devouring fur and flesh alike. Their howls turn to shrieks as fire consumes them, the sound rising in pitch until smoke chokes their voices silent.

Twelve remain.

Those that survive move with bestial speed and coordination. One leaps and bounds from roof to roof, powerful legs carrying it over gaps between buildings.

I pursue without hesitation. My bones carry me up walls, across narrow ledges, each movement guided by borrowed memories of warriors who once scaled battlements under arrow fire.

The balverine pauses at a chimney, scanning for routes away from the slaughter.

Three quick steps. I launch from the edge, shield first. The impact sends us both crashing through rotted boards into the dwelling below.

We land in what was once a bedroom, splintered wood raining around us. The impact scatters a finger bone from my hand, sends cracks through my shoulder plate.

The balverine twists, powerful muscles bunching as it tries to get its jaws around my skull. Teeth scrape against bone with a sound like steel on stone.

Its claws find purchase on my ribs, tearing through ancient armor. Bones scatter across floorboards.

One clean strike with Aeternus ends its struggles. The blade severs spine from skull, nearly cleaving the head from shoulders.

Eleven remain.

Below, the Alpha rallies the remainder. Her howls carry authority, forcing discipline where panic threatened to take hold. They move in coordinated groups now, testing doorways before entering, watching shadows with newfound caution.

From below, three balverines spot my movement. Their amber eyes lock onto my skeletal form, lips peeling back from elongated teeth.

"Kill him!" one snarls, words garbled through a muzzle not meant for human speech.

The Alpha's voice rises above, sharper, clearer. "Kill that man!"

They think me vulnerable flesh, still unable to comprehend what manner of hunter stalks their territory.

I run.

Movement draws attention, pulls them from cautious defense to hungry pursuit. Five balverines break from their defensive positions, scrambling up walls and over rooftops.

My bones click against wooden planks as I sprint toward a cottage I prepared during the night. Heavy footfalls follow, claws tearing chunks from the dirt.

I reach the cottage door, wrench it open, and dash inside. Five sets of claws scrape across the threshold behind me, powerful forms crowding into the confined space.

The door slams shut with a heavy thud.

Metal bars drop into place from hidden mechanisms above, triggered by tripwires I set hours before. The balverines pause, finally sensing the trap. Their nostrils flare at the scent of lamp oil soaking the floorboards beneath their clawed feet.

I strike the flint prepared beside the door. Sparks catch instantly on oil-soaked rags.

Flames erupt across the floor, racing up oil-soaked walls in sheets of hungry fire. The balverines howl, throwing themselves against sealed windows and the reinforced door. Their claws tear chunks from wood too thick to breach, strength useless against my preparations.

The balverines try to shift back to human shape, as if that might save them from the inferno. Their bodies contract, fur receding into blistered skin. The transformation comes too late.

When the flames die down, five charred corpses lie still on scorched floorboards.

Six remain.

My bones step through the smoldering doorway. The remaining balverines stare from defensive positions, finally understanding what manner of hunter they face. Not living flesh to be torn, but something older, something that cannot be killed by tooth and claw.

The Alpha's golden eyes narrow as she studies my approaching form. Her pack draws closer, moving with new caution.

She signals with a quick gesture. Her remaining pack splits into attack formation, three circling left while two move right. Their coordination speaks of long practice, of hunts conducted together across countless seasons.

I ready my shield, Aeternus gleaming in morning light.

The first balverine lunges from the left, a feint meant to draw attention. I pivot, shield raised, seeming to fall for the distraction.

The real attack comes from behind. Two balverines launch themselves from a cottage roof, powerful legs propelling them toward my exposed back.

I drop, rolling beneath the first attacker's leap. The balverine crashes into empty air, momentum carrying it past my position. Before it can recover, Aeternus finds its spine. The blade severs vertebrae with precision, leaving the creature paralyzed mid-transformation.

Five remain.

The second airborne attacker lands where I stood moments before. Its claws scrabble against packed earth as it tries to change direction.

My shield slams into its muzzle, shattering teeth and jaw alike. The impact drives bone fragments into its brain. It drops without a sound, body already shifting back to human form.

Four remain.

The Alpha charges my position, leading her three remaining packmates. They move with desperate speed, knowing their numbers dwindle with each passing moment.

They scale the walls with liquid grace, claws digging into wood and stone alike. Their bodies flow over surfaces like water finding the path of least resistance.

The first reaches a window and pulls itself through the narrow opening. I meet it with my shield, bashing the heavy bone plate into its snout. Cartilage crunches, blood sprays across the Duke's skull fragment.

Aeternus completes what the shield began, opening its throat in a spray of dark arterial blood.

Three remain.

The second manages to get half inside before my blade finds it. Aeternus parts fur and flesh with equal ease, sending it backwards to the dirt below, clutching its severed throat with rapidly weakening claws.

Two remain, including the Alpha.

She hangs back now, watching with golden eyes that hold too much intelligence for a mere beast. Her remaining packmate circles cautiously, seeking openings in my defense.

The Alpha's remaining packmate darts forward, testing my defenses. Its claws rake across my shield, leaving deep gouges in bone.

Aeternus answers with finality. The blade catches the balverine mid-retreat, opening its side from shoulder to hip. Ribs crack under the impact, internal organs spilling onto dirt.

One remains. The Alpha stands alone now, the last of her pack.

I turn to face her. Empty eye sockets meet golden orbs that burn with fury, calculation, and something deeper. Recognition, perhaps. Of what stands before her. Not prey. Not predator. Something else entirely.

Her massive frame towers even over my skeletal form. Muscles ripple beneath midnight fur as she circles, claws leaving furrows in packed earth. No wild charge like her lessers. The Alpha studies, evaluates. Blood from her fallen kin soaks into the soil beneath her feet. She steps over a packmate's corpse without looking down.

The Alpha's jaws open, revealing rows of teeth that could tear steel. "Why?" The word emerges guttural, forced through a throat not meant for human speech. "This territory ours!"

My shield rises. Haven's mark carved deep into demon bone faces her. Response enough.

Her head tilts. Eyes narrow. "So?" A growl builds deep in her chest. "Fool. We kept order. Fed only on travelers."

These bones advance steadily. The bones in their larder told a different tale.

She shifts stance. Her form changes, not fully beast, not fully human. A hybrid state I've not witnessed in her kind before. Control marks the Alpha's power.

"What are you?" Her claws flex, readying. "Not alive. Not dead. Not demon."

My sword moves forward, purpose guiding the blade.

She evades. Not retreat, merely repositioning. "Others come after us. Worse things. Things even you fear."

Aeternus cuts air where she stood heartbeats before. No words answer her bargaining. These bones remember too many fallen. Too many final breaths spent wishing for a protector.

Remembers Merick.

The Alpha's attack comes again. She launches from stillness, covering twenty feet in a single bound. She is faster than I've known. My shield rises a fraction too slow.

Her bulk crashes against borrowed bone. Impact scatters ribs from chest cavity. My left arm separates at shoulder, shield still clutched in bony fingers. She lands past me, pivots on one clawed foot, impossibly agile for her size.

These bones turn to face her, already pulling scattered pieces back. Ribs skitter across dirt, drawn to their proper place. The shield arm crawls back, fingers still gripping the Duke's skull fragment.

"You heal." Not question. Observation.

Her golden eyes track each reclaimed bone fragment. Learning. Adapting.

The Alpha changes tactics. She leaps, not for my torso, but the cottage roof beside us. Wood groans under her weight. She uses height advantage, circles above, seeking patterns in movement. Studying weakness.

I retrieve my shield arm, bones clicking into place. Purpose flows stronger now. The Alpha represents something beyond other fights, intelligence paired with savage strength.

She drops from above. Not where I stand, but where I'll step next. Anticipation marks true predators. Claws rake across backplates, tearing ancient armor from yellowed bone.

Her fangs find my spine, teeth closing on vertebrae.

The bite shatters connection between skull and shoulders. My upper half flies eastward while legs remain standing. Magic strains to reconnect severed pieces.

My sword arm swings independent of shoulders, finding her flank. Aeternus cuts a line across fur. Black blood sprays earthward. Not fatal. Barely more than grazing cut.

She howls, part pain, part battle cry. "Why don't you die!"

Anger mingles with something new. Fear, perhaps.

The Alpha circles my scattered form, assessing. Testing. She bats my shield arm aside.

The limb spins across dirt, demon-bone shield clattering against stone.

Before scattered pieces can fully rejoin, she attacks again. Different approach now.

Methodical destruction.

Claws target individual bones, scattering them wider across blood-soaked earth. Vertebrae separate further. Ribs roll beneath cottage foundations where magic struggles to recall them.

My sword arm remains intact, still clutching Aeternus. Ancient steel finds purchase, cutting open another wound across her chest. Shallow, but pain signals success.

The Alpha recoils, then strikes with her tail, a movement no human would anticipate. The blow takes my legs at knee joints. Femurs separate from tibia.

She pounces on my torso, claws pinning scattered ribs against earth. Jaws close on my sword arm, pressure building until bone splinters beneath. Aeternus falls from failing grasp, blade gleaming in morning light.

Purpose refuses to yield. Even as my form lies scattered, ancient oaths pulse through fragments. Magic pulls bone shards together into pointed spikes. Not proper shape, but functional weapon.

The Alpha pins my skull beneath massive paw, claws scraping across bone crown. Her muzzle opens wide, ready to crush what holds these fragments together.

My remaining hand, stripped of armor, drives upward. Skeletal fingers elongated into spears of sharpened bone. They pierce the roof of her mouth, driving through soft palette into brain.

Her body stiffens above me. A tremor runs through massive limbs. Blood pours from ruined eye socket, dripping onto my skull. Her fur recedes as death claims the final monster, leaving behind the shape of a woman whose true nature was anything but human.

The weight of her corpse pins my scattered fragments. I push free, skull rolling clear of deadweight. Bones crawl together, reforming proper structure. Vertebrae align. Ribs cage empty space where living heart would beat.

Movement catches these bones' attention. A shape lurches upright near the village edge. Not dead as expected, one of the fallen drags itself toward darkness, trailing blood from mortal wounds.

Purpose pulses through scattered fragments. The bones of fallen balverines call from blood-soaked earth. Ancient magic draws pieces together, but differently now.

Wrong. New.

Balverine bones click against my frame, joining the collection of borrowed fragments. Bestial vertebrae extend into tail. Wolf-skull fragments mesh with jaw, forcing it longer, filling it with teeth made from sharpened bone. Claws sprout from elongated fingers.

The fleeing creature's scent fills senses these chosen bones shouldn't possess. A hunter's awareness floods borrowed consciousness.

I drop to all fours. Borrowed memories of pack hunts surge through altered frame.

The prey looks back over its shoulder. Its eyes widen seeing death shaped from its own kind's remains. Not clean death of steel, but something worse. Something that should not be.

Three bounds close the gap. Bone-fanged jaws clamp around its neck. One twist, as wolves do. Vertebrae separate with a wet snap.

The body falls, last of its kind.

None remain.

The hunt is complete.