He hastily pulled out an elixir and downed it in one gulp.
The vial slipped in his frozen hands, its acrid contents burning his throat as he swallowed. The cold bit his fingers, numbed by the wind howling through the forest.
*Grrrr*
Two wolves emerged, their fangs dripping thick saliva, their yellow eyes gleaming. Their claws scraped the frozen ground, sending clumps of mud flying. He stepped back. His breath formed quick clouds in the icy air.
He feigned a slip, his knee deliberately hitting a stone to lure the first wolf. The beast lunged, its jaws snapping inches from his face. At the last moment, he rolled in the snow, ignoring the searing pain in his ribs.
His dagger plunged into the wolf's belly with a wet sound. The blade tore through flesh, releasing a torrent of black blood that splattered the pristine snow. The creature's entrails slid onto the ground, emitting a pungent stench. The wolf collapsed, whimpering, its paws weakly clawing the earth.
No time to savor the victory. Another wolf charged, its fangs aimed at his throat. He parried with his forearm, but the teeth sank into his flesh, grinding muscle and tendon. Blood gushed, hot and sticky, soaking his sleeve.
"Aaaaargh! Shit! I should've poisoned myself first…"
The pain exploded, a white flash that stole his breath. He slammed his dagger into the beast's eye, driving the blade to the hilt. The wolf recoiled, howling, blood and vitreous fluid spraying from the shattered socket, before collapsing in spasms.
But worse was to come. A shadow moved behind him, silent. A fourth wolf, lurking in the underbrush, clamped its jaws around his leg.
*Fuuuck!*
The fangs pierced his calf, tearing a chunk of flesh and muscle with a sickening crack. Blood flooded his boot, forming a red pool beneath his foot.
The pain was unbearable, as if white-hot blades were slicing his nerves. He stifled a cry, his teeth grinding so hard he feared they'd shatter. Screaming would draw the entire pack, and he wouldn't survive that.
His hands trembled violently as he grabbed a healing potion. The cork popped, rolling into the mud. He downed the liquid, its metallic taste making him nauseous. The wound on his leg pulsed, each heartbeat pumping more blood. He tore a piece of his cloak and wrapped it around the injury, tightening until his fingers turned white. Every movement was agony, his muscles screaming with each step. Sweat stung his eyes, blurring his vision.
...
Night fell, plunging the forest into threatening darkness. Shadows lengthened, and sounds grew more ominous. He climbed a sturdy tree, scanning the surroundings to ensure no creature was tracking him. Nothing. For now.
Sitting against the trunk, he pulled dried meat and rations—hardly fitting for a noble—from his storage ring.
Each bite was bland but necessary. He'd have to get used to a harsh life, so he wouldn't complain in tough moments.
As he ate, his thoughts wandered. Fatigue crept in, and soon his eyelids grew heavy. He wrapped himself in his cloak and closed his eyes, his mind still alert.
...
He was running, laughing, his cheeks flushed by the wind. His father, tall and strong, gave him an amused look.
"Faster, boy! The prey won't wait for you!"
Rifle in hand, he adjusted his aim, his heart pounding. The deer raised its head, wary. A clean shot. The beast collapsed. His father patted his shoulder, proud.
"Well done, Ben. You'll become a great hunter, I know it." His father's rough hand rested on his shoulder. "But this rifle's too heavy for you. Here, take this bow."
The dream shattered.
A screech of tires. The impact. The metal frame bending like paper. His father, slammed against the wheel—a soft, too-soft sound. The windshield starred with red. Glassy eyes staring into nothing. And that silence… That silence worse than any scream.
The car took an eternity to tumble into the ravine. Long enough for a ten-year-old boy to realize he'd died with him.
"Papa…" His own voice surprised him, hoarse, as if from another nightmare.
*CRACK*
His dagger was already in his palm before his pupils adjusted to the darkness. Muscles tense, breath caught. A starving wolf? An ice ogre tracking his heat?
Nothing. Just a dead branch snapping under frost.
He exhaled loudly, the steam of his breath dissipating into the night air. Memories were as useless as arrows without tips. Here, in the dungeon's depths, only the present mattered. Every second of inattention was a death sentence.
He wrapped his worn bandages around his cracked hands, checked the edge of his blades with a habitual gesture. No room for nostalgia. No mercy to expect.
His boots crunched silently through the snow.
The hunt resumed.
...
Daemon slipped through the tundra, his boots crunching in the hardened snow. The ogre village loomed ahead, a cluster of huts made of bones and hides, lit by flickering torches. Ogre guards patrolled, their massive silhouettes—three meters of knotted muscle, clad in filthy furs—casting long shadows.
Their guttural growls echoed in the night. Daemon, crouched in the shadow of a boulder, observed their movements. His breath formed white puffs in the icy air. He had a plan.
He picked up a stone and hurled it far, against a pile of skulls near a hut. The sharp sound drew two ogres, their crude axes scraping the ground. Daemon sprinted silently toward a narrow ravine lined with frozen pines. The ogres, heavy and clumsy, followed, their footsteps shaking the earth. He slipped into a crevice, waiting.
The first ogre passed, sniffing the air. Daemon leaped, his dagger plunging into the creature's neck. The blade grated against bone, severing tendons. A thick, almost black stream of blood gushed, splattering his face. The ogre collapsed, gurgling, its fingers clawing the snow.
*Grrrraaooo*
The second ogre roared, raising its axe. Daemon rolled to the side, avoiding the blade as it crashed down, shattering a stump into splinters. He stabbed his dagger into the ogre's knee, tearing cartilage and muscle. The creature howled, staggering, blood spurting from the gaping wound.
Daemon climbed onto its back, driving his blade into its throat. Hot blood flooded his hands, sliding between his fingers. The ogre collapsed, its body convulsing, crushing a bush beneath its weight. Daemon gasped, a sharp pain radiating from his shoulder where the axe had grazed him, tearing a chunk of flesh. Blood soaked his tunic, sticky against his skin.