Shadow's Embrace

Chapter 1

I crouched behind a dilapidated pillar, my breath ragged and my heart pounding against my chest. It was early dawn; the first rays of light struggling to puncture the thick fog that enveloped the desolate city, amplifying the sense of unease that coursed through me. Echoing in the distance were unnatural clicks and gurgles, the snapping of razor-sharp teeth. I peeked out from behind my cover and saw the skeletal remains of the dead city. I surveyed the landscape, watching and listening for movement. Suddenly, two bright orbs flashed in my direction. Quickly, I ducked back behind the pillar, praying I wasn’t seen. I reached for the recurve bow strapped onto my bag, feeling the familiar rough texture of the leather grip in my palms. The bow was light and compact, but when used correctly, it could kill even an adult Dreadstalker with ease. All I had to do was steady myself and calm my breathing.

I closed my eyes and let the sounds drift through my head, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. I heard gravel crunching in the distance, couldn’t be more than a hundred yards now. I peeked back out and watched as the Dreadstalker, which was chasing me all morning, emerged from the fog, its grotesque form sending shivers down my spine.

The creature was reptilian, with rough, scaly skin; mottled grey, red, and dark green in such a way that it looked as if its flesh were rotting away. The thing was easily 6 feet tall on all fours and triple that in length. Its face, seemingly painted white like a skull, dominated by a wide, toothy maw, globs of inky black saliva dripping down its chin as it surveyed its surroundings. Its phosphorescent pupils glowed a sickly greenish white in the dim light, accentuated by pools of darkness; soulless and dead, searching for something to sate its endless hunger. Searching for me.

The Stalker put its snout to the ground and snorted, trying in vain to catch a scent. Dreadstalkers are notorious for their horrible hearing and sense of smell, but they make up for all of it in sight. The Stalker slapped the ground with its tail in frustration and made a series of clicks and groans from its throat, similar to the noises a zombie would make in the old movies.

Silently, I grabbed an arrow from my bag and knocked it onto the string. I drew back with my shoulder, holding my elbow up and letting the arrow rest near my eye. I breathed deep and let loose the arrow, the twang of the bowstring, and the thunk of the arrow embedding itself in the chest of Dreadstalker satisfying my ears.

The creature shrieked, like a banshee through the night, and pivoted in my direction, lining up for a perfect headshot. I quickly knocked another arrow, the action had become a muscle memory, and fired it straight into the beast's skull. I watched as it fell dead on the ground, a cloud of dust rising around it.

I sat in silence for a minute, waiting to see if there were more hiding in the fog. I heard nothing and saw nothing other than the groans and whistles of wind flowing through the city's deceased bones of crumbling concrete and rusted rebar. Quietly, I let out a sigh of relief.

I stood and walked to the Stalker's carcass, not bothering to retrieve my arrows, knowing they were ruined by the scales on it. I looked at the creature closer, studying it and noting  the features of it. It had a slimy mucus-like substance coating its scales, and it let off a pungent odor. The Stalker's eyes still glowed a pale, ghostly white-green, almost like a reminder of all the horrors I've lived through. I knelt down, and, grabbing the knife from my boot, I took hold of one of its paws, cutting out the claws. They were serrated and sharp enough to rip and tear through flesh with little effort. I liked to use them to make barbed arrows, so on the off chance that an arrow doesn't fly right through my target, removing it would cause more harm than good. The paws were digitigrade, like a cat or dog, however, it was also possible for these creatures to assume an upright stance for close combat or for getting a better look at their surroundings. I looked around and noted that the fog had diminished greatly, and more light entered the clearing.

I put the claws in a hard leather pouch attached to my bag and stood up, sheathing my knife. I heard something running towards me from behind and quickly strung an arrow from my quiver, turning to face that direction. I faltered momentarily when I saw what the source of the noise was. It was a girl, undeniably pretty, although dirt streaked her face and her hair was a mess. She was tall, maybe 6 feet, give or take an inch or two. Her face was slim, well tanned, and freckled, with eyes that were a bright blue. She seemed to be surveying everything around her, her gaze quickly flitting back and forth, panicked. She had shoulder-length hair, with the roots being much darker than the rest and the lightest part being the tips. She was surprisingly well fed; now a days, most people's ribs are visible through their shirts. Her jeans were torn at the knees, and she wore a tattered crop top with fancy print that read, "Suicide is never the answer. You have to outlive your enemies." Tears streamed from her eyes as she tripped and fell onto the ground.

"S-sir, you gotta help me! Please! Th- they killed my friends, a-a-and they tried to kill me!" she sobbed. I looked at her one more time before I loosed an arrow...