Marked

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Shadow Hill, Oregon.

1955.

 

~ + ~

If the girl had breath, she would have screamed.

Legs pumping beneath her, she raced through the forest, her only source of energy being the pure adrenaline of absolute fear. Twigs and wiry roots snapped beneath her toes. A numb sort of pain throbbed from her bloodied, bare feet. Branches reached out at her like clawed fingers, ripping at her clothes and hair and slicing at her face. The only sounds she could hear behind the pounding of her ears were the crescendo of her own heart and the predator-like growl shaking the trees behind her.

She let out a strangled sob of panic. Terrified tears streaked down her cheeks and slipped to the earth below. Any hope or confidence that she would survive began to wane like a crescent moon, soon to eclipse. She considered giving up, letting go. Her body was too tired to run anymore.

But the girl knew that if she gave in, she would lose more than her life.

She would lose her soul.

Behind her, the trees moaned and the ground trembled beneath her feet. Darkness seemed to surround her, pulling her in and freezing her bones. Every wicked shadow looked like a monster preparing to flick out, snatch her, and drag her to its master. A crack of thunder shattered the clouds, but there was no lightning to be seen. Only a starless night sky, and a broken moon.

The sound of clashing teeth behind her made her feel sick to her stomach. It’s getting closer, she realized, trying to make her heavy legs pick up speed. The forest was starting to thin ahead of her, and she took that as a good sign; the bigger the open area, the less obstacles she had to get around and the more chance she had of survival.

All of a sudden, something whipped around her ankles, latching them together so that she tumbled painfully to the ground in a mass of limbs. A thick, oozing substance that resembled a long strand of black licorice was wrapped tightly around both of her feet. Where it touched her skin it burned like someone dripped boiling acid along her ankles. She reached for it frantically with her hands to tear it off, but the same sting of pain overcame her. A sharp cry escaped her lips. When she pulled them back her palms were blistered and red.

Turning her damaged hands over in her lap, she noticed that the Marks had spread. Starting at the curve of her shoulder blade, they had now traveled over and down her left arm and onto the top of her hand. Black and intricate, they swirled on her skin like a sleeve of tattoos, a mixture of curling symbols that looked like they were painted on with a brush.

She didn’t know how they worked, only that she would look down some mornings to see that a new spiral or curl had formed. It had started on her sixteenth birthday. That was when the first Mark appeared. At first, she had thought it was a strange freckle. But then it grew and grew daily until it resembled a design. That was when she started to worry; she couldn’t wash or scrub or cut it off. The Marks had become a part of her skin, and they couldn’t be removed.

Now she knew differently. Marks were power, and others had them too.

People who were like her.

With a crash, a row of trees were uprooted to her right and tossed to the side as easily as one might break and throw away a bunch of toothpicks. Out of the wooden carnage, a looming shadow seemed to expand and grow until it resembled a shape. Emerging from the darkness, came the real monster.

Tall and thick like an elephant, it took a step towards the girl, the ground vibrating beneath her with the movement. It had the face and likeness of a wolf, with black mangy hair that stuck up over its hunched, bony back. Muscles bulged from its legs and shoulders. Bloodstained claws as long as the girl’s forearm protruded from its massive paws. Where its eyes should have been were balls of red flame, burning with hunger. It bared its teeth—rows and rows of them, and sharp like a sharks—for a split second. It almost appeared to be sneering in accomplishment.

κόλαση κυνηγόσκυλο

Hellhound, the girl’s mind translated automatically.

But the even more frightening sight, she noticed with a sinking in the pit of her stomach, was the being riding on the creature’s back. It had a humanoid shape, covered by a cloak of shadows. In its gloved hand it held a long whip consisting of the same material as the burning strand around the girl’s ankles. The tip dripped with black poison. The being’s shoulders shook, as if it was silently chuckling. The only noise in the silence was the low, guttural moaning from inside the hellhound’s throat, and nothing more.

Searching deep inside herself, the girl tried to find the hidden power within. She had felt it there before, brewing and boiling in her veins like a pot of water left too long on the stove. All she had to do was focus and harness it.

But now there was something different. She felt empty.

Did you think, a deep, haunting voice infiltrated her thoughts, that you could really escape us?

The girl gasped, putting her wrists to her forehead as the words echoed inside her skull.  “Get out my head, Reaper!” She cried, scrambling backwards while dragging her pained, useless feet with her. The poisonous black substance was still wrapped around her ankles, and by now, it felt like it had burned its way to the bone.

The Reaper’s shoulders shook once more. Demi-gods. They have all the potential in the world. It breathed out something that sounded like a rasping sigh. It is a pity you all have such fickle humanity to weigh you down.

Sliding smoothly off the hellhound, the Reaper seemed to glide forward towards the girl, almost as if it weren’t walking, but floating. The closer it got to her, the colder she felt. Shivers ran up and down her spine like they were going for a marathon. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat and a wave of nausea overcame her. This was the moment she was running from. This is what she was so scared of.

The Reaper was now close enough to touch, and it leaned over her shivering, helpless body. Peeling off one of its gloves, the girl noticed that its pale hand was also covered with Marks like hers. Instead of being the vibrant black color, though, they seemed to be a dried and shriveled up grey.

“Please,” she said through choked sobs. “If you were ever like me, let me go.”

It did not move to indicate that it heard her. Only when its voice filled her mind, did she know all hope was lost. You ask too much.

Then, before she could move away, its hand leaped forward and wrapped around her arm in an ironclad grip.

Immediately, a feeling like a freezing fire shot up her arm and down her back, and she let out a scream of pure agony. Something began to glow and she looked down to see that her Marks, once a black and inky color, shone pure white against her skin like a pale flame. They grew brighter in intensity the more the pain increased, and soon she was surrounded by light.

Suddenly, the girl realized that the pain wasn’t something being done to her, but the result of something being pulled out of her. Each second that passed she felt more drained, more empty, like her life substance was being sucked out by straw. With a cry of anguish, her back arched beneath her as the last of her energy was taken away, the bright light from her Marks flickering and sputtering out.

It was over as quickly as it begun, with a final release of breath.

The Reaper sighed in pleasure, enjoying the rush of power reaping a demi-god soul always supplied. Especially this one, who had been particularly powerful, though she didn’t know it.  It had been so long since it had felt so...full. Lifting up its hand to the moonlight, it admired the way its Marks shone black again.

Slipping its glove back on, it nudged the girl’s now lifeless body with the toe of its boot. Where her elegant Marks once were, savage scars ran up the length of her arm. See where humanity got you? The being said to the girl, though she could not hear him any longer. Now you are nothing but a shell.

Then the Reaper turned away from the corpse, mounted the hellhound, and rode off into the shadows.