The Haunts

Many years had passed before Levy could return to the farmstead, back where the farmer and his daughters rescued and welcomed him into their hearts and their home. On his return trip, he carried in a pouch a cloak’s remnant, a reminder of where his journey to this world began. Over the long years, he travelled throughout the land and learned as much as he could from the very best to defeat and eliminate the evils that preyed on the weak and the helpless. The years of experience made him feel confident that he could return to his world and finally put an end to Cailleach Bhéarach’s reign of terror once and for all.

“Where are we headed now, Master?” The bent fool with the iron collar asked as he limped along with the warhorse.

Levy, now an adult, eyed his servant from his steed and tugged on the iron chain to get the fool to keep up. “I’m returning to the spot where my life here as an errant Holy Knight began.”

“But Master, I thought you abhorred that title?”

“Better than going by the name my birth mother had given me. Nobody here needs to know the story of my past. I’d rather focus on the future,” he said, threw back his long, pitch black hair, and willed his armour to thin a bit, and even the helmet he wore was absorbed back into the living armour. It took years to gain control over the sap that occupied his veins, but over the years, he felt the burden of the Hell tree’s curse upon him. He knew that eventually the sap would overwhelm his physical form. Then, what will become of me? Would what’s left of my mind or body seal up in the trunk of some massive killer tree? He often wondered alone by the campfire after some macabre quest he was on. Will I become another monster or be a great oak in the forest? He had consulted with mages, oracles, soothsayers, and even those possessed by high demons for answers. But few gleaned from Levy’s fate; they merely cursed him as he sought to conquer the evil in their heads, hearts, and minds as he blessed them into oblivion.

“Are you sure that’s the farmhouse ahead?” The chained cretin pointed and then looked up with his good eye at Levy. “It looks rather abandoned and in ruins.”

“It looks that way, but I sense something else.” Levy thumped the side of his horse to go faster. The gimp felt the jerk of the chain and hurried alongside.

“Wait! Wait!” the gimp kept saying. “I can’t keep up with you in this present form.”

“Then, I give you permission to change!” Levy yanked on the magical chain that led to the gimp.

“Not much choice, or get dragged around for a ride,” the gimp said, shedding his human flesh for that of a vicious-looking wolf. Within seconds, he was running alongside her like a faithful dog.

As Levy approached the homestead, he felt a wave of deep anger in his heart. He stopped his horse and slid from the saddle. The gimp, still in his lycanthrope form, sat next to him, panting. His one hand held the chains to his servant, his other on the sheathed dagger.

“What in all of Hades transpired here?” He looked around in shock.

The changeling pressed his nose to the ground and then changed back into his gimped human form. His nose had black ash on it. “It smells like this all happened a while ago, Master.”

“How long are we talking—a season or two?” Levy scanned the area. The forest had reclaimed the fields. Even what was left of the house was being reclaimed by vines, weeds, and spurts of brush.

His servant went back into his lycanthrope form, pressed his nose to the ground again, and started to sniff around more. When he arose, he had changed into a human again. This time, his whole nose and mouth were black with ash.

“I’d have to say this happened maybe two or three seasons ago, perhaps even longer. If you want, I could keep sniffing around for more clues.”

Levy shook his head as he spotted a signet carved on the side of a retaining wall. He drew closer to investigate. It was a sign from the Lords of the Light. Below, it had an archaic scribbling painted over with a spot of thick ink.

“Can you decipher that?” Levy looked down on the gimp that stood close beside him. The man was bent and broken, but Levy was no fool for the bloodthirsty beast that lay deep within that gimp’s gaunt flesh. When he learned who he was, he had a magical chain and iron collar made to keep his servant in line.

“I was a scribe, remember? In fact, I was the best in my monastery, long before I was ever bitten.”

“You mean the one you tore up and dismembered?”

“No, that would be the other one,” the gimp said, looking embarrassed.

“Well, go on then.” Levy pointed at the cursive writing and asked, “Can you read it or not?”

“Let’s see,” the gimp said as he drew closer to the wall. “What I wouldn’t give for my spectacles.”

Levy went into one of his side pouches and withdrew a thin pair of spectacles. “Here, these should help,” he said, handing them to the gimp. “I’ve been meant to give these to you on our anniversary.”

“That was three weeks ago.” The gimp took them graciously and then nodded his thanks. “Mind you, I could always just change my human eyes to wolf ones, as a kind of controlled transformation.”

“No wonder you have no interest in finding a cure. Are you so willing to risk all that for a piece of your humanity, perhaps even your soul?”

“Ah, so you do finally believe in a soul? After all that talk of you ranting about being a non-believer, and yet you’re blessed with the holy hand of God, or a God,”

“Firstly, after being here for so many years, I’m starting to believe that anything’s possible. And secondly, I don’t feel blessed by this gift.” And holding up his hand, he said, “Unlike you, I see my situation as a curse.”

“I guess it’s all just a matter of perspective,” the gimp said, busily deciphering the inscription on the wall.

“This is coming from a man who becomes a bloodthirsty wolf and kills indiscriminately.”

“I made peace with it years ago,” the gimp retorted, “you should try it sometime. Frankly, I’m tired of being woken up from a deep sleep in the middle of the night all because you keep having nightmares of your childhood. Anyone who stayed with you long enough would see that you’re one tormented soul.”

“Don’t think for a minute that I wanted to bring you along on this trip in the first place,” Levy sighed. “But then, I remember that I couldn’t just leave you unattended. Besides, you do have an eye for languages, especially the ancient ones. So wherever I go, you are needed by my side.”

“I suppose that’s better than killing me,” the gimp said, turning his attention to Levy. The glasses he wore made his eyes wider.

“Well?” Levy pointed to the wall. “What does it say?”

“This is a message for you from the Lords of the Light. It looks almost like a conjuration spell disguised as a warning.”

“Well, isn’t that a surprise?” Levy feigned.

“Really?”

“No, keep reading.”

“They say that since the hell tree infected you, you are now considered an abomination, and those that ally with you are considered heretics, and they shall be burned at stake for heresy.”

“Those arrogant sons-of-bitches!” Levy hurled his dagger at the text.

“Hey!” the gimp yelled as he fell back and landed on his rump. “You could’ve killed me with that bloody thing!”

“You can always regenerate in your lycanthrope form, so stop with the drama.” Levy went up, yanked his blade out of the wall, and went to sheath it. “I have other things to deal with right now.”

“For instance?”

“Well, for starters, I had planned to go back home. Only now I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”

“Then what’s stopping you? It’s not me; I’m not holding you back, am I?” the gimp pushed up off the ground and dusted off the dirt and ashes. “You could still leave. All you have to do is set me free, so you can do better what you want to do.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible for now.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

Levy turned towards the source of the sound of the distant mass gallop of horse hooves and said, “Well, for starters, they’re here.”

“Who’s here?” The gimp turned his head in the direction where Levy was looking. “Oh, crap! It’s them! Those damn Lords of the Light were planning to come charging at us right over that ridge, weren’t they?”

Over the valley, on their war horses, came the Lords of the Light. They are composed of Seven High Mages, Seven Templar Alchemists, and Seven Holy Knights—all on armoured steeds. They came over the ridge from the north in full force and as silent as a sigh. Their serious faces were all marked with war paint, showing arcane symbols as they brandished their favoured weapons out in front. Their robes and armour were as pale as the twin seasons moons, and their hair was either shaved off or pulled back in a ponytail fashion. As they trotted to a halt, one of the group members navigated his mule through them to address Levy.

The frumpy man who did not dress as refinedly as the others in his group came down the steep incline and looked more like a lavishly dressed merchant from a distant village in the northern peninsula along the icy cold, sea-kissed coast. He was unshaven and dusty, with a film of light white sand that covered both him and his mules. On his face, he wore a disarming smile.

“Hallo!” The stranger waved to Levy as he trotted his mule closer and stopped before the man. “I’m called Volodislav, the mage.” He gestured outward like an actor performing on stage.

Levy looked indifferently at the man walking around him. He raised his marked hand in a customary salute of eternal greetings to the newcomers. His right hand brightened a beacon of light, and this surprised the Lords of the Light so much that they began mumbling amongst themselves.

All the while, Volodislav kept his eyes locked on Levy and leaned forward in admiration. “Suitably, the stories I heard about you are true. You are the blessed one,” said the man as he slipped from his mule and strode towards Levy. “I’ve waited all these years to meet you. I’ve heard so much about your legends and your quests. It appears that you’ve made quite an impression.” The Mage’s eyes brightened like a fire being fanned. His arm shot out to the side as an ornately carved staff appeared in his hand. On top of the staff sat a blue topaz that cast a bright blue light that cascaded over Levy. “Something else—you have a host that threatens to take over your body. Such an iron will you must have.”

“Well, all I wanted was to defeat the Mighty Marwolaeth and perhaps even get a lousy t-shirt, but instead all I got was a curse,” Levy remarked as his armour started to grow over his entire body. Its roots began to branch out and thicken over his head like a helmet. Within seconds, he was enveloped from neck to foot in full armour.

“W-wait! What are you doing?” Volodislav reacted in dismay, “I came all the way here so I could meet you!”

“Well, they didn’t.” Levy pointed to the men of the ridge scowling down at them.

“B-but I was pretty sure we all just came here to talk!” Volodislav stammered, “I heard that you are not of this realm? I-is t-that true?”

“Really? What gave it away? Was it my accent?” Levy unsheathed his dagger, and with a flick of his wrist, the blade lengthened and thickened to that of a jagged broadsword. “You should be rewarding me for doing what was to be your job of vanquishing evil across the land. You and your little band of merry men rode all the way here to challenge me. Like I’m the villain! You dare to harm those who cared for me as being heretics. I can’t tell what’s worse, the monsters I’ve fought to protect the people or the monsters I see now before me.”

The gimp looked up at Levy with a glint of impishness in his eyes, “does that mean we get to fight them now, my master?”

“I’d say now is as good a time as any,” Levy brought his sword up to the way Dominique Juan had taught him to do before a battle. He saluted his enemy.

“Well, it’s about damn time!” The gimp grabbed his metal collar and yanked it off his throat. By then he had entirely changed into a lycanthrope.

Levy released the chain that bound the gimp to him, and together they rushed towards the Lords of the Light with a fire of rage in their eyes and thirst for their blood in their hearts.

Swords clashed, and sparks flew. The High Mages rhythmically murmured their foul spells as Levy’s werewolf tore through their familiars and slashed its way through the minor demons and broke the line of Holy Knights that were bent on having Levy’s holy hand as a souvenir. Levy brought up his sword and impaled the last templar alchemist from the belly up. His armor thickened during the battle so no spell or weapon would touch his pale flesh. But their assault grew tiresome, and even he could not keep fighting against all of them. So as the High Mage he disposed of fell dead to the side, Levy brought up his hand and the armor that thinly covered it receded down his arm. A blinding light came from his exposed hand, and it enveloped the open bloody battlefield. The remaining Lords of the Light shrieked as their actual forms revealed. Even the frumpy little mage named Volodislav gazed on his men in confusion and horror.

“I cannot believe my own eyes!” Volodislav baulked, “m-my fellow in arms is nothing but monsters! Trickery is afoot!”

“The light of my hand has revealed the truth. All this time you’ve been tricked by evil and now I must defeat them!”

“No!” Volodislav drew his short sword, “you will not do this alone and hope to win—but together! Together we can defeat them!”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Levy closed his hand, and the light died away.

With their actual forms revealed, the monsters regrouped and charged towards Levy, his new ally, and the changeling that stood ready.

The bloody battle was both grim as it was glorious.

In the end, the lycanthrope stood in the bloodied field among the bodies, covered in arrows, panting with his dying breath.

“You don’t look well, Niflheim,” Levy stepped over the bodies to address his old friend. His armor slurped up the blood he was covered in.

“Can’t seem to regenerate fast enough,” the werewolf grunted as he collapsed to the blood-soaked ground.

Levy drew close and looked down, “This might be the out you wanted, but I could never give you.”

“You think so?” Niflheim’s yellow wolf eyes stared right through Levy.

“You’re not changing back to your human form,” Levy pointed at the score of arrows, “are those preventing you or-”

“I’m dying,” Niflheim pushed up as copious amounts of blood drizzled down his chest wound and mouth. “Say, you said my name. You’ve never said my name before.”

“I refuse to forget the name of a hero.”

“Hero,” Niflheim huffed. “Never been one of those before. I’ve been many things, but never a hero.”

Levy bent low; his aged features were solemn. He had been in so many battles that he had almost forgotten the terrified young man who had been trapped to this realm, stuck in a supernatural world and without a friend or ally. And now—he had met and lost so many of them along the way.

“Remember when we first met?” Niflheim coughed, “You brought that dying old man to the monastery to confess his sins and then afterward; you had to bury him. What was his name again?”

“Dominique Juan,” Levy said the name but didn’t smile. “He had helped shape me as the warrior I am today.”

“What did you used to say? Oh yes, good times,” Niflheim smiled in his creepy wolf form and winked at Levy.

“If you can call it that,” Levy squinted, “any last requests?”

“Show me your true form,” Niflheim huffed out.

“It’s nothing special,” Levy assured. “Under this armor is just a frightened boy trying to be a man.”

“I could always transfer my curse on to you. Make you appreciate the lonely nights more.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“This is what I am,” Niflheim shrugged. “It’s the only life I’ve ever known.” At that, he vomited more blood out.

“Hurts?”

Niflheim nodded, “poison silver-tipped magical arrows? Yeah, they burn way more than the regular arrows. Those leave wounds, while these are like hot coals sitting on my flesh.”

“Then I should at least keep my promise to you,” Levy stood and brought his sword up. “You want it quick and painless?”

“Naw…” Niflheim pushed upwards and gave a tired sigh. “I always knew this day would come. I just never thought it’d be you.”

“I’m sorry old friend.”

Niflheim snarled and with his last ounce of strength he lunged to attack Levy.

Last second Levy stepped aside, brought his sword back, and with one quick swipe, he had removed Niflheim’s head clean off his body. He then walked over to the disembodied head as it changed back into his loyal servant. “Goodbye, my old friend. I hope the fields in the other world have rabbits for you to chase.”