Elestar

Meanwhile, the village men were getting ready. Night had fallen. Hans divided the men in pairs, two at once, to stand sentry duty. The hours went by, and there was but an hour left to sunrise. Hardly a man in the village slept that night. Two men were talking as they kept watch.

"I just want to know when I'm finally going to get married."

"At this rate? Definitely not this year. Fetch another torch. I can hardly see out here," came a reply.

Near the gate, a dog barked in the distance beyond the village as they rode by. They froze. "Hey, did you hear that?"

"Yeah, it sounded like a dog ho—"

Before he knew what was happening, a spear came out of the darkness and got him.

It struck his head and he died instantly. The other man was so stunned, he did not react, only gazed at his fallen friend with blank cheeks, not even glancing in the direction from which the spear had traveled. Out of the shadows, a huge hound sprang at him and bit him. The beast was monstrous and terrifying, with large pointy fangs. The man had yelled as soon as the thing bit him. The villagers heard the scream. Men materialized on Main Street, snatching up anything they could use as a weapon. A group of great hounds began to flow into the village. Hans knew them at once as the hellhounds of the devil Baskervill! People attempted to beat them with sticks or anything else that came to hand, but the attacks made little difference. Hans, with his two swords, helped himself to more of them. One rushed him, and he rammed his sword into its belly, then booted it away, pulling the blade free.

Another hound attacked a man next to him, sending him to the ground. Hans quickly stabbed the creature with one sword and then the other, slaying it. He extended his hand to the man on the floor: "Are you alright?" he said, helping him to his feet.

But the moment he hoisted him, a second spear drifted through the air and pierced the man through his heart. His blood gushed out, a fountain of it, gurgling from his chest and spattering the face of Hans. In shock, Hans turned slowly. Behind him, he saw Baskervill in the village, Baskervill entered the village with chilling calm.. He seemed to be clad as some sort of dark medieval noble, and poking from his head were two long horns.

Hans's body trembled. Still, he managed to pull himself into a fighting stance. Each slow step Baskervill took, Hans felt as though he were being ripped open. He had the sensation of a rabbit confronted with a wolf. Hans had been too much absorbed with the hounds to look much about him. Dead bodies were strewn all around: there were many dead villagers, ripped apart by the beasts. Several hounds had entered houses, biting women and children. Half the village was burning already. Hans rushed the demon with all his might. But Baskervill skilfully warded his blows and lightly smote him in return. Hans's fear clouded his mind.

But that fear didn't subside his determination. He drew all his force and brought down a fatal blow. Baskervill thrust out with his spear to parry—and broke them all. Hans thought, "His weapon's broken! This is my chance!"

But he was gravely mistaken. Any lapse in combat concentration can be the death of a fighter. He heard something fall.

*Clack

He heard a soft clack. He looked down. His right hand was… gone. It had been that one slip, and it had cost him so much.

The pain was unbearable. Hans screamed. Baskervill gave him a hard kick in the gut, and he fell to the ground. And as he lay on the ground, thoughts spun through his head: 'I smashed his weapon… Where did he find another?'

Baskervill's eyes flamed with rage and he uttered in a deep, cold voice: "Humans... so foolish, so weak. You humans… nothing but prey. Meat for my hounds."

He pointed the spear above Hans and at his heart. These were to be Hans's last moments. Any breath could be his last. But as Baskervill was drawing back for the blow, he hesitated. Hans didn't know why, lying there on the ground. Baskervill just hung the beam-spear in mid-air, not moving. He was staring down the street. Hans glanced in that direction—and there stood Attu right at the foot of the road.

Even from a distance, Baskervill had felt Attu's mana. "Who is this boy? What is this force pouring out from him? Let's find out."

The events continue from there.

The demon looked me up and down and whistled. The moment that sound resounded, the dogs in the house merely stopped.

Then they started pouring onto the main street.

[What happened to the dogs?]

I was paralyzed with fear as I watched, unable to help.

My face went white, no color in it whatsoever. My mouth was dry and frozen, my tongue stuck to the roof like glue.", my tongue might as well have been stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my lips were so dry they hardly could quiver, though try they did to utter a single word.

Then, the demon whistled again. All the dogs on the block swung their heads in my direction.

My heart dropped. Something was going to happen—I just knew it.

The dogs began running at me a moment later. My hand flew up in an instinctive, dismissive wave when I saw them. But it was useless.

All of a sudden, I could hear the sound of my mother's panicking scream echoing from someplace nearby.

"RUN!"

Then she took my hand and had me follow behind her. I hadn't even seen when she had walked in.

I could feel nothing but her cold, shaking hand and the snarling dogs coming behind us.

I glanced back for an instant as we ran—and saw the hounds of the demon coming after us.

Even in the course of our run I could easily recall her now, looking back several times over her shoulder as she ran.

She clutched my hand—clung to my hand in such a tight grip it was like she'd never release it.

I could feel that she was not afraid for herself…but was afraid for me.

So that's why she'd been running as fast as she could, holding on to me for dear life.

She kept looking behind us to make sure the dogs weren't catching up.

Yet I… I still couldn't wrap my head around it. I was still frozen in terror from having witnessed the demon perform its deeds myself.

But soon enough, my thinking started to catch up with the reality. I began to catch on.

"Where are we going?" I asked, panting.

"To the river—we can get away down it," she answered.

She took me into the woods to the river. She hoped to leap into the river and escape while the demons halted for me.

We were almost there—just a little more and we would make it.

Running, I heard every word my mother muttered under her breath. She prayed nonstop.

"Just a little bit more, please, God… Just a little bit more…"

Farther in we could hear some running water, and finally the river itself appeared.

My mother's face lit up.

"We made it! We'll survive!"

She looked at me, her face breaking into a relieved smile, and said:

"Attu, one more step and—"

But the expression on her face suddenly turned to one of abject terror.

[Has the demon caught up to us?]

I glanced over my shoulder. The demon was still in the distance…but it had raised its arm, it was going to throw the spear right at me.

My mother saw it too. And about two strides from the river, she suddenly stopped and ran up behind me.

[Why did she stop? What's happening?]

I looked at her, confused. It didn't take me very long to get it.

The spear's impellers shot back, and the demon had thrown its spear… and my mother.

She hurled herself between me and the spear, shielding me with her own body

[No… not just that!]

She had thrown herself onto me to save me. Moments before the javelin would have hit, she shoved me into the river.

She was right there at the bank, my mother, grinning as always, gasping with tears running down her face.

The spear of the demon came in behind and left through her stomach.

I watched it happen. I saw the light die in her eyes.

And something within me… started to burn. Anger. Grief. Helplessness. I couldn't do anything. I could only watch. And despite that something in me that still said I should get up, I did not have the strength.

All I could do… was scream.

"MOTHER!"

And with that last wail, I went down into the icy, roaring river of spring.

And it was then that I knew—this was morning now, how it had started.