Headless: The Huntsman

Snow fell in thin, silent veils over the darkened forest. Pale flakes drifted onto the huntsman's broad shoulders, clinging to the black leather and iron of his armour before vanishing into faint curls of shadow mist.

He walked with slow, measured strides, each footstep sinking slightly into the thin white blanket covering the forest floor. Shadows curled around his legs, drifting outward in lazy coils before being carried away by the faint, icy breeze.

Above him, Vengeance hovered like a storm cloud twisted into the shape of a serpent, its vast form weaving silently through skeletal tree branches. Its crimson eyes burned against the snowy gloom, illuminating the drifting flakes in a haze of blood-red light.

"Your path begins here," the spirit whispered, its voice vibrating through the huntsman's chest like the toll of a distant funeral bell. "Their names are etched into the marrow of this kingdom. They are rot feeding upon rot, hiding behind crowns and seals while they feast upon the helpless."

He walked on, silent, shadows trailing behind him like a funeral shroud. The pale glow of his runes pulsed softly at his neck stump, illuminating frostbitten ferns as he passed.

"Hear their names, Huntsman," Vengeance whispered. "Carve them into your soul, for each shall fall beneath your axe before your purpose is fulfilled."

The names burned themselves into his mind, each one a flare of cold, unbreakable promise.

King Maelor IV. High Chancellor Vaelith. General Rhaemar. Captain Renak. The Shadowed Scribe. The Whispering Knight. The Thirteenth Chancellor.

The list went on, each name curling through his hollow thoughts like a black iron chain. But tonight, only one name burned brightest.

Captain Renak.

He remembered the man clearly – a thick-shouldered brute clad in iron-grey brigandine, with a shaved head and a wide, perpetual sneer twisted across his lips. Renak had stood behind the assassins who slew his family, arms folded as he watched with bored indifference, as if witnessing livestock being slaughtered for winter stew.

His gauntleted fingers clenched around the haft of his axe. Shadows flickered up the blade, glowing softly with crimson mist before fading into the frozen gloom.

"Track him," Vengeance hissed, its massive shadow weaving around him like a lover's embrace. "Hunt him. Reap him. Let his blood be the first tribute upon the altar of your rebirth."

The huntsman paused, kneeling upon the snow-slick earth. Though he had no eyes, his senses cut through the darkness like a scythe through withered grass. He smelled the stale tang of campfire smoke upon the drifting breeze, mingled with the bitter reek of iron oil used to polish armour.

Footprints. Dozens, perhaps more, leading through the frost-bitten underbrush toward a rocky ridge rising from the trees ahead. The prints were wide and deep – the heavy tread of men clad in metal greaves and wolf-pelt boots. He touched the nearest with clawed fingers, feeling the faint warmth still trapped beneath the pressed snow.

Hours old at most.

He rose to his full towering height, the swirling void at his neck stump flickering with thin trails of crimson mist. The forest lay silent around him, the thin drifting snow muffling every sound, deepening the shadows into pools of endless night.

He stepped forward, following the tracks. Each stride carried him deeper into the silent woods, into the tightening coil of destiny that Vengeance had wrapped around his soul. His massive axe rested across his broad shoulder, its shadow cutting a long, black gash across the snowlit path ahead.

As he walked, the spirit drifted beside him, its vast eyes flickering with quiet pleasure.

"Captain Renak makes camp with his mercenaries upon that ridge," Vengeance murmured, its voice curling through the huntsman's hollow thoughts like coiling smoke. "He sleeps beside the fire, dreaming of silver and slaughter. Unaware that death itself walks through the snow to claim him."

He said nothing. Words were meaningless now, save for the names of those who must die.

Captain Renak.

The memory of his sneer burned through the huntsman's grief-hardened soul like frozen fire. He remembered that sneer twisting wider as Lira's head fell to the cabin floor. Remembered the brief, savage chuckle that escaped Renak's lips when Aryn's scream ended in a wet, choking gurgle. Remembered the man's cold indifference as he ordered Sila dragged by her hair to the blade.

His clawed grip tightened around his axe until thin flakes of rusted blood fell from the haft to vanish in the snow.

He climbed the rocky slope in silence, shadows curling up the jagged stones around him. At the crest, the trees parted to reveal a small clearing. A dying campfire burned in its centre, sending thin spirals of pale smoke into the frozen sky. Around it, five mercenaries lay wrapped in cloaks and furs, huddled against the cold.

Captain Renak sat propped against a fallen log near the fire, arms folded across his chest, helm resting at his side. His scarred, brutish face was slack with sleep, mouth half open as he snored softly. A longsword lay across his lap, the polished steel catching firelight in faint gleams.

The huntsman stood at the clearing's edge, silent as moonlight. The shadows wrapped tighter around him, thickening into coiling tendrils that drifted toward the sleeping men, tasting the stale scent of sweat, unwashed flesh, and the faint copper tang of old blood crusted upon steel.

Vengeance drifted above the camp, vast and silent, its crimson eyes burning with anticipation.

"Take his head," it whispered, its voice trembling with dark pleasure. "Let his death be your first true offering. Let his final sight be the reflection of his sins within your shadowed void."

He stepped forward, his heavy boots crunching softly in the thin snow. The mercenaries stirred, frowning in their sleep as if disturbed by a nightmare's cold touch. Renak snorted, shifting against the log, one thick-fingered hand curling tighter around his sword's leather grip.

The huntsman paused a few paces from the campfire, shadows drifting upward from his neck stump in thin, flickering coils. The crimson runes carved into his flesh pulsed softly, illuminating the frostbitten ground around his feet with faint blood-red light.

His axe shifted slightly in his grip, its blackened blade humming with silent anticipation.

He could feel the first stirring of fear in the men's dreams. Their spirits recoiled from his silent presence, sensing death lurking within the dark. Their souls flickered with faint panicked sparks, echoing through the shadow realm like distant cries for help no god would answer.

Captain Renak stirred again, brow furrowing as if sensing something vast and cold watching him through the darkness.

The huntsman stood motionless, silent as the falling snow.

He felt stronger than he ever had as a man. He felt colder than the night around him. His grief had become the blade in his hands, his hatred the hammer that forged him anew.

He took one slow step forward, the motion silent save for the faint sigh of shadows curling around his legs.

Then another.

He could hear Renak's breath hitch in sleep, the man's chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid beats. Could smell the stale mead upon his tongue, the rancid sweat soaking his underclothes, the faint trembling of a soul that knew, even in dreams, that judgment was at hand.

At the edge of the firelight, the huntsman paused, looming like a headless nightmare born from sorrow and wrath. Shadows writhed around him in silent hunger. His massive axe gleamed faintly in the dying flames, cold and unyielding as his will.

Above him, Vengeance whispered a final command, its voice trembling with fevered anticipation:

"Reap him."

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A/N:

I'm starting exams tomorrow but I'll still continue posting at same frequency (2 chapters daily), I might rush some chapters a bit but I'll try my best to make it up to y'all.

And lastly I want to thank you all for reading this far and if you haven't added this book to your collection pls do for more updates