Rust

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window.

The mercenary thought nothing of it. Until the growling sounded a little closer than he preferred. He burst headlong through the forest, hardly giving his surroundings the courtesy of avoiding them. The candle’s light was a beacon of security which he flew towards.

The night had been long and tiresome; eight miles of dismal trudging over precarious forest floor. He was almost positive he was heading in the right direction if the stars had remained in their seats from the previous night. Travelling via the planetary map had become a useful trait in his line of work. If he was correct in his calculations he was too damn far from his destination to finish the journey in the safety of moonlight. He was in pursuit of the township over that next ridge.

And he had to arrive before dawn.

He realized he had to find shelter for now and wait till the next evening to complete the mission. Faced with the options of making camp under the leering eyes of the heavens and predators or investigating the cabin in an attempt at presumably restless slumbers, he chose the latter. The gnashing of teeth around him was much too gnashy for his tastes. Directing his stride and picking up the pace the desperate man made his way to the homely wood cabin door. It was large and ornate, carefully carved with slightly religious symbols. It was also slightly ajar.

Cautiously he stepped through the doorway. He quickly scanned the room he found himself in. Detecting no immediate threats he firmly latched the door behind him. Breathing deeply to collect himself he determined he would search the cabin thoroughly before really relaxing. Couldn’t trust anyone in these times, he thought to himself, apprehensive as he moved room to room and scrutinized the fibers of every wooden board. He searched till he was certain there were no hidden inhabitants or deadly traps laid out for a hapless wayfarer such as himself. As he came to the last room, a sparsely furnished den, he discovered something of interest. It was a bird.

The bird was quite obviously dead, therefore posing no possible harm. He hoped.

It was wrapped in an old linen, tucked away behind a shelf of books in the sitting room area. He sat on the unsurprisingly uncomfortable rocking chair by the fireplace, staring into his lap at the mystery he had found. It appeared charred, more similar to a block of charcoal than a previously living being. The features were undeniable, however; wing-like appendages, skinny legs crystallized by heat into ghastly twigs of intrigue. What caught his eye the most was the rusty pin sticking out of the unlucky creature’s chest. It seemed a cruel gesture, as if this image had been punctured and displayed on a wall somewhere. He decided to return to the bird some of its dignity, for what it was worth. He doubted there were any angels dancing in this vicinity anyway. He gripped the pin and pulled it from the chest of the bird.

It was instant. Flames erupted from the entry point in the feathers and engulfed the man. He couldn’t see the object in his hands, or anything for that matter. The pain was overwhelming and immediate; the flames now spreading outwards, onto the floor and the curtains and the thatched roof. The cabin converted to a fiery altar. And he was the sacrifice they had been waiting for.

They began to emerge.

From the walls, from the basement he had the fortune not to find, and from the woods outside. Every spirit in the forest had heard the call of the captured soul, and they had a hunger to satisfy.

Converging on the man’s engulfed frame they started to feed. The flames did not bother them, after all, they had been born from it. They devoured every piece of him from the fingernails to the eyes, saving the heart intact as a gift for their Lord but peeling every last piece of flesh off his bones, relishing the lifeblood still pumping through his veins. The man was aware of it all. He felt everything but felt no pain; there was too much of it. The bird dropped from his hands as he was split apart, its role in this night’s festivities was over for now. Once his heart had been plucked and his brain chewed the only lingering thought that remained was the acceptance of his fate. He had always known his end would be gruesome. Hopefully, it would have been during battle with a worthy opponent, but that would wait till his next life.

After they had eaten their fill and all that remained was the organ for offering the majority scattered back to their dens, content to wait for the next victim. Three lieutenants took the bird and the heart down the hidden cabin stairs to the basement, through the carved tunnel, and into the cave beyond.

Their Master was waiting.

He was not large in stature but the aura surrounding him was suffocating. He was facing away from them, toward the rocky shore of the underground lake they resided beside. It was a fitting irony, and good for camouflage. These creatures of fire were safe from being hunted as long as their scent was hidden by the gentle waves of the lake. The only price to pay was rent, and the owner did not care for past due payments. He demanded the hearts of every one of their victims, knowing full well the heart gave the most power to its consumer. The bird was a ploy thought up by one of the lieutenants, one blessed with something amounting to intelligence. This man had been their first prey using this snare, and the success was undeniable.

The wrapped figure had been found in the cabin long ago. A pin and a curse were all that was needed.

The three subordinate imps lowered themselves before their Lord, holding up towards him the heart and the bird which would need to be purified before its’ next use. Otherwise the stench of doom would cause any human to flee upon finding it.

He turned towards his subordinates. Smiling as only a demon can smile, all teeth and no warmth, he took a few steps closer to inspect the offerings. It was a good heart, obviously taken from a live creature, and the bird appeared no worse for wear than before. He gently lifted the heart from the outstretched claws before him and promptly swallowed it. With eyes closed he savored the gore dripping down his gullet. Still warm, practically still beating, and without a doubt delicious.

He took the bird and laid it on the altar behind him, simultaneously dismissing the lieutenants with a flick of his talon. They had served him well tonight and for that they could continue their existence. He would purify the bird after he was done cherishing his meal. And for that he needed silence. He longed for his lair.

He thought of his old home. A tree in the forest, hollowed out with a single entryway and a protective sigil higher up the trunk. Nothing had bothered him there without his consent, nothing dared. Now he had to suffer these underlings, and although he enjoyed their offerings their presence was unbearable.

Ah well. Soon he would be outside again. More hearts and worship to repair his spirit and he would be able to travel once more, independently. He thanked the travelers and creatures that fed him even if it was against their will. His will to survive was much stronger, and ancient. One gets used to being alive. Despite all the death he saw and took part in, he kept in his mind the sanctity of life. It all came around again. He recognized his part in the Grand Plan and played it well.

While he meditated on the scope of his own plans he felt something catch in his throat. He began to cough, becoming increasingly more violent with each spasm. Now that the blood from his meal had drained down his esophagus the object became obvious. His actions only worsened the sensation, shifting the item around until it dug its sharp point through membrane and tethered viciously. Once his lung was punctured he felt the effects of the object’s power. It drained him, replacing his desperate struggles to breath with weakness as he sank to the rocky floor, feeling his power deplete.

Darkness swam before his vision. Not the darkness he was used to. Utter nothingness.

He could hear them coming now. His meal-bearers and supposed lackeys.

He gave them credit for their brazenness. Not many had dared oppose him in the last eon and none had been successful, until now. He felt their claws grasping him as he sank further into the beyond, feeling them drag his form onto the open cavern floor while his spirit stayed behind. He watched as they tore into him, being careful to pick the pin out from his open chest first.

His spirit burned. He knew where he was going. They were waiting.