Unveiled Shadows: Tales of a Lich

Chapter 13 - Pests & Malice

As dawn's feeble light seeped through the thick fog, weaving between the bare branches of the dense forest, it cast the morning in muted shades of gray. Underneath the thing-wavering branches, Mutius followed closely behind Dunstan and his mysterious companions, taking tentative steps across the crisp carpet of fallen leaves.

The images from the previous night haunted Mutius. Glancing down at his boots while walking, he could still envision the bloodstains almost reaching the bottom lace. "There was so much of it... so much blood..." he thought, his gaze lifting to the monstrous figures trailing his closest friend. "This is more than a monster..." Unsure of what to label Dunstan now, the memory of Dunstan's expression during the slaughter of the werewolves—marked by a wicked, sardonic smile—lingered. "He looked like he enjoyed it..." Torn between loyalty and fear, Mutius hesitated. "Dun... you there?" The words formed in his mind but failed to escape his lips. Summoning his courage, he called out, "Dun!"

Dunstan and his followers stopped, yet Dunstan didn't turn or speak. One of the followers glanced back at Mutius with an empty stare. Finally, Dunstan faced his friend, slowly removing his hood. His appearance had drastically changed since their departure from the castle; his face was gaunter, the blemishes gone, and his eyes had transformed from a fiery blue to resemble sapphires set in onyx. "I'm sorry, Mutius... I'm sorry you had to see that."

Mutius, taken aback, managed to say, "Dun, it is you..." Tears of relief welled in his eyes. "I've been following you all night. You spoke no words and just started walking with... with whatever these things are..."

Dunstan paused, then admitted, "I just didn't know what else to do... I remember... it was like squashing grapes or something. I don't know; it was satisfying, and the next minute..." His voice trailed off.

"The next minute what?" Mutius asked.

Dunstan snapped back to the present. "The next minute... everything was red. All I could see was blood... corpses and guts... especially once the moons went down... Mutius..."

The horror of that moment was permanently imprinted in Mutius's memory. As the moons set, the creatures reverted to their human forms, revealing the horrific scene of villagers—women, children, and men—mercilessly slaughtered by Dunstan and his familiars.

"I can't escape the images of their faces, Mutius... all of them... and their voices haunt me. Not the snarls of beasts or the whines of dogs, but human screams and cries for help piercing the silence of the night," Dunstan admitted, his gaze averted, burdened with guilt.

"Do they talk to you?" Mutius inquired, his voice a whisper, almost fearful of the response.

Dunstan hesitated, his eyes lost in a distant thought. "Only their pleas for mercy... they're like ghostly echoes filled with despair."

Mutius shifted uneasily, his voice laced with apprehension. "No, I was asking about the... these...um...creatures."

Dunstan's forehead wrinkled in concern as he grasped the gravity of the question. "It's as though I feel what they think," he admitted.

"And what do they think?" Mutius pressed, his curiosity tinged with unease.

"They detest sunlight, that much is clear. But what puzzles me," Dunstan paused, his voice trailing off, "is why these three never transformed back into their human forms."

Mutius pondered for a moment before suggesting, "Could they be dead already?"

"That must be the reason. I can think of no other explanation," Dunstan conceded, his tone reflecting a sense of finality.

"Can you... perhaps tell them to be on their way then?" Mutius ventured, his voice tinged with concern.

"I believe we require all the assistance we can get, Mutius. You witnessed their prowess in battle," Dunstan argued, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.