Once the demi-human and the blind man had separated at the window of the sinister cottage, and Gabriel had begun to take slow steps to the front entrance, the thing on his mind was a simple concern—one any man might have felt.
What if the murderers inside have guns?
Diego had not mentioned that, and Gabriel had not thought to ask. Fists and swords he could deal with, but he was no good with guns. It was too hard to tell when a pistol emerged before it would be too late, and so at this moment, Gabriel might have been walking straight to his death. But nothing could be done about that, he supposed. He would just have to improvise.
His fingers led him along the stone wall until his hand rested on the moss-covered wood of the door. Hunching down a bit, he drew up his fist without hesitation, and—without waiting for Hendrik to back him up—rapped three times. The sound invaded upon the still night, echoing around him. Gabriel heard a dead silence fall within as the murderers were no doubt contemplating what should be done about the unexpected disturbance. The sounds of their merciless chopping halted, and there was a bit of inaudible whispering. Finally, after a pause, footsteps approached the door, and presently a voice called out but was muffled by the wood.
"Who's there?" came the rather weak demand.
"Please, sir," Gabriel choked, putting on a voice much weaker than his own. "Could you spare a bite for a blind beggar, sir?"
Curiosity must have permeated the air within the cottage, for it fell silent once again. Gabriel could nearly imagine them all glancing at one another, shrugging and undecided—and then the door began to open. It opened very little, which the blind man could tell when the creaking of the hinges stopped. The space was just enough for one man to look out with one eye.
Gabriel wasn't sure of his own image, but he could guess readily enough. What the murderer within found himself looking at was a man who was a bit hunched, his scarred face nearly covered by a wide-brimmed hat, and dressed in a coat that might have been a bit too small. Beneath that, his clothes were tatters.
"Wha' the 'ell is this?" the murderer asked, stunned and agitated.
Gabriel spent the brief pause observing all he could. The voice of the man before him had come from above his head, but that was solely because the blind man was stooped over. Standing at his full height, he didn't imagine that this man at the door was much larger than he was. The sound of a voice could be deceiving at times, but more often than not, Gabriel could tell much about a person by the sound of their vocal cords. He could tell whether a man was old or young, healthy or ill, strong or weak, whether he was thin or overweight. All this without a touch. Judging by the voice, the man before him was not impressive in any sense.
The other two within... He couldn't tell much about them since they were silent and distant. They were still at the table where they'd been chopping up the girl's body, though they had stopped their work. The blind man could hear them leaning forward on the wood to get a better look at him through the crack in the door.
"Blind, ye say?" asked the man at the entrance.
There was a pause as he examined Gabriel, and then he spoke again.
"There be a town not too far away," he said, moving to shut the door as he spoke. "Best ye wander off there—"
"I really must insist," Gabriel said then, his voice strengthening as he straightened himself up.
He thrust his hand and foot against the door, preventing it from closing, which seemed to surprise the man inside. The criminal within was forced to back away from the door, and it came open without resistance. Gabriel stepped into the cottage unopposed.
The wordless bandit ground his teeth and swung out with something he'd been holding—some over-handed weapon, for Gabriel heard it rushing down at him. A hatchet perhaps? Swiftly, he ducked and pulled the door back to him, and whatever the man had been striking with stuck fast in the wood with a splintering crack. Gabriel listened closely for the sound of an emerging gun, in case he would need to duck back behind the door and run through the trees. He heard nothing that sounded like a pistol's hammer, but the man before him was fumbling for something at his hip. If it wasn't a pistol, it must have been a blade of some sort.
Gabriel heard the dagger scrape against its sheath as it was withdrawn, and he counted just a few seconds' time in which he guessed the blade would come stabbing at him. He heard the attacker step forward with his left foot, preparing to thrust. Somehow, Gabriel was able to sense where the knife was headed—straight out into his torso—and he always trusted his instincts. They were usually right.
The blind youth reached out, his hand slipping past the knife and instead gripping the man's fist that was wrapped around the weapon. In a movement that was too quick for the simple murderer to understand, Gabriel twisted his wrist and then the knife was in his own hand. With an easy toss, the blade whirled downward through the air accurately and buried in the flesh of the murderer's rooted foot.
The man yelled out as blood flowed over his poorly-made shoe, and from the direction of the scream, Gabriel was able to put his knuckles past a thick beard and to the man's nose.
Disoriented from the direct blow, the man stumbled back and slipped in his own blood. But the other two men were moving out from behind the table now, their feet carrying them toward Gabriel across the small space of the room. These men, however, did not attack him straight on. They hesitated—on one side of him and the other—and they were on their guard, but seemed unsure of what to do. Perhaps they were contemplating who he was and whether or not he was truly blind, but Gabriel stood still through it all, listening to their movements. No doubt they had some sort of weapons in their hands. He could not identify them, but he wasn't as concerned now as he had been before. If either one of them had possessed a gun, they would have shot him dead by now. His own sword was at his side, and he could get to it quickly if need be.
The man on the floor was not so easily downed, it seemed. He was moaning over his damaged foot, but managed to get himself up and retrieve the knife from his own flesh, standing again to guard against the blind man in their midst—a man that they guessed may not have truly been blind.
Gabriel did not move his head for simple purposes of the mind. A turn of his neck would give the illusion to those men that he had shifted his gaze. They might feel free to attack then. So he kept his face forward as if he could see them all. Silently, he was contemplating secret matters. Where was Hendrik? Had Diego managed to get to the girl?
As he pondered this, one man decided to attack, roaring as he did so, like it was scripturally necessary. Once this happened, another man joined in, and Gabriel had withdrawn his sword and blocked both of their attempts before they had time to think on it. There was another development now as well: heavy footsteps were moving behind him into the house from the door, slowly and deliberately. Hendrik. Certainly, it could have been no one else. The tall man said nothing to alert Gabriel, only walking toward the gathering of men with focused intent.
"Holy hell!" one of the murderers cried in an almost questioning way, and shortly afterward there was a loud crack resounding in the blind man's ears, like a branch had been broken. There was a thud against the floor, and the battle slacked. Gabriel had lost one opponent.
"Maulik! Nail the bastard!"
It had not slipped Gabriel's notice that the third man in the room—presumably the demi-human—was not doing anything to aid his allies in this fray. The third murderer seemed to be stricken with fear somewhere behind Gabriel. He was whimpering a bit and did not come closer. For the blind man's sake, this was a good thing. He blocked and dodged every attempt at him, since the murderers who preyed only on helpless young women seemed unable to fight to much merit. Not once did this remaining one even change up his pattern and try to catch Gabriel by surprise! But the scarred man was not going to complain. Simplicity was not insulting to him, only to the one who was simple.
"Maulik!"
The demi-human seemed unable to take the pressure. With a frantic and feeble-sounding cry, he turned and ran, the sound of his feet carrying him out of the house. With only one man left to concern himself with, Gabriel let the clashing of the weapons please his ears. He remembered this from ages ago. He had been trained to fight ever since he was old enough to hold a sword, and he'd been taught by the very best. It was nearly enjoyable, this renewed taste of battle, and like anyone else in this world, it was not something one had trouble recalling. Still, there was something a bit unsettling about it. Those he was relying on to help him were not present—had hardly attempted to help him at all. Hendrik had taken care of one of those men, but he had hardly done it for the blind man's sake, and Gabriel now heard the man's footsteps carry him out. Diego had yet to show up to lend a gun or a sword. If it hadn't been so easy to handle these men at first, Gabriel knew he might have been dead.
And there was no one in the world who would have cared.
Around the back of the murderers' cottage, there was a wooden door set in the ground. In former days, it was likely the primary entrance to the cellar, but now it did not appear to have been used in quite some time. It was overgrown with weeds and vines, but it was exactly what Diego had been hoping for. Minus his coat and hat which he'd lent to Gabriel, he knelt down to the ground before the door in the wet grass. Resting there a moment, he listened closely to the sounds within and without the house.
Down below, the captive girl was whimpering faintly, her sounds of self-pity muffled by the ground. Hendrik was stalking about somewhere through the trees—thankfully not anywhere near Diego's position. Carefully, Gabriel was approaching the front of the house. Diego waited until he heard a firm knock against the wood of the front door before withdrawing a knife from his boot and setting to work on the vines that blocked his way.
It took a few moments, but by the time he was done, picking the rusty lock and removing the bar, there were voices coming from within the house. Diego trusted at least one of his companions to do a good job with this scenario. So without much worry in his mind, he gripped one of the circular handles on the cellar door and pulled it open. The hinges whined, and he hoped that the sound had not been heard.
The moonlight did very little to illuminate the depth, but Diego's pupils were wide and roving, seeing through the cold, dirty underbelly well enough. When he'd opened the door wide, the clever prisoner had grown as quiet as a mouse. She could not see him clearly, but he could see her just fine. She was covering her mouth and looking into the dark where she thought he was—which was only slightly off his true position. He decided he should speak to her, letting her know that he was not some monster—or worse, one of those men from above.
He knelt down near her, and she was aware of his presence now, but still, she could not see him for the dark. The young thing was quivering so terribly that one might think she would actually worry herself to the grave.
"There, there, ma chère," he said soothingly, which was easy for him in his best, purring voice. "All is well now. I'm here to help you. But you have to be very quiet; do you understand?"
The girl widened her eyes, and when finally she was able to register what he was telling her, she nodded vigorously. Diego then hastened to remove the cloth from her mouth. Without the gag blocking her face, it was easier to get a look at her. My, the girl was a child still! Her years could scarcely be more than ten and five. Her hair was auburn, and she had a lovely scattering of freckles over her cheeks. What a shame it would have been for this young one to die, but her terrible fate had been averted now.
"What's your name, mon chaton?" he continued to converse, for she was becoming nearly overwhelmed with emotion since someone was releasing her from her bonds.
"Joanna," she managed, swallowing tears of appreciation.
She smiled at him, even though she could not see him at all. It was a pleasing sort of gratitude.
"I always liked that name, Joanna. My name is Diego. There are two men upstairs handling your captors while I get you untied."
"How did you find out about me?" the girl asked as he cut her hands free.
"Ehh... It's a long story," he said, and left it at that.
Above their heads, the muffled commotion was becoming more like an uproar, and Diego knew it was time to go. Gabriel, at least, would probably like his help.
"That's my cue. Now listen carefully, Joanna: I will need for you to stay here until I return—"
"No please!" the girl cried, gripping his shoulders. "Don't make me stay 'ere another moment!"
There was no time to make a fuss or calm the girl down, and so Diego saw no other choice but to concede to her wish.
"Follow me out," he said hastily. "Then you will stay where I leave you, are we clear?"
The girl nodded unquestioningly, though clutching Diego's arm just a bit too tightly, and they quickly made their way out of the cellar and back behind the house.
The large-eared demi-human, Maulik, tore through the trees and the dark, tripping over his own feet. The roots seemed to be rising up from nowhere trying to trip him—and they were succeeding. He breathed with fearful gasps, not quite as sober at that moment as he would have liked. He promised himself that he'd take no more wine once he got out of this—if he got out of this—because there was something after him, something large and dark and hideous. And it was catching up fast.
Since he and his associates had come into the woods here, they'd had to deal with a fair number of monsters that had been drawn by the smell of blood, but Maulik had never seen anything like this. It was seven—no no—eight feet tall, with burning eyes and long fangs. It had just appeared out of nothing, as if the darkness had come to life and was going to devour him. He didn't know the truth, only that he had to keep running. He had to get free of the trees! Even being executed for murder in the village was a better fate than this!
The demi-human floundered on. The forest seemed endless, and all the trees looked the same. It was as if he wasn't truly moving at all, only he thought that he was. Was he even running? Was he turning in circles? The creature behind him gained ground, its heavy footsteps more audible, and its vengeful growls intensifying.
I have to get away! Oh God!
Somehow, the monster had managed to cut in front of him, blocking his path with its broad torso and massive arms. Its appearance startled the young killer so greatly that he cried out and stumbled back, falling rather stupidly on his ass. When he'd focused his eyes back on the creature, it was standing over him, and the only thing he could see was a pair of unnatural green and amber eyes. If it was not enough to fear imminent death, the flesh beneath Maulik's fur lost all color when the beast opened its jaws, and from behind gleaming teeth it spoke to him.
"You have been tried and found wanting, filth," growled a deep, inhuman voice. "Could you possibly have something to say in your defense?"
This was such a surprise to the demi-human's large ears that for several moments he did not know what to say—or if he should say anything at all. Then, overcome with emotion and the wine that was slowly sweating out of him, he opened his mouth and began to spew out whatever he thought might help him.
"P-please," the demi-human blubbered, choking on his own saliva. "Please don't kill me! I'll stop! I won't never hurt anyone else. I—I swear!"
If ever there was a look of complete mercilessness and disinterest on a beast, this monster was wearing it now. The teeth were bared, glinting along with its eyes in the hazy glow of the moon.
"I didn't think so."
The creature of the night overtook the small demi-human with such speed that it could scarcely be measured. Still, there remained enough awareness for the unfortunate youth to scream in terror and pain.
Blood flowed and flesh ripped, and just as all the girls he'd devoured, Maulik was torn apart into pieces.