Chapter 35:
Tales from Zemliharos: Night of The Striga
Peter rode through the afternoon, and deep into the night, his attention solely focused on Bura’s panted breath. It wasn’t until he could see the city of Ragusiic directly in front of him that his own breath became as short and stained. Shouting and metallic screams echoed in the distance, while fiery arrows were flung continuously throughout the night sky. Blood was going to spill this evening, and he wasn’t going to let another drop of it be his.
As he approached the oversized gate outside the city walls, not a soul manned it. Instead, the city remained completely agape as its invaders entered through the air, swarming the town from above. The guards above didn’t even stop to register Peter as he zoomed through the city walls, their attention solely focused not being picked off, one by one, with their arrows only hitting a mere couple of the striga as they simply out sped and outmaneuvered the infantry men’s onslaught. Never in his life did he wish to own a submachine gun, but at least he knew the beasts would be unable to out speed them for long if he did. Instead, the beast infiltrated the market squares, breaking into the complexes and terrifying every man woman and child within them and tearing into every stand and vendor still left standing over the course of night. He planned to finish off every last one of them by the time he was through, but he needed to ensure Jakov would at least make it through the evening in one piece, the boy was far too stubborn not to join into a fray like this.
Peter made it as far as the docks until the first striga focused its attention on ending the lord’s objective to reach The Punjene Paprike Tavern at all costs. He first noticed this beast as it swooped down from atop the crow’s nest of one of the local’s ship, dried blood looming on its mouth from whatever poor soul was killed earlier in the night. Several dock hands and guards still stood, attempting to fend for themselves and their livelihood while several of the beasts continued to swoop down from above them. While the more experienced swordhands were still able to keep the monsters from taking them into the air to be made into the beast’s supper, each minute ended with another poor soul becoming the creature’s meal. As Peter could feel himself targeted by one of the striga as it swooped from behind him, he jumped from Bura and let himself fully embrace the krsnik within him. He could feel the Striga’s wings brushing upon his newly born pelt as it hooted in defiance at missing its target prey, coming within inches of Bura’s own neck, but the monster was already too late. With a golden radiance, Peter twisted his claws and drove it into the beast’s wings, feeling every piece of the rubbery membrane rip upon impact. A deathly metallic scream erupted around him, but Peter was immune to its effects at this point. He landed on the ground and the beast stumbled onto the docks, narrowly avoiding falling face first into the sea. Peter assured himself it would be wishing for such an act of mercy by the time he was through with it.
Peter extended his claws again and struck the stumbling beast through its chest, making sure to twist and stretch every puncher he could. The creature’s owl-like eyes stared at him in horror as it watched Peter lunge straight for its neck, but nothing would stop him from seeing red. He felt his teeth rip into the creature, its flesh seemingly tasting rotted and its blood closer to a blackish brown than a crimson red. He felt one final shudder from its body as it gave one final plea of desperation, before growing unnaturally limp. By the time he finished the execution, he wasn’t even able to process what he just did, for another one of the creatures tore into his back. Peter rolled onto the ground, throwing his weight back on it as he smothered the beast as it attempted to remove its talons from its supposed victim. Peter rolled upright and slashed down his claws with a level of speed he thought no being would be capable of, let alone himself. The claw strikes cleanly cut through its chest cavity, making it all but certain that the creature would meet its end before long. He left it so the creature could endure its last final moments without mercy. A ping of regret filled his stomach as he left the rest of the shoremen to fend for themselves as he took the bridge deeper into the city, but he needed to save his own companions before he could even focus on saving any other from the beasts.
The bridge was a collection of horrors, leaving both man and monster near indistinguishable. Several looters rushed towards the stairs down to the shoreline, while several opportunistic beggars ambushed and slayed the offenders, only for the men to turn on themselves as they attempted to collect the silks, linens and gemstones that fell from their bags, all while striga picked off the weak, feeble or foolish across the bridge line, piling up corpses from man and monster alike. Peter leapt into the air with recklessness as he attempted to dodge through the desperate, opportunistic or defeated as he reached the other end of the bridge line. While he felt several striga fly off, and even more men staring in awe at a krsnik in action, he sprinted forward, knowing the tavern to be within distance now.
He reached the cobblestone to find Jakov and High Priest Dabro standing back-to-back, with two dead striga around them. Another swooped down for Jakov, but the priest intervened, able to strike its wing with his scepter. Jakov then plunged his sword into the stunned creature, ending its existence in one swift blow. As Jakov raised his head, she stood in awe and shock upon seeing Peter in his Krsnik form as he stood on the cobblestones, his trusted mare beside him.
It was then a deep shroud of fog covered Peter’s field of view. He sprinted through the fog, attempting to find his companions. By the time he could see them once again, Baba Roga had materialized, with her brutal claws slashing across the priest’s face, cleanly tearing through this eyes, nose and cheeks. Jakov attempted to swing his sword down on the witch, but her claws were already in motion. Peter lunged to stop her, but he was too late. Her claws struck, cleaning through the middle of his forearm, cutting Jakov’s swordhand like one would a stick of butter. His severed hand fell to the floor and Jakov screamed in agonized shock. By the time Peter’s own claws reached Baba Roga, he was more than prepared to give her more than a simple gash in her neck this time. Peter ravaged the old hag, tearing her into pieces as she howled and agony. Soon she was sliced no differently than Jakov, just in far more places. He finished his blows by cleanly decapitating the old hag’s neck from her body. Her body fell to the floor and the striga’s screams grew unnaturally quiet. Did Peter actually end the old hag? He was becoming more and more convinced, until her severed head opened one eye, only to stick her tongue out at the young man.
“My petal, a valiant attempt. Though we do not die as you do. I’ll see you in Zemliharos soon, my precious.”
Baba Roga cackled as her bits of body disappeared back into mist. Soon, the other striga took flight, abandoning the city they seemed so deadset on destroying only moments before. Peter could feel his raging waning just enough, enough for him to lose the willpower needed to maintain his form. It was then he looked down at his hands, his fingers and nails covered in blood where his claws used to be, the critically devastated Jakov and Dabro as they comatosed in shock. And while the metallic screams ended, the screams of men remained a constant. It was then Peter noticed where he stood, alone, calling for help like so many others, hoping the city’s healers would save their loved ones in time, time for them to still have a chance at not being made alone by the striga’s onslaught. Peter feared it to be far too late, his journey now his and his alone to bear…
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