CHAPTER 3:
The man watches silently, in a moment that felt like an hour, as the lantern careens through the air to the beast. His breath that he didn't even realize he held lets loose as the lantern makes contact. As the oil erupts from the lantern and douses the creature, then catches the flame of the wick and engulfs it into an inferno; the knight points with a gloved hand and finger tipped by a metallic claw towards the beast and mutters: "In fire, I cleanse."
The howling ceases while the tongues of yellow flame claw over the monster. Yet... the thing doesn't flee into the woods like any other creature might. Instead it curls into itself, falling onto its knees and, instead of yipping or barking; screams... as a man would. A voice that is...unsettlingly human, cries into the ground as it wails through the fire that is peeling its flesh. The skin that was taught around its skull and shoulders shrinks and peels up before fluttering into the air as ash. Its bare musculature begins to crackle and hiss against the flame while it pulls its head up from its hands and looks directly unto the knight.
"YOU WILL SUFFER!" the gravelly voice rips through the air at him. Taken aback, and quite unsure of the source of the voice, the knight looks unto the monster still aflame. Baffled, he dares to ask to the creature: "P-pardon? Ye speak??"
In acknowledgment of the knight's inquiry: the beast silences its screaming and assumes a sudden air of calm. It stands up, slowly, with skin falling off in oily tatters that burn on their way to the ground, and muscles that snap and curl into themselves as they crisp. Slowly simmering from a roaring fire to a small blue flicker as the last of its flesh and organs burn away. The creature looks at him, with empty sockets that have since had their eyes burst inside; and it raised a fully degloved arm to point with a freshly wrought claw of bone. "In sex diebus: MORS". With a hiss of its final breath, the creature dissolves into dust and ash, bestowing a mound of itself onto the ground, with its lone skull resting atop it, as if to wear a crown.
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The voice that emanated from the creature was throaty and authoritative, and laced with malice. It mostly, however, seemed more honest in its omen than one would hope it to be. "A monster that speaks?" he asks himself as he leans down to pluck the skull from the pile of ashes. "Vile sorcery is at hand..." he remarks, gazing into the sunken hollows of the skull bereft of its eyes. He stays still, gazing into the sockets, pondering the omens the monster spoke of. The fact that it could speak at all was concerning. Something that he, nor the Church has encountered thus far. At least, of which he knew...
His ponderings were interrupted by a distant howling, snapping him back into his dire situation. If any more beasts might close upon him, surely: he would perish by their maws. He had barely slain the beast and may very well not have if not for the fire of his lamp; and now, there was no fire to be had. "I must not linger here." he voices his thoughts aloud, dropping the skull back to the ground.
Turning upon his heel and lunging forth into a sprint, he doubles over; a searing pain erupting through his side, forcing him down onto a knee. The knight clasps his hand against his side, where the beast had gouged him, and brings his hand into view. Gazing at the crimson patch upon his gloved palm. "Right..." he says, clenching his fist. The blood that wet his glove squelches as his fingers clamp down into his palm. "Through pain..." he resolves himself, forcing his legs to rise again and stand, "I persist..."
As he stands, a light tinkling hums in his ears. A gentle rain begins to drizzle upon him and taps against his armor and helmet. He looks at his shoulder and sees the waves of water begin to run down the pauldron, then looks up into the oncoming rain. "Rain?" he inquires the heavens, "to wash mine blood and cover mine scent? Truly, your mercy is boundless, milord."
