Never Alone

By Baron Daemon

The moon was a cascade of brilliance, hanging so lovingly in the sky. It was a beautiful night, not a cloud to be seen, and the atmosphere was being celebrated as a roughly thrown together parade of merry men and women danced throughout the streets.

Music flowed from pipes, flutes, bound off of the cords or a minstrels lute, and shook the air itself with the soothing, yet chaotic, cacophony of a drum.

"A beautiful evening," Samantha Duvert said in her soft, melodic voice, more enjoyable than any music the travelling band could have created.

"A beautiful life, spent by your side my darling," the ever-charismatic man replied, a mischievous, loving smile spread across his face, pushed only more to the mischievous regard by the slight of fangs pointing just below his other teeth.

Sabin Duvert had not felt so elated, so overjoyed with life itself, since before his transformation, his entrapment, with the Anju, the demon of the shadows, the nightmares, that had thought him too weak to defeat it, and then to contain it. His lapses into a feral state, unleashing his anger and showing harsh signs of his darker side, had been rapidly decreasing, his will-power and grip over the thing strengthening altogether. It seemed that as of late the only times he would slip into shadow were those times he wanted to, be it to intimidate someone, or simply leave them astonished.

"You are ever a devil, you know," Samantha said again, her lips curling into a teasing smile, taunting her husband for his charm.

And for knowing his full intents for the evening, perhaps.

The couple walked peacefully together through the crowded streets, interacting cheerfully with the many people dancing and strolling about. That in itself came as a pleasing shock to Samantha, enthused at her husbands pleasant mood, even in a place with so many others around. There was always a risk that some part of him would slip, his ears possibly elongating, his fangs pushing down farther, the claws on his fingers extending, or most notably any one of his other four eyes deciding to peek open, and that risk always kept the man on guard.

He was far from guarding himself on this evening.

Hours passed by and the streets began to settle. The music stopped playing, the dancers stopped dancing, and those strolling about began to wander back to their homes, most of them husbands and wives finding their way to beds, obviously ending the night sharing the love that was born into them.

"We should be going home ourselves, my dearest," Samantha said then, her voice quiet, but still obviously happy with the events of that beautiful night.

"Not yet," he said, his voice trailing off as he stared into the stars, his hand holding hers tightly as they strolled casually along the path. He marvelled at their beauty, enthralled by their glow, always wondering what mysteries, what magics, might exist beyond their reach.

Another hour stretched by as the couple walked silently along. Their hands stayed clutched together, their fingers mingling. Anyone looking would not have been able to tell who owned which, Samantha mused silently. She began to speak, a suggestion that they should turn to home, but her voice suddenly cut off in her throat.

With a sudden jerk her hand came free of his, Sabin stepping forward while her hand tore away, so he turned then to see what was the matter. Stricken dead silent, incapable of forming words, he stared in horror for brief seconds, each one passing by seeming to take hours as the scene unfolded.

She gripped tightly at her throat, dropping ever so slowly to her knees, as the thick, sticky red fluid poured down her beautiful gown, flooding to the road blocks and spreading in a grotesque pool from the large gash in her throat, a tear from her left jugular vein all across to her right.

Sabin instinctively looked to his own claws in revulsion, horrified, fearing that he had somehow slipped into the ever-looming shadow and done the unthinkable, but no blood stained his pale fingertips. He looked up quickly, rage flashing in his eyes, all six of them, as the others flashed open angrily. His clawed nails seemed to erupt from the tips of his clean fingers, each as long as a stout dagger. His teeth rolled down into long, horrifying fangs as his lips curled back in a horrible snarl. The essence of darkness itself seemed to begin flowing from his body then as shadow wafted about him, from him.

That was all it took, that terrifying image, to cause the cloaked man, the man that had murdered his beautiful, precious wife, to turn and flee.

Tears streamed down Sabin?s dark cheeks as he veritably took flight, running so fast that the wind could not touch him, after the cloaked figure. He wanted nothing more than to stop and mourn her, take her in his arms and run her to a doctor, but it was beyond any of that. She could not be saved, and he could mourn her soon.

Now it was time for redemption.

The man moved fast, fleeing quickly through alleyways and over tall fences, but Sabin was a preternatural being, a force that could not be outdone. The shadows of the buildings rustled in their darkness as he flashed by, leaping over another tall fence that the man had passed in a single lope of his powerful legs. He bore down on the far side with a wide smile overturning his snarl, and he reached forward, throwing his body hard, as he hit the fleeing man in from behind.

As he hit the two tumbled and rolled across the hard ground, both struggling against the other, until they crashed sidelong into a house that had been close at hand. Sabin was on top of the man, pressing down hard against him with his legs, and staring coldly into his face.

The man showed no fear, but he tried to speak.

"Don't kill me," he said, his voice even and calm.

His sentences could not be heard as a single, long scream erupted from his throat then, the Shadow slamming two long, pointed claws deep into his eyeballs.

Sabin revelled in the sound of the mans pain for several minutes before pushing harder, his long claws sliding deeper and piercing in to the mans brain, blood and gore spurting up into the demon's smiling face as the struggling body went limp, obviously brain dead.

"Hello?" came a low call, fearful and cautious. "Hello, what's going on out here?"

With a sudden jerk, Sabin buried his hand into the slowly dying corpse he sat on, digging deep into its chest and ripping out the still-beating heart.

He could no longer stay in town. The man that had called out would alert the authorities.

At least he could have a hearty meal along the way.
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He ran on for hours, blending in easily with the shadows of nature that always surrounded him in the dark of night. His flight from the village was impossibly fast, no mortal being could have kept up his frantic pace as he ran, sobbing, throughout the night. Howls and screeches constantly surrounded him, wolves hunting their prey, the dying animals they had caught. He wished more than anything at that moment that he could just be one of them, a predatory animal living openly in the forests.

At least they had their freedom.

As the night began to turn to dawn, so did he allow himself to slip back into his more human form. He had run for hours, and none would truly know that he had done it all, but it was better that way. But with the cresting dawn he could not stay as a part of the shadows, for if any passersby saw him, surely he would have to slaughter more.

And what is so wrong with that, he thought to himself then, his pace slowing to a slow, sad walk.

"Why should I not slaughter? We pathetic humans, we kill our own kind, feed off of others' suffering. So why should I not do the same?"

Sobs were echoing from his throat and his cheeks were flush with anger and sadness all at once, the strongest aspects of each emotion possible. How pleasant his life had become, how sedate and peaceful for the first time in ages, all to be torn asunder and pushing him to the edges of his sanity all in one night. Tears ran in rivers down his white cheeks, his throat too tight even to scream or sob, and it only made him angrier inside, fuelling a hatred for the ways of humans, deepening his sadness as he lamented over leaving dear Samantha behind. He could not think of a reason that he should not just pointlessly slaughter all that he encountered.

And then he heard the call.

His eyes passed to the side as he heard the loud, beautiful cry of an eagle. It soared above him with grace and love, disappearing just as quickly as he had seen it, into the bright orange light of the cresting sun. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and his breathing stopped.

Samantha.
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He bathed quietly in the babbling stream, washing the blood and gore from his hands, his face, his torso. Within moments there was no sign about him that he had been responsible for the gruesome death in the old town he called home.

He still would not, could not, go back.

After he had seen his true love take flight, he had known then why he would not begin a massacre. There was still love in the world, and that love was greater than the evil that had taken her mortal life. Instead he would hunt the evil, all those that caused harm to others, that killed recklessly, and without cause.

And he would start with whomever had killed his true love.

The man that had attacked him had known no fear in the face of the Anju. That alone had betrayed much detail to Sabin. It had not been a mugging or a senseless murder, it had been done with a purpose. The man had been sent, obviously from some other town or village, to do the dirty work of some apostate.

But who? Why? He puzzled over that quietly as he lay in the warm sun, occupying a beautiful, green grassy field that surrounded the stream on one side, the side opposite where he?d come from the town. His mind raced furiously over the possibilities, while subconsciously he knew he was feeling the warm touch of his love all over his naked, drying body.

As he lay there the warmth, the murder, the butchering, and the long run overcame him and soon he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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What could have been minutes, hours, or days passed by before his eyes startled open. A low, loud howl had sounded from somewhere nearby. The night sky loomed deeply overhead. A wolf, Sabin thought then, but as he stood and took stock of all that was around him he knew differently.

A deep, dark cloud, constant in all directions as far as the eye could see, swarmed like an angry flock across the sky. The stream he had bathed in ran as dry as a bone, dust blowing in the constant, chill wind. It was not cold, but it seemed to draw the warmth and security from deep inside him. His belongings were nowhere to be seen and so he stood, naked and shivering, in the sharp, whispering wind.

Again the howl sounded, closer this time, and it caused Sabin to flinch, taking a pensive, striking pose and looking all about him.

Something was wrong.

It struck him then, as hard as any blunt weapon, causing him to stagger again to a sitting position.

He had heard legends of the different planes, different aspects of reality that were often completely different from his own, but he thought it impossible. Now he didn't know where he was, how he had gotten their, or why he was brought there, but he was quite definitely in danger.
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He strolled the darkened countryside casually. He was a musketeer and truly feared little, for he could best almost any in combat. And even if his swordplay wasn't enough, he could always revert to his form of the Lychanthrope, fully or partially, to tear apart whatever might come up against him.

Truly Ravenloft was a place of hazards and terrors, but he had seen, fought, and bested almost all that the region could offer over the course of time he had spent there.

He regularly then made patrols, keeping his home safe, his home being a loose term more in reference to keeping his true love safe, as it was frequented by different attacks. He was none too keen with the location, but moving someplace safer was far more hazardous at the moment. And even then, that would be at the expense of the possibility of not being able to find any place safer.

No, they would stay where they were for the moment, it was simpler. He would just continue to patrol, fight, and kill. No harm would come to his dearest Angelina.

It was, in fact, what he lived for.

Normally he would only go so far as to have the village just still in sight of his keen vision, keeping himself, in a regard, that much safer in the chance that he ever did have to flee to home, but something was different this day.

Earlier that morning he had seen a bright flash on the other side of the large forest that was immediately outside of town. The forest was the source of many of the horrors that rained themselves upon his home. It had been then that he decided he would venture through the perilous forest to find out what it had been, hope filling his heart that it may be a source of help or safety.

Or a way home.

His footfalls were near-silent and careful as he began his trek through the horrid woods. The stench of rotted, decaying flesh constantly assailed his senses and several times he had to fight to stifle down a gag, but other than the pungent aroma his journey seemed it may just go well, seeing him through the woods without a fight on unfamiliar grounds.

He would have to chastise himself later, he silently scolded then, realizing that it was an arrogant, over-zealous thing to hope for as a large form leaped up from a small bog he had been circling. It came crashing through brush, branch, and whole small tree, coming then to stand in front of him, directly blocking his path.

"Troll," he sighed drearily, taking a battle-ready stance as the stupid, muscular creature began to lumber forward.

From the corner of his eye he saw some slight movement and turned his head just the slightest bit, seeing then as nine more clawed, muscular hands and arms reached out of the bog and began pulling themselves free.

"Lots of trolls," he mused, a smile sprawled across his face. Oh, how he loved to do his duties.

The minor distraction almost cost him his life as the first troll threw itself at him, claws bearing down to rip the man through the torso. Only his quick reflexes and keen intelligence saved him then as he nimbly stepped to one foot, placing the other between the hulk's legs, thrusting his body into a sidelong roll, and taking the creature down to it?s back all in a single movement.

His aim for the creature's trip had been impeccable, he compliment himself, eyeing the other five approaching trolls carefully. It had landed, face up, on a sharpened tree stump that now protruded almost three feet from its lurching chest. He knew it would only be a minor inconvenience, though, if he did not have fire.

He had fire.

With a taunting smile he pulled from the satchel tied to his belt a large piece of flint. The stupid creatures failed to realize what it was, that it was really a sign of their impending doom, and so they came forward. A quick stroke of his rapier caused the flint to strike a spark.

As the spark flew so hypnotically, the trolls finally realized what was occurring. With strange gurgles and croaks that could only be screams they began to push their comrades forward as body shields, but none were safe. The troll still stuck on the tree let out a grunt as the spark landed against his rib, and instantly he was encompassed in fire.

He did not need to watch the rest. With a bow and a tip of his wide hat, Sir Ambrose Maurlias turned and waltzed away into the woods again.
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Several hours passed before Ambrose bypassed the rest of the bog, but he remained unbothered by bog blokes, trolls, or any other scum of the forest. He was almost out of the forest then, and he would be glad to pass through, see the other side.

He stopped then, tipping his head backwards and swooping his hat into his hand, preventing it from falling to the ground. He turned his head back and forth, sniffing constantly at the foul air. He wished for another way, but he could have sworn he had smelt something other than the decrepit, odorous stench of decaying corpses.

With a grunt, he turned his head forward again and realized there would only be one way he could possibly pick out the different smell a second time in the foul woods. He braced himself solidly, taking hold of two trees, as he focussed his mind, his will, his entire being, into the task at hand.

And then the burning began.

He let out a deep, loud scream as he felt the bones in his body reconstructing themselves. Parts of himself, even in human form, retained wolf-like properties, but every time he shifted his bones had to reshape themselves, and it was always beyond excruciating.

With the finishing of the bone-shift, his eyes blazed with passion and fury. His vision sharpened, his senses heightened, and his humanity dulled, as hair began to sprout, encapsulating his entire body.

With the change finished he again thrust his head back, his long, fanged snout jutting into the air.

Eyes widened in anger, his lips curled back in a feral growl, his hair standing on end, he let out a loud, hungry howl and took off into the forest, hunting the smell that had before been so faint.

It would seem there was a demon nearby.
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His eyes tore back and forth, scanning the many trees and other unknown things surrounding him. His heart raced in his chest, though he was unsure whether it was out of fear or adrenaline. All he knew was that it was time to revert, to open himself up. In this place of horrors, he had to be as fierce as he knew he was. Faster than usual, almost as though the Anju was trying to burst forth into the new environment that it would call home all too easily, his eyes burst open, claws and fangs extending in a rush as his muscles seemed to tighten and sharpen, the heightening of his physical abilities.

His transformation couldn?t have been timed any better. As his eyes again roamed to the trees, watching for the source of that wretched howling, something in him became alert, a sentient sense, told him to turn. With an animal ferocity he whipped himself around, his clawed fingers lashing out in brutal rapid succession, gashing in to the creature behind him over and over again until it fell backwards under the onslaught. His curiosity afforded him a moment to look down at the creature, shock and a measure of horror sprawling across his face. He?d never seen anything so hideous! Little time was afforded to sit and wonder over the creature as three more burst forth at him, but he did have time to take measure of the beast. It was tall, at least eight feet, and extremely wide, at least four feet between shoulders. It?s bulk was mostly muscle, though enough body-fat that it retained more bulk, appearing somehow even more intimidating than it was. It was shaped not uncommon to a giant man, but it?s face obviously lacked in any real intelligence.

As Sabin deftly flipped out of the way of an incoming sword-swing, his analysis of the beast was over. He was in a race for his life, and the remaining three hulks had quite the head-start. For such large things, they were surprisingly agile in moving their huge weapons. Not agile enough, however, as he lunged in between the enormous swings, scoring minor hit after hit on the three beasts. He could not make any solid strikes as he had with the first monster, constantly dodging strikes that would, quite easily, tear him in to several pieces, despite the additional support of the Anju.

His feet were in constant movement, Sabin finding himself moving faster and with more awareness than he had ever need to before. Claws struck home time after time, scoring small cuts that did little to even slow these brutes. He needed a miracle if he were to survive this encounter, at least to survive in one piece.

His efforts proved futile a moment later as he side-stepped a longsword in downward thrust only to catch the same beasts thick foot to the chest. He could feel bone snap under the impact and he was thrown painfully to the ground. Turning to his back to again face the attackers he could only stare on as the thick blade came plummeting once again.
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Running with speed unrivalled by any creature he?d ever encountered, Ambrose pushed on. The smell thickened as he came closer, knowing the foreign creature he?d inhaled earlier to be just ahead. His teeth were bared in a ferocious snarl, his eyes wild with the fury of the hunt. Normally he would leave something so heinous to its own devices, but he had encountered demon-spawn before. They were harbingers of chaos, something he could not let alone.

His pace slowed then as he saw ahead, a clearing through the trees. It was there. He knew it.

Caution took over the wild man, halting at the edge of the trees to take in the situation. His eyes curled in a smile as he watched. It seemed a group of Ogres had found the demon before him, and they were winning. One was down, messily gored apart by the creature, but the others were more than any creature would care to face head to head.

He sat and watched as the futile struggle went on and something inside him began to unrest, a feeling of discomfort and insecurity as to letting this go on. But why? Why would he feel? Remorse? Betrayal? Somehow it felt as if he should be out there helping the wicked thing.

One of the Ogres caught on to the movements of the demon then, thrusting his sword to force a dodge only to connect with a brutal kick, sending the thing tumbling. It was surprising how well the Ogre pulled it off. Even with the relatively little he?d seen of the creatures of the land he now inhabited, Ambrose knew they were a naturally unintelligent species. The fact that this one was showing some base intelligence was all the spurring Ambrose needed to justify?
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The sudden jolt had left him breathless and disoriented. He knew then that his fate was sealed. The giant thing had been coming in for the fatal swing only moments before, and there was no way he could escape it again, crippled to the ground as he was.

It was all over.

As he lay there in silence awaiting that final, devastating blow, sound erupted all around him. Feral growls and the tearing of flesh sounded, and all of Sabin?s six eyes flew open as a warm, sticky fluid, blood that was not his own, splashed across his face.

Moving quickly, the half-breed of human and utter darkness leaped to his feet, claws elongating as he moved in on another of the huge beasts, eyeing only briefly what it was that had stopped the previous looming monster.

A creature, as tall as a man but with the hair, snout, fangs, and eyes of a wolf, was ravaging through the other creatures. Strangest of all, he included the slicing of a sword to his repertoire of claws and fangs.

Lunging in, Sabin took the other beast by surprise by running straight up in its face. It stumbled backwards, confused and afraid by the sudden manoeuvre, and was an easy kill as claws tore deeply into its throat.

Panting and looking about frantically, he realized then that there were only two creatures left standing in the field; himself and the wolf-man.

Their eyes bore deeply in to each other, taking deeper measures of the rival at hand as they both circled, seemingly mirrors of a parallel kind; the scope between universes. Both emitted low growls, deep, throaty, threatening, their stalking continuing.

Almost as if they shared a mind and it kept them in such close tension, both Sabin and Ambrose snapped forward, all forms of weapons taking the lead.

Only one would survive this encounter.