Gifts of the Night

He loaded another bolt into his crossbow. Quickly he wiped the blood from his hands and gripped the handle. There would be more, he knew. They hunted in packs; he had only killed two so far. He focused on keeping his eyes straight ahead, not daring to glance at the disfigured corpse of his friend. They had attacked while they were sleeping. His friend hadn't stood a chance. A scream had barely escaped his lips before they ripped out his throat.

He had managed to kill those first two. The crossbow almost severed the head of the first one. This sent the other into a frenzied rage. It flew at him with a fiery vengeance in its eyes. His dagger brought it down, but not without a cost. He brushed his hand against the bloody wreckage that had been his ear. Blood flowed from the gashes in his chest with each labored breath. Unable to stand he sat with his back against a tree. He would not live through the night, but the need for revenge tore through his veins like a fire and kept him fighting.

A nearby bush exploded as another one barreled through it. He was ready this time. The bolt caught it in the chest and hurled it back into the darkness. He could hear its brethren shrieking. The sickening wet crunching filled his ears as they devoured the corpse of their fallen comrade.
Without pause he grabbed another bolt and reloaded the crossbow, trying not to think about what would happen once the three remaining bolts were used up. Menacing, guttural sounds began to grow around him. They weren't rushing in anymore. They had become more cautious. For a second he almost allowed himself to believe he had scared them off. Then a deafening roar broke through the darkness, assaulting his remaining eardrum. Three of them stepped carefully into the campsite, their skin glistening in the firelight. He raised his crossbow, about to take aim, when he heard a growl next to him. They were surrounding him. His hands began to tremble. He lifted the crossbow and fired at the three closest. The bolt flew harmlessly above their heads. Sinister taunting smiles seemed to curl onto their faces.

Before he could reach for more ammo they were on him. The first landed on his chest. He felt little resistance as his dagger split the soft flesh under its chin. He screamed as the other two dug their claws into his legs. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the ones that had flanked him coming out of the trees.

A desperate adrenaline fueled rage took hold of him. He struck out at the one devouring his right leg. His fist sunk deep into its head. It collapsed onto the ground as he pulled his fist free. With both hands he grabbed the one on his left leg around the neck. Oblivious to the fragments of bone sticking out of his hand, he began to squeeze. The unearthly moan that escaped the creature brought a smile to his face.

Tossing the limp form aside he grabbed his dagger and managed to get to his feet. He turned to face the ones approaching from the trees. His knife hand smashed through the first one to attack. The next two grabbed hold and began to savage the remains of his chest. He blindly slashed at them with the dagger. He cried out in agony as he felt another land on his back. He fell to the ground, fists flying in a bloodied rage.

He glanced around him as the blood filled his eyes. Their broken corpses covered the ground. A laugh somehow escaped his mangled body. He had not fallen easily.