The Hunter's Tale: Initiation

You are the monster that all monsters fear.

The **** of immortals.

The punisher of evil. Protector of good.

Your name is Seth, and you are a Hunter.

Or at least, you will be by the night’s end.

***

Shimmer knows this path well.

It is usually the way to the farmer’s market, the only one for miles and miles.

There, one can purchase some of the freshest produce available from the fields of Bergeron.

Her favorite is the apples. Always the apples.

For you, well, any food is good food.

The sustenance is always a good reward and reminder that you are still alive, still able to see another rise of the sun above in the morrow.

But you know better than to take that privilege for granted.

After all, it is always darkest before the dawn.

You tap your hand on the side of your esteemed steed finally, bringing the majestic beast to a slow halt.

She shakes her head some as the local wind floats in from the west, her hooves settling into the gravel road.

The natural breath of the earth caresses your war-weary face, touching the visible scar running down your cheekbone, then blowing past the blonde hair adorning atop your head.

From the left, the man-made path continues on to the market, to human civilization in general.

It is clear, well-defined, well-known.

But to the right, the path becomes jagged. Unclear.

Somewhat overwhelmed by vegetation.

There are hints as to a clearing beyond the overgrown vines that cover the entrance leading into the deeper woodland area.

It is a path that many before you have traveled, and yet, so few have ever returned.

You cautiously dismount Shimmer, swinging one leg over the straddle before landing both feet on the ground.

Moonlight had fallen several hours ago, and yet your hazel eyes remained sharp. Alert.

Prepared.

A subtle feeling of dread begins to swirl around in the pit of your stomach as you look ahead.

You’ve been told it is normal to feel the anxiety, the fear, of what you’re about to undertake.

And even with all your training, almost every fiber of your being feels woefully unprepared.

The clothes on your back certainly did not help that feeling.

Worn boots. Brown pants that have seen better days, if not years. Finally, a matching tunic with sleeves, complete with a leather belt across the waistline.

Not exactly the glistening, well-polished armor of the King’s Army, but for this expedition, sheet metal won’t make the difference between life and ****.

Rather, it falls upon your wits. Your base instincts. Self-preservation.

Those will see you through the night, and see to it that you ascend to the title of Hunter.

For now, you are merely the prey walking into a den of predators.

Seven, in particular.

Seven monsters, all unique in their depravity. Their sadism masked as seduction.

You do not know what they are, only that they exist beyond this path.

And because they exist, they must be slain.

Or you will die trying.