Chapter 5: The Beast and The Broken

  Time: 9:41, Day: Jaashrim, Week: 2, Month: K?rgoyde, Year: 36651

  Grim sat perched atop one of the towering ancient oaks within the verdant expanse of Elix Forest. Their rough bark, textured like the skin of an old dragon, felt cool beneath his calloused fingers. His bright blue eyes focused on the young Forest Sprites dancing in a meadow below, their forms flickering like fireflies in the dappled sunlight. Their laughter, light and airy like the chime of wind-kissed silver bells, was a sharp contrast to his brooding silence. The weight of centuries pressed against him, his immortality more curse than gift. His tattered leather pants clung loosely to his dark-skinned, battle-scarred, muscly body, his silver-blue hair brushing against his shoulders as he leaned forward slightly, his lupine tail swaying gently with the breeze.

  The scent of sweet jasmine and acrid brimstone hit him like a wave, interrupting his thoughts. It was an unnatural mix, jarring against the familiar earthy aroma of damp soil, pine needles, and the faint, sweet decay of fallen leaves that usually permeated the forest. His lupine ears twitched as they focused on the crisp sound of a twig snapping below him. His sharp senses immediately locked on to the figure running through the forest below—a woman. His nose wrinkled at her scent, a cloying sweetness beneath the smoke, unmistakably demonic.

  "Succubus," Grim muttered with disdain, his voice a low growl, like the rumble of distant thunder. He crouched on the branch, watching her stumble forward, her steps heavy and desperate.

  "Leave here, Succubus! There is nothing here for the likes of you!" His voice boomed, amplified by the natural acoustics of the forest, causing her to stop abruptly and look up at him. Crows scattered from nearby branches, their raucous caws echoing his irritation.

  She met his gaze with bright pink eyes shimmering with exhaustion and defiance. Grim froze momentarily, his usual scorn faltering as he took in her disheveled beauty. Her waist-length black curls shone faintly despite being matted with mud. Freckles dotted her dirt-streaked chestnut-colored cheeks, chest, and shoulders. Her torn and tattered dress barely concealed her athletic yet curvy frame. One gray, gold-tipped feathered wing hung limply at an odd angle on her back, clearly broken, while her demon tail swayed behind her, keeping her balance, a silent testament to her struggle.

  Those bright pink eyes held him for a moment longer than he liked, a strange flicker of something akin to awe in their depths.

  “Those are the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with curiosity, cutting through the forest’s natural hush.

  “Who are you?” She asked, although she had an idea. According to the rumors, the God she was searching for was in fact hiding in Elix Forest.

  Grim’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. The intrigue he’d felt, a faint spark in the centuries of his existence, vanished as he returned to his usual guarded demeanor. He found her curiosity irritating, a brazen disregard for his obvious desire for solitude.

  “That’s none of your concern, Succubus,” he snapped, his voice sharp like the snap of a dry branch. “There’s a village of goblins northeast of here. I’m sure they’d welcome you with open pants. Go bother them.”

  Grim leaped into the canopy, his movements a blur of speed and grace, a dark streak against the vibrant green. He bounded away, his annoyance mixing with a strange, unsettling feeling he couldn’t quite place, like a pebble caught in his boot.

  The woman watched as he disappeared. Finally getting a clear view of him, she recognized him as the God she had heard many stories about, the man she was looking for. Her moment of relief quickly gave way to the familiar grip of fear, as the pain of her broken wing jolted her to reality. She glanced over her left shoulder, searching for the danger she knew was following her. She clenched her fists, trying to muster enough strength for another spell, but her body protested, trembling with exhaustion. She ran northwest, unknowingly moving deeper into the forest.

  Grim moved silently through the treetops, the dense canopy of ancient ferns and towering redwoods allowing only scattered beams of sunlight to penetrate the forest floor, creating a constantly shifting mosaic of light and shadow. The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of pine resin and wet earth, a subtle warning of something amiss. He was determined to distance himself from the Succubus, yet something gnawed at him. Her scent, a mix of jasmine, smoke, and something uniquely her own—a resilient, almost floral note, lingered in his mind, along with the desperation in her vibrant pink eyes.

  He shook his head, scoffing at his weakness. “She’s not my problem.”

  And yet, his sharp lupine ears caught the distant sound of snarling and barking, a chorus of guttural threats. His nose twitched, picking up the unmistakable stench of Hellhounds on the hunt—a pungent odor of burnt hair, sulfur, and stale blood. His expression darkened, his blue eyes flashing red for a brief moment, like embers igniting in the dim light.

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  “Damn it,” Grim muttered, pivoting mid-leap. He raced back the way he’d come, every powerful bound propelling him faster than the wind, a silent blur through the rustling leaves.

  The woman stumbled as the snarls grew louder, closer. Her broken wing throbbed with each movement, a searing pain that echoed through her bones, and her body screamed for rest. She turned and saw them—Hellhounds, their glowing red eyes fixed on her, like malevolent coals in the gloom. Their razor-sharp teeth, long and yellowed, glinted in the dappled light as they stalked closer, their hot, foul breath steaming in the cool forest air.

  She raised her hand, fire flickering weakly at her fingertips, a desperate, fading ember. She released a small burst, a pathetic spark, forcing one of the beasts back with a yelp, but the futile effort drained her. Her knees buckled as she fell to the ground, gasping for breath, the taste of iron and fear filling her mouth.

  The lead Hellhound, a hulking beast with matted, singed fur, lunged, its claws extended like cruel daggers.

  A dark blur intercepted it mid-air. Grim slammed into the beast with bone-crushing force, a sickening crack echoing through the trees. His claws effortlessly ripped through its flesh, tearing through sinew and bone. The other Hellhounds growled, a chorus of confused menace, hesitating as they assessed this new, formidable threat.

  The woman’s wide eyes locked onto Grim’s muscular, scar-covered body. His blue-silver shoulder-length hair swayed with his movements, stark against the dark green of the forest.

  “You…” It was all she could say as a warm and soft feeling, like the first rays of dawn, filled her heart, tears falling down her dirt-streaked face. His intervention was unexpected, a frustratingly welcome intrusion.

  “Quiet,” Grim growled, his focus on the remaining hounds, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He stepped forward, his aura intensifying, radiating a raw, untamed power. The air grew heavy as his presence filled the clearing, the very trees seeming to hold their breath.

  One after another, the Hellhounds backed away, their growls turning into whimpers, their tails tucking between their legs. The leader, emboldened by desperation, charged Grim, a final, futile act of defiance. Grim grabbed it by the throat with a quick sidestep, a movement too fast for the eye to follow, and snapped its neck swiftly. The other hounds scattered into the shadows, their courage shattered, their barks and yelps for help fading into the deeper forest.

  “His aura… feels…” Ayanna watched him closely, “Familiar…” She thought, as she frantically searched her memories for any sign of his aura.

  Though, there was nothing.

  Grim turned to the woman, his expression unreadable, a blend of annoyance and something else he couldn't name. He still found her presence bothersome, an unwelcome disruption to his peace. “Get up.”

  The woman struggled to her feet, her gray wings trembling as she steadied herself, her movements stiff with pain. “Why… Why did you help me?” she asked, her voice shaky, tinged with disbelief, “And what was that aura?”

  Grim scoffed, a short, sharp sound. “I don’t like watching weak creatures die. It’s pathetic.” His tone was dismissive, trying to mask the flicker of something akin to reluctant concern.

  Her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. “I-I… I wasn’t… going to die.”

  Grim raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. “Sure, you weren’t.”

  The woman bit back a retort, a sharp retort dying on her tongue. Instead, she gave him a small, grateful smile, a genuine expression that strangely softened the hard lines of his face for a fleeting moment. “Thank you… Grim, was it?”

  His eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation. “Don’t play with me, Succubus, I'm sure you know who I am.”

  The woman hesitated, then shrugged as she fought off a smile, a playful glint in her pink eyes. “Who hasn’t heard of the God of Beasts? Your reputation is…legendary.”

  Grim frowned but didn’t press further, the faint compliment doing little to soothe his annoyance. He motioned for her to follow, a curt jerk of his head. “Come on, Succubus. If you want to keep running, you’ll need a place to rest first.”

  The woman fell into step beside him, her curiosity outweighing her exhaustion, the rhythmic crunch of their footsteps on the forest floor the only sound for a moment. “I have a name, you know.”

  Grim glanced at her briefly, his expression flat. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly, her voice clear despite her weariness. “It’s Ayanna Grimoore.”

  He let out a deep laugh, “Grimoore? Like that ridiculous Queen?”

  Even her scent seemed to shudder at his words.

  Her eyes fell to the ground as she thought about Queen Syren Grimoore of Salem Kingdom, her mother.

  “I-I don't think I'm supposed to claim her as my mother, but yes…” Ayanna’s voice was barely a whisper, tears welling in her eyes refusing to spill.

  “She has the marks of Dharmic royalty, but smells like a Succubus.” He thinks to himself, looking at her as if she was an abomination, “Dharmic wings, grey feathers with gold tips. Devil's horns, and matching tail. Could she really be a Grimoore? I've met Leona and Lilith, but I don't recall there being another daughter. Not unless Tryste truly did have another daughter there...”

  “Can you stop staring at me like that? I'm already in too much pain to try to hide myself.” Ayanna's tone is laced with defiant anger. She had long since grown tired of people looking at her like she was some sort of experiment.

  Finally, he nodded slightly, a grudging acceptance. “Fine… Ayanna. Let’s find you somewhere safe… so I can be rid of you.”

  — The Curator’s Notes —

  you feel the shift?

  Next chapter stalks closer. Try not to look it in the eyes.