Early evening. Kragstedt. Issac.
Long, long ago, there was... and still is... the pretty little village of Kragstedt, known by many for its golden wheat fields that seemed to stretch to the horizon and beyond.
There lived a happy family of four, Isaac's family.
His father was strong and responsible, known by the entire village. He was a baker, and Isaac and his brother often joked that he looked exactly like one.
His mother? An angel... at least, that is what the townsfolk believed. But Isaac and his brother knew better. Sometimes, when they got up from the table without washing their plates, or when their father snored too loudly, her true form emerged.
The demon.
She would grab one of them and tickle them until they begged her to stop, or peck Father with kisses until he finally woke up.
"Disgusting," the brothers would agree.
Certainly, a demon, indeed.
One evening, while they were playing in the wheat fields, swinging sticks like swords, they saw... a firefly.
"Wow," said Isaac.
"Sooo beautiful," his brother added.
They decided to catch it... maybe to show their mother, or maybe to bribe their father into saving them from her antics.
They followed the little light through the stalks, laughing, until they reached the edge of the forest.
Crickets sang around them. The golden stalks brushed against their legs. The smell of warm bread still lingered faintly from the house.
Then, from the porch, came their mother's voice:
"Dinner time! Be home quick, before the sun goes down!"
"Let us go back. They are waiting," his brother said.
But Isaac was not one to give up easily.
"You go first. I will come after you if I don't catch it in five minutes," he said, a sly grin on his face. He knew his mother would be angry, but he really wanted her to see it.
"All right... but hurry. Or Mom's gonna eat Dad, haha."
His brother ran home, and Isaac pressed forward, chasing the firefly deeper than he was ever allowed to go.
He liked the cool breeze in the shadows beneath the trees, the feeling of moss under his feet. The firefly danced ahead, leading him gently... until it vanished.
"Huh? Where did it go?" he mumbled, his shoulders drooping.
"Well it just should not be, I guess. Dad always says bad things happen to the best people," he said, chuckling to lift his own mood.
He looked around... and froze.
"So where did I come from again?"
The trees all looked the same now. The wheat field was nowhere in sight. The air smelled different... damp and earthy, like rain on old roots. The quiet was thicker here. Even the crickets had gone silent.
He turned here and there, tried retracing his steps... but got nowhere.
Still, he smiled. "They'll find me," he whispered. "Dad's strong. Mom's smart. My brother's fast."
The five minutes had long passed.
Still, he was not afraid. Not yet.
He imagined his father lifting him high with flour-covered arms, laughing. His mother ruffling his hair with a kiss on his forehead. His brother racing ahead and shouting back, "Bet I beat you home!"
They would find him. They always did.
So he decided to call for them.
Again.
And again.
02:00. Forest near Kragstedt. Imp.
The bone cracked, splintered... then crunched, loud and slow, as the thing gnawed through the femur, sucking the marrow out with a wet pop.
Near the edge of Kragstedt, where moonlight died beneath the trees, a grotesque creature crouched over a child's limp body.
The child had wandered too far. Chasing a firefly. Curiosity. It had whimpered once before the thing struck. Now its face was frozen... more confused than afraid.
It crawled on all fours, limbs too long, too thin... like a spider imitating a man. Its skin hung loose in some places, stretched taut in others, as if Hell forgot how flesh should fit. Its eyes were tar pits, leaking smoke. Its grin... wide, serrated, eternal... spoke only in promises of pain it could never fully deliver.
Its claws pried the ribcage open like any other meal. Bone cracked. Marrow slurped. No haste. Only hunger.
The trees leaned in. The wind did not howl. Shadows twitched. The forest listened.
Suddenly, it froze... completely still. Like a rabbit paralyzed by the scent of death, hoping the predator would not notice it was still breathing.
Not from fear, but instinct. Something pressed into its back. Cold metal... deep, just behind the heart. Thick, tar-like blood oozed out, reeking of rot and chemicals.
It did not care about the pain.
Not now, something worse than death loomed behind it.
Soon came a breath. Cold. Shallow. Against its neck. Then a voice. Low. Inhuman. Speaking words, it could not understand but feared all the same.
"Run, little imp… so I can make you suffer properly for wasting my breath."
Bang.
A muffled gunshot tore the silence. The forest screamed. The imp's shriek was wet. Terrified. "Guarhgt-blueght."
Agony surged. Its first heart was gone... shattered. Blood filled its lungs. It choked, vomiting its life across the roots.
But that was not its end... It had two hearts. It knew that.
So did its hunter...
and the hunt had begun...
"Ten." Its knees buckled. Still, it stumbled forward, limbs flailing. The world swayed. Every breath was a knife.
"Nine." It forced itself into a run. A crooked, ugly sprint—bare feet slapping the earth, legs tangling in weeds. It didn't look back.
"Eight." A branch whipped across its chest. The skin split. Blood poured. A root snagged its ankle and sent it tumbling... rolling, scraping, shrieking. Still, it rose.
"Seven." It coughed. Choked. Something hot and sharp swelled in its side. It staggered between trees, leaving bits of itself behind—skin, hair, bile.
"Six." It looked back.
The Man walked.
A long coat billowed around him... stitched from hides not meant for Earth. Scaled. Armored. Furred and feathered. His revolver smoked in a hand more scar than skin.
His black hair was tied into a harsh bun. Strands clung to his hollow face. His eyes were pits... not angry. Not amused. Just tired.
He did not chase.
He walked.
"Five." Its foot slammed into a rock. A crack echoed. Its Toes shattered. The pain didn't register. It howled anyway and dragged itself forward.
"Four." A thorned branch ripped open its thigh. The wound pulsed black. One eye closed. Its vision flickered like a dying flame.
"Three." It crawled more than it ran. One arm limp. One leg gone to numbness. It dragged its belly over stones and insects. It stopped thinking.
"Two." The forest opened. Stars above. Space. Light. Air. It could feel it... distance.
Hope bloomed.
It esc...
Bang.
The second bullet punched through its last heart.
It twitched. Shook.
Then it exploded... flesh, soul, hate... violently. The near forest within meters died. Blackened. Lifeless. Unhealable.
Ivan stood beneath the full moon, sliding the revolver back into its holster. He watched the smoke rise, savoring the silence as it returned.
A leaf drifted down. Cold. Unmoving. A crow cawed... and went silent. Then he whispered it... not for the imp, but for himself.
"Memento Mori."
Remember... you must die.