The two of them walked away from the slaughterhouse, leaving the echo of mad laughter and the thick stench of failure behind them. The silence between the Horse Head and the Stag Head felt far louder and more oppressive than the Black Goat Head's screams had been. The night felt frozen. The wind no longer carried the scent of pine or dew, but the coppery, foul tang of blood—blood freshly spilled, the black blood Danica had used, and perhaps, the faint smell of a deeper rot in the heart of the village itself.
The Stag Head's footsteps were heavy, as if the hammer on his shoulder now bore the weight of the entire world.
Stag Head: "Danica… that mark..."
His voice was deep and heavy, laden with a newly confirmed dread.
The Horse Head, Danica, merely gave a slight nod. The movement was almost imperceptible, stiff beneath the frightening horse mask. She lifted her leather-gloved hand, still wet with the viscous black blood she had used to forcibly revive the goat brothers. With a horrifically casual motion, as if just wiping off mud, she smeared it on the stone wall of an empty house they passed. The black stain clung to the stone, defying the sick moonlight.
Danica: "The Father awakened it, too."
Her voice was flat, muffled by the mask. She didn't look at her companion. Her eyes flickered upwards, staring at the night sky above them. There, where the protective Dome was supposed to be, a strange distortion was now visible. It was as if the air itself were cracking like thin glass, refracting the dim starlight into a nauseating, oily rainbow.
Danica: "To fight the merciless storm," she began to murmur, reciting a mantra that had been seared into her, the words coming out like a rote memorization.
Danica: "A Tree grew great and wide, the storm's wail shall never seep within. The drops that fall upon its soil shall not leave without its leave. Its long roots bless its branches."
She paused, letting the cold night wind carry her words.
Danica: "Sin. A dark ambition to break one's limits… to achieve one's desire."
The Stag Head let out a low growl deep in his throat.
Stag Head: "The Village Chief's ambition was to protect us. That was his desire. That's why he bore it. But I don't know… I don't know what rotten ambition that Black Goat has to make him awaken that cursed mark..."
Danica: "I will carry out the execution tomorrow, at first light," she said, her tone final, cutting through the Stag Head's doubts. "Either he falls… or we all fall with him because of that sin."
The Stag Head was silent for a moment. The burden on his shoulders felt even more crushing, pushing him into the earth. The madness they had just witnessed, the exhaustion that had gnawed at his marrow for years, and the cracks in the sky… it all filled his head. His breath plumed in a weary, white cloud.
Stag Head: "Is it that easy?… To kill someone?"
He then began to walk away, taking the first steps to leave Danica alone on the dark path. But he stopped, his massive back to her.
Stag Head: "Danica?" his voice was hoarse. "Will there… will there be a time when you finally stop?"
A cold silence enveloped them again. Only the sigh of the wind answered, carrying the distant howl of a dog.
Danica: "...."
Danica: "Stop?" she finally replied, her voice as cold as steel. "Give up? Or die? What's the difference? We've walked too far down this path, Grog. There is no turning back… This is all for the Father. And for his legacy."
The Stag Head didn't reply. He just resumed his walk. This time, he no longer shouldered his hammer. He dragged the massive weapon behind him. The heavy head scraped against the dirt and stone, creating a long, agonizing shriek of a scratch in the chaotic night.
Just before he disappeared around a dark corner—heading in the direction Oldred was last seen—he threw out one last question, his words barely audible.
Stag Head: "For the Father… and for this village… which is already dead, isn't it?"
Danica was left alone on the empty street. Her shadow looked long and twisted under the sick moonlight. She stood still for a long time, listening to the scraping sound of the hammer grow fainter until it finally vanished.
At last, she let out a long breath—the first truly human-sounding breath she had taken all night. Her still-dirty hand rose, unfastening the clasps at the back of her head. With a soft hiss, she removed the heavy horse mask.
The cold air immediately hit her face. What was revealed was not a monster, but a woman. Her shoulder-length brown hair was dull, limp, and listless, a few strands stuck to her sweating forehead. Her eyes, now visible, radiated an exhaustion far deeper than anything the Stag Head had shown. But beneath that fatigue, there burned an unshakeable, violent resolve.
Danica raked her faintly trembling fingers back through her hair, then turned, walking in the opposite direction under the fractured sky. She was going to check Nu'al's cell.