Headless: The Huntsman

Snow crunched softly beneath his heavy boots as the huntsman approached the hunting lodge.

The structure loomed ahead, nestled among towering pines weighed down by winter's silence. Its stone foundation rose out of packed snow drifts, topped by thick timber walls stained dark with pitch and age. Slender windows glowed faintly with candlelight within, casting narrow slashes of gold across the white forest floor.

The huntsman paused at the edge of the tree line. Shadows curled around him like silent serpents, drifting along the frosted branches and coiling across his gauntlets. The crimson runes carved into his neck stump pulsed softly, illuminating the snow at his feet with flickering blood-red light.

He could hear voices within – low, bored laughter mixed with the clink of tankards. The faint scent of roasted venison drifted into the night, mingled with the bitter tang of iron oil and boiled leather. Guards. Five, perhaps six. All awake, all armed, though their discipline lay dulled beneath cheap wine and complacency.

Above him, Vengeance drifted through the moonlit pines, its vast shadow twisting between skeletal branches. Crimson eyes gleamed with silent, fevered anticipation.

"They sleep upon the corpses of your kin," it whispered, its voice curling through his mind like oil across a frozen lake. "They feast upon the blood price paid for your family's slaughter. Spill their blood in turn, Huntsman. Let them feed the forest floor with their lifeless flesh."

He stepped forward, crossing the snow with slow, silent strides. Each motion felt guided by a deeper instinct – an ancient predatory rhythm woven into his being by the spirit's power. Shadows clung tighter to his armour as he approached the lodge's rear wall, drifting up the black timber in silent, writhing coils.

A single guard stood at the back entrance. He was a broad-shouldered man wrapped in a thick fur cloak, his iron helm pushed back from his sweating brow as he leaned against the doorframe. His eyes drooped with wine-soaked fatigue, head bobbing slightly with each half-formed doze.

The huntsman paused a few paces away. Snow fell between them in thin drifting sheets. The guard's shallow breaths fogged the icy air in trembling clouds.

Without a sound, he surged forward.

His clawed gauntlet closed around the man's mouth, cutting off his startled gasp before it formed. The guard's eyes widened in terror, pupils contracting to pinpricks as he struggled against the iron grip crushing his jaw.

The huntsman drove his axe up under the guard's ribcage with silent precision. The blackened blade slid through boiled leather and iron mail like a hot knife through suet, biting deep into flesh and bone. The man's body arched in agony, heels scrabbling against packed snow. A single muffled whimper escaped his crushed lips before his spine snapped under the blade's force.

The huntsman wrenched the axe free. The corpse slumped forward into the snow, steam rising from the gaping wound as blood pooled into the drifting flakes.

He dragged the body into the tree line, laying it beneath a twisted pine where shadows swallowed it whole. Snow began to drift over the corpse, burying it in silent white.

He turned back to the lodge. Shadows coiled tighter around him as he stepped to the rear door. With one clawed hand, he pressed upon the iron latch. The wood creaked faintly as it swung inward, revealing a narrow stone corridor lined with flickering lanterns.

He entered in silence.

Inside, warmth wrapped around his cold armoured form, carrying with it the stench of unwashed bodies, old wood smoke, and sour wine. He moved down the corridor like a phantom, shadows drifting outward from his swirling void where his head once rested. His axe rested upon his shoulder, its blade gleaming dully in the lantern light.

Voices drifted from the main hall ahead. He paused at the entrance, peering through the cracked doorway.

Five men sat around a long wooden table, tankards in hand, plates heaped with roast venison and stale black bread. Their laughter echoed off the stone walls, harsh and grating, punctuated by belches and crude jokes.

Captain Renak was not among them. The huntsman felt the man's presence deeper within the lodge – a faint, pulsing ember of guilt and sleeping arrogance glowing through the spirit realm like a blood-smeared lantern in darkness.

But these men were obstacles. And obstacles must be removed.

He stepped into the hall.

The first guard glanced up, eyes narrowing as he registered the massive, headless figure framed in the doorway. Confusion flickered across his face, swiftly replaced by horror as his mind processed what he saw.

"Wh—"

The huntsman's axe buried itself in the man's throat with a wet crunch. Blood sprayed across the table, splattering tankards and plates with steaming red. The other guards lurched back, chairs scraping against stone as they fumbled for swords and daggers.

He moved with cold precision.

Shadows coiled up his arms as he pivoted, wrenching his axe free. A second guard fell as the blade split his helm in two, his final scream dying in a choking gurgle. Another lunged with a short sword, blade clanging off the huntsman's armoured gauntlet. The huntsman seized him by the throat, crushing his windpipe with a casual squeeze before hurling him across the table. The man's back snapped against the oak edge with a hollow crack, his body twitching once before going limp.

A fourth guard stumbled backward, tripping over his chair. He raised his dagger with trembling fingers, eyes wide with terror as shadows surged across the huntsman's chest.

"Monster," he whispered, voice shaking with childlike dread.

The huntsman swung his axe in a slow, arcing sweep. The blade sheared through the man's upraised arm, cleaving into his ribcage and spilling him sideways onto the stone floor. Blood pooled beneath his twitching form, steaming in the firelight.

Silence fell.

Only the crackle of the hearth filled the hall now, mingled with the faint patter of blood dripping from the table's edge onto the stone below.

The huntsman stood in the centre of the carnage, shadows writhing around his broad form like silent flames. The crimson runes carved into his neck stump pulsed softly, illuminating the corpse-strewn hall in flickering blood-red light.

He turned away from the bodies without a sound.

Each kill left him emptier – and yet each kill left him stronger. The cold within him deepened with every soul harvested. His grief no longer tore at his thoughts. It sharpened them into a perfect, silent focus.

He crossed the hall and entered a narrow passage lined with wooden doors. The scent of oiled steel and wine grew stronger as he approached the final chamber.

He could feel Captain Renak within – asleep upon a feather-stuffed mattress, boots discarded by the hearth, sword propped against a carved oak chair.

The huntsman paused at the threshold. Shadows curled tighter around his massive frame, drifting along the floor and pooling beneath the door.

He raised one clawed gauntlet, placing it upon the iron handle. The chill of the metal seeped into his cold flesh, mingling with the hatred pulsing through his silent, unbreakable resolve.

Above him, Vengeance drifted silently through the ceiling beams, its vast shadow flickering with crimson lightning. Its burning eyes gleamed with fevered anticipation.

"Your first offering awaits, Huntsman," it whispered, its voice trembling with dark hunger. "Claim his head. Feed me his death."

The huntsman tightened his grip on his axe.

Then he pushed open the door.