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Call of the Hunt Book 1 By Paradox Salem, Indiana There's something intrinsically satisfying and cathartic when it comes to blade craft. Maybe it's the intense heat of the forge causing sweat to pour down your face like a waterfall. Maybe it's the repetitive motion of bringing a hammer down on glowing steel over and over for hours on end. Maybe it's actually being able to see that shapeless hunk of metal you'd started with slowly bend and twist into the shape you desire, coming to life under your direction. Whatever the reason, I never felt more at peace than I did when I was crafting a new blade. It had taken a long time to develop that skill. Most people who watch TV shows or movies depicting a person forging a blade think, "Oh, I can do that." What those damn TV producers don't show is how many mistakes you make, how many times the blade you're trying to craft ends up warping into a complete mess, or how many times you end up smashing your own hand instead of the steel because you started to hurry what you were doing instead of letting the crafting flow. I made those very mistakes, and a lot of them, starting at the age of seven up until now. Even after eight years of learning and applying the craft of bladesmithing as it was taught to me by my Dad, I still made some seriously boneheaded mistakes that had me questioning just what the hell I was doing. Fortunately, those were getting fewer and further between as I hit my learning stride when it came to the craft. I don't think I'd broken a finger because of a poorly aimed hammer strike for two years at this point. Pausing for a moment, I lifted the bar of steel that still possessed a faint red glow to it. It would need another round in the forge to reheat before I could continue hammering it into shape, but I could see the design I'd drawn for it two days ago starting to come to life in my hands. My goal by the time I was done was to be holding a four-inch bowie-style knife with a three-inch long tang to be used to secure the hilt. It was a bit odd when it came to the sizing with the blade and the tang being relatively close together in length, but I'd been looking at the website of one of my favorite knife manufacturers and was fascinated with their new line of compact combat knives. I wasn't sure I was at the skill level to make something quite that small and still retain the same kind of strength quality I could make with larger knives, but I damn sure wanted to try. I had just slid the steel back into the long, rectangular forge for reheating when I heard footsteps crunch in the gravel behind me. Once I was sure that the steel had been properly positioned to allow for proper and even heating, I turned and saw a guy the same age as my own fifteen years with short, dark hair that was almost black. There was a friendly gleam in his equally dark eyes that never really left him no matter what the situation was. That was Jake Hayden for you, always trying to be friendly with just about everyone. The two of us had hit it off right away when he and his family had moved in a couple houses down five years ago and had been pretty good friends ever since. "Hey Aiden," he said as he strolled across the large gravel patch where I had all of my forging equipment set up, "Working on a new blade?" Grabbing a nearby towel I wiped the sweat from my face before taking a long pull of ice cold water from the bottle I kept nearby. "Yeah. Cold Steel came out with a new kind of neck spike-style knife that I want to try to copy." Jake stopped to look at my design board I had set up using a tripod and a whiteboard. On it, I had drawn out the design specs as well as taped up some printed out pages from the website I'd seen the blade on so I could have a good all-around visual of what I was trying to achieve. "Pretty sweet looking knife," he commented, "Think you can get close to it?" "I'm not sure," I admitted, "But I'm sure going to try." I gave the steel another turn within the forge so I could eyeball the temperature for a moment before turning back to Jake. "So what brings you by?" He shrugged and plopped himself down in one of the lawn chairs that I had set up in my forging area. "I was just wondering what you were up to tonight. I heard there's going to be a pretty good crowd at Betty's tonight." I spared a moment to cast my friend a sideways look before setting the steel on the anvil and picking up my well-used hammer and bringing it down multiple times rapidly on the glowing hot steel, putting several more carefully calculated dents into the shape. I'd heard about the party happening at Betty Branski's house myself in school earlier in the week but didn't really pay much attention to it. Going to parties wasn't really my thing. I'd much rather be spending my time working on either a new or already in-progress blade than listen to a bunch of vapid teenage boys and girls going on about the latest inane stuff like who's hot on social media, who was currently having a Twitter war and the like. "And why exactly should I care about Betty's party?" I asked as I made another series of strikes against the steel. "Because you need to get out," Jake explained in his calm, reasonable manner that usually preceded an arguing point I often couldn't refute. "Ever since spring really hit you've spent every waking moment out here hammering away. We haven't even hung out for a week." I made a few more strikes with the hammer before I set it down on the anvil and sighed, hanging my head a bit. He was right. The moment the weather had turned nice enough to work outside without risk of frostbite I'd spent nearly every free moment working in my homemade forge. You really couldn't blame me. From December to March my hands had practically twitched with the desire to work a piece of steel into a finely honed blade. Since safety necessitated my forge be set up outside instead of indoors, I hadn't been able to do any blade work over the last few months due to the winter. And for those of you who want to tell me the heat from the forge would be more than enough to keep me warm, you try standing outside working in rural Indiana in the middle of February and tell me it's no big deal. I'd been able to spend a little time at Dad's workshop and use his equipment, but when your father does blade craft for a living you don't take up the use of his forge for little non-paying projects. At least, you don't unless you don't want food on the table. "You're right," I conceded as I set the steel to the side to cool naturally so as not to accidentally harden or warp the budding blade, "I've just had so many ideas rolling around in my head I've been anxious to actually make them real." "I get that," he said with a nod while standing up to come look at my progress with an interest few outside of my family shared, "But not many other people do. You'd don't want to give Henry and his cronies more ammo do you?" I shuddered at the mention of the well-known school bully. While I wasn't his favorite target, I'd had my fair share of encounters with him and none of them were pleasant. "I'd rather not, but I wouldn't mind using him as a test dummy," I said and gave Jake a wicked smile. Okay, so it was bluster that I would never in my life follow through on, but when you're a teenager you often say a lot of things you don't really mean. That got a chuckle out of my friend as he clapped me on the shoulder. "I get that. I also get why you spend so much time out here," he continued, "You've always been that way. Other than your Dad I doubt there's anyone else in the whole state that can do what you two can do and do it so well." When I'd heard that kind of thing the first time years ago it had caused me to blush in embarrassment. Since then, I came to understand it was a compliment to my skills that I had worked so long and hard to refine and wasn't said just as a way of making me feel good about myself. It was also something that I should feel pride about instead of embarrassment. While I certainly appreciated the recognition of my skill and craft being acknowledged, I now took the accolades as the compliments that they were. "Yeah," I said with a bit of a smile. "But it doesn't do much for my social life." Jake shrugged and once again looked at the knife I was still in the process of shaping. "At what point did you have a social life?" I couldn't help but wince not only at the words but at the truth that laid within them. The fact of the matter was, I didn't like people. Oh sure, there were notable exceptions. I loved my parents unequivocally and I was really good friends with Jake, and maybe I was friendly with a couple other people, but all in all I tended to stay away from folks. I tried to be different. Several years ago when I'd just started junior high I'd tried to make friends and be friendly with everyone, but in the end, my shy nature seemed to generate feelings of ridicule and disgust rather than compassion and friendship. It was around that time that, in conjunction with everything I saw on the news and social media via the news, that I found it more comfortable to just distance myself from people. I went from simply being shy to being a longer that was considered a social outcast. "What good's a social life," I countered, "when it's just going to come back and bite you in the ass?" "How do you figure?" Jake challenged, "You might meet some decent folks at this party and maybe," he gasped, "Make a new friend." "Or," I parried, "It's more likely that everyone at that party would be told a bunch of bullshit lies by Betty and her whole little clique before I'd taken two steps in the door and probably get thrown out by Henry and his crew, literally. No," I said with a shake of my head before Jake could riposte, "I'm not going, but don't let that stop you. Maybe Mary Riding will be there." As soon as I mentioned the name I knew the real reason for my friend's interest in Betty's little soiree by the way his cheeks colored. Mary Riding, while not the most gorgeous girl in school, was still a very pretty brunette that apparently had been making some noise in the high school grapevine about Jake being cute. Why he didn't just walk up and talk to her before now was beyond me, but then I was pretty well tone- deaf when it came to social niceties. "Yeah," he admitted, "She mentioned something about going and hoped I'd see her there." "So go," I said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which to me it was. "What are you worried about?" His sigh had me rolling my eyes as I put my bladesmithing tools in the hand-crafted wooden toolbox Dad had gotten me for my fourteenth birthday. "That she'll say something like she just wants to be friends, if she has any interest in me at all." I could only shrug at his dating dilemma. "So she says no, so what? Mary's not the only girl on the planet you know," I reminded him. It was the wrong thing to say and I knew it the moment the words left my mouth. Jake had been pining for Mary for the entire school year but had lacked the courage to do more than say hi to her in the halls for fear of being rejected. I probably should have been more understanding since my own loner mentality came from a similar place, but I just couldn't see passed the logic of the situation. When I saw Jake's eyes narrow with a hint of anger I was already starting to form my apology when he declared, "If that's how you think then come with me. After all," he mocked, though without any malice in his voice, "So what if the pretty boys and girls club spews bullshit about you, they're not the only people on the planet after all." Dammit, he had me and we both knew it. If I still refused to go now then that meant all of my posturing about him being rejected was nothing more than that, posturing. If I did go, not only was there the tiniest sliver of possibility I might enjoy myself, but I might actually meet some friendly people. Fuck. "Fine," I grumped as I shut off the gas to my forge and stored my tools in the small shed that contained all of my equipment, "But if I end up having a shitty night then you have to help me do some of the jobs Dad has lined up for me." "Get the chance to work with the two best bladesmiths in the state? I'm definitely getting the better part of this deal." **** "I saw the knife you're working on out there," Dad said as we sat down to dinner that night, "I don't think I recognized the design, though." "It's something new I wanted to try," I told him as I helped myself to a thick cut of meat cooked nice and bloody, "Cold Steel has this 'Spike Series' where they take traditional style knives and then them down so they're narrow, spike-type versions. I wanted to see if I could make something that thin and still maintain the hardness and durability of their traditional counterparts." Dad pursed his lips in consideration before nodding slowly. "It's certainly a challenge. Do you think you can do it?" "Only one way to find out," I said with a grin. That got a barking laugh from him as he slapped my back with a hand that nearly sent me flying out of the chair. I didn't mind. Dad was a big guy and had developed and maintained a lot of strength in his time in the military and his career in bladesmithing. You didn't survive combat if you were a weakling and you didn't forge quality blades if you didn't have the strength the really bring that hammer down. While it didn't look like I was in line to be the tall, well muscled He-Man that he was thanks to my Mom's genes, I was definitely developing my own strength that was nothing to shake a stick at. Also, considering Mom was quite the beauty with dark, raven black hair that she got from her Black Irish roots and that I also shared, I really couldn't have asked for better genetic stock when it came to the looks department. And I had decent looks. Oh sure I wasn't beating out Brad Pitt when it came to male beauty, but I could freely admit from looking in the mirror that I had something of a good, rugged look that might have been appealing to the ladies. That is if I actually cared about my looks. "So I talked to Jake," Mom interjected and I couldn't help but groan, causing her in turn to smile. "He told me about your little agreement." "Yeah, well, I needed some help in the shop next weekend anyway," I said, still not pleased that I'd been talked into going to that damn party. "You never know," she told me in that oh-so-sagely voice only mothers can master, "You just might find yourself having a good time. I'm glad you're going. You're always hiding out in this house or at the shop. You need to get out there with people your own age and have fun. Life isn't only about blade making you know," she reminded with a pointing of her fork. "Maybe it's the only part I like," I defended, though because it was Mom I couldn't put all that much force into it. "Pshaw," she dismissed. "Hate to admit it kiddo," Dad added regretfully, "But your Mom has a valid point. You can't cut yourself off from society no matter how much you don't like it." "Dad," I sighed, "What's the point of me going when I'm probably going to hate it and chances are Henry and his brainless followers will just give me hell before just throwing me out?" "Are you scared of Henry?" Mom asked me softly. Instantly I could feel both my male pride and an acute sense of embarrassment flare up within my chest. Considering the kind of man my father was, being afraid of anything seemed like an affront to him. I don't mean to say that he looked down upon weakness, it just seemed like he wasn't possessed of any. That was one reason why I looked up to him so much because to me he could do anything and was afraid of nothing. "Aiden," Dad said from his place at the table. The way he simply said my name had my eyes lifting to meet with his. It wasn't done in a commanding way, nor was it done to indicate displeasure. It was a request made by a father who was clearly concerned for his son. "Are you afraid of Henry and his crew?" He asked. The only thing I could do was nod before I looked back down at my plate. I didn't even think about trying to deny it because to do that would have been an insult to both of them. All my life one of the things they prized most in people was honesty, even if that honesty meant causing pain, mine in this case. When I heard the scrape of a chair on the floor I looked up just in time to feel Mom wrap her arms around my neck from behind and hug me while Dad placed his hand atop mine. "I don't think you need to be afraid of that boy son," he told me, "But it's okay that you are." "Everyone is afraid of something," Mom assured me quietly, "It's what makes us human." "Fear is one of the things that has kept people alive for as long as they've been around. If we didn't have fear the species would have died out a loooong time ago." I looked at Dad then even as I hugged Mom's arms with one of my own. "You're never afraid," I accused quietly. His eyes shifted to Mom's and they had one of their silent, telepathic conversations. Okay, it wasn't really telepathy since they weren't mutants, but for as long as I could remember they would have these moments where all they needed to do was look at one another and it was like they spoke without saying a word. "What makes you think I've never been afraid?" he finally asked me in a gentle voice. "You never seem to be," I mumbled. "Aiden, when I was in the military, there were a lot of times I was afraid." That brought my gaze back up to his, only this time mine was narrowed with suspicion. "Out of all of the stories you told me, not once did you ever say you were afraid." His smile was a bit whimsical and I think he was starting to realize that I was getting too old to simply just accept something just because it was said. "That's true, but I told you most of those stories when you were little. Back then you just wanted to hear about the action and the adventure, not the fact that a fair amount of the time I was pretty damn close to pissing my pants." "Thanks for that image dear," Mom quipped in a deadpan. "Anytime sweetheart," I replied cheerfully before his expression became serious yet concerned, "But the fact is I know fear just as well as anyone, even more so in some respects. It's what you do with that fear that matters. Are you going to run from it or are you going to use it to make you stronger?" It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Dad that sounded pretty cheesy until I actually thought about what he'd said and realized it made perfect sense. I was afraid of Henry and his boys, there was no doubting that. But was I really going to let my fear of him guide my actions now and further on in my life? If I allowed that fear to take hold of and influence my decisions now, what was stopping it from doing it again and again until that was the only way I knew how to choose, out of fear? Okay, so that's more than a little bit of an exaggeration of things, but I got what Dad was trying to tell me. "Okay," I said, taking a deep breath, "I'll go to that stupid party, but I still think it's going to suck." "Most do sweetheart," Mom said as she kissed my forehead, "But you have to experience the bad things so you know what the good ones look like." Salem, Indiana, Outside the Branski Residence "This is gonna suck," I mumbled for probably the tenth time in the last half an hour as we walked down the sidewalk. "Will you shut up with that already," Jake scolded me, "If you walk into this with that kind of an attitude then that's exactly what it will be." "Whatever, Mom," I said sarcastically and slid my eyes at him. Jake, for his part, just rolled his eyes and whapped me up the backside of the head. "Jackass," he muttered, but both of us smiled. Jake knew I was giving him hell just because I could. Part of a boy's friendship growing up meant you gave each other shit now and then as a means of showing male affection. I didn't really agree with it on the level where you were doing nothing but throwing barbs and ridicule all day every day like some people did because then you were treading into the dangerous territory of it simply being abuse. But giving each other a little shit now and then was just something guys did together to let them know, in a manly way of course, they cared about one another. As we drew closer to Betty Branksi's house we could already hear the music thumping through the walls and out the open windows. The feeling of hip hop music vibrating through the air almost had me turning and walking away right then and there. I think I might have actually done it if Jake's hand hadn't closed around my arm to prevent me from fleeing. "Just stay for a half an hour," he bargained, "Then we can go." "Jake, you do realize you can go to this party without me, right? You don't need me to hold your hand." His gaze narrowed in a parody of anger. "Yes," he agreed slowly, "But I don't want Mary thinking I'm some loser with no friends. I need a wingman here and, well, despite being a social pariah you're the best that I've got." My mouth twisted in a smirk as I parodied Elvis with a, "Fuck you, ah fuck you very much." Despite our mutual humor, I did notice that the pounding bass was actually starting to bother me. While I certainly had a strong dislike for that style of music, tonight it was actually feeling uncomfortable the closer we got to the house. It was almost like feeling something dull with the promise of impending sharpness pressing against my eardrums. I think Jake noticed my discomfort because his expression changed from teasing to concern. "You okay?" "Not sure," I mumbled and wiggled my fingers in my ears in a vain effort to somehow rub the sensation away. "I'll be alright," I assured him without feeling anywhere near that confident. He seemed far from convinced but nodded anyway and we walked up to the front door of the house where he gave several hard raps with his fist. Presumably because the loud music made it hard to hear, it was about a minute and a second round of knocking before the door was flung open and Betty Branski herself stood there looking fashionable in a short, red party dress that was clearly designed to display rather conceal. At first, her expression was friendly and welcoming, but the instant she realized it was the two of us standing there that friendliness pretty much evaporated. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. Once again I just wanted to turn around and walk away but Jake was a man on a mission and he wouldn't be dissuaded. "Hi Betty," he greeted cheerfully, "You're looking lovely tonight." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at him before tracking over to me and changing to something uncomfortably like a glare. "Henry's here," she told me ominously. The fact that she smiled when saying it had paranoid thoughts that this was all a setup running through my head. "Hey," Jake said, pulling Betty's attention back to him, "As long as he's cool, we're cool. Cool?" I barely managed to keep from rolling my eyes at that line. It looked like she was on the verge of refusing to allow us in when she finally sighed and did the eye roll that I myself had been holding back. "Fine," she huffed in a clearly put-upon voice, "But if he starts any trouble you both have to leave," and spun around to walk back into the house proper. "If I start trouble?" I asked in disbelief and looked over at my friend. "I know I'm not exactly a social butterfly but since when do I start the problems?" "Forget about it," Jake said, "We're in!" and practically dragged me inside. If the bass was uncomfortable outside, it was rapidly approaching downright painful now that we were actually inside the house. I think Jake might have been saying something but for the life of me I couldn't make out a single word. Every syllable he uttered was lost to some ghetto rapper yelling about smoking weed and "fucking bitches". Real classy choice of music Betty. All around were kids from school, mostly from the sophomore and junior classes, dancing...okay more like writhing...drinking punch that was probably spiked, and trying to have yelled conversations. I noticed several pairs going up and down the stairs of the house to what I assumed were the bedrooms for some make-out time and possibly more. Thankfully, Henry and his cronies were nowhere to be seen. A tug on the sleeve of my black button down shirt, one of the few nice clothes I owned, drew my attention to Jake who nodded in the direction of the living room. When I looked to where he'd indicated I saw the reason for his eagerness. Mary Riding sat on one of the couches with a few of her friends laughing and talking while sipping punch from clear plastic cups. I had to admit, Mary was looking quite pretty tonight in a black dress with white polka dots that was a nice contrast to her long blonde hair. The way her blue eyes sparkled when she laughed at a joke that had just been told really made her seem open and approachable. I could see why Jake was so smitten with her and if I hadn't been handicapped by my own social views and insecurities I might have considered making a play for her myself. Nodding to Jake that I understood what he wanted, the pair of us snagged a couple cans of Coke from a beverage table. Jake had first grabbed a cup of punch but even from a moderate distance it just reeked of alcohol so I'd grabbed his wrist and shook my head no before shoving a Coke into his hand. Drink in hand, we walked into the living room and thankfully the music level decreased by about a decibel or two. We might be able to actually have a reasonable conversation in here. Since I didn't want to cramp his style, what little he actually possessed, I'd moved off to the side as soon as we'd entered the room and leaned against the wall so I could sip my Coke and watch. Jake himself wasted no time in proceeding with his mission as he walked right up to where Mary was seated with three of her friends and...stood there with a stupid smile on his face. I actually had to make a concerted effort not to facepalm as Mary and her friends continued on with their conversation about whatever it was they were talking about for several seconds before they all realized he was there. As one, they all turned to look at him with expressions ranging from confusion to annoyance. Thankfully, Mary held the expression of confusion so it didn't yet seem imperative that I drag my friend away. "Ummmm, hi Mary," Jake said lamely and I swear to God it looked like he was ready to shuffle his feet. "How's it going?" "Pretty good," she replied slowly as her gaze narrowed while she clearly tried to figure out just what was going on. "What do you want loser?" One of Mary's friends, Sally I think, snapped at Jake. "Can't you see we're in the middle of a conversation here?" "Sally," Mary chided, "Stop." After chastising her friend the girl returned her gaze to Jake and offered him a smile. "So how are you, Jake? What have you been up to?" "Oh not much," he said with a shrug and took a nervous sip from his pop. "Just kind of been dealing with school and hanging out with Aiden." I fought off the urge to kick my best friend at the mention of my name and four sets of eyes swung my way. Unable to do anything about the blush of embarrassment from suddenly being the center of attention I just lifted my can in a kind of salute but remained silent. "Oh hi Aiden," Mary said and it seemed like she was genuinely happy to see me. "How's your Dad doing? He made that great hunting knife for my Dad the other week, he can't stop raving about it." "Yeah," I said bashfully. Have I mentioned how I don't like being the center of attention? "He liked the challenge of acid etching a deer rack into the blade without compromising the structural integrity of the metal." When everyone just looked at me with a blank, uncomprehending stare I quickly ducked my head and muttered, "He liked making it." "Well," Mary went on, ignoring my shyness, "He told me it's the best he's ever had. He's skinned I don't know how many deer and it still hasn't lost its edge yet." I opened my mouth to make a comment on how Dad's process involved heating the steel to the point it was white hot before going through the quenching process and thereby strengthening the steel, but then I saw Jake's pained expression along with a plea for me to just shut up. "I'll let him know he likes it," I said instead. Mary nodded and her attention, thankfully, returned to Jake. "So Jake," she asked conversationally, "What did you think of Mr. Kelly's history test last week?" "Ugh," he said, raising his eyes to the heavens as he sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of the girls, "I can't believe he included that question about JFK's assassin. Everyone knows Lee Harvey Oswald was working in conjunction with the Deep Throat when he was still part of CIA's black ops." That elicited a couple of amused giggles not only from Mary but from her friends as well. I had to admit it, Jake could be damn charming if he wanted and it was clear right now he wanted to be. I also knew when I would be more of a hindrance than a help and chose that moment to slip out of the living room to go explore a little bit. Of course, what I really wanted to do was get the hell out of there and either go back to my forge or maybe take a walk in the woods, but I didn't want Jake getting upset because I disappeared on him. So I found myself wandering about, offering a small nod of hello to the few people that actually greeted me, and just thinking about the next few steps I needed to take to properly shape my bowie-style spike knife. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I never saw the shape quickly approaching me until I felt something shove hard at my shoulder, sending me spinning into the wall while my can of Coke went flying. I recovered quickly and whirled about only to be greeted exactly the thing I had been dreading the whole night. Standing before me was Henry Cartwright. At six foot two and probably two hundred and fifty pounds of sheer muscle, he was the undisputed king of the school. He was the star quarterback, dated the head cheerleader, was beloved by pretty much all the students and faculty, and was the biggest bully to anyone smaller and weaker than him, which pretty much meant everyone. Basically, the guy was probably one of the biggest walking cliches on the planet. Unfortunately, that translated into me being another cliche of the smaller kid getting picked on by the big bully. Yeah I was in pretty good shape if I do say so but I wasn't big, topping the ruler at around five foot five which in modern society was pretty small for a guy and Henry was the kind of guy to capitalize on that. Surrounding him were four other members of the football starting lineup, all of whom were equally as big and just about as mean. Because Salem High was primarily a football school, with basketball taking over in the off-season, these guys were treated like royalty because the administration wanted to win state championships. That the assistant dean of students was also the head coach translated into a permanent get out of jail free card. It also meant that the parents of these fine upstanding citizens (insert sarcasm here) would defend their precious little angels regardless of what they did. Basically, it meant I was fucked no matter what I did. "What the fuck are you doing here Connors?" Henry snapped while still wearing that shit-eating grin, "I thought this was a no losers party." "He just showed up," Betty said as she walked up, "I don't know how he got in." "You let me in with Jake," I protested once I got my voice pushed passed my growing fear. "I don't remember that," she waved dismissively. "I remember Jake showing up but I didn't invite you in." All I could do was stand there with my mouth hanging open as Betty proceeded to completely lie about my very presence. Sure, I got that I probably was only invited in to begin with because I was with Jake, he was reasonably well-liked by people. But what was the reason to lie about it unless... The pieces fell into place right when I felt Henry's hand close around the front of my shirt and he pulled me up onto my toes. "You shouldn't have come here asshole," he said dangerously, "Now we're going to have to teach your bitch ass a lesson." Dear God, did this guy get his lines from every bad teen novel ever written? Well, unoriginality aside, it was clear that I was about to get a pounding. It wouldn't be the first one I was on the receiving side of when it came to Henry and his pals, but this time something just felt...different. I don't mean I thought it was going to be any better or worse than before, but something inside me had, in that moment, changed. I'd lost count of how many times this asshat had bullied or beaten me up in the past, and every time I either tried to get away or make a very bad attempt at fighting back that always ended with me being bloody and him walking away high-fiving his friends. Now, in this moment, that outcome just didn't seem likely. Oh sure it was a distinct possibility, but instead of getting those inevitable feelings of defeat in my mind, I was instead experiencing something very, very different. I was angry. Now I don't just mean I was angry that I was getting picked on or that I'd been chosen to get a beat down by some wannabe thug football player, that was pretty much a given on any day. No, this anger was something deeper, darker, more primal. No, not primal, that's not the right word for it. Feral. That's what it was, a feral kind of anger that was rapidly building inside me with a strange kind of heat. It had my hands curling slightly and my vision change from wide-eyed fear to a narrowed kind of targeting, with Henry dead center in the crosshairs. "Hey man," one of his buddies said with a thread of nervousness in his voice, "What's going on with him?" "Huh?" Henry asked stupidly, looking at his friend and then back at me before his eyes widened a bit. "What the fuck man? You think you're some kind of badass?" I had no idea what he was talking about and, frankly, I didn't give a shit. My anger was rapidly passing into the pissed off stage and my chest was beginning to heave with the weight of it. All I could seem to focus on was that throbbing vein in his neck while an odd voice in my head seemed to be calling out to me to rip it from its fleshy housing so it could spill its life-giving contents all over the floor. I should have been scared to be having that kind of thought, but instead, I found myself smiling. I don't know what those guys saw in my grin, but it had a couple of them taking a step back while another said, "Let's just leave him be Henry. The guy ain't right in the head." "Fuck that!" Henry spat, "This piece of shit needs to learn he ain't nothin'," and drew his fist back for what was going to be a monstrous punch. Henry never landed that punch. I don't know exactly what happened because it all was just a blur, but one moment I was pinned against the wall and in the next Henry was on the floor and I was on top of him snarling in his face in a way that couldn't be classified as anything even remotely human. At that moment the only thing that had prevented me from tearing his throat out with my teeth was that little bit of humanity that still retained some kind of minimal control over the wild chaos that had taken root in my mind. It didn't mean I was getting off the guy, just that I wasn't eating him yet. Henry's buddies wanted to help him, to pull me off, but every time one of them took a step towards us my head would snap around to glare at them and a warning growl would seep out from between my bared teeth. When I finally redirected my attention to my prey a distinctive, acidic scent filled my nostrils, causing me to look down and notice a large and distinct dampness in the crotch of his jeans. While the rational part of my mind would have thought it pretty damn hilarious that Henry Cartwright, big man on campus who had pretty much everything going for him, had just pissed his pants, that wasn't the part in control at the moment. Instead, the only thing I thought of, if it could indeed be considered rational thought, was that this piece of meat stank of fear and food. I was actually leaning down to sink my teeth into that sweet, yielding flesh when I felt something grab me by the shoulder. I was just about to turn and see who would deny me my prey when I was bodily thrown down the hall. My head cracked against the floor with the impact and white spots exploded before my eyes as I slid across the tile towards the front door of the house. By the time I came to a halt that intense anger and subsequent feral instincts had receded to deep within my mind where I could no longer sense them and Jake was kneeling over me with a look of utter shock and disbelief on his face. "Aiden!" he yelled as he kept me pinned to the ground with a firm grip on my shoulders, "Aiden stop it!" "Jake?" I asked in confusion. Where the hell had he come from? "What happened?" "You sick freak!" I heard someone yell from down the hall before realizing it was Henry. "Shut up Henry," Jake yelled over his shoulder, "Go change your pants." That got a chorus of laughter and I saw the form of big bad Henry, the one everyone either feared or respected, streak passed me and out the door of the house with his buddies in hot pursuit. I don't know how, but I swear I could smell the bitter tang of...something...coming from him as he went by and it wasn't urine. "Aiden, talk to me," Jake said in nearly a pleading voice. "I'm...I'm okay," I managed and struggled to get back into a sitting position. "What the hell happened?" "You just took on the Henry Cartwright and I think you won," Mary said in an amazed voice as she knelt down next to Jake while I made a conscious effort not to accidently look up her dress. "I did?" Even to me that sounded pretty stupid. "Well you just made him piss his pants and run out of here like his head was on fire," my friend reasoned, "So yeah, I'd say that counts as a win." "Shit," I whispered as I struggled back to my feet with Jake and Mary helping me, "He's going to be all over my ass on Monday." "I doubt it," Mary told me confidently, "Not after the way everyone laughed at him." "Don't bet on it," Jake corrected her grimly, "He might not do anything in front of everyone else, but he's the kind of guy who would look for revenge. Just be careful Aiden." "Yeah," I agreed dejectedly, "I will. I'm gonna head home." "Want me to come with?" Jake offered and while he showed no signs of it being anything more than a platitude, I caught the slightly crestfallen look on Mary's face. "Nah," I told him, waving off his help, "I'll be fine. You stay and enjoy yourself. But remember," I warned him with what I was able to muster up as a smile, "I own your ass next weekend." The threat obviously didn't have nearly as much oomph as I'd hoped because he simply shrugged and grinned. "A chance to learn from the master and his protege? How did you ever think that would be a punishment?" "Oh you'll see," I told him ominously, or least I tried to make it sound ominous. Given my state of dazed confusion it undoubtedly came across as half-assed. "I'll see you later," I told the two of them and headed out the door and away from this miserable excuse of a good time. The Wild The trees whipped passed me in a blur, but I had no concerns about striking any of them. Every movement was made knowing what the following several would already be and that sped me through the woods in a way few things could follow. Though I only traveled at an easy, loping gait, I reveled in the freedom of movement that I possessed. Nothing could halt my progress, regardless of how they tried. A fallen log was easily bounded over. A cluster of brush was simply blown through. A babbling brook only offered me a chance to cool my heated muscles as I splashed through it. The forest was my territory and I was on the hunt. I'd tracked my prey across several leagues and even now its scent grew stronger still. It was close, so very close, and I could almost taste its sweet flesh on my tongue. The sudden, panicked burst of energy as it raced off through the grass floated to my ears as they swiveled to track its path and guided my pursuit. It was fast, they always were, but I was faster. Changing from a lope into a run I charged through the darkness, letting my ears and my nose guide me along the crystal clear path it left behind. How foolish was it, my delicious prey, that it thought it was capable of eluding a predator such as I. As the scents of the forest, my territory, my home, filled my senses I realized what its plan was. There, up ahead, just passed its small form desperately weaving back and forth in a vain effort to trick me, was its burrow. It was seeking escape, which might actually be possible if it succeeded in reaching its home. The burrow was too small for me to enter and it would take far too long to dig it out. I was hungry now and I would not be denied my meal. Putting on a burst of speed that surprised my prey, my jaws flashed down and caught it by the back of its delectable little neck. There was a burst of fear-soaked scent released into the air moments before my teeth snapped closed and severed its delicate little spine, causing it to sag lifelessly in my mouth. The hunt was done, it was time to feed. Salem, Indiana, Connors Household "Adien," I dimly heard Mom call, "Aiden wake up." "Mmmwhaa," I mumbled as I struggled to pull myself out of the comfortable realm of sleep. "Aiden come on," I heard her say with a hint of exasperation, "It's passed eleven. You missed breakfast." "What? Eleven?" Shaking my head to try and clear away the drowsiness I opened my eyes and saw the blurry image of my bedside alarm clock. Once I'd gotten the sleep rubbed from my eyes I saw that it was indeed eleven ten in the morning. I rarely slept past nine even on weekends. "What the hell?" "That's what I was just wondering," Mom said as she threw open my curtains and bathed my room with sunlight. "When did you get home last night?" "I dunno," I said sleepily, "I didn't notice the time." "Well if you want some lunch you'd better get your butt in gear mister," she admonished with a smile. "And put some clothes on. I may be your mother but I really don't need your naked ass to be the first part of you I see in the morning." "What? Naked ass?" That finally drove the drowsiness away and I sat up to realize I was stark fucking naked! Quickly grabbing my blanket, which had apparently been kicked off the bed sometime last night, I swiftly pulled it over myself even as Mom laughed and shook her head before walking out of my room. "What the fuck?" I whispered and looked under the blanket as though I was noticing something I'd never seen before. Never in my life had I slept naked. No matter how tired I was I always at least threw on a pair of gym shorts or something before going to sleep. I didn't even remember stripping down before apparently faceplanting onto my bed. The last thing I could recall was Henry throwing me against the wall before threatening to pound me and then... Nothing. I couldn't remember how the hell I'd gotten home. Holy shit, was I losing my mind? Was I cracking up? Would they be calling in the white lab coats on me soon? No, that couldn't be it. After all, crazy people don't question their craziness, right? I was probably just so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I had probably just spaced out and didn't remember coming home...and stripping naked before falling dead asleep. "Fuck," I said quietly, putting my face in my hands and trying to force my brain to kick into gear. Last night was bad but had it hadn't been so bad that I'd completely blank out like that. "Aiden," Mom called from downstairs, "Come on, I've got breakfast turned into lunch for you." "Coming Mom," I called back, rolled out of bed to grab some clothes, threw them on, and raced downstairs. When I got to the kitchen I was surprised to see both Mom and Dad sitting at the kitchen table, which was laden with breakfast food that clearly had just been cooked. "Wait a second," I said suspiciously as I sat down, I thought you said I missed breakfast. "You did," Mom agreed as she started putting together a plate for herself, "We just decided we would wait to make it until you were up." I looked from her to Dad, who was also transferring food to his plate but had a somewhat serious look on his face. "Okay guys," I said and gave them a look that I hoped told them I wasn't playing games, "What's going on here? I know Dad wouldn't have waited until eleven in the morning to have breakfast." My parents looked at each other and had one of those infamous silent conversations that they'd been doing probably since before I was born. Without a word being spoken I knew they were having some kind of quasi- telepathic connection that only deeply loving married couples seem capable of. Truth be told, I hoped I'd meet a girl one day that I could fall in love with so deeply that we could tell what each other was thinking without saying a word just like my parents did. "Aiden," my father finally said as both sets of eyes returned to me, "We know you're going through a lot, what with growing up and being something of an outsider with the kids. It's okay," he interrupted just as I'd opened my mouth to defend myself, "There's nothing wrong with who you are and I understand why you don't feel like you fit in. Honestly, I have trouble fitting in too. It's pretty much only because of my work and what I can offer people that I'm not considered an outsider too." I had no idea Dad felt similarly to the way I did. Anytime I saw him with other folks in this town he seemed to be at least respected but people were also pretty friendly with him as well. "But people like you," I argued. "Doesn't mean I like them," he countered with a knowing smile. "You may think you're alone when you say you don't like people or trust them, but believe me you're not. If it weren't for your mother I doubt I'd ever be social." He said that last part not like it was an accusation, but with affection that was punctuated by him taking her hand and kissing it. "What your father was trying to say before getting off track," she emphasized with a light slap on his shoulder, "Is that we know you're going through a difficult time in your life and we want you to know we're here for you if you need to talk about anything. No judgments, no accusations, we'd be happy to just listen and maybe offer a bit of advice now and then." While Dad nodded his agreement I debated on whether I should tell them about the strange events that happened at the party last night. I knew they were being honest when they told me they'd listen without judging me. They'd always been that way unless I did something pretty serious to get in trouble. Thankfully those kinds of events were few and far between. I guess being antisocial helped in that respect. Still, the odd loss of control that occurred last night really concerned me more than just a simple bully problem. I wanted to say something to them about it but at the same time I was worried they would think I was sick and take me to some doctor who would proclaim I needed to be locked up in a mental ward for my own protection and spend the rest of my life in a straightjacket in a padded room. Yeah, my imagination tended to run a little wild sometimes. "No, I'm okay," I finally assured them, "The party just sucked like I thought it would. On the plus side, Jake has to help out in the shop next weekend." That statement caused a wicked grin to form on Dad's face. "Does he still think he's going to be standing around 'learning from the master'?" I couldn't help but match that shit eating grin. "Yup." "Ooooo this is going to be fun," he proclaimed with humorous evil as he rubbed his hands together like a maniacal supervillain. "Now behave you two," Mom chastised us as we all dug in, "Jake seems genuinely interested in bladesmithing. You shouldn't stifle that by turning him into a gopher in the shop so he can't learn anything." "We won't Mom," I promised, "But he should know just how hard the work actually is." "Very true," she agreed, "Just don't abuse your knowledge with him." Properly cowed by the matriarch of the family, we nodded our acceptance of this doctrine and went about devouring a rather delicious breakfast. **** "Aiden?" "Back here," I called as I brought the hammer down on the glowing steel, causing a sharp ring to echo through the air. "Hey man," Jake said as he hurriedly rounded the corner of the house and headed towards my forge space, "You okay?" I paused between hammer strikes just long enough to throw him a confused look before resuming the painstaking process of shaping steel. "Of course, why?" "Well," he said as though it should have been obvious, "After last night I thought for sure you'd still be a bit shaken up." I gave a snort of derision before bringing the hammer down a little harder than I should have. Fortunately, it didn't cause an out of control contortion in the steel so I wouldn't need to backtrack. "Why would I be shaken up about Henry wanting to beat my ass for the hundredth time? It's not like that's anything new." "Henry beating your ass?" Okay, this game of wordplay was starting to get annoying. "Yeah, beat my ass. He's been doing it or threatening to do it for at least ten years now. Why should last night be anything special?" "Aiden," he said slowly and quietly, "What do you remember about last night?" I shrugged and brought the hammer back down again. "We went to the party, you were making some good time with Mary, I got out of the way, Henry threatened to kick my ass again, then...I came home," I finished lamely. I didn't want my best friend to know that I might be experiencing losses in time. I was glad my parents were being completely supportive but I didn't want Jake to start looking at me like I was loony toons. "Yeah," he said as he walked around in front of me and stopped my next strike by grabbing my wrist, "After you tackled Henry to the group and looked like you were ready to rip his throat out." "Wh-what?" I was sure I heard him wrong. "Yeah man," he went on, "Henry was just gearing up to punch you when you started making these animal-like growls and you tackled him. The way you were acting I thought you were gonna kill him. Henry probably thought the same thing because he pissed himself." "Pissed himself? Henry?" Oh boy, I was starting to lose my speaking ability. I needed to pull myself together. "Okay, very funny," I said with a wan smile, "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better about it but it's okay, I'm used to dealing with his shit." I went to go shrug off his grip so I could continue my work but he only just pulled the hammer out of my hand like I was a child and tossed it aside. "Hey asshole," I yelled, "You'd better not have bent the handle on that-" "Aiden!" he shouted with such a level of worry in his voice it stopped me in mid-rant. "Aiden," he repeated, a little calmer this time, "I'm not fucking with you here. Even if Henry completely deserved it, what you did last night was pretty fucking nuts. I've never seen you like that before. It was like you were becoming some kind of animal." I wanted to tell him to knock off the bullshit, but the stark worry in his eyes kept me from doing so. Not only that, but there was a hint of something in the air, some kind of mildly sweet scent that almost seemed to coincide with when he spoke, compelling me to believe him. "All right," I told him, sitting down in one of the lawn chairs and taking a pull from my water bottle, "Say I believe you. Why didn't his cronies come after me when I did that?" "They tried!" he said in exasperation, throwing up his arms, "Every time one of them got close you'd snarl at them like some kind of wild dog. Everyone was afraid to even try to step in until I managed to get you by the back of the shirt and throw you off of him." "And that's when he pissed himself?" Jake shook his head. "No, that happened before I could get to you. It's why he took off from the party, everyone was laughing at him. People are still talking about it and it'll probably spread like wildfire in school on Monday." I wanted to try and deny all of it, but Jake had never lied to me before, especially about something that bothered him this much. That meant I really had gone kind of crazy and attacked Henry and actually made him piss his pants. "Oh I'm so dead," I moaned and dropped my face into my hands. I heard Jake sigh and plop down into the chair beside me. "I doubt it. After that little display of yours I'm guessing people are probably going to stay far away from you. You might want to watch your back outside of school, though. Henry isn't known for just letting things go." "Hence the 'I'm so dead' statement," I told him. Jeeze, Jake could be pretty dense sometimes. "Maybe," he allowed, "Or maybe he'll be too scared that you'll go all wild thing on him again if he tries anything. Probably best to just watch yourself either way." "I should have never gone to that party," I lamented and went to go retrieve my hammer. "Yeah, I'm sorry I dragged you into it," he apologized before brightening a little. "If it's any consolation, Mary's going out with me next week." I cast my good friend a smirk as I stood up and lightly tapped the hammer against my palm. "As long as it isn't during the day Saturday or Sunday. Your ass is mine for those two days." "Aw shit," he mumbled, "I forgot about that." This time my grin was genuine, genuinely evil. "I didn't." **** "Hey Mom," I called as Jake and I walked into the house from the back, "Mind if Jake stays for dinner?" "As long as you don't mind getting embarrassed in front of him," I heard a gruff voice say from the living room. "Grandpa!" I whooped and ran over to where the rugged older man was standing up, wrapping my arms around him in a tight embrace. "When did you get here?" "While you were out at your forge," he told me and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. "Your mother tells me you're working on a new design." "Yeah," I told him excitedly, "I'm trying to duplicate a spike-style bowie knife I saw Cold Steel makes." "Well you be sure you send me a few photos of the finished product along with a demonstration video," he ordered while ruffling my hair and making me duck my head in embarrassment. "Grandpa," I whined. "Hey," he told me defensively, "It's a grandparent's prerogative to embarrass his grandson in front of his friends. How have you been Jake?" "Pretty good Mr. Connors," he replied, clasping Grandpa's hand in a firm shake, "How are things out west?" "Can't complain," he allowed, "I've been keeping myself busy. Speaking of which..." He grinned and walked over to where his small suitcase was sitting on the floor next to the fireplace. Unzipping it, he drew out a rectangular wooden box before turning and walking over to me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mom and Dad standing in the doorway that led to the dining room watching with clear happiness and pride on their faces. What the hell was going on? "Aiden," he told me and sounded way more formal than I was comfortable with, "We have a bit of a tradition in our family. I'm sure your Dad has told you the men in this family have been weaponsmiths for...well, a really long time." That got a chuckle out of everyone because it was true. Dad once told me our ancestors were responsible for making the claymore William Wallace used in his battle against England. I'm not sure if I believed that story, but it was a nice little fantasy that I didn't want to question too much. "There comes a time in the life of a young man when he becomes recognized as being more than a dabbler or an apprentice. Your Dad has shown me the work you've done, both for his business and on your own, and I don't have any doubt that you're well beyond the point of apprentice." "Grandpa," I said quietly, feeling a chill go up my spine, "What are you saying?" "While you aren't a master smith yet, your father and I both agree you're at the age and skill level to move from apprentice to Journeyman." My jaw simply dropped. For starters, I hadn't even entered into any kind of apprenticeship with Dad that could be recognized by any blacksmith trade organization. Secondly, I knew that blacksmiths needed to be at least eighteen years of age to even be considered for an apprenticeship to say nothing of being classified as a Journeyman. So did this mean more than what I was actually being told? "Now I know it's not considered legal," he said, giving voice to my concerns, "But when you turn eighteen your father and I will both sign off on your certification since we're registered as Master Smiths and trainers. Provided, of course," he continued with a grin, "You keep up with your work." "I doubt you could stop him," Jake quipped, throwing me a cheeky grin when I glared at him. "Oh I know," Grandpa continued, "That's why I want to give you this." He held out the box for me to take. "Your father wanted to make it but was kind enough to allow me the honor." Taking the plain but stout wooden box with shaking hands I was actually nervous about opening it. What could be in there? A new apron? A set of tongs? Taking a deep breath I released the latch and opened the lid. For several moments I could do nothing but stare down at the contents contained within. I think I might have even forgotten to breathe for a second or two. Laying on a bed of molded red velvet was a brand new smith's hammer and a long-stemmed impression stamp. The handle was clearly made of a stout oak while the head was clearly crafted from chromium based on its sheen. I could put this thing through hell and back and it would just smile at me and ask for more. On the side of the head was a very familiar stamped sigil depicting a slim tree in the center and the profile of a wolf's head on either side of it. It was the symbol of our family name that dated back hundreds of years. A quick look told me the impression stamp bore that exact sigil. "Grandpa," I breathed as I carefully removed the hammer from the box and tested its heft. Unsurprisingly the balance was perfect. "This is...amazing!" "You're part of a family tradition that dates back centuries," he informed me, "And whether or not you wish to continue as your father and I have is your choice. Don't think this means you absolutely must follow in our footsteps. But if you do want to keep going and learning, then all of us want you to have the right tools to do it." I nodded my understanding and carefully laid the hammer back in the box before hurling myself and Grandpa and hugging him as tightly as I could. I'd barely let go of him before I was flying across the room to catch up both of my parents in an equally crushing hug, all the while telling them thank you over and over again. Did I want to continue being a bladesmith? Where they nuts? Of course I did! It was the one thing in my life outside of my family that made me truly happy. Now, it was made even better. "Alright," Grandpa said with a clap of his hands, the tone of formality completely gone from his voice, "I've had a long flight and I'm starving, what's for dinner?" Salem, Indiana, Christie's Restaurant "Come on man," Robert Hollister offered encouragingly, "You've got to get yourself out of this funk. It happened a day ago. That's like a lifetime." When the silent figure at the table he and his friends sat at continued to remain mute he looked over at the other young men that also wore expressions of concern. One of them, Clay Stickman, took a breath and tried his hand at helping the conversation. "Yeah, Henry, this isn't like you. I'll bet hardly anyone even knows what happened." That drew every eye at the table, including the aforementioned Henry's, causing Clay to blush in embarrassment and look away. Sighing and shaking his head, Ed Blakely, Henry's oldest and closest friend, leaned over so he could speak quietly with the boy. "Listen Henry," he told him in a no-nonsense manner, "You have to look at this one of two ways. You can either wallow in self-pity and undoubtedly become the laughingstock of school, or you can do something about it." The last was said with a fierce determination that highlighted the many years of friendship between the two and the knowledge that they had done plenty of things in their past to deal with situations like social embarrassment. Whether it was the words or the tone in which they were spoken, Henry lifted his eyes from the plate of food that had just been pushed around for the last ten minutes and gazed at his friend with a dull and almost lifeless expression. At least they had been dull and lifeless until Clay's words had penetrated that dense fog that had clouded Henry's mind and blunted his emotions to the point of inactivity. Now, under the curiously cautious gaze of his friends, Henry's eyes began to clear and even sharpen as his lips curled with a kind of malice few of them had seen before. "You're right," he said, more to himself than his friends, "I should do something about it." Robert and Clay looked at one another in confusion at this sudden and frankly disturbing change in their friend and leader while Ed met Henry's grin with one of his own. The two of them had been friends for a very long time, years before Robert and Clay came into the picture when they had first joined the football team freshman year, so there was a kind of bond between the two boys that wasn't truly understood by the remaining "outsiders". Given the history between them, that was probably for the best. Slowly rising from the table, Henry pulled a few ten dollar bills from his pocket and threw it on the table before striding for the door with Ed close behind. It actually took Clay and Robert a few seconds to realize their esteemed leader was leaving them before they scrambled from the table and hurried after. Not a word was spoken as the quartet slid into Henry's Escalade and drove away. While Clay and Robert were nervously chattering away from the back, Henry shared a knowing look with Ed as they sped towards the Cartwright household. They both knew there was only one way to deal with a slight of this nature it wouldn't be done with locker stuffing or a mere beating. Sterner measures had to be taken to ensure Henry retained his status as the top of the social food chain. Thankfully, his father always did do a poor job of hiding the key to his gun cabinet. The Wild Freedom! Such glorious freedom once again! That is what the hunter thought as it raced unencumbered through the untamed wilds. How it had longed to feel the embrace of nature once again. How delicious were the cornucopia of scents that easily filled the sinuses and was translated into information that no two-legged could possibly comprehend. This is what it felt like to be alive, not that refined and restrained assemblage that was mockingly referred to as society. While the hunter knew little, the core of its primary understandings being limited to things that were truly important, it had gleaned enough knowledge to come to an understanding that the thing which the two-legged called 'living' was little more than a pale wisp of a dream compared to the explosion of life all around when released from the bindings of their small, simple minds. Here, there supposed laws meant nothing. Here, the only law was that of survival, and it was a law that served to truly make the hunter feel alive. The time had come for that knowledge to truly be passed along. No longer would the hunter lurk within the shadows and accept scraps as a means to keep it placated. It had done so because to