The Wandering Witch VOL. 1 - The Prelude Arc (COMPLETED)

8| A Pierrot

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Darkness had fallen by the time the two had disappeared from the scene.

The alley was overcome with a dark and quiet stillness, illuminated only by the faint traces of moonlight peeking from over the silhouetted rooftops. The place was silent. Not a single thing moved. It was as if the bloody fight that took place mere hours ago never happened. True, that could have easily been the case, if not for the two bodies collapsed on the alley floor.

At a first glance, they seemed like motionless corpses. A pool of scarlet blood gathered around the first body who was lying flat on his chest, displaying the deep wound on his back, a diagonal slash from a sharp weapon. The second one was a few ways farther than the first, this one belonging to a man of tremendous build and covered in armor. However, from his head, an adequate amount of blood trickled down his hideously scarred face. There were countless deep and small cuts on his exposed arms. One of his legs was twisted at a painful angle. The only indication that the both of them were still alive was the uneven rise and fall of their chests as they breathed. If not for that, they might as well have long been dead.

As the silence and night seemed to stretch on continuously, the second hunter suddenly twitched. A stray cat hissed sharply from the shadows, startled by this act, before darting away in haste. A moment later, a small groan escaped from his mouth. He raised his head weakly and opened his eyes, the other one tainted red with his own blood. Another groan. His mouth moved slowly, forming a quiet sentence. As he continued to speak, his words slowly became louder and clearer.

"—aven't... lost... yet...," he whispered to himself, repeating it hoarsely despite the state he was in. His eyes glinted with a look of what could only be described as hatred. "I haven't..."

He froze as he heard the sudden sharp and unexpected footsteps coming from the darkened end of the alley.

For some reason, a terrible sense of fear overcame him at that very moment. A chill came over the air. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. His body began to shake in fear without his permission. He focused, narrowing his eyes so he could see better. As he did, he saw an unmistakeable silhouette of person approach him from the mouth of the darkened path. Yet, something told him that whatever it was that was coming, it was not a human. He held his breath as the silhouette continued towards him, finally coming to a stop once it was a feet away. Despite the feeling of fear that had taken him, the wounded man weakly looked up with as much courage as he could muster.

A young man was looking down at him.

For a moment, he doubted what he was seeing. He looked no less than a youth already of age. Dressed in bleached pants, stitched boots, and a yellow ragged shirt, he looked like any poor citizen of the kingdom. A string of random trinkets hung from the right side of his belt. On the other side hung a small and empty dagger sheath. His shirt was ornamented with layers of patched clothing and cheap crusted jewels. One side of his face was covered with a red and gold mask which was tied around his head.

However, it was the expression on his face that made the wounded man tremble in fear. The boy's expression was devoid of emotion, dark and filled with an underlying threat. In the darkness, his eyes glowed a faint wisp of red, like a demon told in tales. Amidst the shadows cast by the isolated alley, his very presence was menacing, haunting. The wounded man could feel the suffocating amount of bloodlust emanating from the youth's figure.