章 134: Chapter 134
The man gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, fingers curled around the worn leather. It was a heavy thing, darkened steel long since tarnished from years of use, and yet it felt right in his hand, like it had always been there. A cold wind whistled through the trees around him, the branches creaking as if in protest, and the world felt thick with silence—unnatural, suffocating silence.
He wasn't alone, though. There was something out there, something that had been toying with him for what felt like days, just out of reach.
He hadn't seen it clearly at first. In the dark, it had only been a flicker, a shadow darting between the trees. He'd thought it nothing more than a trick of his mind, a bit of paranoia creeping in after too much time in the woods. But that had been before it made its presence known. Now, it was personal.
It was the dog.
The creature wasn't like any dog he'd seen before. Its eyes—wide, intelligent, watching—never seemed quite right. The fur was too clean, the stance too stiff. It moved with a purpose, always just far enough away to keep him from reaching it. And each time he thought he'd caught it, it would vanish, slipping between the trees like a wisp of smoke.
Tonight was different.
The man had been hunting it for what seemed like an eternity, though he couldn't recall exactly when he'd started. Maybe days. Maybe weeks. Time had blurred together in this strange, endless forest. He only knew that it was close now, its presence hanging over him like a promise that would be fulfilled. He could feel it—the way the trees shifted around him, the way the earth seemed to tremble underfoot. It was out there, and it was waiting.
He gripped the sword tighter, knuckles white beneath his gloves. His breath was shallow and fast, but not from exhaustion. No, there was something more gnawing at him, something deeper than mere weariness. He was afraid.
Afraid of the dog.
A low growl broke the silence, rolling through the trees. The man froze, listening. It was soft at first, barely more than a whisper in the night, but it was there.
It was close.
He stepped forward, careful not to make a sound, not to alert the creature to his presence. The leaves beneath his boots crunched like brittle paper, sharp and piercing, but the sound faded quickly into the stillness, swallowed by the forest. He stopped again. Another growl. Closer this time. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up.
The dog was watching him.
He moved forward again, slower this time, muscles tensing with each step, but it was like moving through tar. His limbs felt sluggish, weighed down by something he couldn't place. It was like the air itself was pressing against him, pulling him toward the thing he dreaded.
The growl sounded again, more distinct now, and this time, there was a snarl to it.
"Come on, then," the man muttered under his breath, his voice low, almost inaudible.
He turned a corner in the woods, stumbling into a small clearing, his sword raised in front of him. There, just ahead, the dog stood. Its body was still, but its eyes—those damn eyes—followed him with a cold, calculating intensity. It wasn't like any dog he had ever seen before.
It was too smart. Too aware. And it was too goddamn patient.
The dog didn't move, didn't blink. It just stood there, as though waiting for him to make the first move, as though it knew he would. It wasn't afraid of him, not like any animal should be. No, it was playing with him. Watching him, testing him.
The man raised his sword.
"I'm not scared of you," he muttered, his voice shaking, though he didn't want it to. The fear in him ran deeper than that. There was a desperation, a longing to end it, to put an end to this madness that had been dragging him through this cursed woods.
The dog tilted its head, the barest glint of moonlight catching its fur. It stepped forward, slow, deliberate. The man's heart raced.
Then, as if to mock him, it stopped again, just out of reach.
Something inside the man snapped.
He lunged forward, sword raised. It wasn't calculated, wasn't strategic—he had lost that long ago. He was acting on instinct now, on the need to kill, to destroy whatever was before him. His arms shook as he swung, the blade cutting through the air, but the dog wasn't there. It wasn't there at all.
It was behind him.
He spun around too late.
The dog's teeth were in his neck before he could even scream, sinking deep into the flesh with a sickening crunch. He cried out in pain, but it was only a fleeting sound, lost in the rustle of the leaves and the quiet that followed.
The man's knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, the sword slipping from his hands. The dog stood above him, its eyes cold and unwavering. It didn't seem to care about the blood pooling beneath the man's body. It didn't care about the struggle, the life slipping away from him with each breath.
It just watched.
The man's vision blurred, his fingers reaching out, twitching as if to grab the sword, to end it, to do something, anything, to stop this. But his body was no longer responding, no longer willing to fight.
The dog's jaw tightened. The man felt the last of his strength leaving him, the world around him darkening as the creature loomed above him, impossibly calm, impossibly sure.
And still, it didn't kill him outright. It was like it was savoring it, savoring every moment of his terror.
It felt like hours passed. The man could hardly keep his eyes open, could barely focus. The dog—this thing, this abomination—watched him, as if it could see into him, see every thought, every fear, every scrap of weakness. He couldn't bear it. He couldn't stand that cold, empty stare.
And then, in a final act of defiance, in a final, desperate attempt to cling to whatever was left of himself, he tried to speak. He opened his mouth, but only blood came out. His throat had been torn open, and nothing would come.
The dog's eyes never left him.
There was no sound as the man's life drained away. No struggle. No last, desperate breath. Only the cold, oppressive silence of the woods surrounding them, the darkness closing in.
When it was done, the dog stepped away, its movements smooth, deliberate. There was no joy in its actions. No satisfaction. It didn't seem to care about the death it had caused. It had gotten what it wanted, after all. And it was so much smarter than the man.
It wasn't hunting him.
It had been waiting for him to come to it.
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