From the Darkness
Part 2
The mother falls silent, leaving the only sound in the room to be the crackling of the fire. The child is silent now, ruminating over what his mother has told him. His eyes are still wide, and the mother smiles. It works, she thinks. This old fable is good for -
"That is amazing, mother!" the young night elf cries. "A demon who steals children! I wonder how many warriors have tried to kill him!"
The mother sighs. Clearly her bluff has not worked. The boy is more excited than ever. Resigned to her defeat, she listens to her son's constant rambling with the patience of a parent, which is an interesting mix of short and infinite. The boy continues on, now ignoring her completely, until a loud noise startles them both into silence.
The mother's head whips around, staring at the entrance to their hut. The door is open, swaying in the breeze which, the mother sees, has only just started blowing. She looks back at her child, and they share a smile and a small laugh of sheepishness. The door often blows open in the wind. They constantly talk about fixing it, but nothing ever comes of it.
The mother sighs once more as she gets up and moves to the door. She speaks over her shoulder to her son. "It is just a story. Now no more stalling. Hurry up and eat your - "
She is yanked bodily out of the hut, vanishing from the open doorway into the darkness of the night. A single scream sounds, which is cut off almost as quickly as it begins. The child, ignoring the chills that spread down his spine, gets up and runs to the door. However, before he can get there, he slips, falling heavily on to his back. He raises a hand, and sees that it is covered by a curious red substance, that seems to be collecting in the open doorway. Loud footsteps sound now. Too loud to be his mother.
A large figure looms in the doorway now. The child, still on his back, whimpers involuntarily. Tears start to fall from wide eyes are he beholds the monster standing before him. He absurdly thinks that his mother got the story wrong, for his demon's skin is not black, but red and furry, twisted and matted with all sorts of foul-smelling things that add to the child's tears. The claws and fangs are not gleaming white, but a sickly, putrid yellow, and caked with the same reddish substance the child now finds himself lying in. The horns are there, true enough, but the eyes are what captures the boy's attention. They are not red, but they are alight with so much bloodlust and evil that the child breaks down into sobs.
Fangs are bared in a wider grin as the demon leans down. A clawed hand slams into the boy's chest, pinning him to the ground. A leering face appears before his, and fetid breath sprays across the child's senses. A voice rumbles close, and it is alight with death and violence.
"Your mother tells the story well, whelp. I am Morvai. I am a demon. She is wrong about one thing, though."
The boy is yanked upright off the ground. He does not scream. His body is too rigid with terror. The voice laughs, a hideous, cruel laugh that drowns out all else.
"This is no story, elf. This is real."
The boy does not scream. He does not have the chance.
"That is amazing, mother!" the young night elf cries. "A demon who steals children! I wonder how many warriors have tried to kill him!"
The mother sighs. Clearly her bluff has not worked. The boy is more excited than ever. Resigned to her defeat, she listens to her son's constant rambling with the patience of a parent, which is an interesting mix of short and infinite. The boy continues on, now ignoring her completely, until a loud noise startles them both into silence.
The mother's head whips around, staring at the entrance to their hut. The door is open, swaying in the breeze which, the mother sees, has only just started blowing. She looks back at her child, and they share a smile and a small laugh of sheepishness. The door often blows open in the wind. They constantly talk about fixing it, but nothing ever comes of it.
The mother sighs once more as she gets up and moves to the door. She speaks over her shoulder to her son. "It is just a story. Now no more stalling. Hurry up and eat your - "
She is yanked bodily out of the hut, vanishing from the open doorway into the darkness of the night. A single scream sounds, which is cut off almost as quickly as it begins. The child, ignoring the chills that spread down his spine, gets up and runs to the door. However, before he can get there, he slips, falling heavily on to his back. He raises a hand, and sees that it is covered by a curious red substance, that seems to be collecting in the open doorway. Loud footsteps sound now. Too loud to be his mother.
A large figure looms in the doorway now. The child, still on his back, whimpers involuntarily. Tears start to fall from wide eyes are he beholds the monster standing before him. He absurdly thinks that his mother got the story wrong, for his demon's skin is not black, but red and furry, twisted and matted with all sorts of foul-smelling things that add to the child's tears. The claws and fangs are not gleaming white, but a sickly, putrid yellow, and caked with the same reddish substance the child now finds himself lying in. The horns are there, true enough, but the eyes are what captures the boy's attention. They are not red, but they are alight with so much bloodlust and evil that the child breaks down into sobs.
Fangs are bared in a wider grin as the demon leans down. A clawed hand slams into the boy's chest, pinning him to the ground. A leering face appears before his, and fetid breath sprays across the child's senses. A voice rumbles close, and it is alight with death and violence.
"Your mother tells the story well, whelp. I am Morvai. I am a demon. She is wrong about one thing, though."
The boy is yanked upright off the ground. He does not scream. His body is too rigid with terror. The voice laughs, a hideous, cruel laugh that drowns out all else.
"This is no story, elf. This is real."
The boy does not scream. He does not have the chance.