#worldcreation

[November 5th, 20XX

Outskirts of Estherwood City, Thursday Night

Somernoque Woodlands]

Cracks of lightning struck from the sky, a rhythm following in time with each roll of thunder. The weight of the rain billowing from the blackened clouds swiftly swallowed what was left of solid ground, turning every inch of the woodland into a muddy landscape.

If there were creatures of the night still out, they'd be lucky if they didn't drown in the ever-growing mudpool.

Drowning in the chorus of the raging storm, a frenzied group of men struggled to race through the trees. With the ground becoming the equivalent of quicksand, running was an uphill battle, one fought desperately as they tried to escape their foreseen threat.

"Goddammit, move!" Maxwell Walker, the red-headed dredge of a man, shoved a man to the side to run ahead. When a hand grabbed the back of his leather coat, he quickly pulled away, the slick from the rain making the grip disappear. He managed to keep balance, boots sloshing through the mud and finding stability.

It was only a matter of time before the land couldn't be traversed, meaning if he wanted to survive the night, he had to get ahead. Far ahead.

Terrified shouts of the men around him made his heart race, watching as some faceplanted and couldn't get back up again. The moment they were down, what was left of their strength was sapped out of them by fighting the now mud terrain.

Green eyes flickered over his shoulder, trying to look up into the trees. With how dark the sky was, he couldn't see anything, cursing and looking forward again. Screw it, he'll just keep running. There was a chance the storm could work in his favor.

He just might be able to lose it.

"Fuck this, fuck this.." A mantra of curses spewed out, mumbled under his breath as he angled between trees and ducked branches. Out of the corner of his eye, there were still men scrambling, keeping pace as they tried to find their own way to survival.

The only thing he could truly hear above the roar of the storm were the other men, which he both loathed and needed. It told him there were still others.. and it would alert him about how close their chaser was.

A shrill scream that almost blended with the thunder briefly had his heart seize. More followed as those who had fallen to the ground joined the first.

Dead. They were dead now. They'd been caught.

Among the ones still around him, the more foolish ones slowed to a stop to listen, fear encompassing them as they started to run again. They would then slip and either fall or slam against a tree. Soon, they would join the other bodies farther behind.

"Fuck!" He shouted, pumping his legs harder, fighting against the strain to get away. Time was running out, it was catching up to them way too quickly.

Jesus, what kind of monster did the Senate really have??

An incline had him sliding down, trying to remain balanced on his feet so he didn't fall. If he rolled down to the bottom, he'd drown in the mud before he could get back up. Maxwell fearfully looked over his shoulder again, hearing men that fell when they hit the incline or manage to hit the ground running.

A jagged branch snagged onto the sleeve of his coat, ripping into his arm from the force of his slide down. It almost took him off his feet, hanging onto that branch as mud and rubble flooded past him.

He was stuck, he realized with horror. The adrenaline only helped with registering that he was hurt, but there was no pain. Maxwell had to ditch his coat, it was either that or die. His free hand reached for the bottom hem of his coat, wriggling and squirming to pull it up and over his head.

The clothing was absolutely drenched, having to peel it off of his undershirt to even get the damn thing over his head. "Fuck, dammit, c'mon!" He gritted out, jaw clenched. More screams of terrified men meeting their end brought a vigor through his veins.

Finally, he slipped free, immediately falling down the hill now that there was nothing holding him up. Instinctively, he tried to lean himself back to keep from rolling headfirst, feet sliding out from under him to land on his back.

Upon hitting the bottom, he stumbled to get back into a run, hearing another scream that was much closer. Propelling himself forward, he was running again, losing balance when he'd stumble or slip. He could count in his head the number of times his hands almost hit the ground.

A crack of lightning in the distance brought a couple seconds of light to the surrounding trees, giving Maxwell a glimpse of the forest around him to decide where to run to. Where would he even hide? The only thing he could think to do was run, hoping the cover of rain would keep that thing from scenting him out.

The rumble of thunder above drove away any other thought, the pounding rain hammering onto his back. It was too loud for him to hear anything, only being able to use his eyes to guide him. Everything else was drowned out by mother nature's rage.

What a bitch.

A flash of light blinded him as another lightning bolt shot across the sky. When he regained his sight, all he heard was the crackling, heart leaping to his throat as he fought to skid to a stop. "Woah- Shit!" He cursed, watching a tree fall to the ground, charred bark showing evidence of the lightning strike.

Veering to the left, Maxwell just missed a large branch hitting the ground, lungs burning as he kept running. The rest of the fallen tree wasn't able to be heard over the rain, and frankly, he didn't care to know.

Everything else became a blur, unsure on how long he was running for, not wanting to know. He didn't need to, nothing else mattered except the action itself. Maybe he was deep enough in the forest now that the thing stopped chasing? It caught a couple of the other guys, it didn't need him.

Then again, if what the rumors said were true, he wasn't going to get out of this regardless. It would always find him.

Minutes felt like hours, and perhaps an hour had gone by while he was out in the woods. The lightning that would cross the sky served as his only light, depending on those strikes to brighten the area for him. A thought suddenly crossed his mind, head turning to the left and right as his eyes searched.

When did he stop hearing the others?

His foot caught on something, feeling a pop in his ankle as his body hit the ground, rolling through the mud until he slid to a stop. "What the fuck? What the fuck!" He yelled, forcing himself to sit up, only to scream when he tried to stand. One ankle wouldn't hold him, causing him to sink back to the ground with a 'whump'.

Looking down to his leg, Maxwell reached a hand out to feel his ankle, groaning in pain just from the brush of his fingertips. Trying to roll it was impossible, the limb not responding like it was supposed to.

"Shit! No, no, why now?!" He grinded his teeth. "What the fuck did I even trip on?" His green eyes looked back behind him, searching for an unearthed root or the like. What he found instead made his blood run cold.

Eyes.

Lifeless eyes in a pale face stared back at him, expression contorted into a permanent look of terror. Black muck stained under the jaw, almost looking like mud until Maxwell saw that this color was darker. He received his answer when he saw the poor sap's throat, shredded open by five jagged claw marks. It nearly tore his entire throat out, exposing his esophagus and windpipe.

The claw marks travelled down from the throat, all the way down to the abdomen, the clothes ripped from the slice. It took a minute for Maxwell to see the intestines that slipped out of the claw abrasion, possibly from when he tripped over the body.

Bile rose in his throat, hand reaching to cover his mouth in a futile attempt to stop himself from vomitting. The marks indicated that it was just.. a single attack. One long swipe from the belly to the throat, or the other way around, and that was it. A painful death if the man didn't die immediately.

If this man was here and dead..

Maxwell's eyes widened, gaze snapping from tree to tree as the storm howled above. How did it manage to get ahead like that? It was still behind him an hour ago, how the fuck did it move so quick? Was it still here?

Fear and rage were battling in his mind, both fighting to take the forefront as he reached to grab out his knife. "Fucking freak! I won't let you kill me!" He screamed out into the darkened woodland, forcing himself to stand and take position.

Strikes of light across the horizon would cast long shadows, Maxwell slashing the air whenever he thinks he sees something. Each puff of air felt like it'd be his last, body trembling from exhaustion and fear. Another flash of light made a shadow appear in the corner of his eye, letting out a battle cry as he cut through the air.

He rotated in place, now left unable to run, simply waiting for his opponent to show itself. His mind briefly recalled a memory from a few weeks ago, chewing on his lip as his eyes skimmed over his surroundings.

'The Senate's Beast' is what the info-broker had warned Maxwell of after refusing to do further business with him. The bitch had told him if he kept up his illegal Trade Pitch rings, Senate would eventually send in their 'Beast' to shut it down.

Anyone who faces their Beast either come back bloodied or don't come back at all.

He remembered laughing in the crazy bitch's face at the warning, finding it so unbelievably stupid. Nothing but a rumor, a way to scare people like horror stories around a campfire. Now though, now he realized how wrong he'd been to not prepare for this.

With the body stiff on the ground next to him, it was clear he was on the wrong end of the stick.

Maxwell wasn't meant to come out bloodied. He was meant to die here.

His fear was reaching a peak, unable to handle the crippling dread that wove through his veins like a vine. "Fucking show yourself already!" He screamed, throat feeling raw from attempting to call over the rain.

A shadow appeared again when lightning struck, turning and swinging his arm wildly with a yell. It cut short when a tear caught his ears, following by the thump of something landing a distance away on his side. A warmth poured down his body, looking down to see a deep crimson mixing into the mud on the ground. He felt his throat, eyes wide in shock as the knife fell him his hand.

Trying to speak resulted in gurgled slurs, neck sliced open by claw marks similar to the corpse next to him. It ranged from his exposed throat down to his abdomen, a long rope of intestine beginning to slide out the largest abrasion. Maxwell's body swayed, pain no longer there as the life trickled from his body. He crumpled, spraying mud and blood from how hard he hit the ground.

Blood was filling his throat, a large puddle forming as it spilled out of him, choking on it. His fading vision caught sight of a large figure that stood a few distance away, crouched as it watched him die. It's hands and body were covered in a dark red liquid, blood from the previous men. Nothing else was discernable, even with the lightning that would light the area.

Something looked to be glowing against the darkness, in it's face. What was left of Maxwell's consciousness was able to piece together what the glow was before finally dying.