Monster Hunter: The First Bullet, Part 3

This story was made using the solo RPG: Monster Hunter, by La esquina del rol.

As things turned out, the man was finished and standing by the ash of the fire when Vic returned. She tossed him a waterskin and hoisted her bag over her back. “Let’s go.”

“Towards the mountains?” The man coughed. “I thought we were headed east. What’s over there?”

“Me, before nightfall. Quit your whining.”

“What about the…the body?”

“Doesn’t keep good, let the vultures take care of it,” Vic sighed. “Come on, move it! We’re losing light.”

As they walked, Vic took out her father’s map and compass. They were heading northeast, now. If she had read the map properly, they should be about here, but if she saw what she thought she saw, they needed to be about here…

Vic cursed her father again. Then, out of misplaced frustration, she swore at her mother. Neither of them had bothered to write a proper map, and now it was her job to wander around the Borderlands, searching for the bullets that they should have picked up years ago.

Vic heaved a sigh. No, if they had taken the bullets then like as not Old Splitfoot would have them now, and the world would be doomed. But they should have taught her; not just the Hunt, but the map and the bullets. She shouldn’t have needed an old mad shaman to rant at her in a drug-addled haze to learn what to do.

She slipped the map back in her bag. Well, they were still headed easterly. Even if it turned out to be a false trail, this idiot man would still get home safe.

The going was harder than the flat plains. The mountainous slopes were sharper and colder. Even the air felt harsher, filled with strange whispers and hissing insects.

Vic held up a hand, stopping her companion in his tracks. She slipped the telescope out of her pocket and put it to her eye, staring up the steep slope. “Dead man’s hand,” she muttered, shaking her head. “God damn.”

“What?” The man shifted back and forth. “What are you talking about?”

“Here,” Vic dropped her hand and pointed. “You walk in that direction until you come to a river, right? You follow that river until you get to the forest and then you circle north — that’s to your left — until you see a town to the east. You don’t enter that forest, you hear?”

“Hold on,” the man stammered, “I thought you were going to guide me. I can’t…I can’t walk all that way without some —”

“It’s two days walk if you keep up the pace,” Vic unshouldered her rifle and checked that it was loaded. “You stick around here you might not see tomorrow. Leastwise, heading east you got yourself a chance, right? Get moving, and don’t you dare come back to the Borderlands unless you got an army with you, you understand?”

“Yes, I…” the man gulped. “I understand.”

“Good. Now get goin’!” Vic pulled out a hatchet and a flask from her bag and slipped them both into her belt before turning back to the slope.

“By the way,” the man said. “Name’s Jake. Jake Rotherford.”

Vic turned back. The man’s face was still plastered with fear and innocence. Maybe someday he could have learned to been a Hunter, but today he was little more than a city boy in deep over his head. He didn’t know what Vic was doing, why she was doing it, or even why he should have cared. All he knew was he had been cold, hungry, and hurt…and then she came along.

“Vic Duncan,” she said. She tapped the front brim of her hat with her finger. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Jake flashed a quick smile before turning and heading off down the path. Vic watched him leave for only a moment before turning back to the steep slope. She began to climb, keeping her body as low to the ground as she could. She kept her pace slow and steady. The slope was not the sturdiest she’d ever climbed, and if she put a foot wrong she’d find herself at the bottom of the cliff on her backside.

As she climbed, she kept her eye on the tree up atop a tall cliff. It had five long trunk-like branches, each drooping in such a manner as to look like a relaxed hand, sticking out from the side of the mountain. If her father’s map was in any way accurate, there would be a cave next to that tree, and in that cave…

It took her most of the day to climb all the way up to the tree, and only a few more moments to find the cave. It was damp and dark, dark enough that Vic couldn’t see how deep it was. She gently set her bag on the ground and stepped forward.

The sounds of the wind outside whistled across the cave’s entrance. She slowly reached out with the tip of her rifle, and gave the rock wall a gentle tap.

The echo was barely even there. It was a small cave, then. Vic gently lay down her rifle and pulled out her hatchet. Feeling the soft leather handle in her fingers, she took another step forward.

“Mama?”

Vic froze.

“Mama, I’m thirsty.” Her tiny hands reached out from the dark.

“No!” Vic swung the axe with all her might. A shriek rang out from the shadows as the hands vanished. Heedless of the danger, Vic charged forward, meeting the monster’s shriek with her own. She laid about with her hatchet like a woman posessed. “Damn you!” she shouted, feeling her hatchet hit nothing but stone.

A cold chill spread through her body as she felt the sharp talons of the shadows pierce her skin, drawing life out through her blood. She screamed in pain as the cold found her heart, gripping it tightly in talons of ice. Spinning around, she swung at the darkness, franticly trying to get the monster off of her as she staggered back towards the light.

Suddenly, she felt her hatchet hit home. Hissing in primal fury, she grabbed with her hands and shoved whatever she had hit into the light.

The shadow screamed as the dimming light of the day struck its pitch-black flesh. Jagged teeth glinted in the dim cave as it flailed about, yanking and scratching at Vic’s limbs as she tried to throw it down the mountainside. Numerous limbs reached about, aiming for her eyes and her arms, but she was ready for them now. She braced herself against the wall, planting her feet to give her leverage. One more heave…

A talon found its way to her wrist. The sharp chilling pain caused her to gasp and drop the hatchet. The shadow recoiled into the darkness, hissing and mewling, its shapeless mass quivering as it shrank.

“Nah,” Vic coughed, reaching out to her rifle. “You don’t get off that easy.”

Tendrils of darkness wrapped around her limbs. Vic could feel herself getting pulled away from the entry, scraping against the sharp stones and rough dirt. “Mommy, why did you hurt me?”

Vic twisted around, fumbling at her side. There was a flicker of teeth and then…

The whispy shadows relaxed. The darkness ebbed. The shadows, once dark and evil, became a gentle velvet.

Vic looked down at her hand. Her knife was covered in black liquid, slowly dripping and fading away before hitting the stone floor. Feeling her muscles unclench, Vic fell back onto the ground, breathing heavily. Close, she thought. Too damn close. You are one lucky Hunter, Vic, or you’d be shadow-food.

She lay there for a moment, her teeth gently biting her tongue as she felt her heart slowly calm. It was a lie. It was all lies. That’s all Old Splitfoot’s posse does is lie, and scheme, and hurt.

Well, you hurt me, I hurt you back. Vic sat up; she could rest later. Right now she had a job to do. Searching around in her bag, she pulled out a small shovel and candle. Lighting the candle with an old firestarter, she moved to the rear of the cave, holding the candle out to the wall. Soon enough she found what she was looking for; a small rock set into the wall, bearing the carved sign of the Grand Order of Monster Hunters.

She set the candle down and began prying the stone out of the wall with the shovel. It was the work of a moment — the rock was thin and the wall old and cracked — and when the rock popped free, she saw with a mixture of delight and awe a small alcove that held a tiny box no bigger than a pea-pod.

With exacting care, she pulled the box out of its hole and carefully pried it open. Inside the box was a bullet.

Her fingers shaking, Vic slowly lifted the bullet into the air. It was small, with gentle markings all along the side. Some were symbols that Vic recognized, the others were unfamiliar to her. The ball itself was pure silver.

“You old son-of-a-bitch,” Vic exhaled. Some part of her hadn’t expected it to be real. It could have all been some macabre joke her anscestors had played, or an ancient fairy-tale. Now, holding one of the six legendary bullets in her hands, she saw — for the first time in years — some reason to hope.

Reverendly, she pulled out her fathers revolver. Carefully opening the chambers, she slotted the bullet into the gun and closed it again. Her heart beating loudly in her chest, she pressed her lips to the iron. “Don’t you worry, ma. Pa. I won’t let either of you down.”