Beast

The mirror’s reflective surface shimmers. Filaments of light dance along the stone corridor, off of the lupine helmet of the knight standing watch over the proceedings. From the magical pool of liquid reflection, a second knight steps into the chamber. The sentry nods and states, “I trust everything has been to your satisfaction, Dame?”
    The new knight, whose helmet takes on the aspect of the falcon, scans over the stone corridor, not answering at first.
    “Is,” the first knight began, his armor clattering as he shifts toward her, “something the matter, Salome?”
    “No, its fine here,” Salome replies. “I wasn’t expecting you to be in this region, Vargas. That’s all.”
    “Ah,” Vargas barks, his back straightening. “I recently shifted assignments. The Capital likes to have its warriors tested in multiple situations. After all, they can’t expect their knights to not wish to see the world at least once in their service.”
    She sighs and walks on down the hall. Vargas turns on his heel and follows her, looking down at her as he continues speaking. “But what about you? I heard you’ve been making quite a name of yourself since you graduated from the academy. You’ve cut quite a few notches.”
    “And I plan to cut at least one more,” she responds, stopping at the doorway and placing her hand at the door-jamb. “What can you tell me about the mission?”
    “It’s rather simple stuff. I’m surprised they didn’t let someone cut their teeth on it and decided to send someone with your talents. I mean, we’re in the midle of nowhere here, but the threat is minimal. News travels slowly this far out, you know. Speaking of which, what’s the news from home?”
    “All’s well in the Goddess’s embrace,” she replies, in a rote recitation of the mantra. “Now, what makes this so simple?”
    Vargas shrugs. “Reports have come in about a beast terrorizing the farmlands outside the local village. The mutilated remains don’t have a taint to them, so it’s probably nothing more dangerous than a bear.”
    “The mirrors are never used for something as trivial as aggressive wildlife,” Salome responds. “Local farmers could take care of that, most certainly, even one tainted by chaos.”
    “Who said it’s actually some natural animal? Whatever it is, left destruction in its wake. It is small, whatever it is. No larger than a man.”
    “Or anything masquerading as one,” Salome thinks and pulls her hand free from the door. “I shall check out the village and see what I find.”
    “Good luck out there,” Vargas adds, a hint of concern in his voice that pierces her armor. She knows from what emotion those words came from--Pity.
    “I can handle a monster.” After assuring him, she walks straight out into the forest and through the path, heading to the village proper.
    Vargas shakes his head as she exits the Mirrored Shrine, “Ah, yes, lass,” he mutters to himself, “but can you handle yourself?”

    The sun sits high at the village, and the knight’s armor heralds her approach. A small girl selling fruits stops what she is doing and gapes at the sight. Salome nods to her as she approaches, and the girl spins around, calling out from the top of her lungs. “A Warrior. A Warrior is here.”
    Doors open up and carts stop in the middle of the streets. A veritable festival of merchants and homeowners pour out of the doorways and peer through windows to catch a glimpse at the arriving hero.
    “A Warrior, A Warrior. Praise Katarina,” one town elder proclaimed, sitting back in his rocking chair and taking time to spit his chew after shouting his praise to the Goddess of the Cosmos.
    Salome holds up her left hand in front of her, and a wave of silence fills the crowd. Even a young baby clinging to its mother silences its cry in the presence of the holy knight. Sufficiently pleased at their response, Salome speaks up. “Good people of the Goddess, I am not here for your praise, but I come to do the Goddess’s Will. Truthfully, though, Salome can feel a burden lifting from her as the people see her for what she is and not who she is.
    “Praise be to Katarina,” another villager shouts. “May her laws always guide us.”
    “Indeed, she recites with the pomp of the people, though as the crowd nods, she notes the ritualistic behavior. They are another group of followers who live their lives by the word and word alone. She had seen this before, and those that exhibited such flourish hardly ever kept their religious devotion where it truly mattered. “I come to slay the beast that has brought disorder to your village. Point me in the direction, so that I may bring swift judgment.”
    Her rehearsed lines are met with another cheer as the young girl points to a road off a ways. “Over there, Lady Knight,” she said, her smile beaming, eyes twinkling with wonder. “You’ll make the bad monster go away, yes?”
    “When I’m done,” Salome said, kneeling down to her and placing a hand on her head, “you will be able to sleep soundly. I promise,”
    The girl shakes under her and then, suddenly, she wraps her arms around the knight’s armored form. Salome inhales at the gesture, remaining still a moment as a tear wells up in her eye. “It’s nothing, young one. Please, return to your day. I’ll handle it from here.” She places her hands on the girl’s shoulders, turns her to face the crowd, and nudges her back to move her towards the rest of the congregation.

    The farm was not difficult to find. The lulling of cattle pointed her in the direction. But, as she got farther from the center of town and the grunts of animals faded from her ears, the knight reaches for her scabbard, ready for anything.
    The sounds of domestication stops, leading on to the unfettered call of birds, the chattering of squirrels, and the occasional cry of foxes. Salome shudders at the sounds--the wild sounds. The “forest” between the Mirrored Shrine and the village could only be called that as a technicality. It was, like most other things under the control of the Church, meticulously planned to mimic the serenity of nature. In reality, however, every measly fern and every mighty oak was planted where it needed to be in order to secure a perfect unity with the natural world. Here, she is far from the dominion of the priests, and it is here where nature returned in all of its savage glory.
    And what glory she beholds.
    The farmhouse rests on top of a hill, overlooking the fields of waving grain. Only the chatter of the unfettered animals fill the air here. While subliminally disconcerting, they are not the focus of the oddity. For the house itself has been reclaimed by the natural world. A tree of prodigious size grows out from within I, its trunk rising up above the shattered roof. Thick, strong branches break through where the windows would have once been. New apertures open where even mightier branches burst through the dead wood to seek the sun beyond the dark place of its root.
    This is no act of nature, but a much purer form of Chaos.
    A rustle from just behind her spurs her to action. With a swift motion, she draws her sword and spins behind her in an upwards arching slash. The creature that leaps out of the trees snarls with the fury of a mountain lion, strong paws with sharp claws ready to scratch at the warrior’s armor. Her blade catches it. Crimson erupts from the creature’s wound as it finishes its leap along the road, yet it doesn’t fall. Blood drips down from its chest, the quadruped looking away from her as it takes a few breaths to catch itself.
    Salome remains vigilant, holding her position as a streak of blood runs down her blade. This creature paused for far too long to be a simple beast, and as she waits to see its next move, she stares at it with intensity, noting how it holds itself as it recovers from her blow. It draws in deep, purposeful breaths, with a hissing following in its pain. It turns its head and stares back at her, its eyes a deep emerald intensity. Such intensity she is quite familiar with, as she sees it often in the crimson eyes that stare at her through the mirror.
    Chaos-Born.
    Salome lowers her weapon as she makes the connection. It is a mistake as the feline monster pounces at her once more, swiping its claw over her armored body. Thanks to the protections of the Holy Order, the feline’s sharp claws do not penetrate, though another warrior’s would be torn to shreds. Such is the power of Chaos-Born creatures. Again, that is something she knows all too well from experience.
    There is no time to reminisce on the mistakes of youth, for the weight of the monster knocks her down against the ground. The feline creature pins her by her shoulders and leans in, snarling. From this position, Salome notices the cat’s vine-like mane and the fruits that hang off of it and wonders what sort of creature would spawn such a thing. She is given the time to ponder these questions, as the cat does not go in for the kill, but instead stares into her armors eye slits, its teeth bared. Its breath drips sap upon her armor as its blood trails down its leg, dripping onto her torso. It waits for something.
    The knight’s arms twitch, and it shifts its paws off of her shoulders, ever-so-slightly, claws scraping in a loud, harmful racket as it placed them upon her collar. Her arms shift, and she places hands upon her helmet, undoing the clasps, and lifting it off of her. She flashes her own crimson eyes at it, confirming some unspoken suspicion that the beast had.
    It narrows its gaze in a much more intelligent gesture than any feline she had seen before, and it hops off of her, turning, with a pained limp, to face her, its paws tapping against the ground, impatiently almost.
    “I know what I am,” Salome said, “and I know what you are. But you know also what I must do because you chose your path.” She wielded her weapon again in front of her, both hands clasping the hilt. “Your suffering shall be brief. I can assure you of that.”
    The Chaos-Born circles her, its eyes, its limp, its ragged breath all judging her. She snarls a contentious “stop mocking me,” before charging the monster. At the same time, it leaps, going at her exposed face. But metal meets flesh in a quick slice, severing one of the creature’s front arms. It lands on one paw and collapses, the bloody remains twitching in a lump beside the creature.
    Its cry is that of anguish as it fights to push itself up, crippled as it is. Salome shudders as she listens to its pitiful condition and looks up to the tree-wrecked house on the hill. With a final breath of resignation, she spins, chopping downward at the creature, its life spraying over her once-gleaming armor. Yet, the job is not done. She swings again, and again, and again, until the monster, the Chaos-Born, is no more.
    With the creature expired, the verdant growth at the house withers like the coming of winter, and another bastion of untamed nature crosses over to the darkness of the void.