HUNTED

"Marsh, wake up," a distant voice urged, bright and cheerful. Someone was tugging at his sleeve, but it didn't feel real.

"Easy now. Don't shake him like that," a lower voice interrupted the shaking sensation, replacing it with a steady hand on his shoulder. "Hey, how much longer will you sleep for?"

Marshall's heart swelled with relief at the sound of his friends' voices, but as he opened his eyes to respond, there were nor yellow nor midnight-blue robes in sight. All he saw was dim light coming from the cave's entrance. 

The events prior to losing consciousness replayed themselves in his mind. Someone had dragged him back to the entrance... Or had he crawled there on his own? He couldn't remember.

The cold, slick walls seemed to close in on him, the moist, earthy smell filling his nostrils. In the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a dark figure running past him. The disciple jolted up. Was there a demon inside? Had the Stygian Overlord stayed behind?

Panic surged through him, his heart pounding against his chest. His breath caught in his chest as his eyes frantically scanned the shifting shadows. Without thinking, Marshall scrambled to his feet and bolted towards the daylight, his feet stumbling over the uneven ground.

The moment he burst into the fresh air, the sun's blinding rays overwhelmed him. The brightness felt like it was exposing him, making him a target in plain sight, so his legs moved of their own accord, propelling him into a sprint.

The world around him blurred into a chaotic swirl of color and motion. All that existed was the wind tearing through his hair and the shadows that seemed to chase him, nipping at his heels.

When Marshall finally snapped back to reality, he found himself standing in a dense forest near Chara town, panting heavily as he looked around. He knew he had run all the way here, but how? The memory of the journey itself was gone, lost in the haze of panic. 

The only sound was the rustling of trees and the chirping of birds. After lingering by a large oak for a while, he pulled himself together and moved along. Not knowing where else to go, he headed towards Chara town through the woods. It was just a forest away.

The familiarity of the area provided some relief, but it didn't last long. A bone-chilling cackle echoed through the trees, freezing Marshall in place. His heart skipped a beat as shadows flickered at the edges of his vision.

For a moment, he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him again, but when he turned, his fears were confirmed.

In the distance, a group of young disciples circled by a bunch of low-level demons. He instinctively reached for his bow, but his fingers met empty air. Panic threatened to return, but Marshall dug his heels into the soft, dried pine-needle-covered ground.

"You're fine. You're fine. You can do this," he whispered, focusing on the present moment. There were just a few demons, who could neither speak, nor were intelligent enough to dodge the attacks properly.

Marshall moved towards the disciples, his eyes taking in the scene as he struggled to come up with an action plan. He saw one of the disciples get knocked to the ground, his bow skidding across the dirt. A demon lunged at the fallen boy, claws outstretched. The other disciples stood frozen, paralyzed by terror.

His own chest felt ice cold, the fear not lost on him. Marshall's mind lagged behind as his body seemed to move on its own again. It felt like he was watching himself from an outer perspective, grabbing the bow from the ground and kicking the fleshy creature away.

For the first time in two months, Marshall channeled his spiritual energy, and the familiar golden arrow materialized between his fingers. He marveled at the sense of 'home,' even as a jolt of burning pain shot through his core, reminding him of his impaired flow.

With great effort, he drew it on the bow and released. The golden arrow pierced the demon, taking it down. However, that was as much as he could do. As much as he hated to admit it, a single spiritual arrow was his limit now.

Breathless and shaken up, Marshall stood by the dissipating demon, his eyes bouncing between the young disciples and the rest of the sinister creatures.

"You have your weapons, fight back! Don't just stand there!" he shouted, pulling up the fallen kid from the ground and returning his bow.

The young disciples stared at Marshall, their eyes wide with fear, but his words seemed to jolt them out of their paralysis. One by one, they tightened their grips on their weapons, eyes flicking nervously between him and the demons circling them.

Marshall wasn't sure how it worked, but seeing that the group of teens was more shaken than him, he regained a sense of calm. In a steady voice, he said, "You're all trained for this. These are just low-level demons. You can defeat them."

A cheerful, "Marshall!" rung out, and a bird's nest of light hair head poked out from behind the other disciples.

It was Muyang. Despite himself, Marshall immediately turned around to see whether Wyn was there too. Of course, he wasn't. If he were there, the demons would have been dead by now.

"Focus!" Marshall called back, his voice both a greeting and a warning. "Do not take your eyes off the demons!"

Muyang's grin faltered as he took in the situation, but he quickly tightened his grip on his weapon and nodded. With a burst of energy, he leapt into the fray, his movements fluid and precise.

Seeing him fight with such confidence seemed to boost the morale of the other disciples as well. They began to attack, following Muyang's example. Arrows flew and swords slashed as they fought back against the creatures, taking them down one by one.

Marshall watched them, feeling helpless. He couldn't expose himself and use demonic energy in front of the disciples. It would have gotten him killed faster than lightning. All he could do, was watch.

As the last of the demons fell, disintegrating into black dust, the forest grew eerily quiet. The disciples stood panting, exchanging excited glances, but Marshall's mind remained on edge.

The group buzzed, some celebrating, some expressing regret over crossing into the forests outside the safe zone, but one specific whisper slapped Marshall in the face.

"Is that not the fugitive? The one with the execution warrant on his back?"