Two:Blood and Bone

Bonny absolutely loved his job. It wasn't just a job, it was a passion, a craft that ignited a spark of joy and fulfillment within him every single day. In his late 30s, he carried himself with the easy confidence of a master craftsman, a man who knew his worth and his abilities. His appearance only amplified this aura of self-assuredness.

He was undeniably striking. A well-trimmed beard, dark and thick, sculpted the strong lines of his face and emphasized his sharp jawline. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, seemed to hold a depth of experience and a laser-like focus that few could ignore. Bonny kept his hair cropped short, a practical style that was often concealed beneath a stylish hat – a signature piece of his rugged wardrobe.

His attire was both practical and dashing, a blend of functionality and flair. A crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hinted at the muscular physique beneath. A well-fitted brown leather jacket draped comfortably over his broad shoulders, adding a touch of rugged sophistication. Tailored black pants completed the ensemble, culminating in polished black high-ankle boots that gave him a commanding presence wherever he went.

Despite his rugged exterior, Bonny possessed a certain refinement, a subtle elegance that belied his rough-and-ready image. It was a unique blend of strength and grace that made him stand out in any crowd. Whether it was his natural charisma, the effortless style he exuded, or simply the way he carried himself, one thing was certain: Bonny loved his life, and he looked every bit the part of a man who had found his purpose.

He relished the long, solitary motorcycle rides through the desolate wastelands. It was his escape, his way to clear his head and reconnect with the raw energy of the open road. If he wasn't tracking down rogue witches, he was likely to be found at some far-flung edge of the world, nursing a large glass of beer – a ritual he considered essential to a well-lived life. This was his chosen path, his way of embracing the wild freedom that resonated deep within him.

But recently, a flicker of annoyance had begun to disrupt his otherwise contented existence. He had just finished tracking and eliminating a group of witch guards in the Red Desert, a grueling but ultimately satisfying task. Almost immediately, he received a summons to return to Springville Valley as soon as possible. He could have used a teleportation gate, a quick and convenient way to travel, but Bonny was vehemently opposed to them.

"Them fucking gates," he muttered, the words laced with disdain. He much preferred the feel of the wind in his hair, the rumble of his motorcycle beneath him. He'd ride all day, any day, rather than step through one of those "fucking gates."

As he approached Springville Valley, the sprawling cityscape came into view, its towering buildings and bustling streets a stark contrast to the desolate landscapes he preferred. The noise of the city, the constant hum of traffic, grated on his nerves. He was a creature of the wild, a man who thrived on open spaces, the company of beautiful women, and the simple pleasures of life, enjoyed with a carefree abandon.

Bonny stopped his motorcycle at the city limits, just off the main road. He dismounted, carefully concealing his weapon before zipping up his pants and pulling out a cigarette. He took a long, satisfying drag, inhaling deeply before exhaling a plume of smoke that momentarily obscured the cityscape.

"You know those things could kill you, right?" a voice called out from behind him.

Bonny turned to see Joe approaching. "If them witches haven't gotten me yet," he replied dryly, "something has to."

"Well, I hope I don't have to come see you in some hospital, looking half-dead," Joe said, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Keep your worries to yourself," Bonny retorted. "You're late, by the way."

"I made a quick stop by the coffee shop," Joe explained. "Black or cappuccino?"

"Black," Bonny replied without hesitation, walking towards Joe and grabbing the steaming cup.

"So, what's up, Joe? You called," Bonny asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.

Joe gave a small nod. "Oh yes, I did," he replied, his voice measured and calm.

The two men were a study in contrasts. Bonny, tall and muscular, with the broad shoulders and commanding presence of a seasoned warrior, stood beside Joe, who was shorter, just above average height, with a much leaner frame. Joe's long, slightly unkempt hair framed a pale face and expressionless eyes. The stark white of his irises, combined with the white cane he carried, left no doubt that he was blind.

Despite Joe's physical limitations, his sharp intellect and unwavering composure always shone through. He was dressed impeccably in a neatly pressed black suit, his tie meticulously adjusted as if he were about to attend a formal gala rather than a casual meeting on a city street.

"As much as I'd like to hear updates on your previous missions," Joe began, his voice taking on a serious edge, "I'm afraid this isn't just a social call."

Bonny raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in Joe's tone.

"I have to send you to Rivervale," Joe concluded, the words hanging heavily in the air.

"Rivervale?" Bonny echoed, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Yes, Rivervale," Joe confirmed. "We've managed to track down Melinda."

"The Dead Queen?" Bonny asked, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and apprehension.

"Yes, that Melinda," Joe replied. "She's in Rivervale for some reason. This is the best chance we've had to take her out."

"Rivervale, right," Bonny mused. "Isn't that where…"

"Yes," Joe interrupted. "And we've lost track of her too. We've deduced that if Melinda is willing to reveal herself after all these years, whatever she's after in Rivervale must be incredibly valuable to her."

"So?" Bonny asked. "Do I get backup?"

"No," Joe replied. "Too risky. Too much magical presence will draw unwanted attention."

"So, just me then?" Bonny asked, a hint of resignation in his voice.

"Sadly, yes," Joe confirmed.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" Bonny said, a wry smile playing on his lips.

"Probably," Joe admitted. "But if you do, make sure to leave a bullet in Melinda's head first."

"Got it," Bonny replied. "Man, I love this job," he exclaimed, draining his coffee.

"See you later, Joe. Time for a little witch hunting," he called out, jumping onto his motorcycle and speeding off into the wind.

"Are you sure he can do it?" a female voice inquired from the shadows where large vehicles were parked.

"We have to hope he finds her before she finds him," Joe replied, his voice laced with concern.

"Well…" the girl said, stepping out of the shadows. She wore a lime green crop top, short, torn jeans that ended above her thighs, and high brown boots that compensated for the exposed skin. Two daggers were strapped to her back. She sauntered towards Joe, took the coffee from his hand, and took a sip.

"Oh, I love coffee," she purred, a smile playing on her lips. She licked them with a tongue that seemed almost reptilian.

"You sure do," Joe replied, a faint smile touching his lips.

**************************************

Sawyer stretched in the hospital corridor as he exited a patient's room, stifling a yawn. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He still had to work the night shift. He cursed his luck as he checked his watch. 9:00 PM. He should probably grab something to eat; his stomach growled in agreement.

He checked his pockets for his keys but couldn't find them. "Ah, fuck, I must have left them in the changing room," he thought, dragging his weary body down the corridor.

Sawyer was intimately familiar with the hospital, even before he became a student there. He'd practically grown up within its walls. He remembered running down these same hallways as a child, waiting for hours while his mom finished her shift.

She was so dedicated to her work, so good at what she did, that she was constantly being called in, leaving her with little time for him. Even so, she always made the most of the time they had together.

He remembered her long, silky brown hair, her bright blue eyes, her calm voice that only became animated when he achieved something, no matter how small. She was his world, his everything. He didn't really know his father. His mom never talked about him, only mentioning that he'd inherited his plain white hair from the man.

He never asked any further. He didn't care. If the man could abandon them, then he wasn't worth a second thought, Sawyer reasoned.

"Hey, Sawyer!" a voice called out. He looked down to see Julie smiling at him. She was holding a wrapped box. "This came in earlier for you," she said.

Sawyer glanced at the box, wrapped in bright red paper. A large printed label was attached: FOR REID.

"Thanks, Mrs. Julie," Sawyer replied, taking the box from her. She nodded and skipped back towards the reception area. He stared at the box again, a shiver running down his spine.

"Maybe it's from Aunty Summer," he thought. Aunty Summer was his mom's sister, or at least that's what she claimed, although they were nothing alike, either physically or in personality. His mom was calm and collected, while Aunty Summer was… well, everywhere. Clumsy, messy, and always seeming to be trying to hide things from him, even though she usually did a terrible job of it.

After his mom passed away, Aunty Summer had basically disappeared from his life.

"Well, it would be weird to receive a gift from her," he thought, "but let me check it out." He walked towards the changing room, the box feeling heavier with each step.

He had to use his foot to push the door open, the box clutched awkwardly in his hand. Was it just him, or was the box getting heavier?

Sawyer prayed it wasn't some kind of bomb as he dropped it on the bench and began to tear off the wrapping. It was a metal box, old and tarnished. It seemed to have rust on it and was covered in strange drawings. Sawyer could have sworn he saw the box glow a dark red, but he blinked, thinking it was a trick of the light or his tired eyes.

"Must be from exhaustion," he muttered, turning the box over, searching for a way to open it. It was sealed shut.

Suddenly, the box grew in size, startling Sawyer. He stumbled back, falling off the bench as the box expanded rapidly. He was almost at the door when the lights flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness.

The red glow emanating from the box was now unmistakable. It triggered a memory, a fleeting image of something he'd seen before, but he couldn't place when or where. He knew one thing for sure: this was not a gift.

"It's just a dream," he murmured to himself, the box now towering over him. It has to be a dream. My mind has slipped into one of those nightmares again. I'm going to wake up now.

But his body rejected the comforting lie. Every nerve ending screamed danger. He found himself scrambling for the door, counting the seconds in his head. One… two… three… four… five.

He pushed the door open just as the box exploded. The concussive force of the blast hit him first, slamming him down the hallway. Then came the searing pain, radiating through his entire body. But the fact that he could feel pain meant he was still alive.

His ears rang from the deafening explosion. He struggled to his feet, turning to the debris that was once the changing room. It was dark, illuminated only by the flickering flames of the explosion and the echoing crackle of burning metal.

Where was everybody? Sawyer wondered, looking around the deserted hallway. He was alone amidst the chaos.

No, he wasn't alone. He knew, somehow, that he wasn't alone. And then he heard it: a low, guttural growl emanating from beneath the rubble. He slowly turned as the debris shifted, revealing the back of a slowly rising figure.

The creature loomed larger, its form stretching unnaturally until it towered at nearly eight feet tall. Its skin was pale and sickly, hairless as if every strand had been burned or shaved away. The surface shimmered faintly in the dim light, giving it an almost otherworldly appearance, like a predator dragged from the depths of some forbidden nightmare.

Its eyes glowed a deep, menacing crimson, radiating pure malice and murderous intent. They locked onto Sawyer with a focus that sent chills down his spine, the chilling gaze of a predator that had found its prey.

Its long, spindly limbs ended in claw-like hands, each digit tipped with razor-sharp nails that gleamed menacingly in the dim light. A low, guttural growl rumbled from its chest, escalating into an earsplitting roar that shook the very air around Sawyer.

Instinct overruled reason. Heart pounding against his ribs, Sawyer turned and ran, the sound of the creature's heavy, thudding steps echoing behind him as it gave chase.

He sprinted down the hallway and burst through the door leading to the reception area. The scene that greeted him was surreal. Everyone was sitting calmly, chatting and laughing, as if they hadn't heard the explosion. They turned to stare at him, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

He must have looked like a madman: his clothes soaked in grime, his face streaked with dirt, gasping for air. "Run!" he yelled, but even as he spoke, the door behind him exploded inward, sending him flying. He slammed against the opposite wall, the force of the blast knocking the air from his lungs. The creature, now moving on all fours, crept into the reception area. It turned towards a woman who was still sitting calmly, engrossed in a magazine. It sniffed the air, its crimson eyes narrowing.

Sawyer slowly rose to his feet, his gaze fixed on the creature. He held his breath. The woman, oblivious to the danger, continued to flip through the pages of her weekly beauty magazine.

"Hey, miss?!" Sawyer tried to call out, but she simply lifted her head, glanced at him with a dismissive expression, and returned to her magazine. The creature, alerted by his voice, turned its attention to him.

Sawyer could have sworn the creature smiled, revealing rows of large, pointed teeth. It lunged at him with incredible speed, slashing with its long claws. Sawyer barely managed to dodge, but one claw caught his shoulder, leaving a deep, painful scratch.

He cried out in pain and turned, running down the hallway again as the creature pursued him relentlessly, smashing against the walls as it tried to close the distance.

He had to find the back door, escape from this nightmare. This isn't a dream. I should have woken up by now. Fuck, the pain hurts. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he collided with something solid and fell heavily onto his back.

It was the creature. No, it was another one, Sawyer realized, turning to see the first creature still charging towards him.

"You should watch where you're going, boy," a voice called out, smooth and alluring. It was a beautiful voice, tempting and safe-sounding. Sawyer wanted to run to whoever spoke and embrace them, find solace in their presence.

He looked up, his gaze drawn to the source of the voice. She stepped out from behind the towering creature, her movements smooth and deliberate. Her hair immediately captured his attention—a cascade of vibrant, curly red, the reddest he had ever seen, almost as if it burned with an inner fire.

Her attire screamed gothic rebellion, a style that seemed to amplify the dark energy surrounding her. She wore a black long-sleeved shirt with pink accents peeking out from under a fitted black T-shirt. A short black skirt layered over matching leggings hugged her frame, complemented by heavy, lace-up black boots that thudded softly with each step.

Every detail of her look was meticulously dark: her nails were painted jet black, matching the dramatic eyeliner and mascara that framed her piercing eyes, adding an almost sinister allure. She moved with an air of authority and danger, her presence as striking as the monstrous creature looming behind her.

"What in the world are you wearing?" Sawyer asked, pushing himself up from the floor, momentarily forgetting about the creature that was running towards him.

"STOP!" she commanded, and the creature, caught off guard, crashed into itself in an attempt to halt its charge.

"Don't you just love Hogs?" she asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Hogs?" Sawyer asked slowly, rising to his feet.

He felt a surge of foolishness for not running earlier. As she casually stroked the creatures, his fear seemed to dissipate, an inexplicable calm settling over him. He took a hesitant step back, but she whistled sharply, and the creatures turned towards him almost instantly, their crimson eyes burning into his.

"I never said you could leave," she said, her voice laced with a playful menace.

Sawyer swallowed nervously.

"It's not like you could leave anyway," she continued. "You're stuck in my Mundus Fictus until one of us is dead."

"The what what?" Sawyer stammered. "Listen, lady, I don't know what's going on, but can I just go back? Man, I really need to cut back on the coffee."

The mysterious girl stared at him, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

"It's just a dream, it's just a dream, Sawyer," he muttered to himself, trying to ground himself in reality. "You have to wake up. One, two, three, four, five… five fingers. Shit."

"What? You think you're dreaming?" she scoffed. "You stand before Melinda, the Bone Queen, and think it's a dream?" She pulled out a bone wand that was hanging at her side. "I'll just kill you and resurrect your dead body and ask for the key," she said, pointing the wand at him.

For some reason, Sawyer knew what she meant. He felt a chilling certainty that he was about to die. He took another step back as the red light at the tip of the wand intensified.

"Sanguinem Vinculum!" she chanted, and red liquid filled the air, forming a dozen or so spear-like projectiles, each about fourteen inches long, all pointed directly at him.

The first spear flew towards him, and Sawyer instinctively closed his eyes, bracing for the impact.

"Duck!" a voice yelled. Sawyer unconsciously ducked and folded himself on the ground. He heard a loud, sharp sound, like a gunshot, followed by the distinct click of a gun being reloaded.

"Got y'all!" the voice called out from behind him.

Sawyer stood up and turned to see a man dressed in what looked like a classic cowboy outfit.

"What is wrong with everybody today?" Sawyer muttered, bewildered. The cowboy took aim at Melinda with his gun and fired again. The bullet struck her face, tearing away a large chunk of her cheek.

She screamed in pain, turning her furious gaze towards Sawyer. He watched in morbid fascination as her face reconstructed itself, bone knitting back together with flesh and skin. Even for a medical student like him, it was a grotesque sight. He groaned and jumped to his feet, running towards the cowboy.

If he had to choose between a crazy goth girl and a cowboy, he'd choose the cowboy any day, especially if the goth girl was now glowing bright red and scr

eaming in rage.

"My beautiful face!" she shrieked, and the ground beneath them began to tremble. "This is why I love hospitals," she hissed. "Lots of dead souls to work with."