He Who Fights With Monsters
The hunter strolled onwards, approaching the beasts that were twice his size, thrice his strength. He raised the harmonica forward, even when his wrist shook, wanting to fall. He kept it there.
One of the Wendigos broke fast, snarling as it pounced forward towards Killjoy. Another leapt forward as well, and then another; they came rushing in, blitzing past themselves.
Killjoy jumped in front of the beasts, charging like bulls, and harshly yelled as he bumped against one of their shoulders, hacking away at their skulls with his silver instrument.
The ghoul swerved to the side, crashing against a mountain of smouldering flames. Killjoy was sent ramming into another, which he then tried to stab furiously, reeling his arm.
It muscled the human with a swing of its head before falling on itself, screeching with pain.
Killjoy was sent barging into another monster, then swept back to another, then another. With every haggard zombie that he tried to fight, sneaking in a few slashes and thrusts here and there, he was sent right back, tumbling and pummeling to the next shrunken ghoul.
They rag-dolled the frail human around as it struggled to slow them down, let alone slay them. However, with every fall and stumbling, Killjoy got back up each time.
He darted in front of the nearest Wendigo, latching onto its shoulders, almost digging his nails into its skin. It wailed and hammered into the ground, wrecking Killjoy in the ribs. The hunter could have almost heard a crack.
It tried to get back up, dragging Killjoy to his feet. But he raised his fist in the air, the harp firmly in hand, and dug it straight into the monster's skull, screaming with fury. He stabbed it with repeated succession, blood flying everywhere from the cranium as the ghoul lashed and tried to move.
The zombie banged into another that lolloped forward, bringing the two ghastly creatures down to the ground, like two horses falling against each other in a race, Killjoy rolling with them.
He fell as another Wendigo landed on top of him, crushing his back underneath its weight. He groaned loudly, but adrenaline coursed through his veins, and it wasn't nearly as heavy as the first one he slew.
The hunter roared, his throat slightly tearing from producing the sound, as he pushed his body up, the heavy beast sliding to the side.
Killjoy quickly reached for the harmonica still stuck inside its skull and jumped on top of the other Wendigo that fell with them. Before it could try to get up or recover its senses, he plunged the self-made weapon deep into its throat, blood squelching everywhere, the crimson pooling his fingertips.
He shook and turned the instrument around with both hands, the Wendigo croaking as its neck was turned into a puddling red smush of entrails. Killjoy pulled, pushed, and spun until he gave one last thrust, putting his weight behind it. He let go and grabbed its jaw and tore its head off, the hacked and severed neck giving way.
The hunter returned to his feet with the head in hand, blood raining everywhere, some droplets incinerating amidst the concourse of fire that engulfed the cave.
Killjoy stomped towards the next few Wendigos trotting towards him, then dashing to the one directly ahead of him.
He reeled the decapitated skull back before clobbering the stampeding beast against its jaw, pulling it back on his swing, and sending another consecutive swing.
It sent the beast crashing down into another.
The man was not done yet, however, far from it. Something took hold of him, like a raw surge of power, this intoxicating strength that freed all inhibition, and took his courage and increased it a thousandfold.
Rushing for another that dared try to lurk past him, Killjoy smashed its jaw into the air with the head he wielded. It groaned in surprise, but that surprise would be short-lived as he then dropped the skull, and quickly plunged the silver harmonica into its throat—stab, stab, stab; he tore its throat apart until the monstrous thing fell limp in front of him.
He continued his onslaught, with no care for his skin, no concern for the blood he spilt onto the burning ground as long as most of it was of theirs.
It did not even feel like the Wendigos were trained on the human in their way. Killjoy wasn't sure why, but he'd had been dead a long time ago and had their leering gazes set on him. He was like a ghost.
Like lambs to the slaughter, they just prowled for the outside. But it only made it easier.
The struggle was hard and destructive; he felt his bones rattle with every push against the ground like being run through a train. He slowly lost the sensation of his fingers, his wrist, as he slashed and hacked away at the hordes of decaying ghouls. Their skin was like taffy.
It became less a battle for his survival and more a test to see how long Killjoy could last. Just how much he could do; what was his limit?
He hadn't known for years, not until now.
Time ground slowly to a halt, like rushing into a dream: one moment, he hadn't even thought about it, and the next, it was simply there, and he existed within it, and he forgot why. Yet it felt as natural as the air he breathed. But here, he could only smell the soot and smokey tang of burning oil, and hear the cries of the beasts he fought and fought.
It was exhilarating. It was exhausting, tiring, utterly hellish, but it was a break. Each time he was put to the ground, every time he was punished, every moment he got knackered was a reminder that he was mortal. A testament that he was only human, and he was still weak. Killjoy was weak.
Killjoy had entered the cave with his nerves steeled, set on finishing this once and for all. But amid his rampage against the walls of flesh, the way his blood flowed, the sweat first dripping then pouring down his skin, the way he felt his bones fracture—the sharp pain like a needle piercing through his body—, he found himself living in it.
He hoped that he wouldn't leave the cave with a smile on his face.
But his gritted teeth began to relax, and the stress on his body became no more than a fleeting noise. He could feel his body break away with every second, time lost to him. The only thing sustaining the broken human was the lump of silver in his hand and the rush that pounded through his heart.
The rush kept him on his two feet alone. And he liked it, only standing through pure adrenaline. It was a feeling he hadn't had in a while.
And then he began to smile.
Killjoy let a whisper of a breath go, that moment of exhale turning into a soft chuckle. He then burst into frenzied laughter, as he had just broken free of the tethers that chained him. For all the broken bones in his body, the fleeting loss of blood that squeezed his head of its air, he never felt more alive. Never more light.
The rush, the rush, it got to his head. He brimmed with an exuding courage that even the finest of Peruvian couldn't provide. Like he was immortal, how could a human like him survive all this much if fate had not intended it?
His dilated gaze fell upon another Wendigo that dared approach him, its ribbed body lurking across the cave.
Like a man possessed, Killjoy darted for the beast, looking for another trophy among many. He glided his clenched silver towards its skull, going in for a strike that he swore could obliterate it.
But as Killjoy swung his weapon, he was suddenly blindsided back into the air, a zipping flash of flesh bashing into his chest.
Killjoy flew back like a sack of meat and bones being thrown, crashing down by the maw of the cave. His body hit the ground with a gross thud, the shock reminding him of the immense pain he was in.
His vision was dazed. When he tried to reach for the wall, his hand swiped against the thin air. He could feel the brain in his skull sway back and forth, side to side, turning into mush. And the way his stomach pierced in pain, like something was ripping him from the inside out, he was sure a few more organs than just his lungs were bleeding.
He wheezed, searching for oxygen. The cave was filled with a thick smog now, the flames never dying. It suffocated the injured man; the more he tried to inhale, he could only cough out smoke and dust.
The Wendigos were sparser in number, but they still numbered the cavern. Their legs, swollen and skinny like sticks, clacked against the stone as they carefully drifted towards the exit, weaving past the spitting flames.
They were learning. Of course, they did.
He craned his head to search for the dynamite, and they were right next to him. He saw that the still-burning wick was close to burning up, the small flame eating away at the remaining thread.
Killjoy leaned back against the wall, his head resting on the rocky surface. Then, he let out a long gasp, so long it was as if he hadn't breathed in years.
The man had done his job. He thanked God, or the Gods, or whatever deity was watching him closely, if at all. By some chance, at least, he could ensure these damned things could never reach the light of day.
But he would have to die with them, he realised. With how his body was, there was no way he could walk anymore. Killjoy could crawl, but not fast enough before the dynamite explodes. This was the end.
Was this all that his fate amounted to? To die in a cave in the middle of nowhere, just as he was about to retire, to rest? How cruel. How cruel indeed.
It's not like he had much of a choice if he wanted to keep all of them in. He had to stay from the start. A fair trade to prevent a calamity.
He propped himself to be more flush against the wall, trying to feel at ease. Killjoy's breathing was ragged and short, but that was fine; it was not as if he needed air for that much longer.
Killjoy looked down at the remaining chunk of silver in his palm. It was barely recognisable to be a harmonica of all things. But it was still the instrument that Adeline gave him. Adeline.
The man placed it against his chest. He exhaled, sealing his eyes shut, and tilting his head back even further. It had been a long while, a long time, but now he thought he had felt truly at ease. No more worries, no more problems, nothing else to think about but to wait for the dynamite to explode and swallow him whole, and the monsters with it.
He made himself grin, satisfied.
Seconds passed, but they felt like days. Killjoy shifted in his spot as he tried to continue smiling, but he could not. He could feel his smile begin to crack.
The man then frowned and shook his head, prying open his eyes. He breathed jaggedly. Something raced in his chest, beating and coursing through his blood; it was his heart. His skin felt warmer than even the tsunami of blazes that surrounded him.
As he glanced at the nearly burnt-up wick, Killjoy immediately shook away, craning his neck elsewhere. Killjoy dropped even the silver in his hand, clattering against the ground. He stared into his palm, and it rattled.
"W-why…" Killjoy asked.
Why did he not want to die? Hadn't he done everything he needed to? The man had accepted death, he couldn't care less about his own life. So why did he feel afraid?
"It's…It's the only way," He tried to remind himself.
He sighed deeply and tried to squeeze his eyes shut once more. But that momentary reprise was all he could manage before giving up, his frown turning into a scowl.
"What more do you want, you psychopath?" Killjoy screamed.
He was confused. What kept him aching to live, if not to protect his own life? Why did something race in him to continue fighting? While every bone in his body was broken, lung and organ torn, his muscles ripped and exhausted, adrenaline continued to pump his veins. That rush, the brush against death, reminded him of how sweet life was, but even sweeter the feeling of surviving with it.
Killjoy wanted to survive. Not just to survive, but to come out of it clean. He wanted to…maybe he wanted to come back to Adeline. This was no place to die.
The fire grew more ferocious, engulfing the cave, basking the space in the warmth of its heat. The Wendigos inched closer to the maw, and as Killjoy glanced at the wick, it was only a finger close to igniting.
He was about to die. This was to be the last moments of his life. As the imminent press of death took hold, Killjoy began to yell.
"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…Adeline" He said, choking on the tears that drowned him. "…I'm…I can't…Forgive…forgive me…you won't even get to stitch me up…I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do…"
Killjoy glanced at the wick. The small flame rapidly approached the end of the rope, its bright red sparking bits of yellow and orange into the air. Its glow reflected off his skin, and it was all he could focus on.
If he were to die, it wouldn't have been a bad last sight to see.