The shrill scream cut through the man's half-formed nightmares like a bucket of cold water. Now fully awake, Mark jumped to his feet, his sore muscles and joints protesting the sudden demand for motion. He quickly made his way towards the cave entrance straining his ears as he peered into the dark night. While faint, he could make out the sound of yelling and some kind of commotion farther downriver.

What was happening? Had whoever brought him here returned? Or was it someone else who stumbled on something they never should have? Whatever it was, Mark hesitated at the lip of the cave. Even if he wanted to help, most people would just see an old hobo running out of the woods as another problem to deal with, not some knight in shining armor.

The hand grabbing onto the rocky wall of the cave tightened as his knuckles turned white. The second scream, this one much younger sounding, was what finally tipped the scales for the man. Throwing down his thicker, heavier jacket, Mark dashed as fast as he could down the faint pathway next to the stream, careful to not lose his footing in the growing darkness.

He might have been a washed-up junkie and alcoholic, but he was still ex-military. Could he really forgive himself if he just walked away... again? And who knew, if there really were people out there, maybe they could tell him where the hell he was, maybe point him towards the nearest town.

Of course, being this far out in the woods, there was always the off chance that whatever was happening was not something he should see. Something way over his head. In that case, he could just hide and pretend like he was never there; the bosses of the local underground had been trying to find him for over a year now, he'd not be noticed by some low-level mooks.

Maybe some would call him hypocritical, willing to help if the danger was low, but tucking his tail and hiding if it meant he might be burned. Mark had been like that once, he'd admit, willing to stick his neck out for anyone that needed him. Always the first to jump into the fire if it meant pulling someone else out of it.

He'd also learned that when you put your neck in someone else's noose one too many times, the Hangman might get tired of the games and just do his job anyway.

As he drew closer to the commotion, Mark furrowed his brow in confusion. Why did it sound like someone was banging pipes together? And why did he hear horses? Had someone decided to take a ride in the woods and startled a bear or something? More importantly, he lived in one of the largest cities in the state; who even kept horses around here? Or had he been taken farther away than he'd previously thought? Just how long had he been out for?

However, as he drew closer, Mark realized things weren't quite how he imagine them to be. Instead of a group of hikers or horseback riders trying to scare away a bear, Mark was shocked to see a group of short figures surrounding a taller one near a stone bridge.

While the shadows of the dimming twilight made the figures hard to see, he could still make out the group of small, cloaked figures swing some kind of rod at the taller figure. The tall figure, for their part, deftly blocked with his own, producing a steady clang of metal on metal that echoed through the forest.

".... the hell"

With instincts hone from dozens of years in the Special Forces, Mark quickly dipped back into the shadows of the treeline, eyeing the group from a distance. Several more figures lay motionless along the wide, stone-paved road near where Mark hid. At first, he questioned what happened here; had he wandered onto some kinda movie set? Or a bunch of kids just beating the crap out of each other (in the woods? What the hell?).

That's what he would have thought, at least, if the fading sunlight glistening off of the slick stone and the heavy, acidic scent of blood in the air dismissed any notion in the man's mind that what he was seeing was anything but serious. This thought was further confirmed as Mark watched the tall, shadowed figure swing their metal rod towards one of the shorter figures.

The rod proved to be, in fact, some kind of bladed weapon, and the smaller figure was easily bisected by the blow, throwing up a large fountain of blood and further thickening the stench in the air.

Mark stared wide-eyed from the shadows at the scene. He was no stranger to death; hell, he'd killed many himself while on duty. But never had he seen such vicious, bloody, primal combat before. Since when had the Gangs around here started using swords and axes? And why?

Another young scream yanked his attention from the bloody combat in front of him, and Mark turned his eyes further down the road. It wasn't the scream of fear or pain that it had been before. No, this one was deeper, more primal. It was a scream will with anger and frustration, with bitterness and hatred unfit for such a young voice that carried it.

It was the kind of scream he was quite intimate with...

There, several dozen meters away, sat what appeared to be an old-time canvas carriage, like you might see in an old western movie. Standing near the back stood a short fellow (though slightly taller than the ones fighting the man on the bridge), a small child dangling by her hair in his hand. The small girl struggled violently against her captor, punching and kicking whatever her short arms and legs could reach, though not to much effect.

Mark felt his blood boil with a fury he thought long dead at the sight. He had no idea what he had just walked into, and washed-up bum he might be; but as the little girl's figure overlapped with that of another, one he'd already failed to protect once, Mark knew he couldn't not act.

As he drew closer, stalking the short fellow through the shadows with the quiet grace of a seasoned predator, the clouds above them slowly parted. Suddenly, the shadowed road was illuminated in the dim light of the setting sun, and Mark froze, his blood running cold at what he saw. There, in the twilight, stood not a man, but the ugliest creature he'd ever seen.

Dark green skin covered long, thin bony limbs that made it look like an oversized spider monkey. Its small head was topped with a thin patch of white hair. Its huge, pointed ears curved out and upward, appearing more horn-like than any creature's had the right to. Its mouth was long and slim, exposing thin, eerily white, needle-like teeth as it grinned at the girl in its hand. The girl screamed and flailed at the thing, causing its large black eyes to squint in amusement. Mark could do nothing but stare at the creature in shock, mind blank, unable to process what he was looking at.

It was not till the young girl spat in the creature's face that Mark snapped back to reality. With growing fear and cold sweat dripping down his back, Mark watched from the shadows as the creature's face went from vile joy to a shocking calm that looked eerily human.

When it placed the little girl on the ground, a cold shiver went down the man's spine. He'd seen that kind of "gentle" smile on the face of many men in his line of work. The faces of evil, depraved men who knew they would enjoy what they were about to do. Then, with a fierce left hook, the little girl was sent flying across the road, landing hard before tumbling to a halt just shy of his hiding spot.

As the thing started to slowly approach the girl, Mark's heart began to beat faster. He did not know where these creatures had come from or what the hell they even were, but he had to run before they noticed him too. He'd fought everyone from Terrorists to Gang members. He'd killed Killers and taken down entire organizations. But at the end of the day, all of his enemies have been Human. This thing most definitely was not.

But as he slowly backed further into the shadow, a cold sweat dripping down his back, Mark's eyes caught the eyes of the young girl.

The look in her eyes as the creature drew closer, pierced his heart like a dagger. It was a dead-eyed stare filled with remorse and hopelessness, a look that didn't fit the face of a child so young. Yet, there was still a spark left, screaming for life. Some small part screaming at the unfairness of it all, begging for someone, anyone to help.

Again, the girl's figure overlapped with that of another, those same eyes begging for just one person to reach out and pull them back from the darkness. With the crack of bones, Mark closed his trembling hands into a tight fist before cursing himself in his mind at the foolish action he was about to take,

'SON OF A ....!!!'

With a burst of speed, he'd not thought himself capable of in years, Mark lept from the shadows of his hiding place. Using that momentum, Mark delivered a forward thrust-kick carrying his entire 195lb mass directly to the center of the creature's chest.

The monster's ear twitched as it reacted with surprising speed and dexterity, twisting at the exact moment of impact and bringing its sinewy arms up to block. The monster took the impact and shot across the road, tumbling several dozen meters as it crashed through the undergrowth on the other side.

As Mark slid to a stop, his eyes caught the girl's own. A glint of confusion and surprise flashed within before they clouded over in unconsciousness.
Mark's heart raced for a short moment, fearing he'd been too late, but the gentle rise and fall of the girl's chest caused the man to let out a sigh of relief.