Sunny - Mona Lisa Darkening

The sight of the men fighting over the remaining water seemed too much for my companions. Juan and Charles broke cover. Started running toward the mud hole. "Wait," I called desperately out to them. "Something's not right."

"If we wait, what's left will be gone," Charles said, stumbling after Juan. They didn't even look back. Just dived into the melee of desperate, thirsty men, scrambling for a handful of liquid mud. Many were down on their knees, lapping the watery sludge they had scooped up in their hands.

They still thought like humans, I realized. What they had all been. Acting on the belief that they would perish if they did not slurp down water, no matter how thick and muddy it was. Poor misguided creatures. Although pity quickly changed to disgust as I watched them fighting ferociously over their patch of mud. My would-be rapist was the most violent, viciously beating his neighbor, some big unfortunate guy. He pounded the man's head with his fists, kicked the guy's face, chest, and stomach as he lay unmoving in the mud. None of the other men tried to stop him, each desperately engrossed in his own mad scramble for something to drink.

Thirst, lack of water, would not kill them. What could, though, came quickly down over another rise. Eight men, I counted. Or rather, eight things. I wasn't really sure if I could call them men. They were humanoid, as in walking upright on two feet. But men? Perhaps once, but greatly changed now. They were huge, over seven feet tall, some carrying long wicked swords, others bearing whips. The weapons were bad, but not as bad as the things themselves. They were big, solid muscle, and ugly as sin. Not even their mothers could have loved these creatures. It wasn't so much the little horns pushing up through some of the men's heads, or even their mud-colored skin. It was the lumps and bumps on that skin, on their faces and hands. Hard, calcified, warty things. As if filthy slime had crawled out of old pipes and slithered over their skin. Like leprosy in reverse, only instead of eating away flesh, it built it up with barnacle like deformities.

They were hideous. Repulsive.

Patches of smooth normal skin still remained on a few of the men. But most were completely covered by the ugly growth. A growth that had thickened their faces, spread out their noses, and lumpified their ears until almost all human features were lost. Malicious smiles cracked their stony faces as they approached the oblivious, fighting men.

One of them, Juan, finally caught sight of the approaching danger and shouted warning. Some men tried to run. But by then it was too late. Whips cracked, snapping around those quick enough, strong enough, with enough wit left to try to flee, bringing them down with ruthless ease.

They moved quickly for such big, grotesque creatures, and clearly enjoyed the terror of their prey. Mr. Inmate was mean enough to struggle, to try to tight them. For his trouble, he was run through with a sword. An easy slide in and out of him with the blade. He toppled to the ground, blood spilling from his back and belly. The muddy ground eagerly soaked it up.

A few other men were mercilessly cut down by swords. That was all it took, three men sliced through with swift, easy violence, and the rest became as meek as lambs. No more struggling; no more trying to escape. They allowed themselves to be herded and roped together. Even the three who had been skewered by swords were yanked to their feet and tied up with the rest — quick, efficient, very frightening. As if they had done this same sweep and rounding up of the newly dead many times before.

I was easing back away from the rise when a shadow flew over me, freezing me into stillness. Moving with careful, deliberate slowness, I turned my head until I caught sight of something even more alien than what I had just seen. A large batlike creature flew overhead, carrying something almost as big as itself.

"An imp," one of the horned soldiers said in a deep rumbling voice.

"Aye, but what does he carry?" growled another whose horns were the most prominent among them — an entire two inches of black ivory instead of tiny, sprouting nubs. The horned soldier slung the pack he carried onto the ground and reached in, pulling out a bow and quiver of arrows.

Catching sight of them, the airborne imp gave a squeak of alarm and flapped his wings faster, trying desperately to distance himself from the danger down below.

Not a word was uttered as the horned soldier pulled back the bow with beautiful form. No bated breaths, no tension. Just a quick and easy motion as he let the arrow fly. It sang through the air and struck true, burying itself through a spread wing. With a cry, both imp and prey fell from the sky and tumbled to the ground. It was quite a fall, over fifty feet, but the impact only stunned the imp. He was on his feet almost immediately.

"Crazy bull dheus," he squawked, more disgusted than fearful. "Why'd you do that?"

Somewhere in my memory, old but not forgotten, recognition stirred. I recognized the word dheu somehow. Knew that it meant dead.

As the imp stood up, I got my first good look at the creature. It was a thin, wiry thing just over three feet tall, with a sly and cunning face and leathery skin the color of dirt. But it was natural looking, as opposed to the unnaturally distorted bull dheus. The imp had never been human, and small though it might be, no one would mistake it for anything other than an adult of its kind.

With a snort of disgust, the imp grasped the arrow with a thin, clawed hand and yanked the barbed shaft from its wing, letting out a hiss of pain. Two drops of blood fell to the ground, and then the wing began to heal. But instead of torn tissues and broken skin knitting together naturally, the way Monères healed, the broken flesh blurred and melted, formed an oozy substance that filled in the gaping hole, and slowly began to reshape itself into skin and tissue.

Four of the bull dheus, the ones with horn tips, gathered around the little imp, while the four less transformed soldiers stood guard over the captured men.

"You serve one who is powerful," said the bull dheu who had shot down the imp. He spoke simply, like a child. "What have you got there?" he asked curiously.

The imp glared up at the soldiers, then, hiding his ire, smiled cunningly and replied, "Just my youngest imp child, great master. What impressive skill you have with the bow. You must be their lord," he fawned.

"Pietrus, our lord? When bull dheus fly," snorted another.

Pietrus lifted a hand and casually backhanded the other bull dheu across the face, sending two long yellow teeth flying. The bull dheu plucked the fallen teeth up from the ground and rooted them back into his gum.

"An imp child," Pietrus grunted. "Show him to us."

" 'Tis a simple winged creature like myself. Nothing to rouse the curiosity of a great one such as yourself." Reaching down, the imp stretched out a little wing from the dazed creature to show the truth of his words. The object of their curiosity roused and flapped its wing out of the imp's hold. The imp struggled to hold it down, but the other creature pushed the imp off and staggered to his feet.

Even from far away, I could see that it was indeed a child, even though it stood nearly as tall as the imp. But it was not an imp child. What rose to his feet had smooth charcoal-gray skin, large soulful eyes, a flat pug nose, and a wide hairless head. It was adorable in a cute-ugly sort of way, like one of those kewpie dolls with their scrunched-up faces. It stood on two large feet, tipped by tiny black claws. Aside from the dark membranous wings, he looked nothing at all like the imp claiming to be his father. Whereas the imp was thin and wiry, all bones and shrunken skin, the child was plump — solid bone and mass. His face and body was round, and unlike his purported father, there were two tiny horns on the top of his head. Most startling and enchanting was the utter innocence he exuded.