That sometimes people die in wars that don’t deserve it. She didn’t, but GUIDE doesn’t bend its rules because you’re kind or only use magick for good. There’s only human… and not human.
I’m not human. And one day they’ll kill me too.
But I’m fighting for something worth dying for—the greater good. I’m protecting humanity.
Through the trees ahead, something massive and white moves in the gathering dusk. Moonlight glints off curved horns longer than my forearm. The giant cat turns to face me, and my breath catches. Its eyes burn with an eerie phosphorescent glow. Its white fur ripples with patterns of frost, beautiful and terrible. The horns curve up from its broad forehead like polished ivory, deadly sharp at the tips. That strange-smelling blood mats the fur on its flank where Ghost shot it yesterday when it slipped our trap.
For a moment, we regard each other—two creatures touched by magick, both trying to survive in a world that wants us dead. But I made my choice long ago. Better to be the hunter than the hunted.
"Death is here for you," I whisper, my hands finding the grips of the katana swords strapped to my back, the leather wrappings worn smooth from years of use. The blades whisper from their sheaths with a sound like winter wind through dead leaves. My skills shine in close combat.
The cat moves first. A thousand pounds of muscle and magick launches at me, those ivory horns aimed at my chest. Were I human, that would have been more than enough to end the fight–and me. But I'm not normal.
I pivot, my enhanced speed turning the dodge into a fluid dance. The blades flow with me, catching moonlight as they arc through the space where I stood a heartbeat before.
The creature's claws tear chunks from the frozen earth as it whirls, impossibly fast for something its size. Its eyes burn brighter now, fury made luminescent. Magick rolls off it in waves, turning the air sharp and minty. It burns my lungs.
It roars, and the sound shakes snow from nearby branches. But I'm already moving again, pushing my cursed body to its limits. The world narrows to the space between heartbeats, where even monsters move like they're trapped in honey.
My own magick responds to the creature's challenge, drawing power from the surrounding forest. Even the creature groans, feeling my magick pull hard at its energy.
My blades find their mark–two shallow cuts along its flank. More of that strange-smelling blood splatters the snow, freezing instantly where it lands.
The giant cat cries out, the sound somewhere between a tiger's roar and a woman's scream. It charges again, but there's a bigger hitch in its stride now. The wounds I gave it, combined with its earlier injury, have it significantly favoring its left side.
When it lunges again, I'm ready. I drop and roll beneath those deadly horns, coming up inside its guard. This close, I feel the arctic blast radiating from its fur like cold fire, see the intricate patterns on its hide. It's beautiful. Deadly. Like everything touched by magick.
The cat twists, trying to bring its horns to bear, but it's too late. My katanas slide between its ribs with surgical precision, angled up through the lungs toward the heart. Killing blows, quick and clean—the only mercy I can offer, one monster to another.
But I underestimated its dying strength. As my blades strike home, one massive paw catches my right shoulder. Claws tear through tactical gear and flesh alike, making a mess. The impact sends me sprawling. I roll with the hit, coming up in a defensive crouch, still clutching my swords, as the creature thrashes through its dying breaths.
By the time my partners crash through the underbrush, guns raised, it's over. The beast lies still, its massive chest no longer rising and falling. The strange glow has faded from its eyes, leaving them glassy and dull. Its mouth is hanging open showing me it doesn’t have double fangs. It’s not the creature that killed my father.
I'm breathing hard, but the deep gashes in my shoulder are already knitting themselves closed beneath my shredded gear.
"Christ, Astrid." Ghost’s worry shows through his use of my actual name. He moves closer, eyeing the shredded remains of my tactical gear. "That was too close. You're not even bleeding?"
I force a laugh, keeping my movements casual as I sheathe my katanas. "Lucky. Claws caught the gear but missed me. Though I liked this jacket." The lie tastes bitter, but it's one I've had years to practice. They see what they expect to see—their skilled but human team leader, who sometimes cuts things a little too close.
"One of these days, that luck's going to run out," Sherlock says quietly, his gaze still lingering on the torn fabric of my jacket. There's something in his voice, something that makes me wonder how many of my "lucky escapes" he's cataloged over the years. How many inconsistencies he's noticed. How many secrets he's chosen to keep.
If only they knew how many times my "luck" has saved me. How many wounds have closed before anyone could see them bleed. If our uniforms weren't black, I'd never be able to pull it off as often as I do.
"Let's get it wrapped for transport," I say, deliberately changing the subject. "Hayes will want this one processed quickly and out of sight." The sooner we're done, the sooner they'll stop looking too closely at my miraculous escape. "We need to clear the area before the local authorities arrive."
As my team unpacks the containment gear, I roll my shoulder, feeling the last traces of injury fade beneath my skin. This is what I am, what I do. I use my curse to protect others from worse monsters than myself. Even if that protection is achieved by lying to the only people I trust.
The moon rises higher as we work, casting long shadows through the dead trees that mark where I used my power. I pause, letting my eyes take in the strategic fallout of my powers. No one will think to blame me for the swath of dead forest. It will all be blamed on the creature.
It's a necessary deception, but one that sits heavy on my shoulders nonetheless.
Tomorrow, this kill will be another commendation in our unit's record. Another victory in humanity's war against magick. Hayes will process the body, extract whatever useful components he can, and then burn it.
And I'll go back to searching. Back to checking every creature we kill for those distinctive double fangs. Back to hoping that someday I'll find the monster I’m really hunting.
But for now, I focus on helping Ghost and Sherlock secure our kill, ignoring the way Sherlock’s gaze keeps drifting to my shredded gear. Ignoring the weight of necessary lies. Ignoring the voice in my head that whispers, I’m a monster too.
Another step deeper into my own private damnation.
