Welcome To Your Death
1184 Words
Sage’s POV
My eyes squinted at him, watching every movement of his. Marking every lazy gaze he gave me.
“It's good to know that you boldly came out here to face your death.”
He chuckled, his adam apple bopping up and down.
"Bold," he said, voice smooth, almost lazy. "Walking into my den all by yourself. What did you think would happen? That I'd kneel?"
I kept my stance, sword steady at my side. "I thought you'd bleed."
He chuckled again, slow and mocking. "Cute. But hunters without backup usually end up as stains on the ground. And from where I'm standing…" His eyes dragged over me like I was already dead. "You look very, very alone."
"Alone?" I tilted my head, letting the silence stretch. My mask hid the smirk pulling at my lips.
He leaned forward, claws flexing. "Yes. Alone."
“I believe the blood must have dulled your senses Lycan. Or maybe…you are very stupid.”
I let out a sharp whistle that sliced through the trees.
The sound bounced off bark and stone, cutting through the stillness.
Branches cracked. Boots hit earth. My team exploded from the treeline—crossbows raised, blades catching the moonlight, every weapon trained on him.
The forest filled with the scrape of steel and controlled breathing as they fell into formation behind me.
His golden eyes swept over them, counting heads, measuring threats.
Still grinning, never faltering.
He looked them over once, then fixed on me again. "So that's it? The great Sage Whitmore needs an army to face one demon?”
He knows my name.
I wanted to chuckle. Should I be terrified or happy that my name is probably topics for their discussions.
"You really do know how to change your words. Weren't you mocking me a while ago about being all alone?”
“I stand by what I said. Having bodies behind you doesn't make you less alone, Sage. It just means you've got witnesses. Witnesses that you need.”
“They're not here because I need them," I said, voice level. "They're here because you do.”
He tilted his head, golden eyes glowing faintly in the dark. “Funny. Because from where I’m standing… they look like leaves in a storm. Shaking. Weak. Easy to break like twigs”
One of my hunters actually flinched. I heard it—the sharp exhale, the nervous shuffle of boots against blood-soaked earth.
“Pathetic,” he murmured, his grin widening. “You’re the one with the reputation, yet you hide behind trembling children.”
I stepped forward, blade lifting. “Say what you want. Words won’t stop silver.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, tone dripping with mockery. “Oh, scary. The hunter has her toys.”
The insult rolled over me like water. I wasn’t here to be baited. “Toys kill monsters.”
He leaned closer, voice a whisper carried across the clearing. “Then prove it.”
He was cocky.
And that made me want to prove him wrong so bad.
My sword angled higher. My men tensed, waiting for my command. The air felt tight, heavy with anticipation, as though the forest itself was listening.
I let the silence stretch, keeping my voice calm, sharp. “You asked for proof?”
He smirked. “Always.”
“Then don’t blink.”
I snapped my arm down. “Fire!”
The night exploded.
Silver tipped arrows flew like lightning, hissing through the air, their shafts burning faint with Moonshade dust.
The sharp crack of bowstrings echoed off the trees, one after another
But he was fast.
Too fast for the arrows.
His body blurred, a shadow slicing between the arrows, dodging with inhuman speed.
Each shaft fell harmlessly into the earth, or cracked against the bark of trees, splintering wood. Sparks of silver lit the dark where they missed.
My men gasped, shifting nervously as he danced between death like it was a game. His laughter rolled over us, low and mocking.
“Slow,” he said, almost disappointed. “So very slow.”
But I was already moving.
My dagger spun in my left hand, my sword slashing forward in my right. My boots dug into the dirt, propelling me straight at him with a speed that matched his.
He expected hesitation. He expected me to stand back and let my men do the dirty work. He didn’t expect me to strike first.
And from the flash in his golden eyes as our blades met the air between us, he finally realized—Sage Whitmore wasn’t like the others.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his claws extending with a sharp crack that sounded . “You actually dare to touch me.”
“Touch?” I pressed harder against his guard, sparks flying as silver scraped against his skin, blood seeping out from the torn flesh. “I plan to carve you open.”
He shoved back, the force almost knocking me off balance. His grin widened. “That’s the spirit.”
I darted left, slashing low. He caught the blade with his bare hand, claws digging into the steel. Smoke hissed where his flesh met silver, but he didn’t even flinch.
“Cute,” he said, yanking me forward. “You thought this would be easy?”
I twisted free, spinning the dagger in my left hand. “Easy? No. Satisfying? Absolutely.”
We clashed again—steel ringing against claw, each strike faster, heavier. My breaths came sharp, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me strain.
“You’re quick,” he admitted, eyes glowing brighter. “For a human.”
“I’m not like the rest,” I growled.
“Oh, I can see that.” His claws swiped past my mask, close enough to tear the fabric. “But no matter how sharp you are… you’re still prey.”
“Funny,” I said, parrying and stepping into his space. “I was about to say the same to you.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face. Then an arrow whistled past my ear and buried into his shoulder.
He snarled, staggering a step. “You dare—”
Another arrow thudded into his thigh, silver sizzling where it pierced.
I smirked. “Looks like my men aren’t shaking as badly as you thought.”
His golden gaze snapped to them, fury blazing. That one second of distraction was all I needed.
I lunged, slamming my dagger into the side of his neck. The silver sank deep, cutting through muscle and vein.
His body jerked violently, claws flailing as he tried to tear me away. I gritted my teeth, twisting the blade hard, grinding it deeper until his blood poured hot against my glove.
His strength faltered. The mighty lycan king’s body went slack, his weight collapsing forward. I braced my knee against his chest, holding him upright just long enough to lean in close.
My lips brushed his ear through the mask as I whispered, low and deadly, “Welcome to your death.”
- Writer
