The Watchtower

          The bush blurred past as Taras ran, his forehead was plastered with cold and sticky perspiration, as he erratically inhaled another breath of humid air. The rate his heart pounded at could be called nothing less than frantic, and his breaths were shallow, but he continued to rush on through his hellish environment, pushed forward by one of the most compelling things any mortal can feel, fear. He was a fool; to be cajoled into such a predicament could make him nothing more, why had he come here? Hunkering down against the firm trunk of a tree, his breathing shifted from shallow inhaling to full out gasps, he began to contemplate his new-found situation. A forestland-like landscape encircled him, having ran through it with fear coursing through him he could tell the climate was a spot-on interpretation of the Amazon; yet, the man was nowhere near South America. Taras shifted his body while he scooped up a handful of warm soil, it felt so healthy and firm, still he knew it was not meant to be in this place of so many contradictions, he was within a man made environment.

          Reluctantly he let the soil trickle through the gap between his fingers; he couldn’t discern the vegetation in his immediate vicinity to the plant-life in the Amazon. Though fatigue was a tangible pressure that pressed down upon the man’s mind and spirit, coaxing him to fall asleep or, even, to give in to a fate that was sure to occur if he was unobservant, he scanned about him. Danger could be prowling around him, he knew himself a sinner, but, even knowing that, he understood that nature’s laws were not to be transcended. Like the four others that had been scattered throughout the site he was approached for his talents, his ability to stay within the shadows when need be and to take the fight to his targets when no other optional choice was presented. His occupation only made death seem so much more fearful, sure he could escape such a horrific world through it, but what horrors would he find on the other side of the light. Surely the light at the end would only be from the eternal flames that were waiting to lick at his soul. Taras had played reaper a hundred times before, and yet, he had never had such a challenge as this, never had to fend for himself in such a bizarre stadium as this.

          Shattering the silence, a scream tore its way through the air to choke down Taras’s last bit of courage, making him succumb to the panic that had been brewing since he heard the first scream. This was the fourth, it sent chilling waves through Taras, each of his jobs had been done stealthily, and clean, never had he endured such a mangled cry. It was the animalistic sound of a man being ripped apart, being mutilated in the most primordial fashion, and it resonated through the shadows of his soul. Why had he been so greedy? When he was invited to this place the idea seemed so simple, too simple, he should have obviously seen it as a ruse. The game appeared to be easy, come, make your way to the stone watchtower and be granted three hundred, thousand dollars. How could you pass it up? The assuaging of his need is what he repeatedly risked his life for, he had a wife who loved him and a baby on the way, how could he let the chance to support them slip through his hands?

          Then, with sudden realization, Taras’s eyes widened as he bolted to his feet, he could be the only one still alive. Fear banishing any remnants of hesitation that the man once held within, he ran north, the tower would be soon in front of him if he kept moving forth, but soon Taras heard something crashing through the bush. Taras’s heart seemed to skip a beat while he quickened his pace, hoping to evade the interception the brute was planning, but the labored breaths he heard just came closer.
          Knocked off balance, Taras stumbled backwards, appraising what had collided with him. To his surprise it was a man, not a beast that had ran into him, and one of which he had seen before they were scattered in the forest. Like Taras his clothes were tattered, the man was taller, and he wore a mask of agony upon his face. The man’s eyes were squinted, probably trying to hold back the pain that was trying to flow outwards, but even with all the chaos about him the man’s hair still seemed in perfect order. Upon further examination Taras noticed three grotesquely large slash marks on his lower thigh. The florescent lights from the ceiling through the overhead canopy, the light reflected of the blood that still gushed from the man’s smile.

          “George, you have made contact with the beast?”- Taras still held some of the Russian accent in his rough voice, but it more so a memento of where he had come from than a hindrance- “What does it look like?”

          “There is no time...” the man’s chest inflated once he forced his lungs to take the oxygen they so needed, “it is coming.” For a moment the men just stared at each other, both audibly gathering a lungful of air, but then Taras’s eyes narrowed while he took the hunting knife strapped to his waist and pointed it towards George. Now George’s expression displayed surprise, mingled along with his previous anguish, and surely a bit of confusion which stirred somewhere inside of him.

          “You brought the beast along with you” Taras spoke through clenched teeth, rage contorting his features in such a way his wife would not have even recognized him. Her face flashed in his mind, her cheeks full of joy after he’d proposed to her, her soft brown eyes warming his heart, and here, before him, was a man who may very well have taken that all from him. The man’s grip on the hilt tightened, the hilt was leather, heated by the atmosphere around it, momentarily gone was his fear and in its place was rage, the animalistic need to protect his territory, the love of his wife, it was a selfish need. That love was his, this man would endanger his future with her to look for help and with the wound upon his thigh there was no way he could run from the brute, and then it was settled. In one fluid motion Taras spun behind the crippled man and slit his jugular, the crimson juices of George’s mortality surged from the wound, spraying onto the ground. George’s black eyes began to fade, dimming to a faded gray, and he crumpled to his knees, where he fell face forward into his, already forming, pool of blood. Taras stood there, huffing over the body, some past memories of his jobs moving through his mind, until he heard a swift movement behind him.

          Quickly Taras dove behind an overturned tree trunk hearing the large footfalls of the beast and as it grew nearer he sunk closer to the forest-floor. He could hear a low growl escaping it and curiosity fought within him, battling the fear that had captured him so many times that day. In the end curiosity won over him, and slowly he peeked over the log, evaluating the beast that had caused so much calamity. Even from the distance the creature looked unnaturally large, its body seeming to belong to a lion, though, it had to be twice the size of the average lion. Also, unlike any other lion Taras had seen, its fur was the same darkened hue as the midnight sky, except for a streak of green that made its way in a straight pattern from his side to his face which was turned away.


          The creature was circling over the newly made carcass, its tail twisting lively, that’s when Taras got a good look and the monster’s tail. His eyes widened as the head bent down and began to devour the meat, making audible snaps the beast began to eat heartily, but this was no concern to Taras who had been hypnotized with amazement. The monster’s tail was a snake that seemed to move with its own thoughts in mind, the green streaks were connected to the corner of the snake’s eyes, but this was Taras’s fatal mistake. His previous jobs entailed that he know this rule by heart, if you can see your mark it can see you, and as Taras looked the snake in the eyes so did it stare him back, its contorted motion halting immediately. The man froze, the eyes locked on him making it so he couldn’t just turn away, but as he stared off at the snake the body straightened itself of and moved away from George’s corpse. Whence the lion-like head looked at Taras he noticed something that seemed to disgust him with its oddity, the beast’s face indeed did seem like a lion’s except for the third eye which was held above the others.

          The spell had been broke, his hypnotization broken, Taras flew into a desperate flight, hoping to seek asylum in the stone watchtower. How could he be such a fool? He’d taken the lives of the most prestige men, the most powerful untouchables the modern world had known were mere targets to him, and now he fled through a forest fearing for his life. The space between trees was broadening, Taras occasionally having to shove tree branches and vines out of his way, but these were all remote functions. The only thing that held steady in his mind was the third eye, it had not blinked once, and it held a milky white film over it as if it were blind, but surely it could see more than any human ever could. The eye chased him as he ran, pushing him beyond his limits, making him surge through the forest like a madman on fire, yet, with this state of mind, he could not keep an eye out for his environment.

          His foot caught on a root, Taras fell to the ground, and it was from there he heard the deliberate footsteps coming. The creature was slowly stalking up to him, it dark fur contrasting with its flourishing surroundings, enveloping all of Taras’s view. The third eye moved around in its socket, pulling at the man’s heartstrings, and then it was upon him. The snake swiftly bite into his neck, and then he was paralyzed not knowing if it was the fear the filled up his heart or the venom that was surely flowing through him now, then the lion’s claw came down upon his face.

Even watching from the watchtower, the bullet proof glass before him, Thomas could hear the screech that echoed through the forest below. His hands were held behind his back as he assessed his game, people always did make the best pawns. At his desk a man was typing up the recently acquired data, when he spoke out.

“Sir, the hybrid seems to be in excellent order and ready to be sent out” the man was obviously pleased at his work, genetic splicing was going to be a tool of the future. Scientist had already created a fifteen percent human sheep, and that was only in the public’s view, the creating of hybrids to fight battles and be unleashed to those who could pay the highest bidder was already a fast growing market. But even with the sound of victory still ringing in the air Thomas didn’t move an inch from his spot.
          “These hybrids aren’t vicious enough, they’re too overconfident and leisurely, I want something that shall be feared. Begin operation cryptid immediately.”