Crow of Dusk [STORY]

So... I guess here's my first-ever Fan Fiction in this Amino! I'm not gonna spoil it, so you have to read if you want to know where I based this story from!~

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Crow of Dusk

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#StoriesByKyrie

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   It is a fact that one cannot deny their true calling. Escape all you want, all you can, but it would all just be delaying the inevitable. Delaying the right of one's True Self, in fact.

   But no matter what, destiny is such a questionable thing. What is destiny? Are people bound from it? Tied to a certain had-been or would-be event, resulting to their lives having been written in stone? Would there be an escape to it? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

   For others, this destiny is but a trivial matter. A trifling stepping stone for their, or what they believed to be, their real fate. On the other hand, there were those that consider this destiny as their enemy. The antagonist of their story. An impending disaster, that would put them to ruins. Others still, does not believe in it. Called it a foolish thing, even.

   But what is destiny? Is it the world's calling? Can one rewrite it? Escape from it? Or is it something irrevocable, tied down to one's own blood?

   Who knows? Better yet, who does not know what their destiny is?

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   His instincts were calling for him. They ached for him. Want him. Longed for him to pay them attention, but he kept firm. The hooded young man, instead, focused on the once-village disappearing into the horizon. The same one that he and the caravan departed from. It would be a lie to claim that he would not miss the ruined area, but there would be no visits from him there for a long, long time.

   Such a sentiment feeling should have been discarded. Abolished, even, especially due to his profession. After all, he left his life to become the monster among men… a daemon among daemons.

   But the creaking wood snuffed out his train of thought.

   The Demon Hunter closed his eyes and tried to relax. If there was one thing that made him stood out from his brethren, it was that he have yet to hone his mind. To be discipline enough to give focus on one thing at a time. However, in his case, he gave focus on everything. Everything. From the gallops from the hooves of the horse up, to the pale moon lazily drifting above, and even to the cawing of the crows. There was nothing that could escape his perception. It was the price he had to pay.

   A gift that was also a boon.

   The wooden lings creaked yet again.

   His first attempt to tune out his surroundings was to go to sleep. It was for naught when the uneven road made it an all too difficult task. He then decided to move on to another activity that would draw him out of his predicament- cleaning and inspecting his beloved weapon. There might not be a lot of monsters within the island of Xiansai, but it would be for the best to have his weapons ready at any time.

   The Demon Hunter opened his leather pouch attached to his belt and reached out for a clean rag and a bottle of oil. Two things his master drilled into his head when it came to maintaining his weapons. It was the first thing that was taught to him, and was the first thing that his master would remind him every single day afterwards.

   But just like his days with his master, he found nothing. No rags, no bottled oil, and the whetstone was dulled and looked as if it had seen better days.

   It seemed that his maintenance kit needs some maintenance as well. If his teacher were here, they would have a long, long, long discussion, after a refresher course.

   With a huff, he looked away and focused on the tree's dancing leaves, initiated by the strong winds. It had a salty scent, as if they were near the ocean. Then again, this was the truth. His destination was to go to a port town. As he focused solely on the ocean breeze, the chorus of caws erupted, followed by a series of flapping noises.

   With his mood ruined, the Demon Hunter groaned. It was unbecoming, unnatural, and odd, especially from him, but it was already established by his fellow Hunters and his master that he was an oddity among the group.

   Ah, the overthinking. He really needed to do something, but what, he does not know.

   The creaking floorboards needed to stop as well…

   Hours ed by, and he was grasping at straws now. There was really nothing else to do other than to daydream. That, or to play an instrument. The latter would be less than ideal, considering the horrors that lurked around the dark, be it from thugs to daemonic beasts.

   “Sir Kylan,” the coach called him out of his musing, “we are about to arrive our destination. I'd say in about half an hour.”

   He grunted in acknowledgement before he went back to his silent brooding. The night was clearly young. In fact, out of a distance, Kylan could still see a glimpse of the setting sun. The creeping darkness, however, was faster than what was anticipated, and the night devoured the fiery star of day. The kindly light of the lazy moon did no favours, but light was light, and the moon beam served its purpose.

   Again, without distraction, Kylan was forced back to the reality. His reality. His utterly boring reality.

   There was nothing else to be done.

   Besides to listen the noise made by the old caravan.

   “By and by, since you'll be departing soon,” the coachman asked suddenly, “I am curious as to why you decided to visit that particular village, hm? Not everyone knew that it existed, much less know its precise location.”

   Conversation. A good way to kill time.

   “I just like to visit my home town. Nothing more than that."

   The man choked and fell into a coughing fit. “You're a Shion Child, correct?” He said it slowly, carefully. “As in, one of the surviving children of the ruined town of Shion?”

   Kylan froze upon hearing those words. He felt his throat dried up at the thought of his broken childhood. The mere mention of the name itself seemed to have opened up old wounds. Old scars. “Yes, I'm a Shion Child,” he replied.

   “No wonder you knew where the town was… oh, and I've heard the news too, boy. A town ravaged by daemons. Left nobody behind.”

   “Nobody, except for the children that managed to hid beneath the hidden basement of the town's shrine,” he clarified. “As a matter of fact, the daemons were actually trying to locate us. To find us. Because of that, they haven't paid attention to a group of mercenaries that came by… although they were too late.” Kylan mumbled the last part.

   “Aye, m'boy! Tell me, why didn't you chose to become a Wizard? You have a vast amount of Arcane Power within you, no?”

   “Beg pardon?” Kylan unconsciously gripped his hand around a hidden dagger. The other Shion Children aside, the only one who knew of his power was his own master… for a simple coachman to know of it was suspicious beyond doubt.

   “Haha! I may be a simple man who drives around this horse-drawn caravan, but let me tell you- I can feel magic oozing out from your body. My fam'ly are Wizards too, you know?”

   Kylan slowly loosened his grip on the dagger, but still kept his body alert. Awake. Ready to kick into action.

   “Anyway, your affinity to magic is so strong that it's wild. Untamed. Powerful.” He emphasized the last word well enough that it was drilled into Kylan's mind.

   Powerful. Powerful.

   Powerful.

   Was he truly powerful, though?

   The Demon Hunter quickly shook his thoughts away and replied, “It was because after we were rescued, I was recruited by Lugh.”

   “Ah, I've heard of that name. What was he famously known for, again? Hm?”

   “His nickname is the Merciless Lugh.”

   “Of course, of course! Merciless Lugh, the Slaughterer. No-one could simply forget a man like him! Aye, he visited my town once, covered with blood from head to toe. Scared the children along the way, too. Still, he's a good man, no?”

   “Indeed,” Kylan nodded wholeheartedly. Another thing that made him different from the rest of the Demon Hunters- his controlled hatred. Among all others, those that wished to become a Demon Hunter have their hatred against the daemon-kind be known. There was never in written history that had a person of this profession have had great control to this destructive emotion.

   “So, what does an apprentice Demon Hunter such as yourself need in the fishing town? There's little to no counts of daemonic activity in the area. Oh, and I do apologize for the questions. This old man simply has nothing else to do.”

   “It's no problem,” Kylan replied. “I just want to get back to the mainland as soon as possible. Seeing that I simply went back here to pray respects for my family, I see no need to stay here.” He unconsciously wrapped his arms around himself. “There was no need for me to stay, unless I want to bring up bad memories.”

   The man felt as if he touched a particularly sore subject that he should never had said to begin with, but there was nothing else that he could do. He kept his silence and simply focused back to the road.

   The sooner this was done, the better.

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   The horse-drawn cart finally came to a stop just before the gates of Bao Zhou, one of Xiansai's smaller port towns. Kylan bid the coach a farewell and looked at the well-guarded gates that divided the town from the outside world. Granted, the outside world was harsh, so nothing out of the ordinary there.

   Of the several towns that has a harbour and a boat service, none of them had the services fit for a Demon Hunter such as himself.

   Xiansai, after all, dedicate itself mostly to the Arcane Arts. Ergo, most everything, from weaponry down to equipment wears, were for Wizards- staves, orbs, grimoires, and herbs. Not that it mattered to him. Even the town market has supplies to help him maintain his weapons. A simple rug and some oil could do wonders for his beloved hand-crossbow.

   As he reached the gate, he felt uncomfortable from the stares he was getting from the guard. It was unsettling, both his sense of discomfort and the gaze. His master would have a fit if he would ever see him weakened all because someone was looking at him.

   Kylan reached the guard posted at the gate. “I've come to gain entry,” he said.

   “I need identification.”

   With a nod, Kylan pulled out a badge from his pocket. “Will this suffice?”

   The guard inspected the badge with a critical eye, frowning now and then, before eyeing Kylan then back to the badge. “What business do you have?”

   “This is the closest town from the Ruins of Shion, where I had just been, that offers a ferry service. I need to go back to the mainland as soon as possible.”

   “Where will you be heading from there?” The guard inquired. “The only destination via the waters would be Scosglen, and by no means you're a Druid, apprentice or otherwise.”

   “True, but I would be visiting my master's… friend.” The word felt foreign in his mouth. Despite what many thought, Demon Hunters still do have feelings. It was just that the emotions of anger overshadowed the rest. Again, this was what made him an oddity among the Demon Hunter community. “If fortune favours me, I'd be able to reach Túr Dúlra in a week. Again, I would be meeting my master's friend there. Or at least outside of the area... from a safe distance.”

   After what felt like an hour, the guard motioned the gates to be opened. “Thank you for your cooperation.” Gone was the strict inspector, and in its place was a bright and welcoming man. “I hope you'll enjoy your visit here in Bao Zhou.”

   The Demon Hunter gave a curt nod. “I will.” He then walked straight through the gates, though he still felt stares and gazes directed to him.

   While each profession has their home town, like Druids being at Scosglen, Witch Doctors within the heart of the Torajan Jungle, or that of the Necromancers in- no joke- Necropolis, Demon Hunters do not exactly have a stationary place to call home. Sure, they mostly inhabit the Dreadlands, but it was more of a training ground than anything.

   And that they were all orphans of war. More precisely, they were all orphans of war that craved an unhealthy amount of vengeance against the daemons and those associated to them.

   Kylan wandered around as he enjoyed the sights that were before him. It may have been one of the mediocre towns of Xiansai, but none could deny the beauty it exudes. From the hanging lanterns around what looked like the town plaza, to the well-decorated buildings, and even the rather luxurious clothes the people on the streets were wearing. Compared to his own outfit, Kylan felt like an outsider, which was both true and false. He was a native Xian, after all, but was raised outside of Xiansai.

   As he heard another wave of cawing, Kylan let out an exasperated sigh as looked up. Seven crows were circling around precariously near the food stall just beside him.

   “Well, time to go look for an inn, I guess.” After he had his temporary fill for his wanderlust, as well as buying supplies, he went and did what he said. What he did not for, was that when there is a festival, that meant tourists. That also meant nigh impossible chance of getting a room. Inn after inn, bar after bar, there was just no way he would get a room. The once faded moon was now in its peak. The streets were glowing from the lanterns and the bright moonlight that draped the whole town with its bright silver light.

   “I'd pay 30 gold coins!” Kylan half-shouted at the innkeeper. All of his feelings were poured onto desperation and fear of sleeping in the streets. He had gone doing such from his master thank-you very much.

   The old woman chucked. “No need to pay that much amount, dear. Two silver coins would be enough. Today's a special day, after all, and I've got plenty of room.”

   “Oh, okay,” he pulled out two silver coins and gave it to the wrinkled old woman. “And if you don't mind me asking, what's the festival about? I'm certain that the Feast of Zei is still far off.”

   She softly laughed at him. It was not mocking, rather, it was like that of a grandmother to her grandchildren. “You've heard of Dirgest, no?”

   “Ah, the god of desire, to which we, Xians, no longer consider a deity.”

   “Yes. Well, in this town, we celebrate his defeat every second week of the month. Strange, sure, but it's our town! Hahaha!” Her laughter made the corners of her eyes crinkle.

   “Er, right… well, I'm kind of tired now, so I don't think I'll… participate… with the events.”

   “Oh? Well, it's not like it is your fault. May the god of pleasant dreams visit you.”

   “So mote it be,” Kylan replied. He then went towards his temporary lodgings and, soon after, collapsed on top of the bed.

   He deserved the rest, after all.

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It's from Diablo! Is it good?