text: Hey guys, here's the final installment of the story. It's the first big fight scene I've written so please bear with me! Once again, any thoughts or feedback are much appreciated, thanks to all those who have taken the time to read it. Cheers, Lordchimp He didn’t think the fairy tales were true, right up until he had seen the thorns of the black vine tear and rip the skin from the left side of the lad’s face. “Weapons! To arms!” Marks shouted drawing his old longsword. They all began to unsheathe various blades and tools in a mad rush, axes, swords, knives and spears were all clumsily readied. But while they were attempting to move into action, another one of the thick black vines flew out of the shadows with a harsh hiss, whipping past another man’s throat with a sickening ripping noise. Scarlett blood sprayed from his neck furiously as he collapsed to the floor frantically clasping at his shredded neck. “Stay low and near the fire!” Marks ordered loudly, trying to see desperately where the vines were coming from. It was like they were an extension of the darkness itself. They were all crouched shuffling around the fire, trying hopelessly to establish a better fighting position. They were like that for a few more moments, with the deafening wails echoing through the night. The man with the torn throat was convulsing on the floor, continuing to paw weakly at his mammoth wound. Another member of the crew had rushed over and was hunched over him, trying in vain to treat the lacerated flesh. The new boy who had been hit first had gone limp and lifeless, blood dribbling lazily down the gruesome ruin of the left side of his face. Marks couldn’t tell if he was dead or just unconscious. Genuine fear gripped Marks at that time. It was already a steep test of courage fighting another human in the light, let alone a hidden enemy, swathed in darkness, that seemed to be able to kill them at will. He felt helpless, watching these...things, butcher his fighters with ease, with him unable to do anything. *Gods above...if you’re listening...* All of a sudden, a blindingly bright, hissing, yellow light fell down from the treetops, like it had been dropped from the branches above. It illuminated the surrounding area with a woosh of air, revealing everything for at least ten meters, showing the horrific creatures clearly. Long, contrasting shadows were instantly cast over the campsite. The monsters’ skin was all a very deep purple, so dark that it was nearly black. They were all covered in short, twisted thorns which protruded out of their tough, gnarled skin. They stood on two thick legs, their knees bent backwards like a chicken. Four small arms outstretched from their chests, much like the legs of a spider. The heads were the worst of all. No eyes. No nose. Just a huge gaping mouth full of twisting barbs. Not many things had ever made Marks to scared to move before, but the sight of these monstrosities terrified him to his very bones. He was rooted to the spot, unable to command, unable to encourage, unable to think. He simply stood there with his mouth open like a fish out of water, waiting for his imminent death at the hands of these terrors. Then, he saw something else flit down from the treetops, landing on top of one of the horrific creatures, knocking it to the earth. It was Revan. Landing so heavily on the Vineskin had torn his clothes all over, cutting him in a dozen places and making red patches appear all over his clothing. While the other creatures were recoiling from the bright light he had thrown, he plunged one of his razor-like knives into the beings face. It slid in, with a strange squeaking noise and silenced the beasts cries at once. Without a moment's hesitation, he placed his hand onto the rent face of the corpse and breathed in heavily. Marks couldn’t believe his eyes. He thought he had seen some strange sights before, but nothing compared to watching the siphon at work. There was a sudden burst of green ethereal light, that seemed to flow into Revan through his eyes, as if he was absorbing it into his very being. It was like fire smoke being sucked through a chimney. After a mere moment, the light vanished and Revan began hissing with pain through gritted teeth. He skin began to turn purple, barbs sprouting from the flesh in the blink of an eye. He still retained his human shape, but now he shared the tree-like skin of his enemies. “By the gates...” Marks managed to mumble, sinking to his knees with a gasp. Revan stood up defiantly, and cast his attention to the other Vineskins, blades twirling in his hands. One of them clumsily whipped around, extending one of the short arms into a long tendril of thorns, like a whip. Marks gasped again in fear, seeing the vine like arm arc towards the siphon, but before he could shout out, the tendril smashed into his body with a sharp crack. But instead of cutting him to ribbons, it simply knocked him to the side, making him snarl with pain. As quick as a swooping bird, he pulled on the vine before it could retract back to it’s owners body. His spiky, bark like hands, handled it easily, jerking the creature stumbling towards him. It was caught completely off balance, barely keeping itself upright, wobbling like a newborn babe. Once it was near, he stabbed it with a flurry of lightning quick strikes, each one plunging in deep, throwing black blood across the forest floor in thick strands. It seemed like Marks had only taken in a single breath before the disgusting creature lay convulsing on the ground. Then, the light went out. They still had their fire, which they clung to as if it was their mother’s skirts, standing as close as humanly possible to the crackling wood. The men whirled around, twisting and yelling in panic every time a new sound emerged from the forest. With the sight of the monsters gone, Marks could suddenly think again. Just like that, the thick cobwebs of numbness were swept away from his mind. “Easy lads! Stay near the flame, keep them spears out!” He commanded, confidence returning to his voice. They all rallied round his words, as hollow as they were, standing more alert, reading themselves for the arrival of the creatures again. It was a tense few minutes, with them all jumping at the littlest of noises, of the flickering of the fire’s shadows. They could all hear sounds of fighting, cries of pain from both man and beast in the darkness, but none of them would leave the safety of the fire to help Revan. A blade slashing through the air. A alien scream. The groans and hissing of combat. After what seemed like an eternity, the noises stopped. Marks looked around at his men, who were all looking straight back at him, searching for a sign or a signal on what to do. They waited silently for a few more moments, with only the crackling of the fire and the whistling of the wind breaking the quiet. “Revan?” Marks shouted cautiously into the trees. Nothing. “Revan? Are you there?” Nothing. Marks was about to open his mouth, telling the boys anything he could think of that might set them at ease, when the corpse of one of the Vineskins was thrown on the floor next to him. He jumped back, cursing and waving his blade in fright, but there were no more monsters. Revan stood at the edge of the firelight, breathing heavily. His clothes were all but tatters now, rags that were held together by the smallest of threads. His skin had returned to normal, making the many cuts covering him all the more obvious. Crimson blood flowed from a dozen areas from his body in a gentle, lazy stream. Marks rushed over to the Siphon, reaching his arms out to support the shell of a man. “By the bloody gates Revan! We thought you was dead you mad bastard!” Marks exclaimed, unable to comprehend what he had seen. Revan weakly pushed his helping hands away with a small shake of his head. “Just...Just a moment...I have to... I can...” It seemed like every word he uttered was a laborious task, even staying standing looked as if it was taking most of his strength. Marks backed away in confusion, watching with morbid curiosity as Revan placed his hand on the corpse’s head slowly. There was another flash of bright green light, which was once again drank in by Revan’s hungry eyes. Then, as quick as the light had appeared, it vanished again. “Revan, you need a serious looking at, you look as if you’ve no blood left in you.” Marks spoke carefully, a note of sympathy seeping into his voice. Revan closed his eyes in answer and breathed out, like a man letting go his final breath. But instead of falling over, dead to the world, small dancing green lights appeared on his many cuts, crackling and sparking around, illuminating him like a swarm of fireflies. After a few seconds, when the strands of light fizzled out, Marks saw that his cuts were beginning to heal. The blood that had ran down his arm now reversed its flow, moving impossibly back into his body through the wounds, which then closed themselves neatly, not even leaving a scar behind. “By the gates...” Marks gasped.