Adventure of Butch 1

The Hooded Figure freezes mid-step beside the inn fire, one hand lifted as if to hush the room. Her eyes lock past Butch, toward the dark corner by the shuttered window.

Her throat tightens. Then her voice shifts, roughening into something older, deeper, чужд to the small common room. The nearby mugs rattle on the table.

The Hooded Figure grips the edge of the bench, fighting the чужд cadence. A cold draft crawls under the door, and the hearth flame bends toward Butch.

Behind him, a shape in the corner lengthens across the floor, like antlers made of shadow. The inn falls silent around the widening dark.

Butch spins and drives his fist into the shadow's center. The shape caves inward around his arm like cold smoke struck solid, and the room jolts with a dry crack.

The thing shudders out of the corner and peels back from the floorboards, its antlered outline splitting wide where his blow lands. The hearth flame straightens, then snaps away from Butch toward the far wall.

The shadow recoils into a knot under his knuckles, and a black thread lashes up his forearm before breaking apart in sparks of soot. The bench creaks as the Hooded Figure staggers back, staring at the mark left by his strike.

For one hard heartbeat, the dark clings to Butch's hand like a stain, then thins and shrivels. In its place, a faint sigil flickers on his skin, pulsing once in the firelight.