"Ten people were killed in a massacre on a train carriage in the early hours of the morning. Traces of dark magic, known to be wielded by the Witch, were discovered."
"A group of school teenagers hiking in the mountains have been reported missing. The search and rescue team suspects they were abducted by the Witch said to dwell in those hills."
"A mass slaughter occurred inside a resident's home. The prime suspect is a magical creature created by the Witch that broke in."
"A young couple was found dead, devoured by the Witch after exercising in an open field."
"An airplane exploded, attacked by a Category 3 magical entity. The attack was triggered because the flight path crossed through a forest controlled by the Witch."
"A container ship sank, swallowed by the sea. Over a hundred people drowned. The sinking is believed to be related to a curse from the Witch ruling the sea routes."
"A 40-story apartment building burned to the ground. The fire is suspected to have been caused by an assault from the Witch. Dozens of innocent lives turned to ashes."
The TV switched off.
Death, its so close to us. Closer than even the veins running through our bodies. It can come for us anywhere, anytime. No matter who you are, no matter where you are — death will find you.
All deaths have been decreed. No one can hasten or delay their fate. But in this world, there is one symbol of death itself: the Witch.
So, how does this tale begin?
Then, let us start with this young man.
**
January 25, 2023
"This is my final tribute to you, Master."
The young man placed a single white chrysanthemum with utmost respect atop a mound of fresh earth.
The night dew made the air cold. Just after the long-haired youth, dressed in deep black, finished burying his master, a gentle drizzle began to fall, as if shedding tears for the departed teacher.
The soil grew muddy with pooling water. The leaves of the lush trees held the dew, ready for the next morning.
In his right hand, the youth gripped a rolled scroll tightly. In his left, a long wooden staff — the very one his master had used to strike him when he was lazy in martial training.
On the staff was a carving: a single Chinese character that would become the young man's lifelong oath.
—旭— —Promise—
"Rain… I should leave here soon."
Sizhu tilted his head upwards, gazing at the dim half-moon veiled by drifting clouds. The raindrops kissed his face and soaked his hair.
"I'd better go in the morning. Hoam… After digging soil all day with my bare hands, I need rest."
Raising his hands, Sizhu gathered raindrops that pooled in his dirt-streaked palms. He tucked the staff and the scroll beneath his armpit.
After washing his hands with the rain, he turned and walked toward the wooden hut — a simple one-room shelter with a dry clay floor.
Inside were two pallets. One against the left corner from the front door — his master's bed, the man who had raised and trained him for ten years in martial arts.
The other was his own modest bed against the right corner — nothing but a flat wooden plank and a rough cloth bundle for a pillow.
Seems I need nothing but this wooden staff and the scroll of my master's last will.
Sizhu lay back on his pallet, glancing at the now-empty bed beside him.
For ten years, his master had watched over him even while he slept, teaching him to stay alert at all times — even during rest.
A small smile played on his thin lips as he recalled the first time he failed that lesson. His master had hauled him out of bed just after he dozed off, throwing him outside and refusing to let him back in all night. So, Sizhu had to sleep alone, accompanied only by the cold night and the chorus of crickets.
"Ten years have passed since I became the master's disciple. I can't remember what happened before I met him. I was only eight then."
He settled into his most comfortable stance before sleep, staring at the ceiling made of straw and timber. The rain's gentle patter was a lullaby.
"Good night, Master."
Sizhu closed his eyes.
Just as the youth clad in a worn black Chinese robe drifted toward sleep, an explosion threw him violently awake.
BOOM!
With trained reflexes, Sizhu rolled sideways the moment something slammed against the wooden wall of the hut. Kicking the board aside, he used it as a shield as the blast hurled him back. He landed squarely on his feet on the muddy ground.
The old wooden hut was shattered by the attack. Burning debris rained around him. Sparks landed on the nearby trees, setting fire to the forest within moments.
But what infuriated Sizhu most was that his staff and the scroll with his master's will had been blown away — lost to the wind.
"Who are you?!"
Sensing movement in the shadowed trees, Sizhu shouted warily.
He hurled a burning plank in front of him and stared sharply into the darkness.
Thirty steps away, a figure approached in the night.
The firelight revealed a terrifying sight.
A giant stag skull with sharp branching antlers crowned a gaunt frame, skinless and skeletal, dressed in a huge black cloak.
Human eyes glowed red within the empty sockets of the stag's skull, bleeding down onto the rain-soaked earth.
In its right hand it carried a huge black scythe with jagged edges. Dried blood crusted the blade, rusted beneath the moonlight.
Like a nightmare from the fairy tales your mother told you before bed.
"Humans... Kill... Kill...!!!"
A hoarse, dreadful voice echoed. Sizhu quickly took his stance, wary of the distant foe.
"That form… my master once spoke of it. You… could it be… a Witch?"
Ignoring his words, the Stag Head began chanting a spell.
"地.. 狱.. 之.. 火! Dì.. yù.. zhī.. huǒ! (Hellfire!)"
A black, tendril-covered fireball, the size of a baseball, shot toward Sizhu with terrifying speed.
Danger!
Knowing a direct hit would kill him, Sizhu dodged, leaping and rolling across the ground away from the attack.
BOOM!
A half-meter crater was blasted into the soaked earth, flames dancing red atop the freshly burned grass.
Sizhu was thrown by the shockwave, landing beside his master's grave. The chrysanthemum slipped from his grasp, scattered by the blast wind.
"Ha… ha… ha… ha…"
The Stag Head laughed cruelly, delighting in Sizhu's struggle against the deadly dark magic.
The fire ignited the grass and trees, turning lush green to black ash in seconds around the hut and the forest's edge.
Sizhu's face twisted in horror—not from fear, but anger that the home where he grew with his master was being consumed by flames.
Clenching his fists, he rose to his feet. The Stag Head stood still, enjoying the chaos it had wrought.
"How dare you burn my master's home!" Sizhu shouted, pointing at the foe.
The Witch stopped laughing at Sizhu's fierce glare. It returned the gesture, pointing its huge scythe at him.
"Human… He… Ordered me… To kill you… You… Will… Die… Tonight…"
Sizhu ignored the words, still scowling with the same angry expression.
"Tonight, it's you who will die."
Saying that, he turned and dashed into the forest, fleeing the Stag Head.
The Witch chuckled as Sizhu ran without resistance. It began chanting as it pursued.
"Coward… He… He… He…"
"飞. Fēi. (Fly.)"
Like a ghost, the Stag Head floated after Sizhu running through the trees at high speed.
It can fly? The Witch is cunning indeed!
Sizhu sprinted between the trees, glancing back to check the distance.
If this goes on, I'll be caught. And he'll succeed in killing me.
Once more he glanced behind — twenty paces away.
The Stag Head chuckled menacingly, closing in. In its hand, three black tendrilled fireballs were ready to throw.
Three black fireballs hurled toward Sizhu.
He ducked, leapt, and rolled aside, continuing his run forward. He didn't care if trees fell from the explosions.
Up ahead! I can defeat the Witch there! Time for revenge—
ZRAT!
Just as Sizhu stepped into a wide clearing in the middle of the forest, blood sprayed over the grass by the field's edge. The moonlight reflected off the giant scythe slicing into the right side of his abdomen.
"W-what?"
Sizhu looked back only to see the Stag Head's mouth slightly open.
Grinning? Or a savage smile?
***