Prologue of the Hunters


The small clicks of the shapeshifter’s eyes as they turned silver was what alerted the hunter to a quickly approaching creature. The older man raised his silver blade in one hand, silver bulleted gun in the other threateningly.

“You come any closer, I’m going to attack!” snarled the male.

The moonlight that had managed to filter in through thick clouds reflected off the sharp dagger clasped in the huntsman’s hands. He let out a sneer, his breath reeking of alcohol. He took a staggering step forward, unsteady on his feet, as no hunter should be. In his age, the man should have been dead, but he had been lucky, returning from the underworld on multiple occasions to keep on with his never ending thirst for murder.


“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he cackled, the short song sounding creepy with his tone.

“I would rather not, knowing my death is in your hands,” called the creature.

A wicked smile grew on the hunter’s face. He took slow, steady steps towards the voice, which had called out from the dark patch of woodland that lay next to the highway, where the old man’s dirty 1998 Honda was parked. He knew the game he was playing was a dangerous one. Shapeshifters could be anything. Anyone. One good move on the shape shifter’s part would mean mortal danger for the hunter.


The hunter instantly thought of his deceased wife, who had been killed on the hunt. He shook his head. He couldn’t let the shapeshifter know he had a weakness. It could morph into his wife, and easily make him drop his guard.

The hunter let out a growl, poising his weapons. Yes, the hunter may have been intoxicated, but he had been in his game for so long his natural instincts were set to observe and kill. As in, observe the supernatural creature, kill it quickly.

“Who are you coming out as?” asked the cocky hunter.

The shapeshifter’s silver eyes glinted in the shadows. “Excuse me?”

“Who will you transform your ugly self to, so I’ll surrender?”

The shapeshifter smirked, his lips revealing an ugly set of teeth.

“Perhaps your dad. Brother? Or I can do one better. Your poor, dead wife.”  

The hunter let out a croak. He turned, backing his way to the forest on the other side of the road. The shifter, seeing his turn of direction, quietly lept forward, pinning the old man to the ground. He snatched the blade and gun, tossing them aside. The hunter’s dark eyes were wide with fear.

“No! I’m sorry!” He screamed, thrashing in the shifter’s hold.

The shifter grinned at the power he now possessed over this man. He flashed an array of sharp teeth, which he had received in his shift to another form.


“Are you still going to kill me? With that gun and knife that are… Oh wait!”

He let out a cackle, nodding to the weapons the hunter had earlier possessed. “They’re over there!”

The shapeshifter leaned down, eyes flitting to silver, then back to the dark blue of his body. A soft clicking sound echoed through the air as his eyes changed. The shifted sunk its razor sharp teeth in the man’s neck, feeling the soft tissue break open.

The pursuer screamed in agony, writhing in pain. The teeth that were in the shifters mouth currently, were sharp, and tore through the man’s flesh easily.

“No!” screamed the man.

“No! Please! I’m sor—” His screams were silenced as the shape shifter carelessly grabbed a knife from his own belt, stabbing the hunter in chest.

Blood soaked the hunter’s ripped shirt. He gurgled as foam spilled from his lips. He shuddered under the shifter, before his breathing stopped and his movements slowed to a standstill.


Standing, the supernatural creature wiped its hands delicately on a blood stained handkerchief. He sighed, placing it back in the pocket of his pants before glancing around. He looked around the clearing. If anyone had strayed from the road and witnessed the killing, the shifter would easily adapt to their form, killing them too. More swiftly than the last. Shedding the skin and hair of his previous form, the shape shifter morphed to the hunter he had just killed, disappearing into the woods without the slightest quiver of the underbrush or the swishing of the trees.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *