𝑀𝑂𝑅𝑇𝐴𝐿𝐴 - S.S.

{seven;}

Erick and Mietek make their way through Beacon County, going after packs on the outskirts first, one particularly nasty nest of vampires setting them behind schedule a day or two.

Other than that though, they worked their way inwards with ease, circling the infamous Beacon Hills like a predator stalking it's prey.

They're a couple miles East of said town when they kick in the doors of a quaint looking townhouse, homely enough as to not raise suspicion, pictures of teenagers graduating and going off to college lining the walls.

Erick had mentioned how sickening it was, once, that creatures like this we're allowed to parade around like their human, like they belong.

They'll never belong here, never.

The first wendigo tries to take him by surprise, lunging at Mietek from the upper bannister and clinging onto his back like a leech.

Mietek grunts, grabbing at the hands that try choke him from behind as he runs himself backward, slamming the creature into the nearest wall.

He grips harder onto the things hands as it lets go in surprise from the impact and paces forward, using the momentum to throw the guy over his head.

The man- thing- creature- lands at Erick's feet, who takes great satisfaction in bringing his tomahawk down into the creatures throat, again and again until it's head is hacked clean off.

The nod at each other, and by some unspoken agreement, Erick paces further into unexplored rooms of the ground floor, while Mietek takes the stairs.

Mietek strides down a hallway framed with pictures and paintings of smiling faces -- the facade of a happy, human family, so ordinary and white-picket-fence that no one spares them another glance.

Maybe people would look at them a little differently if they were privy to the freezers full of corpses the family kept in the basement.

He kicks open door after door, the impact causing some to crack from their hinges, Mietek doesn't care, and the family won't either. When they're dead.

He stabs the blade in his hand into the wall as he walks, the strength in his arms enough to drag the spear-point blade effortlessly through crumbling drywall, "Mya," he calls out, half taunting and half because his patience is already wearing thin, "come out come out wherever you are."

He gets nothing but silence in return, but there are only two doors left, so he can live with it.

The wood creaks and shudders as he kicks in the first, and the room is dusty and dark, storage, he presumes, as he tugs on the cord dangling to his left and the bulbs flicker into brightness.

"Are you in here, Mya? You'd tell me if you were, wouldn't you?" He calls as be begins to weave through cardboard boxes and shelving units and literal tonnes of dust.

He sneezes, blinking as he tries to squint through the maze of clutter, but it doesn't seem like anyone's in here, doesn't seem like anyone's even opened the door in a long time.

He doesn't wonder why, it doesn't matter.

"You know the quicker I find you," he murmurs as he stands before the last door, "the quicker this is over for you," he grunts as his boot connects with more shuddering wood. The force sends the door off it's hinges and clattering into the room, which is a real shame for Mya, who was stood behind it waiting to ambush him when he entered, because now she's painfully out in the open.

She lunges for him anyway, with her milky white eyes and too many teeth.

She manages to sink those sharp fangs into his shoulder, hissing at him as she does.

Her success is short-lived, though, because he reaches around her and pushes his knife in hard through her back and between her ribs, effectively piercing her heart in one quick motion.

The teeth buried in the juncture between his shoulder and neck unlatch themselves from his skin as her body slumps lifeless against him, held up only by the dagger in his grip still impaling her.

He doesn't get time to breathe before he hears sprinting up the stairs, uneven footsteps and feral screeching.

Mietek pulls the knife from the woman's body, letting her slump to the floor as he rounds the door, exiting the room and throwing the same blade down the hallway.

The wendigo -- a boy in his early twenties -- stops mid stride, and manages to look bewildered for a moment at the blade between his eyes before his body too slumps to the floor.

"You were supposed to have the bottom floor covered," Mietek grumbles as he watches his partner make his way up the stairs, he leans over to tug his blade from the corpse.

Erick shrugs, "must've missed one," and Mietek can't help the scowl that crosses face.

"You ready to leave?" Erick asks, like they're at a restaurant and he wants to make sure Mietek is quite done with his dessert before he asks for the bill.

He almost says yes, standing to go, when he notices the attic door above him, string dangling down just an inch above his head.

All his instincts swear to him there's something up there, so he ignores Erick's annoyed glance and pulls the cord, knife slippery from the blood readied in his hand.

The attic is dark and dusty like the storage room, and as the ladder slides down to land at his feet he almost thinks better of it before going up.

As it is, he pulls himself up the narrow steps, one arm braced at the entryway while he pulls his phone out of his pocket to use as a flashlight with the other -- because even hunters and assassins have smartphones, and carrying a clunky flashlight around on his belt in case of situations like this seems tedious.

So, with an iPhone in one hand and a hunting knife in the other, he pulls himself up into the small space.

He hears them before he sees them.

Weak struggles, the sound of sneakers scraping against planks.

There's twelve of them, humans tied up and still very much alive, unlike those in the basement.

Mietek frowns, this wasn't part of the plan, he wasn't told about possible survivors or what to do with them, but he figures leaving them here to die would ruin the whole reason he's here.

So he takes his blade and begins sawing away at the ropes that bind them.

Those that have the energy to speak thank him profusely. He doesn't remember the last time anyone had ever been grateful of something he'd done, or looked relieved to see him.

He doesn't think about it, it doesn't matter.

Erick looks annoyed at him for dragging the last of the survivors out, and Mietek is genuinely stumped, because aren't these the kind of people they are killing to protect?