The Storyteller Watches a Demon

I am The Storyteller. I watch the world as a game of chess. This is my story of one of the strongest beings I know, or maybe the strongest.

Many in Ireland knew of the headless riders that roamed the countryside. The dullahans were feared by many at that time. Very few were able to do combat, therefore very few could hold their own against a cow, much less a dullahan.

It was a dark night, full of haze and fog. A dullahan named Amelias was riding much more to the west than usual. As the stories say, if you walk out and see a dullahan it will drop a bucket of blood over you. She came across the house she was supposed to come by. A man opened the door with a manacle and freakish grin, she hesitated before dumping the blood over him.

As soon as the thick warm liquid splashed on his face he fell over as if drunk. Amelias assumed it was the case and rode off to the woods. As she crossed a stone bridge the grass around her swayed, there was no wind. Her skin felt wet, there was no liquid.

The atmosphere was all wrong, she no longer felt like the scariest thing out there at the moment. She started to feel outclassed, even outnumbered as if the power that loomed over her was everywhere. Her horse started to move frantically nudging its snout to the right as if to warn her.

She tried to calm it down, not knowing it was warning her. She stroked its mane trying to get it to stop, but it kept on kicking and whining as if in distress or in pain. She was confused… until she noticed the warning.

She looked to the right as a man stood there in an all black cloak. She could not see his eyes, nor any other facial feature other than his mouth. He was almost completely covered in the cloak as black as night. As she watched in confusion his face made a maniacal grin going all the way to his ears.

Suddenly crimson scars started to glow underneath the cloak. Amelias had no idea how to react. This being was much older, much stronger. This had never happened before. She was never warned or taught about this.

His body became to shift and grow. Spiked wings became to rip out of his back, she flinched. In the blink of an eye his body exploded into a demonic form. Legs like a goat, horns like a dragon and claws longer and sharper than anything she could imagine.

He gave off one thing only which was familiar, the aura of a demon. The smell of smoke filled the air, the horse started freaking out and after a few seconds it passed out. Amelias couldn’t comprehend what was going on.

His mouth engulfed in flames he lunged forward. She was too frightened to do anything, her head which was tightly held in her arms had the most choked expression you could imagine. Without a second thought and he, no… it swallowed Amelias while the grass and trees burned with hellfire.

It quickly and casually picked up the horse with its claws. It held it above its giant looming mouth full of red and let it drop. As the horse fell it’s screaming filled the forest around them. But soon there would be no more forest left after the flames.

As the demon’s scars burned brighter indicating it absorbed them, head still in the air its eyes somehow changed their angle to me. When I watch my stories play out I stay in a pocket dimension writing them in a book. But it was able to see through that and look me dead in the eye.

This being defied time and space, It looked at me like food. A mad hunger burning in its eyes, its devilish grin somehow widening even further. I barely noticed my hand still writing the story as the pencil danced across the page.

I never caught the demon’s name, and no other story I witnessed had any mention or relate to this monster. It ate other beings, it merged with them. There was a new piece on the board, and I need it on my side. This being is crucial to winning the war.

I fear becoming its food and doubt being able to become its friend. I am The Storyteller. I watch the world as a game of chess. But I am not the only one.