[Killing Fey Filled Regrets] [Fantasy] [Videogame] [Shooter] [PG-10]

[Killing Fey Filled Regrets]

Written by J. J. Bartel 

PG-10 Fantasy Videogame Shooter 

Copyright 2023

I squeezed the trigger, and my rifle released a white streaking bullet that pierced through the Katzenveit’s red cap. From the bullet, white light poured out the wound, eye sockets, mouth, and ears. If that thing had brains, they were sizzling mush now. The body dropped to the ground and turned to charcoal dust, leaving behind a fragment and a cap. 

“Man, we live in a weird world, Paul.” He said behind me. 

I pulled the lever up, then pulled it back. The cartridge popped out, making a tiny ding when it hit the ground. A new one clicked into place. I pushed the lever forward and down.  

I rolled my eyes and said, “It’s Mr. Voltz to you.” 

“You don’t call me Mr. Troll, Paul.” 

“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes again. I looked down at the sights to see a panicked group of children. If children were hairy like goats all over. If children wore caps, they died red in their victim’s blood. If children were of a different kind. If I were a fool, I would call a group of Katzenveit children. 

“Man, wolves, or children, the rumors were right. You always go for the head,” Alleck said behind me. He patted my back. Twice. The nerve. I pull the trigger. The bullet penetrates the red cap. White light pours out the eyes, mouth, wound, and ears. The body drops to charcoal dust. The dwindling group is looking all around. 

“Why not take the big one in the middle?” I hear behind me.

“Katzenveits travel in packs like wolfs. As long as the leader is around, they will stay close.” I say while pulling the lever up, pulling it back, popping the cartridge, clicking a new one into place, and pushing the lever forward and down. All before the used cartridge fell to the ground. I pull the trigger again. Into the cap. White light. Pull up and back. Popping the cartridge. New one clicks. Push the lever forward and down. Used cartridge falls. I stare down at the sights. Aim—one to the right. Squeeze the trigger. Bullet streak. Finally, my flow-”

“Ah, and we need as many as possible. Good thinking.” I hear behind me. My hands freeze. I breathe. He pats my back. Twice. As if I’m stressed—the nerve. 

“Remind me why I don’t just shoot you and go back to my stouts?” 

“It’s 4-pieces a head.” 

“It’s a full silver for a bullet and 2-pieces to restock, so a loss of three.” 

“It’s 4-piece a red cap, and you can get at least one Black Fey Bullet per kill. That’s 10-piece, two silver. Bullets made from fey that have come back to life. Fey is plaguing the Forest Father and our little hamlet. Fey that are also undead, pulling humans out of their graves, making zombies. Fey that is causing such a ruckus that no one is trading with our hamlet, especially no one is shipping your favorite stouts and -.” 

He explains too much, smugness pouring out of him like blood from gut-shot. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the flow. Three left. As he bleeds smugness, I pull. Pop. Click. Push. Aim. Squeeze. Streak. Light. Drop. Two left. The pair notices where the sound is coming from. Pop. Click. Their long ears twitch. Push. Aim. Hairy fingers point at us. They open their mouths. Squeeze. Streak. Body drops. The leader screams a mix of hiss and grunting gags. Black and brown matted hair melts into the body. Arms warp into flat wing bits. Legs split apart from two to eight. Attenae come from the cap. It stuck its tongue out, stretched out, and curled in on itself. The Katzenveit shrunk to the size of a moth, bigger than my hand, with a brown-black body and wings with a dried blood red-head. It flitted away, heading into the forest. I pulled the gun to my shoulder. 

“-and remember that if we somehow kill a death-touched Fey Lord, it’s 100 gold! Not gold pieces, whole gold coins. Huh? Why are you moving?  

“The pack-less leader will have to go into the forest. Either gather stragglers or fight and win against another leader. We follow the moth after you wiggle your fingers, boy.” 

“Is that what you’re calling my A+ Ather magic?” 

“Based on what I know of scholastic types, B- at best.”

“I will have you know that I would be at the top of the class!” Alleck began to use his fingertips to trace the energy within his body, and as the circles, curves, and swirls were made, a strong breeze came. A faint purple line marking the magic wind reached out. The hats of the far distance began to get collected, one after the other.

I asked, “Would?”

Alleck shrugged his shoulders and said, “Betrayal. What else could stop me?” He lifted even the shells into the air and dropped the stuff into separate sacks. A purple wind, as nimble as fingers, placed caps, fragments and cartridges into sacks. 

“Whatever boy.” I said and began walking towards the moth in the distance. Some fools may want the conversation to continue, but I am no fool. I just want the flow. Stouts, sniping, it doesn’t matter. I just want to get the good f-

“What would you know of betrayal?” Alleck asked behind me. 

“You were in the tavern for hours but waited until my second stout to bring up that contract.” 

“What, drunk after two?” 

“You would have come with that before the stouts if you wanted to be honest.” 

“Well, school taught me that if clever enough, one can get away with betrayal. I get 11 hats, turn it all in for credit, and they will have to let me graduate.” 

I sighed to myself. He patted my back. I started walking faster. 

“What, afraid of kindness too?” he teased. The nerve.  

“The target has been circling the same area. It encountered a new group. We need to get to the top of that hill.” 

His face went from a lazy to a severe expression, and he nodded. We got to the back, dropped, and crawled up to the top, where I flung my good rifle forward. The tag-along had enough sense to get down with me. The red-headed, black-bodied moth was flitting about a new pack. It began to dart amongst them and fell to the ground. Quickly, it turned back to itself and began sputtering and hissing at the pack. 

“Alright, start blasting those child monsters and call it good.” The welp behind me says. 

“Somethings very wrong.” 

“Well, can it be solved by shooting at it?” 

“Katzenveits are normally up to your knees. Leaders rarely come up to the waist.”

“So?” 

“Take a hard look at the group in front of us. You tell me which one is the leader.” 

“Sure, I just pick the tallest …” I looked at Alleck, staring at the pack. The growing confusion giving way to fear on his face was more open than a flesh wound. 

He looked at me and said, “They are all the same size.” 

“Yes, and undead either get bigger or denser as they get more powerful.” 

Alleck looks at me and back at the group. “So what is that group’s leader?” 

A terrible hiss came from the group. Our target began fighting the others, wounding one deep in the chest. It cried out, gurgling on its own greenish-black blood. From the forest came this rumbling hiss, like one of those red caps but bigger, darker, meaner, and worst of all, older. A fast form, flung by its own gale, smashed into our target, killing it instantly. This much larger creature grabbed the hat and ripped it off the head. Black-green blood bubbled from the neck wound like a poorly sealed cartridge dropped in water.

“Do you think that the leader? A death-touched Fey Lord.” 

“If it were that, we would be dead. It’s almost worse.”

“Worse, what could be worse than a lord-strong monster?” 

“See the scar?” 

“The nasty one on its eye?” 

“It’s the Altere Ather Scrat.” 

While the bigger beast was nibbling on our target, Alleck’s face lit up. “Oh yes, I remember reading about them. Some fey are known as spirits, Scrats, for their shapeshifting trickery. Some are known for their magic, in this case, a fey of the ather. It rides the wind and rips heads off with a breeze. Huh, thats an idea. So this one is a cannibal undead.” 

“Worse. That fey killed my previous partner. It ambushed us three years ago; he was a better wind user than you. All he could do was blind it on one eye before he lost his head” 

“So we kill it and take revenge for your buddy?” 

“No. If it’s leading a pack that large of Katzenveits, it will use them as meat shields and run when the first one dies. I must focus fire on it, irritate it, and then swap between the leader and pack members. Killing a horde is not easy with a single shot.” 

“So what do I do?” 

“Stay out of the way, and try not to die.” 

“But I came from the High Ather College! I know more than wind!” 

The pipsqueak kept squeaking on, but it didn’t matter. I squeezed the trigger. Streak. Strikes the Scrat in the mouth. It fell back, sputtering in pain. Pull up. Pull back. Popped cartridge Clicked bullet. Push forward. Push down. Aim. One on the side. Squeeze trigger. Streak. Light. Body drop. I drop three more in my flow before the Altere Ather Scrat finally gets up. It screams out, and a soft yet chilling wind flows from him. I dropped another one before the wind came and touched us. The creature’s eyes lit up in fury. It pointed and hissed at us. The monsters started running towards us. Aimed at the creature’s head. Squeezed. The bullet streaked. It grabbed one of its own and held it up. A Katzenveit died, and the Scrat chuckled as it kept running. I tried to keep switching between the pack and my friend’s murderer, but the pack was too many. The Scrat and seven of its lackeys were up on the hill with me in moments. A sniper like me does not do well in a close combat horde. All I could do was try to take one more before dying. 

Before they could do anything, I saw fingers moving from the corner of my eye. Thin, faint purple streaks of wind grabbed several Katzenveits by the necks. A quick ripping sound beheaded several of them. 

“Kid, no!” I screamed out. He sent out another blast of wind, killing a few more, but that was a mistake. The Altere grabbed one of its own, then jumped up with its own dark purple wind. It rolled on top of Alleck’s wind and would be upon him instantly. I desperately tried to shoot it, but he only flung his last companion towards me. The bullet killed another red cap while he came ever closer to smoosh the boy. I knew then that I was about to witness his slaughter. 

I saw that only one hand was calling wind. The other hand was moving seemingly erratically, jaggedly, fingers twitching about like a gun’s components breaking. First yellow, then orange, and finally, a red flame came from the hand and lept up with the wind. The fire, strengthened by wind, smashed into my friend’s killer, and it began to roll about the ground, howling in pain. 

The boy screamed, “Take your revenge!” The nerve. No need to tell me twice. Instinct already made my hand load the bullet. I aimed, smiled, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet broke a tooth and smashed into its brain. I kept reloading and firing, even after the monster’s body stopped moving, even after the monster’s head was far more pale ammo than malicious flesh. The boy was by my side and patted me on the back—the nerve. 

I looked at him and said, “Thanks Alleck. I guess you are a B+ student.” 

“I was the top of my class for cosmic studies. Air, light, fire, the works. And now, with ten caps, I can graduate!” 

“In my long experience of frequent betrayal, if they expected you to fight monsters this far above your grade, they won’t let you graduate.” 

He looked downtrodden. I sighed and said, “So, in between stouts, I will head out to different places. As a sniper and collector combo, we can charge way more for our services.” 

“That sounds awesome, Paul.” 

“It’s still Mr. Voltz to you, Alleck.” 

 

The End 

References of German Nature: 

Paul means humble.

Voltz means wolf.

Alleck means warrior.

Troll means strong but also simpleton.

Katzenveit – sounds like kat-zen-fight – Red-capped hary wood elf spirit that often transforms into butterflies for long-distance travel. A variation of Scrat, Waltschrat – sounds like Walt-scrat.

Ather- sounds like A-ter – refers to ether, an ancient concept of outer space including air, fire, and other stuff. 

Ältere – A-ta-her, german for elder