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Those people… They had told him the creature attacking their village was a demon, a night creature of some sort. This wasn't. It clearly wasn't. It was a Bes and Trevor did not even have a proper sword on him.
The creature had once been a pig, no doubt, a boar, now possessed by the Bes, grown to the size of a small fucking tree, howling with a voice that was so clearly from another time. Raging red eyes watched him, as he held the long knife he had close.
The bloody whip was no good at all, as it did to squat against fucking beasts of nature. He already was bleeding, was already bruised from the fight and was somewhat sure he was about to die.
Ha. He should've stayed in fucking Targoviste. Because at least working the streets there did not get him killed. But, well, it was not much of a life either, was it?
Now the boar was running towards him again, those massive hooves just trampling the ground, crushing bushes in the way. And Trevor did the one thing his mind was going to offer. He jumped, trying to land on the stupid creature's head, to get a proper angle to attack. Somehow his jump was even high enough to lang him on the snout, able to push himself further up. He almost slipped and the bloody beast wanted to make sure he did. All it probably wanted to do was to trample him to dead and be done with it.
“Fuck you,” he growled, as he struck his knife into the creature's eye, enticing another otherworldly scream from it. He pulled his knife out again, just to go for another attack. Then another one. His own blood mixed with the black blood of the creature, as it finally managed to throw him off.
He was not even able to think properly, before his back already hit one of the trees. He groaned in pain, his vision going black for just a moment. It was instinct, nothing else, that made him roll to the side, before the now blind creature crashed into the very same tree. It was roaring in anger and pain.
Slowly his vision returned, as he tried so hard to get back up onto his feet.
Fucking family legacy. He had thought this was gonna come easy to him. Be a monster hunter. Finally fulfill his destiny. Finally do something fucking good with his life. But he might as well have thrown himself off the stupid city walls.
He tasted blood in his mouth, spat and was at the same time quite certain at least half of his body was by now covered in bruises. He bet, here were a couple of broken bones in there as well. Maybe some broken ribs or something. But at least the beast could not see him.
Maybe he should just leave it at that. With the black blood gushing out of where the monster's eyes have been, the thing would probably die within a few hours. Not a pretty kill, but a kill no less. He did not have a proper sword, nothing to pierce that thick skull.
So he just…
The creature turned its head around, apparently having heard the underbrush beneath his feet crackle. Another roar, as it was galloping towards him and this time he just was not quick enough. There were hooves beating down on him, trampling him, ready to kill. He was going to fucking die - and with him the bloody family legacy.
Because, hell, it turned out a kid did not make for a great monster hunter after all.
Only that there was some hunter instincts left in him still. It was not rational decision. Just a sudden hit of inspiration, as he brought his sword between himself and the creature's underside, that was so much less protected than anything else.
Cold steel cut into dark flesh, more of the black blood gushing forward, as the creature screeched – and then collapsed. On top of him. It was still twitching, still trying to get up, but then… He was not even certain. All he knew that it suddenly stopped, with the fucking beast on top of him.
He would've laughed, if he had been able to breath. He was still fairly certain he was gonna die now. Of… something. Anything. Trevor Belmont, the last of the Belmonts, dead. Slain by a single stupid bloody Bes.
What other end had ever awaited him, really? It had been five years, since his family had been murdered. And he was still only but a kid. A very human, very mortal kid at that. Not fully grown and rather scrunchy, given that he had not had a good fucking meal in quite a while.
He had been supposed to die with his family, God darn it.
And yet, he somehow was still straining, still trying to get his limbs beneath himself, just for enough that he could push himself out from underneath the cursed creature.
It hurt. It hurt so much.
Pathetic.
He groaned and pushed and pulled, somehow trying to get a grip on the marshy forest floor.
He should have died that day with his family. He really should've. If anyone had been supposed to life, why not his brother, who at least would've been able to continue the bloody family legacy? Why not his father? His aunt or uncle? Why not his cousin for that matter? All of them had at least learned how to fight by that day. All of them had at least been hunters.
He wasn't. He just was a bloody kid, who strained to get out from underneath the Bes, fighting down a scream of pain, as he realized at least some of his ribs were broken. And yet he struggled, until he finally managed to move, until he finally got free.
He was no bloody hunter. But he was the only thing left of his family.