Hyatt's thick, fur-lined boots were coated with grime as he made his way through the bog. The thick murk made his every step sluggish, but the large, well-built traveler plodded onward-determined to reach his goal.

It was a new, unknown wickedness that inhabited the marshy region. Unlike the brazen evil of Gorasmuth that had threatened the island of Astenbury many years ago, the menace that lurked in the bog was of a mysterious sort. Tales were mixed in their accounts of its existence as man or beast, or even something else altogether. It had claimed the lives of many, and those who had managed to escape it walked mindlessly with glazed eyes, barely able to function or speak. The faceless evil was whispered of with dread among the people of Astenbury.

Perhaps it was that Hyatt yearned to reclaim his past glory in some way by facing this danger of the bog, to divert his future from the graying horizon. Though his youth was far behind him, he had once been the people's hero, the champion on a pedestal, and the man who had ended the tyrannical rampage of Gorasmuth the Unholy. Now, he was but a humble woodworker whose feats of valor were distant memories.

"No!" came the alarming cry that pierced Hyatt's cloud of thoughts.

The silvery, jelly-like creature seemed to wriggle and entwine her in sporadic motions, but its multiple extensions anchored her in place. They fluctuated in size and length, but worked in common accord to drag the young woman down into the bog. She looked toward Hyatt with pleading eyes, just as a section of the creature's exterior sprouted forth to wrap around her and pull her beneath the moist surface.

Hyatt recognized this as a baruva, a hostile predator of the bog known to capture and drown its victims prior to digesting them. He gripped his axe in both hands and brought it down in preparation for combat. He charged forward and swiped at the baruva's pulsing, shifting body with a rapid motion. The steel hacked cleanly through a thick portion of the creature's gelatinous flesh. A viscous fluid spewed from the stump to coat the edge of Hyatt's axe and forearm. He ignored this and continued to slash the monster's shifting outer skin until he realized that its female captive had been submerged in the bog for some time now.

He brandished his axe in one hand and reached into the thick ooze with the other. He probed around in an effort to locate her, but he felt nothing. He moved forward while fighting off the baruva's remaining attempts to stay him, until he located her feminine form. Grasping her securely, he heaved her to the surface.

Hyatt sliced through the fleshy area of the baruva, that held the woman and hauled her away from the creature. He slogged away to safety and pulled her along with him.

"Stay here," he warned her. He then turned back to face the madly thrashing baruva, and advanced on the creature.

The baruva lurched toward him, and used the leverage in its versatile form to hurl its entire mass in his direction. The baruva collided with Hyatt and its form eagerly spread over him.

He wrestled with the creature as it attempted to engulf him, and kept slicing through every part that tried to impede his progress. Overwhelmed by its injuries, the baruva shuddered and released him to back away. It began to pull its way rapidly across the surface of the bog in the opposite direction. Hyatt considered giving chase, but decided instead to check on the condition of the young woman.

"My thanks," she said quietly, almost in a whisper. She wrapped her arms around herself, as though the air chilled her.

"What were you doing in the middle of the bog?" Hyatt questioned her. "Have you not heard the stories of late?"

"I have heard no stories."

"Where are you from?" Hyatt asked her. He was unable to discern her accent, and her mannerisms seemed strange to him.

"My cabin is on the bog," she told him, and he stared at her in wonder. "I have lived here for years."

"Why would you live anywhere out here?" Hyatt asked. "It is dangerous. The baruva might have killed you if I had not happened along."

She smiled mysteriously. It suddenly struck Hyatt that she seemed unfazed after the exchange with the baruva. Though her clothing was tattered in places, there were no wounds to be seen on her body, and she did not seem weakened or shaken by the affair. Although it puzzled him, Hyatt decided to move on.

"If you wish, I can escort you from this area," Hyatt offered. "It would be safer in town."

"I told you, this is my home," she replied with a half-smile, as if Hyatt's suggestion had been a childish utterance. "But you can come with me to my cabin, if you would like."

Hyatt paused, studying her further. Her hair, streaked with shades of light and dark brown, was caked with mud from her recent ordeal. Her eyes were dark and exotic, and although she was strange, she was quite attractive, even after being dragged into the bog. Hyatt knew the woman could be a liability on his trek, but she intrigued him in more than one fashion.

"Then I will see you to your cabin," Hyatt agreed, and the two of them set off.

Hyatt plodded through the bog with the exquisite beauty for minutes, and he noticed, in the wake of the struggle with the baruva, that the sky had darkened. Judging by the position of the stars, the direction they took would lead them into the heart of the dismal region. He dropped his eyes from the stars to the murk ahead of him, and he was unable to resist another sidelong glance at his new companion.

"My name is Hyatt," he introduced.

"Amyra," she said, as her captivating eyes met his.

Amyra's cabin was pitiful and ugly, to Hyatt's mild surprise. It was certainly a stark contrast to the woman who graced it. It was small and crude, and appeared to be a destitute hovel. The interior was even worse; the single room within its rotting husk was layered with mold in daunting combinations of yellow, green, and black.

"This is where you live?" Hyatt asked. He again surveyed the shack's horrific state of disrepair, if only to confirm what his eyes had just shown him.

"I have nothing else," she replied. To Hyatt's ears, hers was not a note of dejection or regret, but of mere acceptance. She almost seemed to have some form of appreciation for this awful place.

"I'll take you away from this," Hyatt decided. "You should not have to live in a place such as this."

"I have lived here longer than you know," Amyra told him. "I could not bear to leave. My father built this place. I have lived here since."

"Where is he now?"

"He is no more," she said, again as a neutral statement, without a trace of sadness.

At least the situation was finally beginning to make sense to Hyatt. Amyra's father had previously protected her from the dangers of the bog. After his passing, she had unknowingly stumbled into the clutches of the baruva. She was not seeing logic, and Hyatt knew she would be vulnerable on her own. He would eventually have to convince her to leave the bog with him, but until then, he would stay.

"Why did you come here?" Amyra asked him later that night, as the two of them lay on the bedroll furnished from Hyatt's travel pack.

"I came to find the creature that lives in the bog," Hyatt explained to her. "A terrible thing that has killed many from my own town, and reduced others to-" Hyatt paused, searching for the proper way to explain the mindless state of the surviving victims.

"But why would you follow them here?" she asked him. "Did you not expect that you could perish like the others?"

"They were my countrymen," Hyatt said. "I do not desire to see any more of them dead."

She studied him thoughtfully. He shifted uncomfortably on the bedroll as they looked at one another for a time in quiet, until finally she spoke.

"What is the true reason you came here?" she asked him.

"I told you."

"There is more that you leave unspoken. Why do you feel so driven to hunt down this beast?"

Her instincts were right. Hyatt did feel a duty to his people, it was true, but he also longed to restore his glory, to prove to the new generation and to himself that he was more than just an icon of the past.

Hyatt suddenly found himself telling her this, and telling her of all that he used to be, and longed again to be. The Hyatt from twenty years ago, the one who had stormed into the lair of Gorasmuth the Unholy and brought peace to Astenbury, seemed like someone else entirely. His memories felt like nothing more than fading dreams.

He told her of Gorasmuth's cruel acts against the people of Astenbury, all those years ago, and how he and the old militia had penetrated Gorasmuth's inner circle of defense and fought their way into the colocom dictator's stronghold. Gorasmuth's army was not as large as Hyatt had been led to believe; the colocom had strengthened his hold on the surrounding land through excessively brutal intimidation tactics. When Hyatt finally found himself face-to-face with Gorasmuth, all the tales he had heard of Gorasmuth's invincibility raced through his mind.

It had been said that Gorasmuth could not die. He was already dead, the people said, and his soul was beyond the grave. Others had tried to destroy him, yet he had never been defeated in battle, even after sustaining the most critical of wounds. They said that Gorasmuth swallowed the very life from his victims.

The other men of Hyatt's regiment were engaged in battle with Gorasmuth's subordinates, and this left Hyatt alone to face their leader. Though Hyatt was a large man by human standards, Gorasmuth dwarfed him. The cold flesh of the colocom tyrant varied in shades of green. The reptilian eyes were murderous. Hyatt admitted to himself now that he had been afraid, but the fear had bolstered his caution, and he had not been disposed to throw himself carelessly into the fray.

He and the colocom circled one another until the first blow came crashing down. Though Gorasmuth had been powerful, Hyatt was quicker, and had done his best to maneuver around his opponent. Hyatt had charged headlong into conflicts of the past, but his approach to Gorasmuth was a calculating one. Anything less would have left him dead.

When he managed to strike Gorasmuth, he became aware that the wound was gradually healing before his eyes. He wondered what sort of magic Gorasmuth might be protected by, and then he again recalled the tales of Gorasmuth the Unholy, who could not be destroyed. Hyatt himself was only a human, a mere mortal. The damaging blows that landed on Hyatt continued to hemorrhage, while every wound sustained by Gorasmuth seemed ineffective.

Hyatt was losing, but he continued to stand his ground against the unnatural power of Gorasmuth. For his effort, he managed to stall Gorasmuth until the surviving soldiers of his militia were free to assist, and they rushed forward to surround the colocom dictator.

Together they drove him back, until there was nowhere for him to retreat. Although their attacks seemed to accomplish little, Gorasmuth finally exhibited signs of weakening. He was pierced by Hyatt's blade, and as he fell, the men drove the wooden shafts of their spears through his body. Black blood spurted from Gorasmuth, and the spears continued to thrust into him repeatedly, making new outlets where the old wounds were becoming invalid. The body of Gorasmuth the Unholy twitched and writhed as they dragged it from the keep and set it ablaze. When the fire died, they buried the remains, laying to rest the awful scourge of Astenbury.

Hyatt finished his story. He and Amyra faced one other without speaking for a long moment. He again felt uneasy as their eyes locked, and there was the recurring feeling that Amyra's unique eyes were somehow probing deep into his own, perhaps to ascertain that everything he had told her was true.

She suddenly moved forward and kissed him with a fiery passion that astonished him. He instantly realized that he was unable to resist her, and returned her affection twofold. The minutes raced by unnoticed as they explored one another, and with heated abandon, they delved into the electrifying throes of ecstasy.

Hyatt awoke the following day with Amyra's seductive figure pressed firmly against him. She was frigid to the touch, but seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He stood and walked outside the shack, and he saw that the sun was already setting in the sky. Had he slept so late? He attributed it to the musty air of the cabin. He was not certain why Amyra insisted on staying here, but he decided that, before much longer, he would make another attempt to convince her to leave with him.

He found a stray piece of wood lying near the small dwelling. He removed the small knife from his pack and began to work away at the wood, to masterfully carve it into shape. When he sat down on the wooden plank just in front of the cabin, Amyra walked outside. She looked down at him as he sat concentrating on his woodcarving. She sat down beside him but did not speak, and they shared a lengthy silence, though not an uncomfortable one. At this moment, words were unnecessary between them.

Hyatt put away his knife and wooden carving-in-progress, and went through his pack to pull out his coarse travel provisions. He offered some to Amyra, but she declined. Hyatt wondered briefly what she might possibly eat out here in this forlorn place, but did not venture to ask.

When the sun had completely lowered from the sky, Hyatt and Amyra again fell into yearning indulgence, and brought one another to new heights of passion. The next few days ran together for Hyatt as he and Amyra shared their bed in the small cabin, talking endlessly, quenching one another's desires, and growing closer by the day. Hyatt had all but forgotten his original intent in pursuing the creature of the bog. Since he had found Amyra, he no longer felt concerned with much of anything else.

Hyatt eventually finished his wooden carving. He came to Amyra, who was sitting inside the cabin, and he held it out for her. Her eyes grew large as she took in the sight of the small sculpture.

"I made this for you," Hyatt told her. She was speechless for a moment, and she continued to stare at the sculpture, which was unmistakably carved in her likeness.

"This is beautiful," she breathed. She took it in both hands and studied it with awe. She looked up at him then, and he saw that something different had come into her eyes. It was something he had never seen in her until now. It was sadness.

"We should leave this place," Hyatt said to her. "Both of us, together."

"I cannot," she said somberly. She looked back to the small statue that Hyatt had carved for her.

"Why not?" Hyatt asked. She looked at the wooden statue in her hand for several seconds, and when her eyes turned back to Hyatt, the sorrow in them had deepened.

"I cannot lie to you any longer," she said to him. "I am not what I appear to be."

"What?" he asked with uncertainty. "What do you mean? What have you lied to me about?"

"You first came into the bog to hunt a monster," she said quietly. Her gaze dropped to the floor. "And you found me. I am the monster you came to destroy."

Hyatt stared at her, uncomprehending. What sort of twisted jest was this?

"It is the truth," she said.

"You are no monster," Hyatt said. "You are very beautiful, and I have come to care very deeply for you."

"And I, for you," she said. "And this is why I must tell you I am not what I appear to be. Love cannot flourish in a bed of lies." Tears came to her eyes, and her tears were a coal-black, which left Hyatt stunned. "You told me of your struggle with Gorasmuth, twenty years ago. You told me Gorasmuth was said to feed on the lives of his victims, that he was somehow outside of the natural order of life and death. What if I told you this was true, and that Gorasmuth fed on the minds of the living, which is how he bent so many to his will? What if I told you I was the same?"

"That cannot be," Hyatt exclaimed. He shook his head as he tried his best to fathom her words.

"When Gorasmuth and his small army of colocom first came to Astenbury, I was their prisoner," she continued. "Gorasmuth shared his terrible curse with me. He made me what I am, an abomination, and for this, I was bound to his will. Twenty years ago, upon the moment of Gorasmuth's death, I was freed of him."

"But the creature of the bog was never spoken of until recently," Hyatt said, still in disbelief of everything that Amyra was telling him. "It is impossible!"

"My hunger has grown over the years. The loss sustained by the people of Astenbury has grown as my hunger has grown, and people have begun to take notice. For years I have fed on their minds, and I have done so since Gorasmuth made me into what I am."

Hyatt struggled to come to terms with this revelation. What she told him did make a sort of sense, since those unfortunates who had not disappeared had been completely devoid of speech or reason, but it just could not be the truth! Could it?

"Why would you tell me this?" Hyatt managed to ask. "Would you not feed on me as you did the others?"

"My original intent was to lure you into my home and slowly drain you over a period of days. Do you remember how you felt each time I looked into your eyes, and how you once slept nearly an entire day away? At first, I only sipped at your thoughts, but everything changed. I grew to care for you, and to love you." She looked at the carved statue in her hand. "You came here to hunt a monster, and I am that monster. But I love you. Perhaps you are not a warrior anymore, but it does not matter, Hyatt. There is no war to be fought in Astenbury anymore. I have seen inside you, and I know that you can bring true beauty into this world." Her head dropped.

"Then you have only been using me for your own personal gain," Hyatt deduced.

"I love you."

"Everything we had was a lie."

"No, Hyatt." The blackened tears ran down her cold cheeks. "Not everything."

"When we first met, you could have easily freed yourself from the baruva," Hyatt asserted in the growing bitter anger that seeped through him, "but you used it as a ruse to lure me into your web of lies. I could never trust you, knowing what I now know, and I will never make that mistake again."

Hyatt's hand closed over the handle of his axe. To his astonishment, Amyra dropped to her knees before him.

"Though you may not realize it, I could destroy you," she said to him, even as Hyatt towered over her with his axe in hand, "but if you want me gone from the world, I will not fight you. It is because of our love that I bare my true self to you."

Hyatt looked down at her, unable to sort out his emotions as they swirled within him. It was unbelievable to him that she could be the terror of the bog, and yet it all suddenly came together in some warped version of reality, where everything he knew was turned on end.

His axe had never felt so heavy to him. As her eyes looked up at him, he could not force himself to bring her harm.

It had been so much easier twenty years ago. Killing Gorasmuth had not been difficult in this aspect. He had hated Gorasmuth.

How could Hyatt kill someone he loved, despite anything?

Incalculable rage and sadness filled him. He cast away his axe and fled. He fled from the small cabin, he fled from the bog, and he fled from Amyra. His life was not the same afterward. He had gone into the bog to reclaim his past, and instead, he had discovered the possibility of a future, which he had thrown away. The finality of her blackened tears stung him, and her tears were now a part of him, as was everything they had shared. He came to realize this and he one day returned to the bog, but he was never able to locate the old cabin again. Amyra was gone without a trace. He would never find her, and he would never look into her beautiful eyes again.

Through the years to follow, he would still hear tales of the terrible predator that lived in the bog. Though he would not speak of her, she would remain always in his mind. He could still carve her image from memory.

"I know that you can bring true beauty into this world," she had told him. She had spoken these words to him when he had been beyond reason.

He walked outside his home, and looked toward the grayed horizon of Astenbury in silent reflection. A nearby group of children stared at him. Their eyes were curious. They were but children, after all. They did not remember Hyatt the Warrior of twenty years ago. It no longer mattered to him.

Although the memories would always remain, just as they would of Amyra, those days were gone.

He picked out a fine piece of wood that had fallen from a tree near his home, and began to work at it with his knife.