The night was black without a moon, the air thick and still. All was silent, until suddenly a blonde figure sped over the large hill, breaths frantic.

The blonde gripped his black cloak tight to his side in his right hand as his left arm was encircled around something small bundled in blankets. He stumbled down the rocky hill running as fast as he dared, as if the very fires of hell licked at his heels. His foot caught on a rock and he was pitched forwards. He angled himself so as to fall on his right side, and he crashed into the rocky earth beneath with a cry of pain.

At the cry, a tiny voice began to whimper. He quickly pushed himself to his feet with a wince as he again began to fly down the hill. Suddenly the view of a forest began to appear in the darkness. The hill eventually levelled out to flat earth, disappearing into the darkness of the trees. The blonde hesitated for a moment at the edge of the darkness before a voice called out behind him.

"There she is! The witch is about to go into the forest! And she has it with her!"

A line of the village men had appeared at the top of the hill, carrying torches and pitchforks. Even from this distance the blonde could see the hate filled eyes. He gave a cry of fear and made his decision as he dashed into the inky black between the trees.

He ran around the thick trunks, pushing past leaves and branches as twigs scratched at his face and body tearing through the cloth of his midnight clock. A thick branch dug into the left side of his face, just below three scars. He brought his right hand up to the deep gash only to have his hand come back covered in sticky red blood. His cloak caught on another branch, and as he tugged it free he stumbled and his foot caught on an upturned root. The ground rushed up to meet him, and this time he unwillingly let the bundle loose out of his left arm. It rolled across the ground the blanket coming undone to reveal as infant, only a couple months old at the very most.

"She's fallen! Quickly!"

He turned his head to see the villagers getting dangerously close. In a panic he pushed himself and grabbed the fallen infant. As he began to run once more, he noticed he had badly injured his ankle. He did not know how badly though, and he didn't have time to figure it out. But as every step sent a shock of pain, he knew he would never make it. But what to do? What to do? Suddenly the very ground disappeared beneath his feet, and was sent plummeting to the ground. It was perhaps a fifteen foot drop, and as he fell he clutched the infant to his chest as his cloak whipped around him as the air rushed past. He hit the ground in a crumpled heap.

He was dizzy. He hurt all over. As he raised his head groggily and set his eyes forwards the trees multiplied. It took them a moment to rearranged themselves, but when they did a figure in red had appeared. He blinked to clear the image, but the figure remained where it was.

His last hope. He had to risk it.

"Take my child! Please, I beg you!"

The figured appeared startled, and it took a step back as if to retreat from the blonde.

"Where is the witch?!"

"Look! There is a cliff over there; she must have gone that way!"

The blonde's eyes filled with absolute fear and terror, and his head whipped from the cliff above back to the red figure. Expecting the person to run, or call out to the villagers at the word 'witch', the blonde was startled when the other came closer and knelt next to him, resting a pale palm again his bleeding right shoulder. The contrast of black and white distracted the blonde for a moment, before the face came into view.

It was a man with bright orange hair and a scar that ran from the corner of his mouth upwards. He wasn't exactly handsome, but neither was he grotesque. He was frighteningly pale; paler than the blonde had ever seen anyone before. The man opened his mouth as if to say something, but the blonde was quicker.

"Please, they will kill him! You must save him! Please!"

And then a small bundle was being pushed into the red cloaked man's arms. The black cloth fell away at a corner to reveal the face of a tiny baby boy. The boy had beautiful short blonde hair, and he had soft pale skin, though no where near the same as the scarred man. But when the tiny infant opened his eyes, the pale man's own eyes widened in shock. For the child's eyes were as red as blood itself.

No wonder the woman in front of him was being called a witch.

The man made a motion to grab the blonde, as if to bring him along as well. But a headshake stopped him.

"It is too late for me. Just take him and run. Get away from here; as far as you can get!"

The blonde gave the orange haired man a slight shove, but he was too weak and it didn't even more him slightly. He was loosing too much blood. But the look in the blonde's tear filled blue eyes was enough, and too fast for a normal human, the man in red was running to the trees. He never looked back or hesitated, which was good, because the moment his figure past through the trees the villagers were upon the blonde.

Hands held his arms firmly behind his back, and someone was pulling his long blonde hair so he had to look up directly into the leader's face. It was the leader of village, the blonde noted with distain, a man who was well respected and followed the Lord's good name. The blonde found it funny, as the man had lusted over him many times, moral or not.

"We have finally caught you, Witch."

The blonde spat in his face, blue eyes glaring fiercely with a burning fire.

The man was calm as he wiped the saliva from his cheek. He grabbed the blonde's chin and forced his face closer to his own. The look did not change.

"Take off her clothes, she must be hiding the child underneath."

The blonde's face changed drastically. He struggled in vain, desperate to get away from the tearing hands. Unfortunately they were much stronger, and soon the blonde found himself completely revealed to the world.

Gasps of shock came from the gathered group. For in front of them was not a woman as they all had thought, but a man.

"Why do you use this form, Witch?!" Came the horrified and confused voice of one of the men.

"She thinks that if she has the form of a man, we would not harm her. That perhaps she could fool us into believing we had the wrong person. But we still know who you are. Kurda Smahlt, a witch in league with devils." The village leader narrowed his eyes, as he pulled out a cross.

"For the last time; I am not a witch!"

"You bore the seed of a demon! We have seen the child's eyes. Eyes from hell itself! Did you bed Lucifer himself, child? …Did he seduce you, perhaps with promises?" As he spoke, the man’s eyes turned sympathetic. The thought of one so young turning to Satan made his heart ache. "Change back into your proper form." He commanded thrusting the cross into Kurda’s face.

"Th-This is… my proper form. I am a man." Kurda couldn’t keep his eyes on the people of the village. He didn’t need to see their faces to know their expressions. Confusion would be the most apparent, as they all knew men couldn’t bear children. Of course the thought would cross their minds that it was the child of Satan, and also a witch, so perhaps…

"Man or woman, it doesn’t not matter what she claims too be! She has spawned the child of Satan, and must be burned!"

The men heaved a struggling and panicking Kurda to his feet. They carried him back to the village, those with torches leading the way through the forest. On the way, one of the man covered Kurda one again with his black cloak, as there were woman in the village.

Upon entering the village Kurda's eyes rested on the town center where a pile of logs and branches had been lain around a cross. Everything was soon blurred by tears although the blonde tried to hold them back. He sobbed and shook as they tied his arms to the cross, and his legs found themselves a firm place to stand among the wood.

The leader grabbed a torch from the man next to him and spoke loudly.

"Kurda Smahlt! You have been tried and convicted as a witch-"

"I attended no such trail!" Kurda nearly shrieked as his voice shook with fear. But the man continued as if he had not spoken.

"-And gave birth to a child of Satan. You are to be burnt until death. May God have mercy on your pitiful soul."

With that he lay the men threw their torches unto the pile, which erupted into flames. Kurda began to hyperventilate, but that quickly began difficult as smoke filled his lungs. The flames licked at his feet and ankles, then spread up to his legs. Quickly the flames danced upwards, past his waist and around his torso. Although he’d done a good job of keeping himself quiet at first, as the flames went higher and higher, he began to give shrieks and hysterics of pain. And then, as he was engulfed completely by the flames, the only sound for miles was his pain filled screams of agony, as if piercing the night sky.

"And mark my words, Witch. We will find that child, and it will burn."