//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 - Odd Meetings 
// Story: Bounded by Nothing 
// by -Watcher- 
//------------------------------//

His feet pounded against the slick, cracked pavement below, driving himself forward. Wind whipped his face, bringing tears to his otherwise focused eyes as they shifted rapidly between each of his peripherals. 

He shook his head, wiping the water that worked to blind him away. 

Heartbeats echoed loudly in his ears, in sync with his heavy, rapid strides. The large bag on his back didn’t help his steadily increasing fatigue, legs yearning for a rest that he couldn’t afford at the moment. 

In fact, there was little he could afford to do besides run now. 

For a moment, the urge to check behind him broke through the noise of his mind. Maybe they aren’t there anymore, his mind whispered, edging him to turn just for a second. 

He didn’t risk it. 

Instead, he pinned his gaze to the path in front of him, eyes scanning once more for any routes that he could take. 

A clearing in the path he knew led to a pond was coming up quickly. Had it been a warmer season, he might’ve risked a dip if it meant getting away. 

The brumal, late-autumn air burned his lungs. Each lungfull seemed to bring with it less and less comfort as his body fought to keep going against the brewing storm. Even now, he could feel the wind picking up and see the light snowfall morphing into a densely packed flurry. It would be wise to head inside soon, but his options were limited. 

Wait, the pond might be frozen. . . I could hike across it and take a shortcut through the woods. I’ll lose them there.

Satisfied with the plan, he once more focused on the path, keeping his feet beneath him. 

Slowly, the path began widening into a forked trail; one leading ahead and the other leading to the hopefully frozen pond. 

Turning off the main walkway and onto the already snow covered gravel, he squinted struggling to look ahead as his eyes strained to focus the blurry images before him. The young blizzard did not help his efforts. 

As he continued to barrel down the gravel path, he crested a small elevation in it, stopping momentarily to look ahead once more. He could faintly makeout what appeared to be the pond, despite the fuzzy edges that kept it too obscure to confirm.

He continued to run forward, not looking back.

The path dipped down after the small hill curving back and forth as it continued to descend into another small clearing that held the pond. 

The air continued to get colder as he descended, his breath now fully visible. The burning in his lungs worsened as well, and soon enough, his old friends achy legs decided to make another appearance; he really was out of shape, wasn’t he?

Finally coming to the pond’s clearing, he stopped.

Gasping for breath, he hunched over with his hands on his knees. As he stood there, catching his breath, he strained his ears for his pursuers. Seconds passed, and he began to think he might’ve actually lost them. 

Just in case, he pushed his hand into the snow and grabbed the largest rock he figured he could throw, flinching as the cold bit into his fingers. He pocketed the rock.

He let out a long sigh before picking his head up to look down the path behind him. 

More seconds past, and he let himself feel just a bit of hope. Maybe a trek through a dark, cold forest wouldn’t be needed after all. 

Suddenly, his hopes were dashed as he heard footsteps kicking up dirt and rocks along the path he had come from. Turning around to face the pond, he was horrified to see that the majority of it remained unfrozen. Even the spots that had begun to freeze were far too thin for him to cross safely. 

By now, the sun had finally dipped beneath the horizon, casting the clearing into a pale, dark twilight. The large drop in temperature was felt immediately. All the moisture in his exposed lips and hands had all but left now, leaving them dried and cracked. They were beginning to go numb but still throbbed. 

Rubbing his hands together, he looked around and listened for anything around him.

He could hear the steps coming closer, and his ragged breath became quicker again. His already raw throat certainly did not appreciate the ample amount of freezing air that it was getting. 

Damnit. . . he breathed. Couldn’t have done this on a warmer day, could you guys?

Scanning the pond, he searched for a way to run around the edges without being seen. What light did make it this far down into the clearing was heavily obstructed by the thick pines that flanked the pond’s edges. It was still enough to illuminate his path for a while, so that would have to be his best bet.

Before he could move to make good on his plan, the distant footsteps had finally evolved to four figures rushing into the clearing with him. 

Two men stayed to block the path, one moved to the left of the path, blocking his potential exit. The last one moved toward him slightly, and the other three did so as well. They all were out of breath, heaving as they made their way towards him.

The three that stood guard were massive men, easily towering over him and the leader of the group. Said leader was still taller than him by a few inches. 

A shit-eating grin crossed the leader’s lips.

Panic overwhelmed his mind. Here he was: stuck between three brutes, an asshole, and a pond that was hypothermia waiting to happen. What the hell was he gonna do?

As if to answer him, the leader of the group stepped forward again. He was a large man, not in height, but he made up the missing mass in width. 

Clearing his throat, the man began to speak. 

“Alright, Shayne. . . Here’s how this. . . is gonna go,” the man said between breaths. “Either you give us the. . .  money you owe us or,” he paused, looking behind towards his goons, “This is gonna get messier than it needs to,” the leader finished, grimacing slightly. 

For a moment, Shayne reckoned he could dome him in the head with the rock and get a few good swings in before the other three pounced on him. The thought almost made him smile, but reality came crashing down too quickly, shaking the thought from his mind. 

The wind had died down, leaving the snow to fall more delicately around them. It graced the rocks and trees and gravel that surrounded the group. 

If he were in a nicer situation, Shayne would have thought it was beautiful. Peaceful, even.

Second after agonizing second passed like molasis. Shayne racked his mind for a response that would minimize the likely incoming hospital bill, but found it very difficult to think. Adrenaline had been coursing through his veins for a while now, leaving him more lethargic than he’d like. 

Truth was, not only did he not have their money, Shayne didn’t have any money at all. He was a week out from his next check, so he wasn’t too focused on what the hell these guys needed from him. Shayne was busy surviving until the end of the week.

In his mind, this was just another bump in the road, albeit a more painful one.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he settled on a response. One that was mostly fueled by fatigue and the growing frustration that burned in his chest.

“Shaw, I don’t have your damn money,” Shayne began, voice tired and drawn out. “If I did, we wouldn’t be out here in the bloody freezin’ cold, now would we?” As he spoke, Shayne swung his arms, gesturing to the darkening sky as if to emphasize his point. “Hell, we’d be havin’ a grand ole’ time. You and your boyfriends over there sat around extortin’ money outta hard working people, and I’d be still alive with my knees intact. Sounds fun, right?” Shayne tried to make that sound jovial, like a friend making fun of another friend in jest. He didn’t think it worked very well, and judging from the glares he was getting, his buddies didn’t care for his attempts at humor.

Well. . . I guess that’s one way to piss them off, he thought. 

Shayne gulped and butterflies began to swirl in his stomach. 

Somehow, the air grew colder and thinner in the ensuing silence. No one moved or spoke or made a single sound. The only thing that filled the silence was the steady breeze that continued to dance in and out of the clearing. Shayne continued to glance from Shaw to his thugs and back, looking for any movement. 

Shayne swallowed hard once more, and he finally settled his gaze on Shaw’s eyes. Surprisingly, they weren’t filled with the anger or murderous intent Shayne expected; rather, Shaw seemed to be looking at Shayne with. . . pity? 

“Look, boy,” Shaw spoke suddenly, snapping Shayne from his trance. He spoke slowly, a strange weariness worming its way into his words. “We chased your ass out here, we ain’t leavin’ without some form of payment.” Shaw’s hardened glare returned, accompanied by a new, disturbing grin. 

By the way that last word was said, Shayne figured the pity he had seen wasn’t as selfless as he’d thought. 

Shayne cursed under breath, shivering as a swell of freezing air blew into the clearing. Shayne closed his eyes, hiding in the moment of protection the darkness gave him to think. Running wasn’t really an option now, not with them so close. Shayne doubted he’d make it far with how tired he was, not even factoring in the massive bag still wrapped tightly around his shoulders and he’d be damned if he left it behind. Fighting would most likely end just as poorly as running. Even if it were just him and Shaw, he didn’t like his chances, but add the three other meatheads? 

Things could go from bad to deadly, fast. 

No matter how I play this, it's gonna end ugly, he thought. Better just act tough and get through this with at least a little dignity.

Taking a deep breath, Shayne opened his eyes to speak, his fear masked by a forced jollity. “Well, if that’s the case,” Shayne paused, lifting his left arm and curling his pointer and middle finger towards himself, “Come get your payment, ya thick-necked prick.” As he finished his best shot at a one-liner, Shayne felt his smile fade.

That was probably a bit much, huh? he thought, flinching inwardly.

Shaw’s scowl was filled with so much venom it was a wonder he could still stand, and his eyes were overcome with a fury that sent a shiver down Shayne’s spine.

Translation: damn right that was too much.

With a disgruntled grunt, Shaw moved towards Shayne, motioning for his goons to follow. They were closing in fast, but Shayne needed them to be just a little closer. 

Time began to crawl, and Shayne’s mind seemed to follow it. Almost unconsciously, he found himself reaching into his pocket, grasping the rock within, and chucking it as hard as he could at Shaw’s fat face. 

As the rock left his hand, Shayne’s heart had somehow begun pounding harder than before. It felt as though it would either fly out of his chest or up his throat, neither a very pleasant feeling. However, his heart skipped an entire beat as Shayne saw the rock collide with Shaw’s face, hitting the bridge of his nose and causing him to slip backward onto his back, letting out a primal grunt of presumably pain. 

Even from where he stood, Shayne could see the snow beginning to turn red as Shaw slowly rolled onto his stomach. 

Holy shit. . . was all that came to his mind as he stood there, frozen in surprise.

Shaw wiped at the large gash, growling in a newfound rage as his hand and face smeared with his own blood. “You. . . you little shit!” Shaw screamed as he sat there kneeling on the ground. “Don’t just stand there, you morons! Get him!” he screamed, louder than before and gestured to Shayne.

With that, Shayne broke himself from his surprise just in time to see three very large men rushing towards him. Without thinking, he stepped back onto a small portion of the pond’s edge that was frozen. As his foot went through, Shayne lost his balance and fell to one knee, yanking his right foot from the freezing water before it could get too wet. Even still, he felt his toes and the entire front half of his foot quickly go numb. 

Shifting his attention to his attackers, Shayne stood up, readying his fists awkwardly. As the closest one finally reached Shayne, the behemoth of a man swung wildly with his left hand, easily being dodged by Shayne as a ducked. Using his own momentum against him, Shayne grabbed his outstretched arm and yanked with all his might towards the pond, his foot reached out to trip the man. Only succeeding a little, Shayne managed to force the man into the pond’s shallows, splashing loudly. Shayne released the man’s arm.

Holy shit! Shayne thought as he regained his balance, stepping away from the edge of the pond and towards the other men. 

Looking to the next attacker, Shayne frantically shook the bag off his shoulders. Just as the second man lunged, Shayne threw all of his weight into the hail mary of bag swings, but even though the man was surprised, he reacted much quicker than Shayne thought he would have. The blow only clipped the man’s face, which was easily brushed off. This did little to impede the man’s lunge as he ripped the bag from Shayne’s hands, throwing it off to the side. Before he could do much else, Shayne felt the thug’s massive arms wrap around his waist. Suddenly, the sensation of leaving the ground overcame him, and he was forcefully brought down into the snowy gravel, head bouncing off the ground. 

Shayne’s vision blurred and swam before him, and he felt his hair stick to the gravel as he lifted his head slightly. As he did, a blinding pain whipped through the back of his head. Shayne felt the thug release him and stand up. 

Sluggishly, Shayne rolled onto his stomach and attempted to get to his knees. Shuffling to his left drew his attention there, but as he tried to move his head in that direction, a boot came from the ground and smashed into his nose, blinding him as pain shot through it. Shayne’s head was reeling by now and he found himself outstretched on his back, unable to move as his vision continued to refuse his attempts to focus. 

He could feel his heart pound in his chest, the blood rushed through his ears drowning most of the sounds around him into a blend of just. . . noise. 

Being denied a much needed rest, Shayne’s side was introduced to yet another flurry of attacks from the same boot that smashed his nose in. He recoiled from the pain, curling into a ball to try to protect himself from the onslaught to no avail. It seemed that the other two thugs had finally joined the party as kicks came flying from all directions, some landing to Shayne’s back, his head, and his stomach. 

Finally, a stray kick connected where he had previously hit his head, sending his vision into yet another blur of stars and colors. Shayne could feel the cold embrace of unconsciousness begin to take a hold of his mind. The edges of his vision began fading as they caved in, almost consuming is vision entirely. 

Shayne thought he heard a man shout something unintelligible. It made the kicks stop, so he was grateful. Shayne could feel the blood from the back of his head matte his hair down, and he was sure his nose was broken. Blood seemed to trickle down his knows slowly.  

Still on his back, he tried to look around but found moving was an incredibly painful thing to do, so he simply laid there for what felt like eternity. 

He was abruptly grabbed by two of the thugs and forced to his knees. He was still facing toward the pathway that led to the pond, but Shayne couldn’t get the images in front of him to be clear enough to really see anything. Fuzzy shapes and figures clouded his sight. 

Shayne swore he could hear someone talking to him, but he couldn’t focus on it. Everything was starting to blend together again. He let his head sink down, consciousness leaving him rapidly.

A gloved hand grabbed his hair forcefully, pulling his head upright once more just in time for him to be slapped by another hand. It was enough to keep him awake, but not enough to break the veil over his eyes. 

The voice screaming at him was getting clearer though. After a few more garbled sentences, Shayne could faintly make it out. 

It was Shaw. 

“Boy, look me in the eyes when I am talking to you!” he screamed, or that’s what Shayne thought he was doing. It still sounded muffled. “Little shit. . . you are either really dumb or really brave and honestly,” Shaw paused to pull something shiny from his coat pocket, “I think neither suit you.” For a moment, Shaw stopped talking or yelling or whatever he thought he was doing—he was fiddling with the shiny thing, trying to put it on his hand. 

No. . . Shayne thought, his mind jumbled and racing. You’ve got to be getting me. . . 

Letting out a groan, Shayne seemed to get Shaw's attention back on him.

“What? Had enough yet, pisspot? Ready to pay up?” 

Shaw had moved uncomfortably close to Shayne’s face, almost snarling and spitting in his eyes. His breath stank of cigarettes and cheap alcohol. 

Shayne, in his ultimate wisdom, believed he should let Shaw know distance is a polite thing to give someone. 

How?

Raising his head, Shayne gargled and spat as much phlegm, crud, and saliva he could muster right into Shaw’s still bleeding gash. 

“You still mad about that rock busi—”

Before he could finish his retort, the hand holding his hair ripped him backward and Shaw drove his now reinforced right hand right into Shayne’s ribs. Red bled into Shayne’s vision as he tried to hunch over in pain, only to jerked upright again into another oncoming strike. This one hit the same place, and Shayne felt a rib crack. 

Shayne bit his tongue, drawing blood, forcing down his cries. Even still, strangled grunts of pain came muffled from each strike the Shaw landed. After three more blows, Shayne was allowed to hand his head, and he heard Shaw step back. He kneeled down to Shayne’s level, eyes ablaze.

“Look here, pisspost, we can do this all night if we have to. The long you act tough, the more likely we’ll leave you here to freeze to death in your own blood,” Shaw spat. “Now, I’ll ask again, are you ready to pay up?”

Shayne tried to say something clever, but as he breathed to speak, pain racked his sides. So, he opted to give a slight shake of his head, spitting a bit of blood at Shaw’s feet. 

Standing fully, Shaw sighed. “Well, now, that’s a shame. . .” he paused and turned to look at the bag the thugs had discarded. Smirking, he said, “Say, what’s in the bag?”

Immediately, Shayned’s head shot up despite the pain that followed. He glared with as much ferocity and hostility he could muster in a situation like this. “Nothing. None of your damn business anyhow. . .” Shayne seethed, his voice burdened and hoarse.

Even as he was talking, Shayne could see Shaw’s gaze move to the bag. Soon, he began moving towards it, and Shayne exploded.

“Damnit, you bastard! I said there’s nothing in there! Keep your damn hands off that I swear to god I’ll kill you!”

Shayne tried to force his way up, but the thugs threw him to the ground and resumed their earlier onslaught, kicking him relentlessly. They gave him no mercy as their boss slowly approached the bag. 

Shayne, despite the pummeling he was receiving, was lost in his thoughts. If he lost that bag. . . he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. 

It was all he had left.

He tried to get up against the kicks, but failed to do so multiple times. Each time, the thugs only kicked harder, so Shayne laid there. His vision began going black once more, and he welcomed it. He couldn’t do anything anymore.

Just before he succumbed to the beating, a noise pulled him back from the brink. Behind him, he could hear rushing—no, moving—water. A lot of it.

By now, the kicks had stopped and all three of the thugs were seemingly looking in the direction of the noise. Shayne didn’t dare move a muscle. Instead, he opted to just listen.

“Uh, boss? What the hell is that?” one of the thugs asked, fear lacing his voice.

What the hell are you afraid of, tough guy? Shayne thought, almost amused.

Almost. Having the shit kicked out of you tends to put a damper on one’s humor.

Turning from his inspection of the bag, Shaw scowled in the direction of his men, only to join his men in what Shayne assumed was fear. 

“What in god's name. . .” Shaw trailed off. 

Still too afraid to move, Shayne continued to lay there. The noise of water continued to crescendo, as if something was rising out of the pond. Officially too curious, Shayne rolled over to his side slowly, peering through the legs of the thugs. As his eyes met the center of the pond where the noise was coming from, his jaw dropped. 

In the center of the pond, a ball of bright white light—as large as a car—was rising out of the water. The light was so bright it lit up the clearing as if it were day again. One glance to the sky and Shayne confirmed that it was definitely not daytime. The stars occasionally poked and shined from behind the large clouds that dotted the sky.  

Turning his attention back to the ball of light, Shayne was horrified to see it was making its way to the shore of the pond, its light somehow glowing brighter and brighter. His heart sank.

“Boss, what the hell are we doing?”

“I uh. . .” Shaw struggled to speak, fumbling over his words. “Screw this. Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Shayne heard Shaw turn and run. 

“Hey, boss! W-wait for us! Boss!”

The three supposedly tough thugs called after their boss like a scared kid to his mother, and they fled in a similar manner. Shayne allowed himself a smile as he heard them slip and fall repeatedly to escape the ball of light.

Said ball of light was now touching down on the bank. 

Slowly, Shayne pushed himself to one knee, holding his side tightly. Breathing was becoming much more difficult, so running anymore was definitely not gonna be happening. Instead of turning to run, Shayne simply sat back down and stared at the ball of light. 

“Well. . .” he spoke slowly, coughing as he did. “I guess there are worse ways to die than a big ball of light from a pond.” Shayne smiled lazily. Whether it was the pain or the concussion, Shayne found himself almost content with facing this. He knew he should probably be afraid, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be scared. Instead, he looked on in a blend of wonder and amazement. The light seemed to. . . calm him in a way. 

As he continued to stare, the ball of light began fading, and Shayne could see a large figure in the middle of it. He continued to squint at the dying light, and the figure became clearer and clearer as the light faded. 

“What the hell. . .?” 

Finally, the fading light had completely dissipated, leaving the clearing bare of anything but the moonlight from above. Shayne couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There, in the moonlight, stood a white horse, easily over six feet tall. A closer look, and Shayne saw the horse had wings. . . and a horn? The thing’s mane and tail were alive, flowing way more than the wind warranted. Its fur was so white that when the moonlight caught, it shined brightly off the pearly coat. 

Shayne continued to stare more, dumbfounded, his mouth agape. The horse thing was staring in the direction where his attackers had run, a pronounced glare gracing its face—muzzle?

 Seeming to feel his gaze, the horse thing turned to meet his eyes finally. Its eyes were an impossible shade of pink, and they bore grace, sorrow, pain, and care in a terrifyingly human package of emotion. Its gaze made Shayne feel. . . safe, somehow. It seemed to have softened its eyes greatly from when it was glaring, almost like it was relieved to see him.

Shayne held his breath as it shuffled awkwardly towards him, limping. As it moved closer, Shayne unconsciously scooted himself away from it as best he could against the frigid snow bed beneath him. 

The creature slowed its approach, legs dragging along the snow. Its ears folded down as it cocked its head to one side and stared at Shayne with darkened, eyes. Remorseful, even. 

Then the horse thing spoke, a strong, feminine voice filling the clearing. 

“I am sorry. I seem to have frightened you. I mean you no harm, I promise. Just needed to give them a good scare is all." She gave a light chuckle and gave a slim smile, her eyes stripping a bit of their former sadness. "Are you alright?"

After everything that had happened to him tonight, Shayne could not take another crazy thing. 

He had surely gone mad.

With nothing more than a “gah” of exasperation, Shayne felt his body go limp as he fell backward and promptly fainted.