The Blind Witch ch. 4 and 5 – A Left 4 Dead Fanfic

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Chapter 4

She was beginning to dream again. With the heat came the dreams, and with the dream would eventually raise memory. There were bits and pieces, sometimes images, more words. She would see colors – blue, green, shades of pink, possibly the color of cheeks or roses, then she would feel things. There were soft things, hard things, painful things… things she both longed to remember and things she was happy to forget. The words though… the words were of the utmost importance.


Danger was the first word.

It scared her until her body shook her awake, but even in the wakeful hours of bright sunlight and dew, she found the word “danger” still lingered within her. It left a bitter, copper taste in her mouth, which she tried to physically spit out, but to no avail.

The sticky dew was no help, and it had her squirming relentlessly. Then her eyes fell on a mass of darkness, curled on the ground beside her.

There was a thump.

She stopped and pressed a hand to her chest. She couldn’t recall such a feeling, or a word to describe it. It went just as quickly as it had come, and soon her mind was focused back on the mass next to her. It barely moved, and she could scarcely say it moved at all.

But as she reached out to investigate further, a little flash caught her attention. There, attached to the end of what should’ve been fingers, were claws. She made a little gasping noise, and held her hand up to the light, turning and turning the claws until she had investigated every edge and corner of them.

Had she always had these things?

Then, there was a grunt, and the mass on the ground stirred. The Witch shuffled back, claws extended out to put a serrated wall between herself and whatever was rising from the ground. The mass, now a full grown man, shook – an animal shaking off leaves and dirt from where he had slept. His brown hair was sticky with the dew and something crusty and black. Then, his face angled up to meet hers.

She screamed.

The shriek echoed through the forest, erupting into a cacophony of sounds and animals. The Hunter’s brow shot up, and his mouth formed an unpleasant line with the loose, broken lip dangling off the bottom. He shook his head and held a finger to his lips.

“Hush. Quiet, Witch.”

She fell silent and carefully studied his mouth. He could speak, too?

“Who… are you?”

The Hunter sat up, rolling his neck until it made a cracking sound, then he sighed.

“… Hunter.”

The word formed in her mind, cloudy and foggy. There was something attached to it, something very real and very there, but just out of her mind’s grasp. She sat in silence for a long time, just trying to clear the fog and pull that image forward, but to no avail.

The Hunter grunted, his face now tight and accentuating the scars with what looked like annoyance.


The Witch shook her head. That wasn’t right. The name was familiar, but there was something else… something that name seemed to cover up.

“Emily.” She said.

The Hunter froze in his morning ministrations.


She clicked her claws together, trying to form the sounds again… slower.

“… em… Emily. I, Emily.”

The Hunter’s lips broke from their line into what might have once been a smile. He rushed toward her, a crouched creature with an ugly face.

She shuffled back, screeching and slashing claws before he could even get close. The Hunter stopped, and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Remember me?”

She didn’t move.

He hit his chest more forcefully.

“Remember me?”

She shook her head this time.

He yelled, raising his voice much louder than he needed,

“Hunter. Remember me?”

Her mind rushed and slowed, rushed and slowed, until it was throbbing in her skull. Why couldn’t she remember that word? Why couldn’t she remember that word? Then another word rose amongst the chaos.


Then she remembered.


He nodded, and the smile returned to his lips, though wrinkles broke the laced pattern of his brow. He was worried, and so was she.

How could she forget so much, and remember so much, all at once? And why?

Chapter 5

Her Hunter hadn’t looked at her again since they had woken up. Her memories from the past were still foggy, a thick haze she couldn’t seem to wade through, but while her memories as an infected faded, something else long forgotten was beginning to rise within her.

She had remembered a name, her name. Avove all, she was no longer just the Witch, she was Emily, and if she remembered nothing else the rest of her life, she would’ve been content with just a name. She had proof that she actually had been a person once. Emily felt and carried the warmth she could only imagine now.

Though this new information was satisfying, that lingering haze had her growing more and more curious about the past. Who was she really? Who lingered just below her gray skin? She studied her hands, the palms scarred up and down from what she could only assume were her own claws. How many of these scars were from this life, and how many had she earned in her old one? She wanted to know. Somewhere deep down, there were answers. She just needed to figure out how to access them.

Then, a gruff voice broke through her thoughts,


She looked up to see the Hunter, pacing back and forth on all fours, making much more noise than the Witch deemed necessary.

She shook her head, even though he wasn’t looking at her to see it.

“No. Emily.”

He growled.


Emily peered over at the Hunter, his pacing was uncoordinated. His hands and feet seemed uncertain of their next fall, hovering in the air much longer than they should’ve been. He was nervous.

Emily then recalled the way he had lunged to her at hearing her name – her actual, human name – as if he was excited, as if he had been waiting for her to remember it.

“Hunter? Your name… only Hunter?”

The Hunter froze in his pacing, giving her a chance to catch the side of his face, and the way his lids and sockets twitched with unused muscles. It looked so painful. She wondered if and how he could see at all, but a little niggling at the back of her mind had her feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. She felt like she knew the answer already, she just couldn’t recall how.

The Hunter said, “No.”

Short, resolute. He didn’t want any more questions, and even if she asked, she probably wouldn’t get an answer anyway. The Hunter was too busy trying to remember how to pace properly to recall a name. His arms were bent at unnatural angles, as if they were contorting on their own. It was separate from what he wanted them to do, which was simply to pace back and forth.

Emily sat, waiting for something more, squirming in anxiousness when nothing did. In the meantime, she let her mind wander and ponder things she still had no answer to.

Hunter’s name?

Her name?

Why was she remembering, and more importantly, why was she forgetting, too?

She held her arms out in front of her, studying the deep red lines she hadn’t noticed latticing her arms in a beautiful, ugly mixture of purple and gray. They were so in-between, much like a scar, a wound between being there and disappearing. Her eyes flicked back to the Hunter, who was now stopped in his pacing, staring at her, slack-jawed. His sockets were right on her, daunting and angry with their little pulps peeking out at her.

She couldn’t remember ever seeing something or someone so ugly, so animal. Then, another flash of memory: moonlight, rough hands, warmth, and light… bright, bright light in a dark room.

A room in a house she had lived in, in a former life from ages ago.

She had to go back. That would be where the answers were. She stood up, eliciting a growl from the Hunter who crawled up to her feet. In response, she presented her claws, though she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Something inside her, deep, deep down within her chest, there was a slight twinge. Something was changing inside her, but she just wasn’t sure what.

She looked to the Hunter, and she could see something was changing inside him, too.

He growled again,

“Where are… you going?”

She shook her head and pointed towards a break in the woods where they had walked through before.


The Hunter shook his head before nudging against her knees in the opposite direction, deeper into the woods, and farther away from her goal.

“No… bad. Need to keep… going.”

Bad? How was it bad? Her home was there. She knew it. It was familiar and safe. She recalled it smelling like vanilla or lavender a long time ago. It was a memory which burned her nose with its strength. There had to be more. She had to remember if it was vanilla or lavender. She pushed against his face, and he pushed back.

“No. Home.”

He growled, much louder, and pressed his shoulder against her, too, causing her to stumble back a few steps. He wasn’t going to let her pass… at least, not without a fight.

She brandished her finger blades, giving him a hiss of her own. The Hunter sat up until he was simply squatting, quiet and still, a statue. She pointed passed him, back toward the path she knew would lead where she needed to go.

“Home. I need home.”

The Hunter shook his head, resolutely. So, fight it was. The Witch released a screech and stepped forward, not before a loud crackling of gunfire erupted within the woods. Behind the Witch, a tree whined with agony, having taken the shot for her. She turned to investigate, which the Hunter took as his chance. He easily rose from his squat and shot forward, scooping the writhing Witch in his arms.

Emily continued to screech and thrash. She was getting farther and farther from her goal, farther and farther from the chance of her memories. Then, as if on cue, another shot rang close by. A memory surfaced from within the haze.

A man… no. A group of men, with guns and knives, watched them as they ran into the woods. A man at the front of the group, poised with a knife pointed in their direction, not unlike her claws, watched with a promise gracing his lips.

‘I will find you.’

And he had.

It really was bad.

To Be Continued…

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The Blind Witch ch. 3 – A Left 4 Dead Fanfic

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The Witch and the Hunter ran until night fell, but the rain never let up. The Witch tried her best to remain calm, but with her sense of sight dulled once more, her nerves were mounting. But even as infected, they all had their limits, and the Hunter had reached his. His breathing was much more labored, and from what the Witch could see from the flashes of light between the trees, his head was glistening. Not with sweat, but with blood. His gash hadn’t stopped bleeding since they had left.

When they did finally stop, it was because the Witch said so, not because the Hunter gave out. The Hunter would’ve probably kept going all the way into the night, no matter his injuries, but the Witch couldn’t stand hearing his feet, once smooth steps, crunched into the ground, heavy and without much purpose. He was getting worse and worse the farther they traveled.

“Hunter. Stop now.”

At first, the Hunter ignored her, and his steps became much more calculated, while his speed took a toll. Seizing the opportunity, she dug her heels into the ground, hissing as her naked heels took a beating from the underbrush. The Hunter fumbled, much less gracefully than he usually would have, and even lost his grip on the Witch’s wrist. He didn’t fall, but he came close, and ended up in a dipped crouch. He turned back to growl at the Witch, but momentarily froze, along with the Witch as she caught his face in a flood of light.

What had it been called? Moonlight? She couldn’t recall it right away, but at one time it had made her feel warm. But as her eyes studied the face of the Hunter, she could only be filled with dread. His face was marred with a never-ending lace pattern of scars. They had no real rhyme or reason, but they seemed to form some intricate pattern beyond the understanding of the Witch’s mind. His lips were shredded, parts of the top lip hanging limply on the bottom lip.

None of his face was more horrifying than his eyes, or rather, his lack of them. They were sockets, darker than the night that blurred the sides of his face, where the light didn’t quite filter out. But where the tops of his cheeks were, laid two pulpy masses, which glimmered red and angry. The Witch had been blind since her change, but she couldn’t imagine what the Hunter had seen before his eyes had been mutilated, and it wasn’t just because she was unable to comprehend complex ideas.

She stepped toward him, and he shuffled back, his form bleeding into the darkness. He was nothing more than a shadow, and he would eventually be nothing to her if he didn’t come back into the light.

“Hunter. Come.”

The Hunter growled, but remained in the darkness. The Witch tried again, adding a flourish.

“Hunter. Come. Please.”

The Hunter remained silent for much longer than the Witch was comfortable with, but he did make his way back into the light. He stood much taller and straighter than before, his body rigid except for a slight lean he had on his left side, but for the most part, he was much more like the men the Witch remembered at her old home. She physically shivered, which caused the Hunter to wilt. She wasn’t sure why.

Still, she made her way toward him, slow. She reached out with her hands, claws reflecting all the light that filtered through the trees, making them look unearthly beautiful. There was a feeling of warmth in the Witch’s chest when the thought danced across her mind – the thought that something about her might be beautiful. But she was careful. She knew they could harm the Hunter, and she didn’t want to harm him more than he already had been. She lifted her claws toward the sky and pressed each cold palm against his cheeks. They were rough to the touch, and she was reminded of something in her past life. She remembered feeling such a thing before, but she couldn’t recall a name. It was infuriating, but when she saw her shimmering claws masking his eyes, she was reminded of something else. They were tears.

She wondered if the Hunter could cry, but she found the image before her too beautiful to question or alter. The Hunter, on the other hand, was lost

“What you do, Witch?”

The Witch suddenly felt self-conscious. She knew what it was like to be blind, but the Hunter had feigned perfect vision since they met. It didn’t make sense to her, and she found herself longing for the innocence of his hoodie.

“How? See?”

The Hunter’s mouth moved slowly as he spoke, each word seemingly forcing its way out of his mauled mouth.

“No eyes. Mind. Mind’s eye. See sound. See smell. I am Hunter.”

His description matched her former description of the word, “Hunter.” He was stealthy, but he was so much more than that. He lifted his hands to grip hers, careful to avoid her claws.

“I see Witch. Witch always so sad.”

The Witch wasn’t sure how to respond, and instead focused on his hands holding onto hers. Even his hands felt rough, a detail she hadn’t noticed before. She also wasn’t sure if it was just her own imagination, but she felt both a heat rising in her cheeks, and a strange heat from his hands warming her hands. It didn’t necessarily feel real, more nostalgic, like the flash of a memory across flesh. It was a lovely feeling, but the Witch soon felt a dampening deep in her chest – a dampening of the heat, and the rising of tears.

She wasn’t sure why, but she cried, just as she did when she had been stuck in that house. The only difference was that the Hunter was there to take her in his arms. And while she feared his face, she did not fear his imaginary warmth and the warmth his touch rose to her chest. The memories were becoming much more powerful as the night went on, and the intensity had her wishing she could have known the Hunter before the change – before, when all of the heat was real.

To Be Continued…

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The Blind Witch ch. 2 – A Left 4 Dead Fanfic

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They were close, leaning against each other, neither saying a word, but instead listening to each other breathe. It was silent. Finally, the Witch had peace. The words were beginning to fade with the constant breathing of the Hunter. But the silence wouldn’t last for long.

There was another sound, much louder and much more prominent than either of the creatures’ breathing. It sounded like steps, and there were many of them. Reflexively, the Witch cowered in on herself, all of the words in her mind making their way back to the forefront and matching the intensity of the steps. She had begun to sob when the Hunter growled,


Quiet. She could do that, but the words in her mind wouldn’t do the same. Biting her lip, she muffled most of her cries, seeming to satisfy the Hunter well enough. With the steps being the main sound, the Hunter crouched forward and toward the door. He went forward on all fours, swift, but blending in well with the darkness at the edge of the bulb’s light. The Witch was frightened, more than she had ever been in her entire reborn life, but it was not for her. It was for her Hunter. She could barely make out his form in the dark, but she was almost positive she could see him pressed against the door. He was listening, but for what she wasn’t sure.

Silence fell again, this time with a much louder, but steadier set of footsteps. The Witch knew there had been more, but this set scared her even more than the mass. This set was hunting, and for an instant, she guessed they were hunting her. She was sure the Hunter felt the same as his form went rigid, and he turned back toward her. His mouth opened to speak, just as the door was ripped open to reveal a dark silhouette on the other side.

The Witch began to shriek and attempt an attack, but the light was far too bright for her eyes to adjust in time. Before she was thrown back into the throes of the blinding light, she could make out her Hunter turning around to face the silhouette and the silhouette lifting something above its head. It was something that gleamed in the light like a razor blade, and the Witch was reminded of her claws. Panic struck and she was ready to tear through the blindness and just attempt any kind of attack. She had to protect her Hunter.

But before she could even take a step, she felt her Hunter’s hand on her wrist. He tugged her around in the other direction with one word,


And she did.

Though the Witch had been in that house since her change, she had never explored it beyond the foyer where she had always been. She didn’t have the ability to recall the layout from her past life. Regardless, the Hunter seemed to have a better sense of direction than she ever could have, and he led her through the darkness without too much trouble. She couldn’t see a thing, no other lights had been turned on, but the Hunter could see fine. She trusted the Hunter and instead focused on keeping her feet moving, but the sounds around her often caused her to stumble in fright.

The Hunter’s breathing was steady and focused, but speeding up as each new room just led to another, then another, then another, with no end in sight. He was panicking, which only served to increase her panic. She could also hear the steps. There were others, but they were much farther away than the one set which only seemed to get closer and closer with every room they entered. The person was speaking, but the Witch wasn’t sure who he was talking to.

“Kill. Gotta kill all of them.”

Kill. The word bounced around in her head a few time and suddenly expanded. The word seemed to infect all of the other words, and they became similar in sound and intensity. They were painful, the most painful any word had ever been, and the Witch began to stumble again. She was no longer aware of anything, but that word and the sobs which clawed their way up her throat and out into the house around her. There was only one thing keeping her going, and that was the Hunter’s hand gripping her wrist.

Though she had long since released her grip on his wrist, he held fast to hers, and there was no sign that he was letting go anytime soon. But she was weighing him down now, and she knew that he knew that.

“Let. Go.”

The Hunter only growled in response as he ripped open another door and ran them through it. He wasn’t going to let go, even if she caused them to be captured by the man with his painful words. He wasn’t going to, and she didn’t know why. She had to know why. So, she focused. She steadied her breathing and pushed herself forward, and when she did this, the Hunter’s speed picked up. The pursuing steps were growing distant. There was one more door, and then the darkness became light, blinding, but it was light. The light faded much quicker than before and the rain came down much harder. Though she could see the rain and the world around her, it wasn’t easy, and it was maddening being blind when she knew she could see.

But even as they had made it outside, the Hunter continued to run. The Witch noticed the cuts and the open wound on the back of his head. The man had cut off the hood of the Hunter’s jacket which allowed the Witch to see his hair, a shaggy head of chestnut being matted down with blood from his wound. The Witch felt a twinge of panic once she saw the wound, but she had no time to dwell on it.

Gun shots and voices erupted from behind them as they ran, and the Witch could only peer back for a second, long enough to see a group of people with guns raised and blades hanging useless at their wielders’ sides. Then, she saw the leader of the group. He stood ahead of everyone, blade pointed outward and following their path. He would remember them, she could tell, and she would make sure to remember him. They disappeared into a forest, and her view became all trees.

But even then, they didn’t stop running, and the Witch was glad for that. She squeezed the Hunter’s wrist and continued on their path. She wasn’t sure where they were going, and she wasn’t completely sure that he did either, but she trusted him, and that was all that mattered.

To Be Continued…

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The Blind Witch ch. 1 – A Left 4 Dead (Hunter x Witch) Fanfic

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She lived isolated. She hid herself from the world behind claws, weapons she didn’t even know she had. When she was initially infected, she thought it was a cure. This witch had been blind in life and still blind in her afterlife.

She had no idea what she had become, what had become of her world, her family… and she had long since forgotten what happened to her thoughts. She had a few words that ran like ticker tape around her empty and pain-filled skull.

Pain. Yes, she knew that word. She felt it every day.

Sorrow. That one took longer to remember, but yes, this was one she most often associated with her pain.

Alone. This one left an empty pit in her stomach.

Dark. This one made her body run cold. She openly began to sob, regardless of whom or what heard. She needed to let the words out. She needed quiet. Her mind was always so loud.

There she remained. She cursed her fate, if she remembered what fate meant. If not, then she simply cried and moaned for no reason at all – only because that was all she knew to do.

Then, she saw a light. She had never seen light in life, and it scared her in death. Her pink, glazed eyes shifted toward the light, instinctively, but all she could muster was a hiss. The being that had opened the door slipped inside, dripping wet and in just as much pain as the witch.

The witch sat silently as the light disappeared, and the slam of a door locked it away. She listened. Her home had always been filled with her own voice, her sobs, her screams, and the terrible words that always seemed to claw through her mind, but now that she listened, she could hear soft and constant beats on the roof.

Rain. Yes, she remembered it. Though she couldn’t say what it looked like, she remembered how it felt. Wet.

She heard shuffling around her, and instinctively she crushed herself as far into a corner as possible, protecting her back. She couldn’t see the intruder, but she could at least attempt to protect herself.

She sat quietly, and so did whoever had made their way in. They remained this way for a long time, the intruder knowing good and well what was capable of this witch and where she was. The witch, however, had no idea where or what she was dealing with. She had never had to fight in life, and that certainly didn’t change in death.

“W… wh-… who is th-… there?”

Her voice was rough, and painful even to her own ears. It was more suited for growling or shrieking, which she was most accustomed to. However, when her memory served her well, she could use it to speak. She spoke a language even she couldn’t remember learning, and simply knew it out of habit.

The intruder didn’t respond. The witch could hear the intruder’s feet shifting and getting closer. She folded in on herself, hissing and doing her best to hide every part of her behind her claws, though little good it would do against something with the clear advantage of sight.

“W… witch.”

She froze. Another being who could talk? She gazed out in front of her, squinting her eyes in the hope that she could possibly see who had spoken to her, but she found nothing. The voice had been rough, animalistic, and essentially sounded much like her own. He was another… witch? This word stumped her. She assumed that was her name since it was directed at her, and she had no memory of any other title.

What this other being was, she had no clue, but she had never heard of anything like her before. With her curiosity peaked, she musted the strength to speak.

“Wi-… witch, yes… you?”


Hunter. This word she remembered vaguely, something with guns, killing, and stealth.

She bared her claws. She didn’t trust this word and the connotations associated with it.


The hunter shook his head, a movement the witch was unable to see. The witch took the silence as confirmation and proceeded to huddle in on herself and sob. Then, she felt hands on her face, cold, rough hands. She hissed and unfurled her claws, obviously missing her mark when the hands did not retract. After a few more futile swings, she settled with crying into the creature’s hands as he lifted her face up.

“E-… eyes… pain?”

She nodded – an impulsive reflex to the question. He had found her weakness. She was positive that he was going to kill her, knowing that she was more vulnerable than he might have initially perceived.

The hunter dropped his hands, allowing her head to droop back to its protected position. Then, she heard him shuffle, and hands and arms were under her, lifting her off the ground. She struggled reflexively, but in the end all she could do was relax into the arms of the hunter.

She felt him move with her across her residence, and with a loud bang, the light flashed back into her impaired vision. As a result, she screeched and cinched her eyes, afraid the light would harm her. The hunter continued to move with her, and it wasn’t long before she felt the rain on her skin. Cold. Soothing.

Those were good words. Despite the comfort of the rain, the light was still too foreign for her to trust. She held her eyes shut.

The hunter stopped and jostled her. She refused to comply. He tried once more, and this time added, “Eyes.”

Finally, she opened her eyes. The world was even more blinding than before – this time painful. The light soon cleared and was replaced with a soft and comfortable view, one she had never seen in life.

She looked around frantically, having never had this ability before. She saw colors she couldn’t put names to, ones she had failed to learn in life. It was beautiful and ugly all at the same time. Then, she took a moment to look at herself, the claws scaring her the most when she held them up, and they flashed like razor blades in the sun. Had this always been part of her?

She was scantily clad with a tattered top and shredded pants. She could only assume it was from her careless use of her talons, and her skin was an odd shade.

Then, she looked at the hunter. His skin was the same odd tone as hers and he wore a dark hoodie with long pants. She had never pictured a hunter looking like him, but then again she had never seen anything before this day. He looked at her, his face partially hidden by the hood, and his clothes already drenched.


Happy. The Witch couldn’t quite place this word, but it felt warm.

She nodded – though she still wasn’t sure what that meant, either. Her hunter’s lips turned up, it was slight, but the witch remembered a word that described that little movement: smile. She tried the action out herself, but wasn’t sure it was as nice as his.

The hunter headed back toward her house, but the moment he opened the door and took a step in, the witch had to squint in order to make out even a shape. The farther he went in, the harder it became to see. She shrieked and fought with him, now able to land a few blows with her new ability of sight. However, the hunter held fast, shaking his head.


She stopped fighting, but remained stiff in his grasp, ready to pounce. He placed her on the floor and she scuttled as close to the opening of the door as possible, taking in what little light was filtering in from around the seams. She noted that the longer she sat in darkness, the more her sight became impaired. Even as this creature, the blindness never fully went away.

Soon, the room was lit with a haze. She blinked past the initial blinding light and let her gaze rest on the hunter, who was standing under some kind of illuminated bulb. He looked at her, or rather faced her. She couldn’t be sure if he was looking at her or not with his face covered.


She blinked. Was witch not her name? She silently stared at him, not sure how to go about asking if he had one or not.

He let out a loud sigh and dropped to the floor. She watched as he wrapped his arms around himself and curled up. She crawled across the floor to him, watching the slight shivering of his form.


Cold. Painful, shivering, and in need of warmth.

She nodded and pressed herself beside him. She carried no body heat, and neither did he, but the idea of warming each other was better than nothing. It made them feel somewhat human, though the witch had never known what being a human felt or looked like.

To Be Continued…

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