The muffled screams and the thunderous crashes barely pierced through the ringing in Clayton's ears. He struggled to move but was trapped beneath the rubble, pinned down along the right side of his body. Only his chest and left arm remained free, leaving him powerless to stop the nightmare unfolding before him. Around him, the barracks was unrecognizable—a shattered tomb of splintered wood, broken weapons, and the grotesque remains of knights torn apart by monstrous claws and teeth.
The once orderly rows of bunks were twisted wreckage, crushed under heaps of rubble or splattered with blood. The floor was slick with gore, smeared with chunks of flesh and shattered bone. The sharp metallic scent of blood mixed with the stench of burnt wood and fear, choking the air. Clayton's vision swam as he saw a knight's helmet, cracked open and staring blankly, the lifeless eyes frozen in a final silent scream. A severed hand twitched faintly nearby before stilling forever.
Through the haze, Clayton could hear the monstrous howls of the Gultonk as it rampaged through the barracks, hurling anything and anyone in its path like toys. The guttural growls and the sickening crunch of bones breaking filled the space. The air was thick with dread and despair—the desperate screams of his brothers-in-arms morphing into wet, choking gurgles as life was ripped from their bodies.
Clayton's fingers scraped desperately at the debris, but his strength was fading. He could only bear witness as the unstoppable beast advanced, its breath a fetid cloud of decay and rage.
The Gultonk smashed through walls like paper, its eyes—black pits of cruelty—fixing on the village beyond. Distant screams of panic filled the night, women's cries mixing with men's desperate shouts, while the monster's guttural roars shattered the fragile calm. Clayton tried again, pulling at the rubble with raw desperation, but his body was trapped, helpless.
Suddenly, strong hands gripped him. Frank and Jonathan—two knights who had shared the brutality of training with him—pulled at his arms and legs, freeing him from the crushing weight. Pain flared as sensation returned to his limbs, but the trio moved cautiously through the carnage, stepping over broken bodies and pools of blood congealing in the dirt.
Jonathan scanned the bodies, hoping for signs of life, but found only shattered armor and broken flesh. Frank's gaze was fixed on the roaring monster tearing through the village streets, crushing anything living underfoot. His voice cracked with despair as tears streamed down his face. "What... what are we supposed to do against that?" he stammered. "We weren't trained for this. This isn't how it was supposed to be. I thought I'd earn a title, then return to my family's business in the capital."
Clayton's eyes hardened. He rifled desperately through the shattered armory, seeking a weapon, anything to fight back. Most were destroyed or buried beneath the rubble—until his fingers closed around a sword hilt. He wrenched it free. The blade was cracked and bent, edges chipped, smeared with the blood of those it could not save.
He exhaled heavily, glancing at Frank and realizing the man was broken, lost to grief. Turning to Jonathan, Clayton asked with grim resolve, "Will you stand with me? Fight to protect the village?"
Jonathan's disbelief was raw. "Are you serious? We can't beat that. We have no weapons strong enough... and there's only two of us left. All is lost. We should run, find survivors—"
Clayton cut him off with a steady voice. "It's our duty. Our honor. We breathe yet—then all is never lost." He paused, locking eyes with Jonathan. "I won't force you to fight. If you run, warn others. Get them to safety. I'll keep the monster busy."
Jonathan's shout echoed through the ruins, a mixture of anger and desperation: "You're a fool! Skilled or not, you're no monster slayer! You'll die alone!"
Clayton did not look back. His figure shrank as he strode toward the screams, toward the beast.
Jonathan glanced at Frank, at the shattered barracks, at the blood-soaked floor where laughter once echoed, then fled, leaving his rambling comrade and the lone knight facing the terror.
Clayton crested a ruined street, the Gultonk no more than seventy yards away, clutching an old fisherman in its massive hands. The same man Clayton saw every morning at the river, battling the elusive golden-striped bass. Now the fisherman was crushed like a twig, blood sloshing down to the earth with sickening wet sounds.
Clayton's heart thundered, rage swelling inside him like a storm. Memories flickered—knights training shoulder to shoulder, evenings filled with laughter and brotherhood. But all was shattered now, drowned in blood and fire.
With a sharp intake of breath, Clayton sprinted, adrenaline burning through his veins. He spotted a stack of crates beside a ruined house, forming a precarious ladder to the rooftop. He leapt, hands gripping the splintered wood, and raced across the shingles until he was level with the Gultonk's shoulders.
Without hesitation, Clayton lunged onto the beast's back, clutching its matted, grimy hair. The monster reared, roaring in fury and surprise, thrashing wildly and smashing its bulk against the ruined buildings. Clayton clung on, stabbing desperately at its neck, shoulder, and back.
The Gultonk's thrashes shattered wood and stone, its monstrous hands swiping to dislodge the relentless rider. Clayton slashed at its claws, buying precious moments as the creature crouched suddenly, readying to hurl itself through the air.
A low, guttural, grunt-like laugh rumbled from the beast's throat—a sound both chilling and mocking. Clayton's heart sank as he realized the monster's plan: it was preparing to use its massive weight and momentum to crush him utterly, throwing itself down with him on its back, crushing both beneath the earth-shattering impact.
With a deafening crash, the beast slammed into the ground, creating a crater and throwing dirt and dust into the air. Blood oozed from its wounds as it rose, eyes blazing with rage and pain.
Then, the Gultonk let out a bone-chilling, guttural laugh—an awful, low sound that echoed like a death knell through the ruined streets.
Suddenly, a rock flew through the haze, striking the Gultonk's head. It spun, confused.
Clayton stood breathing hard, clutching his bent, cracked blade. "What're you laughing at?" he taunted.
Without warning, Clayton swung his sword again, the blade biting deep into the creature's skull — but then, with a harsh snap, the blade shattered, breaking clean off at the hilt. The remaining blade was lodged firmly, grotesquely stuck deep in the Gultonk's head, jutting out at a jagged angle, blood dripping from the wound.
Clayton was left gripping the hilt of a now broken sword, his fingers wrapped tightly around the splintered wood and cracked metal.
The beast roared in pain, The Gultonk's massive hand slammed into Clayton, sending him hurtling twenty-five feet through the air. He crashed against a wagon, ribs shattering, breath knocked out in a brutal impact.
The monster approached, teeth yellow and twisted, dripping with gore. It hoisted the wagon high, poised to crush the broken knight beneath its weight.
But before the blow fell, the Gultonk staggered, collapsing to one knee, roaring in agony.
Clayton seized the moment, struggling to his feet, pain radiating through every bone. The beast lunged again, slower this time, its eyes wild with fury. Clayton dodged, feeling the rush of air as the Gultonk's claws gouged the earth mere inches from him. He slashed wildly at its legs and sides, the broken blade biting shallow wounds.
The Gultonk roared and swung wildly, crushing a cart with a single blow. Clayton darted between buildings, using the broken terrain as cover. The monster's roars shook the night as it tried to catch its elusive prey.
Finally, Clayton found a large, jagged rock. With a grunt, he hurled it at the Gultonk's eye—the only weapon that seemed to cause the beast real pain. The monster recoiled, staggering backward, blood pouring down its twisted face.
As the creature faltered, Clayton charged, broken sword raised. He drove the blade into the monster's exposed shoulder, twisting and sinking it deeper despite the blade's frailty. The Gultonk howled in rage, slamming its fists into the ground, shattering the earth beneath Clayton's feet.
Breathing heavily, Clayton met the beast's furious gaze, ready for whatever came next.
From the shadows stepped Diomede, tall and imposing, great sword consuming the moonlight. His eyes burned with cold resolve, cutting through the darkness like a blade.
With a smirk, Diomede called out, "Get out of here, little cub. The monsters are about to play rough."