The rising sun, a sliver of molten gold on the horizon, should have brought a dawn of hope. Instead, its light was stained a sickly, bruise-like crimson by the plumes of oily black smoke and the hungry glow of flames devouring Oakwood. It was not a sunrise, but a portent, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on every soul in the village.
Clang—! Clang—! Clang—!
The alarm bell finally rang, its frantic peal a desperate, belated cry. It was instantly swallowed by a rising chorus of screams—raw, animal terror and the shrieks of the dying. The peaceful hamlet had become a charnel house in the space of a breath.
The flimsy wooden palisade splintered with a sound like dry bones snapping. A tide of fell-beasts poured through the breach, a flood of black chitin and lashing tails, bringing with it a stench of carrion and sulphurous breath.
"Help! Aaah—!"
Nearby, a woman clutching a child stumbled. A shadow detached from the chaos and took her down. Her cry was cut off, replaced by the wet, ripping sounds of feeding and the sharp snapof bone.
Renn felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. His legs were leaden weights, but the twin goads of survival instinct and the need to protect his own screamed at his muscles, forcing them to move.
"In! Now! MOVE!" Old Huck's roar was a thunderclap in Renn's ear.
The usually silent, limping hunter moved with a speed that belied his years. He shoved Renn aside, his calloused hands slamming against the heavy oak door. With a tortured groan of wood, he heaved it shut and drove the thick wooden bar home, sealing them in.
THUD!
The impact came almost simultaneously. The entire cottage shuddered. Dust rained from the rafters.
"They're… they're inside…" Mia whispered from the corner, knees drawn to her chest. Her face, usually lively, was parchment-white. Tears welled in her huge eyes, her whole body trembling uncontrollably.
Renn was at her side in an instant, pulling her into his arms. "Don't be afraid, Mia. Don't be afraid. Father and I are here." His own voice shook, but he fought to keep it level. His hand pressed unconsciously against his chest, against the outline of the Bronze Flask hidden within his rough-spun tunic.
Its cold seeped through the fabric, a piercing, unnatural chill. Instead of discomfort, it acted like a potent salve, cutting through the boiling terror in his veins, forcing a sliver of clarity back into his mind. That dead-metal touch was a stark anchor: Stay calm. To live, you must be calm.
"Renn, take Mia to the root cellar! Now!" Old Huck turned, his weathered face etched with a finality that stole Renn's breath. From the wall, the old man took down the heavy military crossbow—a relic from his soldiering days, the most lethal weapon in the house.
"Father, what about you?" Renn watched, a cold dread pooling in his gut as his father began the practiced, grim ritual of spanning and loading the weapon. "I hold here." Old Huck didn't look back, his milky eyes fixed on the shuddering door. "The cellar entrance is too narrow. If we're all trapped down there, we're rats in a barrel. Something up here must draw their fury."
"No! I stay too!" Renn released Mia, snatching a skinning knife from the table. "I'm a hunter! I can fight!"
CRACK!
A stinging slap whipped Renn's head to the side. He stared, stunned, at his father, his cheek burning.
"Stop being a fool!" Old Huck roared, spittle flying, his eyes bloodshot. "Look outside! This isn't a hunt! It's a war! A slaughter! What will you do? Die? And who will care for Mia then?"
The question hit Renn like a hammer blow. He glanced at Mia, a tiny, shivering figure in the corner. Hot tears finally spilled over, carving tracks through the grime on his face.
"Go! Damn you, GO!" Old Huck shoved him with surprising, desperate strength.
Gritting his teeth, Renn made the most rational, most agonizing choice. He turned, scooped up his sister, and ran for the cellar door in the corner of the room.
"Don't be scared, Mia. Not a sound."
He yanked open the wooden hatch. The smell of damp earth and decay rose to meet them. He lowered Mia first, then jumped down after, pulling the hatch closed with trembling hands, leaving only the barest crack for a sliver of light and a view of the hell above.
Darkness, thick and complete, broken only by that thin line of dusty, bloody light.
Renn guided Mia deep into the cellar, burying her in a pile of old, musty straw and covering her with a ragged felt blanket. "No matter what you hear," he whispered, his lips close to her ear, "not a sound. Promise me."
Mia's small hands clutched his tunic, her knuckles white. She bit her lip so hard it bled, nodding furiously as silent tears fell.
Once she was hidden, Renn crept back to the hatch, peering through the crack. His palms were slick with sweat. His grip on the knife was a painful cramp, but he willed himself to stillness, his gaze locked on the fragile wooden ceiling above.
Heavy footsteps thudded on the floorboards. Old Huck was moving, finding his killing ground.
"Come on then, you black-hearted curs!" The old hunter's defiant bellow filtered down, filled with a terrible, tragic courage.
THWUMP!
The distinct, meaty thudof the heavy crossbow firing. A bolt meant to punch through a boar's skull tore through the air towards the door.
YOWWL!
A shriek of animal pain from outside. A hit.
Then, renewed, frenzied impacts.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Each blow was a hammer striking Renn's own heart. Wood splintered. The stout oak door began to disintegrate under the relentless assault. Through a widening crack, Renn saw a single, blood-red eye, swimming with mindless violence and hunger.
CRUNCH!
With a final, sickening crunch, the door gave way.
A younger Terrorclaw, though still larger than a full-grown timber wolf, forced its way through the wreckage. Black scales sheathed its body. The three curved blades on its forelimbs gleamed wickedly in the firelight.
It saw Old Huck standing in the center of the room. Its eyes glinted. It coiled and sprang, a black projectile.
"Burn, hellspawn!"
Old Huck's eyes blazed.
He fired at point-blank range.
The heavy bolt, driven with immense force, punched into the beast's shoulder, shattering bone. Foul, greenish-black blood sprayed, sizzling where it hit the wooden floor.
But the creature's vitality was monstrous. It crashed into the old man, momentum unchecked. A clawed limb swept down.
"ARGH!"
Old Huck cried out, the crossbow clattering from his grip. The claws ripped through his leathers, laying open his shoulder to the bone in three deep gashes. Blood instantly soaked his side.
"Dad!"
From the cellar, Renn's vision went red. His heart clenched in a vise of agony. In that instant, fear was incinerated by a white-hot rage. He shoved against the cellar door, ready to charge to his death.
"STAY DOWN!"
Though grievously wounded, a lifetime of survival instinct took over. Old Huck locked his good arm around the beast's thrashing neck, legs kicking wildly to push it off. His face was purple with strain, veins bulging. He turned his head towards the cellar, his eyes holding not fear, but a fierce, commanding plea. "SHUT IT! LOCK IT! LIVE! Take Mia and LIVE!"
The Terrorclaw, thwarted, opened its reeking maw, strings of saliva dangling, and lunged for the old man's exposed throat.
It's over.
Renn squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch.
But in that final, splintered heartbeat—
WHOOOOOSH—!
A sound of something massive cutting the air, coming from the side window.
CRUNCH!
A wet, final sound, like a blacksmith's sledge meeting an overripe melon.
Renn's eyes snapped open.
The Terrorclaw's head was simply gone. A ruin of black blood, bone, and matter sprayed across Old Huck. The headless corpse convulsed once, then slumped aside.
A massive, blood-drenched figure hauled itself through the shattered window, a huge, slightly bent blacksmith's hammer in one fist.
"Haah… haah… You alright, Uncle Huck?"
Bucky.
The gentle, oft-teased village smith's son stood there, drenched in gore. His round face was a mask of primal fury, a youthful god of war forged in this crucible of blood. His immense strength, once a source of jokes, had become a weapon of terrifying efficacy.
"Bucky, lad…" Old Huck gasped, pushing the corpse off him, shock warring with relief in his eyes. "Fine shot… damn fine…"
Renn could hold back no longer. He burst from the cellar and rushed to his father's side. His hands found the ruin of his father's shoulder, the hot, slick blood coating his fingers. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him, the copper-stench of blood overwhelming. He fought it down, tearing a strip from his own sleeve with rough, efficient movements, binding the wound as best he could.
"Forget me…" Old Huck's face was grey, his voice a thin thread. He weakly pushed Renn's hands away. "The village… it's lost. I saw it… the big one… the King-Beast entered the square."
"The King-Beast?" Renn's heart plummeted, a cold dread seizing his spine. If the common Terrorclaws were this deadly, the rumored Terrorclaw King…
"Renn, listen." Old Huck's bloody hand shot out, gripping Renn's collar with surprising force. His eyes were deadly serious. "Take Mia. Go with Bucky. Out the back window, down the deer track to the river. The old skiff. Follow the current. Make for the capital."
"And you?" Renn's voice trembled.
"I can't walk that road." Old Huck glanced at his ruined shoulder, a bitter, accepting smile touching his lips. "I'd slow you to a crawl. Get you all killed."
"No! I won't leave you! We all go!" Renn's eyes were red, tears carving new paths through the grime and blood on his cheeks.
CRACK!
With the last of his strength, Old Huck slapped his son again. The blow rang in Renn's ears, silencing his cries.
"You are her brother! You protect her! That is a man's duty!" Old Huck pointed a shaking, bloodied finger at Mia, who had crept to the cellar opening, her face a mask of terrified tears. "GO! Before you make my death meaningless!"
Then, a new sound from outside.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Heavy, measured, earth-shaking footfalls. Each one fell in time with a faltering heartbeat. A pressure, palpable and suffocating, descended upon the cottage, thick as tar.
Even the air seemed to freeze solid.