Another trap triggered, a guttural scream ripped apart by the clang of wood and bone. On the near bank, a spiked log had erupted from the ground, impaling a charging bandit through the chest. His body spasmed, pinned in a grotesque tableau of defiance, crimson blooming like macabre wildflowers against his fur.
Panic rippled through the horde, their initial charge faltering. But their bloodlust proved a hungry beast, driving them onward. One, a hulking brute with a scarred face, tripped a hidden wire. A section of the bank crumbled beneath him, sending him tumbling into a pit lined with venomous thorns and sharpened rocks. His guttural roar transformed into a wet gurgle as the coconut launchers sprang from their cunningly-camouflaged nests. Three misshapen projectiles, studded with sharpened thorns and dripping with a sickly-sweet miasma, rained down on the remaining bandits.
One, a nimble scout, dodged the first, only to be slammed into the ravine wall by the second. His skull cracked like a melon, gore blossoming across his fur. The third coconut struck a burly warrior full in the chest, exploding in a spray of thorns and foul-smelling venom. He convulsed, claws scraping at the ground, his roar choked into a bubbling gurggle as the poison coursed through his veins.
The air thickened with the metallic tang of blood and the stench of fear. Each scream, each choked gasp, etched another scar on Ba Gấu's soul. He stumbled on, the ravine walls pressing in, his own body a symphony of aches and phantom wounds. Yet, he pushed on, driven by a primal need to survive.
By the time he emerged from the ravine's clutches, blinking in the waning light, the battlefield was eerily silent. Seven bandits lay strewn across the ground, their bodies contorted in postures of eternal agony. Their eyes, vacant pools reflecting the fading sky, held no hint of their earlier bloodlust, only a chilling emptiness.
Ba Gấu, the once-celebrated hero, stood trembling at the precipice, a survivor bathed in the crimson of his enemies. He bore no wounds from brute force, only the silent, chilling testament of his traps. Yet, victory felt like ashes in his mouth, the price of survival etched in the ravine's grim tapestry.
The ravine was a tomb, its walls oozing with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of fear. Ba Gấu, a broken marionette, stumbled its length, his lungs screaming for mercy. Each step was a betrayal, his legs jellied with fatigue, his every breath a rasping prayer.
He reached the latrine, the flimsy wall he'd breached his only hope. With the last embers of his will, he clawed through the gap, collapsing into the reeking darkness. Outside, the bandits' voices were a distant chorus, their pursuit faltering like a dying flame. All but one, a scrawny wretch who scampered back to the long house, his face ashen with terror.
Inside the latrine, the air hung heavy with the stench of decay and stale excrement. A fly buzzed a morbid counterpoint, its wings brushing against the clammy walls. Ba Gấu lay sprawled on the filthy floor, his fur matted with sweat and grime, his eyes two burning coals in the gloom.
The door creaked open, a sliver of light painting the reeking pit. A bandit, his face contorted in a sneer, stepped into the darkness. He didn't see the glint of steel in the shadows, not until it was too late. Ba Gấu, a wraith risen from the muck, lunged.
The dagger, his last companion, a whisper in the dark, found its mark. The bandit's scream, a strangled gurgle, was swallowed by the latrine's fetid maw. He crumpled, his body joining the festering mass, another offering to the gods of despair.
Ba Gấu, his hands slick with gore and filth, rose from the cesspit. He was a creature of the refuse, a ghost born of the latrine's foul breath. In his eyes, the flickering light of the setting sun danced with a macabre madness. The taste of fear, metallic and acrid, clung to his tongue.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
He left the dagger, its gleam mocking him in the gloom, and emerged from the latrine. The long house, a dark monolith against the dying light, beckoned. He knew what awaited him inside. The boss, a hulking brute with a heart blacker than the pit he had just escaped. But Ba Gấu, forged in the fires of the ravine, was no longer the hero who had once walked these halls. He was a harbinger of death, a predator risen from the mire, ready to claim his vengeance, one stinking breath at a time.
The long house, with its flickering firelight and the aroma of roasting meat, awaited its final guest. Ba Gấu, the living nightmare, the horror born of filth, stalked towards it, his bare claws scraping the earth, his eyes burning with the cold fire of vengeance. The smell of excrement, clinging to his fur like a shroud, became his battle cry, a perverse perfume of death.
The final act was about to begin, a dance of desperation and cruelty played out on the stage of a butchered latrine. And Ba Gấu, the creature born of the muck, was ready to take center stage.
act 3
Chapter 7, Act 3: Claw and Fang
The long house loomed, a monstrous silhouette against the crimson-streaked sky. Inside, Ba Gấu crept, a wraith stalking the halls of its own misery. The air choked with the fetid musk of roasting meat and fear, every shadow a potential ambush. But his eyes, burning with cold hunger, sought only one thing: the Alpha.
He found him in the main hall, a hulking behemoth draped in furs stained crimson from countless battles. Gruff, the Alpha, rose from his throne of skulls, a cruel grin splitting his scarred face. "So, a fallen hero graces us with his presence. Come to beg for scraps, pup?"
Ba Gấu snarled, the sound a guttural rumble from his chest. "No begging, only reckoning." He lunged, claws extended, a whirlwind of fury in the dim light.
Grog, a mountain meeting a storm, met the charge head-on. His massive paw, reinforced with sharpened bone, parried Ba Gấu's swipe. Sparks flew as metal met bone, the clang echoing through the hall. "Tiger's Bite!" Grog roared, unleashing a counter-attack. His other paw, a blur of steel claws, slashed for Ba Gấu's throat.
Barely, Ba Gấu twisted, feeling the searing wind of the claws graze his flank. "Crane's Retreat!" he countered, leaping back, using the momentum to slam a kick into Grog's unguarded ribs. The Alpha grunted, but barely faltered.
Linh, miles away in spirit, desperately scrambled through the undergrowth. The five bandit hunters, shadows in the twilight, were gaining. Twice, the ground beneath her gave way, revealing Ba Gấu's gruesome handiwork - two mangled corpses, faces contorted in silent screams. The stench of death clung to her fur, a sickening counterpoint to the pounding of her heart.
Three shadows detached from the pack, converging on her scent. Panic choked her, the taste of bile rising in her throat. This was it. This was where her story ended, buried in the dirt beneath the feet of these monsters.
Back in the long house, the dance of claw and fang continued. The air shimmered with the heat of their rage, the floor slick with blood and sweat. Gruff, a battering ram of muscle, pressed the attack, his roars splitting the air. Ba Gấu, battered and gasping, fought on instinct, his movements a fading echo of his glory days.
One misstep, one ill-timed parry, and it would be over. Gruff, sensing his weakness, grinned with savage glee. "Falling apart, pup? Can't even remember your old tricks?"
Ba Gấu stumbled, his vision blurring. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed in protest. Yet, amidst the haze, a faint echo reached him - a high-pitched scream, lost in the wind. Linh. His Linh.
And in that instant, a spark ignited within him. A primal fire, fuelled not by vengeance, but by love. He roared, a sound that shook the rafters, and with a newfound fury, lunged back at Gruff.
The time of desperation had ended. The time of the wolf had begun.
The story hangs in the balance, Linh's fate a knife poised above her heart. Where will the next part take us? Will Ba Gấu's renewed resolve be enough, or will the shadows claim Linh in the night? The answer waits, just beyond the turn of the page.
Linh's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Three pairs of bloodshot eyes gleamed in the fading light, predator eyes sizing up their prey. Panic had gnawed at her sanity, leaving her limbs leaden and useless.