Installment 33 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment033.png]

The snarling continued - a complex sound with a cadence like speech but utterly unintelligible aside from the obvious tone of frustration and anger - accompanied by approaching sprinting footfalls. The beast shot into view from the hallway and turned to continue in Al's direction, but stumbled to a stop as it saw Gruntle tensed to meet its charge.

The beast looked to Gruntle's bandaged, claw-tipped hand, then into his eyes. Its wolflike face contorted with effort.

"Oo-yah...," was forced from the beast's throat in a growl.

Al jumped, startled, when Wikwocket reached out at that moment to urgently smack his hip with her fist. She pointed at the beast. Julia she silently mouthed, looking smug.

"Not now!" Al hissed.

Gruntle turned his head to look at Al, his inhuman face hard to read but to Al he seemed to be almost pleading to attack. Before Al could react, Gruntle quickly turned back to face the beast, who hesitantly advanced towards Gruntle.

Gruntle did what he could to bolster his patience.

"Dear...creature...," he said, concentrating intently on his speech and rubbing his collar with his right hand, "...it is...gratifying...to...see you...again."

This only seemed to encourage the beast, who sped up. Its gait remained tentative, almost apologetic, rather than threatening. Gruntle refrained from immediate violence as the beast reached him, though his face held an intense fanged grimace and the stubby claws on his right hand unconsciously picked at the buckle on his collar.

The beast stopped, its large head nearly even with Gruntle's despite standing down on four legs. Al exchanged glances with Wikwocket and Bote. They all readied themselves for a deadly battle to start at any moment, but Al whispered, "Not yet..."

Maybe this doesn't have to end with lethal violence, he hoped.

The beast's left forepaw reached up slowly to rest on Gruntle's shoulder, enabling the beast to lift itself up to rest its right forepaw on Gruntle's other shoulder. Standing there, it looked down into Gruntle's eyes.

"...ngai...ooryah," it exhaled in distorted syllables with painful effort. "Ngaing." Then, it fell forward, wrapping its forelegs around Gruntle's shoulders in a possessive embrace.

The shallow depths of his patience completely drained, Gruntle sank his teeth into the beast's thick neck with a snarl, tearing away a wide patch of mangy, lumpy flesh. The peaceful moment lost in rage, the beast roared and lunged down to chomp deeply into Gruntle's shoulder in turn.

"Help him!" Wikwocket shouted as she ran forward, darting out from behind Gruntle and leaping up to stab deeply between the beast's ribs. Al heard Bote begin an invocation to Indicina. Fearing it would be difficult to join the melee without getting in the way, he allowed himself to conjure the slivers of magical force again and send them shooting into the beast between Gruntle and Wikwocket.

Al's torch sputtered and dimmed alarmingly, as Gruntle roared eagerly back at the beast. He pulled away, grasping his flail from his belt and smoothly swinging it up and inwards to slam against the side of the beast's head. The beast's angry snarl burbled into a cough as blood from its internal injuries spattered from its mouth, but it lunged back in to chomp at Gruntle's leg before he could move back out of reach. The beast's fangs raked deep bleeding gouges across Gruntle's lower thigh.

Wikwocket spotted her opportunity, and she plunged her rapier between another pair of ribs into the beast's chest, and the beast's strength failed it. It staggered only a few steps back as it collapsed to the floor. Al's torch-flame dwindled to barely candle-light, and wavered as though blown by the wind in time with each raspy, wet cough of the dying beast. The torchlight from the beast's room dwindled away as well.

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The beast made one last desperate but futile effort to stand but managed only a few feeble twitches. Al thought he saw despair in the beast's eyes as the torchlight was extinguished with the beast's last bubbling breath.

There was an immediate sound like a voice shouting a whisper from where the beast fell. Al thought he could see a moment of a swirling red glow like they'd seen in the armor, then he was knocked aside as a large body ran past him in the dark. Gruntle snarled in rage and Al heard him run past, following the beast, who Al heard clumsily charging down the stairs.

"Don't let it get away!" shouted a determined Wikwocket, and Al heard her and Bote following behind Gruntle.

"Wait! I can't see!..." Al yelled, but the others were already on the way down the stairs. Al fumbled for one of the candles he'd taken from the dead servant's candelabra and commanded it to light. He could hear the others moving away after the beast, headed out of the dining room below, as he descended the stairs as quickly as he could in the candlelight. Despite falling behind, as he exited the dining-room he had no trouble following the trails of freshly-dripping blood and he could hear the others through the kitchen as they chased the beast down to the cellar. Al felt a chill as he realized the beast...or whatever was left of it...was headed for the arcane circle they'd found. The loudly whispering voice echoed in the cellar as Al descended the steps to find the others gathered in front of the far chamber. Approaching closer, Al could see the beast. It stood inside the circle between the skull of the woman who was spread out there, and the black candle at the corresponding point on the pentagram. Blood dripped in feeble pulses from the beast's mouth and the holes in its chest. It swayed as it stood, like a puppet on strings, and its eyes were dimly-glowing points of red. Its mouth didn't move, but the voice whispered its unintelligible speech from the beast's throat unimpeded by the bloody bubbles dripping onto the floor.

"Shaman said stay away," Gruntle told it. He looked to Al for confirmation.

"What does it want?" Al asked.

"Wants us to finish killing it."

"Absolutely not! Not like this!"

The beast's head swung loosely to look at Al. The whispers echoed through the cellar softly this time, almost conciliatory. He couldn't understand the words, but they continued for long enough with a cadence and tone that suggested to Al that it was trying to explain something.

"Like what?" Gruntle asked aloud.

"What?" Al echoed.

"Says it'll give us something. Says if the beast dies there the deal it has to fulfill will be done and it can leave."

The beast gave a quiet wet growl - the first organic sound it had made since it had fallen in the fight upstairs. The whispers followed the growl from the beast's throat again.

"Says the beast is recovering and we should hurry."

Blood was no longer drooling from the beast's mouth, and the holes in its chest barely dripped. Al felt the only thing he could do was to stall for time. Conveniently, he decided that he could do this by explaining why he was stalling for time.

"We do agree that the beast needs to die," Al explained to his companions, "but...well, just look at this! This is obviously some sort of horrible sacrificial ritual! We're not stupid, we know there's no telling what participating in this would do to our souls or what kind of disaster it would make us responsible for!"

The beast listened, and the whispering voice replied.

"Wants to know what you want for payment to help kill it," Gruntle explained.

"What have you got?" Wikwocket asked.

"No!" Al interjected. "You of all people should know about what happens to people who make deals with...things like this! There are countless stories about this and they all agree it costs more than it's worth!"

"All right, all right, just asking. It's more dramatic if I can say we were offered something really valuable that we turned down."

Gruntle translated the insistent, impatient whisper. "Thinks at least one of us really wants something. Wants to know what it is."

"Tell you what," Al said, hoping, "if you want to negotiate why don't you step out of that circle and we'll talk about it."

The intent of the beast's angry growl and the loud stream of agitated whispering was clear enough, but Gruntle translated anyway.

"It's mad that you won't help and it's threatening you," Gruntle said dispassionately, as the beast dug the claws of a forepaw into its own neck. "Says it'll do it itself and you'll regret not helping."

Al watched helplessly, knowing of no way they could interfere besides killing the beast anyway. It tore shreds of flesh from its own neck, snarling until there wasn't enough throat left to make the sound. Unmistakable whispering laughter continued as the beast slaughtered itself in front of them, unable to stand any longer and flopping limply to the floor in a spreading pool of blood. The whispering laughter faded as the beast's muzzle pulled itself into a hideous grin.

The chamber lit up with a sudden crimson glow as the candles at the points of the pentagram ignited in deep red flames. The whisper filled the room with a repeated chant.

"One...meat?" Gruntle translated, confused.