The night wasn’t getting any warmer, and Bel wished he had more than a T-shirt to wear. He also wished that he hadn’t laid in damp grass for fifteen minutes staring at the moons, but decisions were made, and now consequences must be faced, so he tried to keep his mind off of it. He’d been musing on magic for the last several minutes, and he just couldn’t figure it out.

“You think I can do magic, Meph?” He glanced over at the snake, who had taken up a sentry position on his left shoulder. “Like, can I just do it? Do I need to learn a spell? Oooh, maybe I have to read a grimoire in some arcane language that only devil worshipers understand. That would be fuckin’ dope.”

Bel had only seen a handful of magic, and there had been no special words, so he mentally crossed out the Harry Potter rules. And that also put the kibosh on Lord of the Rings and a slew of others. Mental magic was what he was betting on. Willing the spell to happen. And if that was the case, maybe he could just do magic now. Like Neo in the Matrix, he only had to believe.

“Alright. I’m gonna try it.” He squared his stance and struck his best heroic pose. “Hold on to your biscuits, Meph, I’m about to shoot a fireball out of my hands.”

The snake flitted its tongue.

Bel held out a hand, palm facing outwards to the swaying grass in the night before him. He closed his eyes and envisioned what fire would look like if it burst from his outstretched digits. He focused on it, imagining the gout of fire as it spewed across the grassy field.

Then, while he maintained the image in his mind’s eye, he shouted, “Fire, go!” and winced, as if expecting some tremendous force to blow him off his feet.

Nothing happened.

His shoulders slumped, and he opened his eyes.

“Why did I say that, Meph? Hmmm? Why would I think ‘Fire, go!’ was going to make any difference?” Bel paused, as if waiting for an answer that didn’t come. “Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. A big, dumb idiot.”

Meph flitted his tongue again.

Bel sighed, “I deserved that.”

He quickly shot a hand outward again, and strained, like he thought he could catch the magic off guard and it would suddenly work for him. It didn’t. Then he tried snapping his fingers, followed by fake gang signs, and he capped it all off with improvised interpretive movement.

None of it worked.

“Fuck.” He rubbed a knuckle under Meph’s chin. “You know what? I don’t need magic. Magic is for losers. I’ve got a snake, and…” Bel trailed off. He felt something, and he saw Meph turn his head towards the shoreline, still over the hill. “You feel it, too?” he asked the snake.

Meph let out a low hiss that put Bel on edge.

There was some kind of rumble beneath his feet. It was so soft, but it was there. Some aspect of his heightened senses was sending a warning signal up his spine. He felt the ground move again, and he dropped to a squat, keeping his head just above the tall grass.

He could see something as it crested the hill, though what, he wasn’t sure. It had the same glow as himself; the red pulsing of heat and blood. However, it was much larger than Bel. As it lumbered up the hill, he kept expecting to get a full view, but every time he thought he’d seen all of it, it would raise up another foot.

It was a monster—absolutely massive. While it was still nearly 50 yards away, his enhanced vision could paint a fairly accurate picture.

Whatever the creature was, it was something new to Bel. He wasn’t a zoologist by any stretch of the imagination, but if something like this had been on Earth, it would have been the star of any number of creature features and horror flicks. Covered in white fur, it walked on four legs, and had the slow but powerful gait of a bear. However, it also had a tail, but not a cat or dog tail. It was flat and dragged to the ground behind the beast. Then there was the head. Bear like, but drooping, similar to a bloodhound, and from its mouth protruded two massive curved tusks.

The beast stopped and raised its nose up into the air, sniffing and snorting, then it let loose a thundering “hork, hork!” like a sea lion with a chest cold. It stood up on its hind legs, now well over eight feet tall, and swiveled its head around, horking more as it sniffed. It looked in Bel’s direction and gently settled back to the ground, never turning its gaze.

Bel gasped, “Holy shit,” and then immediately slapped a hand over his own mouth. It was too late, though. The bear-walrus started its charge.

Four lumbering, colossal limbs worked in unison to bring the beast to speed. It grunted and growled as it moved, coughing out thick clouds of vapor in the frosty night air. As Bel watched it, he saw the color if his infrared vision increase as the monster heated in its full gallop. He fell backwards in shock, but quickly scrambled onto all fours and turned, pushing himself off the turf like an Olympic sprinter leaving the block.

As he surged off the ground, he felt Meph slide from his neck. There was a moment of paralyzing panic, but it was immediately silenced. He could still feel the snake. Meph was there in his mind. Not speaking to him, but expressing simple emotions. Now, it was calm and assuredness. He thought he understood the scene with the judge now. In the adrenaline laden moment, it was clearing up in his mind. He remembered being bound to the snake, and the snake to him. He hadn’t understood it then, and he still didn’t understand it now, but he felt like this was right—that this was it. There wasn’t anything to do about it now, regardless, though, and he redoubled his thoughts back to his imperiled escape.

He’d never run so fast in his life. Not just because of the tusked horror chasing him, though. There was some added power in his long strides. He felt like he was born to run like this, flat out, pushing as hard as he could in a dead sprint. Every time one of his legs hit the ground, the other was pushing off and launching him forward. His mind raced, not on the monster, but on the path he ran. He was actively searching for smooth ground to cross, swerving around or completely leaping over any small divots or raised earth.

To his despair, even with all his increased speed, he wasn’t fast enough, and he could hear the beast closing in on him. He couldn’t look behind himself for fear of stumbling in some half buried hole, but he swore he could almost feel the heat of the monster’s breath on the nape of his neck.

Bel yelled, not words, just a guttural scream, as he pushed his legs harder and harder, and they obliged—each one a small rocket attached to his torso, propelling him forward at a speed he didn’t think possible, not like Barry Allen levels, or even Usain Bolt, but still faster than he’d ever run by a long shot. Ahead he could see the crest of a hill, and some soft glow over the ridge, and he could smell smoke. The light pulsed and danced just beyond the top, and the smell filled his nostrils with each controlled breath. He pushed harder and harder until he reached the top. He would have cheered if there was even a breath of air to spare.

The hill angled downward, creating a short, severe cliff slope. Down at the bottom, near where the grass and sand met at the beach, there was a fire, and by it, a crowd of people. As he crested the hill, both parties saw each other at the same time. Four of them immediately stood up, then shouted, raising the attention of the remaining.

Bel had no idea who they were, or what they were doing on the beach, but he didn’t care. He was going to give every ounce of strength he had to get to them before the beast got to him.

He dashed down the hill, careful to keep his footing as the ground turned from grass to sand. As he approached the small camp, a person, some dark hooded figure, stepped forward ahead of the rest. They raised an arm and extended their palm outwards towards Bel. He only had a moment to think, and he dropped to his knees and slid across the loose sand, letting his momentum carry him. As he did, electricity arched from the figure's hand, crackling and ripping the air as it passed within inches of his head. It was close enough that Bel could smell the ozone as it split the night in two, and the light left streaks in his vision long after it had passed. Behind him, the creature roared, and ahead of him, the group whooped and yelled in delight.

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There was no graceful way to stop his slide. His momentum was too great—and the sand beneath him too loose—so he fell to one side and rolled several times before coming to a stop only feet from the fire. He was up quickly, though, and looked back towards the creature.

It had collapsed near the edge of the camp, fifty or so feet away from where Bel stood. The right side of its body was charred and smoking where the lightning had struck it. Burned hair and scorched fat permeated the night air. Bel watched the as labored breaths puffed from its snout.

The rest of the camp slowly moved in around him and the beast, though numbering only seven in total, all seemingly men, and they created a perimeter around Bel and the monster. Bel looked at each of them, expecting some kind of response or comment, but they weren’t focused on Belmont.

One man spoke up. He was wearing a chest plate of solid steel, and a long fur cloak that hung nearly to the ground behind him. In his right hand he clutched a short sword, and in his left a rounded shield. “I think you hit it too hard, Seven.” His voice was polished and smooth—royal, even.

The man who had fired off the lightning bolt turned and tossed back the hood from his dark gray robe. Bel looked at his face, and saw that he was young, no older than twenty. “Nah, it’s just stunned. Give it a min, it’ll be right back up.”

Bel looked at the rest of the men, taken aback at the calmness and indifference they all showed him, as though a stranger being chased by a balrus into the camp was commonplace. Two of the other men wore heavy armor, one with a hammer, the other with a short-hafted axe. The fifth wore a simple cloth and carried a bow, looking to be in his middle years, and he stood next to an elderly man in a long, light colored robe with arms crossed penitently. Last, the largest man of all, stood away from the group, keeping his distance from the fray and his features in the shadows, though even the silhouette of him was intimidating.

Bel’s observations were interrupted as the beast growled ahead of him. Slowly it stood up, dazed and woozy, and returned to its feet. Almost all the men cheered, with the only exception being the older man, whose demeanor hadn’t changed.

One man, the one with the hammer, turned to Bel. “Well, that fucker ain’t gonna kill it’s self!”

Bel just looked at the man for a moment. He had no idea what to say.

“Come on, lad, show us what you’ve got.”

The men jeered.

“Aww, now, he’s just a cub.” It was the archer speaking this time. Bel thought for a moment he was referring to the monster, but quickly realized it was a jab aimed at him.

The beast roared, and the men all readied their weapons and took up stances against it. It started edging towards them, looking for some escape. Anytime it moved towards the perimeter, the men gathered and shooed it back in. Bel watched as it became increasingly agitated.

“He ain’t got a weapon.” This was the younger, lightning wielding wizard.

The man with the hammer looked at Bel, smiled, and tossed his hammer with an underhand throw towards Bel. It landed in the dirt in front of him with a heavy thud. Bel looked down at it and realized just how large it was. It was like Thor’s hammer, a massive steel head on a short, leather wrapped handle.

The beast roared again as it was pushed back to the center of the men. It was becoming increasingly obvious to Bel that they would not let him sit this out. It was like some fucked up game for them.

He reached down to pick up the hammer. It was heavy, but manageable. As he lifted it, the men all cheered again.

“Kill it, lad!” the hammer brother called out.

Bel took a cautious step forward, but stopped. He felt something, a presence in his mind. It was Meph. Calm, poised…

…striking.

The snake darted from the shoreline to the right of the beast. In an instant he was air-born, leaping towards the monster. The serpent widened its jaws and struck at the monster’s eye, clamping down on the soft globe. The monster shook violently and roared. Meph was flung away, back into the grass. Bel felt a flash of pain, but then reassurance. It was all he needed.

He leapt forward, hammer in hand, and while the beast was still distracted by the prior attack, he raised the brutal weapon and brought it down. It collided with the head of the monster in a sickening crunch, and the men all cheered like apes.

Bel didn’t waste a second, he let the follow through carry the hammer, and then he circled it back around to strike again.

He was nowhere near fast enough.

The beast swung a claw up at Bel with all the force it had. Luckily, between the damage to its eye and the blow to the head, it was more of a push than an all out punch, but the weight of the paw was still enough to send Bel backwards and onto his ass.

“Ahh, that was a bastard of a blow.” The archer was running commentary on the side.

The bear didn’t react quickly, though, and Bel was able to rush back to his feet. His chest hurt pretty badly, and he winced when he breathed. He looked down and saw that the bear’s claws had gotten a clear shot at him, ripping into his torso. It didn’t seem too deep, but it was deep enough. Blood soaked the torn shirt that now clung to his wounds. He tried to raise the hammer again, but he couldn’t muster the strength. He passed the hammer to his left hand, however, he knew there was no hope for a solid strike with his off-hand.

“He ain’t gonna do shit with that hammer now, Julo.” The archer echoed Bel’s thoughts.

“Not my fault the boy don’t know how to fight.”

The beast lunged at him, but Bel saw it coming. He dropped and rolled to his left, hoping to avoid unnecessary aggravation to his right side, but it didn’t work, and in the maneuver, he lost control of the hammer that now lay several feet away from him on the sand. Pain shot through his body and sucked the wind out of his lungs. The tusked-bear turned and batted at him, but Bel summoned everything he had to roll away again, though it left him wheezing for breath in lungs that didn’t want to work.

He looked up and found that he was at the feet of the older man in the robe. His eyes were weary and tired, and the wrinkles on his face painted a story of hard life and little joy. He reached down and touched Bel gently on the shoulder. There was a rush of chilled water in his veins, and a white vignette around his vision. Instantly, Bel could breathe again. He looked up at the man in shock, but heard the other men booing, and the healer stepped back away from him.

Bel jumped to his feet. He felt almost as good as new. No more pain, but the exhaustion was overwhelming him. He checked his wound. It was there, and now covered in dirt, but it was like he’d been given some kind of numbing agent that let his body ignore the trauma. He turned back to the monster as it was preparing for another assault. The booing of the crowd had turned to jeers.

Bel didn’t know what came over him, but he yelled at the group. “Hey, you want me to kill this fucking thing? Gimme something better than a goddamned blunt object against a two ton fucking sea bear!”

The men cheered and whooped. Some of them looked around, as if to see if anyone else would proffer a weapon, but no one did. The beast charged, but Bel was back in it, now, and he rolled off to the right, returning to where he had started in the ring, and the bear thundered past him, fully committed to its charge.

From behind, he heard a soft, raspy voice speak. “Take this, fighter.” Bel turned and saw the hooded figure that had, until now, stayed on the other side of the fire. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but a furry, clawed hand held out a long harpoon. He could smell death on the man, and perfume, like rotted meat and decay in a field of lavender. Bel grabbed the harpoon and took it in both hands before turning back to the bear.

The men were unusually silent, and the archer gave no commentary.

The beast strafed clockwise around the ring, as if sizing Belmont up with the new weapon. He felt like he could sense fear in the animal, and he thrust the harpoon outward in a threatening gesture. The beast backed up, startled.

There was a moment of clarity in Bel’s mind, as a memory that flashed back to him. He remembered the giant in the prison yard, and how he raised his yoke to strike down at the riot guards, but then feinted and pushed forward, knocking them down.

Bel had a plan.

He lunged forward, spear out, towards the bear. The monster, as before, backed up, but he backed towards the perimeter. One man, the man with the axe, swung it at the beast. The blade bit into the bear’s backside, and it howled out in its horking growls.

Bel pushed in, pressing the attack again, and this time the bear took the bait. It lunged for him, exactly as Bel had hoped. He stamped to the side as soon as the bear began its charge. The lumbering strides and the weight of the bear committed it to every attack, and it was too late to change directions. Bel easily flanked it, and he studied the bear as it passed. He could see the heart beating within, the deep red thrumming muscle that propelled it across the sand. Dropping his stance and putting all his power into his legs, he pushed up and thrust the spear through the beast’s rib-cage. He’d hit his mark, and the monster fell to the ground, ripping the harpoon from Bel’s hand as it collapsed. It didn’t matter, though; the strike was true, and blood poured openly from the fatal wound.

The animal tried to rise, but after several weak attempts, it slumped back to the ground, and only heaved gasping breaths before its muscles finally relaxed and it stopped moving all at once.

There was a long moment of silence, and then the men erupted in cheers and laughter. Bel fell to his knees, coughing, and then down to all fours. The world around him dimmed, and then blacked out. The last thing he felt was himself hitting the dirt.