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Chapter One - Thunderguts

“Goreblaster!” the distraught woman screeched, with whetted eyes like freshly cleaned saucers. “The ravaging beast of Skullcrush Mountain is upon us!”

Goreblaster leapt deftly up to the nearest rooftop, effortlessly hopping up window ledges and awnings to reach the precipice - even pausing midway to shoot the distraught maiden a sly wink and flex of his bulging pecs.

Atop the village roof, the cool breeze flowed through his dark black locks as he ran his fingers through his occasional beard. The damsel had been as correct as she was buxom; the beast known as Thunderguts had indeed made the error of getting within smiting distance of the great and legendary hero that he was (Goreblaster, a mononym).

Forty feet tall and made of rock-like scales, the beast was as ugly as it was destructive. Plumes of dust cascaded into the air as house after house became shattered under the taloned feet of the encroaching creature as if they were nothing but clay pots in the world’s least secure antique boutique.

However, if there was one thing that was secure, it was Goreblaster’s unwavering confidence in himself. His sword, Pureheart, sang a sweet melody through the air as he withdrew it to point it directly at the beast before him.

“Thunderguts!” his thunderous voice bellowed out, filling the makeshift valley of ruined abodes with his immense presence. “Come meet your undoing at my capable, yet oddly soft, hands!”

The giant monster paused mid-chomp, crushed mortar and brickwork falling from the long maw like one of those flakey pastries that always seem to make such a mess no matter how careful you are with them. An oversized reptilian eye turned to gaze at Goreblaster, the slit of black pupil widening against the mottled yellow iris as the monster took in the astonishing aura of the small (comparatively, he is above average) human attempting to size him up.

“Sir!” A familiar nasal voice called out from below. “Goreblaster?”

As he loomed over the edge of the roof to the dusty, debris-covered street below, the stumpy balloon-like figure of his assistant slash manager peered back up at him, the midday sun reflecting off of his small round spectacles.

“Percy? Not now, can’t you see I am busy showboating?” Goreblaster gestured with one of his very soft hands towards the now curious behemoth at his side.

“With all due respect, sir,” the wretched ball of a man yelled back, “There’s not many to see you in your glory, on account of the destruction.”

With a sigh, the soon-to-be monster slayer stood up straight and scratched his sword against his fur-lined boots. A quick glance around the surroundings belied some truth to the rotund helper’s claim. There were scant villagers hanging around eagerly awaiting a stomping from Thunderguts, but the lucky few rats who had not escaped the sinking ship were about to be treated to the biggest cheese of their lives.

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Goreblaster struck a pose, his bare chest rippling from his wide shoulders down to his defined abs. The creature approaching was extremely proficient at hiding how intimidated it truly was. Instead, its long maw opened wide, the rows of sharp teeth lining the inside each as big as tombstones - which was reasonably apt, given the number of villagers and livelihoods it had probably consumed, ironically including that of the grave keeper and whole graveyard itself.

With a rush of displaced air, the salivating maw enclosed down on the house the man stood upon; Thunderguts stumbled forward to demolish the building. However, much like any feeling of embarrassment for having missed the taunting fool, Goreblaster was absent on this occasion. Remnants of bedroom furniture clattered to the streets as the large yellow eyes scoured the freshly laid bare area, in tandem with the blazing sun. Neither bore any results, save for heating up the situation.

Padded leather boots against cobbled road - the monstrosity turned its head to the left, huffing a warm blast of air from large nostrils in frustration. The little prey was quick though, but only little in terms of compared to the tall creature; he was probably slightly over average in height compared to most men in this region, Goreblaster had assured most people he had met. Thunderguts lashed out with his tail like a bad attitude, sending chunks of housing material like grapeshot through a row of unexpecting accommodation, the buildings hoping to be only spectators in this battle.

A blue streak of light passed by Thundergut's thick tree trunk legs, perhaps the blaze of a possessed lumberjack - as a gash of crimson erupted on the right leg of Thunderguts, a spray of droplets painting the dusty street inexpertly. A pretty terrible painting, artistically speaking. Not that Goreblaster was much of a critic, he thought awkwardly, in the third person. With a flourish, Pureheart spun in his hand as he slid to a stop in front of the beast, flicking the blade clean of the tainted blood.

“Your first mistake,” he called out, grandstanding once more as his words fell on ears that did not understand, “Was to come to this beautiful village of…” There was a pause as his verdant green eyes shot over to the bulbous assistant cowering behind some of the rubble.

“Roseglen,” Percy hissed back like a particularly unwell snake.

“Roseglen!” Goreblaster repeated, with renewed alacrity. “The second mistake was to face me - Goreblaster, slayer of monsters!”

He raised his magical sword back into the air, and a faint glow surrounded his whole body. A lightish blue hue, like the crisp dawn on the morn of a winter's snowfall, softly pulsed and caressed his muscled form. Thunderguts reared back and snarled, narrowing the large eyes like a dog that had its treat snatched away. Only, this treat was armed and violent, purporting to bring doom to the rocky creature.

As Thunderguts stepped forward gingerly on the bloodied leg, the momentary disadvantage was all Goreblaster needed. With ferocious speed, he ran straight for the opening mouth, but instead of seeking trouble like a beefy moth to a toothy flame, he rolled under the biting attack. Like a creeping spider that runs up your leg when you least expect it, the energised man powered up the body of the monster, sprinting and slicing his sword deep into the hard flesh with one long cut.

The blue beam of Goreblaster spiralled around the torso, a rain of blood spraying out of the continuous slash of the embedded Pureheart, until he reached the nape of the long-headed beast. With a wide swing and flash of the blade - and the head of Thunderstruck was separated from the rest of its body, much to the disagreement to the vital systems that kept the living part intact.

Goreblaster dropped from the collapsing body of the lifeless monster, flourishing his sword as he sheathed it at his side.

Flicking back his long, black hair and puffing out his many muscles, he turned to the quickly gathering throng of witnesses, their thanks and admiration dripping forth like a runny nose in allergy season.

“Looks like I was just… a cut above.”