Our Hero is walking down a well-trodden path, bathed in the silver light of a full moon. On either side of the path, towering trees populate his view. He walks, putting one heavy boot after the other, crunching the git with each step. Then he stops. He scans his surrounding, craning his head as he does so.
He stared at the forest to his right where trees and bushes had been torn and grounded up leaving a trail deep into the blackness. The traveller turned in his entirety, facing the hole. He took a breath, and followed the trail.
Under his breath, ancient whispers were spoken and the blanket of darkness is removed, revealing the claw marks on the trees, the deep foot prints in the ground, and the blood. His pace hurries, but never breaks into a run.
The traveller smelled the beast before he saw it, the scent of fresh spilled blood and bile filling his nostrils with intensifying potency. When he does see it, the golden eyes of a truly monstrous being are the first thing to draw his attention. The monster in question, a ghoulish giant that towered over the Traveller, its’ face an accursed assembly of various mammals. In-between the rows of nail like teeth, its tendril of a tongue swayed in the wind, red drool dripping from the tip. Its’ torso was covered in a thin layer of fur while its’ hands stretched out from either side, appearing to grow thinker as it flowed into his enormous swollen hands. The monsters gold pupils fixated on the stranger, the man it confused for prey.
A silent moment passed between the two. During which they merely regarded the other, studying being that faced them. Then somewhere in the distance, a twig broke, and the monster erupted into motion. It wailed, running at the man, its’ head and tongue bobbing and swaying, its huge hands reaching out to grab him. It wanted to make him bleed and cry and scream, and when it was done playing, it wanted nothing more than to feel the man’s warm flesh and blood to fill its’ cold hands, to sate its’ famished throat, more than anything it wanted to hear the chatter again: one of bone against tooth.
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With right arm, the man swung his robe, which obscured much of his figure, out of the way. With his left hand, he gripped the sword strapped to his side. As the monster approached, as its murderous hands inched towards him, he pulled the long stainless blade clear of its scarab. In a single motion, he threw his hand up into the air, the hilt and blade following it. The monster stopped and starred at the blade, it didn’t know it yet, but it was already dead.
Blood gushed from the slice as the monsters chest bursts open, it screams and our hero smiles. He is the one that fights monsters, kills monsters; he is a monster to monsters.
He turns, about to leave, when he hears something, this draws him to a pile of half eaten bodies, the victims of the deceased monster, at the top of the pile, was a little girl. The girl was withered to a point of being little more than skin and bone, her hands hand been broken and her legs where forcefully twisted, yet the wounds seemed old, the monster had kept her alive. Her mouth was covered in dry blood; her hair was a nest of unsavoury parasites and her eyes her feral, berserk.
Our hero regarded the child for a moment. Once she noticed him, she screamed, a piecing, terrified, practised scream. He pointed his sword down at her temple, and drove it through her. The pitiful creature stared off into the distance as the focus in her eyes quickly faded. Then he turned and left the monsters den.