The kynokephalon pounced, all dark claws and white teeth and chiseled muscle. Arrows still threaded through it, bleeding the beast dry, although two of its arms set to permanently tearing the projectiles out and snapping them in two. Each of the broken arrows hummed sadly as their bloody task was put to an end.
It snarled as power flowed slow and steady through Kosta’s arm, just quick enough to bring his staff to life. Another barrier Projected right in the kynokephalon’s path, soon battered apart by its monstrous limbs, but it offered precious time for Kosta to fall back and Pavlos to ready himself.
Had it only been Kosta, he might have been overwhelmed by its speed and ferocity in such close quarters. It was wickedly fast and strong even when half-dead, and the power behind its movements sent its dark blood flicking out in sprays. He felt a little ill when some of the sludge-like droplets splattered across his face, although with the rest of the muck covering him it could be put out of mind.
But Kosta wasn’t alone.
Pavlos roared like a lion, a guttural noise that quieted even the kynokephalon, and tossed his bow aside. It stared at the red hunter with wide eyes, stunned out of its charge, but its lip soon peeled back in a challenge.
Before Kosta’s eyes, Pavlos changed.
The red lion’s pelt fused with his flesh and covered his body with crimson fur. Limbs lengthened and twisted into new configurations with sickening cracks. His face jutted out into a muzzle with a crunch. Whiskers twitched near his large nose. Amber eyes blazed like molten gold.
Pavlos had become a red-furred beast.
He wasted no time in launching himself at the kynokephalon. They met midcharge with snarls and yowls and roars, locked together in a frenzy of slashing limbs, and the arrows which still remained embedded in the dog-headed man’s hide dipped in and out of the gaping wounds with renewed purpose.
Pavlos matched fang with fang and claw with claw. Great hisses rumbled from his leonine chest. Kosta thought that he was laughing.
Still, the kynokephalon was brutishly powerful. It kicked Pavlos away, although even its terrifyingly powerful hands failed to crack Pavlos’ bone, and turned its eyes upon Kosta as magic bled from him and his staff. The beast turned and sprinted at him…only to groan as Kosta Projected a barrier right in front of its feet.
Its brute force impacted it this time. He winced as the crunch of bone met his ears, but the kynokephalon limped forward even as two of its arms tore arrows from its flesh. Did it ever stop?!
This was the cost of being in the support role—everyone always wanted a piece of him.
But the kynokephalon slowed. It betrayed pain as it stepped on its broken foot time and time again. Kosta managed to maintain some space between them. His barriers came fluidly thanks to the staff’s aid, and he sparked its power to life to keep new walls between him and the monstrous kynokephalon’s four arms.
Yet it drew closer despite his efforts. Kosta grit his teeth and centered himself, aimed the blazing phaetra core’s rose-bronze light at the monster, and threw a great portion of his remaining strength into his next working.
Protect. Shield. Unbreakable!
A wall of magic thick and grey as true stone blinked into existence. The kynokephalon roared, obviously tired of Kosta’s brand of delay tactics, and threw its entire being into tearing that barrier down. Four limbs struck in a flurry.
Cracks appeared. Kosta winced, but fed more power to the wall.
The damage vanished, only to renew a moment later. Its four limbs pounded upon the wall again and again, so insistent on breaking through that the stupid thing didn’t realize it could have just walked around the whole time.
Aretans above, it was so stupid. It genuinely offended Kosta. How it had managed to survive this long was a miracle. Kosta supposed brute strength and idiot persistence had some advantages.
Still, all Kosta had wanted was time.
Time was what he got.
Twenty seconds ticked by, then the sound of rustling leaves gave Pavlos away. The kynokephalon was deafened by its fury, so it paid no heed to its savage hunter.
Great bloody fangs latching around its leg did. The kynokephalon howled to the sky, whipped around to beat Pavlos with its enormous fists, and didn’t even notice the barrier vanish.
Kosta saw his opportunity.
He sagged as the fatigue of manifesting such a powerful barrier bore down upon his shoulders, but there was no time for that! Pavlos hung onto the kynokephalon’s trunklike leg with every ounce of strength, digging deep into the iron flesh, but it was only a matter of time before his grip was broken.
The half-dead kynokephalon would not fall so easily.
So Kosta mustered his will again.
He lowered the brass wood of the dendrac staff, closed his eyes, and imagined. His grey magic flooded through both hands as they gripped the tool, amplified by the sparks of his own power and the native materials in the staff, and Overlaid something new upon it.
The golden staff shimmered with a grey haze as the Overlay made it straight as one of Pavlos’ sadistic arrows. It grew strong and unbreakable, reinforced now by Kosta’s desire.
At its tip, the phaetra core blazed. A rosy-bronze speartip, ignited with a core of gold, projected. It flickered like a candle, bleeding heat and light, and Kosta roared his frustrations as he braced himself, stepped forward, and drove it into the kynokephalon’s back.
The sunlight blade pierced its tough hide.
It gasped as the air was driven from its lungs. All four muscular arms froze in their attempts to pry Pavlos off. The kynokephalon blinked, dazed, and craned its neck to peer at Kosta with shock in its eyes.
“I can do more than barriers,” Kostsa wheezed as he twisted the flickering blade. He fed more and more magic into it, overcoming the desperate regeneration of the beast, and laughed madly as the molten speartip finally cut through thick bone and flesh to drive out the kynokephalon’s front.
Clymere would have loved this.
Pavlos rumbled out a laugh, let go of the bloody mess of a leg, and raked his claws down the kynokephalon’s pierced chest again and again and again, carving bloody furrows deep into its hide. Muscle and fur shredded beneath the cruel hooks.
Arrows drove in twice as fast, stirred into a frenzy by the deep wounds, and two of the four remaining projectiles fled to drive their bone arrowheads into the gouge left by Kosta’s makeshift spear. He wrenched the sunlit blade out, admired the simple beauty of its flickering form and brilliant color against the wild forest, and nearly collapsed as he let the Overlay escape him.
He leaned heavily upon the staff as Pavlos and his arrows finished their bloody work.
An hour earlier, this wouldn’t have been enough. The kynokephalon would have suffered beneath the arrows and stab, but it would have fought through. Its flesh would have sealed tight, its muscle restored.
Now? The constant climbing to reach Kosta and regeneration of broken limbs and scrapes, Pavlos’ arrows and claws, and the fiery spear had worn it down. Its wounds still attempted to close before Kosta’s eyes, but the blow he had dealt had stolen some of the last dregs of its power.
Pavlos could hurt it now. And he did.
The red lion savaged the kynokephalon with the aid of his arrows. Flesh broke, then attempted to regrow, then was slashed again until it accepted its fate. Jaws latched around the bestial kynokephalon’s throat. Arrows pierced its heart again and again and again.
And at last, the kynokephalon lay dead.
Kosta stared at it disbelievingly, half-expecting that it would rise to fight again, but felt nothing but relief as the kynokephalon’s empty eyes stared upward. Something about the broken features of a dog left his heart hurting, although he stilled it when he remembered the savagery it had exhibited.
It would have ripped him limb from limb with nothing but a wagging tail and perky ears.
The enormous red lion did a great stretch as it peered down at its unfortunate victim. While part of Kosta wished nothing more than to flee its golden eyes as it turned them upon him, the casual flick of its tail and seeming smile (still too toothy, even for a lion) relaxed him.
“A good fight!” Pavlos’ voice was guttural and harsh as it emerged from the lion’s throat. He rose on two feet, and then he was a man clad in a red lion’s pelt again. His mouth was red with dark blood. The lion’s eyes stared hungrily upon the kynokephalon’s corpse. “And a fine blow to end it. That’s a well-crafted weapon. Keep a tight hold of it, eh? Some will seek to take it for themselves.”
Kosta’s grip tightened around his brass staff protectively. Over his dead body! No one would lay hands upon it without a fight.
Pavlos knelt by the kynokephalon and watched it almost fondly. One of his too-long nails lengthened into a claw and cut the beast’s throat. He licked his lips while his other hand grasped a drinking horn from his belt, then hauled the hulking form of the kynokephalon up with one hand.
The casual show of strength left Kosta uneasy. Pavlos didn’t seem to be a threat, but after that display there was little doubt in his mind of how a fight between them would go. He’d been dispatched to hunt the beast by himself, after all, and Kosta was certain he would have managed it.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Kosta had just sped things up a bit.
He went a little green as Pavlos held the kynokephalon by its scruff and allowed its merlot blood to drip from the slit throat into the drinking horn. He wasn’t really going to…?
Ugh, he did.
Pavlos took a deep pull of the dark blood, shuddered, and then grinned. “A fine prize!” He ignored the disgusted look on Kosta’s face. “I’ll be returning to Yoreme, but dressing the beast will be a day’s work. You may join me if you wish.”
Kosta nodded, still a little nauseous, but figured this was the best possible option. At least he could travel with a light mind knowing that Pavlos was far, far scarier than what the wilderness had to throw at him.
“I’ll set up camp,” Kosta decided. He was all too happy to take a few steps away from the kynokephalon’s corpse, especially when Pavlos took another deep drink of the beast’s blood. It stained the corners of his mouth.
While Kosta molded fine benches, a deep fire pit designed to keep the flames from spreading out, and twin shelters from a pile of heaping stones, Pavlos processed the kynokephalon’s corpse. He strung it up with a bit of rope that must have been enchanted to bear the beast’s weight, then skinned the beast.
Pavlos began by scouring the blood and viscera from the kynokephalon’s hide with a touch of magic, then whipped out a massive brush from his pack to scrub the pelt clean. He sewed what gaping arrow holes hadn’t been healed shut with a bit of his own dark hair and a bone needle.
The man pulled a tiny beech square from a pouch, tapped it, and it unfolded a dozen times into a large fleshing board. It was simple, but Kosta couldn’t deny that it was finely made for what it was.
And with that, Pavlos began the bloody work.
Despite himself, Kosta couldn’t help but watch. It was fascinating to see the deftness with which Pavlos moved. He used no knife or blade, but simply that same lengthened claw that he’d opened its throat with. The claw easily carved apart the kynokephalon’s iron flesh, hooking beneath the surface layers and peeling skin and fur away from the muscle.
His tools were truly a part of him. Kosta could admire that. The precision and care that Pavlos displayed as he took the beast’s pelt was enchanting to watch and distracted Kosta from the grisly task. It was clear that Pavlos took pride in his work. While he moved swiftly and efficiently, finishing the task in minutes rather than hours as Kosta would have expected, each motion was selected with care.
When certain parts below the figurative belt were removed it left Kosta wincing, but Pavlos seemed unbothered. He must have done this a thousand times now. Kosta busied himself with adding some finer details to the simple furniture he’d constructed, shaping the stone to be more comfortable and even carving some chairs from great branches that had dropped, but always kept one eye on Pavlos.
Some parts of the process were too fast and smooth for Kosta to even catch as he did his work, no doubt made quick work by Pavlos’ brand of magic, but by the end the pelt was stretched, dried, and fully prepared in record time while the kynokephalon’s dressed corpse was strung up on a few branches strong enough to support the creature’s massive weight.
Now, Kosta was no hunter, but he was fairly certain that you were supposed to remove the internal organs. He didn’t much care for the grisly sight of the pale muscle and savage wounds left upon the kynokephalon, so didn’t pay much mind to it, and instead settled upon refining his furniture as much as could.
He’d been pressed for time in recent days, always working with efficiency above all else. That left little time for the use of proper tools. Kosta relished in that now, scraping away wood with a knife and sanding the chairs down with a bit of applied magic. He couldn’t wait to have a proper workshop again, even if that thought soured in his mind.
“Actual shelter?” Pavlos rapped his bloody knuckles against one of the stone lean-tos that Kosta had constructed. He chuckled. “I might have to drag you along more often, sculptor.”
“Kosta,” he corrected. “I’ve had plenty of practice these last few days. They’re sloppy, though.”
Pavlos shrugged, pausing to grab his horn bow. The red lion’s eyes watched Kosta constantly. “Better than digging out a den for the night.”
Kosta supposed it was.
“You fight well for a sculptor,” Pavlos eyed him curiously. “Who trained you?”
His throat tightened as memories of long days in the training yard, turtle, and light burns flitted back through his mind. “My sister.”
Understanding crossed Pavlos’ savage face. “She must have been a fine warrior.”
“That she was.”
Pavlos nodded, but didn’t pry any further. “Hungry?”
Kosta’s stomach rumbled. The little bits of Eneas’ wonderful bread that he’d crammed down his throat during the cliffside battle, still perfectly edible after all these days on the road, hadn’t done much to sate him. Fighting was hungry work, magic even moreso.
The red hunter laughed, then turned to the kynokephalon’s skinned corpse. It was terrifying even in this flayed form. Pink muscle laced with great veins, shiny and wet beneath the spring sun. Its eyeless, toothless mouth hung open like that of a worm’s. Pavlos had used some trick of magic to bring its eyes and teeth with the pelt.
All four arms hung limp, yet Kosta could just imagine them twitching back to life. Its claws had been harvested already, shorn away by Pavlos, and the raw, naked form exposed every single one of the dozens of grievous wounds inflicted upon the monster.
It had fought through them all.
Aretans above, Kosta could only imagine the terror of a pack of these beasts. Their frenzied howls would have spelled doom for anyone in Dytifrourá save Headsman Linus. Even he might have been hard pressed to keep them down. An army of these would have been a ceaseless tide.
Of course, all those thoughts fell by the wayside as Pavlos grasped one of the lower arms by the shoulder, heaved, and tore it off with a wet squelch. Kosta gagged, his stomach ready to turn up its contents as tendon, ligament, and muscle were ripped off to leave a ragged hole, and that feeling only redoubled as Pavlos’ toothy mouth reached forward and ripped the ironhard flesh from the bone with impossibly powerful jaws.
The lion’s eyes closed happily. Kosta swore that he heard a happy rumble coming from the crimson pelt draped over Pavlos.
“The arms are my favorite!” Pavlos spat out a bit of gristle, then went in for another bloody bite. Kosta remembered how tough the beast’s body had been. How strong were Pavlos’ teeth? “Want some?”
Kosta could only shake his head. Was this real? Was this where his life had taken him?
“Your loss!” Pavlos shrugged. “More for me.”
Meat fibers and connective tissue were shredded by Pavlos with seeming ease. After a few more bites he rose, pulled the drinking horn from his belt, and pressed it into Kosta’s hand. He paused to admire the horn’s craftsmanship. It was simple, practical, but clearly meant to be more than just a tool. Crude carvings of great beasts felled by arrow and fang adorned it, likely scratched in by a knife’s tip or perhaps Pavlos’ own claws, but they accentuated the horn rather than detracting from it.
There was love and care put into the drinking horn. It was almost enough to distract Kosta from the wine-red blood pooled in it.
Did it just bubble?
“Drink,” Pavlos said and confirmed Kosta’s worst fears. His nose wrinkled. “You were prey. The beast would have done worse. Imbibe of its power.”
The red hunter was deadly serious. Something in his eyes stopped Kosta in his tracks before he could refuse the ‘drink’.
“The creatures hunt us for our magic,” Pavlos said quietly. “I hunt them for the same. They have made me strong. It hunted you, yet you became the hunter. This is the blood price that the beast pays. Take a shade of its strength.”
Kosta hesitated, but the simple resolution in Pavlos’ words spoke to him. He needed strength. The world had taught him what happened to those without power. “This isn’t just some sort of metaphor, right? I’m not going to drink that,” Kosta said as he nodded toward the blood, “for some sort of symbolic pat on the back?”
A smile played across Pavlos’ crimson mouth. “Legends say that mundane flesh and fruit turns to ash in the Aretans’ mouths. If it’s good enough for them…”
He might have gone insane, but Kosta pulled the horns to his lips and swallowed before he could think about it.
His throat clenched as the foul fluid, thick as mud and sticky as tar, oozed down his throat. Why was it salty?! He wanted to gag, to spew it out all over the earth, but somehow kept it down. Despite his fears, despite the absolute grossness, Kosta felt just a hint of the beast’s power.
It flooded through him, wild and feral, and surged through his soul. Kosta’s hands twitched around the horn, which Pavlos quickly took back. The red hunter took a gulp himself without trouble, amused at Kosta’s own reaction.
“It won’t do much for you,” Pavlos admitted, stalking away to finish his kynokephalon arm. Kosta still had no intention of eating that. Not raw, anyways, his hungry mind betrayed. “I’ve attuned myself to their power. But you feel it, don’t you?”
“I do,” Kosta agreed. While the beast’s magic didn’t settle within him, it left his sore muscles relaxed. It soothed his aches. His own magic knit his scrapes and light cuts together. After a few minutes, the kynokephalon’s power faded and he was left feeling better than he had in days. Even his head ceased its incessant pounding. “It heals?”
“And more.” Pavlos ripped another chunk of meat off and shredded it with his pointy teeth. He clutched the kynokephalon’s pelt in one hand, then closed his eyes. The red hunter sagged in exhaustion as crimson magic flowed into the monster’s furry hide, but his work was done.
Kosta could only stare as the pelt stirred. Dark eyes opened. Ears perked up. A black nose snuffled. Even its tail wagged as it hung in Pavlos’ grip. The hunter eyed it, smiled, and patted it as he would a normal dog.
“A fine prize!” Pavlos exclaimed. Kosta watched with utter fascination as the red lion hanging over Pavlos’ head eyed the kynokephalon’s pelt with disdain. Its lips peeled back in a snarl to reveal its great fangs as the kynokephalon’s tail wagged further. “Good dog.”
He’d never imagined magic like this. Was it unique to Pavlos, a manifestation of his Dòrognosis, or was it a discipline taught in Yoreme?
“Can you become one now?” Kosta recalled the seamless transformation of man to red lion.
“Aye. Only a semblance of what it once was, but I expect that will be enough.”
After the fight it had given them, Kosta could only agree. With Pavlos’ mind behind the kynokephalon’s terrifying power, most monsters would find themselves torn apart. They’d been lucky this kynokephalon acted as though it had taken a few heavy hits to the head in the past.
“We will split the bounty,” Pavlos decided as he devoured far more than he should, cleaning the bones down to stark white. His tongue was covered in barbs like a cat and tore flesh away with ease. “The fight would have been harder if you hadn’t tested its reserves. That beast slew two hunters dispatched for it. We’ve claimed our vengeance. Headsman Phillip will rest easy.”
Kosta wasn’t certain whether Pavlos just didn’t care much for the coin or if he had decided to offer the ragged Kosta some form of charity, but he wasn't so full of pride that he wouldn’t accept. He wasn’t Papa.
So he nodded, the gears of his mind spinning.
Money meant supplies. Money meant he could continue his work. Money meant civilization.
“I’ll gather the bones,” Pavlos said errantly. He tossed the kynokephalon pelt to Kosta, who sagged briefly as its heavy weight struck him. Its dark eyes stared up at him without even a hint of bloodlust, which somehow managed to be endearing and disturbing all at once. “You look as though you need a rest. Sleep. I will stand watch.”
Part of Kosta was raw and suspicious, yet the exhaustion sang to him. The kynokephalon’s blood had urged his body to heal and regenerate faster than it would have otherwise, but that took a toll upon him.
He was exhausted. Even his sleep had offered little respite for the past few days. Cold stone, the sounds of the wild, and dark dreams had never been kind bedfellows.
Kosta stared down at the kynokephalon pelt. He had a pillow.
He had a pillow!
With that in mind, Kosta staggered to the shelter, collapsed beneath the treated pelt even as it snuffled at him, and passed out in the blink of an eye.