The moment Acadian’s voice faded, the Tailor’s neck cracked unnaturally to one side. It folded over onto all fours and began to gallop like an animal towards the group. Its bladed hands scraped against the floor, a screeching echo filling the cabin.

“Scatter!” Acadian shouted, firing a bolt from his crossbow. The Tailor lurched to its side, now crawling upside down toward them. With its head extended back towards the floor, its soulless eyesockets seemed to scream at them.

Arsa ducked into a corner, drawing his bow and narrowing his eyes as he waited for an opening to fire. Zaun curled up tightly around Arsa’s neck, whimpering from the high-pitched shriek of the Tailor’s claws.

“Stay with me, Zaun,” he whispered, loosing an arrow and striking the Tailor’s shoulder. The creature barely flinched, the arrowshaft sticking out of it like a pin in a doll.

Gostor had already begun shouting, his form becoming beastly and hairy. He let out a guttural roar as he charged headfirst toward the Tailor, swinging his handaxes wildly. His powerful blows connected with clangs of steel on steel, but the Tailor blocked against the onslaught. The dwarf snarled, relentlessly hacking at the serrated talons.

Frank stood at the edge of the room, his tattoos glowing a bright blue.

“I’ll slow it down,” he said through his concentration. He waved his hand, sending a gust of icy wind toward the Tailor. The creature staggered as its legs were suddenly encased in an eruption of ice. Gostor managed to lodge one of his axes in the thing’s thigh, but a swing of it’s arm backhanded him away. Black blood leaked from the gash in its leg, spilling onto the ice at its feet. Its torso rounded backward as though it wanted to scream. With a violent shake, it shattered the ice around its shins. Its hollow eyes turned to Frank.

Flynn ran between the creature and Frank, raising his shield to meet the coming attack. He planted his feet squarely on the floor, sword at the ready.

“Behind me!” he shouted, bracing himself as the Tailor’s hand came down, scraping sickeningly against the metal. The force of the blow reverberated through Flynn’s shield, but he held firm, teeth gritted hard enough to hurt.

“Is that all you got?” Flynn taunted.

The Tailor’s other claw came swinging around the shield faster than the boy could react. It raked across his side, slicing cleanly through the armor. Blood sprayed the floor as Flynn gasped and stumbled back into Frank. He swung his sword instinctively, the blade biting into the Tailor’s arm. The black ichor oozed from the slash, but it refused to slow.

Circe, standing in the shadows, whispered, “Planirey vey.” She raised her arm above her head, summoning tendrils of thorny vines from beneath the floorboards. They coiled like serpents around the Tailor’s legs, dragging it to the floor and away from the wounded knight. The creature contorted, stabbing one of its hands into the ground and using the other to tear through the vines.

“It’s too strong,” she spat. “We need something more.”

Acadian stared at Flynn’s bleeding shoulder, anger growing in his chest. As the paladin knelt down, Frank struggling to keep him upright, Acadian saw the rose hanging limply from Flynn’s belt.

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“Get yer roses!” he shouted. “Keep 'em close.”

Circe conjured her rose from beneath the strap of her dress and walked forward with a sneer. As the Tailor reached its feet, she pushed the flower towards its face. The creature recoiled, hissing through its nostrils. It lashed out again, but not at Circe - at the rose.

She maneuvered it like a fencing rapier, backing the Tailor towards Gostor. The dwarf held out his own rose, albeit upside down, and began bashing it at the monster like a hammer. It writhed, falling to the floor to avoid their floral daggers. As it turned on its belly, the voids in its head focused on Arsa as he scrambled to pull a flower out of his pack.

Once again on all fours, it ran with unnerving speed toward Arsa and Zaun. It leaped into the air, claws ready to strike. The elf stared helplessly wide-eyed at the attacker, raising his arm to shield Zaun from the blow.

Just then, Acadian darted between Arsa and the Tailor, firing a bolt into its chest. It jolted and convulsed, but its blades came down on him, slicing across his shoulder. Acadian staggered back, his breath caught in his throat as the pain began to radiate through his veins.

“Acadian, no!” Arsa said, rising to his feet.

He finally freed his rose and thrust it desperately forward. With the arrow sticking out of its chest, it took a deep, stuttering breath in. With much effort, an inhuman scream erupted from its throat. Its jaw began to widen as the skin where its mouth should be tore apart, releasing its wicked roar. It reared its second hand back, ready to strike beyond the rose at Arsa’s shoulder and the dragon sat upon it.

In a final burst of energy, Acadian threw himself in front of the claw, taking the full force of the blow. The blade sliced into Acadian’s back, and he crumpled to the ground.

It was as though time had frozen. Arsa fell to his knees over Acadian’s twitching and gasping body, blood seeping out through his wounds.

“No, no, no…” he stammered.

Gostor roared and charged at the Tailor with reckless abandon, his axes swinging wildly. Flynn followed, dropping his shield from the pain in his arm - still, he ran forward with his sword. Frank’s eyes and tattoos glowed a bright inferno of red, unleashing a torrent of fire at the creature and blasting it away from the unconscious elf.

Gostor and Flynn’s blades fell upon the burning Tailor, the black blood gushing onto the floor. It hissed and heaved through its new mouth, the bladed hands flailing but finding no purchase. Its movements slowed, becoming light twitches and more pained movements. Circe stepped forward as Flynn and Gostor backed away. She looked down at the dying thing and sneered. She dropped her rose on its face as it fell still.

The room had gone silent, save for the ragged breathing of the party. Flynn walked to the wall and sat down, pulling off his belt to make an ugly tourniquet around his bicep.

Arsa was holding his hands over Acadian’s wounds. The old hunter’s face was pale, his breathing shallow. But he was alive.

“Hold on,” Arsa whispered, his voice cracking. “Hold on, we’re not done yet. We promised each other, remember? Remember that? Please.”

Zaun coiled tighter around Arsa’s neck, letting out a soft, mournful cry. Flynn called out after pulling the strap of his belt.

“He’ll live,” he said. “We all will. Destiny won’t let us go yet. I have faith.”

Frank knelt down beside them, waving his palm over Acadian’s wounds. His tattoos changed to gold and the bleeding stopped, but the slashes remained open.

“He saved you,” Frank whispered. “And the dragon.”

Arsa swallowed hard, brushing the sweat-soaked hair out of Acadian’s face. “He hates dragons…”

Circe pulled Gostor off the Tailor’s corpse, the dwarf halfway through severing its head. She let out a sigh and joined the others.

She pursed her lips and raised her brow, “Perhaps he doesn’t hate dragons as much as he cares for you.”