Helen lay on the deck, watching the cloudy sky as she contemplated her behavior from last night. Her hangover had finally worn off, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
‘I was a fucking idiot. What was I thinking?’
Helen sighed as she facepalmed at the memory of that night, recalling how stupid it was of her to drink to the point of damn near blacking out. She peeked through her fingers and looked at Haggard, who was napping by a barrel. Helen remembered vaguely how she had stupidly wanted to go for a ‘dive,’ jumping into the freezing waters of the canals and dragging the man with her. It was a miracle she didn’t freeze to death, mainly thanks to Haggard and whatever casting he had used to keep them warm once they had gotten out.
‘I’m lucky to have any fingers left from that night…’
Helen closed her eyes. She could hear the crew working around the deck, talking and conversing as they moved. The ex-marauder raised an eyebrow, opening her eyes to look at Haggard again.
The man responsible for watching her was asleep, his guard down.
‘He must’ve not gotten enough sleep last night,’
Helen sat up, noticing that none of the crew was paying attention to her. Seamus was also nowhere in sight, possibly beneath the deck. Helen swallowed, looking back at Haggard, her eyes focusing on the small bag that hung from his belt, which contained the key to her shackles. She might get away this time, as there was a skiff still attached to Frostbite.
‘I could make my getaway. None of them can really stop me.’
Helen looked back at the napping Haggard, his soft snoring grating on her ears. She clenched her fists, looking down at her shackled wrists and ankles.
“Fuck it.”
She kicked Haggard hard. The man snapped awake, dumbfounded, and looked around in dazed confusion. His tired eyes then seemed to notice Helen, who kicked him again from her sitting position.
“Wake up, you idiot!” She reprimanded, almost shouting at the arsehole. “How stupid can you be to let your guard down?” She growled at Haggard, who grumbled as he stood up. The man looked around, searching to see if there was any danger. When he found nothing, he turned to the blonde woman, confusion written on his expression.
“What are you on about?” He asked, his brow furrowing. Helen shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“You absolute dolt… Did you hit your head or something?” She raised her wrists, shaking the chain that connected her shackles. “If I was any other marauder, you would’ve had your throat slit, your ship burnt, and I would’ve been gone for good!”
Haggard blinked, visibly surprised and somehow looking even more dumbfounded.
“What?” He asked dumbly, squinting at Helen as if she had gone mad. Helen breathed in frustration, shaking her head as she rested against a barrel.
“Dumbass,” she muttered.
“What?” Haggard asked once more, his voice sounding even more confused. Helen was about to turn to call him an even bigger dumbass, but her eyes caught the sight of Seamus from across the deck. He was sitting down, reading the map he was holding. Yet his eyes were on her, examining Helen.
‘Was he watching the whole time?’
Helen’s eyes locked with Seamus’. The young man jumped at the sudden eye contact, his face turning back to his map as if he were reading it the entire time.
“Huh. Curious,” Helen muttered aloud, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair from her eyes. Seamus had been minimizing contact with the ex-marauder for the last couple of days, only speaking with her twice. Even then, Seamus had avoided eye contact and conversation with Helen. However, the ex-marauder didn’t find this surprising, as she knew why he had avoided contact.
‘Seamus Falken…’
She recalled the fake name he had used to avoid certain death from her. Helen was still going to kill him then, but she couldn’t bring herself to end the young man. She could still recall that fateful night, how Seamus was covered in the blood of his allies. He was crying then, begging for his life and making himself a pathetic sight.
‘How could someone like that be the son of one of the most dangerous men in Valenfrost?’
She had asked herself this many, many times. The young man’s father, Yorn, was a monster in combat. That beast of a man had cut through marauders like nothing, taking hits as if they were the blows of a child. Helen had glimpsed at the sight of Yorn two times that night, but she had seen enough to know that it was a gods-given miracle that Deimos had come out on top. The night the Halvorson clan fell was among the bloodiest nights ever fought in Valenfrost. Helen had no doubts about it. The ex-marauder took another glance at the famed son of Yorn. Seamus looked much younger than he was, his bare face and messy bowl-shaped hair making him seem like a bard or scribe.
‘Perhaps Deimos made a mistake in assuming that this Seamus was the son of Yorn.’
It wouldn’t be the first time that bastard had made a mistake.
Helen turned away from the young man, focusing her attention on the nearby island, the one that James and his team were currently on. Something then caught Helen’s attention, her eyes squinting to get a better look. She could spot a plume of smoke rising from the island’s trees, almost as if from a campfire.
‘What is that man up to?’
Helen wondered to herself. James had been nothing but an enigma to her. The young man had somehow cheated death against Deimos, a feat never accomplished. He had also killed off Havor and whatever creature attacked the town during the raid. James had gone against those odds, all while being a complete stranger to everything. Helen could swear James felt off. Her instincts screamed whenever he was around, his presence hostile and foreign to her.
‘It must be the nerves,’ Helen concluded.
Besides, it wasn’t like James was some foreigner from another world… right?
----------------------------------------
Dahlia stopped to take a breather, resting against a tree as puffs of steam rose from her lips. The others took her example, stopping to rest as well. They had been walking a while now, still on the trail of blood and residue from before. Bjorn sat on the snowy ground, groaning as he rested his short legs. The dwarf had to double his pace to catch up with everyone else since he was the shortest of the bunch. Finn was also sitting, searching his bag, as Miles leaned against a nearby tree.
Dahlia slowly caught her breath, moving to sit down on a fallen log nearby. After clearing the snow away from the log’s top, Dahlia sat down on it, sighing in relief as she gave her legs some much-needed rest. Dahlia felt something rumble inside her, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach.
‘How long has it been since breakfast?’
Dahlia grimaced as she searched through her leather pouch. Nothing but potions and runes, as well as some plants and medical items.
“Dammit,” she muttered, turning away from the contents of her bag. She was then face to face with Miles, his grinning wooden mask a few centimeters away. His gloved hand rose between them, holding what looked like a rectangular, bland-looking cookie. His thumb and index finger then moved, showing that he was holding three of the bland-looking things.
“Take it. It’s good for nutrition,” he said, holding it out to Dahlia. The shaman cautiously accepted, looking down at the strange rectangles with a bit of mistrust. “They’re not poisoned,” Miles suddenly said, as if reading Dahlia’s thoughts. “They’re just ration bars, nothing more, nothing less.”
Dahlia raised an eyebrow at the man, unsure of his words. Still, Miles hadn’t shown true malice the entire time she had known him, so she took the chance. It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that her stomach was currently eating itself. Dahlia took a bite out of one ration, noting how dry and salty it was. By the time she finished the first one, she was already reaching for her waterskin, her throat dryer than an Arenian desert.
She glanced at Miles as she drank the cold water, watching how he ate his rations strangely. He lifted his wooden mask slightly, ensuring no one could see underneath it. He stuck one end of the rations underneath, small crumbs falling as he presumably nibbled on it. Dahlia moved her focus onto Finn, who was eating his own rations, which looked to be dried fruit. Bjorn was gnawing on a salted piece of meat, grimacing at the taste before washing it down with his trusty tin flask.
As Dahlia was nibbling on her final ration bar, she turned to Miles, who was adjusting his mask back onto his face.
“Miles, can I ask you something?”
The man stopped with his mask adjustment, turning to look at the shaman.
“What is it?” he asked, curious in his tone. Dahlia hesitated for a moment, wondering if it really was appropriate to bring up a question that she had wanted to ask. In the end, she went with it.
“Are you really one of the followers of chaos?”
It was a stupid question, especially since the man’s mask obviously displayed the iconic symbol of Myr, the god of chaos. Still, Dahlia couldn’t shake the fact that Miles had been acting pretty normally the entire day. His oddities stood out for sure, but they were hardly comparable to the stories of other followers.
Miles was quiet momentarily, his grinning mask turning to the woods.
“No. At least, not anymore,” he finally answered, turning to a stunned Dahlia. I left the followers a while ago.” The strange man’s words nearly made Bjorn choke on his salted beef.
“What?” the dwarf asked. “You mean you just left? I thought you weren’t allowed to?” The mercenary seemed genuinely surprised.
Miles shrugged. “There aren’t any rules forbidding it. Myr doesn’t like to force his followers to stay loyal. Otherwise, they’ll be slaves.”
Bjorn raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Wait, if you really left, then why the mask and creepy words?”
Miles chuckled at that, his wooden mask looking back at the dwarf, the blank dot eyes seeming to have a bit of life in them. “Old habits die hard, my friend… Besides, I quite like Myr. I just want to pursue his doctrine differently,” he spoke out.
“What would that be?” Dahlia asked, wondering what Miles’ motivations could be.
“Well… it’s obvious, is it not?” Miles looked at the shaman, who felt uncomfortable as she looked upon his wide grin and blank dot eyes.
“Try me,” she responded.
Miles looked off at the cloudy sky. “I live to fight alongside interesting people. Believe me when I say this since I have fought with and against many interesting people. Your friend, James, is one of the most fascinating men I have had the pleasure of meeting.” The shaman felt surprised, but at the same time, she had expected this.
‘Still…’
“Why?” she asked, furrowing her brow.
“Really? Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it? That… foreign feeling to him. I have experienced nothing like it… Such a strange feeling…” Miles chuckled once more. It is truly something else. It is almost otherworldly.”
----------------------------------------
The snow was no longer hindering their walking, as it was only a few inches instead of the knee-length banks they had been trudging through at the beginning of their journey. James was leading the team through the woods, following a path of blood and messy footprints. They had found the footprints not too long after burning the remains of whatever they had found.
Following them had led them through the woods, where they found blood and broken branches along the path of footprints. James was unsure of what made the footprints. Still, something told him that whatever was running through the snow was undoubtedly terrified.
‘Be on your guard… You never know what might be in these woods…’ Faust warned James as he came across bloodied snow painting a large area. James kept moving on, spotting a couple more spots just like it ahead.
“No remains,” James noted as he followed the frantic footprints.
“Do you think it… ate them?” Edmund suggested. James frowned, recalling his first encounter with the thing. It had seemed to be feasting on the bodies of the marauders killed.
“I… I’m not sure,” James answered. He didn’t really see why the creature would need to feast. It didn’t seem like the type of creature that needed substance, especially since it visibly had its stomach and guts torn out way before James had fought it.
‘Still…’
James looked ahead, squinting past the trees to see if anything was noteworthy.
“Hold up,” he muttered, hurrying his pace. As James rushed his team to follow, he could see a structure ahead. After a minute of hustling through the woods, he stopped, facing a shoddily built gate and wall protecting the entrance to a cave.
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“What the…?” James started before Brent interrupted him.
“A feral goblin structure… No doubts about it.”
James almost jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of the older man.
“Goblin? Like little green people?” James asked for clarification.
Brent scoffed. “You make it sound as if they’re harmless,” he chuckled as Edmund and Archibald finally caught up.
“I mean... Aren’t they?” James asked. He didn’t see the danger of rabble-like goblins since he had slain thousands of the little bastards in RPGs and MMOs.
“You must not come out often, do you?” Brant asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, one goblin is harmless once you know how to take them out, but you must remember that they are pack animals. They overrun their enemies by sheer numbers alone. Orcs train them to use tactics as well, using them as fodder to soften and open up their enemies. Feral goblins are worse since they don’t have orcs to control their numbers. They use crude weapons and tactics, using every advantage they have.” Brant gestured towards the structure. “Judging from the lack of orcs, I’m willing to bet this is a feral goblin hideout.”
James squinted a bit, focusing more on the crude and shoddy gate. “Do they usually leave the gate open?” he asked, noticing that it was actually slightly ajar, swinging a little from the chilly breeze.
“No, they don’t,” Brant answered after a couple of silent seconds.
“We’re not going in there, right?” Edmund asked, a nervous look on his face.
“Why? Are you afraid?” Archibald asked, grinning as he stepped up.
“No!” Edmund responded a little too quickly. “It’s just… Is it really a good idea?”
There was some silence after Edmund’s words. Everyone but James looked at each other with conflicted looks.
“Good idea or not, I have a feeling our mystery monster is hiding in there,” James said, pointing a finger at the structure once more. James had been staring at a particular spot on the shabby wall, his choice already made for him once he recognized the familiar bloodied stain on the gate. He could hear Edmund groan under his breath as Brant cursed quietly.
“Whether we like it or not, we’re going in there,” James clarified as he walked toward the cave’s entrance. He could hear how the others followed close behind. While he looked stoic and serious, James felt sick internally, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead as he forced himself to walk.
‘Are you sure it’s in there?’ James asked Faust, who answered.
‘I am sure of it. I can feel its presence.’
Once the group finally entered the cave gate, the smell of rotten flesh hit them, along with a noticeable metal taste in the air.
‘Blood…’ James recognized before he instinctively covered his mouth with a sleeve. He looked around the dimmed cave, the only light source coming from the half-opened gate. James stared at the stone walls, seeing streaks of red and black strewn about.
‘But no bodies or remains,’ he noted as well, the absence of which only disturbed him even more.
“Delphine’s mercy…” He suddenly heard Edmund mutter behind him, along with Archibald’s dry heaving.
James looked back at his group, seeing how they all reacted to the sight of the cave, their faces full of disgust and shock.
“Does anyone have a light or something?” James asked, his voice muffled behind his sleeve. Archibald raised his hand, his other pinching his nose as he stood straight.
“I have something,” he responded nasally before digging through his belt’s pouches. Ah… here it is.” The elf brought out a small blue quartz-looking stone. Archibald then muttered a couple of nonsense words that James didn’t understand into the quartz before it suddenly made a soft humming sound. It then suddenly glowed a bright blue, lighting up the surroundings.
“Alright,” James started, steeling his nerves as he held his hand out for the glowing quartz. “I’ll lead the way,” James added as he looked at the elf. Archibald nodded, handing the source of light to him.
James turned to the cave’s depths, grimacing as he ventured deeper into the darkness, holding out the quartz to light the way. He could hear the rest of the men follow, their feet shuffling and taking care not to trip over the rocky ground. James hoped that the smell of blood would go away soon, but it only got stronger, making him feel sick. He noticed discarded rags as he walked, broken spears, and bloody handprints staining the gray stone.
“What the hell happened here?” James muttered aloud, his instincts screaming at him to run away. Still, he persisted, forcing his feet to move onwards.
‘The same thing it did and tried to do at Yorktown,’ Faust answered, his tone grim and serious. James recalled watching the thing ‘feast’ upon the dead marauders. He shivered, hoping that he wouldn’t have to see the results of what had transpired in this cave.
The cave had grown wider the farther they walked, and the number of goblin structures increased. Eventually, they reached a large chamber, where James had no doubt that it had once been the creatures’ booming village. Except the structures were destroyed, and blood was visible upon the wreckage, as well as more broken spears and rocks.
‘No bodies yet,’ James noted, using his foot to lift a bloodied roof that had fallen. No remains were visible, not even the black residue he had seen back outside. James looked back at his group, all of whom had come to the same conclusion as he had.
“I don’t like this,” Edmund voiced his concern. “No bodies? No remains? James, what the hell are we dealing with?” The young man’s tone demanded answers, yet his eyes were filled with a daunting fear. James opened his mouth to answer, but a faint sound caught his attention. He turned around, raising the glowing quartz. He was about to call out but stopped himself.
‘How stupid can I be? Whatever is in here, goblin or not, it’s certainly not friendly.’
James gulped as he continued his walk, heading to the center of the large chamber they were in. There was a ray of light coming from the cave’s ceiling, illuminating the chamber’s end. James was on his way to the lit spot when he stopped dead in his tracks, his hand instinctively reaching for his head as he scowled. It wasn’t as unbearably painful as last time, but it was unpleasant enough to bring back the foul memory of that ‘thing’ back when it had entered his head. James reached for the pommel of his sword, ready to fight whatever came from the darkness.
“Get ready,” he suddenly warned. “It’s here.” James heard the sounds of his group drawing their weapons, their feet moving to back him up. James himself was about to draw his sword when he saw movement. Everyone went silent, their breaths held as they stared at the spot of light.
Something suddenly stumbled into the light, groggily moving around as if drunk. It was about a meter tall, its skin blackened and purple, and crystals formed around its head and arms. James blinked, staring at the odd creature.
It was a goblin, its eyes glowing a soft blue as it looked upon the group of four armed men. The goblin groaned something out, its crystallized hand moving to its frostbitten chest.
“Frey… Stiks… Grem… Olga…” It spoke out in a raspy voice before it gasped for air.
“This is your monster?” Archibald commented, his rapier lowering as he laughed in relief. “Oh, thank the gods,” he chuckled. The elf approached the goblin as it stumbled around the spot of light.
“This makes no sense,” James muttered.
‘Unless…’
“Archibald, wait…” James stepped forward quickly, raising his hand to stop the elf.
“Don’t worry, I got this.” Archibald was already at the goblin, kicking it over onto its back. Without hesitation, the elf stepped on the struggling goblin’s neck, his silver rapier already positioned.
“Archibald, no!” James exclaimed before he attempted to stop the mercenary. Before he could do so, the elf stabbed clear through the goblin’s skull, its flailing arms going weak as the light from its eyes died out.
“See? Easy.” The elf grinned. “Now, let’s get out of this cave…” Archibald trailed off. “What’s with those faces?” He asked, confused.
Unbeknownst to the elf, he was about to die. James and the rest of the group had watched on in horror as multiple glowing eyes opened up in unison, milky blue irises glowing with magic. The many eyes, possibly hundreds, stared at Archibald with hungry looks. The elf slowly turned to meet the horrifying sight, his body going stiff as he was met with the eyes of death incarnate.
Suddenly, a large crystalized club swung out of the darkness, aimed at the elf’s exposed head. Miraculously, it didn’t hit its mark, as James tackled Archibald at record speed. Both men hit the hard ground in a cloud of dust, with James screaming at the mercenary.
“Run!” The blond man was already moving, picking the elf up by his arms as he tried to escape the monster behind them. James felt something hit his back, knocking the air out of his lungs as he flew to the ground again, hard. James tried to breathe for a solid couple of seconds, failing to do so as he grabbed at his hurting chest.
‘Am I going to suffocate?’ James thought in horror before he suddenly gasped, cold air rushing into his lungs. He turned to see Archibald running off to his dropped rapier as the monster’s eyes stared at the elf hungrily.
James reached for his leather pouch, pulled out a gray stone, and aimed it at the creature in the way Dahlia had taught him. Without hesitation, James focused his will.
“Night Spray!” he shouted. The rune reacted to his words, the engraved symbol lighting a bright purple as it shot forward many purple firefly-looking projectiles, all homing in onto the creature in front of James. He watched as the projectiles jolted against the thing’s eyes and blackened skin, small explosions causing a chain reaction across its surface. Eyes popped, and purple flames lit up on the skin, causing the creature to roar in anger.
James scurried away, trying to get some distance away from that thing. He chanced a look at his group, all of whom were taking James’ example in distancing themselves. Archibald had his rapier drawn, a pale look on his face. Edmund, who was nearby, was shaking as he held his sword high. It was obvious that the young mercenary was more than a little rattled. Brant looked to be the most calm, his sword and shield out. James then remembered his own round shield, his hand reaching behind his back as he focused on the creature again. The thing stayed where it was, its eyes moving around unnaturally as it clicked and chattered its teeth.
Klick klick klick
‘I fucking hate that sound.’
James gritted his teeth at the grating noise, his sword and shield now equipped, as he stared at the creature before him. Once his eyes were accustomed to the dim lighting, he soon realized that this thing was nothing like the one he fought back at Yorktown. James now knew the answer to why there weren’t any bodies in the cave. The purple flames from the Night Spray spell illuminated the thing’s body, no… bodies.
‘It consumed them all,’ Faust realized.
James himself was too stunned to reply. His eyes widened with horror as they stared at the many limbs and faces that made up that creature’s ‘body’. Multiple sets of teeth clacked and chattered across the pruned surface. Its hands and arms reached out and grasped at thin air for no particular reason. It even seemed to walk on malformed limbs, made up of many goblin legs and arms. The club it used earlier comprised multiple limbs melded together, bonded by blunt crystals. James stared at the horrific sight of distorted flesh and teeth, momentarily stunned.
‘Snap out of it,’ Faust said, waking James from his stupor. ‘Focus.’
James swallowed, nodding as he raised his shield, which sported a nasty gash. James ignored the idea of what would’ve happened had he not carried the shield on his back.
“James Holter,” the creature suddenly croaked out, stunning James as he stared at the thing. Its voices were like nails on a chalkboard, a symphony of melded-together voices as they cried out. “We have been wanting another confrontation with you…” James could hear a tinge of excitement in those voices, which made it all the worse.
“James?” Archibald called out. “What is it talking about? Why is it talking?!”
“Not now! Let’s kill this thing first, alright? I’ll explain everything later!” James backed away from the creature as its eyes trained on him.
“What?! What do you mean later?!”
“Archibald, shut the hell up! We need to focus on this… thing.” Edmund’s shout seemed to shut up the elf’s babbling, to James’ relief.
“James, do you have a plan?” Brant asked from afar, his voice on the edge of losing its nerve. James nodded, keeping his eyes on the creature.
“Yeah. Just follow my lead… and don’t get hit.” It wasn’t the best idea, let alone a plan, but James had to make it up as he went along.
‘I just hope it doesn’t gut me in the next hour.’
He gritted his teeth as he made a stance.
“Carapace!”
----------------------------------------
Dahlia looked back at her group, stopping to let them catch up to her.
“We’ll explore every inch of this damned island before we find your ‘monster’ shaman,” Bjorn stated, huffing as he reached Miles and Finn, who slowed their pace to allow the dwarf to catch up.
“I agree with the dwarf. We’ve been walking the entire day,” Finn complained as he wiped his forehead with a green sleeve. “Are you even sure we’re tracking this ‘creature’ and not some wolf?” Finn stopped a couple of meters away from Dahlia, his hand tapping one of the marked trees. “There isn’t any of that black stuff you were so obsessed with… It’s only scratch marks and pieces of fur.” The blond man raised an eyebrow at the shaman in suspicion.
“I might have to agree with him on this one,” Miles said, examining the tree Finn had pointed out. “Are you sure you didn’t trail off from the creature’s original path?”
Dahlia tilted her head at the three men, furrowing her brow. “Look, you all can doubt me all you want, but I swear to you I didn’t ‘trail’ off from the initial tracks, nor did I mistake the tracks for those belonging to a wolf. Just trust me.”
“Hard to put trust in someone who hides information,” Bjorn quipped, sitting down on a tree stump. Dahlia looked at the dwarven mercenary.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Means exactly what it means. How can we trust you if you can’t even tell us about what we’re hunting down? You told us how to kill it but nothing about what it is.” Bjorn pulled his flask out, taking a swig from it as Dahlia stared at the dwarf.
‘How can I look these people in the eye and tell them that not even I know what we’re hunting. Gods, I’m not even sure if we can truly kill it just by destroying its head.’
“It’s… It’s complicated,” Dahlia explained, doing her best to think of any explanation that would do.
“We have all day,” Finn answered, crossing his arms.
The shaman sighed, clicking her tongue in frustration as she looked for the words. “The thing we’re hunting, well, it’s not… it’s not—”
“Dahlia,” Miles suddenly interrupted, catching everyone’s attention. Dahlia looked towards the follower, whose white mask was facing off to the distance into the forest. The shaman turned to the endless forest, squinting to see what Miles was looking at. She then noticed a black lump, black residue, and dark blood staining the trees next to it. How did she not see this before?
‘Exhaustion does a lot to a person…’
“Is that another body?” Finn asked. The shaman nodded, stepping forward before feeling her body forcefully hold itself back from another step.
“This feels wrong,” she muttered, unsure why everything felt so… off.
Still, Dahlia moved on, forcing herself to approach the black lump. The space between the trees seemed to be closer together now, almost as if suffocating the shaman. Dahlia could hear her breathing grow short and ragged as she grew closer to the deformed corpse ahead. She shut her eyes, hoping the claustrophobia would disappear if she wasn’t looking.
It only felt worse, however, her throat going dry and her lungs feeling as if they were being squeezed. She opened her eyes, now only a few meters away from the blackened remains. It reeked of rotted flesh, which was expected. Dahlia knelt down, leaning in to get a better look at the twisted corpse.
This was a wolf’s corpse, its head disfigured and skin pruned and crystallized. Half of its body was gone, leaving its blackened guts spilled out on a disgusting heap.
“What the–”
Dahlia was interrupted when someone tackled her to the snow-covered ground, air rushing out from her lungs. The shaman turned to see Miles’ grinning mask face to face with her. She opened her mouth to shout, but her voice died in her throat as a crystalized paw smashed through the nearby tree, splintering wood and sending bark flying.
Dahlia felt her body go limp in fear as she stared at the horrifying creature that had nearly taken her head. It was hunched over, patches of brown fur spotting its blackened and pruned skin, crystals covering its torso and limbs. Its naked snout snarled at Dahlia, blue glowing eyes staring her down as it stood on its hind legs, its paws raised as it roared at her. It was well over three meters, rippling muscles now visible since it barely had any fur. Despite its unnatural appearance, Dahlia knew exactly what it used to be.
“It’s a fucking bear!” she managed out finally, her eyes widening in fear.
“Run!” Miles shouted, moving to pull her up and away from the terrifying amalgamation of flesh and crystals.