Ben was utterly alone. He stood in the middle of a dilapidated road that zigzagged its way up a hill. It was an old path, almost forgotten, and the only man-made object for miles. Roots and weeds clawed through the cracked stone, and its surface was swallowed by a sea of grass. It was the perfect place for an ambush.

“I think I’m having second thoughts, guys,” he said into the empty air. Ben waited, but no reply came. “Guys?” The silence only helped to exacerbate his unease. A breeze slapped a tuft of dark brown hair against his face, and he pulled the hood of his cloak up in response.

He coughed, irritated with the Lupari for convincing him to play bait. He was also frustrated with himself for accepting to play along with their plan without fully considering the risks involved. Ben swore under his breath. There was nothing else to do but wait for Lunden’s signal, as discussed. These Lupari and their damned signals. He sulked.

The Blackwoods flanked Ben on either side. He turned his attention upward, looking at the night sky; one of the few places in the entire forest where you could do it. A whale of a cloud that blocked the moon moved out of the way, its glimmer suffused his surroundings in a tawny glow.

Ben looked down the slope, and for a moment, he imagined Humbert standing there. He shivered. The sooner they were done with this unhinged hunt, the better. He let his thoughts drift into more pleasant directions, imagining the magical warmth of his hut in Machen and the relaxing hot shower at the Ivy Hotel.

Whoo! A sharp whistle broke the silence like the crack of a whip. A flock of birds fluttered out of their hiding places as the noise echoed through the forest and back to Ben, assuring the delivery of the message.

Ben sighed. “Right then. Here goes nothing.”

He pulled the wyrdknife out and closed his eyes. Come on, Umber, you’ve got this. On earlier occasions, Ben had shapeshifted the relic into exact copies of weapons others had wielded near him; to imagine the outcome proved to be infinitely harder than plain imitation. But he hadn’t wasted his time idling around these past few days. No, he had undergone Luparius-supervised training, after all.

Ben’s face lit up with a confident grin as he settled into the right rhythm, a sense of determination filling his every move. That’s it. That’s the spot. As for you... He opened his eyes and locked his gaze into the wyrdknife. You’re no dagger. You’re not meant to cut. You’re meant to shield.

A surge of magic swirled around Ben, invisible but palpable. He felt it flow from his gut to his chest, from his chest to his hand, and a moment later he held a rounded steel buckler, already strapped to his forearm.

“Ha! Who calls the shots in here, you rusty chunk of iron?” Ben exclaimed in triumph as he flailed the buckler wildly. He had something bigger in mind, but it would do. He turned his attention back to the downward slope. There was one more thing left to do. He puffed his chest, sucking in as much air as he could, and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Do you feel that, you smelly mutts? A cursespell, just like you fancy!”

At first, the only response Ben got was the sinister rustle of the wind against the trees. The forest held its breath. He examined the scenery before him for any sign of movement, anything that would betray the location of an incoming threat.

Ben cocked his head to the side. He had heard something, albeit barely. He strained his ears as much as he could, but it was nearly inaudible. Slowly but surely, it increased in volume, rising to a crescendo. Ben turned around and gulped. It was, sure enough, the growling of a warg.

Its eyes shone a malevolent red, and its snout wrinkled its face into a grimace. It stayed in place, but Ben wondered for how long.

As if to answer his question, two more wargs appeared from the thicket to either side of the road. They moved with careful deliberation, each step defying Ben to try to flee one more time. He recognized the one to his left and sank in dismay; the white fur, the way it was stained bloody... It was, without a doubt, the one that had killed Humbert.

“Um, guys?” Ben asked out loud, but again, there was no response. Despite the chilly night, a drop of sweat trickled down his forehead. He fumbled with the straps of his buckler as the wargs closed in, darting his gaze all over for signs of the Lupari. More and more trees greeted him.

He finally adjusted the shield as the three wargs circled him. He recognized the maneuver from what they did to Humbert before, in the state in which they found him once in the clearing.

Their growls intensified, a fatal admonition. He took a step back gingerly, careful not to tip the wargs into action. Ben’s companions were still nowhere to be found when the nearest one pounced on him without warning.

Ben raised the buckler and braced for impact. Instead, as it began its descent, Ruffa appeared from the branches above and pinned the warg to the ground with a powerful kick, her heel a drill on its back.

It wailed in distress, four legs kicking as it let out a fiendish roar, which was also its last. Ruffa locked it into a tight chokehold as both thrashed all over the stone tiles. Ben lowered his guard and exhaled in relief. Not dead yet.

Her entrance didn’t go unnoticed. As she struggled with her foe, another warg seized its chance to attack Ruffa from behind, occupied as she was. She saw the warg from the corner of her eye, but there was nothing she could do to avoid it, and Ben was too far away to intervene.

A single command echoed from the forest: “Bolster.” In an instant, Murley’s two-handed axe hurtled into view with extraordinary momentum and lodged itself into the creature’s neck, almost lopping its head off.

Blood sprayed Ruffa as she snarled back at the warg she was wrestling with. She put all her weight behind the chokehold, and the warg’s body finally loosened, dead. She stood up and cracked her neck twice. “Phew! Too close for comfort.”

“Nah, I had you covered alright.” Murley stepped out of the shadows, followed close behind by the Colmains. Lunden had his sword out, while Corin had cast Frozen Tool to summon an ice scythe.

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Murley retrieved the axe from his mark and rested it across his shoulder. He twirled his mustache with his free hand and addressed Ben. “Still in one piece, like promised, m’boy.”

Ben joined the Lupari and regarded the remaining fiend. The tables had turned on the white warg. Even if it was bigger and more ferocious than its brethren, it was no match for five sorcerers. It regarded each of them back in turn, a canine ogre.

“Hey you,” Ruffa said. “We’ve got a pending tab, don’t we?”

The monster bared its fangs in response, undeterred. Ben examined both of them and couldn’t decide who he would rather have as an enemy. As Ruffa pulled her knives out, he decided he would first take his chances with the warg.

The air grew tense between the two. A contest of wills. Then the beast let out an unnatural howl that sent shivers down Ben’s spine. It was unlike anything they had heard before that night, almost like a warning.

Ruffa sprang into action, and Corin followed suit at once. She jumped knives out while he unleashed his ice scythe on the white warg. Their attacks converged with deadly precision. They stabbed it in the nape of its neck and jowl, and slashed its chest both.

The white warg fought back, pressed but not done. Ruffa dodged its snapping jaws while Corin’s weapon cut through the air, leaving a trail of frost in its wake. This isn’t their first time fighting together, Ben observed. The Lupari worked in tandem, and they did not let the monster recover.

Next to Ben, Lunden took a defensive stance. Always anticipate the worst. He copied the Luparius chief and gripped the wyrdknife tightly, ready to provide support this time around. But from the looks of it, that wouldn’t be necessary.

Ruffa and Corin were a swift and synched blur. They pushed the fiend back to a corner, back to its last breath. She drew her sword out and struck a vulnerable flank. Corin exploited the new opening with a well-timed sweep. The white warg howled in pain and crumbled. It was finally dead.

“Was that all of them?” Ben asked, breaking the momentary quiet that fell upon them.

Ruffa stayed behind, examining the kill, while Corin dissolved Frozen Tool and returned to them. He shook his head, answering Ben. “Couldn’t be. We’ve yet to lay eyes on our prize.”

Lunden raised a hand and shushed them. They all stopped in their tracks, shoulders hunched and doe-eyed. He cupped his ears and listened intently. “Do you hear that?” He whispered.

The forest was quiet at first, but then a distant noise reached Ben. No, it wasn’t sound at all—it was a subtle vibration. A constant, rhythmic thump. Pebbles rattled by his feet as the ground trembled with growing force. Ahead of them, far in the distance, he noticed a line of trees being parted sideways at an unnerving speed.

Lunden’s calm turned to alarm. “Barghest inbound! Uphill, now!” he barked with urgency. They didn’t need to be told twice. Ben and the Lupari immediately broke into a sprint.

The tremors intensified as they scrambled to higher ground. Corin led their retinue with Lunden and Murley right after. Next came Ben, struggling as he was, and Ruffa came last, gazing backward as she went.

The tumult from the trees inched closer to them, and the barghest burst out from the holt behind them. If Ben had been terrified by the wargs, this monster curdled his blood frozen. A colossal hellhound enveloped in an ever-flowing mist of black smoke, with claws like swords and fangs like spears, its eyes two pits of fire—it headed straight at the nearest sorcerer.

Ben’s legs wobbled, and he tripped. He watched, paralyzed in fear, as it chased Ruffa. It discharged its fury at her. It swiped a horizontal crescent that dug deep into her back and made her fall face-first.

Without skipping a beat, the barghest stomped her with its other paw, bearing its full weight down. She let out a horrifying screech as her lower body was completely crushed. Ruffa was dead on the spot.

chapter_img_02 [https://imgur.com/Uu5T3v3.jpg]

Ben wanted to scream, but his vocal cords would not obey him. He tried to stand, only to trip again. The distance between him and the others increased. The barghest noticed this and discarded Ruffa’s corpse. Ben now had its full, undivided attention.

The barghest charged. It closed in with one quick stride and descended on Ben, jaws open. A strong and sudden blur hit the mouth of his stomach before it reached him, saving him from certain death. He noticed a familiar arm holding him as the air left his lungs from the impact. Cocking his head around with teary eyes, he recognized Amycus’s grim demeanor.

“Are you alright?” Amycus asked as it galloped away at full speed. Ben never thought he would be so happy to see the centaur in his life. He had forgotten about him during the gruesome events of the past hours, but judging from the wounds and cuts that covered his body, he had probably been through worse.

Ben nodded in shock. They finally reached the top of the hill and joined the other three hunters. Their appearance was haggard. They’ve lost two comrades in a single hunt. Why wouldn’t it be?

He looked around. It was a flat outcrop with a shack in the middle, and the broken road led to its entrance. Corin and Murley took their positions on either side of the road, with Lunden in the middle. They formed a semi-circle, as they were now one sorcerer short. Amycus came to a stop next to them, and Ben dismounted.

Lunden regarded the centaur. “Glad you made it back alive, and just in the nick of time,” he said, nodding at Ben with a tilt of his chin. “We’ve taken quite the beating, but no more. Murley, Corin, we’ll have to corner the barghest without Ruffa. It won’t be as effective, but it’s what we have, and what she’d like us to do. Are we clear?” They nodded in unison and prepared.

Ben struggled to stay afoot because of the intensity with which the ground now shook. He steadied himself by planting his hand on Amycus’s side. The barghest’s ugly head reared out of the slope, almost upon them. It charged towards them with terrifying speed, a looming black mass that seemed unstoppable in its ferocity.

And then it stepped on the trap. A pentagram etched with undecipherable inscriptions and runes made of light instantly appeared from the ground below the barghest. The monster paused for a moment, disconcerted—and a moment was all the Lupari needed. They extended both arms in front of them, hands open wide, and shouted in unison the following words: “Trigger, Trap Rune.”

Ben had not felt such a vast quantity of magic since his crossing. A weaponized charge coursed through the barghest like electricity. It snarled in pain, unable to move. The dark fog around it dissipated momentarily as the light sharpened. The Lupari stood still as statues, fully committed to the spell.

The spell became dimmer and dimmer as Trap Rune ended. The barghest, though visibly damaged, was far from routed. Lunden, however, had counted on it. “To the basement, now!”

The five of them hastened to the wooden shack before the monster recovered. Ben was the last to arrive. As he slammed the door shut, he saw the barghest shake its fur and advance, angrier than before.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Colmain.” Amycus said as it anxiously pranced around the room. Ben could tell the centaur wasn’t comfortable in such a confined space.

Lunden wasted no time. He slid the rug across the floor and revealed a small trapdoor. He opened it and waved at them to crawl in. “That makes two of us,” he told Amycus. And then he said, “We make our stand here. Attack on my signal; if you wish to live, don’t make a sound.” He descended, and as they heard the barghest approach, the others were quick to follow.

A cool, musty air current caressed Ben as he rushed down the ladders. The basement was barely lit. A lonesome oil lamp hung from the beam junction, which cast their faces with ominous shadows. Rows of empty casks were neatly, although sparsely, lined up. An abandoned cellar, Ben thought.

Anticipation hung in the air. The upheaval of the barghest’s footsteps was keener underground; dust fell from the ceiling with each vibration. As uncertainty gripped him, Ben turned to Lunden, seeking reassurance in the Luparius leader’s steady gaze for guidance in the midst of chaos. Hand held high, he still signaled to wait—and so they did, huddled like mice.

They heard a loud crash as the barghest rammed into the shack. Ben could hear the rain of splintered timber as it splattered everywhere. It was deafening. The planks above them creaked with its weight as the barghest snooped around the room.

Ben gulped, and it stopped in its tracks. Oh no. A moment passed, then another. Nothing happened, as everyone stayed completely still, not daring to move an inch. A subtle relief washed over them as they heard the barghest drift away from the shack.

Were they in the clear? Ben turned to Lunden again, seeking confirmation, but the Luparius kept his hand raised. Not yet. They continued to hold their positions, tense as they waited.

Until the basement’s ceiling exploded. Moonlight swept in as a vicious claw exposed their hiding place. The barghest reared its grotesque head into the hole it made, jaws snapping blindly, hoping to get whomever was unfortunate enough to be on its way. Lunden drew his sword and shouted. “Charge!”

It swung at Lunden, which he parried with his sword. Seething, it barraged him with one swipe after another, but he masterfully danced and countered his way across the cellar.

The group sprang into action. Amycus unleashed a flurry of arrows, one of which struck the creature in the eye. Colmain, always quick on his feet, cast Frigid Touch and summoned a wave of ice that caught it off guard; it slammed right onto its collarbone.

Ben felt Murley grab him by the scruff of his shirt with a firm grip. He looked at him, confused. A devilish smile decorated his lips. “Time to show us what you’re made of, m’boy.”

Before he could comprehend what had happened, Murley had already thrown Ben. A projectile speeding toward the barghest, panic seized him as he hurtled past Corin and then Lunden, his collision unavoidable. Desperation choked him. What now, Umber? Think!

He reached for the wyrdknife and attempted to shapeshift it. It didn’t yield. Ben couldn’t focus as he swept through the air like a cannonball. He abandoned his designs and went with a simpler plan. “Screw this!”

Ben plunged the unchanged wyrdknife into the barghest’s remaining good eye as he held on for dear life. He landed atop its shoulders, and if he had learned anything during this hunt, it was not to waste an opportunity like this.

It shrieked in pain. Ben shapeshifted the interred wyrdknife into a sword, finally being able to transform it. It struck true—a fatal blow. Blood sprayed Ben as the barghest collapsed into the basement, making him slip and crash headfirst into the floor. Darkness instantly overcame him.