Why did it have to be Prowlers? This was the question Grunt has been tossing around in his head for the last few minutes. Leaning against a tree he listens as the apelike creatures move through the trees, opening his eyes with a grunt.

"You punch nearly as well as Fey," He commends as he stands up, watching the approaching creatures.

His eyes trace along the biggest of the group. A hulking monstrosity, nearly three feet taller than him. Hair covered most of its body, but you can easily make out the muscle underneath. It's entire face was beet red and shaped like a flatboard. Its upper arms were far larger than its legs, and the power they held could easily dent steel and crush bone.

Grunt pulls the ruined helmet off his head with a pained grunt. Dropping it to the ground he runs his fingers along the edges of his cheek. He feels a forming welt there, the numbness of the pain alerting him to the damage.

"Well, maybe a bit better."

The creatures begin to circle him as he walks towards the biggest. Stopping a few yards from it he sees that the rest have formed a circle around him. Shrugging, he turns back to the creature and hefts his maul in a challenging manner. The creature roars in response and throws a punch at Grunt. Grunt dodges in just in the knick of time, just for another one to hammer him in the chest. He lands on the ground with grunt, his vision swimming from the pain. As he goes to sit up the creature grabs him by the arm and slams him into the ground. For a moment he blacks out as his body begins to prcoess the damage. Coughing up a bit of blood he sees the creature slamming its arms into its chest in triumph. His right arm was a mangled mess and he could barely feel the rest of his body. A grin forms on his face as he drags himself out of the hole his body made with his one good arm.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The creature turns back towards him, just as he plows into its midsection with a tackle. He screams in effort as the creature fights against his charge. He begins to feel the muscles in his legs ripping in stress but continues pushing. What feels like years pass as he continues to fight against the monster. With one last roar of adrenaline he forces the creature onto its back. In an instant he mounts it and jams his hand into the softer flesh of its throat, he grabs it with a deathgrip as the creature grabs him and forces him off with a mighty shove. After flying a few feet he lands hard. He stays down, no energy left to stand but just enough to look up to see the creature clawing at its bleeding throat. For a few seconds he watches in suspence until eventually it goes still, the blood still splurting periodically. He laughs in victory as he looks at the chunk of viscersa his hand was still holding onto.

"Worth it." He announces to no one as he squeezes the blood from it down his throat.