The morning sun peeked over the dense canopy of the pine forest, its golden rays filtering through the ancient branches. A tranquil silence settled over the forest realm-but it would not last.
In the distance, the faint beat of drums echoed like thunder, growing louder by the moment. Huntar's ears twitched at the ominous rhythm, and his golden fur bristled. He knew the cadence well - the war drums of the Poison Spear Clan.
"Here they come," he growled, his tail whipping behind him.
Zena emerged from the undergrowth, her battle staff clutched tightly in her hand. "I hear them. This slithering filth won't rest until they've burned the Pinewood village to ashes."
Torag stomped up beside them, his heavy footsteps shaking the forest floor. The towering rhino man grunted, his dark eyes narrowing at the growing cacophony. "Torag." Though he could only speak his name, his meaning was clear - they would defend their allies to the last breath.
Huntar rested his paw on the hilt of his golden broadsword, the weighty blade echoing with the echoes of a thousand battles. "Then let's give them hell, for Kronos."
They raced through the dense undergrowth toward the village of Pinewood. Nestled among the colossal trunks of the primeval forest, the clearing buzzed with activity as the Rabbit Beastmen scrambled to prepare their defenses.
Warriors in studded leather armor rushed to fortify the barricades, while archers tied arrows to their bows and took up positions in the towering branches above.
"Make haste!" Huntar roared as he burst into the camp. "The poison spears are approaching! To your stations!"
The warriors snapped to attention at the lion warrior's booming voice. Huntar, Zena, and Torag moved with practiced efficiency, shoring up the village's outer defenses and directing the flow of Pinewood soldiers.
No sooner were the final preparations made than the first ranks of snarling serpents emerged from the shadowy forest. Row after scaly row they slithered forth with hissing menace, the evil blades of their spears glinting like fangs in the dappled sunlight.
Leading the vanguard was a hulking figure, his obsidian scales gleaming, the razor-sharp edges of his armor fashioned from the bones and hides of slain foes. Vrak, chieftain of the Poison Spear clan and sworn enemy of the Pinewood tribe.
Huntar leveled his blade at the approaching warlord, a ferocious growl rumbling in his barrel chest. "Stand fast, my friends!" he roared to the trembling Pinewood warriors. "Their numbers may be great, but together - we are strong!"
With a guttural roar, Chief Vrak raised his armored hand and unleashed his warriors in a furious charge. The serpent horde converged on the village in a thunderous wave, spears pointed to impale anyone who dared stand in their way.
Huntar was the first to meet their onslaught, his golden blade flashing in a whirlwind of steel. He sliced through their ranks like a force of nature, each sweep of his sword splitting scales and spattering viridian blood.
Beside him, Zena swirled through the fray with deadly grace, her polished staff a blur of movement. Crippling blows rained down in quick succession, bones crunching with each calculated strike.
Torag barreled into the heart of the enemy front, his thunderous fists pulverizing everything in his path. Snake men scattered like leaves before the rhino's unstoppable onslaught, their bodies flung through the air like rag dolls.
Despite the ferocity of their defenses, the Pinewood warriors soon found themselves pushed back against their barricades, and the overwhelming numbers of the invading force threatened to overrun them.
One young rabbit warrior, little more than a youth with his first taste of battle, cried out in terror as a knot of Poison Spear elites surrounded him against the village's wooden walls. He swung his spear in desperation, but the seasoned warriors brushed it aside with scornful ease.
The danger and let out a feral roar, charging into the fray with his blade leading the way. He barreled through the startled serpents, his sword a whirling dervish of gold and crimson.
The young warrior watched with awe as the lion warrior cut down his would-be executioners, their bodies crumpling to the bloody earth.
"To me!" Huntar bellowed, rallying the scattered Pinewood forces around the breach in their defenses. "We cannot falter!"
The battered defenders answered his call, emboldened by the courage of the three mercenaries. They massed behind Huntar's shield wall, raining volleys of arrows down on the swarming serpents while Zena and Torag held the front line.
Vrak watched the battle unfold with crimson eyes burning like hellfire. He saw his warriors flagging against the tenacity of the defenders and knew drastic action was required. “My clan ssshall not fall to our prey!”
With a thunderous bellow, the Poison Spear warlord hurled himself into the fray, his every step shaking the forest floor. The gargantuan serpent lord carved a path of devastation through the melee, his bone armor repelling sword and spear alike as he steadily advanced on Huntar's position. “Die, defender of the weak!”
Huntar met Vrak's charge head on, his sword clashing against the warlord's jagged halberd in a reverberating knell. For every blow he landed, two more rained down from the tireless serpent, each impact shuddering through his bones.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Not today, fiend!” Huntar fought with the fury of a natural-born killer, his golden mane streaked crimson, his rippling muscles burning under the endless onslaught.
At last, Huntar found his opening—Vrak overextended his guard just a fraction, leaving a shred of vulnerability in his defenses.
Huntar's blade flashed in an intricate flourish, sundering armor and scales in a single, fluid stroke. Vrak stood dumbstruck for a frozen heartbeat, staring down at the deep furrow gouged into his torso, obsidian ichor welling from the mortal wound. Then, with a pained hiss, the Poison Spear warlord collapsed in a boneless heap at Huntar's feet.
The serpents recoiled at the sight of their fallen chieftain, their numbers swiftly faltering. One by one, they turned and fled, their earlier thirst for conquest extinguished in the wake of their leader's demise.
Only once the last of the hissing horde had disappeared into the forest did Huntar allow himself to relax, sinking to one knee in sheer exhaustion. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving, every muscle screaming in protest.
*****
As the dust settled over the ravaged village, Huntar turned to survey the grim scene. Broken bodies lay strewn amidst the splintered barricades, the foul-smelling puddles of blood and viscera lending a grisly miasma to the air.
Torag lay unmoving beside the wreckage of the walls, his thick hide streaked crimson. The mighty warrior's rasping breaths came shallow and pained.
Although he was a strong survivor, he won’t last without aid.
Zena hurried to Huntar's side, her own lithe frame showing the marks of fresh wounds, but her emerald eyes blazed with the fires of victory. "We did it," she rasped through bloodied lips, a grim smile etching her muzzle. "Another village saved."
Huntar gave a weary nod, his own body battered and bruised. "Aye, but at what cost?" He looked to the fallen Torag, sorrow welling in his golden eyes. “It seems there will always be blood, no matter how many times we saved a tribe. Will these wars ever end?”
Zena rested her hand on the lion’s broad shoulder. “It is what it is. We fight to survive and protect those with good payment. Not everyone will survive, Huntar. Only the strongest survives.”
Huntar nodded, although his heart arched with pain.
As the pale moon ascended over the forest canopy that night, the weary Pinewood warriors gathered amidst the ruins of their village. Solemn and exhausted, they lit great bonfires to send their fallen brethren into the next world.
Huntar, Zena, and those who could still stand formed an honor guard around the makeshift pyres, their weapons held aloft in silent salute. Though bloodied and battered, their spirits burned with the same defiant resolve that had carried them through the day's grueling battle.
The rabbit chieftain, Pyon, approached Huntar, his grizzled features etched in sorrow and gratitude. "You have saved us all this day, noble warriors. The Pinewood can never repay such a debt. I hope this victory shall warn those snake bandits to leave us alone."
Huntar shook his head, his mane matted with dried blood. "Think nothing of it. We fought because it was our job you requested us to do. Without their chief, I doubt they will remain organized." His gaze strayed to Torag, the hulking rhino man's labored breaths a grim counterpoint to the crackling flames.
The chieftain followed Huntar's stare, his shoulders sagging. "Your friend yet lives, thanks to the skill of our healers," he said in a low rumble. "Though his wounds are grave...I fear he may not last the night."
Zena's jaw clenched, her eyes shining with the bare glimmer of unshed tears. "He will endure," she said, more to convince herself than her companions. "Torag is stronger than any of us."
As if in answer, the fallen warrior stirred, his obsidian eyes fluttering open. Torag lifted his gargantuan head, letting his gaze sweep over Huntar and Zena before settling on the dancing flames with their haunting, melancholy beauty.
"Torag..." he rumbled a tremulous whisper that bellied the depth of his voice.
Huntar immediately went to one knee at his friend's side, clasping Torag's bloodied hand in his own calloused paw. "Be still, Torag. You've more than earned your rest this day."
Torag managed the faintest shake of his horned head. "Torag," he growled, the words emerging as guttural gasps. "Torag..."
Despite his grievous wounds, the warrior's obsidian eyes burned with an inextinguishable inner fire, reflecting the searing flames. His bulk shuddered with the effort of drawing each ragged breath, yet still he clung to life with every fiber of his indomitable being.
Zena swallowed hard against the lump welling in her throat, her gaze shining with a profound mix of sorrow and admiration. "That's it, you stubborn old rock," she murmured, the faintest of smiles playing at the corners of her muzzle. "Just like you to be too bullheaded to die."
A gravelly chuckle rumbled from Torag's bloodied lips as his eyelids fluttered once more, exhaustion at last claiming him. Yet his spirits remained unbroken—death would not find him that night.
Huntar and Zena stayed by their fallen companion’s side throughout the long vigil, the solitary moon their only witness as it slowly traced its arc across the star-lit heavens. They would not rest until they knew without a doubt that Torag's indomitable spirit still burned bright within his towering frame.
*****
As the first rays of dawn crested over the forest, Pyon returned to check on his saviors, his expression a mix of solemn relief and weary respect.
"He survived the long night," the old rabbit said with a slight nod toward Torag's prone form. "A resilient soul, that one. You are blessed to have such a stalwart companion at your side."
Huntar regarded his friend, a rumbling purr echoing in his throat. "That he is," he agreed. "Though I'd expect no less from one who has spat in death's face more times than I can count."
Torag's deep chuckle joined Huntar's, the rhino man's minor triumph a testament to the resilience of the three wandering mercenaries. They would need every shred of that strength for the battles yet to come.
"I believe your people require time to rebuild and find their feet once more," Huntar said, rising to his full imposing height as he addressed the chieftain. "We will remain to offer what protection we can until you deem it safe for us to depart." His golden eyes narrowed to burning slits. "The Poison Spears will soon learn that defeat comes at a terrible price."
The chieftain nodded his thanks, his grizzled features softening with profound gratitude. "The Pinewood clan will never forget the sacrifices you have made on our behalf this day."
As he spoke, his people emerged from the wreckage of their ruined homes, burdened under the weight of crudely hammered ingots and strings of polished gemstones.
"Take this," the chieftain said, motioning for several of his warriors to bring forth the clan's offerings. "A paltry thanks for services rendered, but all we have to give."
Huntar eyed the glittering treasures, his sharp features impassive. “Thank you for your generosity. You can keep half of your goods. It will help you trade for more improvements to protect your village.”
Pyon smiled. “We appreciate that too.” He gestures to the warriors to leave half of the treasure below Huntar’s feet. “Anything else you would wish to grant here?”
Huntar glanced around and scratched the back of his head. “Well... if you would have us remain for food and rest, we will safeguard your clan until you rebuild your defenses. Battles make us tiresome.”
A fleeting grin played across Zena's muzzle at her friend's words. Leave it to Huntar to make a show of principle before ensuring their basic creature comforts.
The chieftain's whiskers twitched in an approximation of a smile. "Of course, of course. We will provide you more comfort if you stay to defend us some more." He gave a respectful nod. "The Pinewood Clan will not soon forget this debt."
With Torag on the mend and the guardianship of the village secured, Huntar, Zena, and their indomitable friend could finally allow themselves a moment's respite. Yet even as the adrenaline of battle faded from their battered forms, they knew their path would only grow more perilous from here.
If the Poison Spear Clan returns, their revenge will be swift and merciless. Until, if that day comes, Huntar and his companions would be ready to meet the threat head-on, to protect the Pinewood clan until its last ember finally winked out.
For in this brutal world of ceaseless clan wars, there was no greater honor than defending the lives of the downtrodden. It was the lone flicker of nobility that yet burned in Huntar's soul, an inextinguishable flame that would light his path through even the darkest of nights.
No matter what further horrors and struggles lay in wait, he would never allow that sacred flame to be extinguished. Such was the drive that spurred him onward, steadying his blade and fortifying his resolve.
For Huntar was a warrior to his core, and warriors always pressed on—to the bitter end, if need be. And should the worst come to pass?
Then they would make their last stand with a sword in hand and fangs bared, giving voice to one last, defiant roar.