In the depths of the forest, the wind carried the voice of Hamok as he shouted. The rustling leaves whispered through the towering trees, but all other sounds were drowned out by the thunderous footfalls of the monstrous beast chasing them. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and sweat, fear clinging to them like a second skin.
After seeing the ruthless creature emerge from the shadows, Hamok and Henry had made a split-second decision—run for their lives.
"Run! Run, Henry, run!" Hamok yelled, his voice sharp with urgency.
Henry panted heavily, his chest burning, legs screaming in protest with each desperate stride. His breath came in ragged gasps, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Not when death was at his heels.
The two of them sprinted as fast as they could, their bodies fueled by pure survival instinct, but the ground trembled beneath them. The beast was closing in. Each of its massive strides covered the ground they struggled to cross, its guttural growl echoing through the trees like a death knell.
Hamok gritted his teeth, yanked his bow from his back, and turned mid-run. He barely had time to aim. With a sharp inhale, he drew the string, muscles straining, and loosed an arrow with a whooshing sound. He didn’t wait to see if it hit—he turned and kept running. He knew a single arrow wouldn’t be enough to stop the monster, but he prayed it would slow it down.
The arrow struck the beast’s thick hide, sinking in slightly, but the creature barely flinched. It wasn’t enough. The monster kept coming.
"Henry, give me your spear!" Hamok commanded, urgency laced in his tone.
Without hesitation, Henry, despite his exhaustion, handed over the weapon. His fingers trembled as he did, slick with sweat.
Hamok gripped the spear tightly, spun on his heel, and hurled it with all his strength. The weapon cut through the air like a flash of silver lightning and embedded itself deep into the beast’s chest. A piercing roar of pain shook the forest. For a moment, just a fleeting moment, hope flickered in Hamok’s eyes.
Then, to their horror, the beast reached up, its claws curling around the spear. With a sickening crunch, it ripped the weapon from its flesh. Dark ichor oozed from the wound, but the creature barely seemed affected. Its red eyes locked onto them, filled with fury.
With a guttural snarl, it hurled the spear back with terrifying force.
"Look out!" Hamok shouted as he dived to the side.
Henry, acting on pure instinct, rolled to the ground just in time. The spear shot past him and buried itself into a tree with a heavy thunk.
"Shit! That thing is too strong!" Henry gasped, clutching his side.
"We need to get back to camp! Now!" Hamok ordered between ragged breaths. "Run as fast as you can!"
"I am running!" Henry snapped, frustration and fear warring in his voice.
Hamok clenched his jaw, gripping his second spear tightly. With one swift motion, he turned and hurled it at the beast again. The weapon sliced through the air with a sharp whistle.
But this time, the beast was ready. With unnatural reflexes, it snatched the spear midair. A guttural, mocking growl rumbled from its throat before it threw the weapon back with even greater speed.
"Dodge!" Hamok yelled.
Henry tried to move, but he wasn’t fast enough. The spear grazed his shoulder, tearing through his flesh. Pain lanced through him as blood dripped down his arm. He staggered, but he couldn’t stop. If he stopped now, if he let the pain slow him down… the beast would catch him. And that would be the end.
"We're almost there, Henry!" Hamok shouted, trying to encourage him to keep running despite his exhaustion.
---
AT THE CAMP
A patrolman stood at his post, watching as the trainees returned from their hunt, their prey slung over their backs. He overheard their conversation as they walked past.
"How many did you catch?" one trainee asked, his voice tinged with pride.
"Not much," another replied.
"The hunt got canceled. Even if you caught a lot, it won’t count."
"What? Who said that?" one of the trainees exclaimed.
"You haven't heard?" another smirked.
"No, what happened?"
The trainees continued their conversation, their voices laced with both regret and relief—regret for the wasted effort, but relief for those who had barely managed to catch anything. A canceled hunt meant their failures wouldn’t be counted against them.
"Hurry up and get inside!" a patrolman ordered, cutting their chatter short.
The trainees rushed into the camp without further argument.
"Is everyone inside?" a deep voice asked.
A hunter approached the patrolmen, his armor crafted from beast hide mixed with an unknown material. Two swords rested at his sides, their hilts worn from years of use.
"Sir Dacay!" the patrolmen Lok saluted in unison.
"Not yet, sir. Some are still missing," one of them reported.
Dacay pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. The trainees were supposed to hunt in groups—so why had some gone off alone?
"Do you know why they got separated?" he asked, his tone tight with restrained irritation.
"Sir, according to our investigation, the leaders of three different groups decided to split up. They said it was to gather prey more quickly and sharpen their skills."
"A reckless decision," Dacay muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Did they consider the dangers of hunting alone?"
"I-I don’t know, sir." Lok said
Meanwhile, another patrolman stood at the camp’s perimeter, scanning the darkened forest beyond. He had been standing guard for hours, but something felt off. The air was heavy with tension, and the surroundings were eerily silent.Then—a sound.
A rustle in the shadows. The faint swaying of trees. A pounding of dirt and earth.
The patrolman’s breath hitched as the sounds grew closer. Something was moving—fast. His grip on his weapon tightened, knuckles turning white. His eyes darted through the darkness, trying to make out a shape, a figure,or anything.
Then, through the dim light, two figures burst from the trees, their frantic footsteps breaking the eerie silence. Hamok and Henry stumbled forward, breathless, their clothes torn, blood staining Henry’s arm.
"Help' Help" Their deafening cry cut throught the camp
"Open the gates! Now!" the patrolman shouted, his voice cutting through the night. His eyes widened as he caught sight of what was chasing them—a massive beast, towering at least seven feet tall, its hulking form illuminated by the faint glow of the camp’s torches.
"The beast is coming!" he bellowed with all his might, his voice raw with urgency. He kept shouting until his throat burned, but the sheer terror of the approaching monster swallowed his cries into the night.
Dacay’s eyes flicked toward the commotion, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. He could see the fear in their faces, the exhaustion in their limbs.
And then he noticed something else.
The trees behind them trembled. A massive shadow loomed, growing larger with each passing second.
"Shit—the Antilla!" Dacay bellowed. "In your positions!"
At his command, fifty to sixty hunters swiftly drew their bows, their chests pounding with adrenaline. With steady hands, they pulled back their bowstrings and let loose a volley of arrows, the sharp twang of their release cutting through the air.
Meanwhile, a group of trainees gathered nearby, murmuring in confusion.
"What’s happening?" one of them asked, craning his neck to see.
Their gibberish voices only fueled Dacay’s irritation.
"Get inside!" he snapped, his tone sharp with authority.
The trainees hesitated.
"I said, get inside!" Dacay roared.
Seeing his face flush with anger, they had no choice but to obey, scrambling back into the safety of the camp.
Several arrows struck the Antilla beast—some pierced its thick hide, while others barely scratched the surface, falling uselessly to the ground. The creature swung its long arms, swatting away the incoming projectiles as if they were mere insects.
It let out a thunderous growl, its speed increasing as it charged toward the camp.
"It’s not working!" one of the patrolmen shouted in panic.
"Keep going!" Dacay ordered, his voice firm as he rushed toward a nearby tent. He pushed out a massive wheeled weapon—a ballista, its heavy frame creaking under the strain. A huge metal-tipped bolt was already loaded.
With a steady breath, Dacay aimed. Then, with a deafening thud, he fired.
The massive arrow hurtled through the air and struck the beast with a sickening impact. The Antilla howled in pain, its body jerking as blood poured from its wounded shoulder. It skidded to a stop, snarling at the camp, its deep, guttural growls sending shivers down the hunters' spines.
Then, with another agonized growl, the beast turned and fled into the darkened forest.
A heavy silence followed.
Dacay exhaled, his tense shoulders relaxing. Around him, the other hunters stood frozen, their hands trembling, their chests heaving from the rush of battle.
"Success!" one of the hunters finally said, his voice laced with disbelief.
"Yes… success," Dacay muttered under his breath, though his gaze remained fixed on the trees where the beast had vanished.