72 - Meet the Beast

  The bottom of the tower was filled with old, moldering wine racks and broken barrels. A mostly intact table stood in the center of the room. On the wall, a single torch lit the downstairs. Old tapestries had fallen from their poles and lay in heaps on the ground. Built into the wall, a curved stone stairway spiraled up to the second floor.

  Sounds could be heard from above. Light glowed from the second floor as well, peeking through cracks in the floor and down the stairs. The floor creaked and groaned as something moved about over their heads. Either whatever it was was very large, or the floor was rotting through. Or both. The ceiling boards clearly sagged under the weight of what lurked above them.

  Echoing down the stairs, the questers caught fragments of a horrid-sounding incantation being uttered in a deep, garbled voice.

  Valloc pointed to himself, then Azbekt, then Hah’roo, and finally Joe. They all nodded, and the famed monster hunter stepped silently up onto the stairs. Azbekt followed, stepping lightly so his metal sabatons did not scrape on the stone steps. The Count vanished off the stairway when Azbekt was about halfway up. Hah’roo followed, seeming to slide up the wall itself, skipping the stairs entirely.

  Before Joe could even take a step forward, a strange heaviness dragged his arm downward. Looking at the inside of his forearm, his eyes landed on the sign of the Thirteenth Omen, the Mark of Death. There was something there that wasn't there before. It was as if the mystical tattoo had a noticeable weight to it. He rubbed the glittering rose and felt something stirring with the mark.

  Before he could discover more, a titanic bellow erupted from the room above, and Count Randeau crashed into the wall at the top of the steps.

  As the infamous monster hunter started to shake off the blow, Azbekt charged over him and onto the second floor. Hah’roo soared upwards as well. Joe dashed up the steps behind them, taking the stairs two at a time. As howls and shouts came from the room above, Joe lunged forward and slapped a hand onto Count Valloc.

  Joe felt a tremble run down his spine. Count Randeau was a level forty-something superstar, and Sougath had just torn off a sixth of his health. This fight was seriously out of his league. He healed again while he peeked his head over the edge of the floor. Candles and torchlight allowed him to finally get his first look at the creature they were hunting.

  The Night Skinner was a shaggy, long-limbed humanoid. It stood hunched over, but even then, it was at least six feet high. If it reared up, it would be well over eight feet tall. The monster was covered in dark, thick fur. Its elongated fingers were tipped in vicious-looking talons that were dripping blood.

  When it spun to face Azbekt, Joe saw its face was that of a demonic twisted wolf. Werewolf immediately came to mind but the creature was that and much more. Intelligence and vicious malice burned from its blood-red eyes.

  “Lycanthrope variant!” The monster hunter cried out, pulling himself to his feet. “Silver vulnerability. High magic resistance. Infectious. Have care!”

  Joe’s attempt to identify was a wasted second.

  Azbekt charged, and the creature nimbly slid away from the attack, raking its claws down the myrmidon’s back. The plate mail covering the dwarf screeched beneath the talons but prevented the strike from reaching the skin below.

  Sougath lashed out with a clawed foot and sent the dwarf flying into the far wall. Joe guessed that was the same maneuver the creature had used on the Count.

  Hah’roo flipped in front of the beast, distracting it. As she spun over the center of the room, Joe became aware of a gruesome sight.

  In the middle of the floor was a ritual circle, which contained the partially flayed body of a young man. Candlesticks with crimson tapers and metal bowls filled with blood surrounded the body. Joe quickly activated his wound-sight. As he feared, the body had no sense of life remaining in it. Yet it was not a dull, empty husk. A churning red corruption boiled within the corpse. Disgust caused Joe’s stomach to knot up. The murders were one thing. Seeing the torn, defiled victim writhing with that venomous taint was something else entirely.

  Joe glared at the fiend and called on his mana. He focused on one of Sougath’s legs and cast.

  “Damn it!”

  Joe tried again and failed again. As Hawking notified him of the blocked spell, Joe remembered his new spell of Mazsy.

  “Come on,” he growled.

  Before he could try again, Valloc and Azbekt charged back into the fray. Count Randeau bore a spike-like silver dagger in his hand, similar in shape to Joe’s new poniard. The creature must have sensed the metal it hated because before the monster hunter could close the distance, the beast whirled and lashed out, sending the hero hurtling across the room again.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  It spun to meet Azbekt’s attack. The monstrous creature hooked its claws and swung at the myrmidon’s face. If the blow had landed, it would have blinded the warrior, yet it was fouled. A rope flashed out of the corner of the room, snagging the giant werewolf's wrist and halting the strike. The momentary hitch allowed the dwarf to get a gauntlet up high enough to block the blow.

  In that instant, as the creature’s arm was locked still, Joe’s eyes were drawn to the creature's palm. There, he saw a pitch-black circle filled with motes of silvery light. The Mark of the Moon flickered in the middle of that monstrous, taloned hand.

  The Night Skinner followed the rope to where Hah’roo had looped her line around one of the room’s support beams. It yanked hard on the line, clearly expecting to break the weapon or the woman’s grip. Instead, the rope dancer flipped around the timber and let out more slack. Caught off balance, the creature flailed its arm. Hah’roo used the opening to flick the coil up over the wolf-like ears, settling it around his neck.

  Sougath went berserk, thrashing and yanking at the rope. Hah’roo turned almost every furious movement into another entanglement. Soon, she had one of the beast’s arms virtually tied to its chest. The rope must have been enchanted. The claws that were sharp enough to leave furrows in Azbekt's armor were unable to slice through her braided cord.

  Count Valloc regained his feet and was hurling darts. Each of his missiles was coated in some nasty-looking substance. The first couple were slathered with a bright, toxic green paste. The next four had dark, tarry goop on them. The darts hung in the creature’s fur but Joe could not see any wounds where they had struck. It was as if the points had hit solid steel, not shag-covered skin.

  With the monster partially bound and pelted with various toxic projectiles, Azbekt was free to go to town on the brute. His axe smashed into one kneecap after the other. The legs would twist and crack horribly, but before the dwarf could swing again, the limb would snap back into place.

  Even though they had not yet landed a killing blow, Joe was amazed at how well the team was overwhelming the monster.

  Sougath screamed. The howl was filled with furious hatred and something primal. Terror slammed into his gut, freezing Joe under the overwhelming panic elicited by the furious roar. As the hellish howl filled the room, the mark on the creature’s palm grew brighter, releasing a flickering, pale moonlight glow.

  Joe’s heart felt like it was going to explode in his chest. Terror flooded through every inch of him. He lost control of his mind and body as he became absolutely certain the beast was going to rip them to shreds and devour their souls. Joe tried to breathe, but his lungs felt locked in ice.

  He watched Hah’roo tumble from the air, falling in a heap on the wooden floor. She curled into a trembling fetal ball. Her hands released her rope, allowing the lupine monster to start working itself free.

  Azbekt, too had dropped his weapon and had fallen to his knees. His deep red skin looked practically ashen. The dwarf slammed his hand against his helmet once, twice, and a third time, trying to drive off the horror of his indisputable doom.

  Even the Count faltered under the waves of prophetic dread.

  As Joe turned to flee, the weight of his own mark redoubled. It felt like someone had laid a cinderblock across his arm. Joe looked down, acknowledging the symbol. The golden motes within it were swirling about like a blizzard within his arm, begging for him to act. Joe was not exactly sure what it wanted, except that it wanted him to choose.

  “Do it,” was all he could croak as his chest felt like it was about to burst from the fear crushing it.

  Joe felt a gong sound reverberate through his body. Not heard it. Just felt it. There was a word inside the vibration that was not actually a word, but Joe knew its meaning.

  “Begin,” the tremor announced.

  Immediately, the terror fell away, and Joe understood something about his mark. This power alteration was not something he should expect, even against powerful enemies like the Night Skinner. It was a direct response to Sougath’s Mark of the Moon. Joe had a trait his mark could change to counter an opposing mark, so it did, swapping domination resistance for fear resistance.

  Joe looked around and saw the Count was least affected by the Sougath’s aura of dread and, therefore, the most likely to be purgable.

  The dashing hero regained his equilibrium, throwing Joe a salute before reorienting on the monstrosity. Valloc shot across the room, trying to intercept the untangled creature as it reached down for the prone rope-dancer.

  He wasn’t going to make it in time.

  But Joe might be able to. If [Deaden Flesh] would just land. He flared [Crystal Mind] and felt his mark’s vibration again. It reached into the spell and made another change.

  Joe was focused enough on his own in that second that he didn’t need the improved concentration buff. The huge boost to spell penetration was exactly what he needed.

  He felt his spell just prick the beast. It wasn’t much more than a momentary numbness and a bit of a wobble, but it was enough to draw the brute's attention. The creature stopped advancing on Hah’roo and locked its eyes on Joe for the first time. He could feel it pour on the fear, trying to crush his will, maybe even killing him with an instant heart-attack. Yet the tsunami of terror broke against the iron of his revised dwarven trait.

  Joe just shook his head, flipped the fiend two birds, and hurled another curse.

  The bestial horror faltered again, snarling, but was forced to look away from Joe, confronting the more imminent threat of Count Randeau, Monster Hunter. The suave swordsman unleashed a barrage of slashes, drawing the fiendish monstrosity away from Hah’roo, but Joe was certain Sougath had not forgotten about him.

  Consider this my shameless plug to get more reviews ... and a reminder that Patreon gets you six chapters deeper toward this book's conclusion.