It didn’t take long for the first charge of brutes to arrive. They were fiercer tonight, as if smelling their desperation.
Brenn stood in the first line, his shield strapped tight, the weight of it a comforting anchor against the chaos.
The villagers were lined up behind him at the first line of barricades, spears and pitchforks gripped in trembling hands. And they were truly on their own tonight. Even the guards weren’t there. They stood with Darryl, waiting to intercept the predator.
These people, scorned and dismissed, were ready to fight for their lives, for their homes. He needed only to guide them now.
“Don’t overreach!” Brenn barked, his voice carrying over the growing chaos. His gaze swept across the defenders, lingering on each face for a heartbeat. Farmers. Carpenters. Mothers and fathers. They were no soldiers, but they were his. “The barricades are our lifeline, protect them!”
The first wave of brutes slammed into them like a tide, clawed limbs and gnashing teeth thrashing against the wood.
The villagers thrust their weapons forward in a chaotic rhythm. A pitchfork struck true, piercing a brute’s heart.
One of the monsters threw something. A large rock was flying at them.
Brenn’s shield rose instinctively, as he stepped toward a young man beside him. At the last moment, he bashed the boy with his shield, pushing him out of harm's way.
The rock stuck deep into the ground. The brute must have carried it here from the forest.
The boy—no older than sixteen—stumbled back, his spear trembling in his grasp.
Brenn spoke “Eyes forward, lad. You’ll live through this.” The lie tasted bitter, but the boy nodded, his grip tightening.
The villagers fought with a frenzied desperation; Stabbing through the barricades, painting the wood red.. But it was just the beginning, a prelude. The first major wave of the boarmen would arrive soon.
They had multiple lines of trenches and barricades to retreat behind. A few archers to get rid of spellcasters, if any showed up. They just needed to buy time.
Brenn’s eyes flicked to the horizon, scanning the darkening forest. The predator was out there, watching. It was only a matter of time before it made a move.
Brenn turned, his voice rising over the panting crowd. “This is what we’re made of! Keep it up, and we’ll see the dawn!”
A ragged cheer rose in response, shaky but sincere. But it was short lived.
A tide of dark shapes - boarlets and adults - streamed out of the forest. The villagers quieted. Some trembled.
It’s only getting worse now. Brenn kept such thoughts to himself.

 
It was almost time. Feast. Slaughter. Feast. The predator’s thoughts echoed with the euphoria of the eclipse, the pulse of the event coursing through its being. The cold ground pressed against its limbs as it crouched, scanning its surroundings. Plan. Worked. Prey. Many. Close.
Its multifaceted eyes swept over the huddled groups. Almost all prey were clustered in two places, their desperation thick in the air. But not all. Some strayed. Some wandered. Alone. It screeched, tearing through the night, and its pack answered. It directed them towards one of the large clusters. Break them. Prepare them. It alone aimed for the stragglers spread about the village.
It sprang forward, claws tearing into the earth as its body moved with fluid, terrifying precision. Slaughter. Rip. Feast. Each motion propelled it faster, the ground buckling under its weight. It leapt, clearing the palisade with ease, its limbs coiling mid-air like a living weapon.
 
The hut loomed ahead. Feeble. Fragile. It crashed through the walls, splintering wood and crushing the prey inside before they could scream. Blood splattered across its claws, hot and fleeting. Done. Waiting. Rip. Tear.
It moved again, leaving behind a trail of death. The hunt had begun.

 
The crashes echoed through the night, with blasts of splintering wood while shrieks of the hunting call closed in on the gates. Darryl could only imagine how many would die holding the line, but he had a job to do. “On me!” he barked, rallying his detachment of guards. His magical sword glinted in the dim light as he jogged toward the chaos.
Darryl’s heart pounded as he ran. Why would it attack here? The sounds of screams and shattering homes grew louder.
These were the cries of those who thought hiding would spare them the night’s horrors. Darryl’s jaw tightened. “Idiots,” he muttered, his grip tightening on the sword.This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
A flicker of movement caught his eye. Marco was trailing them, keeping to the shadows. Darryl cursed under his breath. “Not now, kid.” But there was no time to stop and confront him. The crashes grew closer.
Ahead, the predator burst through another building, its massive form outlined against the flames of a shattered lantern. It moved like a nightmare made manifest, claws tearing indiscriminately through the wreckage. It grew larger. Darryl raised a hand, signaling the archers. “Loose! Don’t let it breathe!”
The bowstrings sang as they filled the air, arrows raining down on the predator. It twisted and leapt, dodging most and taking the rest with indifference. The guards’ lines tightened – Some, carrying tower shields, provided cover while pikemen stepped between to form a protective barrier around the archers. They were ready for all its tricks.
But the predator stared at them, unmoving. It spun, slashing through a nearby building and paused. Watching their reactions. What’s that bastard doing now?
“Keep shooting! It will engage soon enough!” Darryl screamed at his soldiers.
But the monster only tilted its head. It coiled and with a booming hit… It leapt away, out of their reach. It crashed through yet another house, bathing in the fresh blood that pooled out of it.
Why? It wasn’t the time for questions. “Break the formation! We chase!”. Darryl fixed his grip on the elemental sword and ran.
The predator kept evading them time and time again and with passing second, people lost their lives. Frustration grew. Was it playing for time? His stomach dropped.
Suddenly, hundreds of voices, louder than he had ever heard, broke the night. Darryl turned toward the gates. Screams. So many screams.
His grip tightened around the sword until his knuckles went white.
Something happened at the gates while their fight hasn’t even begun. Go back?
Then, that chittering cackle. He turned —and saw the predator staring at him. Not attacking. Mocking. Shit. We took the bait.
Evidently done with buying time, the predator launched itself at the formation. Its scythes, swinging in long arcs, crashed against the wall of bodies.
Pikemen thrust forward, but none of them scored significant hits. The monster controlled space carefully, weaving back and forth between them. Occasionally, a scythe would be shattered on impact, but that barely slowed the creature.
Darryl observed with horror as its natural weapons regrew and rejoined assault. The creature’s sheer speed and brute strength overwhelmed them. With each misstep, another guard fell, lifeless before they hit the ground. But they bought him time.
Darryl stepped forward; his sword raised high in a two-handed grip. He didn’t like it, but he trusted to his men for cover. He pushed onward as the predator’s scythes came for him. While a guard’s shield protected his flank, Darryl struck against one of its limbs. Sparks flew as the strike bounced him away. Darryl grinned, sweat covering his face. Explosions of frost and fire were spreading toward the monster’s torso.
The Predator reeled, scythe arm burning and freezing in equal measure. For the first time, it hesitated. Then, its mandibles snapped open—
CHOMP. The severed limb slapped the bloody mud as elements consumed it.
It started to move as if nothing happened, but Darryl saw it. The moment of strain. The slowed movements. The bastard was feeling it now.
The damage was done, but it wasn’t enough. If his men kept buying him time, Darryl was ready to cut the monster piece by piece. He knew his role. “Rush it!” He only needed them to lay down their lives and pave the path.
The predator raged from pain and shock. The first meaningful wound it received.
It hurled itself into the clusters of guards, forgoing elegance and ignoring strikes. It took all their attacks head on and spun in a whirlwind of claws and death, tearing apart an entire group of men.
Screams filled the air, but some were quick enough to block. Surviving fighters, now deeply in range, stabbed at the monster’s body with whatever they could. Black blood erupted from the cracks in its carapace.
Darryl struggled to chase after the beast, as it kept dashing between the guards. Both sides bled, but the predator had strength to spare. They needed surgical strikes, not a trade of blows.
Sweat poured down Darryl’s face as he pressed forward. “Push on!” More guards charged recklessly at his command. Time to pull out all stops. Darryl traced the patterns of a haste spell with his mind, trusting to the others to keep the enemy busy. A burst of speed, the only spell he properly learned.
His legs burned like fire, his movements quickening. He had seconds to use the advantage, then he’d pay the price. He rushed the monster, quickly catching up to the predator’s reposition.
The predator clicked its mandibles in surprise. It spun, scythes and claws flying in a last-ditch effort to push the swordsman away. It was too late.
Darryl jumped over an attack, his form blurring in the torchlight, and from mid-air, he crashed the frostfire sword into one of its main limbs. Darryl was thrown away, sliding through bloody mud.
Fury of the elements ravaged through the monster’s body. The predator staggered, but it didn’t hesitate. It immediately used its own scythes to carve out the afflicted parts. It steadied itself and gained distance, but its movements were growing haphazard.
A rare show of mortality. It was down two limbs, but its wounds were cauterized. It still overpowered them by quite a stretch.
Worse, it adapted. It kept the distance from him… It harassed his men instead.
Darryl picked himself up from the mud. His muscles clenched painfully as the borrowed speed faded. The spell left behind an aching stiffness, a warning. Push further and collapse mid-fight.
They had the whole night ahead of them. He knew better than to be so careless.
But the predator kept circling around, striking away at his soldiers. Darryl looked around. From the original team of 70, over half littered the ground. dismembered corpses. Victory was slipping away.
Cast ‘haste’ again and gamble? Would it even work a second time? His mind screamed at him to run. To flee. But how could he?
Too many had died following him. They deserved better. Retreat’s not an option. He sucked the air in through gritted teeth.
“Close ranks! Don’t let it separate us!” His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “We bring the fucker down if it’s the last thing we do!”
As they repositioned for their final stand, The predator turned sharply.
Its eyes were locked onto something small, barely visible in the shadows.
Oh, for fucks sake.