razor-sharp rocks that stood in his way, Soros ran faster than he ever had. His twin hearts beat fast and hard, urging him on. The thought of being late was unbearable. Somehow he didn't think he could take seeing Kat's blood on the ground.
Of all the things to hunt, he had chosen the beast. The Torlock was a remnant of old times, a bloodthirsty monster. A forefather of the Torons, a species of mountain-dwelling hairy creatures far removed from the thing he was after.
Torons were intelligent, communal heavy workers who worked in most of the Hetton mines. The wild strain, nothing more than the animal Torons had evolved from, was almost extinct now.
Soros didn't appreciate the irony of setting one of the last members of the species on Kat. She had come to the mountains with him, expecting to be safe like he'd promised, not facing a beast even most Corgans had forgotten.
Finally, the cave was up ahead, but it felt like the scream had cut through him ages ago. Soros dashed around the corner to see Kat fighting the Torlock, although surviving would have been a more apt term.
She had her gun out and was taking shots at the rampaging beast every chance she got. By luck or skill or the grace of gods, Soros saw that Kat had managed to jump into a tight crevice where the beast couldn't follow.
It wasn't going to last forever. Meticulously, mercilessly, the Torlock beat its huge fists against the rock to break itself a way to the prey it wanted.
Up so close, it was even bigger than Soros had guessed by viewing it from afar.
All those observations didn't take him even a second. Without hesitation, he charged at the Torlock, pulling his swords free. It reminded him of his days as a student at Dolon Hall. His commander had also sent them into Grouvelle. They'd learned the hard way how quickly the long swords lost their edge in the narrow spaces of the mountain range.
It wasn't a nostalgia he appreciated, but at least his battle cry got the beast's attention. Answering with a roar, the Torlock charged him, approaching like a war ship. Gritting his teeth, Soros braced for the impact.
The beast crashed into him, sending him flying backwards, but it had achieved that at the price of several painful cuts. The Torlock took a step back, raising its bleeding arms like it had forgotten what it meant to be wounded.
Soros got up, holding the swords ready in the narrow passage they were in. One ahead of him, one held over his head. There was barely any room for him to turn, but it was also hindering the Torlock. The beast clawed at him, trying to reach him but it found Soros' swords in the way at every turn.
On open ground, Soros would have had no problem with it. The mindlessness of the Torlock spoke of animal behavior and hunger, both of which made it reckless. It pushed against the sharp rocks when it should have lured Soros out. Yet, in a place like that, even a feral beast could be deadly if its opponent wasn't careful.
And there was the solution. Backing away, Soros waited until the Torlock broke its way to him. Step by step, he endured the amazingly quick and powerful blows of the creature's hairy fists. He made sure every advancement came with more wounds to the beast. The ground was red where the Torlock passed, and Soros hoped there would be more rain or others might find their way to him by the path it left.
As he backed away, the passage grew tighter and Soros was grateful that he and Kat weren't huddled together in the same refuge. Soon, he barely had enough room to move, but the Torlock was almost stuck as well. It was a dead end, but Soros knew the beast would reach its limit before he did. And finally, the passage became too tight for the Torlock to be able to deliver any meaningful blows. Though that didn't mean it gave in.
He wished he could hear Kat speak or cry out, at least, so he'd know if she was still alive in her hiding place. Perhaps she was, he didn't know. There was a whole section of the mountain between them
Of all the things to hunt, he had chosen the beast. The Torlock was a remnant of old times, a bloodthirsty monster. A forefather of the Torons, a species of mountain-dwelling hairy creatures far removed from the thing he was after.
Torons were intelligent, communal heavy workers who worked in most of the Hetton mines. The wild strain, nothing more than the animal Torons had evolved from, was almost extinct now.
Soros didn't appreciate the irony of setting one of the last members of the species on Kat. She had come to the mountains with him, expecting to be safe like he'd promised, not facing a beast even most Corgans had forgotten.
Finally, the cave was up ahead, but it felt like the scream had cut through him ages ago. Soros dashed around the corner to see Kat fighting the Torlock, although surviving would have been a more apt term.
She had her gun out and was taking shots at the rampaging beast every chance she got. By luck or skill or the grace of gods, Soros saw that Kat had managed to jump into a tight crevice where the beast couldn't follow.
It wasn't going to last forever. Meticulously, mercilessly, the Torlock beat its huge fists against the rock to break itself a way to the prey it wanted.
Up so close, it was even bigger than Soros had guessed by viewing it from afar.
All those observations didn't take him even a second. Without hesitation, he charged at the Torlock, pulling his swords free. It reminded him of his days as a student at Dolon Hall. His commander had also sent them into Grouvelle. They'd learned the hard way how quickly the long swords lost their edge in the narrow spaces of the mountain range.
It wasn't a nostalgia he appreciated, but at least his battle cry got the beast's attention. Answering with a roar, the Torlock charged him, approaching like a war ship. Gritting his teeth, Soros braced for the impact.
The beast crashed into him, sending him flying backwards, but it had achieved that at the price of several painful cuts. The Torlock took a step back, raising its bleeding arms like it had forgotten what it meant to be wounded.
Soros got up, holding the swords ready in the narrow passage they were in. One ahead of him, one held over his head. There was barely any room for him to turn, but it was also hindering the Torlock. The beast clawed at him, trying to reach him but it found Soros' swords in the way at every turn.
On open ground, Soros would have had no problem with it. The mindlessness of the Torlock spoke of animal behavior and hunger, both of which made it reckless. It pushed against the sharp rocks when it should have lured Soros out. Yet, in a place like that, even a feral beast could be deadly if its opponent wasn't careful.
And there was the solution. Backing away, Soros waited until the Torlock broke its way to him. Step by step, he endured the amazingly quick and powerful blows of the creature's hairy fists. He made sure every advancement came with more wounds to the beast. The ground was red where the Torlock passed, and Soros hoped there would be more rain or others might find their way to him by the path it left.
As he backed away, the passage grew tighter and Soros was grateful that he and Kat weren't huddled together in the same refuge. Soon, he barely had enough room to move, but the Torlock was almost stuck as well. It was a dead end, but Soros knew the beast would reach its limit before he did. And finally, the passage became too tight for the Torlock to be able to deliver any meaningful blows. Though that didn't mean it gave in.
He wished he could hear Kat speak or cry out, at least, so he'd know if she was still alive in her hiding place. Perhaps she was, he didn't know. There was a whole section of the mountain between them
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