Though it was merely delaying the inevitable, it still meant agonizing moments awaited the prey.
Feeling the foul, putrid breath of the Crimson-Coated Predator upon his face, Mel began to tremble uncontrollably. In stark contrast, the roars of the predator pack shook the forest, as if chanting hymns of glory to their leader's heroism.
Then, that deafening roar—loud enough to be heard from miles away—ceased in an instant. That could only mean one thing: the leader had finished its prey.
Life is often but a repetition of the ordinary, but tonight—the very night this scrawny yet courageous boy who braved the dark woods was supposed to die—it was not so.
Just as the Crimson-Coated Predator's razor-sharp fangs were about to sink into Mel's frail calves, the massive beast froze as if turned to stone, unable to move a single millimeter.
While it stood paralyzed, the pack outside was thrust into chaos. The forty predators that had spent so long clawing at the shield collapsed where they stood. They were pressed flat against the earth, quivering in dread.
As for the rest of the beasts, they no longer possessed the privilege of drawing breath in this world. The last things to escape their muzzles were bloody froth and a fleeting gasp.
In the silence that followed, only the faint sound of footsteps echoed—neither rushed nor sluggish. They did not shake the heavens or rend the earth, yet every single beast that had spent the night spreading terror with its savagery was now cowering in submission.
"Don't be afraid, Mel. I'm here."
Pinned at the back of the tiny cavern alongside a beast several times his size, the boy—who had turned into a statue—could not believe his ears at first.
"It's over, Mel!"
It was his voice. He had prayed countless times for his grandfather to come save him, but deep down, he never truly believed it would happen.
"Grandpa! Grandpa!"
Mel awakened from his stupor. Gathering the very dregs of his strength, he broke into a run toward the old man he had been desperately yearning for over the past few days.
He did not even glance at the Crimson-Coated Predator or the corpses scattered around him. Swaying with every step, it was evident his energy was depleted, leaving him nothing for any action other than this final dash. Throwing himself into the arms of the kneeling old man, he lost consciousness the moment they embraced. The sheer terror of death, compounded by the stress of the past few days, was more than enough to overwhelm his frail body.
"You stubborn kid! I knew you wouldn't believe the lies of those fools, but to go this far! Now I understand perfectly well why I couldn't bring myself to leave you."
A priceless smile barely peeked through the old man's untamed beard and mustache.
"How long has it been since I laughed like this?"
Muttering to himself, the old man gathered the little boy into his arms. The moment Mel was secure upon his back, the old man's eyes turned frigid, radiating a freezing chill that would make anyone who met his gaze feel as though their blood had turned to ice.
"We had a pact! You were to leave the people of my village unharmed, and I wouldn't interfere with your natural order!"
The old man's words shattered the heavy tension in the air like a blade. In response, the Crimson-Coated Predator could only let out a pitiful, pleading howl.
"I'm a very simple man. I keep my promises, and I protect those I care about!"
He began to walk back the way he came. As the first light of dawn slowly revealed itself, it was not merely promises that came to an end this night; a great many things did.
He moved at a brisk pace, careful not to run and wake the boy on his back. Even though his smile had faded, traces of peace lingered on the old man's face—until a distinct scent caught his nose.
"The wind is blowing against us. I shouldn't be smelling anything from that direction!"
At that exact moment, he broke into a run. The stench grew sharper and sharper, soon joined by the harrowing symphony of weeping and desperate cries for life.
"No, it can't be! History can't be repeating itself!"
Pushing his speed to the limit, the man reached his hut with little Mel still upon his back. From his usual vantage point, he observed the village for a moment, but the sheer horror of the scene before him fueled a rebellion in his words.
Every single structure, including his own home, had been set ablaze. A group of armed men ran amok, ruthlessly desecrating the lifeless bodies of the villagers he had known for years.
When his muttered curses awakened Mel, the old man was completely at a loss for words. The poor boy witnessed the unfolding atrocities with his own eyes.
"Grandpa, what's happening? Is this a nightmare?"
Mel went into severe shock. Even though his eyes showed him the brutal truth, his mind struggled, desperately trying to convince him that none of this could be real. With a dead, glassy stare, he watched his father's severed head and his mother's lifeless body, which was still being violated even in death.
"Father! Mother!"
He lost consciousness once more, his frail body failing to keep him upright. This time, the old man gently pulled him from his back and laid him safely in the peaceful embrace of the earth.
"Boss, look! Two more sheep have arrived!"
Standing at the epicenter of the massacre and looting, the shorter of the two men whispered excitedly into the ear of the massive, imposing brute looming beside him.
"Even if two hundred more arrived, it wouldn't calm my fury. I could drink the blood of these penniless wretches dry and still not be satiated!"
Unfazed by the sharp rebuke, the shorter man rubbed his hands together and spoke.
"At least the rest of the gang found themselves some entertainment, Boss. Rest assured, after we pillage a few more miserable places like this, we'll finally acquire that miraculous pill to awaken your internal energy!"
A sinister smile spread across the short man's face, whose hair was so thin one could count every strand, revealing his rotting teeth.
His beast-fur cloak billowing in the morning breeze, the burly man seemed to calm somewhat at those words. His sole ambition was to obtain that pill, the very thing that would elevate him above ordinary mortals.
"Go, bring me the heads of that wretched old man and the bastard beside him!"
Taking the shift in his leader's expression as a signal of approval, the lackey barked the order, eager to curry further favor. A small squad of five spurred their horses, charging straight toward the two figures standing by the ruined hut at the edge of the village. Judging by their speed, while their companions were busy enjoying themselves, they had no intention of wasting time on such insignificant insects.
They did not even bother drawing their weapons; they intended to simply trample them into the dirt. The old man was empty-handed as well, but sickening cracking sounds began to echo from his bones. His index and middle fingers merged, separating from the rest, while his ring finger seemed to fuse with his pinky.
The old man's hands, which normally resembled those of any five-fingered human, morphed into the terrifying form of a three-taloned dragon claw.
It did not take long for the riders to close the gap. Stepping in front of Mel, the old man locked eyes with the horse of the man leading the small squad in less than ten breaths.
"Die!"
If the villagers were not already corpses and could witness the event, they would undoubtedly have been left entirely speechless. The haggard-looking old man, his hair and beard a tangled mess, casually swiped his right hand toward the horse rearing up to crush him.
After that motion, there was not a single sound. There were only the bodies of the horse and its rider, dropping to the ground as if sliced by an impossibly sharp blade.
Taking a step forward, the old man crossed his hands in front of him and slashed outward. A few seconds later, the bodies of the galloping riders were blown to bloody pieces.