Curse Of Blood: Gods & Monsters

Chapter XXXIX - Roth

And all he could recall of the thing — the attack having only lasted all of a second — were the feral whites of its eyes and its dominating fangs before it had nearly excoriated the flesh from his face. He had barely registered any other detail except that it was an immense beast with a dun-colored matt of hair, almost grey.

Ívarr's startled roar had him spinning to his right. Impulse activated and guided his hand as he let fly his spear, but his weakened state was such that the lethal head glanced off the beast's shoulder. And, in so doing, he felt both relieved and guilty that he had missed. Still, it was enough that Eirik had released another arrow that had joined its compeer, the first still embedded deeply in Renic's back and the second striking his chest.

Once again the beast leapt into the umbrage afforded by the rocky dunes. This time, however, Roth had gotten a far better look at him.

It had been a barrel-chest and demoniac-looking, grey wolf with longer, muscular back legs than withers which accounted for it having the nimble, yet awkward, mobility of an anuran. That feature, together with its stumpy tail and ears — that, although elongated, were positioned far lower on the side of its head, unlike most canines — were all that might have hinted at his humanity. The rest of him resembled nothing familiar. He was part wolf in physiognomy, partly bear-like in sheer size; and then something else entirely.

"Is it a gods-cursed bear?!" Eirik's third arrow was already poised as he stood over his father.

Ívarr was still dazed, favoring his ribs, but finally stood and then he promptly examined the long scars etched in his shield with one eye as the other darted furtively between the shadows. "Not a bear," he murmured gravely.

"A giant wolf then?"

"Whatever the brute may be, tis playing with us," said Ragnar. He knocked his axe threateningly against the iron boss at the center of his shield. "Come Fenrir, you bastard!" he bellowed; but Renic stayed hidden.

Roth could feel his brother watching, the hairs standing rampant wherever that cold, hidden gaze dwelled over his flesh. His men said nothing more, no doubt feeling the same sensation, and Roth backed up carefully towards Søren so that Renic would have to get by him or Ragnar in order to take his cousin who was, clearly, the easiest target; and the likeliest of them to be taken next.

Renic did not keep them long in anticipation. The hel-born creature, for it was no longer Renic, launched itself unexpectedly at Eirik this time, its pale eyes almost white with fury as it clamped its powerful jaws around his uncle's hand — the true weapon that had twice discharged an arrow at the creature's vitals.

Roth would later reflect on how terribly he had erred and misjudged the beast's cunning, thinking Søren the next victim. Instead, he might have guessed that anything with even a modicum of intelligence would have dispatched that which posed the greatest threat. 

Eirik's long bow and Ragnar's axe were its biggest enemies. Had Roth been in possession of his rightful strength, his spear would have been the most lethal.

For the time being, all that next transpired was naught but a phantasmagoric mêlée of horror and blurred activity; almost too fast for all but the most agile to perceive.

His young uncle's shooting hand came away from its root in one fell snap, and with a sickening pop, as the beast gave a violent shake of its great head. As of a morbid dream it swallowed, loudly, its bewhiskered muzzle coated with a slaughterous shade of crimson. Eirik stumbled back in shock, staring incredulously at the lifeblood squirting from his severed wrist. 

Though Ívarr hurled his shield at the monster, it was too late.

Still, it found its mark, howsoever belatedly, which momentarily bemused the creature. With Eirik out of the way, Ragnar hurtled his mighty axe. It plunged therewith just below Renic's broad shoulders, causing that limb to collapse under him.