Chapter 19 - The Beast Beneath the Earth
1455 Words
The flaps above groaned open with a violent screech, and sunlight came crashing down like a blade cleaving darkness in half.
Aksanaa recoiled instinctively, one arm thrown over her eyes as if the light itself might burn. After the endless black, the sudden brightness felt cruel, like staring into a god’s judgment. She blinked, vision swimming, until finally the shape in front of her clarified.
She was lying at its feet.
No — not feet.
Talons.
Her gaze began the slow, inevitable climb.
Massive paws, yes, but twisted — the front ones were leonine, each bigger than her chest, tipped with sickle-shaped claws blacker than obsidian. But the hind legs? Scaled, reptilian — more serpent than feline. And behind them dragged a long, segmented tail, armored and curling at the end into a grotesque stinger that oozed with thick, green venom.
Its body was colossal — easily three times the size of any jungle lion she had ever seen. The fur was matted and uneven, a sickly blend of silver and charcoal streaked with dried blood. A mane flared around its neck like tangled smoke, glinting with eerie threads of iron and bone. Something moved inside that mane — small, insect-like limbs twitching between the tufts, feeding on rot.
And the face…
Its eyes glowed a dull, ember red — as if something ancient had long died inside it, but its hatred remained burning. A second pair of milky eyes sat above the first, lidless and unmoving. Its muzzle was scarred, lips curled in a perpetual snarl that revealed fangs too long, too crooked to belong to anything natural. A growl rumbled from deep within its chest — not a warning, but a promise.
Aksanaa’s heart slammed against her ribs.
This wasn’t just a beast. This was an error of nature, a thing that should have never survived the womb of the world. Something made in the shadows, fed on corpses and battlefields.
And yet it breathed.
It growled.
It loomed.
Her breath caught.
She — who had fought men twice her size, who had bled and killed without flinching, who had stared down priests and demons alike — screamed.
Not from weakness.
But from truth.
Because in that moment, under the harsh daylight and the weight of its presence, Aksanaa realized something simple and absolute.
She had never been meant to survive this.
Above the pit, Saelwyn’s heart seized — as if someone had reached into his chest and crushed it in one brutal squeeze.
“Aksanaa!” he cried, voice ragged with terror.
He didn’t think.
Didn’t aim.
Didn’t breathe.
He just moved.
In one fluid, frantic motion, he snatched an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and let it fly.
Then another.
And another.
His hands blurred—muscle memory overriding sense—until a stream of arrows was raining into the pit like a storm of desperation.
“Stop! Saelwyn—STOP!” Runi yelled, lunging toward him.
She caught his arm mid-draw, but he jerked away, eyes wild with panic.
“She screamed—Runi, she screamed! I have to—!”
“You’ll hit her!” she snapped, digging her heels in, trying to pull his bow down. “You’ll kill them both!”
But Saelwyn’s reason was already gone—devoured by the fear of losing her.
His fingers trembled as he fought her grip. His voice cracked, fury and helplessness mixing in equal measure.
“I won’t lose her again. I won’t!”
“I know, Saelwyn—gods, I know—but this isn’t helping!”
Behind them, Grön stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape. The half-giant’s enormous frame seemed almost childlike in that moment. He didn’t know where to look—at the screaming elf, the pit, the flying arrows, or the shaking stone beneath his feet.
“What’s happening?” he muttered, eyes darting from face to face, his hands half-lifted, useless.
“I think…” he swallowed, voice dry, “I think you made it angry.”
Too late.
A sound ripped up from the pit—not a roar, but a revenge.
Low and guttural at first, then rising—a scream soaked in fury, primal and monstrous, something that didn’t just echo—it invaded the body. Rattled the bones. Curled the stomach. Froze the lungs.
Grön took a step back.
Runi’s eyes widened.
Even Saelwyn lowered his bow, as if realizing — finally — what he’d awakened.
Below, Aksanaa stood paralyzed for the blink of a moment.
The Galabon lion—no longer merely watching, no longer stalking—had turned toward her fully.
Eyes glowing. Fangs wet.
It lunged.
“Move!” Daghan’s voice was a growl in itself.
Aksanaa stumbled back just as Daghan slammed into her from the side, knocking her away.
The lion’s claws raked the ground where she’d just stood. One blow from those, she knew, would have ripped her in two.
Daghan didn’t back away.
He faced the beast.
Unarmed now—his axe lost in the earlier chaos—he raised his fists and stepped forward like a brawler from old bloodlines.
The lion lunged again.
Daghan met it with a savage uppercut to the jaw. It wasn’t enough to stop the beast, but it staggered. Aksanaa scrambled for her dagger.
“Get back!” Daghan barked.
But she didn’t. She rushed to his side, steel in hand.
Together, they struck—Aksanaa aiming for its side, Daghan aiming high—but the beast was relentless. Its hide was thick, and its fury only growing.
Then the worst came.
With a deafening snarl, the lion reared and slammed its paw down—right onto Daghan’s chest.
The sound of impact was sickening.
Daghan crumpled to the ground, breath gone, limbs unmoving. Aksanaa screamed his name, diving forward with her dagger—but the lion was already preparing another blow.
Then something massive crashed down from above.
A blur of motion.
A quake.
A grunt like stone grinding on stone.
Grön.
The half-giant didn’t even try for finesse. He landed directly on the beast’s back with the full weight of a small avalanche. The Galabon lion buckled, stunned for a split-second—just enough for Grön to wrap one thick arm around its neck.
“DON’T—TOUCH—MY—BOSS!” he roared.
The lion thrashed wildly, trying to shake him off—but Grön held on with everything he had, feet dragging, arms locked, jaw clenched.
“Now, Aksanaa!” he barked.
She didn’t hesitate.
She ran—leapt—brought the dagger up in both hands—
—and drove it down into the beast’s chest. Once.
Twice.
The third time, it slid between the ribs.
Straight to the heart.
The Galabon lion let out one final, soul-splitting roar—then slumped.
Dead.
Grön tumbled off its back with a groan. Aksanaa collapsed beside Daghan, gasping.
“Daghan…?” she whispered, brushing his face. “Daghan!”
He coughed.
“I told you…” he rasped, eyes fluttering open. “I’m good at everything.”
She laughed—half-sob, half-relief—and held his face in both hands as light poured down from above.
Above the pit, silence settled like mist.
Runi and Saelwyn leaned over the edge, eyes wide, breaths shallow.
“Did they just…” Saelwyn’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “Kill it?”
Runi nodded slowly, her eyes still locked on the figures below.
“They did.”
Then, after a pause—measured and gentle—
“And despite the arrows raining from above.”
She didn’t look at him.
She didn’t need to.
The words landed with the softness of snow—and the weight of stone.
Saelwyn didn’t reply.
He didn’t defend himself.
He just stared into the pit.
Aksanaa was kneeling beside Daghan—bloodied, shaking, alive.
The dragon was wounded. Breathing heavily.
But still whole.
Saelwyn exhaled sharply, a release of tension he didn’t know he was holding.
She’s safe.
That should’ve been enough.
But it wasn’t.
Because when the beast came—when death lunged for her—
it wasn’t his arms that shielded her.
It wasn’t his arrows that brought it down.
It wasn’t him she looked at when it ended.
Somewhere beneath the relief was a thorn.
Small. Bitter. Unshakable.
Runi finally glanced at him.
“You alright?” she asked, her voice cautious but kind.
Saelwyn gave a single nod, jaw tight.
“Yes.”
But the word tasted like ash.
Below them, the danger had passed. The Galabon lion was dead.
But not everything broken could be left behind in a pit.
Not anymore.
- Writer
