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"Go on and rest. I may be old, but I still have some fight left in me."
Nulez carefully stroked Tyrant's snout, wiping away the thick layer of blood staining his feathers. His gaze lingered on the dagger still lodged in the beast's eye before he turned away. Without hesitation, he delivered the final blow to the human beneath him, reducing his head to nothing more than a red smear on the ground.
He hadn't expected the creature to listen. So it was no surprise when he turned back and saw Tyrant already in pursuit, tearing after the humans who had fled on horseback. Nulez simply shook his head before hurrying back to his people, intent on taking a headcount before they moved again.
The hunters had found them. They had to leave quickly before more arrived. Especially with those who had managed to escape, it wouldn't be long before reinforcements closed in on their position.
As Nulez worked to reorganize and calm his people, Tyrant charged after the human who had been firing arrows at him. Each arrow that struck him sent a fresh wave of pain through his body, burrowing deep into his flesh. The stinging irritation festered into a raw, seething rage.
He tried to dodge, but his body refused to respond the way he wanted. His movements were sluggish, his vision blurring with each step. He could feel his strength draining, his body screaming for rest, but Tyrant hatred kept him going.
The need to stop… to rest and fall, was there, clawing at the edges of his mind. But the need to kill was stronger.
But as Tyrant charged toward the archer, his mind fully locked onto his prey, he failed to notice the two horsemen closing in behind him. They carried a large net with a metallic sheen, that briefly glowed blue as mana was injected into it.
By the time Tyrant realized the danger, it was too late.
Just as he veered to ram the rider on his right, both men cast the net. It brutally snapped around him, tightening as he stumbled forward and drew a massive amount of blood. A jolt of searing pain surged through his body, the net crackling with energy. His limbs convulsed as his vision darkened. The laced arrows embedded in his flesh, combined with his blood loss, finally took their toll.
Tyrant collapsed, unable to move… but still awake, too angry to fully pass out as his body worked overtime to heal.
"Woowee, this bastard ought to fetch a hefty price for some tamers," Olsen, the group's leader, said, whistling as he secured a thick rope to his saddle connected to the metal net that had the beast. "And with the bounty on those other animals, we won't have to take on missions for a while."
"I think we should ignore the slaves," Miles said, pouring mana into the net to keep the beast pacified. "We've already lost several men because of this bastard, and we need to regroup. Selling this monster should bring in enough coins to make up for our losses." He sat tall on his horse, scanning the area for any lurking threats.
Olsen scoffed. "Nah. I was planning to cut those greenhorns loose anyway, useless dead weight. Though, I'll admit, that young one was pretty tight." He grinned, ignoring his subordinate's concerns. "Besides, with fewer of us to split the earnings, that means more coin for us. And I've got plans for a long night at the whorehouse."
His grin widened as he spotted movement in the tall grass not far ahead. The bounty on slaves was high, especially those belonging to nobles. And with the intel they'd paid for, there were 6 important targets hidden somewhere among the runaways.
"So, what do you say, Miles? Let's hunt for the six. None of these slaves can stop us," Olsen said as he jumped off his horse, seizing an owl beastkin by the scruff who was trying to hide in the tall grass.
"Well, well, well… would you look at this, Miles?"
Olsen gripped the owl boy tightly, his fingers digging into the child's throat as he lifted him effortlessly. The boy gasped, clawing weakly at Olsen's hand, but the slaver only laughed. With a cruel smirk, he shook the child roughly, as if testing the weight of a coin pouch.
"It's one of the slaves we're looking for. See, Miles? What do I always tell you?"
Grinning, Olsen reached into the leather bag strapped to his saddle and pulled out a small metal collar. With a click, he locked it around the beastkin's neck.
"To never stop searching in the face of money" Miles muttered, sighing as he caught the boy when Olsen casually tossed him over. Holding the trembling child in one hand, he pulled out a bounty poster from his coat. A quick glance confirmed it, this was one of their targets.
"Exactly!" Olsen barked, swinging himself back onto his horse. "Just like my father always said! So, is this the right one?"
Without waiting for an answer, he funneled more mana into the metal net restraining the beast as it started to thrash wildly as soon as they caught the boy.
The creature convulsed violently, its body thrashing as feathers and chunks of flesh tore free. More blood poured from its wounds, only to sizzle and blacken as electricity surged through its body. The acrid stench of burnt flesh filled the air.
Olsen simply chuckled, watching the suffering unfold like it was nothing more than entertainment. Though surprised by the sudden burst of energy the beast had.
"Cool it with the shocking. If we burn it too much, no one's gonna buy a half-cooked chicken," Miles said, stepping in before his captain could overdo it.
Without waiting for a response, he placed a hand over the owl beastkin's head and muttered a quiet incantation. A dim white glow spread from his palm, and the boy's body instantly went limp. With a practiced motion, Miles slung the unconscious beastkin over the back of his horse.
"Let's go find Henry, Jack, and Emma," Olsen said, already jogging toward the archer, one of his actual teammates named Jack. "If we spot any of the others still hanging around, just put a sword in their backs. We'll pin their deaths on the slaves, same as always."
He grinned, knowing full well how easy it was to twist the truth when no one cared to listen. It didn't take long for the real members of the group to regroup. Henry, their knight who loves to use a bastard sword, arrived first, two demi-human heads tied to his waist, their lifeless eyes staring into nothing. Emma, their healer of the group, followed shortly after, carrying three heads.
With the remaining slaves finally regaining their wits and mounting a weak counterattack, the mercenaries decided it was time to leave. Their superior horses easily outpaced the ragged, malnourished mounts of the fleeing slaves, allowing Olsen and his four teammates, Miles, Henry, Jack, and Emma, to break away with ease.
Ahead, the village of Holton came into view, its flickering torchlights promising safety and earnings. Tyrant's massive body dragged along the muddy path behind them, leaving a deep, bloody trail in the dirt.
"See? Quick and easy mission. Nothing can go wrong now," Olsen said with a smug grin, aware that the recruits he had hired as meat shields were nowhere in sight.
Yet, Olsen should never have spoken so soon.
Behind them, a ball of pure, seething purple fury tore across the landscape, gaining on their trail with terrifying speed. The ground trembled beneath its approach, and small fires ignited in its wake as unstable plasma erupted outward in violent bursts. Each pulse of energy scorched the tall grass, leaving behind a smoldering path of destruction.
—
Thanks for reading, you can probably guess what's going to happen.