The ground shook as whatever was screeching made its way down the canopy outside. The newcomer made its way closer to Cuthbert and Shakti, an arrow still pointed at Cuthbert. Now that it was out of the light of the entrance its features become more clear. Feathers covered parts of its dragging tail and the area around its nape. A satchel hung along his shoulder that contained a fairly large round object. The creature saw Cuthbert staring at the satchel and snarled, shifting its stance. It clutched the satchel tighter, hissing through its fangs as if issuing a command. Its tail flicked—agitated.
Nervous.
"Sssssstttaaa Pssssssssttssss!"
Fear started to seep into Shakti's consciousness as Cuthbert tried to figure out why he suddenly was being threatened with an arrow and what this thing was saying.
Shakti had a way of dealing with threats.
Whatever was screeching outside finally made it to the ground announcing its presence with a resounding thud right outside the entrance, dirt falling from underneath the tree. For a moment the Lizard man turned to face the entrance and Shakti took the opportunity to fling the tip of his spear at the distracted creature. The trog simpered, looking pleased with how it protected its master.
The Lizard man fell silently to the ground as the tip found its way halfway through its skull.
Shakti quickly made its way over to retrieve its weapon, sampling off the spear what it assumed would be its next meal. It placed itself between Cuthbert and the entrance of their shelter.
A heightened sense of awareness started to take hold of Shakti as Cuthbert's fear embedded itself in its consciousness.
Cuthbert's fear was based on his lack of information in their current predicament. Since they landed in this place Cuthbert's mind had been racing to understand what exactly this Troglodyte wanted, identify anything familiar to have an idea about where they were, and if his pursuers were closing in on him.
Yet it understood nothing.
Now laying dead in front of him was another riddle that was quickly taking priority over his growing stack of concerns. A race of Lacertilia that he's never seen before, coated in red and green plumage and 'interacting' with them in a dialect that he's never heard before in the Lacertilia language. His mind quickly searched for any connection to all of this and feared that whatever was outside was the closest thing to an answer he was going to get.
A surge of curiosity coursed through Shakti—its focus locked onto whatever was outside. Unlike the last fight with the skeletons, it didn't feel the same limitation of movement. It could feel its master's thirst for more information as readily as its own bloodlust.
Fighting was always Shakti's go-to whenever confronted with the unknown.
The trog embraced it.
It felt as if it was free to do as it pleased as long it was focused on the creature outside, and what Shakti wanted to do more than anything else was fight. It stepped forward to meet the new intruder with a toothy grin under the guise of 'protecting' its master.
Shakti took a few cautious steps forward. The world outside was still—too still. No rustling leaves. No birds. Just the heavy thump of something shifting weight. Then—a shadow moved. A breath. Low, guttural. And then—teeth.
Shakti sidestepped, but not fast enough. The creature's jaws clamped onto its shoulder, piercing through the mud-caked flesh—its longest fangs grazing bone.
In the same instant, Shakti drove its spear tip into the creature's skull, ignoring the sharp sting where its fang had pierced flesh. Shakti retracted its weapon, ready for another strike, but the Wyvern's neck snapped sideways—hurling Shakti against a thick root. The fibers of the root caved in as the mud covered trog bounced off and dropped to the ground dazed, thirsty for more blood.
Shakti looked up, excited, to prove its might.
The creature let out a quick screech of pain before slithering more of its neck into the crevice under the tree. Its pupils constricted quickly disappearing in the red pools of iris as it noticed the Lacertilia lying on the floor– cold, calculating, focused. Ignoring the gash the trog left on the left side of its head.
It let out another screech before leaving the cave to readjust the rest of its body outside. More dirt fell following a tremor as the creature's large body landed in front of the crevice, wings slowly folding up on its side as it again tried to make its way into the hole, this time with more ferocity.
Dirt rained down over Cuthbert as he stared, heart hammering. Wings. Talons. That screech—high-pitched, resonant, shaking the very earth. The word formed in his mind before he could stop it.
Wyvern.
He had read about them. A hundred times. But reading about monsters and standing face to face with one were two very different things.
This wasn't just a predator.
This was a real-life Wyvern.