Hillel stared wide-eyed at the rumbling beast and its tamer as the dust clouds dissipated around them. He recalled the fleeting glimpse he'd caught during his farmhouse escape, but seeing the creature now in the flickering torchlight did nothing to calm his thundering heart.
The beast was a monstrosity beyond comprehension. It towered before him, easily ten times his size with a proportionate difference in raw muscle mass. Its hide consisted of overlapping leathery plates with an oily, iridescent sheen that caught the light as it shifted. A single curved horn protruded from the base of its snout, swaying with predatory intent as both eyes—small, reptilian, and unblinking—fixed upon him with cold hunger. Each massive limb ended in gleaming talons that gouged the stone floor with every restless movement. Its hanging jaw revealed row upon row of serrated teeth, designed for rending flesh from bone.
Damn it, damn it, damn it...
DAMN IT!!
His initial euphoria at escaping the cell had blinded him to the obvious—these underground chambers, with their bare stone surfaces, amplified every sound to a deafening degree. Of course they had heard the explosions of his phantom hand!
How can I possibly salvage this? I've practically blown myself apart with my own power!
His triumphant smile faded, replaced by grim determination. With deliberate slowness, he raised his left arm, eyes locked on the beast's massive form. A challenge—though why he was provoking this confrontation, he couldn't articulate even to himself. Perhaps some part of him recognized that retreat was impossible.
The beast tamer finally moved, though he seemed a bit surprised moments before, he accepted Hillel's challenge with a wicked grin that split his weathered face. "What an interesting little brat you are!" he called, voice echoing off the stone walls. "You'd make good flower feed!" He slapped the creature's flank. "Get him, Gnash!"
The beast lunged forward with shocking speed for its size. Hillel threw himself sideways toward the meager shelter of the cell entrance, his movements hampered by pain and exhaustion. His body screamed in protest as he hit the ground, rolling awkwardly as Gnash's horn scraped violently against the stone where he had stood moments before, throwing sparks in its wake.
Hillel's heart hammered against his battered ribcage as the futility of his escape attempt became painfully clear. He had obliterated the iron bars only to find himself trapped by something far more lethal. Gnash's enormous bulk effectively sealed the exit as it lumbered forward, preparing for another charge. The beast tamer ducked beneath the mangled upper remnants of the bars, confidence radiating from every line of his body. He kicked at the beast's side and let out a giddy, almost childlike yell of encouragement.
Gnash needed no further urging. It lowered its massive head, the curved horn aimed squarely at Hillel's chest, and charged with terrifying speed that belied its bulk. The cell suddenly felt impossibly small, a stone coffin with moving walls. Backed against cold rock, Hillel had nowhere to run.
Think! Don't just react! his mind screamed, even as his body moved on pure instinct.
As the beast surged forward, its head snapped upward, angling the horn for a killing blow against the wall. In that infinitesimal opening, Hillel acted. Pain flared white through his ribs and legs, but his freed ankles gave him precious mobility. Instead of dodging sideways into the beast's peripheral vision, he dropped low and lunged forward—a desperate scramble beneath the rising arc of the horn.
The horn's tip tore a burning line across his torso—a hair's breadth from impalement—but suddenly he was underneath the beast's raised head, tucked in the vulnerable space beneath its throat. Through the haze of adrenaline and pain, his fighter's instinct spotted it immediately: softer flesh, less protected than the armored plating elsewhere, momentarily exposed. His right arm, still throbbing with that bizarre numb heat, pressed almost against the vulnerable spot. Now!
But the beast tamer moved with startling speed. He practically vaulted from Gnash's back, landing heavily on the stone floor with practiced grace. A curved blade—wickedly sharp and stained with old blood—flashed in his hand as he lunged toward Hillel, still half-crouched under the beast. The tamer aimed for a killing stroke, thrusting the blade toward Hillel's exposed neck. Only Hillel's awkward position saved him from instant death, his shoulder pressed tightly against his chin.
Time fractured into crystalline moments. Hillel saw the blade's arc, felt the familiar surge of heat in his chest reach critical mass, ignored the screaming protest of his abused muscles. He pushed with his will, forcing the phantom hand into existence at the exact same instant cold steel pierced his shoulder.
SHUNK! CRUNCH!
Agony—white and angry—exploded through Hillel's right side, overriding the numbness in a tidal wave of pure torment. The tamer's blade sank deep into muscle and gristle with sickening ease. Simultaneously, a violent cramp seized his entire arm, as if unseen hands were attempting to tear the limb from his body one sinew at a time. A raw scream ripped from his throat, a sound of pain and desperate exertion.
But it was too late for the tamer to retreat.
Even as the blade struck home, the phantom hand manifested. Not fully formed—distorted by pain and the interrupted summoning—but powerful enough as it erupted within the unprotected flesh of Gnash's throat. There was a sickening wet tearing sound as muscle and tissue were violently displaced by the incorporeal force. Dark arterial blood sprayed in a pressurized fan, and Gnash released a bellowing roar of shock and agony that vibrated the very foundations of the chamber.
The momentum of the stab, combined with Gnash's convulsive recoil, threw Hillel violently backward. The blade tore free from the beast tamer's grip as Hillel tumbled out from beneath the beast's massive form. He landed hard on his back, the impact jarring every injury, his vision fragmenting into shards of light and shadow.
Through the haze, he looked down at himself. Blood poured from his shoulder around the blade still embedded there, the metal gleaming wetly in the torchlight. His right arm lay useless, seized in a cramp so severe it might have been carved from granite. But across the small space, Gnash reared back, shaking its massive head, blood gushing from a ragged, fist-sized crater torn into the vulnerable underside of its throat.
The beast tamer stared, momentarily frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief at the mortal wound inflicted on his beloved beast. With a strangled cry, he lunged toward Gnash, desperate hands trying to stem the pulsing flow of blood that overwhelmed his palms, gushing through the gaps between his fingers to spatter the filthy cell floor.
In frantic desperation, he tore off his upper garment, wrapping it around Gnash's wound in a futile attempt to halt the torrent of lifeblood. His attention entirely consumed by his dying companion, he paid no heed to Hillel's agonized retreat.
Hillel dragged himself from the cell and into the hallway, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through his body. His left hand clutched at his wounded shoulder, hot tears of pain streaming down his face as he stumbled from wall to wall. This pain transcended all his previous injuries—sharp and throbbing with an intensity that reduced his thoughts to static.
His vision wavered, darkness encroaching from the edges as he lurched forward on failing legs. Blood traced a macabre trail behind him, marking his desperate flight down the corridor. Finally, his strength abandoned him completely. He slid to a stop against the cold stone wall before his legs buckled, depositing him in an ungainly heap on the floor.
He fought against the encroaching darkness with every fiber of his being, but consciousness slipped through his fingers like water. The last thing he registered was the distant echo of approaching footsteps, growing steadily louder as oblivion claimed him.