Chương 75

Ursak Vileclaw Drogan gripped the handle of his pitchfork a little tighter, attempting to still the trembling in his hands. It didn't work. Why hadn't they taken Grul's advice and abandoned the village? When the hunter had returned earlier that day, he'd barely paused long enough to warn them about the creature heading towards the village. The warning itself had been panicked and barely coherent.

As soon as he'd delivered it, Grul sprinted back to his home, stuffed as many belongings as he could into a sack, then fled as fast as his legs could carry him. Following the hunter's departure, the village council had assembled to decide what should be done. It was quickly agreed that the children and elderly would be evacuated to Millbrooke, a small village several miles away. As for the rest? They had all vowed to stay and fight – to give their life in defence of the village if need be.

Drogan found himself thinking back on some of the things that had been said during the meeting.

'I'll die before I let some overgrown animal force me from my home.'

'It the bastard bleeds, then it can be killed.'

'This village has survived bandits, famine, and terrible storms. We're not running from a fucking bear.' It was easy, Drogan thought, to talk in such a way in the heat of the moment, when everyone had been egging each other on and the danger still existed only in words and imagination. After all, nobody wanted their friends and family to think they were a coward. Now that the creature could arrive at any moment, he no longer felt so brave. In fact, he was fucking terrified.

He turned to study those standing beside him. There was Hruk the blacksmith. He wore a sleeveless tunic revealing thick arms corded with muscle, his pale green skin a patchwork of scars and burns. He was gripping his smithing hammer so tightly that his knuckles were white. Thulgar the innkeeper held the cudgel he normally kept behind the bar. It was reserved for those rare occasions when a patron couldn't handle their drink and needed to be reminded of their manners.

He tapped it restlessly against his palm, occasionally pausing to perform an experimental swing. A dozen more villagers stood behind him, each clutching whatever makeshift weapon they'd managed to grab from their homes. A saucepan. A table leg. A cleaver. A hatchet. And then he met the eyes of his wife, Hragga. She reached up to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear, then gave him a small smile. The sight of it made Drogan's chest tighten, but it also hardened his resolve.

He could not let anything happen to her. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and levelled the pitchfork in front of him. The trembling in his hands eased slightly, and this time, he managed to hold the weapon steady. They heard and felt the creature before they saw it, its footsteps so loud and heavy that they seemed to shake the very forest itself.

"Shit…" muttered someone behind Drogan.

"I'm sorry… I can't do this." Drogan turned to see Thulgar shoving his way through the defenders, his cudgel abandoned on the ground where he'd been standing only moments before. Then, as though the innkeeper's retreat had given them permission to do the same, several more villagers threw down their weapons and fled. For a brief moment, Drogan considered doing the same. He could take Hragga's hand and flee with her. They could run to Millbrooke, gather their children, then continue on to Stonehaven…

But it was already too late. Something was moving between the trees. Something impossibly large. A bear bigger than Drogan's home, its fur darker than deepest shadow and its eyes blazing with infernal light. It paused briefly when it saw the ragged group of defenders, tilting its head slightly as if considering them. Its muzzle parted to reveal teeth as long as Drogan's forearm.

"It's fucking smiling!" snarled Hruk, taking a step towards the creature and raising his smithing hammer. In the blacksmith's voice, Drogan heard the same emotions raging within himself. The fear. The disbelief. The rage. The hysterical panic of uncertainty. The desperate need for something – anything – to happen. The bear padded forward slowly, deliberately, as if it were enjoying the terror it inspired. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Hruk could take it no longer. Letting loose a strangled cry, he charged towards the creature, brandishing his smithing hammer. Despite the blacksmith's imposing build, he looked pitifully small compared to the colossal bear. It lashed out contemptuously with one massive paw, its jagged claws tearing through Hruk as though he were made of paper. His body fell to the ground in bloody, mangled pieces.

For a moment, Drogan stared dumbly at the jumble of body parts that had once been his friend, then he felt a warmth spread across his thighs, and he glanced down to see the fabric of his trousers darkening. He'd pissed himself.

"Hey, you demonic dickhead," came an unfamiliar voice.

"How about you try picking on someone your own size?" Drogan shook his head and finally tore his gaze away from Hruk's remains, searching for the source of the voice. He couldn't see anyone. The bear seemed equally confused, twisting its massive head from side to side as it scanned the surrounding trees.

"Up here, dumbass." Bear and orc alike looked up. A man hovered in the air above them, his arms crossed. He had not raised his voice, but even so, his words held a cold certainty that made Drogan's knees tremble. Floating down to stand before what remained of the village's defenders, the man appeared utterly unconcerned by the fact that his back was to the bear.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he said, glancing guiltily at Hruk's remains before reaching up to scratch the back of his head.

"The damn map was a nightmare. First, I had to figure out which direction I was actually supposed to be travelling in, then when I finally got here, it turned out the zone inside the red circle had a diameter of like ten miles. I've spent the last few minutes flying around like a fucking madman trying to find the demonic shit." Drogan had absolutely no idea what the man was talking about. He simply nodded dumbly, then let his gaze wander over the stranger.

The man had the sort of tan that suggested he'd recently spent a lot of time outside, with dark hair and a beard that had long since crossed the line from stylishly rugged into resembling one of the vagrants found wandering the streets of Stonehaven. His outfit was… well… it looked incredibly similar to Drogan's own. With his straw hat and simple but well-made clothes, the man resembled a farmer far more than some mighty warrior. The only unusual thing about his appearance was his glasses.

Drogan had never seen anything like them before. The lenses were so dark that he could barely see the man's eyes.

"My name's Pete, by the way," he said, flashing them a grin that, despite making him look a little unhinged, was somehow incredibly reassuring. He glanced down and noticed the dark stain spreading across Drogan's trousers, then stepped forward to pat the orc sympathetically on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," he whispered in Drogan's ear.

"It happens to the best of us. Just act natural and I'll make sure nobody notices." With that, he stepped back, lowered his glasses slightly and gave Drogan a conspiratorial wink, then turned to face the bear. Ursak hadn't moved while Pete introduced himself to the villagers, apparently just as shocked as they were by his unexpected arrival. But, seeing the man approach, the bear seemed to remember itself.

It rose onto its hind legs, towering above the village at a staggering height of at least fifteen metres, then unleashed a growl so terrifying that Drogan discovered his bladder apparently hadn't emptied itself quite as thoroughly as he'd first believed. Pete appeared entirely unfazed, planting his hands on his hips as he waited for the bear to finish. Ursak's front legs slammed back into the earth with enough force to make Drogan stagger. Then it charged.

Drogan squeezed his eyes shut as an enormous paw swiped through the air towards Pete, expecting at any moment to hear the sound of tearing flesh and dismembered body parts thudding to the ground.

"Is that the best you've got?" asked Pete.

"Pussy." Drogan opened his eyes, and they immediately widened in disbelief… Pete hadn't moved an inch. The bear appeared just as stunned, its eyes darting between its raised paw and the man it had somehow failed to harm at all.

"I guess that means it's my turn then," said Pete. He raised a hand, open-palmed, studied it thoughtfully for a moment, then gave the bear what Drogan could only describe as a bitch-slap of epic proportions. It was the sort of slap intended to convey the highest possible level of disrespect. Ursak's face whipped to the side from the force of the blow, blood and teeth raining through the air.

"That one was for the guy you just dismembered," said Pete, gesturing towards Hruk's remains. The bear's glowing red eyes widened in stunned disbelief. Blood dribbled from between its teeth, matting the fur around its muzzle. Drogan could almost picture the battle raging within the bear's mind – pride warring against survival instinct. Pride won. With a furious growl, Ursak attacked once more.

Its paws exploded into motion, blurring through the air as it unleashed hundreds of savage swipes in the span of just a few seconds. Pete didn't so much as flinch as the blows rained down upon him… Then he bitch-slapped Ursak again. Harder this time. The crack of the creature's jawbone crumpling echoed through the trees, and the blow sent Ursak crashing to the ground with a pathetic whimper.

"That one was for the village you wiped out," said Pete. Ursak rose unsteadily, its eyes glazed and unfocused. The red glow that burned within them had dimmed a little. The bear staggered backwards and attempted to flee, but Pete vanished and reappeared directly in its path.

"Where do you think you're going?" he said.

"I'm not done with you yet." With that, he glanced past Ursak and gave Drogan a discreet thumbs up before striking the bear once more. This time, it wasn't a slap. It was a punch. The punch was so powerful that, despite standing over thirty metres away, Drogan was sent tumbling to the ground by the rush of air it generated. Blood began to rain from the sky alongside little pieces of what Drogan could only assume were bone and muscle. A moment later, he felt a hand hook under his armpit and help him to his feet.

Pete clapped him gently on the shoulder, then subtly gestured with a downward flicker of his hazel eyes for Drogan to look down. The piss stain on his trousers was no longer visible beneath the thick layer of blood and gore splattered across him from head to toe.

"Thank you," said Drogan softly.

"No worries," said Pete.

"I know how embarrassing something like that can be." Drogan stared at him for a few baffled seconds.

"I don't mean for hiding the piss stain on my trousers," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the village around them.

"I mean for saving us from that bear. If you hadn't shown up, it would've killed every single one of us as easily as breathing."

"Oh… you're welcome," replied Pete before letting out a quiet sigh.

"I really am sorry about your friend though. If I'd made it here a little sooner, I could've saved him." A large sack appeared in his hand, which he placed at Drogan's feet.

"I know it won't bring him back, but hopefully you can use this to help everyone in the village." With that, Pete shot into the air. He rose several hundred metres, spent a few moments flying in random directions as if he wasn't quite sure where he was supposed to be going, then the sky exploded with a thunderous boom and he disappeared from sight. Drogan stared at the now-empty sky for several long moments before finally kneeling to untie the sack.

He swore under his breath when he realised it was filled to the brim with gold coins. Thousands of them.