Shattered Line

Chapter 22: A Forest King

Don't fight like idiots, you know the drill. Wait for openings then attack. Cover each other's flanks," Varnis shouted to her right.

"Got it," his men uttered, their hearts united.

Her fingers curled, tightening around her weapon's hilt. The warmth she exuded conquered the metal's cold. Comfortable and reliable, a silent comrade. Isla smirked, her lean frame adjacent and ready. The beasts had charged straight ahead, exposing themselves. Well, they were animals.

She remained vigilant, watching their foes circle. Isla scrutinized each step and ear shift. One alternation or distraction could spiral their loss.

Snarls inspired, entwining with grunts and the coaxing boyish voice of Ham. His attempts at conversation ignored as he battled a Bloodhound.

Her ears listened while her eyes were fixated. A sharp motion on her peripheral flickered her gaze. A Bloodhound lunged at Varnis, targeting his leg.

Varnis stabbed down with his lance, piercing the beast's body. A howl split through the grunts of men. Yet, retaliation instilled with another Bloodhound charging to assist. The second foe leaped at Varnis, but Isla stepped right, slicing the wide open maw.

She cemented her heels and braced against the weight. Her body shuddered, moaning from the strain. One full push and she deflected the snarling teeth.

Isla wiped her hands and extended her fingers, their numbness vanishing. She glared at the Bloodhound, blood dripping from its snout.

Varnis twisted his lance, earning another howl and heaved the twitching Bloodhound. With one motion, he tossed the ragged body. The furred corpse struck the second beast, reaping a yelp. The failing comrade scampered backward and sniffed the leftovers.

All the living Bloodhounds whimpered but gave no signal for retreat. Their bloody red eyes intensified, the color shifting to midnight, blending against their hides.

"Five more remain, patience," Varnis said.

The whimpers transitioned to ferocious growls. Their cries ripped and tore her eardrums, pain shooting deep. She gasped, wincing at their intensity. Why now? Why not retreat?

No, flight became distant, a fantasy even. These monsters eradicated their tendencies to escape.

The pack's hesitation rescinded and they attacked as one. They flung themselves, snapping and nipping at openings. Isla lowered her frame, absorbing the impact. Her feet neither budged nor bulked. Persistence would win.

She directed her sword, defending with timed counters. Isla nicked the Bloodhound each reckless attack. Yet, she aroused no howls.

Wolfe sparred to her left, guarding with one dagger. He retrieved another weapon and flung the blade at his nemesis. The projectile flew, slicing air and penetrated his Bloodhound's skull. The beast collapsed with stomach rising one last time.

"Oh baby, four," Wolfe hooted.

The remaining Bloodhounds halted and resumed their high pitched scream. Isla clenched her teeth. Seriously, what were they doing?

"We need to stop that howl," Slate voiced.

"What are they doing?" Wolfe commented.

"Calling friends."

"Great," Wolfe drawled

Varnis glanced at them, the lines detailing his face wrinkling. "We aren't sticking around to find out. Boys, pick a target. We move on three. Clean and simple."

Bloodlust drenched and electrified the air. One sip and all were frenzied. Varnis' crew heeded his orders, their heads nodded and stances primed.

"One. Two. Three!"