Of all times! Now the duty called.
End it. His Instinct rumbled in his throat.
The female was trying to climb back up onto his shoulders. Tok felt a blade stab into his head, snarling as the point bounced against his thick skull. He wasn’t a croc, his skull was too thick for that plan.
The blade skittered off the thick scutes of his neck. The fiendkin cursed. The warrior swung with his ax again and Tok had to sidestep, knocking it aside with a claw. He wanted to grab the female, but the warrior could lame him if he tried.
Pull his fangs.
Tok bellowed, waiting for another swing before grabbing the weapon by the handle, yanking it free. He hurled it at the rallying archer. Through sheer luck it flew true, splitting him like firewood. Nave to chaps.
The warrior only gave a glance before searching for a replacement weapon.
Such a waste.
He had chosen to break the treaty though. There were no exceptions for that.
He heard another blade slide out of a sheath next to his head. He looked up and saw it glinting in the starlight above his eye. A rapier. Held by the fiendkin.
Thum-dum.
She grinned and glanced at the dwarf, who was staggering away from the last of the dying archers. “I want hazard pay for saving your a-”
Tok grabbed her leg. Swinging her through the air.
He didn’t have time for this. Not anymore.
The fiendkin screamed as she whirled through the air. Some of her possessions flying out of her pockets as he swung her.
The warrior had a pair of swords now, watching in horror.
SPLUCK!
She shattered against a stone pillar, her own ribs tearing through her chest and leather armor. Splattering the dwarf and the warrior with gore.
He looked at the warrior, feeling mild regret.
Such a shame to cull such a large specimen from their bloodline.
Thum-dum.
No! He shook his head and growled.
The change in season was affecting his thoughts. He had to die. Snarling Tok feinted a slash with one claw, then slashed at the warrior’s throat much faster. The mercenary leaped back, realizing too late that it was a ruse.
The human’s lower jaw splattered onto the stones as he howled wordlessly, tongue flapping in the smoke. Trying to stop the blood with trembling hands.
Message. The warrior was the biggest there. A good deterrent to any others that might arrive.
Before he could do anything else, Tok had both of his arms and pulled. A terrific tearing sound echoed in the night. The warrior’s ax clattered to the ground. There was an annoying screech from the human as blood sprayed from his empty sockets. Tok let him bleed out.
Someone was watching.
He looked over his shoulder, through the collection of arrows still stuck in his scales. Whoever it was had hidden themselves again. No matter. He’d find them.
With a snarl, the predator turned back to glare down at the little runt of a scholar.
The third scrambled and fell, dislodging his spectacles. The quiet tinkling sound of them breaking echoed oddly as he tried to hide in the ruins his expedition had unearthed. Had stolen from.
A horn blew, it sounded familiar. He would deal with that once this was done. Same with the knight.
Thum-dum.
He prowled towards his prey.
The third scrambled up and yanked a pair of wooden stops holding the stone doors open, and they closed with a boom.
Tok heard the bar slam home.
He lowered his shoulder, legs pumping, not letting the pain of his wounds slow him. Glad it was a newer ruin. This wouldn’t work otherwise.
With a terrible crash he smashed through the stone. Shards of stone and masonry buzzing as they sprayed into the torchlit chamber that the foolish smoothskins had uncovered.
It knocked the dwarf down pinning him under some of the ceiling stones with the sickening crack of his femurs.
His voice had gone high-pitched with pain as he cursed in his guttural language, “You beast! Stupid animal! You’ve destroyed a priceless historical-”
Weak! Cull him from their brood!
Tok hefted the stone brick with one hand. Freeing the dwarf’s shattered legs.
The scholar had been the most frustrating, always blathering on. Always insulting. Always assuming that the brood were nothing more than animals. The warrior was quite sure it was this one’s idea to even go to the Belly of the World.
He would render the dwarf down and fry him in his own lard.
The third tried to drag himself backward. Speaking slowly, trying to gesticulate with his hands, though that made him slip with a wet splatter in the mud. Like he was speaking to someone of low capacity.
The predator could practically smell the fear of the obese dwarf as the scholar lifted hands banded with the yellow earthbone. “N-no! I can pay! I can get you meat! Food! What do you want? Slaves? I have connections! Just please let me live!”
Trading his life for someone else’s.
Tok’s eyes narrowed, growling and still holding the brick. Mosquitos buzzed and landed on his prey’s wobbling face. Getting a taste while the third still lived. Tok fully entered the ruin, squeezing past the hole he had made.
He filled the space. His head brushing the ceiling.
A lesson. The last one.
Thum-dum.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“Anything I want?” Tok asked, switching to the Third Genera’s language. Dwarvish.
The predator set down the piece of rubble. Gently, carefully. Squaring it with a few of the others in a mocking way. Glaring with unblinking eyes.
“A tempting offer.” He continued, switching to eighth genera. The common tongue. Brushing some dirt from the top of the brick. It was smooth and cool.
He watched in satisfaction as fear filled the Smoothskin’s eyes, the realization that Tok did understand him.
That he had understood all of them.
That he spoke multiple languages.
That he was intelligent.
The dwarf nodded. Tok could smell urine. He could hear the galloping of the dwarf’s pitiful heart. Even through all the blubber. The smoothskin panted like a canine. Jangled with all the pointless earthbone niceties of a race obsessed with dirt and digging.
Thum-dum.
Tok examined the trinkets. None were of the Third style.
This fool had done such things before.
He won’t again.
He met the morsel’s eyes with his own. Grunting in amusement as the scholar ground his teeth against the pain of shattered bone that tore through meat and clothing alike.
Render.
Thum-dum!
“Silence is my desire.” he said, lifting a claw.
“N-no wait! I ca-”
His claws squealed. Gouging and sparking against the stone as he slashed through the dwarf in a deluge of blood, quartering what was exposed of his body. The head rolling free.
He watched as the eyes twitched and went dim. He picked it up, staring into them. Tok deliberately turned to the stone he had brushed clean and cracked the dwarf’s skull open like an egg. Slurping up the rich fatty brain. Savoring it. He tossed it onto the corpse. He’d render all that down later.
Now for the butcher.
He turned and walked out, black scales caked with blood that was mostly not his own. He plucked arrows out from between his thick scales, pulling spears out of his haunches and tail. Minor annoyances.
Only one more.
Miscount.
Just the knight left… one.
Two with the horse he supposed.
He heard galloping. Also clanking.
The murderer.
He turned to face the sound.
The knight stared up at Tok, rattling in his armor as he rode.
Tok stepped out of the hole. Letting the knight see his full size, see that he was full grown. No longer a scared hatchling. No longer only two meters tall. He glared down at the aged foe turned prey. He snarled, lifting his bloody claws. He painted an oval on his sternum with the smoothskin blood.
Tok saw recognition dawn in the butcher’s eyes. Saw the shame.
How dare he feel shame!
Saw his own crimson scowl reflected in the pieces of armor that were still shiny, all around that hated icon of the faced sun.
“N-no! Demon! You challenge my faith again in my old age! I will not waver!” He shouted, words not suiting his actions well as he slammed down his helmet, hands shaking. He drew his war sword as his horse knickered in fear. Smelling the predator with flaring nostrils.
“I walk the hero’s path!” his voice echoed from within the helmet, sounding more confident, digging his heels into the horse’s flanks.
Hero’s path? Hero’s path?!
Tok roared. A positively elemental cacophony.
The horse, proving itself more intelligent than its rider, screamed in fear, rearing. Throwing the knight to the ground as it bucked and wheeled away. The murderer sprawled in the mud and ferns, struggling to get his feet under him. Fist clamped on his wavy bladed weapon.
The beast galloped off. Showing more sense than its master.
Tok’s eyes glanced at it, wanting to chase the beast. Instinct stirring.
Plenty of meat. Later.
The Blackscale looked down at the condemned. Thinking about boiled crustaceans. About the pleasure of plucking his limbs free and eating them, making the human watch.
About cruelty and payback.
“You will die forgotten, apostate.” He hissed.
“No! I will find the sword of Jonius! I will kill all of you scaled devils!” The knight screamed. It sounded like he had clenched his teeth as he forced himself to his feet. The dented earthbone creaking slightly.
Tok let him stand. This was ritual now.
“Age has made you weak, butcher.” Tok growled, lifting his head again, showing his crimson throat. “Your false god cannot save you this time.”
Thum-dum.
The calling was insistent. He couldn’t ignore it for long.
Need to finish this.
Kill!
From the rubble, a human neonate rushed forward, a war horn at his waist, solving that mystery. He had a hatchet raised in a fist. Not a weapon, a tool for processing firewood. He roared a fear-filled battle cry.
Thum-dum.
Tok paused. The post-hatchling was far too young to have been through the genocidal rampages of his Provider. Too old to be unaware of his foolish choice.
Observe. A pair. Miscount.
Tok sighed. The answer was clear.
A lesson before the end it seems.
Thum-dum.
He didn’t move, only looking back to the murderer, staring. Signaling the punishment to come. Just. Equivalent. If it could be said for one to take the place of the countless.
He saw the has-been’s hide go pale, realization cracking out of the shell in the knight’s mind as he charged too, shouting “No! Boy! Fin! Run! I order you to-”
“The hero guides me!” The boy screamed.
“No! Run boy!” The Knight was scrambling down into the pit.
Tok growled, bending low and casually knocked the boy down. He started to scramble up, glaring at the apex predator with hate. Swinging wildly with his camp tool.
Such a neonate.
Tok knocked the squire aside again. It wasn’t a challenge. There was no satisfaction, only a sense of obligation.
Bad Provider. A mercy.
Thum-dum.
The knight was still yards away, running. Tok glanced at him one last time.
He had to suppress his new seasonal instincts. One last duty to complete. The boy stood once more. Lifting his weapon to strike.
Feel my pain.
Tok’s head shot forward and snapped shut with a wet crunch.
Blood seeped out around his teeth, leaking down his jaw.
He could hear the screams of pain inside his mouth as the pair of legs flopped lifelessly to the ground. The hatchet clanged against a tooth. Chipping it slightly.
“No! Fin!” The murderer screamed. The boy continued to shriek in agony. The hatchet sinking into Tok’s gum. Pulling free painfully.
A hard lesson for all three of them.
Tok snapped three more times in quick succession. There was no need to prolong the neonate’s suffering. He spat out the hatchet before swallowing. A hand still gripped it. He looked at the Joniusian.
Searching.
There it is…
The well-deserved horror. The agony. The helplessness. The rage. All of them were the idiot knight’s eyes, barely visible through the slit of his helmet. He grunted in satisfaction.
Thum-dum.
The knight screamed, a wild crazed sound. A primal sound. As if he had been given back his own Instinct by his false god.
His sword shimmered with a vengeful light, and seemed to become lighter in his withered grasp. He swung madly at the Blackscale warrior, his loss focusing his hate into a final assault.
It was too little too late.
Tok stepped back away from the blade, the shimmering light of the faith of the has-been the only thing that could possibly be an inconvenience so far.
Thum-dum.
“Die in hate, pagan.” He snarled at the knight. Letting him tire himself out. Giving himself time to let the pent-up rage from twenty years agone cascade through his mind once more. The world turned red.
He tore a sapling from the ground as they danced back and forth. The fire, the moans of the dying, the blood and piss and death all bringing the Blackscale back to that time. Back to when he should have been stronger. Wiser. Better prepared.
Never again! He wouldn’t allow any of these scaleless devils threaten any of the brood again. He was a bulwark against them.
A protector. A Provider.
The sapling hummed in his hands.
He smashed the sapling against the war blade, and with a ringing ping it snapped in the middle. He swung the other way and the rest of the weapon sailed in the other direction.
Thum-dum!
The call only focused the hate that would never be quenched.
“For the unnamed!” He snarled in the truetongue, lifting a foot and slamming it down with a bellow. Crushing the knight beneath his heel. Grinding him literally into the dirt. The armor crumpled, gore and viscera spraying out of the gaps with the force of it. It hurt, slicing his foot, but the damage was only superficial.
A more than fair exchange. And yet never enough.
He stood alone once more in a sea of blood. Frustrated at the ease of his victory.
Thum-dum.
He ached to go. Needed to. The very world called to his Instinct.
Duty first.
He took the time to put everything back, especially the tablets and artefacts. He also buried all of the tools and supplies in there as well. Everything he couldn’t set ablaze or repurpose for his journey south.
No trace.
He made a point to roast what he could. To gorge himself on the convenient meat. He would need the energy. The entire time the very world rumbled in his mind. Calling, pulling, demanding that he go. He rendered the dwarf down, saving the grease after he ate the rich fatty meat.
He then set about planting the macabre display by the river. The corpses too destroyed to process. They could be used in other ways. He could have eaten the bones as well, but he saved some to scatter about.
A warning.
And when the gods finally restored the Smoothskin’s Instincts, these lessons might just stick. If they chose to remove that curse.
Eventually, Tok turned south, and started the trek to his next duty. Another would replace him in the intervening time. As crucial as it was to keep such knowledge out of the hands of the smoothskins, this new duty was even more important.
Thum-dum.
A Provider once more. The land sang its siren song to him, pulling him onward.
PATREON! It is currently at 20 chapters ahead, and will always be at least 15 ahead! All money there goes right back into making the series as good as I can, and every cent of it is appreciated more than I can say.