Predator

The man ran. Through the fire and the smoke, through the countless figures running en masse across the streets, he ran. The rifle was heavy and cumbersome in his hands. His ears were ringing with the infernal echo of chaos. Screams. Explosions. Cries for help. Deaf pleads for lost parents. And he was in the middle of it all, his mind racing.

He couldn’t do this. He was convinced he couldn’t do it. But he had to. Think, he told himself, think. Think on your ranch in the outskirts of town. Think on your precious cows. Think on Ophelia, your wife, your love, with her hair that always smells of wafelberries. Think on Ellis, sweet little Ellis, so young and so innocent…He had to do it. Do it for them.

Hinchcliffe wanted everyone to gather at the town square. Together they would fight back. There was enough firepower. They could do it. They would get rid of this terror. They were going to save this town!

The sound of the crowd changed so suddenly he almost didn’t notice it. Shrieks, incoherent yelling, shouted half-words. The same panic, the same fear and yet it was different. Intense, sudden, almost like….more immediate. A fraction of a second later and a row of houses on the left exploded outward in swollen bulges of rubble and dust. And as he turned away from the blast, pelted by thousands of tiny fragments, the source of their terror came into view.

Oh yes, there it was, mountainous apparition of incredible muscle and unyielding bone under impenetrable scale. Limbs thicker than the thickest of trees weighted down by rendering talons. Razor-toothed maw gaped and gnashed, overflowing with venomous, sloppy ichor. And the eyes! What to say about those hateful, hateful purple eyes? It was so human, and yet there was no chance of the tiniest shred of humanity in that thing. It was the Outlaw, the Terror Dragon, Felarya’s Wrath.

The town had always bragged about the quality of its cattle. Now they could say they attracted a devil.

It was like a hurricane. The behemoth tore apart everything in its way, as if the town was but made of feeble crackers. Most of the stampeding crowd actually turned back, acting more of instinct than common sense, trying to run another way. Horrible mistake; the beast plunged its scarred hands into the living river again and again, scooping up scores of hysterical victims and consuming them. Dear Minalca, even from his position he could hear their horrible screams, the sickening crunch of their bones. It rained blood and body parts and the few that slipped from its ravenous grasp, plummeting down to be lost in that writhing mass. And even those that weren’t caught were suffering, for the beast carelessly stomped on those beneath him. So many people….Minalca….so many good people….


No! Don’t panic! Think on your family!

With his heart about to jump out of his throat the man raised his rifle, but the frightened masses bumped and pushed him out of the way, preventing any shot. A couple times he found himself slumped against a wall and the escapees almost broke his legs walking over them. All those familiar faces, all those people he had seen so many times, now stopping at nothing to ensure they lived. And above them all the horror kept feasting, its heavy footsteps shaking the ground like a drum-beat of impending doom. Where the hell were Hinchcliffe and the others? Why was no one doing anything??

Suddenly there came the moaning sound of a battle horn, followed by the unmistakeable crackling of gunfire and the roars of the monster. Pained and weighted down by his weapon, the man sprinted up the worn-down stairs of the nearest alley for a better look, and saw dozens of horse-riding figures, all of them yelling in encouragement and charging at the monster shotguns ablaze. It was Guybrush and his men! The apparition roared in furious pain, reaching its own face to protect it, but the riders gave it no break, blasting at it at every opportunity. Its titanic tail swung and shattered the surrounding roofs like a wood chipper, and Guybrush still would hold his ground, shouting orders at his people amidst the chaos. The man took the chance and provided fire of his own, rifle now proving itself useful at last. He had never been so happy of seeing Guybrush before. They were making it happen! They were beating this horror!

They were gone almost instantly.

In a tremendous display of power the demon charged forward with arms open, and the street was utterly wrecked in seconds. Rubble and people flew through the air, even the riders and their horses. And he sure as hell knew that was Guybrush in the behemoth’s jaw when the move connected.

He still couldn’t tell if it was him or the horse that wailed so unearthly

This wasn’t happening, he repeated to himself, this wasn’t happening….

His legs finally failed him, making him fall on his knees in sheer shock, just in time to see balls of fire and smoke hitting the horror’s back and detonating. Hinchcliffe had the cannons!

And he saw the monstrosity stand up again, shrugging off the surprise attack

And he saw its enormous face, twisted in the most horrible expression, overflowing with all-burning hatred

And he heard it open its maw again and roar, roar with the voice of a raging volcano that couldn’t be stopped.

It wouldn’t be stopped.

The piles of dead trees they set on fire didn’t deter it

The pike traps that managed to pierce its hide –and still clung to it- didn’t slow it down

It didn’t stop at the shotguns, and it wasn’t going to stop at the cannons

It wasn’t going to stop at all


Ophelia, Ellis….think on them, think on….


To hell with this.

To hell with Hinchcliffe, to hell with the town, to hell with EVERYTHING.

He was going to get his family, and he’d get them out of this shithole. That’s the only way they were going to be safe.


Hurriedly he got up, stormed back to the streets between strained panting, and joined the flood of escaping townsfolk. No one noticed him, and no one cared. Most of the people are injured, and yet they keep shoving each other out of the way like they were in top form. The man does the same. He ran. He forced his way through. He was going to find his way back home. Find the woman of his dreams, his sweet little son, and then they would escape. They would live.

Everything shook violently, two terrible blows in the distance like fists coming down on something

And the ground split open with the most terrifying groan, and the hordes of hollering people were sucked down

Before the man plunged into the darkness, he could smell wafelberries.


Grendel looked around him, standing alone in what had been another human nest. Where once had been houses and bountiful fields and proud walls there was now a small sea of ruin, broken masses of wood, bone, stone and countless dead bodies half buried by the broken ground. Most of it let out thick pillars of smoke and dust, while other parts of it were still on fire, crackling quietly under the afternoon sun.

And at this sight the great squamataur was actually smirking. He was tired and bruised, some metal-tipped pikes were still embedded in his scar-crossed flesh, and he had even gotten some minor burns, but his stomach was pleasantly full. Stupid manlings…for all their bragging, those walls and shelters and fiddly things they so loved couldn’t do squat to defend them. They’re all just the same, he swore. They never get what was their place in this world, and he went and shoved it in their dumb faces

Some days it just felt good to be a predator.