Chapter 55: Beast Tamer Moti
Following the Iron Fangs through that sea of teeth and claws was like trying to swim upstream in a river of pure hatred. There was no elegant strategy, no clever flanking maneuvers. There was only the relentless, grinding physics of survival, and the Fangs were a force of nature unto themselves.
Kaku was the tip of the spear, an unstoppable engine of destruction. His great axe wasn't a blade; it was a tectonic event. Each swing didn't just kill a beast; it erased it from existence, transforming muscle, bone, and sinew into a fine red mist. He moved with a shocking grace for his size, every step deliberate, every pivot clearing a swath of space. The beasts, for all their mindless fury, seemed to instinctively fear him, flinching back from the whirlwind of black iron.
Sheyla was his shadow, a deadly complement to his brute force. Where he created openings with overwhelming power, she flowed into them. Her curved sword flickered like a serpent's tongue, finding gaps in armor, severing tendons, opening arteries. She moved with a dancer's precision, a constant, lethal motion around Kaku's anchor-point, ensuring nothing could attack him from the sides or rear.
Kail provided a different kind of cover. He never stood still, leaping onto the backs of fallen beasts or finding precarious perches on chunks of rubble. His bowstring hummed a constant, deadly melody. Each arrow of silver light punched through skulls with the force of a crossbow bolt, or pinned smaller, faster creatures to the ground like insects in a collection. He created pockets of safety, his aim so preternaturally accurate that any beast that broke through the front line was dead before it could take two steps toward the rest of us.
Trent was the calm in the eye of the storm. He never rushed, never wasted a shot. His heavy crossbow thwumped with a rhythmic, mechanical certainty. He targeted not the closest threats, but the most dangerous ones, a shaman gathering fire in the distance, a hulking boar preparing to charge. Each of his bolts was a sentence of death, delivered with cold, impersonal efficiency.
Freya and I fought in their wake, guarding their backs alongside the few remaining volunteers. My world had shrunk to the few feet around me. A wolf lunged; I sidestepped and took its head. A boar charged; I met it with my sword buried in its shoulder, using its own momentum to drag the blade down its flank. My Ki burned through me, fueling my reflexes, making my movements a blur. I was a machine of reaction, my mind empty of everything but the next threat, the next parry, the next kill. Freya was a rock beside me, her swordplay economical and deadly, her presence a silent anchor in the chaos.
We were a moving island of violence, carving a bloody path through the horde. The beasts kept coming, a seemingly endless tide, but the Fangs were an unstoppable current pushing against it.
Then, we reached the edge.
The press of bodies suddenly thinned. We had fought our way to a slight rise, a natural berm of rock and earth. And there, standing in a clearing perhaps a hundred yards away, was the source of it all.
The lion was even more massive up close, a living mountain of obsidian muscle. Its black fur wasn't just a color; it was an absence of light, a void that seemed to drink the moonlight. Each breath it took rumbled like distant thunder, and the ground trembled with its slightest shift in weight. Its eyes were pools of molten amber, burning with an ancient, predatory intelligence. Just looking at it made a primal part of my brain scream in terror.
Perched on its back, just behind its monstrous head, was the cloaked figure.
Kaku didn't even look back at us. His voice was a low growl that carried over the snarling of the encircling beasts. "The rest are yours. The lion and the rider are ours."
Kail, nocking another arrow, didn't take his eyes off the colossal creature. "Brace yourselves," he said, his melodic voice sharp with warning. "The air is curdling. The real power is about to unveil itself. This is where the game begins."
As if on cue, the cloaked figure moved.
A thin, pale hand emerged from the voluminous black sleeve. With a gesture that was both languid and contemptuous, it reached up and pushed back its hood.
The face that was revealed was not what I expected. It wasn't a monstrous visage or a demonic skull. It was… a man. A scrawny, almost sickly-looking man with skin so pale it seemed translucent in the gloom. A shock of spiky, ink-black hair stuck out in chaotic tufts from his head. His features were sharp and angular, his nose thin and pointed. But it was his eyes that held you. They were a flat, lifeless grey, like dirty ice, and they held a disdain so profound it felt like a physical weight.
He looked down at us from his living throne, and a slow, condescending smile stretched his thin lips. It was a smile that knew it held all the power.
"Well, well," his voice was a reedy, nasal thing, yet it carried with an unnatural clarity, slithering into our ears over the din. "The little insects have finally mustered the courage to leave their crumbling hive. And you even brought the famous Iron Fangs. How… predictable."
He sighed, a theatrical, bored sound. "I must admit, you put on a moderately entertaining show. Watching you scramble, thinking your petty lives actually matter… it has its charms." He patted the lion's neck affectionately. "But all good entertainments must reach their finale."
He leaned forward slightly, those dead grey eyes scanning our group, lingering for a moment on Kaku's axe, on Kail's bow, before finally settling with a flicker of amusement on me.
"My name is Moti," he announced, as if bestowing a great honor upon us. "Though you may know me as the Beast Tamer. A crude title, but it suffices." He gestured vaguely at the sea of creatures that still surrounded us, held back by some unspoken command. "All of this? This is merely the overture. A test of your city's pathetic mettle. You see, I am not some mindless beast-herder. I am a connoisseur of chaos. A sculptor of ruin. And your city… your proud, stubborn little Torak… is my newest medium."
His smile widened, showing small, sharp teeth. "You thought killing a goblin chief was a victory? You merely pruned a weed. I have been cultivating this garden for a long, long time. And now, the harvest is ripe."
He straightened up, his expression shifting from bored amusement to cold, absolute authority. "The Iron Fangs. I have heard of you. You have a certain… reputation. It would be a waste to simply have you torn apart by the rabble." He gestured to the massive lion beneath him. "I shall give you the honor of a personal audience. Let us see if your fangs are as sharp as the stories claim."
Moti's eyes then slid to Freya and me, and the soldiers still standing with us. The disdain in them deepened into something colder, more final.
"As for the rest of you… the distractions…" He made a faint, flicking motion with his fingers. "My pets are hungry. Do try to die screaming. It adds a certain spice to the air."
The beasts surrounding us, which had been held in a tense, quivering stillness, erupted forward with a unified, deafening roar. The audience was over. The final act had begun.
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