She didn’t wait for it to notice her; she only had a small window.
Unhooking her rope from her belt, she heard Bryce’s call as he threw her lost whip to her. She managed to catch it by the handle with one hand. Then she flicked it forward, and it spun around the Duskwalker’s neck, giving her a makeshift rein to hold onto if he tried to buck her off.
She also threw the looped end of her rope. She wanted to get on her knees and thank the gods when it wrapped and then tightened around its closed beak. She used both the whip and the rope to keep herself to it, balancing herself on its back, as she spider-crawled her way forward.
“Pass, Em!” Bryce shouted, with his hands out.
She threw the rope to him. She doubted he wanted her whip – he wasn’t very adept at using one.
The moment he had it, he slid underneath the Duskwalker, threw the rope over its neck again, caught it once more, and threw the line back to her. All she had to do now was attach it to something.
It spun its head around a hundred and eighty degrees until it was looking down its back. She didn’t know why she paused, but she couldn’t help it. Its red orbs floating in its empty bony eye sockets struck her as soulless.
She’d never seen anything more terrifying.
She was snapped out of her trance when it snarled and darted its head towards her to peck. She stepped back and almost lost her footing on its spikes.
Using Emerie as a distraction, another whip bearer threaded a rope between its forelegs. The beast had too many foes to fight, and its attention kept bouncing between them all. It threw its head forward so it could untangle its legs, only to give a muffled roar, when a spear was slammed into its side.
Pulse racing, heart threatening to give out, and skin drenched in rain and sweat, she ran to its shoulders. She looped the rope around its neck to itself, knowing it wouldn’t last forever but should hold it for now.
Shit! The Duskwalker managed to pry its arms free. She was nearly out of time!
“Give me the rope!” she demanded with her hand out to those trying to hold its tail in place.
They threw it, and she tied both pieces together, stopping it from being able to properly use its tail to attack.
Then she jumped off, landing on a knee and hand, before diving for the end of her whip still attached to its throat. After a few failed attempts at shaking it to get the thong to release, she called soldiers to help her pull to distract it, while the whip bearer who had tangled its front paws earlier tried to recapture them.
Realising what was happening, the Duskwalker attempted to peck the Demonslayer between its legs. It couldn’t when it pulled on the rope Emerie had fixed to its tail. It shook its tail, but only the tip was free enough to swipe in short strikes.
Emerie had threaded its two most dangerous features to each other and rendered them useless. It bucked, trying to free itself, only to take away its own weight from its arms.
The person attempting to bind those limbs together finally won.
With the help of multiple people, they managed to get the Duskwalker to its belly by tripping it forward. It wriggled like a snake upon the ground to get free, but everyone pulled in opposite directions so it wouldn’t get any purchase.
The third and only other remaining member of her team worked on tying its lizard-shaped legs to its own tail, trapping it completely. It snarled and growled, uselessly lunging the sharp point of its beak and flicking the free part of its tail at anyone who tried to get close.
For the most part, the Duskwalker was immobile, but they’d work on completely entrapping it so it couldn’t move a muscle. She’d never been more thankful that the masked, magic-wielding humans from the temples had given them enchanted rope.
If only they were able to give them weapons that could easily kill.
Her part done, she stood off to the side, huffing wildly and watching everyone work.
She looked down at her shaking hands, her knees about to give out. How the fuck am I not dead?
The heavens hadn’t been especially kind to her in the past. Why were they so generous as to keep her breathing after riding this creature’s back like she was trying to tame a wild horse?
She was gobsmacked, but obviously relieved. She wasn’t ready to die, didn’t feel like she’d spilt enough Demon blood to make up for what they’d done to her, for what they’d… taken from her.
Then again, the night’s still young. She blinked through the rain, water fluttering from her eyelashes, as she looked up to the looming grey clouds. She noted the muted light of the moon behind them.
Her ears tingled with alertness, overloaded by the feral noises coming from the struggling monster, who was still wriggling like a worm.
In the background of her frazzled mind, she kept waiting for the second Duskwalker to show up, to defend and rescue its kind. Any minute now, and it would burst from the trees and slice her in half with a violent set of claws.
It never did.
Ingram knew how he found himself in his current predicament.
Well… at least why, since he didn’t quite remember the rest of his battle against the Demonslayers, nor when they’d managed to bind him. His rage had been so blinding that all he remembered was he felt pain, the smell of blood, and the sounds of people fighting… and dying.
I should not have come here.
When he’d approached the closest Demonslayer stronghold to Merikh’s cave, he’d done so cautiously. With his head lowered, showing a submissive stance, he’d come upon the gate.
There had been many eyes peering down at him from the wall of their stronghold. The shining moon behind the hazy clouds had highlighted the sharp glints of metal attached to wooden shafts – he didn’t know the name of the tools, but they appeared to require the use of string to propel them forward.
A bell had rung loudly and annoyingly from within the keep.
I just wanted to speak with them.
Was it him bashing on the gate that incited their rage, or was it fear? He just wanted to be invited inside, like he and Aleron had watched other humans do for each other at their human huts. Knocking, he thought it might be called.
It mattered naught. A pointy stick had launched straight into his chest.
Startled by the suddenness of it, the pain of it, and the betrayal of it, he’d let loose a bellow. Then more rained down upon him.
He’d never gotten the chance to speak, and he remembered very little after that.
One thing he was acutely aware of was… he’d eaten a lot. And the more he’d eaten, the dizzier he got, the more energetic he became, and the harder he ruthlessly fought. The more they hurt him, the more he sought to replenish himself with their meat.
He’d been battling his fury, his confusion, his body changes, and random straying thoughts bludgeoning their way into his expanding mind as much as the attacking humans.
Their identical uniforms ensured he remembered no faces, and at one point, he’d begun to see them as Demons.
The Witch Owl was right. There are no friends here.
Bound and alone in a windowless stone room, he let out a whine with his sight a morose shade of blue. Aleron…
He wished he could move. He couldn’t even turn his head to fully take in what captured him so totally in place.
Currently, he was trapped on his knees, part of his back flush against some sort of board and mechanism, with his arms stretched backwards. It was obvious he was too tall for this contraption, and his legs had been tucked underneath the board to accommodate his large frame. Chains had been threaded around the length of his biceps and forearms, and his shoulders were turned so far back that he worried any tension would dislocate one.