Runeblade

Hidden stakes, tucked between boulders and hidden within mounded deadwood, lit up with a faint ghostly light as Porkchop crossed through the ward.

He paused, tilting his head at the closest one. A common beast would have noticed the dim flash of mana, and wouldn’t just ignore it. Ambling over, he shoved his snout into a crack in the rocks, flinging aside a boulder with one claw. It tumbled loudly into the gorge. Picking up speed, it slammed into another pile of stones — and split with a echoing crack, sending dust high into the air.

There, that should do it. If the fools somehow missed him tripping the ward, they would notice that.

Ears trained firmly towards the camp, he easily picked up the chorus of surprised shouts, and the sounds of men madly scrambling into action.

“Ward’s been tripped!” someone yelled.

“I have eyes! Looks like some sort of dire badger!” another called from higher up — they must have been watching from the natural fortifications on the edge of the camp.

Porkchop fought against the urge to snarl, his top lip twitching. A dire badger?!

“Kenva, please make sure to shoot this man in the face,” Porkchop sent to the ranger, pushing along the impression of the man’s voice.

A ghost of mirth flowed through his temporary connection with his teammate, a pale shadow of his bond with his brother. “I don’t think I'll need to — he’s gathering at the muster point. Look for the one wearing a red shirt and breastplate.”

Perfect! That one died first.

A familiar hunger pounded through him at the thought of cracking open the man’s armour like a nut. This would be a brawl to remember, and in simple minutes the ravine would flood with the scent of spilled blood. He could already feel bones breaking beneath his claws.

Rare was a hunt against so many, and even rarer was the one where he could cut loose without reprisal. They were so weak. And he was strong.

Though, perhaps not as strong as he could be. He would need to be careful about the skills he used, and how badly he crushed them. Beastknight’s Hide, Totem of the Glade, and Ethereal Phalax were all right out. Using those Skills might give away the game that he was no simple beast.

He couldn’t thrash them too much, either. He needed to put them on the back foot, but make them believe they had a chance if they just had enough bodies to throw at him. The more he could pull away from the camp, the better.

In the distance, more than a dozen men charged out of the camp, every pounding step joined by the rustle of chain, and rapidly barked commands.

“Split into two groups! It’s a big bastard, so harass it as much as possible from a distance — it’ll wreck our lines if we let it get close!”

That he absolutely would. He stiffened, pulling back from the scent of damp silt and cold iron. Down the gorge, two groups of eight men ran at him full tilt. Each had six men in the lead, long spears towering high above them, and round shield strapped to their arms. Both groups had archers behind the front line, three with longbows and one with a brace of javelins. Most were Steel, but they did have three Silvers — one of them wearing a red shirt on the forward flank of the left group.

They were moving quickly, tearing across the quarter-league that separated them. Porkchop had no intention of waiting patiently.

Fangs bared in a hungry snarl, he drank deep of the mana-rich air, standing tall as he stared down the approaching men. They were so confident. Let it be their downfall.

He roared, rearing high as he threw every scrap of battlelust and huntjoy he had into the sound: the wet sting of splitting hide and torn muscle, and the dull ache of shattered bone; the soft give of flesh, and the fragile rigidity of metal and shell — and most of all the welling warmth of blood gushing down his throat.

The Dominance of Claw howled through the gorge, bouncing off the cliffs to double and double again. Shrieking birds fell silent, and one of the distant men stumbled — as if he had been struck physically.

Sixteen sets of eyes burned with the vigour of battle, his challenge gnawing at their minds until they were forced to think of him and him alone.

Porkchop fell to all fours. He charged, thick dusk swirling beneath his feet as his claws ripped grooves through the stone.

He was so dainty without his armour! Every bound carried him thrice as far, his weight halved by the lack of his titanic plate.

“Ready!” a silver at the head of the right group yelled. The bandits lowered their spears, grouping for his charge.

The scent of their sweat was rich, flooding his snout with every breath. It carried a subtle bite. Fear.

Porkchop bared his teeth. It was almost admirable, how they faced him when they were so small and weak.

Power flooded from his soul, surging through his body to gather in his paws. Stone fractured as he shot forward, the ground quaking with his footfalls. Hardened spikes of orichalcum ruptured through blade stone like jabbing spears.

“Hold!” the red-shirted Silver yelled, bracing the butt of his spear against the ground. “It’ll baulk!”

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The archers fired. Three gleaming arrows sank into his chest, each a burning spike of pain. He ran on, the shafts snapping as his muscles tightened around him. Health roared, forcing the shards free from his hide, a steady stream of blood choking out as his wounds closed.

The men stayed steady as he picked up more speed.

More arrows flew, slamming into him — pathetic things he ignored. A hundred strides from the group, the javenlineer hurled his spear. It shot from his hand with a crack of shattered air, flying flat and true as the man’s Skills went to work.

It was fast; he was faster.

A single swipe shattered the javelin. Three men flinched at the sudden violence of the sound.

He hit the spear wall, eyes only for the man in red. Twelve steel-tipped spikes ripped through his hide, punching deep into his chest. He dove deeper. Wooden hafts exploded in their owners’ hands, the first-tier artefacts unable to stand up to his violence.

His flesh roiled around the skewering stakes, blood flooding his lungs — a wounding sting that only heightened the terrible energy that fueled him. Men screamed as his own spikes erupted underneath them, flinging them from their feet and punching into their legs. He crashed into the line, shields splintering as he fractured their unity.

Porkchop lunged for the Silver in red. Mana burst through the man’s legs as he threw himself to the side. Three more covered his retreat, splintered shields held high as they swung. A single swipe sent them sprawling, costing only a few deep gashes on his arm. Opening his maw wide, Porkchop lunged towards his target. A wave of blood gushed free, he ignored it and snapped the man up by his chest. Fangs punched through chain and plate. The bandit screamed for a bare second, falling silent as his chest popped.

A growl of savage joy rumbled in his throat when he heard the chime signalling the man’s death. He was not a bloody badger.

“Kanis!”

Porkchop flung the body to the side, bowling over the screaming man who ran at him with a drawn sword.

“It’s wounded! Bleed it till it dies!”

Four men charged at his flank, swords drawn. He ignored the bite of steel, jagged metal surrounding his forepaw. Bearing down on another bandit, he smashed at their shield. It shone, surrounded by the image of a rectangular greatshield of wavering green energy. He shattered the Skill and the arm behind it, flinging the man aside.

The bandits spread out, quickly realising that grouping tight wasn’t helping them. Again and again he felt the bite of steel, pouring blood leaving his fur sodden and crimson. He fought on undeterred, raking through armour and smashing men to the ground. By the matriarchs, this was fun — they were practically letting him batter them.

“Fuck, it’s not slowing down! We need more men!”

Bloody finally — he’d already killed three of them, and half of the rest were lingering at the edges of the battle, warily jabbing at him every time he drew close. Even the archers had backed up, firing at him again and again. At this point he felt like target practice — his back was more fletching than fur!

“What the fuck is this thing made of!”

Stronger stuff than a bandit in rusted chain, that was for sure. Porkchop lunged at the man, swiping at the bandit’s blade — though he pulled himself up short as two more punched into his chest. Savage joy welled up as his target stumbled back, nearly falling. He longed to lunge after the man, steel in his chest or no, but he couldn’t make the group feel too outmatched.

In response, another bandit ripped a runed metal stake from his belt, flooding it with mana — a copy of the ones that had been used to build the ward at the mouth of the gorge.

Over the shouts of frightened men, Porkchop heard movement in the camp. They’d called for reinforcements — this charade would end soon enough.

…

“It’s certainly a savage creature, isn’t it?” Kel murmured.

They sat at the end of the gorge, only a few hundred strides from the wall of darkness that swallowed it whole. Sheltered by low hanging branches, and a tall bunch of bushes, they had a relatively open view of the entire ravine from the top of the cliff. They could see the camp, and the dozen men that still lingered, peering over its wall nervously, and the group of reinforcements that was racing towards the far end of the ravine.

Towards a slaughter.

Julian shifted in his saddle, watching the blood-soaked monstrosity tear through men like so much bundled wheat. Roars echoed, two defenders tumbling through the air as the massive greater beast smashed through their defences. Dozens of weeping wounds littered its body to no effect. Hells, Julian wasn’t even sure if Porkchop could feel them.

Porkchop bit down on a shield, metal deforming as he flung another to the side. A ghostly lion’s head popped into existence, ripping into the chest of another.

Yet for all the violence, few bandits had fallen. Broken and bruised, Porkchop brutalised them to the verge of breaking their spirits — but never quite crossed the line. He could even see them rallying — grouping into a loose formation as they spotted the rapidly approaching reinforcements.

Did the beast even need their help? No doubt Kaius and the rest of his team had something planned.

He drifted back to the men still in the camp. There had to be men in the large marque, watching the archivist, and for all the archers on the walls were firing on Porkchop, they would still be a threat to their target.

Straightening in his saddle, Julian rolled the thought over in his mind. A bright mind was a flexible one, and he could work with the plain evidence in front of him. Porkchop was playing with those men — and he hadn’t even donned his heavy plate.

“Change of plans, we strike for the camp. There’s too many still inside the walls — someone is going to take Kanmost hostage. We need to stop the men on the wall from reaching him. Adrian can handle a couple of thugs, but much more than that and someone might slip a knife through before we can stop them.”

Edmund spun towards him, his leather saddle creaking. “Are you certain? The creature faces more than thirty men.”

Julian waved his hand towards the battle as Porkchop tossed a man thirty strides through the air. He screamed the entire way.

“Look at that and tell me you see anything other than a creature playing with its food. The rest of the delver team hasn’t even engaged yet. I’d say they have it handled — their main problem will be simple numbers. As strong as Kaius is, securing the archivist will be difficult with a single man.”

The surging reinforcements reached the mouth of the gorge, another two dozen men flooding around Porkchop to surround him on every side. Jabbing spears and hacking blades fell on him like rain, ripping through his hide. A tearing growl ripped out of his throat as glinting, dark heavy plate snapped into existence.

Julian tightened his grip on his reins, poised to spur his charger off the cliff. He could feel the moment.

“Ready yourselves,” he commanded, slamming down his visor and drawing his blade.

As his men moved to obey an explosion of mana ripped open the sky, revealing a glinting black void. One centred directly over the brawling greater beast at the mouth of the gorge.

“Charge!”

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