A sudden rustle shattered the fragile silence, and Baruch spun toward the sound, his body moving with the coiled reflexes of a seasoned guardian, every nerve poised and ready. Muscles tensed, senses sharpened, and he braced himself, ready for whatever might come crashing through the shadowed underbrush.
But it wasn’t a threat that emerged from the underbrush. Instead, two familiar figures stumbled forward—Carlos and Miguel, pale as graveyard wraiths, their eyes wide with raw terror. Their gazes were locked skyward, mouths open in silent dread, each breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts. Baruch could almost hear the wild drumming of their hearts, the frantic beat of panic threatening to shatter their ribs. Fear was a companion even he could not deny, but they… They were villagers, not warriors, men untrained and untested, and the monstrous shadow above had stripped away whatever shred of courage had carried them here.
“What in the Heavens are you doing here?” Baruch barked, his voice cracking with disbelief and irritation. The notion that they had followed him was absurd, a foolishness so raw and reckless it made his temper flare. Patience was a luxury he could ill afford, not when the air itself trembled with menace.
Carlos’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, fear clamping his throat tight before he managed a weak, tremulous whisper. “To… help?” The word barely made it past his lips, and in that moment, it was unclear whether he feared the creature above or Baruch more. Beside him, Miguel’s mouth opened, then closed unvoiced, terror robbing him of words. But despite his silence, the boy’s face held a kind of desperate bravery, a mask of determination carved over trembling bones.
Baruch’s jaw clenched, the reprimand burning on his tongue, ready to lash out. “I told you to—” he began, his voice spiking with anger, but the Prophetess’s voice sliced cleanly through his outrage, cutting him off with an authority that brooked no dissent.
“Let them be,” she said, her voice steady, with that edge of steel that made even Baruch swallow the rest of his rebuke.
Tabitha shook her head, a shadow of irritation flickering across her face, before she lifted her fierce, unyielding gaze to the skies. The creature's lazy, almost contemptuous circling gnawed at her patience, as if it believed itself untouchable. She drew a steady breath, her chest rising as she prepared to unleash her authority. When her voice rang out, it was sharp and commanding, a clarion call that seemed to lay claim to the very air, leaving no space for doubt or defiance.
“What is it you seek, beast?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the night with a power that brooked no defiance. “Speak your purpose, or begone!” Her challenge reverberated through the grove, a voice that had been forged in divine fires.
For a heartbeat, the monstrous thing paused mid-air, as if contemplating her defiance. Its vast wings, dark as sin, ceased their relentless drumming, and the oppressive rhythm of their flight melted into a breathless, aching stillness. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, leaving the clearing heavy with anticipation, as though all of nature had gone silent, waiting on the creature’s reply. The only sounds were the shivering rustle of leaves and the shallow, terrified breathing of the onlookers below.
Then, with the grim finality of a headsman’s axe, the creature began its descent. The air shuddered under the thunderous beat of its wings, shadows cascading across the clearing, devouring light and draining the world of all color. Its approach was deliberate, each wingstroke a display of terrible, menacing grace that made the ground quake beneath its immense power.
The creature's landing was a cataclysm that shook the very bones of the earth. The ground splintered and groaned as if crying out in anguish against the violation, cracks racing away from where the beast's talons had shattered it. The air filled with the splintering of stone and the sigh of ruptured roots, the young grove recoiling from the weight of a nightmare made flesh.
It was no ordinary beast but a waking nightmare, an embodiment of ancient malice and brutality. It was a grotesque monstrosity, a horror sculpted from darkness and rage. Worn by age and violence, the creature’s hide was twisted and jagged, a grotesque carapace as hard as iron, gleaming dully under the fractured moonlight. Four colossal wings folded slowly, their leathery membranes stretched tight like the canvas of some demon’s war drum. Talons as long as a man’s arm gouged the earth, each claw an executioner’s blade, ready to rend flesh and bone alike.
Its face was a vision from the deepest pits of the world’s nightmares—a bat-like snout lined with fangs serrated like butcher’s blades, glistening with venom that dripped in thick, steaming globs onto the forest floor. A reek of decay seeped from its maw, tainting the air with the stench of corruption. The glow of its eyes, red as blood and twisted with an unnatural intelligence, swept the clearing, devouring every detail, every soul, with a hunger that promised ruin.
Yet, despite the overwhelming menace of the beast, Tabitha did not falter. Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation crossing her face, as if the beast’s intrusion into her sanctuary was a personal affront. The courage in her stance was defiant, a queen guarding her realm against an invading terror.
"You should not have damaged this grove," she said, her voice level but tinged with iron. "This is my home."
The beast’s enormous eyes shifted, focusing on her with an intensity that made the shadows tremble. It regarded her with a predatory curiosity, a silent moment of appraisal, as though it understood her words. The curiosity in its expression felt disturbingly sentient, a reminder that this was no mindless horror but something far more insidious.
Tabitha stepped forward, each stride measured, a fearless command in the presence of destruction given form. Her presence was a flame in the dark, something no mortal hand could touch or diminish.
“Why have you come?” she demanded, each word carrying the weight of her authority, a power granted by the Heavens themselves.
The creature’s answer was a roar, a primal, earth-splitting cry. It was a sound of utter savagery, a noise so fierce and deep that the world itself seemed to buckle under its force. The blast of it ripped through the clearing, bending trees, scattering leaves like the ashes of a funeral pyre. Baruch’s ears rang, and for a moment, he could hear nothing but the echo of that monstrous bellow, a sound that seemed to carry the promise of the world’s end.
Yet, the destruction halted as abruptly as it began. The unyielding presence of the Prophetess instantly stilled the impending ruin, leaving only silence and a promise of safety.
The beast’s snout twisted in what could be mistaken for surprise, but it quickly lunged forward, jaws wide, dripping venom that hissed and burned the earth it touched. Its hunger was a living thing, a force that surged forward to consume, to obliterate. But Tabitha was ready. Her hands gripped something invisible to the eyes of ordinary beings—the thin threads reaching from deep within the earth to the air.
In that moment, the earth erupted in a flurry of motion, jagged spikes of earth thrusting upward to meet the beast’s charge. They drove into the creature's hide, impaling its dark flesh, each spike trapping the monster further in a cage of earth and pain.
The creature shrieked, its thrashing so violent that each movement sent tremors through the grove. Spikes shattered under the force of its struggles, but more emerged to replace them, closing around the monster with an unyielding force, binding it tighter, digging deeper.
The beast’s agony echoed, a chorus of pain that drenched the night, splattering the clearing with its thick, steaming blood. The more it struggled, the deeper the spikes drove into its flesh, tearing at muscle and tendons, a brutal reminder that this was Tabitha’s domain.
But even in pain, the creature did not relent. Its jaws stretched desperately toward her, snapping, venom still dripping from its fangs.
"Yield!" Tabitha’s voice rang out, firm and unwavering, each word edged in steel but tempered with the warmth of mercy. The command resonated across the clearing, weaving power and plea into one—a voice that had once made hardened kings kneel. In the face of the nightmare before her, she still believed in the strength of her compassion, that even now, in this chasm of rage and ruin, reason might triumph over violence.
Those around her could not help but admire her unshakable faith, her willingness to extend mercy even to something so grotesquely vile. Confident that she could subdue even this nightmare without spilling blood, she was radiant, steadfast, magnificent. And wrong.
For a moment, it seemed the beast might yield. It halted, hulking form stiffening, as though her words had found some place in its monstrous mind, red eyes narrowing to slits, almost thoughtful. But mercy and hope are noble gambles, often met with ruin rather than reward.
Baruch caught the motion too late: a ripple of muscle and the sudden shift of air, the violent shudder of the creature's pinned limb. Earthen spikes, thick and jagged, splintered as the beast wrenched its limb free. With a roar that tore through the night, it swung its massive claw. The strike came like a thunderbolt, a brutal flash of inevitability.
Tabitha had no time to brace, no breath to steel herself. The creature’s limb, wrenched free from its earthen prison, lashed out with a force that could have shattered mountains. The impact was merciless, sending her hurtling through the air as if she were no more than a rag doll caught in the fury of a storm, her body weightless and fragile against the monstrous strength that flung her aside.
Her flight was anything but graceful. She crashed through the canopy, branches clawing at her skin, snapping against her ribs with a grotesque crack. The earth rose to meet her in violent intervals as her body tumbled, striking roots and jagged stones, each collision wrenching more life from her battered form. By the time she finally skidded to a halt, the ground itself seemed to recoil from the force of her fall, the moss crushed and smeared with blood where she landed.
The grove itself seemed to shudder in denial. Tabitha, the unyielding Prophetess, lay crumpled and broken upon the ground, her body twisted, limbs bent at angles that nature never intended. Above her, the branches she had torn through hung still, as if mourning the violence inflicted on the one who once protected them.
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