Soon, they heard barking. The sound spurred them to move faster.

  There wasn't a second to rest. Immediately, they began tying vines to the Red seeker, dragging it toward the open field where they had set the pit trap.

  Blood and sweat poured from their efforts, but the bird, now lifeless, came easily.

  They reached the pitfall trap and placed the Red seeker's body behind the trap.

  They picked up the heavy bone shields they had made from the caterpillar and the wooden shields carved from the forest's massive branches.

  Meanwhile, the messengers ran ahead, setting trailing strings on fire.

  Loud barks and sounds of many hungry things echoed through the forest. Then, the six-legged hounds came.

  They were mangy, black beasts resembling mastiffs with blood-red eyes. Their claws and fangs were massive, and from their shoulders grew four jagged horns that protected their necks.

  Two additional horns curved forward from their heads, shaped for impaling and tearing apart prey.

  The hounds barked furiously, enraged that their favored meal was being blocked. They stalked closer, and the shield holders tightened formation.

  The dogs began spreading out, looking for an opening—only for the lit fire bombs to explode, surrounding them in a ring of flames.

  The dogs outside the fire fled, but seven remained—more than enough.

  They barked wildly, glancing behind them for an escape, but there was none. Only one section of the fire circle remained open. The one right behind Matthew and the rest of the group

  So, they charged.

  They snapped at the six shield bearers, trying to get around or leap past the shield wall with their six powerful legs, but were met with the remaining group members, who jabbed at them with wooden pikes.

  The fight dragged on, the dogs growing increasingly impatient as they failed to break through. The dogs were tricky fast and dangerous, they had to maintain a closed wall while defending bites at their ankles

  Each time they lowered to defend their ankles the remaining people behind them had to stop the hounds from jumping over the wall with warning jabs.

  The shieldbearers were wrought with sweat, their bodies trembling under the strain. Behind them, Matthew felt like a puppet, each movement defying the crushing fatigue that clawed at him. It was obvious in everyone—especially those who had been chased by the Red Seeker.

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  By all rights, they should have collapsed, their bodies betraying them, succumbing to exhaustion. They had every reason to sit down and say, Enough. We've done all we can.

  But they didn't.

  They kept moving, pushing past the limits they once thought unbreakable—beyond the horror, the anguish, the madness of their situation.

  With every strike against the hounds, they poured their hatred and desperation into each blow—fast, vicious, and unrelenting.

  Then, the moment came. Matthew ordered, "Now!"

  The shield wall suddenly parted.

  The dogs saw the opening and took it instantly, rushing through. They barked and snapped as they passed, but the wooden pikes kept them in line.

  One by one, they plunged into the pit trap.

  All except one—who scrambled at the edge, about to escape.

  Joey shoved it in with his pole, exhaling hard before collapsing to his knees in exhaustion.

  "Damn my life," he muttered.

  They watched with disgust as the dogs began ripping the parasitized corpse apart, taking care to avoid the flower and tear its stem apart, finally ending the creature.

  They all stood above the pit. The dogs barked at them, struggling against the oil-coated walls, trying to climb out.

  Four people held long, sharp pikes. Two threw in their last fire bombs, turning the pit into a fiery hell, filling the air with anguished cries that chilled their already pained, tired hearts.

  They twisted their faces in reluctance before they began stabbing the dogs with the long poles. Whenever one tried to climb, someone would kneel near the edge of the pit and use a shorter pike to stab and beat them back down.

  One of the dogs was stabbed in the eye. The squirming, skin-crawling sensation startled the loadbearer with the short pike, making him let go of it. Joey clicked his tongue.

  "Get it together, man. We can't waste those."

  The loadbearer kept his eyes on the burning pit, disgust, regret, and anger passing through him before he exhaled and replied despondently, "Whatever."

  Joey frowned, wanting to push the matter, but Matthew patted him on the back.

  "Something is over there."

  He alarmed the group, pointing toward the movement of trees in the distance.

  They doused the fire and began cutting apart the prey, leaving the butchering to the loadbearers who had experience. They supported them, lifting sections of bleeding meat, pushing the blades through tough portions. Some of the meat had to be abandoned after a long disagreement—the butchers claimed it was spoiled in their hurry.

  They packed so much that their loads became too heavy. Matthew carried little, since they had another problem—the Second Navigator seemed to have sustained a concussion. Matthew supported him as they retreated toward their rope ladder at the edge of the stage.

  As they ran, the trees moved and trembled. The monstrous sounds were getting closer.

  Kirk swore repeatedly. "No, no, fuck No! We can't abandon all this for whatever the fuck that is!"

  One of the loadbearers shouted in rage, "Navigators, were you fuckers sleeping? No monsters the size of a building were mentioned!"

  Joey snarled, "Shut up, you stupid—! We mentioned nothing like that because there wasn't anything that big! How the fuck do you think we'd miss that?"

  The cowardly loadbearer from Matthew's group was crying uncontrollably.

  "I want to go home! God, please help me! I—I don't want to die!" he shouted hysterically.

  It kept getting closer. Matthew's heart chilled. Would they abandon their supplies? Would he leave the Second Navigator? whom he struggled to carry?

  Soon, cold logic would overpower the soft part of his heart that struggled and screamed against it.

  He closed his eyes, barely holding back a scream of frustration as hot tears streamed down his face.

  The treeline parted.

  The overwhelmingly massive beast passed by.

  It was midnight black, its fur short and straw-like. Its large head had six alien, maroon-blue eyes.

  It was quadrupedal, with massive forelegs, larger than its hind legs, similar to an elephant. But its tusks—two powerful, shining masses—were inscribed with strange, glowing arcane patterns.

  Matthew couldn't even comprehend the size. He had seen elephants in South Africa before, unstoppable masses of flesh capable of trampling anything in their way. But this—this was indescribable.

  The trees he had once admired for their sheer mass were pushed aside like grass by the horrifying bulk of the creature.

  This isn't even normal anymore. How can something like that even move? It's like a walking building.

  They all fell to their knees, overwhelmed by the indescribable awe and horror of the beast.

  This wasn't like the monsters they had killed.

  It was a monarch—something that needed no intelligence like humans but couldn't be insulted with the moniker of a mere beast.

  Its majestic black form blotted out the sky, its glowing white tusks shining like weapons of Armageddon.

  Escape?

  Impossible.

  The monarch looked down at them and cooed softly, a sound like a blue whale's song. But its voice didn't deafen them—it swept over them with a weight that permeated their entire beings, filling them with an invisible authority.

  And then, the monarch turned and continued walking.

  They remained silent, watching its massive form move away. They held their breath in quiet reverence. Some bowed, crying with immeasurable gratitude.

  They hugged each other—thankful for the warmth of the living, for the light still in their eyes, illuminating the dark forest.