Lerann walked down the stairs of his tower. He found his apprentice on the second floor studying Ofin’s exploration of the Tellish language. An old tome that had given him quite a few insights into the art of inscription.

It was written by a scholar who studied the ancient civilisation and didn’t deal with either magic or runes. Often the answers to what you were searching for were found in the most unlikely of places.

“He didn’t show up?” He asked.

Ivy shook her head. “No. Still no sign of him.”

Lerann frowned. Certainly, the beggar wouldn’t abandon half his reward? And there didn’t seem to be any dangerous side-effects. Perhaps some condition that set in over time? Should he have kept him in the tower for the night?

Lerann sighed. He was treading unknown ground here.

The problem was that there were just too many possibilities. Perhaps the boy had gotten sick after he left, the strain on his spirit too much to handle. The spirit was known to shape the body, after all. But the boy wasn’t even a partial, the integration between spirit and body should be negligible.

Perhaps he was robbed by some other street dweller, and his body would be found floating in the river or lying in a ditch somewhere.

Too many possibilities.

If only he had been able to lower the strain of the spell. Then he could have run all the tests he wanted right after. As it was, the modified resurrection nearly brought him to dangerous territory. That was something he would definitely need to work on with the next version.

“Maybe he spent some of the coin and got drunk. He could be sleeping it off somewhere right now,” Ivy said, seeing his expression.

“Hmm. We’ll give it the rest of the evening. If he doesn’t show up, I want you to notify the cityguard tomorrow morning. Go to the commander and give him the boy’s description. If he is found I want him brought here. If he’s dead, I want his corpse.”

Holin looked over the hunters gathered in the small clearing. Twenty-six in total. Their team of seven, and nineteen more from Riversedge. All of them were currently listening to Rhone as he laid out the basics of a plan.

“We’ll strike hard and fast,” Rhone was saying. “My team will move in first. Holin and I will bind the beast to limit its movement.”

“Kali,” he continued, looking at the woman in question. “Try to distract it as we do so. That goes for any other bowmen here as well. The rest of you, wait for us to plant the bindings, then move in. And don’t get hit. You won’t survive if you do.”

“My team will follow my orders,” a young man said, stressing the word.

Holin rolled his eyes. A noble’s son who fancied himself a hunter. He was covered in inscribed armour and trinkets.

Not even Rhone had that much runic equipment, despite being the strongest partial Holin had seen. Rhone had six inscribed pieces. His spear and five bands of steel that were incorporated into the armour around his chest, arms and legs.

Compared to that, every piece of the noble’s equipment seemed to carry at least one inscription. Given his age, Holin doubted the man would even be able to activate half of them before breaking his mind.

The other members of the noble’s team, two shield bearers, a spearman and three bowmen, exchanged glances. Some looked a bit conflicted between supporting their leader and challenging a member of the Order of Thal.

“We’ll move in when we judge it ready,” the noble continued. “Not when you judge it to be, beastblighted.”

“Watch your tone, boy!” A man from one of the other teams said. A northerner by the look of him.

“You watch yours nightlover,” one of the shield bearers replied with a sneer.

The northerner’s face turned red, the colour all the more prominent on his pale skin. The same skin that was shared by half of the Order members.

The northerner was about to reply but was stopped when the leader of his team, a grizzled man with a stony face, laid a hand on his arm.

Rhone turned his focus to the noble. “Have you fought a behemoth before? Seen one? No? I have.”

If the noble had something to say, then Rhone’s gaze had strangled it in his throat. Rhone held the man’s eyes for a good while. The utter disinterest in his red eyes seemed to convey his regard of the man. Yet, at the same time, something in his posture warned anyone away from breaking the silence.

Holin had to fight the smile from his face, one twitching muscle at a time. When Rhone relaxed his gaze, Holin could hear more than one person release a breath they had held.

“If you have any suggestions you would like to make, I am open to hearing them,” Rhone said. “But declaring that you won’t follow anyone else’s helps no one. Work with us, and you can go back to the city as a hero. As one of those who slew the behemoth. Those who prevented the formation of a horde and the destruction of Riversedge.”

“We’ll follow your lead, Thalsman,” the northerner replied. The declaration drew a couple of looks from the rest of the man’s team and caused his team leader to grimace.

“What he means to say is that we’ll do our part,” the grizzled veteran said. “You might have fought these creatures before, but don’t count on using us as bait.”

“We’re moving in first,” Rhone replied. “If any of us here is bait, it’ll be me and mine.”

The man nodded.

“Does anyone else have binds?” Rhone asked.

“We do,” The leader of the third team spoke up. A middle-aged woman with a scar running across her face. Her team was one of the few that had more woman than men, four to three to be precise. “Got a couple of harpoons.”

“We got a few bolts with lines attached,” one of the noble’s crossbowmen added. “Not much range on those but, if we get close, they can bite deep.”

“Both of those are bindings you hold?” Rhone asked, and got a couple of nods. “Behemoth’s are monstrously strong. If you use the bindings, use them at your own discretion. Personally, I’d not recommend it.”

“But you are going to do it yourself?” The veteran added with a raised eyebrow.

“Ours are made for colossal beasts.”

“After, and if, you bind it?” The man asked. “I guess we use standard tactics? Attack it from the sides and bleed it out?”

“That’s the plan. Focus on the limbs if you can. Its torso is too thick to get to the organs quickly. Better if we can cripple it.”

A few more ideas were thrown out, and the meeting continued for a while longer, as they cleared up the details.

Soon everyone was busy preparing for what was to come. Last checks were done on armour and poison was applied to weapons. Holin also saw a few of the hunters downing stimulants bought from alchemists.

Holin took one of the chain bindings from the chest Jerrick had carried and slung it over his shoulder. He turned to see Rhone gesturing over to the side of the clearing. Holin nodded and followed.

“Give me the details,” Rhone said. “How large was it?”

Holin shrugged. “About fifteen feet on all fours. Chest about three strides across. Why?”

Rhone looked off into the distance for a moment. “Nothing abnormal then… the range of the pull still bothers me.”

“They differ from one catalyst to another, don’t they?”

“They do. It’s probably nothing,” Rhone said and looked over his shoulder. “We should get going, it seems the others are ready.”

Holin nodded and led the way with the other hunters following behind. After a short while, they reached close to where he had seen the beast earlier. He nodded to Rhone and the man gave a couple of signals to those following, causing them to split up.

Holin weaved through the trees, his feet falling silently. His ears were open for any sound that might reach him. And reach him, they did. He could feel the excitement build in his chest as the sounds of ripping flesh and crunching of bone grew closer. It was still busy with its feast. Good.

He ducked low beneath the undergrowth, his speed slowing as he slinked between the brush. An opening in the trees afforded him a look at their target, the thing they had been tracking for a full cycle.

Its form faintly resembled that of a person, if only in the broadest sense. As if nature had started with a man’s shape, then began pulling, pushing and twisting.

Its chest was broad. Wider than Holin’s outstretched arms. Its back was curved. Its hind legs bent twice as if its ankle had been pushed up and its feet drawn out, causing it to rest its weight on its toes.

The behemoth’s arms, more legs really, were overly long and thick with wiry muscles. Its palms were twice as big as Holin’s torso and ended in the large knuckles with short, stubby fingers. Its skin was green and brown and grey, coarse and gnarled with deep creases running through in.

Even hunched over as it was, it made for an impressive sight. In front of it lay an ald or, at least, what was left of one. The behemoth had ripped the animal apart and now had its face buried in the thing’s chest.

It reared its head, pulling out a lump of bloody, red flesh. For a moment the corpse refused to give up its bounty. The skin and sinew stretched before it tore, sending bits and pieces flying through the air.

Holin watched the behemoth as it lazily chewed, its jaw turning in circular motions, revealing its rows of flat teeth that ground its prey to paste.

A rustle came from the side, the sound catching the beast’s attention. It turned its head towards its origin, giving Holin a good look at the three small yellow eyes on the side of its face. Its glance was more a sign of curiosity than caution as it continued to chew, knowing that few would or could challenge it.

A grin spread across his face. Holin unslung the wrapped chain binding on his back. He laid it down on the ground in front of him, taking care not to make a sound. He undid the buckles and unwrapped the leather, revealing two large spikes the size of his arm. They were inscribed with runes and connected with a chain.

Binding weapons were common among hunters, but these were of the special. Both spikes and chain were made entirely of Mondr Steel, the blue sheen from the material hinting at its origin. Created by the mage-smiths of Duon, the primary inscriptions on the spikes were similar to the ones Rhone favoured. Activation would compress air in specific locations of the spike before releasing it, driving the weapon into its target. Secondary inscriptions would then deploy hooks from the spike inside of whatever it was buried in.

Even with the expensive and durable material used, its thinnest part of the chain was nearly two finger-widths. Any thicker and it would be near impossible to wield. Any thinner and it would break under the strength of that which it was meant to bind.

The most common of binding weapons was probably harpoons. Thick ropes would be attached, and they would be thrown into large beasts. Hunters would then pull on the lines to limit a beasts movement. For something as large as a behemoth though, your best bet was to anchor the weapon in the creature itself.

Holin took the spikes in his hands and slowly lifted them to avoid noise. He strained his hearing, listening to the small noises giving away the others. A brush against a bush here, a groan of leather there. Each sound gave him an indication of where the hunters near him were.

A soft clinking not far behind him told him Jerrick was preparing his potions. Bottles of Corrosion made by some of the alchemists that he so loved to visit.

A distant click reached his ears. A familiar sound, that of Kali’s crossbow locking. In his mind he could almost see her loading the heavy bolt onto the bow, the head covered in Shalon’s Slumber. A particularly potent poison. At least, it would be for common beasts.

It’s time.

He dared not delay any longer for fear of one of the other teams doing something stupid.

Holin tightened his grip on the binding spikes and took a breath before he sprinted out of trees. His footfalls felt loud as he made straight for the beast. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement and knew Rhone was doing the same.

The massive creature turned from its feast and looked at him. It seemed perplexed that something so small would run towards it. It drew back an arm to swipe at the offending insect. Before it could, an oversized bolt buried itself into one of the beast’s eyes with a thud.

The behemoth threw back its head in pain and roared. A monstrous sound that shook the air and reverberated in Holin’s chest. He didn’t stop. Using the distraction, he closed the distance. He pressed his will into the spike in his right hand. A pressure settled on him as the runes started to glow.

The beast was clawing at its face with one hand, so he went for the other. He thrust forward and released his will. The spike shot forwards with a crack of air and embedded itself deep into the wrist of the beast. It jerked back, but Holin followed, keeping himself from being pulled off his feet.

Pushing his will into the second spike, he stabbed it into the beast’s upper leg. It sunk deep. The creature cried out again, ringing his ears. The thing once more tried to wipe at him, only to have its arm stop a short distance later as the chain snapped tight.

Holin jumped back as the behemoth brought down its other arm, hand curled into a fist. He barely avoided the blow but the air displaced from the massive limb threw him off balance. The fist crashed into the earth like lightning. It sent a small shock wave through the air and ground that shook Holin’s organs. He grit his teeth in pain as he stumbled to the ground. Gods, the thing was strong.

Holin kicked at the ground, frantically trying to create some distance as the beast lifted its arm again. A bottle exploded against the beast’s chest, releasing its contents. The stench of the Corrosion filled the air as the beast’s flesh sizzled. It screamed, louder than before, and Holin’s ears rang.

The next moment, Rhone was beside him, his own chain binding in hand. The man jumped, the inscribed rings on his legs flashing as he shot upwards. He drove the spike in his right hand into the creatures lower jaw. A crack ran through the air as the inscription of the weapon drove it deeper and drove Rhone back to the ground. Spinning as he fell, the man placed both hands on his second spike and stabbed it into the beast’s foot as he landed. Once again, a crack of air drove the weapon deeper.

The behemoth tried to lift its head, but the action drew the chain taut with such force that it lifted its foot off the ground for a moment. It stumbled and had to right itself with its free arm. Holin sprang to his feet and retreated a few steps with Rhone. His heart thundered in his chest and adrenaline course through his body. A chuckle escaped his lips.

More arrows and bolts thudded into the creature as the other hunters attacked. A trio of binding harpoons from some of the others flew toward the beast. One’s angle was off and glanced off the tough skin. Another embedded itself into the beast’s chest. The third, unfortunately for the thrower, struck into the beast’s uninjured arm.

The creature yanked its arm back. The man that pulled on the harpoon’s rope barely had time to scream as he shot passed. He flew passed Holin like a pebble thrown into a river, bouncing on the ground before slamming into a tree. His head burst as it struck the trunk sending bits of brain and skull into the air.

Holin drew his sword and darted back in alongside Rhone. He pushed his will into the blade as he swung at the beast's leg. The inscription did its job and pulled blood from the wound but, given the size of the behemoth, it was superficial at best. He quickly retreated to avoid the stomp that followed his attack.

A glance at Rhone showed the man spinning past a strike of the beast. The inscriptions on his armour glowed briefly, providing just enough force to avoid the blow and send him forward once more. Rhone’s spear stabbed into a leg just below the knee, the familiar crack of air driving the spearhead deeper. Once more the bands on his armour glowed as he leapt back, increasing the distance and avoiding the beast’s next swipe. The man barely touched his feet to the ground before he dashed forward again.

Not to be outdone, Holin followed. More hunters joined them. Holin saw the northerner hacking at the beast from behind with a halberd. Beside him was Red, the big man challenging the behemoth with a roar of his own as he swung his bardiche into its bound arm.

The beast howled in frustration and swung its free arm in an arc to clear some space. Holin and several others darted back, but two others were unable to avoid the blow. The impact broke their bodies and sent them hurtling across the ground. One of them struck another, sending them both into a sprawling heap.

Another of Kali’s oversized bolts flew towards the beast and bit into its knee. It tried to take a step back, but the foot was still connected to its jaw with the chain and the movement yanked its head down. It steadied itself on the ground with its arm as the hunters once more closed in.

The two shield bearers moved in close, protecting the young noble behind them as he stabbed at the beast with his long spear. More arrows and bolt found their mark, sticking out of the creature’s flesh like needles.

Orders were shouted, and battle cries rose, the noise blending together into incoherence. Holin didn’t even try to decipher it all. He dashed in again and sliced at the leg Kali had struck. He could feel the numbness spreading across his body with each strike, the inscription on the blade taking its toll. They would have to end this soon.

The beast roared again, drowning out everything else. It pulled up its bound arm, the chain connecting the spikes drawing tight. It kept pulling, it muscles bulging. For a moment, Holin was afraid the chain might snap. Then the spike in its leg was ripped out, taking with it a chunk of flesh.

The beast lashed out in pain at the hunters closest to it, the two shield bearers. It struck one of them directly, sending the man flying. The other managed to jump back, but the spike connected to the one in its arm hooked onto his armour and dragged him through the air. His flight ended in a snap as the chain reached the end of its length.

The beast swung at Rhone. He dodged but was almost crushed as the hunter caught on the chain came hurtling down into the ground.

Another swipe of its arm sent the hunters in front of it back. Those behind the beast stayed to continue their work on its legs. The behemoth lifted its free leg and stomped down. The northerner tried to get away but wasn’t quick enough as he was caught under the creature’s foot, his body squashed like overripe fruit.

Another hurled bottle broke against the side of the behemoth’s face. It screamed as the Corrosion burned into its flesh.

A roar tore through the air, softer than before.

No, not softer, Holin realised. Distant. His heart sped up as his head snapped into the direction it came from. Not from the one in front of them but from deeper into the woods.

There’s two of them.