Defiance of the Fall Chapter 3: Battle Tactics

~6 minute read · 1,474 words
Previously on Defiance of the Fall...
Zac awakens disoriented to find two suns in the sky and a demonic red pillar of energy in the distance. Realizing his world has changed, he races back to camp, exhibiting superhuman speed and strength. There, he encounters a monstrous, six-legged creature devouring food. The beast attacks, wounding Zac, who then uses his enhanced abilities to evade and plan his counter-attack.
Zac stole a quick look behind him, noting that the "demonling"—as he had begun to label it in his mind—was still in pursuit. The creature didn't seem discouraged from the chase, though it appeared somewhat dazed from its previous impact. Perhaps the bleeding laceration on its neck was finally taking its toll. Its pace had dropped slightly, yet it was still gaining on him with frightening speed. No longer having the luxury of worrying about further injuring his leg, he dismissed the agony and sprinted toward the fractured boulder he had passed before. The movement caused his wounds to tear open even wider, soaking his entire left leg in crimson. Every step was a nightmare of pain, but the sheer terror of dying kept his feet moving. He was certain this was his final opportunity; the short dash had pushed his pain tolerance to the limit, and the blood loss was making his head spin. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of filth or pathogens inhabited a demon dog's talons. Zac could only hope that his newfound supernatural powers included some kind of enhanced immune system. Reaching his destination at last, he drew several ragged breaths and pivoted to face the beast, which was now roughly forty meters away. Noticing its prey had ceased running, the monster hesitated and came to a halt. The demonling let out a low growl and a hiss in a frequency far too deep for a creature of its proportions. Zac feared the monster might simply wait for him to bleed out or, worse, call for reinforcements. Should that happen, his flickering hope of survival would be snuffed out entirely. He had to conclude this struggle immediately; the throbbing in his legs served as a grim reminder that his time was running out, whether backup arrived or not. "COME GET IT, YOU PIECE-OF-SHIT DOG!" he bellowed, silently cursing his lack of creativity in insults. He grabbed a small stone and hurled it at the demonling with every ounce of strength. The rock traced a high arc through the sky, missing the target by several meters. Fortunately, the demon dog required little provocation to resume its slaughter. With a thunderous roar, it began charging directly at him once more. "Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, adjusting his hold on the hatchet. This was the moment—victory or death. When the beast was a mere three meters away, Zac threw himself to the side with all his might. The monster had anticipated the move this time, and its claws raked across his calf. The wound wasn't as deep as the others, but it burned like fire. The demonling’s own momentum carried it forward, straight into the narrow gap of the split boulder. The opening was barely wide enough to accommodate its frame, and it became wedged as its secondary set of legs hit the stone edges. A heavy thud echoed as it slammed into the rock, sending gravel and stone chips flying, accompanied by a snarl of fury and pain. Knowing he couldn't afford a moment of hesitation, Zac scrambled to his feet. The pain was overwhelming, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins kept him functional. This was the narrow window of opportunity he had fought to create; if this failed, he was out of options. Offering a silent prayer to some forgotten gods of lumberjacks, he gripped the hatchet with both hands and swung with everything he had at the base of the creature's spine. He hoped that the anatomy of these hellish spawns mirrored that of normal animals, where a severed spine would disable nerves and perhaps rupture a major artery. The blade struck true, cleaving through the spine and sinking deep into the flesh. A violent spray of blood erupted, followed by a pathetic yelp. The creature's thick rear legs collapsed instantly, and it slumped toward the earth. Though the demonling was temporarily trapped, it wasn't defeated. It thrashed violently in response to the blow, and one of its remaining four limbs caught Zac squarely in the gut. The force sent him flying backward, and the hatchet slipped from his hands. He hit the dirt with a heavy thud, the wind knocked completely out of him. He didn't stay down to assess his worsening injuries; he scrambled back up immediately. For a second, the world tilted and spun, but he forced his consciousness to remain sharp. The scene before him was more promising than he had dared to imagine. Both of the beast's hind legs lay limp, and a pool of dark red blood was rapidly expanding beneath it. The strike to the spine must have severed major vessels, as blood was gushing from the back wound in far greater volume than the minor cut on its neck. However, the monster still had some fight left, struggling to pull itself free from the rocks with desperate success. It continued to roar incessantly, perhaps signaling for its kin to find it. Not wanting to risk an audience, Zac stepped forward cautiously, grabbed the axe handle, and ripped it from the monster's lower back with a sharp tug. He retreated a few steps immediately to avoid any further thrashing. This time, the beast only managed a faint snarl. Blood began to pour even faster from the open gash, making it doubtful the creature would survive even if Zac walked away now. Refusing to take any chances, Zac stepped back in and delivered a powerful swing, burying the axe into the creature's torso in hopes of puncturing vital organs or lungs. A sickening thud followed, and more blood flowed. The beast's movements grew sluggish, reduced to weak whimpers. Zac didn't stop, raining blows down with the hatchet until he finally collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. A wave of warmth washed over his body, likely from the intense exertion. By now, the monster's left side was a gruesome mess of shredded flesh. It had stopped moving entirely; no further sounds escaped its throat. Its head and front paws remained wedged between the boulders, the limbs mangled from its initial impact and the frantic attempts to escape. Zac wasn't sure about the durability or hidden tricks of a demonling, but this one looked thoroughly dead. He sat up with great effort, trying to catch his breath. As his heart rate slowed, the grim reality of his situation set in. He was injured—badly. He looked like a character from a horror movie, drenched in blood from head to toe, making it impossible to distinguish his own from the monster's. It felt like a miracle he was still conscious after losing so much blood; without medical attention, he wouldn't survive the night. He struggled to his feet and began a shaky trek back toward the camp. He considered shouting for help again but dismissed it. He couldn't risk attracting another predator when he had no strength left to fight. What had been a thirty-second walk earlier felt like an eternity as he limped along until the ransacked campsite came into view. The camper was still parked by the car, though it was now sporting several dents. Their cooler had been overturned, leaving water and beer scattered across the ground. Lacking the energy to worry about the chaos, he headed for the camper's open door. They had been smart enough to pack a high-quality first aid kit for the trip. He knew he needed a hospital, but without a driver, that wasn't happening. At the very least, he could clean, tape, and bandage his wounds—performing basic field surgery on himself. He hoped it would be enough to keep him alive until he could reach civilization. For the first time since returning, Zac noticed the lack of blood or remains in the camp. Though he hadn't wanted to voice the thought, he had feared the demonling had already slaughtered his friends. If an attack had occurred here, there should have been signs of a struggle. Zac doubted the other four could have escaped such a beast without leaving a trace. The hatchet he held was the only real weapon they had, aside from basic kitchen tools. Even with the axe, he had only survived through sheer luck and strategy. His enhanced Cultivation and physical strength had been vital, but even that would have been insufficient against such a nightmare. The beast was faster and stronger than any bear; unless the others had received a similar boost, they would have been nothing more than prey. He scanned the area warily as he approached the camper. The car was empty, and no sound emerged from the trailer. "Guys? You in there? Hannah?" he croaked, his voice thin. He was still terrified that a loud noise would bring more monsters down upon him. The only response was silence.