That roar. It wasn't just a sound; it was a physical shockwave that rattled the teeth in Eris's head and sent a flock of colorful parrots screaming into the sky.
Hearing that ear-splitting thunder, she squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat, a cold shiver racing down her spine. She cursed her own nature, silently wishing that she wasn't so soft-hearted.
A dead warrior couldn't hunt.
A living one, well, that was a different story.
Now, she was in a desperate predicament. Her people, the Margay Tribe, had been pushed to the brink. For weeks, their outposts had defended their home and their precious stores of dried meat and medicinal roots were dwindling.
They had only just found this new sanctuary, a hidden pocket of the jungle where the water ran clear and the soil was rich enough to sustain them while they waited for the Claw Kingdom's relentless tide to recede.
However, because of her impulsive need to strike back, she had potentially led a monster right to their doorstep. She didn't dare stop. Her lungs burned like she was inhaling embers, but she forced her legs to churn through the thick ferns and over tangled roots. She had to get back. Even if her life was the forfeit, the tribe had to know that the shadow of the now vengeful male was lengthening over them.
Why did I follow him? she wondered, her mind flashing back to the sight of Roy kneeling by the herbs.
He was a strategist; patient, resourceful, and terrifyingly focused. He was the kind of male who would skip a week of meals to ensure his soldiers had sharpened spears. He put the Kingdom before his own soul, and that made him the most dangerous predator of all, one who did not care if he lived or died in order to achieve his goals.
Meanwhile, Roy had forced his body back into his "soft" humanoid form, though the raw wound on his forehead continued to throb with every heartbeat. He moved through the brush with a grim scowl, making his way back to the main force of his army.
The hunt for his jasmine-scented attacker would have to wait; a commander's first duty was to the blood of his men.
When he reached the clearing near the Margay holding, he stopped, watching from the shadows of a massive oak tree.
He let out a long, weary sigh. It seemed his soldiers had forgotten every lesson he had ever drilled into their thick skulls.
Bryant, his temporary second-in-command, was proving to be a spectacular disappointment. With a lack of preparation time provided by their king, Roy did not have a choice but to dive head first into battle with a battalion of untrained barely of age youth. Even under his expert leadership, the Claw Kingdom soldiers were being utterly outclassed by the Margays.
Despite their smaller stature, the Margays possessed an innate, mystical connection to the Wood Element. They had manipulated the very jungle to defend them, raising massive walls of wood and thick, thorny vines that spanned the gaps between ancient trees. The fortification formed a perfect, daunting hexagon that completely enclosed their dwellings.
From the top of these living battlements, a relentless rain of obsidian-tipped arrows poured down. Roy watched, appalled by the ineptness of his troops. They were huddled beneath their shields, stagnant and terrified, fighting a purely defensive battle. They were pinned down because they couldn't risk shifting into their beast forms; a feline's paws couldn't hold a shield, and without shields, they would be turned into pincushions in seconds.
Roy stepped out of the shadows, his presence alone causing the air to shift. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he channeled his own talent. Streaks of heat ignited the air, and suddenly, the bows of the Margay archers atop the wall burst into flames. The ensuing chaos gave him the silence he needed to think.
"Enough of this disappointing spectacle you call battle!" Roy's voice cracked like a whip.
He immediately pivoted their tactics. He pulled ten of his most disciplined, reliable males away from the bottleneck at the entrance. He led them toward a jagged rise next to a cliff face on the eastern side of the holding, a spot the Margays clearly thought was inaccessible with the lack of males stationed on guard.
Roy grabbed a bow from a fallen soldier. With a predator's focus, he drew the string to his ear, his golden eyes narrowing. He loosed a single arrow. It whistled through the humid air and struck a Margay defender squarely, causing him to go tumbling down from the high wall.
"The entrance is a distraction," Roy growled to his men. "Only a fool beats his head against a locked door when the windows are open."
Following his lead, the ten picked soldiers began a systematic execution. They rained fire and arrows upon the eastern battlements, quickly eliminating the few Margay males stationed there. In a matter of minutes, that isolated stretch of the wall fell silent and unprotected.
Roy paused for a moment, genuinely impressed by the Margay Tribe's foresight. This location was a tactical masterpiece—protected by cliffs, blessed with a constant water source, and surrounded by fertile ground. It was a prize worth taking.
"Shift," Roy commanded.
Five of his warriors blurred, hurriedly shifting into their beast forms. With their powerful haunches and sharp claws, they scaled the wooden walls with terrifying speed.
They fell upon the thick vines holding the structure together, shredding them with primal ferocity. As a jagged gap groaned open in the wall, one of Roy's younger men let out a victory cry and prepared to charge blindly through the opening.
Roy grabbed the back of the male by the back of the neck, yanking him back. "Check your surroundings, cub, or die in a trap before your family have time to say your name," he hissed.
Roy took the lead, stepping through the wreckage into the Margay inner sanctum. He expected an ambush, spears from the shadows or a desperate last stand. Instead, a haunting silence greeted them.
They tore through the huts of woven grass and the shallow caves lining the cliffside. The search was thorough, but the results were chilling.
The village was completely desolated.
Not one elderly tribesman remained.
Not one female.
Not one cub.
Even the able-bodied males who had just been firing arrows had vanished like mist in the morning sun.
It became very clear to Roy that they had been played. Their enemy had utilised a secret passage, likely hidden deep within the caves, to evacuate their entire population while his men were busy staring at a wooden wall.
"Search every inch of the wall," Roy ordered, his voice low and dangerous. "Find the opening. When you do, seal it with stone and fire. I want no one coming back this way."
He looked toward the main entrance, where the rest of his army was still 'bravely' wasting their lives against an empty wall. A cold smile touched his lips as he thought of the jasmine scent from earlier.
The tribe had escaped, but they forget that a panther doesn't give up when the prey runs, it always makes time to stalk it's prey.