A loud scream echoed into the distance over the hills. King Lorhan’s men paused, confused as to what the noise was—then came the roar.

  The men rose their weapons, their palms turning white as they squeezed them tightly, bracing for what was heading their way. Loud, heavy, domineering footsteps that sounded like thunder headed toward them. Then—suddenly, as the footsteps stopped—out from behind the cliffs, the General’s secret weapon came leaping through the air and landed in the pathway created by La Mort’s men.

  The beast stood over fourteen feet tall, its body full of scars—a sign the beast had seen many wars. Its head was thick, its jaw wide, with two large horns curved forward from its brow. One cracked from the many battles it had seen—the other stood weathered, blood stained into it from the many lives it had claimed.

  Its eyes were small and deep-set, dull yellow, holding no frenzy—only a steady, unsettling focus as its mouth twitched. When it breathed, its chest expanded slowly, deliberately, each breath sounding like weight being shifted rather than air being drawn.

  The grey beast was the epitome of war.

  The beast of all beasts.

  As it stood on all fours, it scanned King Lorhan’s men—ready for war.

  The General looked up to the king standing upon the wall.

  “I gave you a choice—you chose war. Now your people will die, and you will die with them knowing you could have saved them, but your ego would not allow it.”

  “Beast,” the General continued, shouting toward the creature. “Kill them all.”

  The beast’s mouth widened further than what seemed possible when it roared, revealing its large tongue and huge rows of teeth as saliva clung to the air. The stink followed moments after—rotting meat, sewer creatures, and anything they could find to keep the monstrosity alive.

  The beast locked eyes with the front row of soldiers as if it wanted every man there to know its hunger—its intention to kill—before it charged forward.

  The men’s eyes spoke for them as their hands trembled upon their weapons. These men had seen many wars, experienced many losses. But never in their hundreds of battles had they come across a creature that instilled a fear which broke them before the battle had even begun.

  The beast’s jaw snapped shut. Leaning its weight onto its front legs, it came marauding forward.

  The men glanced up momentarily to their king for a command, but he looked like he had seen a ghost.

  When the men looked back, the beast was rampaging through them, stampeding its way through.

  Skulls caved in under the sheer weight of the beast, breaking and collapsing like rotten stone. Screams rang out—sharp and desperate—before dissolving into the wet, choking sound of bodies reduced to sludge. The sounds sent shivers not only through the men on the ground, but the men standing above as well.

  As the beast continued to plow through the city, the Arleon men and women screamed as they tried to run to safety, but their efforts were in vain. The creature stalked them like the prey they were, swooping and picking them up off the ground, then biting their heads off before discarding their lifeless bodies to the ground.

  A beast that had clearly been trained in the art of mental warfare was on the loose—and as things stood, there was nobody out there that could stop it.

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  King Lorhan stood at the top of the gate, watching in disbelief as his beloved city and his people were destroyed before his very own eyes.

  None of them asked for this, he thought. They all agreed to a peaceful surrender, and I reluctantly agreed. Yet here I stand, watching my people—lambs to the slaughter—following my commands as death welcomes them through his doors.

  The king walked toward the edge of the wall, watching the beast mercilessly slaughter his people in the most brutal and painful ways. Then something clicked.

  A king wasn’t a great king just because he won wars and sat atop his throne. What made a great king was being a great leader—sacrificing for his people, stepping up when no one else would.

  The king grabbed his sword, clutching it tightly. He waited—waited for the beast to make its way back toward him. He timed his stride perfectly.

  Jumping off the gate wall, he screamed.

  “ARGHHHHH!”

  The king landed on the beast, his sword piercing through flesh as he slid down its body, dragging the blade toward its head. The beast slumped to the ground—a lifeless giant, defeated at the hands of the king.

  But as the king caught sight of the General, his smile remained plastered across his lips.

  The king stood there confused. In his eyes, he and his men now had the upper hand—the General’s secret weapon destroyed, and their men stood on equal footing in terms of numbers.

  The king moved forward, his strides slow and deliberate.

  But behind him, the truth revealed itself.

  The beast’s tissue began to sew itself together, pulling and knitting until the top layer of skin closed, revealing nothing but battle scars. As the king continued forward cautiously, the beast rose to its feet like a thief in the night, its footsteps quiet—balancing itself perfectly as it crept behind him.

  Its mouth opened.

  The beast roared.

  An all-too-familiar stench echoed from its mouth, and as the king turned, the last thing he saw were hundreds of jagged-edged teeth etched around the inside of its mouth as it swallowed him whole.

  The king’s men looked on, mouths hanging open, lost for words.

  “Surrender now—throw down your arms and live to fight another day. Your king is defeated,” the General laughed as he scanned the men. “Do not throw your lives away for a lost cause.”

  The men looked to each other. Now without leadership, they waited for one of their own to make a move—and it didn’t take long.

  The soldier leading them on the ground threw down his arms into the dirt. One by one, every soldier followed.

  The General looked to the beast, a glint of excitement and ruthlessness in his eyes.

  “Feed,” he shouted.

  The creature spun on its heels and continued its massacre—innocent men, women, and children mercilessly cut down in the name of war.

  A soldier stepped forward toward the General, anger burning in his eyes.

  “We did as you asked. We laid down our arms, yet you slaughter our people. A man whose word means nothing is no man at all.”

  The General placed a gentle hand over his shoulder and smiled.

  “When I said lay down your arms and you will live, I stuck to my word. You are all still breathing—no?” he said. “My promise did not extend to your people beyond those walls. There is always a price for war, and your people will pay it. I offered you a solution without war, yet you denied me to my face. Do not be angry with me—be angry with your king who sentenced your people to slaughter.”

  In one swift motion—quick enough that if you weren’t paying attention you would miss it—the General swung a tiny blade across the soldier’s neck. Blood sprayed across the General’s face as the soldier dropped to the ground, clawing at his throat, grasping for air. His efforts were futile.

  The General looked down as the soldier took his last breath, then looked back up at the men as he stepped over the lifeless body.

  “Anybody else with a problem?” the General shouted.

  Silence.

  The men’s eyes wandered everywhere else but him—men who knew when they were fighting a losing battle.

  As the beast continued to feast on the city, it cornered a little boy. He had nowhere to run. His family’s lifeless bodies lay mere meters away, heads torn from their corpses.

  The beast paused, snarling over the boy.

  And if you looked closely enough, its features resembled a demon’s smile.

  The boy began to shake profusely before wetting himself. The beast’s mouth opened as its head lunged forward to consume him—

  —but when its jaws snapped shut, the boy was no longer there.

  The beast froze, confused, before turning around.

  Standing there was a man in a black cloak, the boy beside him.

  “Kid—get out of here. Head to the tunnels,” Ezra said calmly.

  The boy stood trembling, frozen in fear.

  “Go!” Ezra shouted, snapping the boy from his trance. The boy ran through the city as fast as his legs would carry him.

  “Ezra,” the General whispered quietly. “I’ve been expecting you.”