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New Volume 3 Chapter(s) Weekly. Volumes 1 and 2 now complete!

Almost 12 years have passed since that night. The world had come far in rebuilding, but in some places more than others. Most of the reconstruction focused on individual cities scattered across the globe, going beyond what they once were. With the amount of resources poured into them and new development methods they were forced to discover during the war, these cities could be considered comparatively futuristic. The farther someone traversed from one of these cities, the far less developed a place would be. It was almost like traveling back in time.

The town of Barren Soil was no different. It was quite far away from the nearest ‘Hub’ city. The town was originally a suburb to a city that had been demolished by a nuclear strike. The bomb that destroyed that city was relatively small, and most of the radiation had cleared, allowing for semi-safe passage around the outskirts. However, few still would take the risk to venture there for supplies.

The buildings in Barren Soil were very crude, clearly having been constructed with unconventional materials. Most seemed to have been built by scrap parts from former buildings, some going as far as being built from coarse wood planks and mud. The highlight of the city was definitely the tavern, it was clear that it had received the most care. Even then, it was still in a fair state of disrepair. A fading sign that was barely hanging on read ‘Unbroken Spirits’.

The tavern of this town was more than just a place for adults to drown their sorrows after a long day; it was the center of the entire community. It was a meeting place for everyone who lived there to come relax and discuss the latest news and gossip amongst themselves. Town meetings were usually held there since the population was so low, and due to the lack of a proper community center. Even children would come play there, not being allowed to purchase alcohol of course, but that doesn’t mean that the more intoxicated patrons wouldn’t give them some.

Near the entrance, three of the tavern’s regulars were sitting at their usual table, drinking and sharing stories. Then, the door crept open and a suspicious character strolled inside. All eyes in the building quickly darted towards him.

It was hard to tell the person's gender at first glance. The stranger was completely covered in a solid black cloak that was a little tattered near the bottom. Their face was hidden in the shadow of a black hood with green trim. The only other item of note was a green metal clasp, depicting a heart wrapped in thorns, holding the cloak on the left shoulder.

The person proceeded to the nearby bulletin board and stared at its contents. The bulletin board served as a place for the community to put up requests and notices, as well as for the town leaders to post public warrants on wanted criminals and bounties on monsters nearby.

These monsters weren’t the typical large, scary, or annoying animals as one might think, but rather the byproduct of years of radiation on wildlife. These animals had become deformed and mutated, taking on new properties completely unlike their original beings. They truly deserved the title of monsters.

The suspicious person perused the postings which sated the onlook of most of the townsfolk, assuming them to be a traveler looking for work on the road. Everyone resumed what they were doing, save for the three regulars near the front. One of the three, the most scrawny of the bunch, stared at the stranger for longer than anyone else. He then turned to his companions and said, “Hey, guys, I think I know who that is.”

“Really? Do tell,” said the bald-headed one.

“A few people from the next town talked about him, I think they call him ‘The Silent Slayer,’” the scrawny one continued. “They say he goes from town to town taking on the hardest monster bounty, then leaves; all without saying a word to anyone.”

“‘Silent Slayer,’ what a pretentious sounding name. I wonder who the hell came up with that,” grumbled the portly one. “And what’s with the silent part? Is he mute or just too scared to talk to anybody?”

“Well, if he’s strong enough to take down the toughest monsters, he isn’t someone I would want on my bad side. To be that strong, he would have to be a Fiend, right?” the bald man asked.

“I’m not sure,” replied the scrawny man. “I asked that myself when I was talking to them. They’d heard he didn’t have red eyes, and there’s never been mention of one without them. Though if he keeps his hood up like he does now, I’m not sure anyone's ever gotten a good look.”

“Toughest monster ‘round here would definitely be the Hippagon, but no one man alone would be dumb enough to… Oi look look, he actually took it.” The portly man excitedly pointed towards the noticeboard where the now named Slayer had torn down the bounty for the aforementioned monster. “Ha, I guess the legend of your Slayer will be ending real soon!”

“My condolences,” retorted the bald man.

“Well it was cool to see a living legend while I could, nothing else exciting happens around here,” the scrawny man said as he let out an extensive sigh. The three men then poured out a bit of their drinks in respect for the man they’d only known for a few minutes.

◆◆◆

The Slayer, now outside of the town, was headed towards the nearby ruined city. There was no clear trail and the beginnings of a dense forest had begun to sprout. As he walked, with every step, the grass beneath his feet would shrivel up and die, leaving a trail of brown footprints in his wake. Occasionally, he would lift his hand near thick foliage. Green light could be seen flowing into his fingertips as the plants withered away.

As he trudged on, he drew open his cloak into a tight strip along his back left side, exposing his rarely seen outfit. It was entirely black with a bit of green trim. The top was a bit fancy for his line of work, but the pants were more on the tactical side. Both were made of extremely durable material however, ready for any situation.

On his lower back, laying horizontally, was a sleek black quiver with silver trim. It was chocked full of arrows, with their feathery tips sticking out of the right side. Wrapped around the quiver were two large green arm bracers. They were solid, made of hard leather that would be tough to damage. The Slayer took the two bracers off the quiver and put them around his forearms. Without making any adjustments at all, the lacing on the underside of the bracers tightened, until they were secured perfectly.

Spiraling down the length of each bracer was a strip of black fabric. Dotting these strips were small, rhombus shaped shards of metal. He extended his arms in front of him and the fabric unraveled from the bracers. The fabric strips then tightened, causing the shards to press together until they formed long, thin, and slightly curved blades. The two blades rested along the outer side of each arm and reached from his wrists up to his shoulders. A small hole could be noticed near the rear tips of both blades.

This time, The Slayer raised just his right arm and clenched his fist. The blade suddenly jutted out with immense speed, sliding forward along the connecting rod until it caught on the other end. The tip with the hole was now near where the wrist-end had been. He released his grip and the blade returned to its original position and he proceeded to repeat the process with his left arm.

These blades operated similarly to nightsticks or tonfas; capable of being used for both attack and defense. However, instead of spinning them to change the stance of the weapon, The Slayer could slide them forward and back as he pleased. They were also used for slashing and stabbing rather than blunt force.

Satisfied with the condition of his gear, he continued towards the city. At the center of the city was a giant crater of nothing. There were still mild levels of radiation, so it was dangerous for normal humans to approach. The rumor was that Fiends had a stronger resistance to radiation, but were not entirely immune.

The radiation around the outskirts of the city had completely dissipated, and while most didn’t dare to take others’ word for it, it was evident that some had been there to scavenge. Most likely the scavengers had been from Barren Soil, looking for building materials for their town. The surrounding forest had also encroached upon the outer layers of the city, with some buildings completely swallowed up by plant life.

The Slayer headed towards a decrepit skyscraper just outside the reach of the forest. No other buildings were on the forest-facing side of it, so it would work out well for his plan. Just before he stepped inside the building, he glanced at the bird that had been tailing him for some time now.

Luckily, the stairs inside the building were still intact and made for a leisurely climb. Even if they hadn’t been, he would have had other ways to scale the building. Those methods would probably be faster and less effort than climbing up the many flights, but he decided to take his time.

When he reached the roof, he peered around. As expected, the bird was still there, circling around him overhead. The Slayer walked to the edge of the roof, peering out over the forest before he stuck out his left arm. The bird swooped down and landed on his bracer. Upon closer inspection this was no ordinary bird. It was probably once a raven, but it was much larger and had too many eyes.

The Slayer lifted his right hand and the bird deposited the contents of its mouth into his palm. It was a wooden yo-yo. Etched on one of the sides was a set of coordinates. Etched on the other side was ‘1/1’ followed by ‘[333] DBL’. After confirming the contents of both sides of the yo-yo a few times, he crushed it with a single squeeze of his hand and let the fragments fall to his feet.

Time to get started. With that thought, he raised his right hand towards the bird and clenched his fist.

“SCRRRAAAWWW.” The bird let out a loud screech. The Slayer’s right blade had lurched forward and pierced it clean through. He then moved his arm, pointing the bird over the edge of the building and released his grip. The blade retracted, and the bird’s corpse fell to the ground far below.

Hopefully that will get some attention, he thought as he glanced around the skyline. Moments later, three dark figures loomed over the horizon, flying towards him with haste. As the figures grew a little closer, he could make out what they were.

Pterorspreys…, taking a moment to sigh at the absurdity of the name, he continued his thought, they should work out well.

Pterorspreys, the name came from a combination of Ospreys and from Pterodactyls which he had seen in a history book as a child. Much larger than average birds of prey, the adults could reach a wingspan of 20 to 30 feet. They also had feathers on their bodies, but none on their wings. Their wings seemed more like they were made of leather, similar to a bat's wings.

The coloring matched that of an osprey. It was almost entirely white on the underside with gradients of brown on the back. Their yellow beaks were quite long, approximately two feet in length and sharpened to a point. An unaware person or animal would meet a swift end if pecked by them.

The Slayer pushed his fists together in front of his chest. The rods on his bracers shot forward until they connected and locked into each other, forming a handle. He twisted his left wrist and grasped hold of it. With a slight amount of force, the newly formed unstrung bow, with his blades acting as the limbs, detached from his bracers.

As if from nowhere, a vine of black thorns creeped from the area around The Slayer’s right hand. It looked as if the thorns were simply coming out of his sleeves, but upon closer inspection it was evident that they were emanating from nothing but a soft green glow hovering above his wrist.

The thorns wrapped around the small hole in the metal shard on one end of the bow. At that point the vine stopped flowing from his wrist and then wrapped around the hole on the other end. Both sides of the vine kept wrapping until there was a taut bowstring.

After his bow was fully formed, which had only taken a matter of seconds, the pterorspreys were unbelievably close. In those few seconds, they had covered approximately eighty percent of the distance between them. Without warning, The Slayer leapt off the building.

He spun around in the air with his back now pointing towards the ground. The pterorspreys were now where he had been moments ago, one had even struck its beak into the building. Recomposed, the pterorspreys hovered above, preparing to dive down after him.

Holding his bow in his left hand, The slayer drew three arrows with his right from his quiver and knocked them onto the thorns. He pulled back, aiming only for a split-second, and let them loose towards the birds. The arrows soared through the air, and as if like magic, flowed in different directions towards their intended targets. Right through the heart; each pterorsprey was struck with a blow that killed them instantly, their bodies plummeting towards the dirt.

The Slayer reoriented himself towards the ground and spread his limbs out wide. Vines sprung out from around his ankles and grabbed the bottom corners of his cloak. The vines pulled slightly, causing the cloak to form something close to a makeshift parachute, slowing his descent.

Even with his slowed speed, he hit the ground with a hard roll. The impact would have assuredly killed another human. During the roll, he reattached the bow to his bracers and they slid back to their original position as blades. The thorns that comprised the bowstring retreated back into the green glow near his wrist. He completed the roll while flinging off his cloak, which flew away a bit in the wind.

The Slayer took a stance of one readying for an intense battle. Staring around at the nothing and no one, his face grew flustered with embarrassment. Ahh crap, I got caught up in the moment and tried to look cool. I mean, it was kind of cool but with no one around to see it, it makes me want to curl up into a ball, The Slayer thought as he berated himself.

In his rattled state, what he had failed to notice was that his hood had fallen down to his shoulders. A cloth mask covered the bottom half of his face up to and over his nose, but what drew the eye instantly was his hair. His hair was a little spikey, a little scruffy, and pitch black.

To merely call his hair black was a gross understatement. Rather, it felt like his hair didn’t have a color, but that it was devoid of all light, like a black hole given form. If one were to stare at it for too long, it would feel like the light was being sucked out of their own eyes. There would likely be no one willing to test it, but it could definitely be possible that with enough continuous exposure, one would lose their sanity.

When he noticed, The Slayer quickly pulled his hood back over his head and glanced around again, this time not with an embarrassed feeling but one of panic. Now I’m really glad no one was around, he thought as he let out a relieved sigh.

He glanced towards the bodies of the four birds. The smell and noise should attract the main predator of this forest, he thought as he looked back towards the woods. It could take a while though, guess I’ve got some time to kill.

He picked up his cloak and laid it near the base of the building. He sat down on it and leaned his back against the wall. After he got comfortable, he reached behind himself and pulled out a bottle of water and a bag of snacks from a compartment on his quiver. He took a few bites and drank about half the bottle as he sat there with his eyes closed.

It was a wonder to think how anyone could relax in this situation, let alone eat. He was surrounded by four monster corpses that rapidly began to rot, as all monsters created in the recent years did. The smell was atrocious. Even those with the strongest stomachs would lose everything they’d eaten in the past week if they got within a few yards. However, The Slayer happily munched on, enjoying the brief peace. He was used to this, possibly more than anyone else in the world.

Before long, several sets of yellow eyes peered from the shadows of the forest. They happened upon what seemed like an easy meal; four fresh carcasses and a defenseless human. One pair of eyes dashed forward from the shadows and leapt towards the man, baring its claws. The beast stopped mere inches from its prey, a blade protruding out its back. Bobcans huh, simple enough, The Slayer thought as he pushed away the lifeless beast and jumped up to a fighting stance.

Bobcans were less deformed than some of their other monster counterparts. They were basically just bobcats that walked on two legs, with enlarged torsos that puffed out way too far. They were also quite habitual creatures. They would travel in packs to hunt prey and there were always three alphas, which were generally much smarter and stronger than the rest. The other bobcans would rush their prey while the alphas hung back, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

The rest of the bobcans quickly surrounded The Slayer. There were about 25 or so from a quick count. If they followed their past behavior, they should attack in waves of four or five. This type of battle shouldn’t be too difficult for him; he had faced much stronger foes and in much larger numbers.

As expected, five bobcans pounced at him at once. In one swift motion, he swung his arms with blades extended and cleaved through all five with a spinning slice. Each of them was split in two: two through the torso, one near the rear legs, and two at the neck. Another tried to stealthily charge from behind, but The Slayer swung his right arm back and retracted the blade just in time to block its claws.

The rest of the battle went on without too much trouble. The remaining bobcans attacked predictably and were meticulously slaughtered. The whole battle lasted less than a minute. What was originally a pack of ferocious monsters around The Slayer, was now a ring of severed animal parts soaking in a pool of blood.

The alphas hadn’t made their move; most likely they were unable to comprehend what was happening to their family in those short moments. The Slayer heard a spastic cry a short distance away, signalling their advance.

Hmm, there’s a chance the tougher bones of the alphas could dull my blades, he thought. Plus, for some reason alpha’s blood and guts smell way worse than the regulars… and I don’t really want to get that on my clothes.

The Slayer stared directly in the yellow eyes of the shadowy figures slowly approaching him, readying to attack. Guess I’ll do this then since no one’s around. I’ll lose a little energy, but I’ve got plenty stocked up. Without breaking eye contact, he raised his forearms into the air and extended his blades.

From both wrists, thorns worked their way upwards, wrapping themselves around the entire length of the blades. The Slayer slammed both blades straight down into the blood soaked ground, endlessly sending more vines of thorns into the soil where the blades had pierced through.

The alphas took this as their moment; all three of them leapt directly at him with immense force. Their claws reached just inches away from The Slayer who hadn’t moved from his position, with his fists to the ground. It seemed like it would be a sure strike from all three.

Mass amounts of thorny vines shot out from the ground beneath them. They wrapped all three alphas around their entire bodies, rendering them completely immobile. The Slayer pulled up his blades, wiping the wet dirt off the metal before retracting them.

He looked towards the alphas, who were glaring at him while trying to wriggle out of their bindings. He lifted his right arm towards them and pointed out two fingers. He then made a snipping motion as if they were a pair of scissors. The thorns forcibly squeezed inwards into the beasts, slicing right through them, leaving behind nothing but piles of meat ribbons.

The Slayer took a step back to avoid the splash from the explosion of bile. Gross... He thought as he stared at his carnage. It was possible for him to repossess his thorns to regain some energy, but he simply just didn’t want them anymore. Well, that should definitely attract some attention, just hope it’s the right kind.

Just as he finished his thought, his ears were bombarded with an endless parade of high pitched squeaks. Of course not… The Slayer let out a sigh as he leapt into the air, backflipping onto a third story window pane of the building behind him. The bloody ground where he had stood, erupted, and a swarm of vermites flooded out.

Vermites were subterranean naked mole-rats boasting a rather unusual size. They were around the same length as a medium-sized dog, but much more bloated and lower to the ground. To most people, they just looked like a bunch of fat pink slugs with tiny claws that squirmed around on the ground.

The ‘-mite’ part of their name was presumably named after termites. While there was nothing particularly insect-like about them, it most likely related to the aspect that made them dangerous. While not particularly strong creatures, they had incredible bite strength. They could cut down a fully grown tree with a single chomp.

The Slayer looked down at the pink mess beneath him, which was now tainted a little red. A few vermites were trying to climb the wall after him, but luckily their claws couldn’t sink into it. I guess I should do something about this, he continued his thought while egregiously failing at trying to count how many there were. It’s not why I’m here, but left unchecked these things could cause some massive destruction, and it is a little bit my fault.

Vermites were generally docile creatures, but once they were disturbed, they wouldn’t return to their nest until their rage had subsided. They would chomp through anything they laid their eyes on, whether it be trees, animals, humans, or buildings. A swarm this size could destroy a poorly constructed town like Barren Soil in just a few minutes.

It was likely The Slayer’s thorns that had disturbed their nest, so he felt a need to take responsibility. Really, he didn’t need to fight them, he could just go back up to the roof and relax until they got bored and went on their way. Who knows where they would go and what havoc that would bring if left unchecked, he thought. Also, he still had a job to do there and didn’t want all the work he’d done to be for nothing.

As he pondered how to deal with the situation, he began counting the number of arrows in his quiver. He then wondered why he did it because he already knew that he didn’t have nearly enough. He briefly thought about using the thorns already down there, left over from the bobcans, but that wouldn’t work well. Vermites were surprisingly agile and his thorns were completely soaked and likely very slippery.

One of the vermites ran back towards the forest and bit one of the trees. It fell directly towards the window The Slayer was perched on. He quickly dashed to the next one over as the tree crashed moments later. Surprisingly crafty little bastards, aren’t they? he thought. He quickly sliced the tree so that they couldn’t use it as a bridge to get up to him. It fell to the ground, landing on top of a few of them with a satisfying squish.

It was clear that they were getting restless and would likely move on soon. Seeing a few of their allies killed probably didn’t help. They would be an absolute pain to chase and corral if they managed to get away. Again, he didn’t really want to move from this spot that reeked of death and was the ideal bait for what he was hunting.

The Slayer switched his blades back into their bow form, and from his chest pocket a little vine began to poke out. As it continued to rise, it pulled out a monocle and lifted it up to his left eye. This was no ordinary monocle, he had it specially developed by one of the extremely limited number of people in this world he could call his friend. It was the same person who had helped him design and create his weapon.

The Slayer peered through the monocle towards the horde. It no longer looked like an incomprehensible blob of pink as each individual vermite had a highlighted outline around it. There were also red dots floating on where the various vital spots of the vermites were.

His monocle would also record high definition images of any enemies that weren’t in its database. After he had fought them, and learned their weaknesses, he could hook his monocle up to his tablet, also gifted by his friend, and input the data. Since he had faced vermites a few times before, he knew of a few good spots to strike.

Vermites would flee when they believed they were outmatched, their rage only being overwritten by their fear. So, he knew he would have to wipe them all out extremely quickly. After about a third were dead, they would panic.

The Slayer pulled back his empty bow string and took aim. Three thorned vines shot out from his back, each one grabbing an arrow. He let loose as soon as the first vine knocked an arrow, then immediately pulled back again. The next arrow was already loaded by the following vine before he could finish. With the help of his thorns, he launched multiple arrows in quick succession before the first could strike.

The Slayer’s arrows were special. The shafts were fletched from a tree he had grown himself with his energy; allowing him some control over them. They weren’t nearly as flexible as his thorns, so it was extremely tedious, but not impossible, to move them from a completely idle position. However, as long as they had momentum, he could guide their trajectory through the air.

The first arrow struck a vermite right through the stomach, but it didn’t stop there. The arrow raced out the other side, skewering through six more before it got stuck. The other arrows followed suit, slaying the vermites en masse.

When they were all dead, most of the arrows had gotten caught on a body or lost their speed, but a few were still active. The Slayer flew these remaining arrows back to his quiver to use later, but the rest were likely unusable... or too slimy to touch. He took a long jump, landing outside of the giant mess, looking drearily at everything he’d killed today that wasn’t even his target.

He finished off the rest of his water bottle as he watched his thorns work. He used the already contaminated ones to push all the corpses of the various monsters into one giant pile of smelly decomposition. Nothing will probably grow here for a while, he thought, trying to not glance at the new fleshy mountain. Unlike regular animals, the corpses of monsters weren’t exactly great fertilizer.

“RAAAAWWWWRRRR!”

The Slayer’s head quickly spun towards the direction of the bellowing noise deep in the woods. Oh, thank Cosmos, is that it? Is it finally the right monster? he questioned excitedly. He had never fought a hippagon, but had heard stories. They were extremely territorial and were often seen as the guardian of an area, and were respected as such by the other monsters living there.

Hippagons were considered one of the top-tier highest ranking monsters. It would usually take a small army of soldiers to take it down or very powerful artillery. They tended to keep towards swampy areas, giant lakes, or dense woods, meaning it would be difficult to bring large groups or machinery to fight them.

From a distance, The Slayer could finally make out the massive entity charging towards him. His jaw dropped and a befuddled expression flew across his face. There had never been any images in the bestiaries he had read, and had only been given base descriptions from other hunters such as its size and speed.

He had always wondered what type of creature the hippagon was. Following the usual naming conventions of combining two animal names the ‘hippo-’ part was easy enough to guess, but he had never figured out the ‘-agon’ part. After just one look though, he immediately knew the answer.

A dragon… What?! The Slayer screamed in his head. Oi! Dragons aren’t even freaking real. If I ever meet the person who comes up with these names I’m punching them right in the face!

The hippagon indeed had the features of a dragon. While it maintained the overall form of a hippo, plus the general monster bonus of being way bigger than it should be, the rest of its body brought nothing to mind but a dragon. Its coloring was still the normal pinkish brown, but it wasn’t on skin, it was on scales. Thick scales covered its body from head to toe with barely any gap in between them.

In addition, the back of its head wasn’t round like a hippo’s. Instead, it was severely pointy and anyone would be skewered if hit with a ramming headbutt. Also, bone spikes protruded from its back; all the way down its spine to its tail.

Its tail really didn’t resemble that of a hippo or of a dragon. The Slayer let out a small chuckle as he likened it to a tadpole. While a little out of place, it was clear that it would enhance its aquatic capabilities, and the edges looked razor sharp.

Finally having recomposed himself, The Slayer straightened up his stance, aimed his bow, and returned his monocle to his left eye. His monocle had one more feature, in a corner were tiny digits that indicated the distance of the thing he was seeing. It was quite a useful feature when measuring longer shots, especially when he needed to be stealthy from a great distance.

The monocle was trained on the hippagon and the numbers were decreasing; a little bit faster than he expected. If he stood around and took several shots, he would be run down in no time. He thought it would be best to try and end this with a single arrow.

The Slayer focused hard on his target and let the arrow fly. The speed was good, and the arrow had a slight piercing spin to it. The arrow traveled swiftly, soaring through the air, right towards its target. It was indisputably a perfect shot, hitting its mark square between the eyes. He felt a moment of pride well up in him, followed by immense despair.

The arrow had bounced right off the hippagon’s forehead, not leaving so much as a scratch. It wasn’t completely ineffective however, since it had succeeded in making the hippagon much angrier. It lowered itself closer to the ground and charged even faster, roaring with every step it took.

With a slight panic from seeing the numbers on his monocle decreasing even faster, The Slayer began to rapidly fire his arrows once again with the help of his thorns. The volley of arrows flew through the woods, weaving around trees, and struck the beast from multiple directions and angles. Sadly, most of the arrows bounced off entirely, but a few managed to stick in through the small gaps between its scales.

The Slayer pulled back again to prepare a second volley, but his thorns grasped at nothing when they went to the quiver. “Zjik…” he exclaimed, saying the first real words he had said in weeks. He was entirely out of arrows and had to think of a new tactic. If his arrows did so little, his blades likely wouldn’t fare any better.

This left only the option of using his thorns. It would definitely be possible to tie the hippagon down and squeeze it until it died, but that would take vast amounts of energy and an annoyingly long time. As he watched the hippagon roar once more, an either incredibly genius or incredibly stupid idea popped into his mind.

The Slayer straightened himself out once more and aimed his empty bow. He pulled back on his thorny bowstring as hard as he could and let go. The string shot forward, releasing its grip on the holes of the bow. The thorns began to spin rapidly forming an image similar to a drill as it spiraled through the air. It flew dead on, straight into the mouth of the roaring hippagon, tunneling deep inside its bowels.

The Slayer then smiled and turned his back to the hippagon that was still charging at him with full force, ignoring the pain it surely had inside. The Slayer returned his bow to its relaxed-blades form and walked over to the skyscraper. He picked up his cloak, and while letting out a slight moan in disgust at all the blood on it, he reluctantly put it back on.

He returned his gaze towards the massive monster tirelessly rampaging towards him, and snapped his fingers as the beast was just about to cross the threshold of the woods. In a split-second, the look on the hippagon’s face changed dramatically as its stomach began to rumble.

The thorns that had buried inside were now thrashing about violently, destroying its innards. While they never fully pierced its skin, spiky bumps could be seen quickly protruding and vanishing all over its body.

The hippagon lost its footing and slid hard along the ground; stopping just shy of where The Slayer stood. He then gave it a quick poke in the eye with one of his blades for good measure.

◆◆◆

Around two hours had passed from when The Slayer had embarked from Barren Soil towards the city. As he once again walked through the town gates towards the tavern, the sun was just about to finish setting. He drug his feet as he went. A normal person most likely would have collapsed after all that, but he soldiered on.

As he made his slow progress, every villager he passed by had their eyes wide open, refusing to take their sights off of him. They didn’t even so much as blink. This much was to be expected. After all, the cloak he was wearing was almost completely covered in dried blood, and the smell emanating from him could likely be smelled a few dozen feet away. However, they seemed to barely acknowledge all this, not with their gazes glued to what he had in his right hand.

As The Slayer pushed open the door to Unbroken Spirits, he noticed the same group of regulars still sitting at the table directly to his right. They were now clearly much more inebriated than when he’d left. They were talking much louder than before, laughing at every other word, and the conversation had a definite slur to it. The other patrons hardly seemed to notice, most likely used to this group’s boorish behavior.

All three of them turned to look at the man only halfway in the door. They all grew a cheeky grin on their faces and giggled a little. The portly man shouted loud enough for the entire building to hear, “Oi, Slayer! Back already? I guess it’s alright to give up after such a short time.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it mate,” the bald man consoled him. “At least you made it back with your life, that’s more than most.”

“Here, come have a drink with us, our treat,” the scrawny man said as he patted the bench next to him. “You can tell us all about it.” The other two men began to chuckle incessantly at that last comment. That was until The Slayer finished maneuvering into the tavern and they could see clearly what he was holding. After that, there was nothing but pure silence, from everyone.

He walked over to their table and lifted up the decapitated hippagon head he had dragged all this way. The three men flinched as The Slayer dropped it down onto the table in front of them, knocking over their drinks and cracking the wood a little from its immense weight.

The men scooted their benches back a little, away from the head as it poured over the edges of the table that could barely contain it. They then proceeded to glance endlessly from The Slayer to the head, back and forth.

The Slayer ignored them as he strolled up to the tavern counter and met the gaze of the barkeep who doubled as the bureaucrat in charge of all the town’s listings. She was clearly in a daze as she stared at his face, not able to really process what was going on around her.

“Gr..Green…” was all she managed to stutter out of her mouth before snapping back to reality. “Oh! Umm, sorry I’ll get your money right away,” she said while bowing her head. She then bent down to unlock the safe under the counter. After about a minute, she straightened back up with a sack of money so large she could barely lift it, plopping it down on the counter.

The Slayer placed his left hand on the bag and handed her a sheet of paper with his right. On it was a crudely drawn map of where the hippagon’s body was. “Thank you,” she said. “No truly, we thank you for what you have done, with that monster gone we’ll have more access to the city and its supplies. Now we can really rebuild.”

The map he had handed the barkeep served two purposes. First, the villagers would likely want to properly dispose of all the corpses to greatly lower the risk of a new monster being attracted there and taking over the territory. Secondly, the scales and bones from the hippagon would serve as great construction and crafting materials.

The Slayer pulled the sack off the counter and headed towards the door. In the future, the villagers would only be able to clearly remember a few things from that moment: the overwhelming stench coming from the hippagon’s head, the jingle from the large sack of money that dangled at the man’s side, and the burning green eyes that glowed brightly from underneath his hood. 

It may actually be the last time that anyone ever remembered him solely as ‘The Slayer’. In just a few days, his simple life of being a wandering monster hunter would come to an end. It was time to stop hiding behind his gifted title and finally set his own plans into motion—where the rest of the world would at last learn of his real name and exactly what he was capable of.

 

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