The Outergod's Avatar-Chapter 41: The Maw Forest (3)

"Ahhhh!!!"

"Somebody please save me, somebody please. Cap-... Soph—"

His voice cracked, cut off by the grotesque sounds of tearing flesh. The monsters were taking their time. This wasn’t a kill; it was a performance. One meant to draw out fear—to break not just the body, but the spirit.

His screams echoed through the forest, desperate and piercing. They clawed their way into the hearts of everyone hiding among the trees, and froze them in place. No one moved. No one dared.

The beasts didn’t just maul him. They tossed him from one clawed hand to another, letting him crawl a few inches, letting hope build before violently yanking it away again. It was as if they enjoyed watching him grasp for a freedom he’d never reach. One of the creatures slashed at his back, while another stabbed a curved talon into his shoulder and twisted.

"Ahhh! Please help me!"

Izikel trembled. He had turned away, but the sounds still stabbed into his ears. He couldn’t unhear them. He glanced around. Other figures crouched among the branches—soldiers, Druids, scouts—all frozen, all helpless.

Felvin looked sick. The other Druids fidgeted nervously, some clinging to the trees as if they could merge with them and vanish. A few soldiers squeezed their eyes shut, trying to block it all out. Izikel couldn’t tell if they were angry, ashamed, or just afraid—but fear was definitely the strongest scent in the air.

That was exactly what the monsters wanted.

They weren’t dumb animals. They were calculating, coordinated. Hunters. And this? This was bait. The man’s cries weren’t for help—they were a trap. The monsters were watching. Waiting. Hoping someone would break ranks and rush to save him.

"Bloody bastards," Izikel hissed under his breath.

He clenched his fists tighter, teeth grinding. Even if he didn’t watch, he couldn’t escape the sound. Every whimper, every gurgled breath near death—he felt it, each one a blade to his chest.

Lyzah couldn’t take it anymore. She buried her face in Sophia’s arms, shaking uncontrollably.

But Sophia didn’t look away. She held Lyzah close, her eyes locked on the scene below. Her expression was unreadable. Cold, maybe. Focused. Izikel wasn’t sure.

Was this what leadership looked like? Watching one of your people die while doing nothing? Letting him scream your name in vain while you waited for the right moment to move?

Izikel wondered what it did to a person—to their soul—to stand still while someone died like that.

But he knew. He understood.

No one would come. The man was going to die, and they were all going to hear it. His pain would be carved into their memories, a cruel reminder that one misstep was all it took. And if they fell, no one would come for them either.

The man’s cries were fading. He was near the end.

And just when it seemed like he was gone—

He screamed again.

It was different this time. Gut-wrenching. It sounded like his soul was being ripped apart. Izikel felt his stomach twist. What had they done to him? What kind of agony could cause a man to scream like that after already being torn to pieces?

That final scream startled a young Druid perched on a nearby branch. She lost her footing.

"No!"

Her foot slipped. She tumbled.

Sophia reached for her, but the girl fell too fast. She hit the ground hard—too hard.

Thud.

"No, no, no."

The girl scrambled up, horror dawning on her face.

Izikel saw it too. The monsters had turned.

They’d heard her fall. And now, they were moving. Slowly, eagerly. Their claws scraped the forest floor. Their eyes gleamed with sick anticipation.

It almost looked like they were smiling, with their jaggered teeth gleaming under the moonlight. Their steps as quiet as always.

The Druid backed into the base of the tree, trembling. Too terrified to run. Too stunned to scream. Tears streamed down her face.

"Please, please don’t," she whispered.

Lyzah sobbed harder and clung to Sophia. "Please, Saint Sophia, don’t let her die," she begged, her voice cracking. "Please!"

Izikel looked to Sophia too. Hopeful. Desperate.

But he already knew the answer.

Sophia wasn’t going to move. Not just because she was protecting herself, but because she was protecting Lyzah. And Izikel too. If she acted, they all died.

He hated that he understood.

The Druid girl tried to crawl away, sobbing.

The monsters didn’t wait.

They pounced.

Blood splashed across the roots of the tree as claws dug into flesh. The girl screamed. She kicked and thrashed, but it was useless. There were too many of them. Too fast. Too brutal.

Lyzah cried into Sophia’s chest, begging her to make it stop. Sophia held her tightly, whispering gently.

"It’s a small pack," she murmured. "We just have to wait until they pass. It’ll be over soon."

Izikel clenched his jaw. He wanted to believe that. He needed to. The nightmare had to end eventually.

He stared down at the creatures below. One of them stood beneath their tree, blood dripping from its claws. Its jaw twitched. Its eyes burned.

Apex predators.

That’s what they were. That’s what he was seeing. Not mindless beasts, not wild animals—killing machines that hunted not just flesh, but fear.

He hated them. Every fiber of his being burned with rage.

He wished nothing more than to see one of them fall—to watch it die screaming.

Then one of the creatures lifted its head.

It sniffed the air.

Then again.

Izikel froze.

No.

The beast took a step forward, toward their tree. It snapped its jaws a few times, testing the air. They were too high up, right? It couldn’t reach them.

That’s what Izikel thought.

Until the creature lifted one leg—and stabbed a talon into the tree trunk.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

The beast clutched the bark with both claws and began to pull itself upward, slow and deliberate. One talon after the other, its body rising inch by inch.

Izikel stared in horror.

It was climbing.