A Lore Guardian's Love

[Fez_The_Kid]

The path back to the cave where Myra had been caged was fraught with emotions. Hollow contentment proved a bitter sentiment, soured still by acute rancor and grief. The trio had all joined to conjure a single, powerful demon. A vain entity that would ever taunt him, that had taken up permenant abode in his mind’s eye. And the poison burgeoned with each stride he took, threatening to inflict him with eternal madness. Self-doubt would follow him into the upcoming fight, and, presumably, all the ones to follow in the course of his life.

It spoke of naught but tragedy. A hunt for precious canines quickly twisted into a confused massacre, where too much death happened on both sides. The situation had gotten messy, ran out of anyone’s control. Azaranth’s haplessness at the time lingered with him like a bitter aftertaste.

Would that he could sever his own tongue to stop them, those thoughts of poison. A lack of confidence meant a lack of finesse - perhaps that was partly the cause of his party’s unexpectedly sudden death - and to attack a monster without that overtly distinct quality no doubt invited a similar fate.

They had not grown all that familiar with him - but somehow, the remnant details filled by his imagination, their faces would ever remain a sour memory in his mind. Especially yours, Kyra.

He would avenge them all.

Verith, however, would not accept the act of merely killing the Saberlioness. To honor the late monster-hunter was to slay the monster. One on one. A tradition not uncommon among the numbered practitioners of the trade in the world. Meaning I’ll have to get her out of Breaker’s cage somehow. Put her down as Veirth and I had intended.

Retracing the maelstrom of footprints back into the wood, Azaranth came within view of the entrance.

Then halted.

“Didn’t expect you’d be able to free yourself," he mused. "At least not so soon.”

Still in her beast form, Myra’s huge head rose to regard him. Slit eyes narrowed in recognition. “You...”

“Yes, Myra. Me. Azaranth,” he introduced himself, not out of formality, but as to evoke the name of the one to finally put her down. “The hand behind the slaying of your entourage. I’ve come for you.”

A deep, reverberating snarl breached through rows of teeth. “The sight of you sickens me, hunter. Before I tear you apart - tell me one thing.” A step forward, eyes glittering with malice. “You want my skin, yes? Why, then, have you slain my followers? What value their deaths to you if you solely targeted my own?”

Azaranth’s answer came quickly, that even he was surprised by its readiness. “The same reason you slew my own, Myra.”

“Bastard! It was naught but self-defense—”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m a hunter, not an assassin. If I were to attack only you, your entire party would respond accordingly.” Azaranth paused. “Couldn’t risk that. Yet…”

“Your comrades all fell to their deaths anyway. Tragic. And idiotic. For now, you shall meet the same fate. Prepare to meet the afterlife.” Myra lowered her head, legs gathering behind her as she readied herself to charge.

A few heartbeats later and Myra's jaws were closing in on him, his silver sword raised to catch that savage bite.

And Azaranth would then remember nothing but those fierce, amber eyes that held him with an almost-primal intent. Even as the life left them.