Beastfall — A Monster Hunter-Inspired Fantasy Short Story

Photo by Joylynn Goh on Unsplash

“Shh.” The noise came from the bushes just to Gawain’s right. It was barely audible above the hum of the lush jungle. The canopy above him buzzed with the call-and-response of birds, and the undergrowth practically writhed with life as he tromped through it, raising his legs high to step over the vines and tree roots that burst through the thick undergrowth in a complex weave. It was all he could do to not trip.

“Stop moving!” That was definitely a voice.

“What?” He asked.

“Quiet!” The voice replied, barely a whisper on the wind.

Gawain crouched lower, his armor plates knocking against each other with a barely audible thock. He’d have to replace the fur sound-dampening when he got back to the village, Master wouldn’t stand for such poorly-kept equipment. Fortunately the Deathspine scales he’d made the armor from were almost wooden in their texture, so the sound didn’t carry far.

“It’s ahead.” The Voice said. A nearby bush seemed to move, and the end of a Crossgun peeked out, the string pulled taut. The bush twisted and moved, resolving into the shape of a human as the owner of the mysterious voice removed their Ghilliecape and stood to face Him. The Seeker’s eyes were a green so dark that it almost matched the environment around them, and his face was painted with a camouflage that allowed him to blend well enough even without the ghillie gape. The way they painted their face to match their environments had always seemed silly. Why hide and engage from a distance? Why not simply face your opponent head on? It was the best measure of skill there was: Good Contractors fought Beasts and survived, bad Contractors? Well…

Gawain wondered for a moment if this Seeker was sent by the Federation, or if they were part of an independent party exploring new climes as he was. He’d need to dig into this when he got back to the village. It wasn’t often they got a potential insight into the wider plans of the Federation, but if they were sending Seekers into the Forest that meant they were planning an outpost, and an outpost meant more Contracts. A vital lifeline for a Nomad party.

Gawain looked ahead, eyes darting as he scanned the thick undergrowth for any sign of his quarry. He should have been better at this. The Viper Hound wasn’t exactly subtle, but it camouflaged exceptionally well in this type of undergrowth. All around him were vines and smaller trees that seemed to intertwine with eachother in a twisted mess of life and greenery.

“I don’t see it.” Gawain said.

The Seeker put a finger to their lips before pointing ahead.

“Just there.” They said, pointing. “Next to the Skyoak, between the roots.”

Gawain looked ahead and sure enough, amid the thick roots protruding from the ground was a patch of brownish grass that seemed to be rising and falling rhythmically. He’d missed it in the shadow of the enormous Skyoak that reached up to dominate the canopy.

It was no wonder he’d missed the Viper Hound amid this. He was far more used to coastal climes than the forest. That was why He’d come out here in the first place; Master was known for being able to hunt in any environment, any biome. Gawain would need to get as much practise as possible Contracting outside of his usual haunts if He wanted any chance of living up to them.

“Alright.” He said to the Seeker. “How do we do this?”

“We? You’d already be dead if not for me! We aren’t doing anything, I am going to take this Viper Hound down and you are going to stay out of my way.”

The Seeker heaved his Crossgun to his hip — how did they carry those enormous things without any gravtwisting? — and tromped to the side to get a better angle on the Hound.

Gawain had always thought Seekers were an odd bunch. They trained them in the Arena the same way they trained all Contractors, but something about the way they moved seemed almost surreal. Of course he was used to it after watching Florent work for so long, She’d joined the party over a year ago, just after Gawain had completed his training and been taken on by Master, but seeing another Seeker moving the same way She did felt… Odd.

Seekers didn’t use gravtwisting to make their weapons any lighter — apparently it messed with the recoil profile or something of the sort — so a single Seeker carrying a heavyset Crossgun could weigh easily as much as a fully-loaded Packhorse, yet when they moved they hardly made a sound. Their rhythmic movements seemed almost like a dance to Gawain.

He watched silently as the Seeker settled into position, They’d climbed up on to an enormous vine that had burst from the ground and now had an unobstructed view of the Viper Hound as it slept.

The Seeker made a series of hand gestures that meant nothing to Him. They seemed to realise they hadn’t been understood when they sighed and called out to Him. “Watch it doesn’t see you when it wakes up.”

At the sound of a voice the Viper Hound stirred, raising it’s head and searching the canopy for the source of the noise. As it climbed lithely to it’s feet, the Seeker opened fire.

Crossguns were a miracle of modern technology. Based on the ballistas that the Keeps along the Eastern Borders bristled with, they were a kind of self-reloading crossbow, except far, far larger. Whereas a crossbow might reasonably be wielded by just about anybody, a Crossgun could only be carried by those who trained their bodies for years to withstand the stresses of using such a weapon. Birds in the canopy scattered in fear as the forest screamed with the sound of the weapon firing shell after shell, the recoil from each shot pushing the string back into a firing position and allowing the Seeker to continue firing.

The Viper Hound howled in anger and pain as the shells hit it’s side, each one punching a jagged chunk of flesh loose, the blood running down it’s side and pooling on the floor.

The Hound was searching wildly for the source of it’s pain, and as Gawain stood, drawing his blade from the holstering hooks on the back of his breastplate, it locked eyes with him and growled.

The thrill of the fight took him, and suddenly nothing else mattered. The world around Gawain seemed to lose all color and focus as the Viper Hound — in stark relief from the dense foliage around it — leaped toward him.

Gawain sunk his weight into his hips and drew his blade, twisting the handle to activate the weapon’s Gravtwisting. A small gem in the pommel flared to life as the weight of the blade dropped by magnitudes.

Gravtwisting was a strange, arcane art that could reduce the weight of a weapon by as much as the smithy deemed adequate. Gawain’s blade — an enormous slab of metal nearly seven feet in length and half as wide — would be impossible for even the strongest of men to wield without the power afforded by the small gem. He’d never taken the time to learn how the magic worked — knowledge was the realm of Researchers — but he had learned how to wield a Gravblade. He’d learned how to move and flow with the massive hunk of material in such a way that no creature stood a chance against him. Or so he hoped. He swung.

Gawain’s training took over and as the momentum of the blade carried his swing forward, he twisted the handle again just as the weapon made contact with the jaw of the Hound that was leaping towards him. The weight of the weapon began to return and threatened to throw him off balance, but as the blade impacted the hound, flinging it aside with a sickening crunching sound, he reactivated the gem and brought the swing under control.

Gravblades were inelegant at best. Even with the Gravtwisting gems they often still weighed in excess of 10 kilograms, and so fighting was an exercise in commitment. The blades could only be swung when the wielder was certain they had the time to recover from doing so, or they were likely to be caught off-guard by their quarry. In return, the weapons offered devastating power the likes of which could be matched only by the largest of Warhammers in the hands of the strongest of warriors.

The power of Gravblades had always taken Gawain by surprise. Even now as the Viper Hound struggled to it’s feet and turned towards him, his stomach turned slightly at the sight of it’s jaw hanging loose, dislocated and partially buckled. Blood and ichor mixed and formed sickening strings that fell from the corners of the Beast’s mouth.

The Hound made a noise that might have been a snarl had it’s face not just taken an impact hard enough to sink a ship, and leaped at him again.

Gawain twisted, stepping out of the creature’s line of attack as he brought his blade behind him and swung it over his head. As he began the downward stroke, he deactivated the gravtwisting once more and the Viper Hound made a sharp yelping sound that was quickly cut short as the weapon came down upon it’s back, bisecting it’s abdomen in a single, ragged strike.

The blade stuck in the ground at a shallow angle and Gawain stood — one hand still gripping the handle — watching as the front half of the creature twitched limply for a few seconds, it’s strength quickly fading.

Gawain stepped toward the writhing, panting front half of the Viper Hound and placed a hand on it’s shoulder.

“May the earth that spawned you once again accept your soul. May you find peace in it’s embrace.” He said as the last embers of it’s life slipped away.

“Ahh you’re one of those.” He hadn’t noticed the Seeker approaching. He’d need to be more observant in the future.

“’Them’?” Gawain asked, retrieving his weapon and setting it in the sheathing hooks on his back.

“Spiritualist.” The Seeker said, kicking the jaw of the Viper Hound with an uninterested foot.

“I am.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with it.” The Seeker said, finally turning to face Gawain, his hands held in front of him, palms out. “Some of my best friends are spiritualists.”

“But you aren’t?”

“Nope. Never got it myself. Things like this?” He gestured at the remains of the creature. “They aren’t part of the natural order. No way. Too big to be come about naturally.”

“So you think something made them?”

“That I do.”

So he was a Creationist. To each their own.

“You know, I never got your name.” Gawain said.

A wry smile touched the corners of the Seeker’s mouth. “No you didn’t.” He replied. “What you did get was my kill.” He kicked the remains again. “Even worse, you left it’s hide completely unusable. You, my friend, owe me a Viper Hound.”

“Just tell me where you’re stationed and I’ll make sure one finds you.”

The Seeker let out a single laugh. “I’m sure you will. You know I can’t tell you that. Rest of your party might get ideas.”

Gawain tensed slightly. This man and his party, were they Hunters? He must have sensed Gawain’s unease because he walked nonchalantly towards him and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it.” The man said. “I’ll let it slide this time.”

The Seeker came to a stop beside Gawain, facing the opposite direction. He sighed deeply and his smile dropped. The next time he spoke his voice was a low rumble.

“Let me be clear though. These are our grounds. Nobody runs contracts here but us. Now run home.”

The Seeker stood unflinching as Gawain approached the remains of the Viper Hound and drew his carving knife.

“Did I say you could take the parts?” The Seeker called, still facing away from him.

“You said the hide was-”

“Unusable, yes. But still mine.”

Gawain slid his carving knife back into the sheath that was strapped across his lower back and stood again. The sun was getting low. Retracing his steps wouldn’t be easy in the dark so he had to move fast. No time to argue. No trophy to prove the kill.

Master wouldn’t be happy about that.

He picked his way through the underbrush, following the downtrodden path that marked his route into the lush jungle just a few minutes ago. As he reached the top of a small incline he chanced a look back towards where the Seeker had been standing. There was no sign of the man. That wasn’t odd on it’s own — Gawain knew from watching Florent just how quickly and quietly Seekers could melt into their surroundings — but what was odd was that there also seemed to be no sign of the Viper Hound corpse that lay there just a few minutes earlier.

Gawain paused for a moment, weighing up whether his curiosity at how the Seeker could have moved the remains so quickly outweighed the risk of upsetting a party of Hunters that was hiding so close to the village.

He stood for a long moment, willing his feet to move him one way or the other, before finally deciding to leave.

He continued, picking his way down the other side of the incline and back towards the edge of the jungle.