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That doesn’t add up. I might be stronger, but these creatures wouldn’t be able to determine what my powers are. They aren’t strong enough. These are bottom feeders.
The pack moves slowly toward me, tongues hanging out and clawed paws hanging to their sides. One’s missing. The original wolf, Magrid. My head turns left and right looking for the leader. My heart rate accelerates as I realize what a mess I’ve found myself in. I never leave my loft without at least one blade.
I was distracted. Again.
Sweat trickles down my cheek from the exertion of trying to escape. I wipe it away roughly, unwilling to go down without a fight. I crouch low in a fighting stance, hoping to take them out at their feet.
The roaring starts up again, but I don’t pay it any attention, my focus on the pack. The sounds of heavy feet can be heard breaking branches under their weight. I squint, trying to see what’s headed my way. The current head of the pack seems to decide to bring his attention back to me.
He licks his lips, showcasing a row of razor-sharp teeth. I inhale deeply, trying to remain focused as he stalks toward me. He doesn’t make it far before a massive dog appears through the trees, baring his teeth.
Hellhound.
My eyes go wide at the sight of the beast. Lucifer’s personal pet. If that thing is here, Lucifer’s close by. An alarming shiver runs down my spine. They don’t leave Hell without him.
In a strange turn of events, the beast rips through the pack, tearing them limb from limb. Sinew and entrails spray everywhere, the forest floor painted in blood, and I’m rooted in place, unable to move. This is my chance to escape, yet I can’t get my feet and my head on the same page. You can’t outrun a hound.
Hellhounds have one master. They don’t care if you’re on Lucifer’s side or not. They’ll rip through you to get to their target, as witnessed here.
When every last one of the demons is torn apart, the hound turns toward me. It moves slowly in my direction, crouching low and revealing its yellowed teeth, pieces of flesh stuck between the blades.
My stomach rolls and I’m close to spilling its contents on the forest floor. The only way to kill a hellhound is with my divine blade, which is currently MIA. The beast takes off in a sprint, coming right toward me. It prepares to pounce and my eyes close as I fall to my knees.
The expected impact never comes. Body shaking and breath heavy, I open my eyes and twist to see the hound chewing what’s left of the wolf, Magrid, that had been missing from the pack. The hellhound leapt over me to take out a demon?
Hellhounds are the most vicious creatures of Hell. They don’t discriminate when it comes to their victims. Evil, angelic, human—they’re all fair game when the beasts are hungry, and they’re always ravenous. But why had it passed me by to get to the demon?
I stand slowly to my feet, the hound’s eyes never leaving me as it continues to feast on the fallen demon. Carefully, trying to draw little attention to myself, I back up, trying to retreat while the thing’s preoccupied with feeding.
I haven’t gotten far before it’s done, swiping its massive tongue out to wipe the gore from its jowls. I freeze, not wanting to force the creature to attack prematurely. The hound freezes, ears perking up. I strain to attempt to hear whatever has its attention, but I hear nothing. Whatever calls to the beast is for its ears only. It turns away and runs off into the forest without giving me a second glance.
