Age and wisdom, even for creatures such as these, is rarely wrong. This simple fact was forgotten in the red haze of anger for each of them, and because of that forgetfulness, the first of their monstrous ranks fell.
It was a younger beast to Skerd’s right as they descended, one who had joined on after the village attack. Being smaller and faster than the others, he’d begun to break ahead of the pack, thirst for blood and vengeance in his eyes. Below, the riders had opened fire with their small and useless weapons. The bullets bounced off the tough hides like bugs and did nothing to stop the charge.
Until the brave and foolish boy from the waters of the Uhluktahn rushed through the front line and raised something small and silver. Skerd knew at once it was an old weapon. A weapon to fear.
Skerd was just a whelp at the time of the most recent destruction of the land. He had seen many weapons like this at that time. Weapons used to hunt his kind before they all but disappeared. Weapons that had no issues ripping through the outer shell each Stalker had, even one as tough and hardened as his own. He could call no retreat or reassembling, his pride and rage would never allow it, but he knew the moment the loudest pop was heard and the flash erupted to his right where the young one was surging ahead that his instincts were absolutely correct, and now may well be the time he paid the price for his damnable lack of control.
The leading Stalker exploded in a shower of white-hot blood and sinew. Where its head had been was now just a smoking hole as its lunging front legs collapsed under its weight and momentum and began careening down the hillside, scattering those around it and striking the first hints of fear into the hearts of his brothers who had not listened to Skerd when he said this group was not to be taken lightly. Moments later its body hit the road and came to a rest between a cart and the large, rounded, mechanical thing not pulled by any animal.
Seconds later Skerd and the others were on them, striking out at the closest rider or cart they could reach.
Skerd bit down on the head of the horse nearest him, taking it off in one clean slice, blood pouring forth from both animal and mouth as the body it left behind fell instantly. The body pinned the leg of its rider just long enough to allow Skerd to advance and crush the hapless man under his powerful front legs. The smell of burning flesh hit his nose, adding to the primal bloodlust.
More of the weak shots rang out, but if any hit him Skerd didn’t notice. He began wheeling around to another rider, an older one this time, possibly a leader of the ranks. He charged, barely seeing the scene unfold around him as his eyes locked on his target. He could see the mettle in the man he approached and sensed this kill would be that much sweeter for it.
Then the second pop was heard and another of his kind was lost to a gruesome explosion. The blood that rained down on the humans burned and many screamed in pain as it hit them. In some places, fires started as it hit something incendiary. Animals began to panic more than ever and the drivers of the carts could no longer control them as they began bolting and jostling around.
Skerd forgot his intended victim with the second blast and searched out anew for the holder of that damned weapon. He gave the elder rider a swipe, sending the horse and rider spiraling into the air and away; the beast was dead before it hit the ground and the rider likely not much better. He crashed into the riverbank and came to a rest, the toes of his boots licking the rushing water below as he lay unmoving.
Skerd looked around, scanning all he saw for the young fool. The others of his kind were faring well, the damage and disarray already considerable and many of the humans and the animals they possessed were lying lifelessly on the ground. Carts were overturned and fires spread.
A smile came to him, or what passes for one on the face of a Ruskan Dragon Stalker, as he saw the young one and his precious gun, falling back behind the round rolling machine and its young driver. Skerd charged forward, careful to keep an eye on the weapon he carried, ready for it to rise and fire again. He came around the machine with astonishing speed, eager to end the threat and finish the job he’d set out to do.
The weapon never raised and fear was written over his boyish, dark face, though he still faced Skerd bravely. The weapon wouldn’t work, Skerd surmised, though for reasons that were completely beyond him.
Just as he was in striking distance and was about to snap the whelp in two, the large machine shifted, front wheels turning and engine coming to life as the young crippled one fired it up and drove it forward quickly, striking Skerd and tossing him off balance as he reached out for the kill with his huge claws. The hit was just enough to allow the prey to elude the killing blow, as well as put the huge beast and his considerable momentum on a downhill course to the river below, an occurrence that surely meant a painful and long-suffering death to one of his kind.
A cry of rage from
