The following day, when it was time to pick a challenge, Hermon did not bother to pick from the pool of lots the rest of the children had picked from. He thrust his chest forward, wore a stern face, and with a stentorian voice declared his intention to hunt the Walrug. His mother placed her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. But her eyes glowered with fear. Fear for her son. The boy could face great danger and go berserk, exhaust himself after. and while he lay weak, recovering, he could be hurt. Besides, going berserk would be the beginning of the shortening of his lifespan. Biniamin had smiled proudly. And soon, the boys from the rest of the royal family indicated their interest in hunting the Walrug.
Now, at the cusp of launching an attack on the Walrug family, Biniamin could not help but wonder if he had just led his only son to die.
Hermon’s arms ached. He had been keeping his muscles taut for a while now. He was frightened that if he let his arm relax, his trembling hands would betray the fear that ran wild inside him. When had he ever taken another life? Yet, here he was required to not just take a life, but to take the life of something that would be very eager to take his.
He watched his father look over the berm for the umpteenth time, before beckoning the rest of the group forward, and very slowly, they inched towards the berm on their bellies.
Hermon cast his eyes over, and caught sight of the Walrug, his heart pealed like thunder, and he felt a chill across his back. He had seen images of the Walrugs in the clan’s archives. His father even had the head of the one he had killed during his time, hanging on the wall in his private chamber. But seeing them alive and healthy was jarring.
He could spot the father of the family, smaller in size than the mother. However, it was the cluster of children that grasped Hermon’s attention. They were little, tender looking, and innocent; starkly in opposition to the ferocious look of their parents.
Biniamin appraised all the boys and whispered to them to attack his signal. When the signal came, as expected, the Walrugs were surprised.
A shrill ululation rent the air, and the boys ran forward, exactly as they had been taught to do. As they sped closer to the confused Walrugs, they split into groups to deal with the mother and father. Hermon, unable to let the innocent children become a sport, decided to herd them away from the slaughter. That was when it happened.
Biniamins’ eyes shot wide open in horror. What he was seeing was not impossible, but uncommon, and very rarely reported. His heart sank in despair, as it dawned on him that he may lose his son. He had made sure that the family of Walrugs to be attacked was alone. It never crossed his mind that there would be more of them in such proximity.
Biniamin let out a scream, trying to draw Hermon’s attention to two grown female Walrugs charging at him from out of the surrounding brush.
The other children had their hands full with prospective kills to notice the predicament Hermon was in. It was the tremors Hermon felt on the ground that alerted him that something was up. He turned, and rolled to the side, just in time to avoid being impaled on a Walrug horn Hermon landed in a crouch and watched guardedly as the two new Walrugs circled him, baring their glossy needle-like teeth. He heard shouting, and recognized the voice as belonging to his father. Hermon was sure that his father would be coming to save him. All he had to do was stay beyond the reach of either of the Walrugs till then. He cast a glance towards the rest of the children. They were making difficult progress trying to kill the Walrugs. He was all alone. One of the Walrugs charged from his left, intending to run him through with its horns. Hermon ran towards it, before leaping, somersaulting, over it, and rolling as he landed. Immediately, he began to run towards a tree, with the intent of climbing it and staying out of reach. He had not made it far, when he felt a massive and painful impact on his feet, knocking him off the ground. As he fell, he remembered something his father had told him once:
“Never engage a Walrug in a race. They run like the wind.”
Biniamin, and the group of men with him, had vaulted off the berm and began running to cushion the rapidly unravelling massacre when he saw his son try to run. He had enough time to think: No Hermon! before he saw his son go down. Both Walrugs swooped in on him immediately.
Hermon held the horns of one of the Walrugs keeping it from tearing at his face or throat. But he could not do anything for the second one that was tearing at his legs with its teeth. Hermon could feel his strength begin to wane. Pain engulfed him like flames…
Suddenly, like there was an explosion in his head, his vision went black.
The sound of the guttural cry was what struck Biniamin and the other men. They all felt it, the release and connection to magic so deeply rooted and ancient among the Berserkers. It was magic only the fewest could ever tap into. And they could only do that after a lengthy routine of meditation and practice. But there, right before them was proof that it could be tapped through some other way.
Biniamin watched as the Walrug over Hermon, was rent into two longitudinal halves. Hermon stood to his feet, only that he was not just Hermon. He had gone fully berserk. He was huger now, thicker limbed, with elongated claw-like nails, and short tusks where his incisors had been. His eyes were
