Beast Devourer: I Grow Stronger by Eating Monsters

The first sign that someone was following him was too clean.

Raven had been walking away from the mill for a little over an hour when he noticed a broken branch beside the trail.

That wasn’t unusual.

The forest was full of broken branches.

What was unusual was the angle.

The wood had snapped toward the trail, not away from it. A boot had stepped on the end while someone tried to move along the tree line without walking directly on the path.

Raven didn’t stop.

He kept walking.

His pack was heavier than when he’d left Greyhaven. Inside were several pounds of Gloom Stalker meat, the remaining cervical plates, claws, part of the hide, tendon fragments, and several samples he still hadn’t decided whether to sell or keep.

There were also sixty-five crowns waiting for him in the city.

If he made it back.

His side was still bandaged. Every deep breath reminded him about the broken ribs. His right shoulder burned.

Burst Step was new, and his legs still felt strange, as though something behind the muscles had been subtly rearranged.

It wasn’t the best time to run into trouble.

Which probably meant trouble had chosen him for exactly that reason.

Raven let Predator’s Instinct work.

Nothing immediate.

That didn’t mean he was alone.

This forest was different from the one he’d first arrived in. More open. Younger trees. Low brush. Abandoned fields occasionally breaking through the vegetation.

Someone could follow him from a hundred feet away without a Skill focused on immediate hostility giving him much warning.

Raven kept moving.

Didn’t look back.

Fifteen minutes later, he found another sign.

A footprint.

Human.

Someone had tried to erase it.

Badly.

Raven observed it without lowering his head.

At least four people.

Probably more.

One advantage of spending years hunting men was learning that people convinced themselves they were harder to track than animals.

They weren’t.

They just lied better.

Raven altered his route slightly.

Left the main path and took a secondary trail south.

If whoever was behind him simply wanted to reach Greyhaven, they’d continue straight.

If they were following him...

The answer came seven minutes later.

A stone shifted behind him.

Far away.

Raven kept walking.

”Good.”

He didn’t know who they were.

That mattered less than knowing what they wanted.

Maybe hunters interested in the Gloom Stalker.

Maybe mercenaries Garrick had sent to confirm whether Raven had actually survived.

Maybe Cedric and his friends had decided their conversation at the Mercenary House wasn’t over.

Maybe just thieves.

Raven didn’t have enough information.

So he’d give them an opportunity to provide some.

The trail ended at the ruins of a small farm.

Stone house.

Collapsed roof.

Destroyed barn.

A partially covered well.

Raven had seen the place from the hill on his way to the mill.

Two useful entrances.

A nearby tree line.

Walls thick enough to matter.

Terrain he already knew.

He didn’t need anything else.

He entered the house.

Placed his pack against a wall.

Drew his knife.

Then waited.

Three minutes.

Five.

A voice came from outside.

”We know you’re in there.”

Male.

Raven remained silent.

”We don’t want trouble.”

That almost always meant they wanted trouble.

Raven looked through a crack in the wall.

One.

Thin man.

Patchy beard.

Shortbow.

Leather clothing.

No visible mercenary badge.

Another appeared on the right.

Axe.

Then a woman.

One side of her head shaved.

Short sword.

Three.

No.

Four.

A shadow near the barn.

Possibly five behind them.

The voice came again.

”We just want to talk.”

Raven answered.

”Then talk.”

A pause.

The archer smiled.

”Come out.”

”No.”

”You’re not getting very far with those injuries.”

Raven looked at his bandages.

Dried blood.

Slight stiffness when he walked.

They’d been watching.

Which meant they’d followed from relatively close range.

”What do you want?”

The man rested the bow against his shoulder.

”The monster.”

”Dead.”

”We can see that.”

”Then you’re late.”

The woman laughed.

”We don’t need to kill it ourselves to collect the reward.”

Ah.

Raven understood.

”The bounty.”

”And the materials.”

”No.”

The man smiled.

”I don’t think you understand your situation.”

”I understand it pretty well.”

”You’re injured. Alone. Copper.”

Raven didn’t answer.

”There are six of us.”

Six.

Free information.

Raven had counted five positions.

The sixth was still out of sight.

”And if I refuse?”

The archer’s smile widened.

”Then we take everything afterward.”

A different voice came from behind the house.

”And we eat better tonight.”

Laughter.

Raven turned his head slightly.

Sixth.

Perfect.

”Eat?”

The woman ran her tongue over one of her teeth.

”We don’t waste meat.”

That produced an actual pause.

Not fear.

Not complete surprise.

Assessment.

Raven looked through the crack again.

Some of their clothes had dark stains.

One of the pouches hanging from the archer’s belt looked too small to contain tools.

Then Raven saw a finger.

Human.

Dried.

Hanging from a cord.

Raven had seen trophies before.

Ears.

Teeth.

Fingers.

That could still have been intimidation.

Then the wind changed.

A smell drifted from the barn.

Cooked meat.

Fat.

Old smoke.

Something else.

Raven knew that smell.

He had operated in places where human bodies had burned for hours.

It wasn’t exactly the same.

Close enough.

”Cannibals.”

The man smiled.

”Don’t make it sound so ugly.”

”Hard name to improve.”

”Meat is meat.”

Raven looked at the pouch.

Then at the others.

”And the finger?”

The archer glanced down as if he’d forgotten it was there.

”Offering.”

”To who?”

The woman answered this time.

”The Hollow Father.”

Raven didn’t recognize the name.

”God?”

Her smile changed.

More devout.

That was worse.

”He eats what we eat.”

Raven went still.

”So you’re planning to kill me, take my bounty, eat my body, and offer the leftovers to a deity?”

The archer seemed to consider the description.

”When you put it like that...”

”Sounds efficient.”

The man laughed.

”I like you, foreigner.”

Raven studied their positions.

”It won’t be mutual.”

The smile disappeared.

”Last chance.”

Raven closed his eyes for one second.

Not from fear.

To organize.

Six.

Archer in front.

Sword on the left.

Axe on the right.

One behind the house.

Another near the barn.

Sixth unknown, probably covering the rear exit.

He was injured.

Mana had partially recovered during the walk.

Mana: 14 / 18

Burst Step still untested outside assimilation.

Stonehide familiar.

Ember Spark.

Predator’s Instinct.

He could negotiate.

Give up the materials.

Lose the reward.

Maybe stay alive.

Physically, it was the least dangerous option.

It would also require trusting six cannibal cultists who had already decided he was food.

Raven had trusted more respectable people before.

He’d ended up with his own squad pointing rifles at him.

He wasn’t going to repeat the mistake out of politeness.

”No.”

The archer sighed.

”Shame.”

Predator’s Instinct screamed.

Raven moved aside.

An arrow passed through the crack.

THUNK.

It buried itself in the interior wall.

Raven was already moving.

The second arrow came through the doorway.

Raven wasn’t there.

He had left a plank leaning against the rear wall when he entered.

He kicked it.

The wood fell across a low opening.

Not a real barricade.

A delay.

That was enough.

The swordswoman entered first.

Raven knew from the footsteps.

Light.

Fast.

Confident.

He waited behind the wall.

The tip of the sword appeared.

Then the shoulder.

Predator’s Instinct reacted.

Thrust.

Raven rotated off-line.

Caught the wrist.

Stonehide spread across two fingers and part of his palm.

He squeezed.

The woman cried out.

The sword dropped.

Raven struck her throat with the edge of his hand.

Once.

Not enough to kill.

Enough to interrupt her breathing.

He grabbed her by the hair.

Slammed her into the wall.

THUD.

Her body went loose.

Raven took the sword.

He didn’t waste time checking whether she was still conscious.

Another man entered.

Axe.

Big.

More muscle than technique.

Raven threw the sword.

Not to kill him.

The blade struck his forearm.

The man reacted.

The axe dropped.

Raven stepped inside the arc.

Elbow to the chin.

Knee to the abdomen.

Knife beneath the ribs.

Once.

Out.

Again.

The man tried to grab him.

Raven turned.

Used his weight.

The cannibal collapsed on top of the unconscious woman.

Raven moved away.

An arrow came through the doorway.

Grazed his shoulder.

”Two inside!” the archer shouted.

Bad discipline.

Now Raven knew they could communicate.

He pulled out a small strip of cloth.

Oil.

He had saved one bottle.

He threw it at the entrance.

Glass shattered.

Raven extended his hand.

Ember Spark.

FWOOSH.

Fire.