The assault had begun in much the same way as the previous one. They had watched, they had waited, and when all 'light' had left they had entered the camp and attempted to dispose of those on watch... However this time they had been met with significant resistance.There had not been a child at the helm, no, on this occasion one of the most seasoned had taken the first watch and it had been he, with a thunderous roar, who had stirred the camp.
The Captain had been firm in his instructions on this outing, their first since the tragedy. They had been instructed not to spread out, to clump up, and as such they would inadvertently have one another's backs. Had it not been for this forethought then their watcher might very well have died. As it was, those who stirred who had immediately descended upon those who had attempted to disturb their rest.
From there it had been absolute chaos.
The white lion had been able to identify how it had all changed so quickly. One moment it appeared the Vikings had successfully counted the initial strike, and then in an instant, the beasts had changed their strategy. Not a word had been uttered, the change in formation had been immediate, almost robotic. It had had the desired effect as well, with each Viking scattered and pinned down.
It was the same madness that had descended upon them before.
Every strategy they knew of had failed, there hadn't seemed to be a counter to these...these things... and then he and his brothers had heard a sound none of them had wished to hear. The agonised roar that rippled across the darkened expanse, the voice of their captain. There could be no mistake that he had been gravely wounded, and not a single one of them knew where he was. One would have been a fool to assume that they would be an exception to this rule and they would be next.
Were such beasts truly unstoppable?
The white lion had gazed into the depths of the darkness to be met with nothing but red eyes that stared back. They were drawing nearer and he saw no plausible method of striking back that wouldn't result in a repeat performance of his last Viking - the one where he had been saved by Iloziya. This time however, the new Reaver would not have his back and he was alone, just like the rest of his brothers.
Was all truly lost?
He took a series of steps back to ensure he kept a slight distance from the prowling eyes. His father had survived for this long, he had found a way to hunt them, so how had it been achieved? It was not an answer that seemed to come readily to him and in those moments he wished he had pried further. Hindsight was always 20/20, and instead he did something that he thought he might never do... he prayed for a sign. He didn't ask for the aid of his mother, no, he called out for anything that might will him to find a answer to a quickly deteriorating situation.
Ah...But the gods were selective in those they aided, they were not perfect, he knew that only too well. To assume there would be a sign would be foolish, even his father would have said as much.
...And yet...
As his steps continued ever backwards towards the edge of the forest canopy and the shoreline, something did answer him.
Under the waxing moon there existed a haunting light, and in that beautiful glow he could see them. Step by step they cast shadows, and with every passing second they gained form.
He could see them!
"FIGHT IN THE LIGHT!" he shrieked, his voice breaking as he spun on his heels and ran as quickly as his paws would carry him towards the beach. He couldn't help but give a nervous laugh, adrenaline fueled, but there. Whatever had answered him, whether it be god or coincidence was irrelevant, all that mattered is he had an answer...at least for now. His good fortune continued as he heard the thunder of paws from the jungle and soon they stood as one.
Banded together, though severely injured, they were still alive and now they weren't faced with just eyes.
Now, they had numbers.
"Keep your backs together, stay in the light," Tethys snarled as he faced off against their now visible foes. He wouldn't admit that their lack of concern for their sudden vulnerability was disconcerting, now was not the time to show weakness, he could fall to pieces later. "This ends now!" he roared and bounded forward for one last charge. His brothers followed suit, and the beasts answered in kind...
Thus, it was under the waxing moon on the clearest of nights, that the silhouettes could be seen by any and all who may have been at a high vantage point.
The vikings of this warband made their 'final' stand...
******
It felt like hours, and yet it was over within minutes. The fury that they had all felt had served them well, and without their cover, the beasts had fallen swiftly. While they had guile, stealth, and a method far beyond the comprehension of this warband... They had not been able to outmatch the sheer strength that lay within the blows of the Stormborn.
As silence fell upon the shore and blood littered the once pure sands, they had the opportunity to take stock.
"The Captain," One spoke up suddenly, though still breathless.
"Dead," Another answered bluntly. He had been there, he had witnessed it, they had all made a point of going for the Captain. If the previous assault on the younglings had been bad, this had been decidedly worse.
"Then we bury him," Tethys interjected stiffly and began to make his way towards the fallen Captain. "Stick together," he added as he glanced over his shoulder. "There's no telling if they're still in there," he pointed out. He hadn't been aware of the tone of his voice, but it had resulted in a series of exchanged glances before his brothers complied.
"And then?" It was a valid question, one that though not specified, didn't really need to be.
"Then?" Tethys snorted bitterly. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired of being hunted," he stated and looked ahead once more. "They don't fear us, we're game for them."
He paused.
"I intend to change that," he smirked darkly as he caught sight of their Captain; he was most assuredly dead, no measure of triage would restore him to health. "I'll make the rivers run red if I have to," he continued and turned to face his brothers.
"I promise you their pelts will decorate the walls of our homes," he growled.
Perhaps it was the cruel glint in his eye, or the shift in disposition, but there could be no doubt of his intention.
"Care to join me?" he asked at last.
There was a pause as each of the band considered what had been said.
"It would appear you have yourself a Hunt, Captain," they stepped forward one by one to acknowledge him...And as each pledged their support, he had already begun to consider his options. Where would he begin, who would he talk to? Regardless, he would turn the hunters into the hunted, and they would pay for their insolence.
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