Page 13 of Feral Gods
THANE
Blood rushes in my body as I launch myself from the temple's highest parapet, wings unfurling with a crack that echoes across the snow-covered mountainside. The blizzard has subsided, leaving behind a pristine white landscape bathed in the pale light of dawn. Finally, I taste freedom on the cold mountain air—sharp, invigorating, and laced with the promise of violence.
Let Ravik brood over defenses and Zephyr pore over dusty scrolls. I need to test this body that has been imprisoned in stone for too long, to feel my muscles stretch and my wings catch the currents of air that sweep across Causadurn Ridge.
I spiral upward, reveling in the burn of long-dormant wings supporting my massive frame. My iron-black skin absorbs the weak sunlight, warming despite the frigid temperature. The runes etched into my flesh pulse with a crimson glow that matches my eyes—magic awakening after centuries of slumber.
From this height, I can survey the entire valley below. The temple sits like a jagged wound in the mountainside, partially concealed by ancient magic and natural camouflage. Beyond stretches the vast forest that separates us from Liiandor, its darkevergreens heavy with snow. And farther still, just visible on the horizon, the faint outline of the dark elf city itself, its obsidian spires piercing the sky like accusing fingers.
My lip curls in a snarl at the sight. Liiandor. Once my home, now a monument to betrayal. How fitting that we were awakened by a slave fleeing that cesspit of cruelty and arrogance.
The human. Kaia. An unexpected complication in what should have been a straightforward awakening. I expected to emerge from stone sleep thirsting for vengeance, not bound by obligation to protect a fragile human female. Yet even I cannot deny the debt we owe her. Without her desperate plea, we might have remained frozen for another thousand years.
Still, a debt is not the same as trust, and I have no intention of growing attached to our temporary ward. Humans collaborated with dark elves in our imprisonment. They are weak, disloyal creatures who serve whoever holds the whip.
Though I must admit, this particular human has shown more spine than most of her kind.
I bank sharply, descending toward the treeline. The forest calls to me, promising hunt and prey. My gargoyle senses—far keener than those I possessed as a dark elf—detect movement among the trees. Animals fleeing at my approach, perhaps, or something more interesting. Either way, I intend to discover what else has changed in the world during our long sleep.
Landing with a heavy thud that shakes snow from nearby branches, I fold my wings against my back and drop into a predatory crouch. The forest seems different somehow—older, wilder, with an undercurrent of magic that wasn't present before our imprisonment. The trees themselves have grown massive, their canopies forming a network of interlocking branches that block much of the light.
Perfect hunting ground.
I move silently despite my size, a skill honed through centuries of combat before my transformation. My claws leave barely a trace in the snow as I follow a game trail deeper into the woods. A small herd of dae has passed this way recently, their distinctive three-horned tracks clear in the fresh powder. Good eating, if I can catch one—though my purpose here isn't merely to fill my belly.
I need to know the extent of our enemies' movements, to establish the perimeter of our territory, to understand the threats that surround our sanctuary. The dark elf hunting parties we've encountered so far were merely the advance guard. King Kres will send more—many more—once he realizes what has awakened in the mountain.
A sound reaches my sensitive ears—the soft crunch of snow beneath a cautious foot, not the four-legged gait of forest prey. I freeze, every sense alert. The wind shifts, bringing with it a scent that makes my nostrils flare and my blood heat with anticipation.
Dark elf.
Moving with deliberate stealth, I circle toward the source of the sound. Through the trees, I catch glimpses of movement—three figures in the distinctive armor of Liiandor scouts, moving in a standard search pattern. Their violet eyes scan the forest floor, likely following the human's trail from days ago, though the blizzard has obscured most signs of her passage.
I could return to the temple and report their presence. The strategic choice, certainly. But strategy has never been my strength, and besides...I'm hungry. For food, yes, but more importantly, for battle. For the exquisite pleasure of tearing apart those who once condemned me to living death.
The scouts have separated slightly, a tactical error that will cost them dearly. I focus on the one farthest from his companions, a slim, silver-haired male with the arrogantbearing of Khuzuth nobility. Likely leading this little expedition, then. How considerate of him to offer himself as my first kill.
I wait until he passes beneath my position, perched on a thick branch twenty feet above the forest floor. Then I drop.
The dark elf has no time to scream before my weight crushes him into the snow. My claws find his throat, tearing through flesh and sinew with effortless precision. Hot blood sprays across the pristine white ground, steam rising from its vivid blue-black hue in the cold air. The taste of it on my tongue is sweeter than the finest wine, rich with magic and life.
His companions cry out in alarm, drawing weapons with the practiced efficiency of trained warriors. Too late. I'm already moving, a blur of iron-black skin and crimson eyes, my massive wings extended to block their escape route.
"By the Serpent!" one gasps, his violet eyes widening in recognition and fear. "Gargoyle!"
The word emerges as a curse, a nightmare made flesh. Good. They remember us, then. Remember what we're capable of.
"The rumors are true," the other whispers, backing away slowly, bow already nocked. "They've awakened."
"And hungry," I growl, my voice a rumbling bass that makes the very air vibrate. "So very hungry."
The archer looses his arrow with admirable speed, but I'm faster, swatting the projectile aside with a contemptuous flick of my clawed hand. His companion charges with more courage than sense, sword raised in a desperate attack. I meet his charge head-on, relishing the clash of steel against my stone-like skin. His blade scrapes across my chest, leaving not even a scratch.
My laughter echoes through the silent forest as I seize him by the throat, lifting his struggling form from the ground with one hand.
"Tell me, little elf," I purr, bringing his face close to mine, "does King Kres still sit upon his throne? Does he remember the gargoyles he betrayed?"
The dark elf's eyes bulge as he struggles for breath, clawing ineffectually at my grip. "The king...will destroy you," he manages, defiant even in the face of death. "As he did before."
