Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
It’s now or never.
I lunge forward, half-submerged in the water quickly filling the boat, swinging the sword with both hands. The blade strikes the Old God’s chitinous flank, and chips of shell rain down. The monster’s eyes swivel toward me, each one burning with a ghastly inner light. It hisses, whipping a muscular limb toward me. I try to dodge, but it hits my forearm, numbing it in an instant.
I cry out, almost dropping the sword. What the fuck?
Is its touch paralyzing?
The boat spins wildly, and I realize we’re drifting away from the cavern wall, further into the open lake. If I can just push the Old God back, maybe we can escape around it, but it seems determined to make a meal of our bones. My breath comes in ragged gasps. The stale air and the stench of the creature’s hide threaten to choke me, and I shake out my arm violently until I get some feeling back, the sword now in my other, weaker hand.
Rauta resurfaces on the other side of the Old God, clinging to a ridge of bone with his iron jaws. The monster wails, torn between attacking me and shaking off the hound. Its tail slams down again, missing the boat by inches, sending a spray of foul droplets into my face. I wipe my eyes, fury mounting inside me. We cannot die here, not after escaping that dungeon.
I brace my feet against the boat’s edge, summoning my courage. The sword trembles in my grip until I pass it over to my other hand, strength and feeling returning in the nick of time. With a warrior’s cry, I thrust it forward into a gap between shell plates. The metal grinds into softer flesh beneath, and black ichor gushes out, coating my hand. The Old God screeches, thrashing violently as Rauta digs deeper, ripping free a piece of cartilage with a grating crunch.
The creature’s limbs flail blindly, tearing at stalactites and sending chunks of rock tumbling. One fragment glances off my shoulder, but I ignore the pain. The Old God tries to dive, to slip back into the safety of the lake’s depths, but Rauta holds fast. I can see the hound’s eyes glinting in the phosphorescent light, no fear, no hesitation.
“Finish it,” I grit out. I adjust my angle and slide the sword deeper, twisting it with every ounce of strength I have left. My muscles burn, and I feel the blade meet resistance. I push harder until something gives—a sickening crack—and the Old God’s shrieks reach a fever pitch.
Rauta yanks downward, and I see one of the creature’s eyes burst into milky fluid. The horror convulses, tentacles slapping helplessly against the boat’s hull. I pull the sword free and stab again, this time straight into its gaping maw. Teeth crumble as the blade penetrates deeper. The Old God’s cry turns into a ragged, bubbling gasp.
Then, with one last, spasmodic jerk, it collapses, half of it still above the surface. I scramble back as it begins to sink, its weight pulling it down. Rauta leaps free just in time, splashing into the water and dog-paddling back to the boat. I lean over, grabbing his collar with my free hand, and haul him aboard. He shakes his head, spraying me with droplets, then settles onto the damp planks, tail thumping happily, as if that was no big deal at all.
I’m trembling, half in shock. My ears ring and my lungs burn. If I wasn’t so terrified and exhausted, I might laugh at how close we came to death. Instead, I slump down, sword still clutched tight, staring at the ripples as the beast slowly sinks beneath the surface. The water, stained with black sludge, slowly settles.
The boat rocks gently, filled with water but still floating.
There’s a metaphor there somewhere.
I run a hand over my face, smearing ichor across my cheek, and Rauta nudges my shoulder with a comforting whine. My shoulder aches from where the rocks hit it, but I’m alive. We’re both alive.
“Good job, Rauta,” I whisper, voice shaking. “Good boy.” The words sound absurd after what we just endured. Good boy, as if he fetched a stick, not tore apart a monster.
I take a few moments to catch my breath. We must keep moving. The Crystal Caves lie ahead, somewhere through this labyrinth of waterways. I can’t stop now. The longer we linger, the more likely we’ll attract attention from other horrors.
I retrieve the oars, my hands unsteady. Every muscle protests as I row, guiding us away from the scene of the battle. The damp air rasps in my throat, but I row on, following the faint glow in the distance, one that burns brighter than the phosphoresce on the walls.
Rauta sits at the bow again, iron tail tapping lightly, as if beating a drum to encourage a warrior. The silence that follows is almost peaceful, but I know it’s only a lull. Yet, I feel a grim spark of confidence kindle in my chest. We survived an attack from an Old God—not easily, but we made it through. If we can endure that, maybe we can find our way out of this nightmare after all.