Dem emerged from the tunnel minutes later, face shadowed with grim certainty. The hunting party waited around Sark's slab of black slate, tense and silent.
Sark tossed him the chalk. "Draw out the nest for us."
"Waste of time." Dem caught the chalk easily. "We'll need to flush it out. There are three Hunters inside — from Thaigmaal."
Dern's eyes narrowed. "Hunters? The same ones from before?"
"Yes. They're masking themselves with some kind of magic artifact. I couldn't tell the source." Dem frowned. "The Tatzelwurm is using sound mapping to locate them. I threw a rock at the far entrance to buy time, but that won't last long."
Sark cursed and spat at the ground. "Were they moving?"
"No." Dem shook his head. "They're pressed against a wall. I think the illusion breaks if they shift too much."
"That's not our problem, is it?" Tori asked dryly.
"No," Sark agreed. "But we still need to kill the Tatzelwurm. What shape is it in?"
Dem's expression tightened. "I smelled Typhon poison in its blood, but it hasn't lost sense or reasoning yet. It's wounded badly, though. Breathing is hard."
Sark began sketching formations on the slate. "Three sturdy spears face it head-on. Three more from each flank. The rest take the high ground and pepper it from above." He exhaled. "I'd love an answer to that tail smash. Ideas?"
Dem lifted his hand, turning to Tori. "That bow of yours — it's not a standard tribal bow. Better range?"
Tori unslung it, running a hand along the gears. "Beast Empire design. Pulleys reduce draw strength, and the gearing adds penetration."
Dern crossed his arms. "Tatzelwurm skin is thick as treated leather. Muscle and reinforced bone beneath."
"Exactly," Tori said. "Even this bow won't punch deep."
Dem held up his quiver. "Black oak. Needed to negate Cold Steel. I haven't seen the full ice effect yet, but…" He pointed toward the valley. "If that thing keeps slamming its tail, three or four arrows into the hardened mass might freeze it enough for the segment to break clean off."
Tori snorted. "You want to freeze the hammer on that bastard's tail?"
Dem nodded. "I'm not skilled enough to hit it. And with my bow, the arrows wouldn't stick anyway."
Tori reached for the quiver. "Special broadheads with ice enchantment? Let me see one."
Dem opened it. Frosted air drifted out. He handed her a single arrow.
Tori inspected the broadhead, impressed. "Where'd you get these?"
"Tam Swiftwind got them for winning the archery competition."
Tori nodded slowly. "I watched the finals. Tam and that Frostridge girl? Better shots than half the Huntmasters I've met." She held the arrow up to the light. "You'll let me use these?"
Dem grinned. "I'd miss half of them anyway."
Sark clapped once. "Nine spears on the ground. Nine archers on high ridges. We draw it to the mouth of the valley — here — where we have room." He pointed to Tori. "Target the area just above the hardened tail knot."
Dern slammed the butt of his spear into the rock. "I'll take the front."
Sark assigned two more to stand beside him. Then his eyes swept the group. "Who's the fastest here?"
"Me." Dem said it plainly.
Tori raised a brow. "Is that right?"
Dem blurred — gone in a flicker — then reappeared behind her, tapping her shoulder lightly. "Yes."
Tori's eyes went wide. "…Right. Forget I asked."
Sark shot a look to Dern; Dern gave a small nod.
"Alright, Dem," Sark said. "You confident about bringing it out?"
"Yes." Dem handed his quiver to Tori.
"What's your plan for luring it out?" Dern asked a minute later as he honed the edge of his spear. Around them, the Huntmasters checked straps, tested blades, and adjusted armor. The scent of sage and oiled metal drifted on the breeze.
"I'll go in through the main entrance this time," Dem said, sliding his bow and spear into his storage ring. "If the Hunters inside are still alive and have any sense, they'll run through the alternate exit."
Dern rested a big hand on his shoulder, smiling. "Don't let it catch you."
"I'm just a snack," Dem deadpanned. "But once it sees you? It'll be like ringing the dinner bell."
"So I'm a feast?" Dern barked a laugh. "Just don't embarrass me."
"I was going to say the same thing," Dem grinned back.
The hunting party settled near a flat stretch of earth a few dozen meters from the nest's main entrance. This was where Dem was supposed to bring the beast — and where the Huntmasters would take over. They moved like people who had done this a dozen times; quiet, focused, each lost in the ritual of preparing for danger.
Dem waited beside Tori, who was flicking her bowstring like she was testing the pitch of an instrument.
"Going to sing too?" Dem asked.
Tori lifted her eyebrows. "That would make your ears bleed."
"Can't be that bad."
She gave him a sly grin. "You getting sweet on me, Dem?"
"No. Your nose is too big."
Tori froze, then burst out laughing, one hand flying to her face. "Why would you say something like that?"
Dem shrugged lightly and rose to his feet. "Time to go?"
Dern glanced up at the bright sky. "Sun's good. Tatzelwurms are nocturnal — it'll be sluggish. Go get it, Dem. And be careful."
Dem nodded. "Same to you. Good luck."
Dem walked straight down the main entrance, easily following the trail of the Hunters who had barged in earlier without caution. Their footprints told a careless story — confident strides, no hesitations. They must have assumed the beast was out hunting. Or worse, that it would hide from them.
Sunlight filtered deeper than expected, reflecting off the angled stone and making Dem's shadow stretch long and thin ahead of him. As he neared the central chamber, he crouched low, fingertips grazing the dirt. He waited, letting his eyes adjust to the cavern's darkness.
The scene inside hadn't changed much — the Hunters still huddled at the far wall — but the Tatzelwurm had found them.
It hovered in the air, its massive serpentine body coiled beneath it, feline head lowered, fangs bared, close enough to kill them with a single strike.
Dem frowned.
Why is it holding back?
He studied the trio more carefully. Their weapons were out, but it didn't matter. Here in the dark, alone, they were already dead — they just didn't know it yet.
As he crept closer, something else caught his attention. In a shallow circular depression of mud, feathers, twigs, and grass rested two large eggs — each bigger than a man's head. But the sour stench of rot rolled off them. Dead. Decayed.
Crushed, maybe, by accident when the mother returned from fighting the Typhon.
A flicker of thought hit him like a slap. He approached silently, studying the nest.
Footprints.
Small ones.
One of the women had stepped in the nest.
Dem muttered a curse. "Of course."
He spoke the words aloud on purpose, testing his theory.
The Tatzelwurm spun instantly at the sound — but didn't strike. It hissed, muscles rippling, but turned back toward the Hunters.
"You must have taken one of its eggs," Dem said.
The sound echoed, and the Tatzelwurm let out a deep, rumbling snarl — like a wounded lion. Its eyes locked on Ciara.
She held the surviving egg up like a shield, arms trembling visibly.
Dem now saw their faces clearly — pale, slick with sweat, wide-eyed with terror.
He stepped closer.
"Let's make a deal. I'll take the egg and bring it outside. Once its mind slips, it will eventually decide to kill you anyway. Typhon venom eats reason first."
"We worked hard to get this," Ciara whispered, voice shaking despite the bravado she tried to summon.
"Tch." Dem exhaled sharply. "You worked hard at getting yourselves killed. So far, you're failing at that too. You'll join your dead friend before long."
"You threw the stone earlier? That was you?" Ciara asked, breath ragged.
"Yes. And that's as far as I'm willing to go. We have a hunting party outside. My job is to lure the Tatzelwurm out. But it won't follow me as long as you're holding its egg."
Captain Rubai's voice cracked. "You'll give the egg back after your group kills it?"
Dem snorted. "No. If it ends up in my hands, it's mine."
Rubai's jaw clenched. "We'll pay you for it."
Dem shook his head slowly. "If you keep it, you die. If you hand it over, you walk out alive. Those are the terms."
"Fucking bastard…" Rubai spat.
Dem turned toward the entrance. "I'll come back tomorrow."
"W-wait!" Ciara's panic broke the illusion of bravery. "Let's… let's give it to him."
Dem paused as the three of them whispered harshly, desperation bleeding through every word. The Tatzelwurm's wheezing breath grew louder — maternal instinct fighting venom-induced madness. They were running out of time.
Finally, Ciara swallowed hard. "Okay. I'm going to throw it."
Dem shifted toward the near wall. "When it goes for me, run to the alternate exit. It's clear. It'll keep you out of the path of the fight."
The three braced themselves — ready to sprint for their lives.
Ciara pulled her arms back. "Ready?"
Dem nodded. "Yes. Throw it."