They threw it, and she tied both pieces together, stopping it from being able to properly use its tail to attack.
Then she jumped off, landing on a knee and hand, before diving for the end of her whip still attached to its throat. After a few failed attempts at shaking it to get the thong to release, she called soldiers to help her pull to distract it, while the whip bearer who had tangled its front paws earlier tried to recapture them.
Realising what was happening, the Duskwalker attempted to peck the Demonslayer between its legs. It couldn’t when it pulled on the rope Emerie had fixed to its tail. It shook its tail, but only the tip was free enough to swipe in short strikes.
Emerie had threaded its two most dangerous features to each other and rendered them useless. It bucked, trying to free itself, only to take away its own weight from its arms.
The person attempting to bind those limbs together finally won.
With the help of multiple people, they managed to get the Duskwalker to its belly by tripping it forward. It wriggled like a snake upon the ground to get free, but everyone pulled in opposite directions so it wouldn’t get any purchase.
The third and only other remaining member of her team worked on tying its lizard-shaped legs to its own tail, trapping it completely. It snarled and growled, uselessly lunging the sharp point of its beak and flicking the free part of its tail at anyone who tried to get close.
For the most part, the Duskwalker was immobile, but they’d work on completely entrapping it so it couldn’t move a muscle. She’d never been more thankful that the masked, magic-wielding humans from the temples had given them enchanted rope.
If only they were able to give them weapons that could easily kill.
Her part done, she stood off to the side, huffing wildly and watching everyone work.
She looked down at her shaking hands, her knees about to give out. How the fuck am I not dead?
The heavens hadn’t been especially kind to her in the past. Why were they so generous as to keep her breathing after riding this creature’s back like she was trying to tame a wild horse?
She was gobsmacked, but obviously relieved. She wasn’t ready to die, didn’t feel like she’d spilt enough Demon blood to make up for what they’d done to her, for what they’d... taken from her.
Then again, the night’s still young. She blinked through the rain, water fluttering from her eyelashes, as she looked up to the looming grey clouds. She noted the muted light of the moon behind them.
Her ears tingled with alertness, overloaded by the feral noises coming from the struggling monster, who was still wriggling like a worm.
In the background of her frazzled mind, she kept waiting for the second Duskwalker to show up, to defend and rescue its kind. Any minute now, and it would burst from the trees and slice her in half with a violent set of claws.
It never did.
Ingram knew how he found himself in his current predicament.
Well... at least why, since he didn’t quite remember the rest of his battle against the Demonslayers, nor when they’d managed to bind him. His rage had been so blinding that all he remembered was he felt pain, the smell of blood, and the sounds of people fighting... and dying.
I should not have come here.
When he’d approached the closest Demonslayer stronghold to Merikh’s cave, he’d done so cautiously. With his head lowered, showing a submissive stance, he’d come upon the gate.
There had been many eyes peering down at him from the wall of their stronghold. The shining moon behind the hazy clouds had highlighted the sharp glints of metal attached to wooden shafts – he didn’t know the name of the tools, but they appeared to require the use of string to propel them forward.
A bell had rung loudly and annoyingly from within the keep.
I just wanted to speak with them.
Was it him bashing on the gate that incited their rage, or was it fear? He just wanted to be invited inside, like he and Aleron had watched other humans do for each other at their human huts. Knocking, he thought it might be called.
It mattered naught. A pointy stick had launched straight into his chest.
Startled by the suddenness of it, the pain of it, and the betrayal of it, he’d let loose a bellow. Then more rained down upon him.
He’d never gotten the chance to speak, and he remembered very little after that.
One thing he was acutely aware of was... he’d eaten a lot. And the more he’d eaten, the dizzier he got, the more energetic he became, and the harder he ruthlessly fought. The more they hurt him, the more he sought to replenish himself with their meat.
He’d been battling his fury, his confusion, his body changes, and random straying thoughts bludgeoning their way into his expanding mind as much as the attacking humans.
Their identical uniforms ensured he remembered no faces, and at one point, he’d begun to see them as Demons.
The Witch Owl was right. There are no friends here.
Bound and alone in a windowless stone room, he let out a whine with his sight a morose shade of blue. Aleron...
He wished he could move. He couldn’t even turn his head to fully take in what captured him so totally in place.
Currently, he was trapped on his knees, part of his back flush against some sort of board and mechanism, with his arms stretched backwards. It was obvious he was too tall for this contraption, and his legs had been tucked underneath the board to accommodate his large frame. Chains had been threaded around the length of his biceps and forearms, and his shoulders were turned so far back that he worried any tension would dislocate one.
His legs were chained to his tail. Any attempt to move them brought pain up his spine. Even his neck and horns weren’t spared, linked to each other. He hoped they hadn’t damaged his horns; he was rather proud of their stout lengths.
Every attempt to get free was in vain. Although he was large and daunting in this small room, he felt undeniably helpless.
All he’d wanted was help. He’d intended no harm to the Demonslayers, and yet they hadn’t even given him a chance.
Why?
Strange thoughts pressed into his mind, jumbled and heavy. He wasn’t accustomed to so much internal chatter. He wasn’t used to this level of humanity.
He groaned, wishing he could lay his aching head down so he could remove some of the weight. His brain felt hot and swollen within his skull.
Any time he’d gained humanity in the past, it’d been slowly. One stray and random human at a time – occasionally a second. Those humans had been shared between him and his kindred, slowing their progression.
How many humans had he eaten this night? Why does my stomach continue to grumble? Why wouldn’t the hunger cease? Even now, he could smell the blood of the humans he’d killed beyond the walls.
The coppery, tangy scent threatened to pull him back under the swallowing waves of his bloodlust and hunger. This windowless room was just enough to keep it at bay, the smell not so strong where he was being held deep underground.