A Fight to the Death
The hellhound hesitated. It had not expected a direct confrontation. No one had ever dared to do so. Then, it lunged, claws ripping at the elven hunter's chest, giving a blow so powerful that no ordinary man could have withstood. But Crispin was no ordinary man. He was an elven hunter, trained to withstand all sorts of punishment. The best of the best! Staggering only for a second, he was back on his feet again, with fierce determination mirrored in his eyes.
Slowly, the two circled each other, each trying to find an opening in the other's defense. The hellhound gave a loud howl that sent waves of terror sweeping through the elven hunter. Again, it leapt forward, quick and silent. But Crispin was quicker. He side-stepped, and thrust his broad sword deep into the flesh of the demon. The hellhound shrugged off the blow as if it meant nothing to it. It moved quickly to the other side of the elven hunter before he could attempt another attack.
Crispin smiled despite his injuries. His long years of training as a hunter had served him well. No doubt, the hellhound was deadly, but so was he. The hellhound was getting more aggressive by the minute, impatient with how long the fight had lasted. Before the elven hunter knew it, it was atop him, ripping and tearing at his arms and face. Crispin cried out in pain and gathering his strength, gave a powerful kick at the abdomen of the demon. To the surprise of the elven hunter, the demon retreated, pain reflecting in its eyes.
Crispin scrambled to his feet. Blood and sweat bathed his face. Unbearable pain swept through his body. A few moments, he knew, and he would be down, unconscious. He had to end the fight now. Taking the gamble, he elven hunter collapsed onto the floor of the cavern. He had to deceive the hellhound into believing that he was too exhausted to continue the fight. Grabbing a rock, Crispin hurled it at the hellhound. The hellhound barely moved as the rock struck it. Then it howled in glee. If this was the best the elven hunter could manage, then finishing him off would be a piece of cake. Thinking it had secured its victory, the hellhound pounced on the elven hunter. But Crispin was ready. With the sword gripped tightly in both hands, he thrust it deep into the throat of the demon. The demon howled loudly, failing to conceal the pain and injury that had been done to it. But it was not finished with the elven hunter. Feeling its life slowly slipping from it, the hellhound continued to rip at Crispin.
Crispin knew it was now or never. Reaching into his boots for his favourite weapon, a wicked-looking dagger, he pushed the entire dagger into the abdomen of the hellhound. This time, the hellhound could not take it anymore. Thick green blood was gushing out of its throat and abdomen. With his last ounce of strength, Crispin heaved the demon away from himself. It struggled for a few moments, then lay down, still and lifeless.
The hellhound hesitated. It had not expected a direct confrontation. No one had ever dared to do so. Then, it lunged, claws ripping at the elven hunter's chest, giving a blow so powerful that no ordinary man could have withstood. But Crispin was no ordinary man. He was an elven hunter, trained to withstand all sorts of punishment. The best of the best! Staggering only for a second, he was back on his feet again, with fierce determination mirrored in his eyes.
Slowly, the two circled each other, each trying to find an opening in the other's defense. The hellhound gave a loud howl that sent waves of terror sweeping through the elven hunter. Again, it leapt forward, quick and silent. But Crispin was quicker. He side-stepped, and thrust his broad sword deep into the flesh of the demon. The hellhound shrugged off the blow as if it meant nothing to it. It moved quickly to the other side of the elven hunter before he could attempt another attack.
Crispin smiled despite his injuries. His long years of training as a hunter had served him well. No doubt, the hellhound was deadly, but so was he. The hellhound was getting more aggressive by the minute, impatient with how long the fight had lasted. Before the elven hunter knew it, it was atop him, ripping and tearing at his arms and face. Crispin cried out in pain and gathering his strength, gave a powerful kick at the abdomen of the demon. To the surprise of the elven hunter, the demon retreated, pain reflecting in its eyes.
Crispin scrambled to his feet. Blood and sweat bathed his face. Unbearable pain swept through his body. A few moments, he knew, and he would be down, unconscious. He had to end the fight now. Taking the gamble, he elven hunter collapsed onto the floor of the cavern. He had to deceive the hellhound into believing that he was too exhausted to continue the fight. Grabbing a rock, Crispin hurled it at the hellhound. The hellhound barely moved as the rock struck it. Then it howled in glee. If this was the best the elven hunter could manage, then finishing him off would be a piece of cake. Thinking it had secured its victory, the hellhound pounced on the elven hunter. But Crispin was ready. With the sword gripped tightly in both hands, he thrust it deep into the throat of the demon. The demon howled loudly, failing to conceal the pain and injury that had been done to it. But it was not finished with the elven hunter. Feeling its life slowly slipping from it, the hellhound continued to rip at Crispin.
Crispin knew it was now or never. Reaching into his boots for his favourite weapon, a wicked-looking dagger, he pushed the entire dagger into the abdomen of the hellhound. This time, the hellhound could not take it anymore. Thick green blood was gushing out of its throat and abdomen. With his last ounce of strength, Crispin heaved the demon away from himself. It struggled for a few moments, then lay down, still and lifeless.