Something had just shattered the window—no, someone.

  A body lay twisted on the floor.

  James' breath caught. The man, an Imperium soldier, was crumpled in a heap, limbs sprawled at unnatural angles, his armor dented, his helmet half-crushed against his skull. Blood pooled beneath him, already diluted by the rain pouring in from the storm outside.

  He was thrown through the window.

  James barely had time to process it before—

  CRACK.

  Lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the chaos below.

  Shouts rang through the storm.

  "Cut it down!

  "The beast is heading for the Kettle!"

  "Quickly, men!"

  Bloodcurdling screams split through the rain. James staggered toward the broken window, hands gripping the frame as he peered out into the darkness.

  Lanterns bobbed in the streets, soldiers moving in frantic formations, spears raised, voices sharp with panic. The rain blurred their figures and turned them into ghosts against the night.

  CRACK.

  Another flash—and he saw it.

  Towering.

  A hulking shape, easily twenty feet tall, a mass of muscle and stone-gray flesh, wreathed in the storm like it had risen from the depths of the earth itself. A single eye, wide and unblinking, locked onto the Rusty Kettle.

  Onto him.

  A guttural sound rumbled from its chest, rolling through the storm like distant thunder. James' stomach turned to ice. His grip on the window frame grew tighter, and the wood bent and cracked under his touch.

  It's here for me.

  THUD.

  The building shook as the creature took another step forward. Someone screamed. Another soldier's body hit the wall just beneath James' window with a sickening crack. A broken plea barely passed his lips before he slid down into the mud, unmoving.

  James saw as the Cyclops reached down and picked up another soldier. The man tried to fight back, but his sword bounced off the too-tough skin of the creature's hand. It reached back and threw the soldier like it was playing darts, and the kettle was the board.

  James swallowed. As another bone-breaking thud shuddered through the building. James tore his eyes away as the Cyclops reached for another dart to throw.

  Ser Edwin stirred, groggy from sleep and cider, his movements sluggish. His eyes were unfocused as he looked about the room.

  "Sonadia's Blade, boy. What is—" His voice cut off the moment his gaze landed on the broken body sprawled across the floor. In a quick motion, Ser Edwin knelt by the soldier, placing his finger on his neck. "Dead. What happened—"

  “Cy-Cy-Cyclops.” James' choked whisper cut through the storm. His hand came free from the frame to point out into the rain. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the massive shadow moving through the downpour. The ground trembled beneath the beast's steps. James stumbled back from the window, heart slamming against his ribs, everything in him screaming to run. To get away. To hide until the thing passed.

  "Blessed Mother, have mercy," he breathed, his voice barely audible over the rain. Ser Edwin's face had gone pale. Without another word, he grabbed his coat, wincing from the movement, and bolted for the door. James was on his heels in a moment and running in Edwin's wake, feet pounding against the wooden floor, the chaos outside swallowing the sound of their footsteps.

  "What's the plan?" James called over the rain, struggling to keep up.

  Edwin barely spared him a glance. "We get it out of town. It's after something—find out what, then draw it away. Once we do that, we trip the damn thing. They are notoriously hard to kill."

  They burst into the standard room. The fires in the hearths had burned low, casting the room into a dark gloom. Sebastian was waiting for them.

  He stood near the bar, his golden robe pulled tight against his broad frame, the hem brushing against the floorboards. His expression was unreadable, but his orange eyes gleamed with something knowing—something expectant. In one hand, he held something massive. Ser Edwin skidded to a halt, his breath catching.

  "That's—" His voice was almost reverent.

  James turned his gaze to the object and felt his own stomach drop.

  A war maul.

  No, that's not just a war maul.

  The metal shaft was wrapped in thick, coiled bands, reinforced to withstand shattering force. It spanned nearly five feet from base to the brutal block of steel at its head—a weapon made to crush, to break. Silver runes glowed faintly against the dark metal, with a spike jutting from one side like the fang of some ancient beast.

  Sebastian held it easily as if it weighed no more than a tankard of ale.

  "That's Bow-Breaker." Ser Edwin swallowed thickly. The name settled heavily between them.

  James had only ever heard of its exploits in half-whispered stories. A weapon carried by one of the last adventurers to freely walk the world, a maul said to have cracked the spine of a wyvern in a single swing. It was said Sebastian had won it in a game of cards against the adventurer. But no one knew who this person was or what had happened to them. Only that Sebastian was not someone who you wanted to play cards against. It had hung above the fireplace of the Rusty Kettle for as long as James could remember, just another relic collecting dust. Now, it sat in Sebastian's grip, its weight bending the air around it.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Are you sure?" Ser Edwin looked at the innkeeper, almost disbelieving.

  "Does me no good hanging over the fire. Now, Go. Before that thing tears my roof off." Sebastian only smiled, something devious in his eyes. In a smooth movement, he lifted the maul and handed it to Ser Edwin.

  The blacksmith almost dropped it.

  James had never seen him struggle to hold anything. But it seemed like the maul was too heavy even for him to bear. Slowly, Edwin adjusted his grip, and something changed. His stance shifted, the hesitation melted away, and his fingers curled around the weapon's handle like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting for him. Ser Edwin let out a slow breath, adjusting the maul over his shoulder, and turned toward the door.

  James moved to follow—

  But a hand caught his wrist. Sebastian's grip was tight. James looked up, startled, at the face he saw there. Sebastian's usual humor had vanished. His orange eyes, usually gleaming with mischief, were severe. Cold and Urgent.

  "Don't let it grab you, promise," the innkeeper said, voice low and quiet. As if this was a matter of life and death.

  "I—I promise." James swallowed, unsure why his chest suddenly felt too tight.

  For a flicker of a second, there was something else in Sebastian's face. Regret? Concern? But then it was gone, replaced by a familiar grin.

  "Good," he said, releasing James' arm in a flourish. "I'll have a hot meal waiting when you get back."

  Then, as if the moment had never happened, he turned and strolled toward the kitchen, humming tunelessly as he disappeared behind the door. James lingered, staring at the empty space Sebastian had left behind.

  The unease in his gut hadn't faded. If anything, it had only grown.

  But he knew there was no time to dwell on it now.

  James tightened his grip on his sword and ran out into the storm.

  The rain was terrible—cold with winter's bite. James felt like he had just gotten dry, warmed from the cider and the fire, and now all of it was gone. Stolen by the storm, the chill seeping into his bones.

  The Imperium soldiers shouted over the thunder, barking orders as they struggled to contain the beast. Spears flashed in the lightning, blades caught glints of pale fire before vanishing back into the dark.

  The Cyclops barely seemed to notice.

  It swatted a soldier aside with the back of its hand, sending the man flying into the side of a cart. He hit the wood with a sickening crack, slumping to the ground. Another soldier tried to dart between its legs—too slow.

  Crunch.

  James saw it.

  The sickening moment when the massive foot came down, the lantern the soldier had carried sputtering out instantly.

  When the foot lifted, all that was left was broken flesh, sinking into the mud.

  James' stomach twisted. He swallowed back bile.

  We have to move. We have to stop this—

  Ser Edwin grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the beast's immediate path.

  "Help me knock some sense into these lot," he grumbled, shoving his way toward the officer who seemed to be in charge—a broad-shouldered woman with a silver crest on her armor.

  She was already shouting as they approached, her voice cutting through the rain. "Hold formation! Hold—dammit, stop letting it push you back!"

  Ser Edwin didn't wait for an invitation.

  "This isn't working!" he bellowed, shoving a soldier aside to get her attention.

  "What—" The officer whirled, fury in her eyes. "

  "We need to get it out of town." Edwin pointed toward the river. "You'll lose more men if you try to stand your ground here—"

  "I am standing my ground, blacksmith." The officer's voice was tight with frustration, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword. "That thing is destroying the town. I will not be ordered by—"

  Another flash of lightning.

  Another body hit the mud.

  She clenched her jaw.

  "You fought its kind before? Does it think? Does it feel pain?" Then, with visible effort, she turned to James.

  "Aye, long ago, Yes, and not really." Edwin's grip on Bow-Breaker tightens.

  James hesitated.

  He didn't know how to explain it. He had seen it searching, looking, seeking. It wanted something.

  Or…

  James' chest tightened.

  It wants someone.

  "… It's after me," he said, voice barely above the rain.

  "What?" Ser Edwin's head snapped toward him. "Speak up, boy."

  "I—I think it's after me, Edwin." James exhaled sharply, pulling Edwin a few steps away from the officers and soldiers. His throat was dry, but he forced the words out. He glanced at the beast. It still hadn't moved past the town square. Still searched. Its single, burning eye flicked through the streets, ignoring the soldiers, the weapons, and the blood. "It's looking for something, and it's not stopping. I saw its face when it locked onto me—it knew me. Like the satyrs did."

  Ser Edwin studied him, face unreadable, only the rain trailing down his beard. Then he did something James didn't expect. He nodded.

  "Alright." No disbelief. No telling him he was imagining things. Just a quiet, steady acceptance that made James' chest ache.

  "Then we give it what it wants." Ser Edwin smiled smugly.

  "Excuse me—" James blinked,

  "We draw it out," Edwin interrupted, voice low. "I don't like it, but you're right. It's probably after you. So you lead it away. Take it toward the river."

  "You want me to run straight at the monster trying to crush people?" James' heart slammed against his ribs.

  Edwin's lips twitched, the smile looking wicked in the dancing lights of the lanterns.

  "Not at it, lad—away."

  James sucked in a breath, cold and sharp.

  This is insane. But will it work?

  He glanced back at the officers, still shouting orders, still trying to push back something that didn't care if they lived or died. They couldn't stop it. Not here.

  James squared his shoulders and gave a nod.

  "…Okay then." Ser Edwin clapped him on the shoulder and pointed toward the river. "That way."

  James tried to push the nerves back.

  Im gonna be bait, that's fine, this is fine.

  "Listen up, we got a plan. We'll lead it out!" Ser Edwin's voice boomed over the commotion. The officer's head spun to face the blacksmith, anger flaring in her eyes. But before she could argue, James was already moving. Ser Edwin only shrugged and pointed after James.

  James grabbed a torch from a nearby soldier and darted toward the side of the square, where a broken cart and scattered barrels littered the mud. He climbed onto the busted cart, balancing on the frame, raising the torch high overhead.

  The Cyclops' head snapped toward him.

  Its eye locked onto his.

  James' breath caught in his throat.

  "HEY!" James' voice rang out, cutting through the storm. Waving the torch widely. "Come and get me!"

  The Cyclops roared.

  The force of it rattled windows and sent loose shingles skidding from rooftops.

  Then it moved.

  James barely had time to brace before the monster lunged forward, its massive foot slamming into the mud—only for it to slide, its balance tipping dangerously forward.

  It crashed into the side of the butcher's shop. Hard.

  It's working.

  The old stone and timber groaned under the impact. A support beam snapped with a sickening crack. The creature bellowed in frustration, pushing itself back upright and shoving through the debris.

  James didn't wait to see if it was hurt. He ran.

  Boots splashed through puddles, mud clinging to his heels as he darted through the winding streets. The Cyclops followed—stumbling, slipping, tearing through carts and market stalls in desperate pursuit.

  It clipped the corner of the baker's shop, stone, and mortar fighting back, the force of the impact sending the beast sprawling onto its knees.

  Come on, stay down

  For a heartbeat, James dared to hope.

  Maybe it'll stop—maybe it'll give up—

  Then, with a furious growl, it surged forward again.

  James cursed under his breath, forcing himself to move faster.

  The town seemed to be fighting back, every narrow alley, jutting beam, and rain-slicked step slowing the monster down. It smashed through a wooden overhang—only for the structure to collapse onto its back, tangling in its limbs. It roared in frustration, clawing free, slipping in the churned-up mud.

  Thank you, Oakwood.

  James took the opening, rounding a sharp corner and sprinting for the river's edge.

  He could hear the rushing waters now, the white roar of the flood ahead. The rain pushed it into a monster all its own. The water was crashing and angry far past its banks.

  Lightning cracked the sky.

  Just a little further.

  Another crash, another splintering of stone as the Cyclops plowed into the side of a tannery, the impact sending ripples through the very ground.

  Just a little more, big guy.

  James risked a glance over his shoulder.

  The creature was limping now, breathing hard, soaked to the bone. But its single, furious eye never left him.

  Come on.

  James gritted his teeth, pushing forward.

  The river was waiting.

  His foot slipped—mud-sucking at his boots—and something yanked hard at his cloak before he could catch himself. A jolt shot through his spine as something strong dragged him backward.