Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign - By Phillip Jones Page 0,89

the reality of what had happened. He thought he was ready for anything the world had to offer, but this was the first series of moments in which anyone or anything had wanted to end him.

He remembered seeing this sort of beast in a children’s movie he had watched with Abbie not long ago. He remembered the cat having similar teeth. “I thought you were extinct!” he shouted, hovering over the animal. “What else does this place have to offer?” I don’t think anything here is normal! Mages! Magic staffs! Treasure maps … and now, extinct beasts! He shook his head. It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t freaking matter! Bring it on!

He kicked the saber in the gut as payback for his wound. The pain of the impact caused the cat to cry out and sent George back to the edge of the rock to dip his shirt into the water to help soothe the throbbing in his calf.

The human had never felt more out of touch with reality than he did now, and he was losing control of his emotions. As he shouted a new set of fresh curses into the night, his exploits were being observed by yet another set of hidden eyes.

Again, George moved in close. During this series of moments, he would take a new approach. He tortured the beast with his torch.

The cat tried to defend himself, but he could not.

George watched as the beast’s fur sizzled, and its flesh fried. The saber went from an angry growl to agonizing cries. George’s heart was growing colder with every moan the beast made. He resented the attack on his life, and lowered the torch onto its body again, feeling no remorse.

Soon, the torture of the flame was not enough to soothe George’s need for vengeance. Reaching toward his hip, he drew his sword. He whacked the flat of the blade against the fractured bone that protruded from the cat’s leg.

The beast wailed.

Smiling, he whacked it twice more. He reached down and twisted the lower portion of the saber’s broken jaw. He tugged and enjoyed the beast’s suffering. George had never experienced this kind of demented pleasure.

“Here, kitty, kitty!” he taunted, poking the point of the blade into different parts of the cat’s anatomy while savoring its cries. He was careful to make sure the point entered deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to puncture a major organ. He did not want to kill his enemy yet. The torture he was administering was far too enjoyable to stop.

“Payback’s a bitch!” he shouted. “You tried to kill the wrong guy!”

He limped over to pick up the bloody teeth from the rock and then mounted the beast in a straddled position, groaning from the pain in his leg. He then lowered the teeth in front of the cat’s pain-filled eyes and jeered, “I’m going to make a necklace with these. I’ll tell my baby girl how delicious you tasted tonight.” After pushing the points of the cat’s teeth into its neck, George leaned back and shouted, “Here kitty, kitty!” A wicked laugh followed, chased by another pain-filled groan.

He slid off his furry chair and circled the beast again, poking it some more with the point of his blade. With each step, he continued to scream, “Here, kitty, kitty! Oh, here, kitty, kitty! My pain is your pain!”

Becoming bored, George raised his sword above his head and plunged it through the cat’s neck, ending the saber’s life.

Leaving the sword buried in the beast’s throat, George released the handle and leaned against the cat’s body. He opened his pack and removed his old pair of pants and used them to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He took a moment to breathe, allowing his heartbeat to slow down and the rush of adrenaline to stop before he stood.

He studied the bloody scene. “Damn! Good thing the animal rights people aren’t here.”

Methodically, he severed all four of the beast’s legs to release the creature from its unseen bonds. Amazed at the beast’s weight, despite its missing legs, George had to cut the saber into 12 smaller pieces before tossing them from the rock to the ground.

Gathering some wood from the forest, he built a fire near an old tree trunk that had been pulled close to the shoreline. The piece of deadwood provided the perfect place to sit, and it was evident it had been placed there some seasons ago. A fire pit had been dug close to the log,