Chapter 18: The Raid (Part 1)

  The village horn blares one more time, its urgent wail cutting through the chaos. I watch it all, Grakk's blood still warm on my claws. Frogmen soldiers rush toward the northern wall in organized formations while civilians scatter like insects fleeing a flood.

  In the distance, I can hear the unmistakable sounds of combat, the clash of weapons, guttural war cries, and the distinctive croaking screams of injured Frogmen. The raid began even earlier than Vrazak had predicted, catching everyone by surprise.

  I need to move. Standing in the open with blood-covered claws was practically begging for attention. The logical choice was south, away from the fighting, using the chaos to flee the village just as Vrazak had suggested. I pulled the rough worker's garment tighter to hide my bloodstains and began making my way through the panicked crowds.

  A Frogman matron clutches a basket of precious belongings, her webbed feet slipping on the wet planks as she struggles to keep pace with the evacuation. Behind her, two younglings cry in their incomprehensible croaking tongue, their bulbous eyes wide with terror.

  I duck behind an overturned cart as a squad of Frogman soldiers rushes past, their armor clanking rhythmically. Their leader barks orders I can't understand, but his gestures toward the northern wall are clear enough. They're being called to reinforce the main battle.

  Three Frogman guards are stationed at the southern checkpoint, checking everyone who passes. Escape that way is impossible.

  I keep my head down and change direction, heading toward the market district to find another path. But just as I round a corner, I collide roughly with a Frogman.

  Unfortunately this is not just any Frogman. The distinctive pattern of his armor marks him as one of the hunters who returned earlier and my heart skips a beat when I notice Magba's familiar pouch hanging from his belt.

  The hunter croaks angrily, violently shoving me backward. I stumble, accidentally revealing my bloodstained claws. His bulbous eyes widen in alarm, and his hand instantly moves to the short sword at his side.

  "Gllrbbt fropt," he croaked, which I took to mean something threatening based on his aggressive posture.

  I raise my hands in what I hope is a placating gesture, but the hunter is already advancing, sword drawn. With surprising speed, he lunges forward, the blade slicing through the air where my head had been a moment before.

  I can feel goosebumps just from the sound of the slash I had barely dodged. This Frogman is fast, faster than anything I faced before, with the exception of Magba.

  And her training once again proves life-saving as the Hunter pauses, an inexplicable stare on his face, likely surprised for not seeing my flying head. I, meanwhile, immediately dashed deeper into the market, desperate to find an escape route.

  After his brief moment of confusion, the bastard follows me with stunning speed, launching a series of swift strikes that forces me to dive beneath the stalls for some reprieve.

  I roll aside as a blade plunges into the wooden planks beside me. Scrambling to my feet, I grab a juicy fruit from a nearby basket and hurl it at the Frogman's face. It fortunately explodes upon impact, momentarily stunning him and providing the opening I need.

  I lunge forward, bloody claws extended…

  But they never manage to reach the target.

  I’m slammed by a powerful kick to the chest, sending me flying into a stall of exotic fruits. Their sticky juice offers a slight cushion, but the impact still knocks the wind from my lungs. The hunter closes in with trained precision and decisiveness. I try to stand but slip on the pulp, leaving me defenseless as he thrusts his sword forward.

  White-hot pain explodes through my abdomen as the blade pierces clean through my side. The force of the thrust carries me backward, pinning me momentarily to a wooden post. For an instant, the world narrows to just this searing agony as I taste copper in my mouth.

  With a savage twist, the Frogman yanks his blade free, splattering blood across the market stall. I collapse to my knees, one hand pressing against the wound as my life pulses hot between my fingers.

  The hunter approaches methodically, sword poised for a killing thrust, the blade already wet with my blood. Through the haze of pain, I watch him raise his weapon for the final blow.

  So this is really how it ends. After all the suffering, the hatching cave, the gladiator pit and even Magba's brutal training. Reborn only to die twice, never understanding why I came to this world at all. All of this disappears in a single stroke of a Frogman's blade.

  Maybe I should be happy to be released from all this struggle, but deeply I can only feel rage at the injustice of having this short and pointless second chance at life.

  Just as he's about to deliver the fatal strike, a blur of spotted fur erupts from the shadows behind him. Sharp teeth gleam in the torchlight as an enormous jaws clamp around the Frogman's neck. With a single vicious twist, this beast, some form of canine humanoid, easily snaps the hunter's spine.

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  The Frogman drops to the ground, dead before he hits the planks. Magba's pouch falls beside him, its contents spilling across the bloodied wood.

  A bone-chilling cackle erupts from the beast as if mocking his fallen prey. Its terrifying face, a canine muzzle pulled back in a snarl that reveals a row of razor-sharp teeths, dripping with blood that runs to its spotted fur. Its eyes, amber and intelligent, fixate on me with predatory interest.

  The creature's nostrils flare as it scents the air, catching the copper scent of my wound. Its eyes assess my collapsed form dispassionately, apparently deciding I'm already dead or dying. I remain motionless, fighting the urge to clutch my wound tighter as blood continues to seep between my fingers.

  So this is a Gnoll. It's bigger than and way more intimidating than I'd imagined such creatures to be. Its form half-seen in the gloom, with his greasy matted fur with a mix of mud and swamp colors and broken by dark, wet patches.

  With deliberate slowness, it stalks past me, clearly detecting something more interesting nearby. I remain frozen, barely breathing, as waves of pain wash over me. I can feel my regenerative abilities struggling to heal the grievous wound.

  Suddenly the creature's ears perk up, its head turns toward a sound I couldn't hear. With startling speed, it rushes away, disappearing between two nearby structures.

  That's when I hear a whimpering sound. From beneath an overturned cart, a young Frogman, barely more than a tadpole, huddles in terror. The Gnoll hadn't been distracted, it just had found new prey.

  Before I could process what I am witnessing, the Gnoll reappears with the same odious laugh, dragging the Frogling by its leg.

  The small creature's eyes are wide with terror, its tiny webbed hands clawing desperately at the wooden planks as it's pulled from its hiding place. Its high-pitched croaking is barely more than squeaks of pure fear. The Gnoll seems to relish this sound, tilting its head with mock curiosity as if studying an interesting specimen.

  The Frogling tries to curl into a protective ball, but the Gnoll's claws easily pry it open again. It could end this in an instant, but instead draws out the terror. The young Frogman's desperate attempts to escape only seem to amuse it more.

  The small creature's cries cut off abruptly as the Gnoll's jaws closed around its throat.

  My stomach turns. Whatever these Frogmen had done to my kind, their young didn't deserve such a fate. Still, intervention means certain death, and I don't intend to throw my life away needlessly.

  The Gnoll drops the lifeless body and tilts its head, listening again. A cruel intelligence shines in its eyes as it begins methodically checking hiding spots, upending crates, tearing through fabric coverings and sniffing at barrels.

  Still distracted, the creature finds another victim. Judging by the dress, it appears to be a Frogwoman merchant. With a sudden lunge, the Gnoll seizes her with powerful claws, dragging her from behind an overturned stall. The merchant's desperate croaking plea is cut short as the creature pins her to the ground. That same chilling laugh echoes through the market as it viciously tears another victim.

  The Gnoll's amber eyes gleam with a perverse delight as it deliberately prolongs the suffering. There is no survival here, not even hunger, this slaughter solely for the sake of pleasure.

  A furious rage builds within me. I really want to kill this hateful creature.

  My gaze falls on the spilled contents of Magba's pouch. Herbs, powders, small vials of liquid. Among them, a tiny leather wrapping had burst open, spilling a luminous golden powder. Even from this distance, its mere presence brings a hazy and delirious sensation to my mind.

  A plan instantly forms in my mind. Just a few seconds of the Gnoll being affected by the dream powder would give me more than enough time to finish him off.

  The creature's deliberate search brings it closer again to my location. This single opportunity is all I have and any error will be fatal.

  Scooping up a handful of the golden powder, I wait until the Gnoll turns his back, then dash forward.

  It hears me coming, of course it does, and whirls around with startling speed. But I'm in too deep to turn back. As its lunges, jaws open to tear out my throat, I fling the powder directly into its face.

  The effect is instantaneous and dramatic. The Gnoll staggers backward, not in pain but wonder.

  The creature’s muzzle drops open, thick tongue lolling out and its amber eyes begin to dilate, pupils expanding until they nearly eclipse the iris entirely as it stares at something I can't see. A low whine escapes its throat, almost puppylike in its vulnerability.

  Whatever visions the dream powder has conjured, they've transported this vicious predator to somewhere far from this blood-soaked market.

  It paws at the air with both claws, as if trying to catch butterflies or floating lights. The terrifying intelligence that had made it such an efficient killer is completely absent, replaced by the vacant fascination of a drugged animal.

  But the effect isn't total. Some deep survival instinct still functions, because when I move toward the fallen hunter's sword, the Gnoll's head snaps in my direction. Its unfocused eyes struggle to track my movement, and it lets out a confused growl.

  Making sure to not waste the opportunity, I grab the sword and drive the blade deep into the disoriented Gnoll's throat. Hot blood gushes over my hands as the creature falls, gurgling and thrashing briefly before going still.

  Looking at the Gnoll's innocent victims sprawled across the market floor, I feel a pang of pity. At least they were avenged, I think grimly. Unlike most of my kind who perish under Frogman rule.

  My heart still pounding, I crouch beside the dead hunter, rifling through the scattered contents of Magba's pouch. Fortunately, it contains more treasures than I initially realized. Besides the dream powder, there are several small clay vials containing liquids I recognize from her cave.

  Most intriguing is a collection of different colored stones that pulse with a faint inner light that seems to respond to my presence. Whatever these are, they're not mere trinkets.

  With the hunter I also find a crude map, now dirtied with blood. I'm unable to decipher the strange characters, but there are clear markings that show tunnel systems leading from the nearby caves, including one that seems to lead directly to Magba's location.

  I fold the map carefully and tuck it inside my garment, along with the most promising vials and the strange stones. Unfortunately there is little of the dream powder left, but the rest could still prove useful, and I'll need every advantage I can get.