Page 10 of Demon Monster's Little Human

I go still.

That is not possible.

That is not supposed to be possible.

The beast shifts ahead, a sound like claws dragging over stone, deep and slow, deliberate.

She stiffens, fists curling at her sides. “What is that?”

I don’t answer immediately. I let the question sit, let it sink into her bones, between us where something dark and old slithers into wakefulness.

A sound tears through the cavern.

Not a growl. Not a whisper.

A roar.

It shakes the walls, dislodges dust and debris from the arching ceiling, ripples through the ground itself.

Her breath stumbles.

I exhale through my nose.

“Welcome,” I murmur, voice low, “to the true depths of the tomb.”

She swallows, looking at me. “You know what it is.”

I do.

I remember.

A hunter of the old ways. A thing bred for war, for devouring.

A pet of the dark elves. Some serves the purnas.

A guardian of my prison.

She was never meant to survive.

I flex my claws. This will be fun.

A true, warm welcome for me.

5

LIORA

The roar splinters through the cavern, carving through the tunnels like something solid, something alive. My bones rattle with the force of it, the sound so deep, so ancient, it feels like the walls themselves are screaming.

I freeze.

Not from cowardice, but from instinct.

Something that massive, that hungry, doesn’t chase. It stalks. It waits for the prey to run, because running means panic, and panic means mistakes.

Mistakes mean death.

Dain moves first. His claws scrape stone as he turns toward the sound, head tilting slightly, listening. Not bracing to fight. Not preparing to strike. Listening.

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