Dylan charged.
His feet struck the ground in silence, muffled by black grass and the ashes of the old world. He kept a low profile, his notched machete gripped tightly in his hand, eyes locked on the moving beast.
Maggie ran, swift and efficient, her silhouette slipping between the gravestones and ruins like a perfectly thrown decoy. And the creature, all of it, barreled toward her. Its guttural breathing left a harsh trail in its wake. Its claws scraped against stone, and its hooves echoed like drums in a macabre melody.
But Dylan wasn't looking at Maggie.
He was watching the space.
Reading the trajectory.
The beast was picking up speed, but it ran in a straight line. Too confident. Charging like a furious ram, convinced brute force would be enough.
"And I…" Dylan thought, "I guess I'm the rock in its path."
