The Undead Hellhound had long since lost the instincts to avoid injured prey. Fueled by a violent and unrelenting hatred, it craved the essence of life, lunging straight at Leon with its blood-soaked maw full of fangs, determined to devour living flesh.
As the beast charged, the ghostly flames in its eye sockets left trailing streaks of crimson. In a flash, Leon tightened his grip on the spear's shaft and thrust its tip toward the hellhound's gaping mouth.
Predictably, the feral creature charged headlong into the spear's tip without hesitation.
The sharp spearhead barely pierced the flesh, sending back the familiar resistance of a weapon meeting its mark. But before Leon could celebrate his strike, the hellhound's massive momentum barreled into him, forcing him to stagger backward. The coarse shaft scraped against his palms, leaving bloody streaks in its wake.
A sharp crack rang out—the wooden spear snapped under the pressure. The beast's powerful jaws clamped down like a vice, pulverizing the wooden shaft to splinters.
Its formidable teeth shredded the spearhead like a machine grinding wood into dust.
Leon scrambled to put some distance between himself and the hellhound.
He stared in horror at the monstrous warhound gnashing the wood like sugarcane, spitting out fragments of splinters. His heart raced with alternating waves of relief and despair.
Sure, the undead hellhound's simple, predictable attacks made its trajectory easy to read. Yet death had granted it unparalleled resilience. A mortal beast impaled through the throat would be fatally wounded, no matter how fierce.
But an undead creature? Its mortal vulnerabilities were meaningless. The girl had warned him: due to the unique properties of the area, these revenants were even harder to kill here. Dismembering or decapitating them wouldn't halt their movement. Their physical form could only be destroyed by dismantling their bodies or disabling their brains.
With the broken wooden shaft gripped tightly in hand, Leon backed toward the trap he had prepared earlier. Escape wasn't an option; no ordinary man could outrun such a beast. Turning his back would only quicken his death.
What now? Should he chant the banishing incantation to extract the hellhound's soul?
No, they'd invested too much effort in the ritual. Restarting the process would introduce countless new variables.
But without a proper weapon, there was no way he could hold off the undead beast much longer.
Just as despair began to creep in, Leon noticed Azerian sneaking up behind the hellhound.
The mindless undead lacked the ability to anticipate ambushes. Its crimson eyes remained locked on Leon as it lunged forward with a deafening snarl.
The terrifying fangs were upon him in an instant. Leon, out of options, braced himself, gripping the broken shaft like a club. Stepping back, he swung with both hands, smashing the hellhound's skull sideways.
A solid hit!
With a silent prayer to the gods of luck, Leon swung again. But before the second strike could land, the beast snapped its jaws around the shaft's midpoint. With a sickening crunch, the wood crumbled like brittle pastry, leaving Leon with two short stubs.
Undeterred, the hellhound's massive body slammed Leon to the ground, its rancid breath washing over him as its jaws snapped toward his throat.
In that life-or-death moment, sheer survival instinct overpowered fear. Leon shoved what remained of the broken shaft into the beast's mouth.
The vertical shaft wedged itself between the creature's jaws just in time, holding its snapping fangs apart. As Leon lay beneath the hellhound, he saw Azerian leap onto the beast's back.
The young noble straddled the undead warhound, gripping a dagger in both hands as he drove it downward with all his might.
The blade pierced the beast's dry, leathery hide but failed to penetrate its tough skull. The impact nearly knocked the dagger from Azerian's grasp as it skittered off the bone.
Frustrated but undeterred, Azerian raised his weapon again, aiming for the creature's eye socket this time. But a sudden, violent thrash threw off his aim, and the dagger sank into the hellhound's neck instead.
For any living opponent, such a wound would be catastrophic. But against the undead, it was no more than an annoyance.
The beast spat out the lodged shaft and thrashed wildly, flinging Azerian to the ground.
Before it could turn its attention back to him, Leon seized the opportunity. His left hand shot out and grabbed the dagger embedded in the creature's neck. With a sharp pull, he yanked the blade free.
Schlick!
The iron blade in hand, Leon shifted his grip and thrust it upward. The blood-slick dagger plunged under the beast's jaw, driving toward its brain. Only a few inches remained between the blade tip and its core.
The hellhound's body convulsed in rage. Leon clung to the dagger's hilt with desperate resolve. Letting go now would squander his only chance.
"RAAAAH!" he roared, forcing his body against the beast, using his knees to push and topple its thrashing form toward the pit trap.
Suddenly, a force from the side—Azerian's shoulder slamming into the beast—provided the final push needed.
The balance tipped, and the hellhound collapsed sideways into the hidden pit.
Leon, still clutching the dagger, fell with it into the shallow trap. The stakes at the bottom pierced the creature's body, and the force of the fall drove Leon's dagger fully into its brain.
The hellhound's furious thrashing slowed, then stopped entirely. It was finally nothing more than a lifeless corpse.
"Leon! Are you okay?"
Azerian peered anxiously over the edge of the pit.
"Yeah… I'm fine. This dead mutt broke my fall," Leon panted, relief washing over him.
He glanced back at the now-lifeless hound, whose glowing red eyes had dimmed to darkness. Just to be sure, he wrenched the dagger free and stabbed it repeatedly into the creature's head until its brain was little more than pulp.
Satisfied, Leon climbed out of the pit with Azerian's help, only to be met with a new, ominous sound.
From the forest shadows emerged a tall, imposing figure, its footsteps echoing with the metallic clink of armor.
Clang… clink… clang… clink…
With each step, the figure grew clearer, its polished longsword gleaming coldly in the faint light. It was a knight clad in ornate, heavy plate armor.
The intricate rose-and-thorn crest engraved on its shoulder plate identified its lineage, but its fleshless skull and the eerie red flames in its eye sockets betrayed its true nature.
An undead knight.
Though Leon had faced the ferocious undead hellhound, this spectral knight sent an even deeper chill through his soul. His instincts screamed of imminent danger.
The knight advanced steadily, as if drawn to the living aura before him.
"Crap…" Leon muttered under his breath. No rest for the weary. Was that hellhound this guy's pet?
He and Azerian bolted in the opposite direction, dodging through the underbrush.
Before they could catch their breath, another familiar, rage-filled roar echoed from the woods.
"Kill… them all! KANTADAR… must die! I'll kill anyone… standing in my way… KILL! KILL!"
It was Lohak, sprinting toward the clearing, his face twisted in fury.
The hulking youth wielded a bloodstained sword in one hand and a severed undead head in the other. His chainmail hung in tatters, evidence of a fierce battle.
Leon skidded to a halt, realizing that at least they wouldn't have to fend off the knight while waiting for Lohak.
The two dodged aside, making way for Lohak to enter the ritual circle.
"Leave the rest to me!" Leon shouted to Azerian. "Get to the edge of the forest while they're distracted!"
He positioned himself at the circle's boundary, hands raised, watching as both Lohak and the undead knight neared the trap.
Perfect. Time to finish this.
Leon raised his palms toward the ritual's core and began chanting:
(In Ancient Lorrelith) "By the power of the True Word! In my name, I command thee! Open the gates of the Netherworld! By the decree of the Eternal Frost Sea Dragon, heed my call!"