The Predator's Game

Chapter 9: Interruption in Tale of Valdora

Mathius had spent days navigating the dense, suffocating forest like a shadow, the towering trees above him blotting out even the faintest hint of daylight. It was a place where the sun dared not intrude, and Mathius felt right at home in the perpetual twilight.

He moved through the underbrush with purpose, his sharp, calculating mind knowing that survival wasn't enough. No, what he needed was control. And control required allies—dangerous, savage allies that could be bent to his will. He needed beasts like the Borals. And to control them, he needed red dust.

Ah, red dust. The key to command, plundered from the king's vaults. It wasn't enough to just throw it in a creature's face and hope for the best. No, the art of controlling a Boral required more finesse, more cruelty. It needed bait.

And wouldn't you know it, Mathius had brought bait aplenty—townsfolk, ragged and terrified, rounded up during his flight from the palace. He hadn't even bothered to learn their names; they were as irrelevant to him as pebbles beneath his boots. Tools to be discarded. Mathius wasn't the kind of man to let a good hostage go to waste.

The evening was dark, a perfect setting for his twisted plans. In a clearing deep within the forest, Mathius dragged a trembling young man into the center, his face streaked with dirt and tears. The poor fool begged for his life, but Mathius barely spared him a glance.

"Stop sniveling," Mathius muttered, his voice colder than the forest air. "Your purpose is nearly fulfilled."

With a swift motion, Mathius slashed a deep cut across the man's chest. The blood flowed freely, soaking the ground, while the man screamed, a pitiful, high-pitched sound that bounced off the trees and disappeared into the oppressive silence.

"That should do it," Mathius said to himself, wiping the blade clean. "The Borals can smell blood for miles." He stepped back into the shadows, his cold eyes fixed on the man tied to the tree. The man's cries for mercy became even more desperate.

Mathius shot him a chilling look. "Keep whining, and I'll make sure your end is much, much worse."

The man immediately fell silent, though his body trembled uncontrollably.

The forest around them grew unnaturally quiet. And then, from somewhere deep within the trees, came a low, rumbling growl. Mathius grinned.

"Showtime," he whispered, his hand hovering over the pouch of red dust.

A rustling of bushes, and out stepped the Boral—a hulking, nightmarish beast covered in thick, matted fur. Its glowing eyes locked onto the scent of blood, its hunger palpable. The captive whimpered, but Mathius remained still, his cold gaze locked on the creature.

As the Boral lunged toward its prey, Mathius moved with the precision of a hunter. He tossed a handful of red dust into the air, the shimmering powder falling across the beast's face. The creature faltered, its snarls dissolving into confused grunts.

Mathius began the incantation, his voice low and commanding, his words ancient and powerful. The beast resisted, its muscles twitching as it fought against the foreign magic. But Mathius was relentless, the red dust binding the Boral to his will with every whispered word.

After a long, tense moment, the beast knelt before him, defeated, its savage instincts suppressed by Mathius' iron control.

"Good," Mathius murmured, stepping forward to run his hand over the beast's fur. The Boral flinched but did not dare move. Mathius smiled—a smile devoid of warmth, more of a predator examining his prey.

He turned to the young man tied to the tree. "You've served your purpose well," Mathius said, almost conversationally, as though discussing the weather.

The man's eyes lit up, hope blossoming for a fleeting second. Mathius snuffed it out like a candle.

"But," he continued, his tone icy, "you're no longer of use to me."

And with that, he plunged his dagger into the man's chest. The captive gasped, his body convulsing as the life drained from him. Mathius stood motionless, watching intently as the light faded from the man's eyes. When it was over, Mathius wiped the blood from his blade without a hint of emotion.

The Boral growled softly, perhaps in recognition of the kill, but Mathius snapped his fingers, silencing the beast immediately. "Quiet," he commanded. "We're not done yet."

The other captives, bound and terrified, had seen everything. Their fear radiated from them like a bitter stench, and Mathius basked in it. He didn't need to say a word; their terror spoke volumes.

For Mathius, fear wasn't just a tool—it was entertainment.

He kept the rest of the captives alive, for now, marching them through the forest beside the subdued Boral. Their shackled footsteps and trembling voices were all he needed to ensure obedience. Their dread was palpable, every glance toward the Boral a reminder of what awaited them.

Mathius didn't spare them so much as a reassuring word. Why bother? Their lives were dangling by a thread, and he held the shears.

That night, Mathius tethered the captives to trees once more, leaving them to stew in the darkness, shivering in the cold. No comfort. No mercy. They would be used again—just as bait. But Mathius enjoyed their suffering too much to kill them outright. Why end their torment when he could savor it?

The next morning, the cold light filtered through the canopy, and Mathius began preparations for another hunt. His captives were nothing but disposable pawns in his grand game, and soon, another beast would be summoned. Something more powerful. Something that would demand another life.

The red dust shimmered in the weak light, his ultimate weapon. With every use, Mathius felt a rush of power—a thrill at controlling creatures far stronger and more dangerous than any human. It wasn't just the Borals or the captives he wanted control over. No, Mathius craved dominion over all of Dacrotas.

In the heart of the forest, he reigned supreme, and soon enough, the rest of the kingdom would follow. For now, the hunt continued. And the only certainty for the captives was that none of them would ever leave this forest alive.

The tale came to an abrupt halt.

"Mr. Noah," came a soft cough from Miss Erie, her voice laced with amusement.

Mr. Noah blinked, lifting his head from his notes as though he had just returned from the forest himself. "Yes, Miss Erie?"

"I think that's quite enough for now," she said with a smile. "You've been spinning this tale for over seven hours. Your students look like they're ready to drop."

Sure enough, most of the students looked dazed, some with drooping eyes, though J.D. was still on the edge of his seat, practically vibrating with excitement.

"But what happens next?" J.D. exclaimed. "Does Mathius catch another beast? Does—"

Mr. Noah chuckled and ruffled J.D.'s hair. "All in good time, lad. You'll hear the rest in the morning. Now off to bed."

Miss Erie stepped forward, clapping her hands to gather the students' attention. "All right, everyone, time to head to your rooms. And starting tonight, we've arranged new groupings. Rizz and Sami, you're paired together. Maskin, Sami, and Zaini, you'll be in another group."

Maskin groaned from the back. "Not Zaini…"

Miss Erie gave him a look. "Yes, Zaini. I expect you to resolve whatever little cold war you and Sami have been engaged in."

Zaini shot Maskin a playful grin. "Guess we're roommates now."

Maskin, less than thrilled, muttered, "I'm not gonna look at him. Straight to bed."

Zaini rolled his eyes, trying to keep up with Maskin as he walked off. "You can't ignore me forever!"

Maskin didn't break stride. "I'll try. Goodnight."

Zaini sighed, watching his new roomie vanish. "This is going to be a long night."