Chapter 31: Fangs and Claws
Seraphis still registered how his master, his soul-part and at the same time father, counted down. Titles were not ranks to him, but merely shells for a feeling. What mattered was what lay behind them — affection, guidance, warmth, and that deep, steady trust. And that trust he would not disappoint. The trust his master placed in him.
An abrupt, dry tremor ran through the trunk, traveled razor-sharp through the roots, and burned as a cutting vibration through the ground. Immediately after, deep, wet disturbances followed in the mud — heavy and deliberately placed — as if something without shape, but with weight, pressed down upon the earth and tore the water apart into fleeing, cold waves.
For Seraphis, the world broke apart into signals.
Ground impulses.
Temperature shifts.
Moisture in motion.
All at once.
His nervous system ran at maximum. Stimulus and reaction did not lie one after the other, but on top of each other. Perception was already action.
He tensed as Ursula did the same. No glance. No sound. No alignment necessary.
Synchrony was not coordination.
It was consequence.
And then there was only speed.
Boom.
Ursula exploded forward.
The ground trembled deep and short — heavy impact against massive flesh. Heat shot forward, raw and unrestrained. A wild, burning presence pressed through the air, dense and aggressive.
Contact.
Pressure against pressure.
Muscles tightened. Bones ground. The lizard braced against it, but Ursula pushed deeper.
The smell of torn flesh.
His claws anchored themselves into the chest of the larger body. Skin gave way.
Warm blood sprayed in fine, hot arcs.
Ursula’s maw shot forward.
His massive tearing fangs were broad and brutal, built to crack bone and shred flesh.
Contact.
Teeth struck taut, scaled skin. A moment of resistance — tough, elastic — then the flesh beneath yielded under the pressure.
The fangs drove deep, pierced scales, tore muscle fibers apart. A dull, wet ripping vibrated through the lizard’s body.
Warm.
Blood welled forth, thick and metallic in scent, ran over Ursula’s lips and dripped heavily onto the ground.
He tore his head sideways.
Flesh pulled. Skin stretched. Then a sharp, wet rupture. A piece tore free with a sickening give and was spat out in the same breath.
No pause.
Second thrust.
Deeper this time.
The teeth found softer tissue beneath the torn opening. They dug in, hooked, and as they withdrew, dragged long, bloody strands of muscle and connective tissue with them.
A smacking sound accompanied the tearing free as more blood struck from the wound in heavy drops.
Ursula did not bite to injure.
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He bit to tear apart.
Seraphis shot forward in the same instant, coiled like a loaded spring, and struck slightly higher on the chest, where the lizard’s neck must begin. No hesitation. No weighing.
His backward-curved teeth acted like fine barbs — once in flesh, they tore more out on withdrawal than they had cut through.
He bit down with the same raw determination. His bite and Ursula’s still came perfectly synchronized, at the same time.
His teeth struck scales. Hard. Smooth. Then pressure. More pressure. The outer layer splintered under the force, gave way, and his fangs drove into the flesh beneath. Warm blood shot toward him, thick and salty, ran over his jaws and dripped heavily downward.
The salamander screamed — such a raw and rapid assault had come too suddenly. A high, cutting sound that vibrated through flesh and bone. Its massive body jerked to the side, then backward, then forward. It shook itself brutally, hoping to throw them off.
In vain.
Seraphis bit down harder. Ursula did not let go either.
He bit again.
Third thrust.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Each of Ursula’s bites tore deeper. Teeth drove through already torn tissue, ripped muscle fibers apart, burst blood vessels. Blood sprayed in dark arcs, warm and heavy, while Ursula’s claws dug further into the lizard’s chest.
They sank deeper.
Skin tore. Flesh yielded.
It almost looked as if his paw were disappearing into the lizard’s body, as if he were burrowing into the monster through sheer refusal to let go.
No hesitation.
No retreat.
Blood.
Too much.
The metallic, warm scent settled like a dense fog over everything. It burned in his palate, crawled into his sensory pits, overlaid every finer trace. Ground impulses blurred. Temperature lost contour. Everything became a single, heavy, sweet signal.
Blood.
The cave salamander lost its pattern.
Its movements were no longer rhythmic. No clear tempo. Only chaotic, heavy impulses in the ground. Trees burst apart. Wood splintered. The forest vibrated in irregular shocks, as if something blind and enormous were running against everything in its path.
Then a massive impact.
Stone.
The dwelling cave.
The pressure traveled like a shockwave through the ground. Dust, rock, splintering wood. Ursula was still anchored, deep in flesh and chest, as the enormous body of the lizard, chest thrust forward, slammed into the rock.
Bone against stone.
Seraphis felt the moment before he understood it.
An abrupt giving way in Ursula’s muscle tension. His heart rhythm stumbled. For the blink of an eye, he was empty.
But the right claw still held. Cramped. Unconscious. Deep in the lizard’s flesh.
Then the second impact.
Harder.
Wilder.
Uncontrolled.
The lizard’s chest crashed against the rock again. The ground exploded in pressure waves. The air was forced from the space.
Ursula’s grip broke.
The tension vanished completely.
No resistance anymore.
His body fell.
Heavy.
Lifeless for that moment.
Another impact.
And another.
The blows came irregularly, brutal, from all sides. Shockwaves raced through the earth. Individual strikes hit Seraphis as well, tore at his body, pressed air from him. Pain was there — but dull, distant, overlaid.
Ursula’s rhythm.
It was barely detectable anymore.
Another wild strike.
And another.
Until even Seraphis let go.
The cave wyrm stopped abruptly.
Its body was hardly recognizable as such. The wound on its chest had been torn open so many times that it had widened into a grotesque, open cavity. Flesh hung in shreds. Blood dripped heavily and steadily to the ground.
Seraphis felt the lizard’s breathing — frantic, chaotic, uneven, then slower, controlled. A deep, rattling pull of air through injured tissue.
Then silence.
The salamander realized that no further bite followed.
The sun grew darker.
Noticeably.
The temperature dropped by degrees. The light lost sharpness.
Barely two minutes had passed.
And the fight had already reached a scale that was foreign even to the forest.
Seraphis had received astonishingly few direct hits. His body was tense, some scales torn, but functional. Pain registered only as peripheral information.
The cave wyrm lived.
Its ground impulses had changed. No longer the wild, irregular chaos from before. Now a heavy, slow rhythm. Tissue drew together. Blood flow altered. The scent of fresh tearing gave way to the thick, iron-heavy odor of clotting flesh.
Something inside it was working.
Not like with his master. No perceptible current in the air. No pulsing energy.
Only raw, biological restoration.
Seraphis searched for Ursula.
He blocked out the blood haze, forced his perception through the heavy metallic aroma. But everywhere there was only the same smell. Warm. Thick. Overpowering.
He searched for the rhythm.
Nothing.
No clear imprint in the ground.
No familiar warmth.
No steady heartbeat.
Only blood. Only trampled mud and a lump of strange mass.
Had Ursula’s own scent not been mixed with that of the lizard, Seraphis would have doubted he had ever stood here.
One step.
The cave wyrm moved forward.
Heavy. Controlled.
The ground answered deeply. No more staggering. No more disorientation.
In front of it lay something.
The misshapen, strange lump of mass.
Seraphis tensed.
He sharpened his senses. Further. Even further.
He forced his perception beneath the noise of blood. Beneath the forest’s roar. Beneath the trembling of the ground.
Searching.
An impulse.
So faint it was nearly swallowed.
Irregular. Stumbling.
A heartbeat.
Ursula.
For the briefest moment, Seraphis’ body went cold. A shock ran through him. Just like a realization.
Ursula.
Then explosion.
He coiled, every muscle fiber tightening, and shot forward. Mud sprayed away beneath him. His body was nothing but speed.
But the cave wyrm was faster.
The air before him shifted abruptly. Warm breath struck Seraphis’ scales. A dull, wet smell hit him.
The jaws opened.
Teeth — broad, broken, bloody — descended toward the motionless body.
One more blink.
Then it would snap shut.
