Harry jumped up, hoping to cut the Lion head, but the beast sense him timeously. It turned and struck him by the chest.

  The impact came like a hammer. Harry flew backward, the air torn from his lungs as his body smashed into a tree. Bark exploded around him. He slid down the trunk and hit the ground hard, a broken groan tearing from his throat. Pain radiated through his ribs, sharp and deep, stealing his breath again.

  Before he could move, the forest erupted. The other boys charged from different angles, boots thundering the soil, weapons flashing as they aimed high, all of them targeting the same thing. The lion head. Teeth bared. Golden eyes burning.

  The beast moved. It did not rush. It did not panic. It flowed.

  One massive arm swung, catching a boy mid-leap and flinging him aside like a thrown stone. Another tail whipped out, wrapping around a spear and ripping it from trembling hands. A horned head lowered and struck, lifting two bodies at once and slamming them into the ground.

  Screams tore through the trees. One after the other, they fell.

  Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, vision swimming. The ground shook with each movement of the creature. He could feel it. The weight. The control. Every strike was precise, brutal, effortless.

  This was not a beast fighting for survival. This was a creature playing.

  “Hahahaha.”

  The laughter boomed through the forest, deep and layered, coming from more than one throat at once. It vibrated through Harry’s bones.

  “I have existed for over five hundred years,” the beast said, its voices overlapping. “Children of your ages cannot kill me.”

  Harry dragged in a painful breath and forced himself upright. His legs shook. His chest burned where the blow had landed. He tasted blood.

  Master Fen’s voice cut through the chaos, calm and distant, as if spoken in a quiet hall far away. “If you cut off the wrong head, it will become seven times stronger. And none of you here will be able to defeat it.”

  Harry exhaled sharply. “We can not defeat it,” he said to himself. “He is seven times more stronger now.”

  Harry turned his head slowly. The boys lay scattered across the forest floor. Some clutched broken arms. Others groaned, curled around their ribs. One tried to stand and collapsed again with a cry. Fear clung to them heavier than blood.

  Another attack like that would not leave them wounded. It would leave them dead.

  “Get up, guys,” Harry echoed, his voice hoarse but sharp. The beast tilted its massive body, watching him with interest. The lion head grinned. The snake head swayed, tongue flicking. The horned head snorted, stamping the ground.

  “Hahahaha.” Amusement dripped from its tone. The boys struggled. One by one, they forced themselves up, leaning on trees, on each other, on sheer stubborn will. Faces pale. Eyes wide. No one ran. Not yet.

  The beast’s laughter rolled again. “I will give it to you. You are bold.”

  It stepped closer. Leaves crushed under its weight. The ground trembled. “But this boldness,” it continued, “will only lead to your deaths.”

  Harry straightened fully. Pain screamed through his chest, but he ignored it. His lips curved into a faint smile, thin and tired. “Let me worry about that.” He turned sharply to the boys. “Run!”

  For half a heartbeat, they stared at him. Then they bolted. Boots tore through undergrowth. Branches whipped at faces. Breath came out in ragged gasps as they sprinted blindly between trees, fear pushing them harder than any command.

  The beast laughed mockingly once again. “You cannot run from me,” it called, its voice carrying easily through the forest. “I will kill you one after the other.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  But it did not chase. It allowed them to run. He was enjoying the fear on their face.

  Heavy footsteps followed behind them, slow and confident. Not a pursuit. A promise. Each step deliberate. Unhurried. As if it knew exactly how this would end.

  The boys ran until their lungs burned and their legs screamed. When they could no longer go on, they collapsed behind a massive tree, its trunk wide enough to hide all of them if they pressed close.

  They crouched there, shaking, listening. The footsteps stopped somewhere behind them.

  “The beast is too strong for us,” Larry whispered, his voice trembling despite how hard he tried to steady it.

  “What do we do now?” Cole asked, frustration cracking through his fear.

  Max stared at the ground, breathing hard. Then he lifted his head slowly. “Maybe we shouldn’t use the sword.”

  The words hung there.

  “Maybe we should use the arrow.”

  Everyone froze.

  Leaves rustled softly above. Somewhere nearby, a low breath sounded. Too close. “How is that going to help?” Harry asked quietly.

  Max swallowed. “If we can aim at the eyes… we can blind it.” The boys exchanged looks. Hope flickered, fragile and desperate.

  They nodded, one after another.

  Then all eyes turned to Harry. “Harry, you must shoot,” one of them said. “You’re the only one who can aim from a distance.”

  Harry’s breath caught. He felt it immediately. The weight of the bow in his hands. The memory of arrows flying true when his body should not have been capable of it. The warmth. The pull. The presence.

  The God Hand. His fingers tightened slowly. He knew the truth. He could not just shoot accurately at will. Not like this. Not without that power rising, answering a call he could not always control.

  The beast’s shadow stretched across the forest floor. Harry said nothing. He couldn't explain.

  Without acceptance from him, Max began to strategize. “We would attack the beast once from all four point. That will keep the beast busy and buys Harry enough time to hit the target.”

  The words came out rushed, desperate. He did not wait for an answer. The boys nodded, fear flashing across their faces, then hardening into something reckless. Something final. They sprang up from behind the tree, weapons clenched, jaws set.

  “Great, let’s do it,” Cole said, forcing brightness into his voice.

  They spread out instinctively, boots crunching leaves, circling wide. Harry’s heart slammed against his ribs. He opened his mouth to stop them. To say wait. To say no. But nothing came out.

  Before the thought could turn into sound, the boys were already moving, already exposed.

  “Oh! Oh! Oh!” the beast boomed as it turned. “You came out of hiding once again.”

  Its many heads swiveled, eyes locking onto them from different angles. The lion head smiled. The snake head tasted the air. The human head tilted, curious.

  Max lifted his chin. His hands shook, but he held his ground. “Our mission is to kill you,” he said. “And we must accomplish it.”

  The beast burst into laughter. It rolled through the forest like thunder, loud and mocking, layered with echoes from every mouth it possessed. Birds exploded from the treetops.

  “That won’t happen,” the beast said, stepping forward. “Not even in your dreams.”

  Then it lunged.

  The ground cracked beneath its weight. It struck with sudden fury, no longer amused. An arm swept out, smashing into two boys at once. The sound of bone meeting force made Harry flinch. Bodies flew, hit trees, dropped hard.

  Another head lowered, horns driving forward. A boy screamed as he was lifted and thrown aside. The tail snapped like a whip, sending someone spinning.

  Harry watched from a distance, frozen between terror and duty. The plan was unraveling too fast. He raised the bow.

  His hands shook violently.

  The string felt unfamiliar, slick under his fingers. He placed an arrow against it, tried to steady his breathing. In. Out. The forest blurred.

  The beast moved again, faster now. Then it stopped. It turned slowly toward Max. “I will eat you first,” it said.

  Before anyone could react, it grabbed Max by the arm and dragged him across the ground. Dirt tore at Max’s clothes. His heels dug useless lines in the soil. He screamed, clawing at roots, at anything.

  “Harry! Now!” Max cried.

  The shout ripped through Harry. He pulled back the bowstring and released it.

  The arrow screamed through the air. It missed. It struck a tree, burying itself slightly above Larry’s head. Bark exploded inches from his face.

  Everything froze.

  Larry’s breath hitched. His eyes widened as he stared at the arrow vibrating beside him. One inch lower and he would have been dead.

  The beast turned slowly. It looked at Harry. “You must never have shot arrow before,” it said, amusement curling its lips.

  Harry’s chest tightened. His hands trembled harder. “Harry, shoot again,” Max screamed. “You can do it!”

  The beast answered first. It slammed its leg into Max’s face. Nails raked across skin. Blood sprayed. Max’s head snapped sideways and he screamed, a raw, broken sound that made Harry’s stomach twist.

  Harry saw red. He notched another arrow with shaking fingers and released again.

  The arrow flew wild, cutting through branches and vanishing into the forest.

  The beast laughed, mocking Harry's incompetence.

  At that point, realization struck Larry like lightning. “It wasn’t him that shot that arrow yesterday,” Larry breathed. His voice was low, almost lost beneath the laughter. “It was anger.”

  His eyes flicked to Harry. Harry stood stiff, frozen, eyes wide, bow hanging uselessly in his hands.

  Larry pushed himself up, heart thundering. Fear screamed at him to stay quiet, to hide. He ignored it. “I need to make him angry,” he told himself.

  He swallowed, then raised his voice. “Shoot the damn arrow, Harry, you bastard!” he shouted. “All your life, you have been useless. Conceived by an immoral union. And now you want to use your bastard existence to get us all killed? The king should have known better than to sleep with a worthless escort.”

  The words slammed into Harry’s chest. They were not new words. They were old. Familiar. They had followed him from whispers in corridors to laughs behind his back. From childhood to now.

  The beast turned toward Larry, eyes widening slightly. “Bastard,” it repeated, tasting the word.

  Then it burst into another round of laughter.

  “Hahahaha!” it roared. “He is a son of a prostitute.”

  The sound twisted Harry’s stomach. Every voice that had ever mocked him echoed in his head. Faces blurred together. Smiles. Pointing fingers. Laughter that never stopped.

  Something snapped. Heat surged through his left hand. It crawled up his arm like fire under skin. His vision sharpened, narrowed. The world seemed to tilt.

  His left eye burned. It glowed green. Larry was the first to see it. “Yes,” he whispered, breathless. “He is angry now.”

  The beast’s laughter faltered. It noticed the glow. “What is that?” it asked, its tone shifting, curiosity edging into caution.

  But it was already too late. Harry had notched the arrow. His hands were steady now. He drew the string back smoothly, effortlessly. The forest fell silent, as if holding its breath.

  Then he released. The arrow cut through the cold air like a blade.