What followed was, of course, an execution.
For all the kobels that had fallen, for himself above all Tunu would not let a single one of them live. The first ones did not even see him coming, but suddenly found themselves facing a scaled beast before their mangled bodies collapsed.
Cries of fear preceded those of pain, silenced just after by cracking noise.
Losing all heart, the fighters turned away to flee. It was far too late and they could not know it but no place could offer them any escape anymore. He could feel them, their every motion.
They saw him jump high, hold on the bark of a tree and, from there, pick his next victim. Another leap, within a second that fawn was crushed.
An axe fell on him but the blade broke; his claws answered, ripped freely into the flesh.
Ten. Twelve. Sixteen. There was nothing they could do.
And still some tried. An arrows whistled past him, not even close, made him look to the side toward the wulver that readied another shot. He hardly had any projectile left, yet Tunu offered it a feral smile before lunging at that traitor.
A kobel shield stopped him, that his claws shattered.
And from behind a new weapon plunged straight into his neck.
A long knife called a sword. A single piece of metal that could cut and pierce all the same, lethal on its whole length. The wéréns, no doubt, had forged that iron, hammered it again and again to get it as strong as their art could allow.
It had cut through the neck, emerged on the other side.
Already the wérén that had struck stepped back to put some distance. Sword still in hand, he watched with horror as the wound he had inflicted just closed in instants.
But rather than flee he simply braced, sword pointed at the ready.
Probably, surely, that swordsman thought every second he could hold would let the others escape. He was mistaken but how could he know, those horns were just dead mass to him.
Tunu charged at such an uncanny speed, yet his opponent dodged and dodged once more, felt the claws graze his face, skim his ear.
The iron blade struck the back of Tunu's right knee.
It bounced back, yet had struck with enough force to crack the scales and wound the joint. For a moment hindered the scaled kobel turned to see that sword hit straight into his eye.
When he came by, he was holding part of that blade in his bleeding hand while his vision recovered. The wérén held the other part and still faced him just as stubbornly.
Everything told him to kill that nuisance.
His heart screamed for vengeance.
Yet for several seconds all Tunu could do was face him. Part of him was in disbelief, thinking he had died twice in that fight. Once in the pit where everyone else would have trespassed; a second time when his prized armor had been so easily defeated.
The wérén, with a fur the color of dry leaves, wore the clothes given to captives.
"You..." Tunu gargled and felt the blood accumulated in his throat.
He coughed it up, then turned back to that stubborn warrior.
"You. What kind of blood runs in your veins to have bested me twice? What blood do kobels have for me to fail this much? So I'm nothing. Just a fraud. Our whole heritage is just a lie, is that what you are saying?!"
His heart was beating madly in his chest.
"Is the whole realm mocking our struggle?! Should I give up, accept my fate, drop all hopes and be nothing but a prey for the likes of you!?!"
The wérén could not understand a single word he was saying.
"I will kill you. Everyone you knew. I will carve a path in blood for my tribe to thrive and when I'm done kobels will be the apex predators."
At those words the scaled kobel charged, only to be hit by an arrow that made him stumble and not an instant later the broken sword ripped on his chest. That wérén had struck with all the strength he could gather and still the scales had held.
He barely blocked the jaws that fell on his own neck, just in time to leap back and avoid one set of claws.
Tunu's other hand still held its piece of the blade. He threw it like a dart, straight at that warrior who dodged but at the last second and still got hit at the arm. Suddenly weakened, he was as good as defenseless.
Still he faced the legend.
And when the claws fell on him it was the wulver who threw himself against that lizard to divert the attack. Tunu seized that new offender by the head, pressed and pressed until the skull cracked.
Then another wérén appeared and caught his arm, holding tight, nothing else. That one was unarmed and young.
Another body falling as well.
Finally the warrior, blinded by rage, charged him and got shredded, thrown to the ground. Before he could get up Tunu's foot was pushing him back down. Bones cracked, the spine fractured.
A horrid cry of pain disturbed the woods for just a couple seconds.
With his enemy paralyzed the scaled lizard walked to the fallen sword, picked it up, came back and, quietly, plunged it into the wérén's neck. He stood there, immobile even after the body had stopped thrashing under his hands.
Tunu's eyes were filled with excitement.
He could not help but drool.
Yes, there were still more to chase, still more to catch and what few kobels had survived to reunite but right there and then the champion knew it was his time. After so many days denying it he could finally indulge.
He had already opened wide.
He could feel his heart so warm, still beating hard as if the confrontation had not ended yet. As if it could not end before...
Tunu was holding his head, beating back the headache. "Feed!" He angrily yelled for himself. He could feel it, the longer he waited, his whole body slowly awakening to the strain. Weakening. The wounds burning him again.
"Feed!"
His feelings spoke louder than any reason. No matter his resolve there was still something that he himself had forgot, a single emotion still holding him back. That one last thread had him tearing up even as he tried to push himself.
The scent was there! The hunger, the need! All he had to do was feed to get everything he ever wanted.
And there he was, choosing to rot.
Soon his exhausted body gave way. His heart only beat to keep him alive. He only perceived, but barely, the warriors finding him curled up near the carcasses of his preys. They rushed to him, called him but their muffled voices could not reach him anymore.
Coward.
Coward, he called himself. Coward, as the sounds came back around him, still vague and distant. They had laid in on moss, lost in the woods with no direction to go back. Just a few kobels, tired and wounded, scared by the unknown.
They dared not light a fire for fear of attracting the rebels back.
Just a bunch of miserable creatures with short fur, huddling in the night for warmth while beasts howled around.
That was all they were. That was all there was. That was all the realm had for them and so again, coward, Tunu called himself. His heart beat so furiously to keep him alive and here he was, holding back not even remembering why.