Apex: Forged In FIre

Damian crouched low, his muscles tensed, eyes fixed on the clearing. Every sound in the forest seemed amplified as dusk fell—rustling leaves, the distant call of night birds, the whistling of the wind through the gaps in the trees. He gripped his spear tightly, running his thumb along the smooth, cold metal. It was all he had between himself and the beast he now faced.

In the fading sunlight, the lion emerged once more, slipping through the underbrush like a shadow, its majestic mane blending with the hues of golden sunset. Damian stayed perfectly still, watching as the lion's nose twitched, searching for unfamiliar scents. It lowered its head, prowling cautiously forward, pausing near one of the sharpened stakes he had planted. Its tail flicked as it noticed the trap, circling around it warily, eyes narrowed.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He knew he couldn't afford a misstep. He waited until the lion turned away, briefly distracted by the sound of movement in the forest—a small animal scurrying through the brush. That was his opening. He rose silently and, with one swift motion, hurled a stone he'd pocketed earlier across the clearing, where it struck a tree with a sharp crack. The lion's head snapped toward the sound in a flash, its body tense and low to the ground, every muscle coiled.

With deliberate, measured steps, the hunter moved from the undergrowth, spear angled low, ready to strike. The lion's ears perked, eyes locking onto him. For a heartbeat, there was silence, a tense standstill between hunter and hunted, predator and prey. Then the lion roared, a deep, thunderous sound that echoed through the forest. It charged, claws tearing into the earth as it bounded forward, its golden mane wild and fierce.

Damian braced himself, taking a step back as he lifted the spear, his gaze never leaving the lion's. He knew its speed would be overwhelming—just a blur of muscle and fury—but he was counting on that. The lion's path took it straight through his carefully laid stakes, slowing it just enough for him to sidestep, narrowly dodging the initial pounce.

The lion whirled around, eyes blazing with fury, baring its teeth, but Damian didn't flinch; he lowered his stance, twin daggers in hand, his breathing steady. It lunged again, faster this time, claws outstretched. Damian quickly rolled sideways, using the momentum to jump back on his feet, he felt a rush of air as a claw had managed to graze his shoulder, digging into his flesh but stopping right before the bone.

He hissed in pain, without making a single sound so as not to alert his prey to his current state. Using the lion's momentum, he twisted, driving one of his daggers into its side. The lion roared, bucking wildly, and he was thrown to the ground, tumbling across the dirt.

Dazed but undeterred, Damian rolled to his feet, his spear somehow making it into his hands, clutched tightly once more. The lion was bleeding, a flash of red staining its golden fur, but it was undeterred. It paced around him in a wide circle, a low growl rumbling in its throat, anger and pain blending in its gaze. Damian circled with it, matching its rhythm, every step in sync as they faced each other.

He feigned a stumble, letting his spear drop just slightly, an invitation for an attack. The lion took the bait, charging in for a final strike. With a swift, controlled movement, the hunter sidestepped again, pivoting his spear upward and thrusting it into the lion's chest as it leapt past. The impact sent a shudder through his one good arm as the spear pierced deep, right into its heart.

The lion fell with a final, shuddering breath, its powerful body collapsing into the dirt. The forest was silent again, the tension gone, replaced by the quiet chirps of crickets. Damian knelt beside his kill, whispering a prayer of respect for the beast's spirit.

Damian knelt beside the fallen lion, the forest's silence surrounding him. With reverence and precision, he began his work, a practised ritual honed over years. He withdrew one of his daggers, its carbon steel glinting under the filtered moonlight. Carefully, he pressed the blade along the lion's gum line, loosening the powerful fangs from their sockets with steady hands.

Once free, he held the fangs to the dim light, each one a pale ivory against his rough hands, curved and sharp. They would need to dry and be polished, but already he could envision their final form. With measured patience, he cleaned each fang, rubbing them smooth against a piece of cloth until they gleamed with a soft sheen.

A day later, he returned to the clearing to complete his creation. The fangs were strung onto a sturdy leather cord, each spaced with dark beads crafted from bone, the raw simplicity giving a primal aesthetic to his design. He adjusted the spacing until it hung just right—resembling a crescent shape around the neck, much like the necklace of a warrior king. The largest fang took its place at the centre, flanked by smaller ones that arched around his collarbone.

When he placed it over his head, it rested against his chest with a weight that felt both grounding and empowering. He felt a powerful pang through his chest, bubbling over till he couldn't contain it anymore, releasing a primal roar that resounded through the forest.

With a small smile tugging at his lips, he slowly made his way out of the forest, back to the clearing, where Harris stood waiting as patiently as a statue…