The beast reared up higher.
A bestial roar burst from its throat — not a cry of pain, but a call. A howl of violated territory, a declaration of total war. Its hooves tore at the ground, gouging the stone. Its breath grew heavier, hotter, denser, like fire rising in its gut.
Part of the beast was still trapped in the pit, struggling to move freely — and its massive body wasn't helping with any sudden movements.
It was too heavy to jump out.
Truly, it was trapped.
It tried to shake Dylan off.
To throw him.
Or at least, to crush him.
But he held on, clinging to its back like a living spear.
He struck without restraint. His blows grew more frenzied, more instinctive — but somehow, every one still landed true.
His arms were bleeding. His claws — because they were no longer just nails — had dug into the joints, between the red veins, between the hardened plates. He could feel the beast's life pulsing beneath his fingers.
He wanted to take it. All of it.
