VOTING - Story Contest of 2017

Tags: fantasy, futa/female, interspecies, blood and gore

Word Count: 4,873

A lone armor-clad rider rode through the undergrowth, horseshoes clanking on cracked cobblestone. The morning sun just startedsoaking through the thick cover of the treetops, but the rider had been in the saddle since long before the dawn. Today, there was a job to be done. For weeks the hunter tracked the prey, until it sought a refuge in this forsaken place. The cobblestone paving gave away to the trees hundreds of years ago and heaps of rubble alongside of it were barely visible in the green gloom and thick foliage. Perhaps a hundred meters ahead the trees opened into a clearing resembling a courtyard.

The rider stopped the horse and with slight ringing of metal dismounted. Despite clad in armor, here in the bright light of the clearing, the figure was clearly a feminine one. From the sheath tied by the saddle she drew a blade, an ornate bastard sword. She looked around, carefully scanning the surroundings and listening to the sounds of the forest. It was indeed a courtyard. Was this place a holding? Or a temple? Ancient city from ages past? Didn’t matter now, it had been long lost to the woods and inhabited only by vermin. She was in the right place. She got a couple of torches from the saddlebags. If she was the vermin, she would hide underground.

The gaping maw of the entrance was half hidden behind the rampantly overgrown plant life and looked like any other she examined. Except there was a faint smell in the air surrounding it. It was exotic and alien, with undertone that reminded her of sulfur. With the sword in one hand and a flaming torch in the other she descended down the slope into the tunnel. At first she thought it was an old cellar, but closer inspection of alcoves covered in cobwebs revealed rotten coffins and bleached bones. She pushed further into the catacombs, following clear trail of footprints in the dust on the floor. It lead her few dozen meters through the narrow tunnels - luckily someone made sure to clear them of rubble. But then the trail ended in a hole in the floor. She could hear the sound of running water underneath and the cold draught emanating from the opening brought even more of the alluring scent. She lit another torch and dropped it through. It landed in soft sand just few meters bellow. The huntress hesitated for a moment and then jumped down.

**

It was a cavern, shaped over centuries by a brisk underground stream in the soft sandstone bedrock. The light of the torches drew dancing shadows from the creases and niches of the cave. Just few meters ahead she could see a piece of embroidered cloth hanging on the wall. Did she just see it move, or was it just her imagination? Carefully she advanced. Bracing for what was to come, in one swift movement she tore the cloth from top to bottom with her sword, revealing an alcove chiseled into the wall. Except some pillows and a blanket, couple of scrolls, bottle of liquid and few candles it was empty. Sudden feeling of dread beset her. Her prey had to be waiting for her, she had to be watched the moment she entered the ruins. She would be far too lucky to arrive when the beast was out hunting. She turned, keeping her back towards the wall. The torch she left lying in the sand was gone. Slowly with her hands trembling she dropped the torch in her hand to the ground and produced another one from the bundle by her belt. As she crouched to light it up, the sweet aroma she followed all the way here filled her nostrils. She felt a presence as something dropped behind her for a split second.

It hit her in her back like a battering ram and sent her hurling to the other side of the cavern. She rolled several times in the sand before hitting the wall. There was a stabbing pain in her chest and she could taste blood on her mouth. She could see a reddish figure holding the torch for a moment before tossing it into the stream. The cavern went dark. She was lost. This was the end. There was no way she could light another torch before she got torn to pieces. Then she realized her gauntlet was still firmly locked around the handle of her sword. Every bone in her body protesting she climbed to her feet, her free hand gripping the pommel.

She could hear her breathing, she could hear the water. She could hear claws scraping on a sandstone. More by her instinct than by an intent she struck to her left, only to have the blow deflected by the unseen assailant. It left her open to attack. At the last moment she changed the direction of t

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