Finding the ir of the Trollhog was not difficult. They’re already rather dominant and rge animals, so an especially troublesome specimen would surely try and cim the best den in the area- which was a rather notable cave naturally carved into the side of a protruding cliff close by to the fort. From here, the hog rampaged out to the roads regurly and became a great bother to travelers and merchants.

  “The hard part is figuring out how to kill the damn thing. You need to either cut the head off or cut the heart out. Anything else would just grow back too fast… If we’re to believe Euclid and her intel. They say a group of hunters dropped the hog into a pit of stakes and it just bled out until the whole pit was flooded with its blood… and then it swam out.”

  That sounded hardcore as hell. Maia’s not sure whether to believe it or not. Aymanah finds themself perched on Homer’s shoulder like always, eyes nailed on the cave entrance while Homer sharpens his sword.

  “Get me a good swing and I might be able to chop the head off of a charging Trollhog in normal circumstances, but if this bugger’s been regenerating as often and as hard as Euclid cims it’ll probably have hardened muscles. If my bde just bounces off due to how tough the creature is we’ll really be up shit creek.”

  Aymanah’s cws scraping against the shoulderpad echo in the thicket they’ve made into their temporary base of operations. Maia clutches her staff, nodding along. She’s never hunted another living being in her life, so she’d feel awkward interjecting, but…

  “Can’t try and poison it, since the regeneration will just pump the poison out. Can’t suffocate it since it’ll just keep going anyway, or so I fear… We’ve got nothing to crush it into paste with. Cutting the horns and yanking them out might stop the regeneration, but how’re we going to keep it still for that? Been a bit since a monster as basic as this has given me trouble.”

  Homer almost sounds like he’s enjoying the challenge. This is all far less dangerous than their mountain adventure after all- one Trollhog that they’re not obliged to take down if they fear their chances. But Maia’s been considering something this whole time, and she does finally speak up. It’s a strange suggestion, but.

  “What if I tried to inflict death upon it?”

  Homer and Aymanah both turn to look at her, and she instantly feels as small as a mouse. She wiggles on the spot a little and coughs into her fist.

  “You know, like back when…”

  She gives Aymanah a very apologetic gnce. The other does not seem to mind, simply nodding along. Having that sort of blessing makes her feel a little more comfortable.

  “... Killed a harpy.”

  but not blessed enough to not be a little indirect and impersonal.

  Homer instantly understands what she means and leans back with a huff, eyes nailed to the sky. He’s thoughtful- and clearly a little worried, fingers idly scratching through his beard.

  “That could work. I get the idea. At this point the hog’s momentum is perpetual, so you’re suggesting using supernatural means to instantly stop it. But can you channel that sort of thing yet? I know Umanah offered to help, but we didn’t have the time.”

  “I haven’t done it since the first time it happened, and- well, when I prayed very hard back at the mountain with Umanah, I could tell her gaze was upon me… So perhaps if I prayed now and focused myself, I could do it? It’s all theoretical. But it would be the easiest solution.”

  Although they all had doubts in regards to the range. No way she could just pray-and-snipe the hog from here. So they’d have to try and get it close to her without her being maimed. Could they sneak her up to it? But if she failed, it’d notice and then she’d get trampled. What if they trapped it? There’s no guarantee the hog would stay trapped long enough.

  The more the option was considered, the more holes started to show. They’d have to employ blind faith in their tactics, and as tempting as that was to someone as devout as Maia, both Homer and Aymanah didn’t want their friend to get violently torn apart by a boar because the line to Death’s realm bugged out on this very specific day.

  “It’s not a bad idea, little dy.”

  Homer pats a pouting Maia on the shoulder.

  “But I really would rather do this the traditional way so that you don’t have to risk dying. Meeting your god by being torn apart by some pig is not the way this ought to go.”

  “It was a pretty stupid idea,” squawks Aymanah from their perch, only to get smacked on the leg by Homer.

  “This isn’t to say you can’t help. Your healing will prove useful as long as you keep a distance, and we can’t discount your idea wholesale. If you see me pinning it down, you could try it… Just be careful not to kill me by accident, hahahaha!”

  Bad jokes aside, the group comes to a pn of action. Euclid gave them one more useful tip: a general yout of the cave that had been regaled to her by the fort’s captain, who in turn had heard of it from the many hunters who tried to kill the hog in its own ir. The cave was not very deep, but the ceiling was high; thus Aymanah could fly in and attract the hog outside. They were the group’s greatest asset. Trollhogs had no way of attacking that high.

  Once she flies in she’ll drop a few lit torches around. Catching fire won’t harm the hog, but it’ll annoy it enough that it’ll rush out. Once outside, they can take full measure of the-

  … Oh, goodness, that is bigger than expected. Ayamanah only barely manages to swoop outside in time before the hog charges out, momentum carrying it all the way to a tree at the treeline. It crashes with a great, painful creak of mighty oak, but the hog itself just turns and lets out a truly disgusting howl of grunts and oinks. The horns have been impailing its skull for so long that the fur around the impact points has merely adapted and grown around it, creating tufts of bushy fur that hide the connection point from view.

  The horns itself have split too, creating spiky growths of *new* horns that don’t go anywhere specific, creating a truly monstrous beast. Its eyes are beady and barely visible, red with constant hormonal rage as steamy smoke billows from its nostrils.

  Normally these beasts are considered easy fodder for aspiring monster hunters, and yet…

  “Alright. Here we go. Try and ssh it’s back when you can, Aymanah! Keep it distracted!” Homer dashes out from their hidey-bush, leaving Maia behind to observe with her grey fingers clutched tight around her wooden staff.

  As dire as it was, the combat was slow paced. Almost like a dance. The trollhog dashes, Homer dodges, swipes with his greatsword and cuts off a haunch of muscur flesh that soon grows back. Aymanah swoops down and tears tufts of wiry hog hair out from its back that springs forth anew. Occasionally it trashes and squeals so loudly her ears ring, and then it dashes, and they dodge.

  Aymanah she’s not worried for. As the old saying goes, they’ll be in danger when pigs fly: and she doesn’t see any world where this hog grows wings. They can always retreat and rest perched on some tree, or just escape- and Maia herself hasn’t been noticed yet.

  Homer’s the one she worries for. His wounds from the mountain might’ve healed, and he might be strong as an ox, but can an ox stand against something like this?

  But Maia sees a pattern. They’re trying to direct the hog a certain way. They’re going in a round circle around the cave, from the entrance to the side of the cliff the cave has been etched to, then back around, towards the other end, and then Homer positions himself with his back to the cliffside, waiting for the hog to dash…

  They’re both luring it somewhere. Her eyes dart around, trying to get ahead of the script. Okay, there’s nothing notable about the cliffside itself… Wait, no! If she looks higher, she can see it! Some loose looking rocks! Aha!

  “Hup!”

  Another roll as Homer’s rge frame tumbles through the dirt, followed by a horrifying hell-squeal as the hog dashes right into the cliffside. Its bony, spiky tusks cng and ring out a hollow cng. The rocks above rattle, but do not drop- but it’s a good thing that they’ve got a flier on their side now.

  “Aymanah! Go!”

  Had they pnned this out beforehand while Maia was deep in her thoughts, or did the two improvise? Either case would prove most impressive, with Aymanah dashing to the rocks. They were quite rge, their lithe frame likely not enough to roll them alone- so it was good that the hog had rattled them loose. It took some quick shoulder bashes and grunts of effort, but the rocks started rolling down.

  But the trollhog isn’t stupid. It’s already turning for another dash towards Homer. If it moves now, the rocks won’t nd-!

  “Haarumph!”

  And Homer knows this, and with a mighty roar he tches right onto the hog. His grip on its horns wrangle it in pce for a key few seconds as the rocks come tumbling down with a mighty crash, and then-!

  There’s a sickening, meaty crush as the trollhog is crushed under the hail of boulders. One nds squarely on its head, sinking deep and molding flesh in a sptter of blood, another crashes to its side due to bouncing off the cliffside with the sharp end of the rock impaling it, and so on. Homer cannot dodge, of course- but he’s lucky enough to merely be knocked around by the rocks. Nothing Maia’s healing staff can’t cover.

  She hopes.She wishes.

  For a moment she considers deploying the Shadow to remove the rocks, but her connection with it today has felt fraught and thin, like it's been occupied elsewhere; but… Homer seems fine. Merely covered in pebbles and dust. His sword’s lodged underneath a boulder, but they can remove it together. And the hog is dead, head split in twain.

  Aymanah perches on the now much more spacious cliffside, huffing and wiping sweat from their brow. Maia slowly exits the bush, waving to the two of them as Homer begins to remove his sword,

  and then,its eyes glow red.

  The sickening sound of flesh warping itself back together echoes in thick, bloody squelches of gore, nature’s and life’s greatest offense as the hog regenerates in a few seconds. The rocks are not ejected, of course. No. The hog just grows around them, now sporting a massive stone protrusion from its forehead and a dangerous sickle of rock at its haunch.

  Aymanah is too far up, and it’s not like they can do anything anyhow. There’s actual fear in their usually bored expression.

  And Homer is stuck trying to remove his sword, too close by-

  …

  She’s been running since the start, hasn’t she? Since she got out of that bush back when they thought it was dead. Maybe she’s been running for weeks now. Running since Death itself started to love her.

  But she has to run now. She has to.

  Haste carries her closer and closer. The impact will be in a few seconds. If she hadn’t taken her running start early she would’ve missed the window. But each step makes something dark ooze and bubble within her. For the first time, for the first time ever in her life, she wants and *needs* for something to die.

  Impact.

  Her thin, sickly frame crashes into the hog as it charges. She’s like a gnat chewing on the mangy hide of a much rger dog. It doesn’t even notice her.

  “Just DIE already!”

  Maia’s voice rings in her own ears. She can just barely see Homer, inches away from impact himself. There’s a loud, booming sound that amplifies her own scream of desperation, and everything goes dark in a truly bzing show of utter bckness.

  And she passes on,momentarily.