He drew the twin knives he’d taken from Dahlia. “You might want to rethink your next move, big fella,” he said. His voice was higher than he’d intended, squeaking awkwardly. Still, hearing his own voice seemed to ground him, hardening some of the rubber in his legs. “These are pretty sharp. You may hurt me, but you’re going to feel the pain too. That’s a promise.”

The beast had had enough, launching off its haunches with a snap of its jaws, which Ludo could now see clearly as the green moon’s light penetrated the shadows of the canyon. Jaws that were filled with more teeth than any one creature should have.

It was at that moment that his courage should’ve abandoned him. There was no shame in it. And yet, for some strange reason, Ludo felt calmer and more certain than he’d ever felt in his life. That this was the exact place at the exact time that he was meant to be. How that was possible, he didn’t know, nor did he exactly have time to figure it out, not with a massive, furred, muscled, three-eyed monster galloping toward him on all fours.

The fur atop its head was thick and tufted into a mohawk, while the growth on its sides was sleek and smooth. Its shoulders were knotted and round, its bulk supported by powerful legs that ended in long, curved claws tearing up the dirt with each step.

It leapt, mouth open, claws extended.

He dove to the side, away from the water, which would only snatch at his clothes and render them sodden and heavy. The creature, amazingly, changed directions in midair, as though bouncing off the nothingness like it was as solid as a wall, bounding right at him. In a stroke of luck, its momentum was too great and it flew past, but not before raking a trio of claws across his shoulder and upper back, pain flaring.

Ludo was no stranger to pain.

He bit it away and rolled to his feet, releasing his own battle cry to meet the beast’s snarl. This time, they charged each other, Ludo raising his twin daggers over each shoulder.

He threw one. He had no experience throwing knives, and it showed, the weapon spinning wildly with all the grace of a wounded bird that still believed it could fly with a broken wing. But he wasn’t looking to impale his foe with the throw. It would’ve been nice, of course, but he’d never been lucky in anything in life and this was no different. Instead, the dagger struck handle-first in the center of the creature’s face, just beneath its middle eye.