MAYBE TOMORROW
Lor was the best hunter in the village—though he’d never admit it. He preferred solitude, the quiet of the woods, and the simplicity of tracking game that didn’t talk back. But when the killings started, the villagers came to him first.
"Probably just a large cat," Lor had grunted, sharpening his blade. "Send the others. I’ve got work to do." If they can’t find the beast, Maybe tomorrow, I'll help them.
By evening, they returned—not with a dead beast, but with news of five dead hunters. The bodies were torn apart, limbs twisted in ways no natural creature could manage. Lor studied the carnage, his stomach tightening. This was no ordinary predator.
Deep in the woods, the trail led him to a clearing. Behind a bush, a voice rasped, "You must be a fool to come hunting for me alone."
Lor barely had time to react before the thing charged—a monstrous werewolf, all muscle and fangs. He fired three arrows into its chest, but the beast only roared and kept coming. His spear missed, and the creature lunged, claws slashing. Lor used its own momentum to hurl it into a nearby pond.
The beast rose, shaking water from its fur, laughing. "Not bad, human. But it’s time to end this."
Lor bared his teeth. "You’re right, beast of hell. Let’s."
The fight was brutal. They rolled down a hill, clawing, biting, wrestling for hours. Lor’s old gladiator instincts flared—the precision of a man who had fought for his life before. Finally, with a final, desperate swing, he hacked the beast’s head clean off.
The villagers cheered when he returned, tossing the monstrous head at their feet. "A gift," he muttered before limping home. His body ached, his wounds burned, but he savored the quiet as he drank his ale.
Then—bang bang bang! At the door
The villagers again, faces pale. "Lor! Another beast! It’s killing the livestock!"
Lor stared at them, then downed the rest of his ale.
"Maybe tomorrow," he growled, and slammed the door in their faces.
