Annual Hunt

Today was the day of the hunt—an annual event where the tribe distinguished the mighty from the meek. Beau harbored no doubts about his capabilities; his confidence bordered on arrogance. He thought he would have some immunity from the tradition, being the right hand to the medic, but alas, no such luck. He would be required to participate like everyone else.

It was the tribe's custom for all the men between the ages of seventeen and twenty-one to hunt together once a year. The ground shuddered as the chosen creature for the hunt, a behemoth with scales like armored plates and eyes like molten gold, thundered into the hunting grounds. It was a Goliath of the Sands, an apex predator whose roars turned even the bravest warriors' blood to ice.

The hunt was simple. One by one, the men would step out of the circle and try to best the beast. Only the last man standing was deemed worthy of becoming a warrior. The winner was expected to slay the creature, an impressive feat given the sheer size and power of the monster.

For most, strength and agility would be the tools of survival— a roar from the creature drew his attention back to the battle, the ground quaking from its mighty bellow. Scattering saurians like leaves before a storm, Beau acted. He threw a handful of crushed herbs into the air, a fine powder that glittered like desert mirage. It found its way into the beast’s nostrils, and the effect was immediate. The monster's charge faltered, its eyes watering and confusion muddling its instincts.

Beau seized the opportunity and dashed forward, weaving through the creature's legs with the grace of a desert breeze. His hands found the tender spots between scales, pressing another concoction into flesh—a paralytic that would weaken the monster without tainting its meat.

Another pained roar bellows out of the beast as its hind leg collapses, its movements sluggish. He smirked, knowing he had won.

The beast surprisedly had some fight in them still and used its tail to swipe Beau, throwing him into the air and knocking the wind out of his lungs.

Beau grinds his teeth from frustration and pain—that concoction should have worked?! What is wrong? he pondered. He had no time to dwell on this, though; the monster had spotted him.

He was scrambling back to his feet when he heard the monster charging at him, ready to crush him. An idiotic meathead came charging to try to take the glory and save Beau, only to get trampled by the Goliath. Beau cursed the idiot for his bravery and stupidity,as the monster had been angered even more by the fool.

Beau dashes to take shelter behind a nearby rock while Goliath hisses and huffs over the meathead corpse. He needed another plan to deal with the monster, as his current arsenal was not up to the task.

He had to think fast. The creature was still on the attack, the ground quaking with every step it took. It was only a matter of time before it found Beau's hiding place.

He peered into his satchel and pulled out a few items. The first, a bottle of crushed nightshade. The second, a bottle of powdered firethorn. Both poisons were deadly in their own right, but their combined effects would be nothing short of catastrophic.

The beast's lumbering steps grew closer. He had to act. With a prayer, Beau tossed the two bottles into the air, the contents forming a poisonous cloud as they mixed. The Goliath stepped into the cloud, its throat opening wide to inhale the scent of its prey. The moment the poisonous air entered its mouth, the monster's entire body went into spasm, its lungs failing.

The beast crashed into the sand, its body still wracked by tremors. Beau cautiously approached, watching as the light left the creature's eyes. He felt the weight of the moment sink in, his hands trembling. It had been a risky gamble, one that had paid off.

He turned to face the watching Saurians, a triumphant grin plastered on his face. He raised his spear up to let out a cry of victory.