The moon hung low and silver over the village, casting long shadows across the splintered fence. Torchlight flickered wildly as the massive tiger—Rank 0, 6-stars—leaped into the clearing with a roar that rattled ribs and shook dust from hut roofs. Its stripes gleamed like black blades, muscles rippling under fur, fangs longer than a man's forearm bared in a snarl.
Facing it were three Thunderfang legends:
- Gorrak Thunderfang (Rank 0, 6-stars), ironwood club in one hand, broken spear shaft in the other, still flushed and sweating from his earlier "activities."
- Valka Thunderfang (Rank 0, 6-stars), fifth wife, ironwood sword "Whisper" drawn, hide skirt clinging damply to her thighs, cum still glistening faintly on her inner legs beneath the fabric.
- Frekka Thunderfang (Rank 0, 5-stars), fourth wife, lean and wiry, dual bone daggers flashing as she circled low, eyes sharp as a hawk's.
Three against one.
And yet… it was dead even.
The tiger lunged first—straight at Gorrak. He met it head-on, club swinging in a brutal arc that cracked against the beast's shoulder with a sound like splitting timber. The tiger barely staggered, whipping its massive paw in a blur. Claws raked the air where Gorrak's head had been a heartbeat earlier; he ducked, rolling under the strike, coming up with a roar of his own.
Valka struck from the flank, sword whistling down in a silver streak. The blade bit deep into the tiger's haunch—sparks flew, blood sprayed hot and metallic across the dirt—but the wound was shallow against its monstrous hide. The tiger spun, tail lashing like a whip, forcing Valka to leap back. Her breasts heaved with exertion, skirt riding up dangerously high as she landed in a crouch, lips pulled back in a feral grin.
Frekka darted in low during the spin, daggers flashing. One blade scored a line across the tiger's foreleg, the other aimed for the belly—only for the beast to twist mid-air, jaws snapping shut inches from her throat. She flipped backward, landing cat-like beside Valka, both women breathing hard.
The tiger landed, shook itself, and roared again. The ground trembled.
Gorrak laughed—deep, booming, fearless. "Come on, you striped bastard! I've wrestled worse after three jars of mead!"
He charged. Valka and Frekka moved with him in perfect sync—decades of marriage, battle, and bed making their coordination seamless.
Gorrak swung high to draw the eyes. Valka slashed low, carving another red line across the tiger's chest. Frekka vaulted onto its back, daggers plunging deep between the shoulder blades. The tiger bucked like thunder, hurling her off—but not before she twisted both blades viciously.
It was beautiful, brutal chaos. Blood—human and beast—splattered the dirt. Claws tore hide armor. Club and sword hammered against unnatural toughness. The tiger's strength and speed were monstrous; every blow it landed sent one of the trio staggering. Gorrak took a claw across the ribs—three shallow gashes welling crimson. Valka caught a glancing paw to the shoulder that spun her halfway around, skirt tearing. Frekka rolled away from a bite that would have crushed her spine.
Yet none of them yielded. They fought like a single storm—Gorrak the thunder, Valka the lightning, Frekka the wind.
The tiger bled from a dozen wounds now. Its movements slowed, just a fraction. Its roars turned ragged.
Gorrak saw the opening. He feinted high, dropped low, and drove the broken spear shaft up under the tiger's jaw—not deep enough to kill, but enough to pin its head back. Valka vaulted over his shoulder, sword raised in both hands, and brought it down with all her weight into the beast's skull.
CRUNCH.
The tiger convulsed once, then collapsed in a thunderous heap, eyes glazing over.
Silence fell—broken only by the three warriors' heavy breathing.
Gorrak stood, chest heaving, blood running down his side. Valka leaned on her sword, hair wild, skirt half-torn, sweat and blood tracing paths over her curves. Frekka rose from the dirt, daggers dripping.
They looked at each other.
Then all three burst out laughing—raw, triumphant, alive.
Gorrak slung an arm around each wife's shoulders, pulling them close despite the blood and sweat. "Good fight," he rumbled.
Valka smirked, voice husky. "Better than the last one."
Frekka wiped a dagger on the tiger's fur. "And we still owe the bear hazard pay."
From the watching crowd—me perched on Uncle Kjell's shoulders, deadpan as ever—the cheers finally erupted.
Three against one.
Equal footing.
Thunderfang victory.
The tiger's massive corpse lay sprawled in the moonlit clearing like a fallen storm cloud—steam rising from its blood-soaked fur, the ground beneath it dark and slick. The air reeked of iron-rich blood, musky predator scent, and the sharp tang of fresh sweat from the victors. Crickets had gone silent; only the crackle of torches and the low cheers of the gathering tribe broke the night.
Gorrak, Valka, and Frekka stood over the beast, chests heaving, bodies streaked with dirt, blood, and claw marks. Valka's hide skirt was torn completely on one side, exposing the long curve of her thigh and the faint sheen of earlier passion still visible higher up. Gorrak's loincloth hung askew, ribs oozing from three parallel gashes. Frekka's hair was wild, one dagger snapped off in the tiger's shoulder blade. All three were grinning like wolves who'd just claimed the richest kill of the season.
The village erupted.
Warriors banged spears against hides. Women ululated high and sharp. Children—me included, perched safely on Uncle Kjell's shoulders—shouted until our voices cracked. Even the poor bear guard peeked out from behind Father, realized the danger was over, and let out a relieved bellow that sounded suspiciously like applause.
Grandfather raised his bloodied club high. "Feast! Tomorrow we eat like kings!"
The loot began immediately—Thunderfang tradition: nothing wasted.
Aftermath & Loot
1. **The Pelt**
- An enormous Rank 0, 6-star tiger skin—thick, luxurious, striped in perfect black and amber.
- Valka and Frekka knelt together to skin it with practiced strokes, blades flashing under torchlight. The pelt came off in one massive piece, heavy with muscle memory of the beast's power. It would become the new central rug in Grandfather's hut—warm, prestigious, and big enough for… many activities.
2. **Claws & Fangs**
- Twenty razor-sharp claws, each the length of a grown man's finger, and four saber-like fangs.
- Frekka claimed first pick for new dagger hilts. The rest would be carved into necklace talismans—worn by warriors for strength and to ward off lesser beasts. I already pictured myself getting a tiny one when I'm older.
3. **Bones & Sinew**
- The skeleton was massive and dense—perfect for weapon reinforcement.
- Thigh bones would become new spear shafts far superior to ironwood. Sinew would be dried into unbreakable bowstrings and cordage.
4. **Meat**
- Hundreds of pounds of prime, qi-rich flesh.
- The women began butchering on the spot, hauling slabs to the cooking pits. The heart and liver—densest in spiritual energy—were set aside for the three victors and the elders. Tomorrow's feast would feature tiger steaks roasted over open flames with wild herbs and cliff honey.
5. **The Core**
- The true treasure: a glowing, fist-sized beast core pulsing faintly with Rank 0, 6-star energy—deep orange shot through with black veins.
- Gorrak pried it from the chest cavity himself, holding it up to torchlight. Warm to the touch, humming with raw power.
- This one item could help someone breakthrough to 7-stars… or be traded to passing cultivators for weapons, techniques, or favors far beyond the tribe's current means.
6. **Minor Injuries & Bragging Rights**
- Gorrak's rib scratches—deep but clean—were already being stitched by Grandmother Ysmera with bone needle and sinew thread.
- Valka's shoulder bruise would bloom purple by morning, but she wore it like jewelry.
- Frekka retrieved her broken dagger piece from the corpse and tucked it into her hair as a trophy.
By the time the corpse was fully processed, the sky had begun to lighten in the east. The warriors carried the loot back in triumph—pelt draped over shoulders, meat slabs on poles, core cradled carefully in a hide pouch at Gorrak's belt.
Grandfather found me in the crowd, hoisted me onto his good shoulder despite the blood, and ruffled my hair. "Good show, eh, little genius?"
Valka leaned in close, sweat and blood and victory radiating from her skin. "Next time, you'll be old enough to watch from the front line."
I just nodded, deadpan as ever, committing every detail to memory.
New pelt for the bed. New weapons on the horizon. A beast core that could change everything.
And tomorrow, a feast that would be sung about for years.
Life in the Thunderfang Tribe?
Still undefeated.