NOVEL NEXT Chapter 31: Cat and Mouse
A twisted game of cat and mouse ensued wherein the cat was the mouse. In the few moments of thought he got, Dominic couldn’t help a sense of amusement from going through him at how similar his strategy was to the one Jerry used to play on Tom.
Fortunately for the lion, for all the enhancements the warthog had gained to its physical size and speed, its intelligence was, if anything, lower than a normal warthog. Like Tom, the warthog eagerly charged after him no matter how many times it ended up headbutting a wall.
Perhaps that’s the trade-off here – higher physical stats, lower mental ones, Dominic mused as he leaped away from the warthog’s charge once more, almost wincing at the loud noise of it colliding with the unforgiving stone.
Of course, the fact that the warthog hadn’t learned not to charge Dominic when he was right against a wall didn’t mean the lion had escaped without injury. In fact, his coat was torn in multiple places, blood staining his sides. He’d got in a few blows of his own – mostly scratches from his claws, but also some bites when the boss had been well placed for him to lunge without unnecessarily endangering himself. But those had been few.
Ultimately, the boss was fast and strong, and, despite all Dominic’s efforts, he was definitely coming off worse. In fact, in some ways it was a bit of a race – would the warthog knock itself silly before Dominic stopped being able to dodge in time, or not?
Stealing a glance down at the bars in the corner of his vision, Dominic mentally cursed. His health was below half, and his stamina was almost down to a quarter. He’d bet that the warthog had significantly more stamina than him, at least. At any rate, the health bar above its head had shown some movement, but not nearly enough - it was still way above halfway depleted.
The warthog was taking a bit longer to recover from this collision, Dominic realised. Maybe it was time to finish this.
Forcing his tired and pained limbs to move, he circled the boss so he was facing its backside. Bunching his muscles, he leapt towards the large beast, aiming to land on its back.
Was it luck? Or some previously-hidden sense of strategy? Dominic didn’t know; what he did know was that he’d clearly made an error in judgement.
The warthog moved just before he landed; instead of hitting it perfectly placed to sink his teeth in its neck, he collided with its side. Instinctively, he sank his claws into its side. A mistake.
The claw-holds stopped him from sliding further, but that just meant he was perfectly placed for a retaliating blow. A moan escaped his lips as he felt several inches of unyielding bone spike into his side. A good quarter of his health bar disappeared in an instant.
The warthog withdrew its tusk, and Dominic hurried to put some distance between him and the deadly weapon before it came for him once more. But even without the bone spear impeding his movements, the legacy of pain and injury it had left behind left him limping.
I can’t run! he realised with a shiver of fear. The warthog seemed to sense that. It snorted, almost sounding contemptuous, or maybe Dominic was reading too much humanity into it. Its piggy eyes also seemed to gleam with malicious anticipation. He could practically read its thoughts: for once it was a warthog which had a lion at its mercy.
It was that thought which had Dominic stopping the unconscious backwards shuffle towards the stairs which he’d been doing. Leo’s answering silent snarl of contempt also served to bolster his flagging determination. What kind of lion could he call himself if he ran away from a damn warthog? No matter the size of the thing, there was only one King in this room.
Ignoring the pain, ignoring the slivers of his bar that dripped away like the blood trickling out of his wound, ignoring the fear that the warthog had hit something vital within him, Dominic forced himself to stand tall. Raising his head, he snarled a challenge at the over-sized pig. It would learn to fear him.
The warthog snorted and scuffed a trotter on the ground before breaking into its charge once more. Dominic noted that it was a bit slower than before, though. At least he’d been having some effect.
Dominic stood his ground. He was too injured to repeat the cat and mouse strategy of before; he’d need a new strategy. Though, this was going to hurt.
Instead of dodging out of the way at the last moment, the lion dropped to the ground and twisted so he was facing upwards. It was a very human thing to do – to choose the position which potentially made him vulnerable in exchange for the hope of gain. No true lion would reveal their belly to the sharp hooves of an enemy; Dominic did.
Why? Because like that, although he was technically more vulnerable, he also had more ability to deflect the incoming blows as well as strike himself. If the boss was determined to trample him, Dominic would show it why that was a bad idea.
While he gained two more cuts from the warthog’s trotters, Dominic managed to also land two nasty gashes with his claws. He’d even succeeded in fastening his teeth around one of the warthog’s back legs, and put his crushing power to good use.
The warthog squealed loudly and tried to yank its leg from his grasp, but all it succeeded in doing was worsening the wound as Dominic’s teeth ripped at the flesh and bone.
With one foot trapped and the warthog panicking, it wasn’t able to trample him with the other three feet. Dominic took full advantage of the lull, using all four paws to rip at the more vulnerable underside of the over-sized hog.
Blood spattered down on him and he gloried in the feeling of success even as another part of him was irritated at his fur once more becoming matted and sticky with the fluid.
Eventually, the warthog had had enough and just ran away from him. Without any ability to anchor himself, Dominic was pulled along for the ride for a few seconds. Then the warthog got the right angle to pull its leg from his jaws and they finally separated.
Pushing himself to his feet was a difficult and painful affair, but the warthog didn’t take advantage of his vulnerability. When he was finally on all four paws again, Dominic was able to see why.
The red bar over the warthog’s head which, so far in the match, had seen so little movement, was finally almost down to half. Dominic’s own was worse off, not far off a quarter, but still. And even as he watched his opponent, he saw that the blood running down its legs was steadily leeching red from its health bar.
It hit half. And then started flashing. Under Dominic’s disbelieving eyes, the red stopped its downward trend. Actually, it reversed and started quickly increasing once more. Oh, fuck me, he swore not caring that his dad would have given him a disappointed look if he’d said it verbally. Second phase of the boss fight.
The warthog’s health bar topped itself off within a couple of seconds, completely undoing any damage Dominic had done. Wait, no. Not completely undoing
, he realised as he saw that the warthog still had blood dripping down its legs. He didn’t know how it worked, but the warthog had gained more health points without actually healing at all.
I guess I just need to do some more damage, Dominic decided. Make sure that even if it heals again, it’ll bleed out soon after. To that end, he decided to repeat the same attack as before. While he’d taken a couple of wounds, they’d been minor; he’d gained a lot more than he’d lost.
Standing firm in front of the warthog, he snarled at it again in challenge. This time, though, it didn’t take the bait. Perhaps the viciousness of his previous attack had made it learn in a way that repeatedly running into walls hadn’t. Or maybe it changed tactics in the second phase. He didn’t know.
Either way, it was clear that he was going to have to take the fight to the warthog. The thought filled Dominic with a mixture of dismay and tiredness. Although he still had a quarter of his health left, he didn’t have time to play the long game – the injury he’d gained not long ago from that stab wound was still dripping with blood.
He took a few steps towards the warthog, snarling angrily. The boss didn’t cower, but it didn’t charge either. Instead, it just stood its ground and snorted angrily. Shaking its head, it drew Dominic’s attention to the blood-stained tusks jutting out of its mouth. Stained with Dominic’s blood.
I really don’t want to face those again, he thought. Maybe…. It was worth a try, anyway. Playing up his injuries, he pretended to lose strength, looking more pitiful than he actually was. The warthog didn’t move. Perhaps it needed more bait.
Backing away towards the staircase, Dominic ‘lost his nerve’ and started limping ‘as quickly as he could’ to the staircase. When he heard the slow patter of trotters on stone behind him, he would have grinned if it were physically possible. Fake-faltering, he dropped to the ground as if he was truly on the edge of death.
The warthog hesitated, but came closer.
Closer, Dominic willed it, like he had willed the trodil so much - or little - time ago. Come closer.
It did.
Dominic waited until it nudged him once, gently, then another time, hard. A snort sounded close to him, and he didn’t think he was imagining the sense of victory in it this time. The warthog was close enough he felt the warm breath ruffle through his fur. Well, the fur that wasn’t so matted with blood it couldn’t move, anyway.
When the warthog seemed about to take a bite, Dominic acted. Rolling quickly, he extended his claws and dug them into the warthog’s face, aiming for its eyes. Digging his teeth into its nose, he held on and dug at its throat with his back paws.
The warthog squealed with panic and started shaking its head back and forth. Unlike its leg, though, with its head caught, it didn’t have enough leverage to wrench itself free. It might have been almost twice the size of the lion, but Dominic was a heavy body of dense muscle. Even the most powerful neck muscles would have difficulty moving him.
While blinding the warthog would give him an advantage, it was the throat which Dominic was really going for. So, when his paws started slipping, only a couple of claws on each paw having dug into the ocular cavities, he let them slide to catch on the tusks.
What had once been his bane had suddenly become his advantage. Though he couldn’t grip as well with lion’s paws as he could with human hands, he managed to get enough purchase that he was holding the head still enough for his feet to do their job. The increasing panic of the warthog along with the squishy feeling under his feet showed just how much of an effect he was having in this position.
And then suddenly, the situation changed. Like in many battles, it flipped in an instant.