Hybrid's Dominion

 ### Chapter 8: The Griffin's ###

The wilderness stretched endlessly before Paul and Alfred, a vast expanse of untamed forests, jagged cliffs, and winding rivers.

With the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the distant cries of unseen creatures echoed through the trees.

 Paul moved with purpose, his greatsword strapped to his back and his golden eyes scanning the terrain for any sign of danger.

Alfred trailed behind, his small frame struggling to keep up with Paul's long strides but determined not to fall behind.

"Master," Alfred panted, wiping sweat from his brow, "how much farther are we going?"

Paul glanced over his shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Until we find answers, Alfred. Or until something tries to kill us. Whichever comes first."

Alfred groaned but didn't complain further.

He had learned quickly that Paul's sense of humor was as dry as the rations they carried. Still, the goblin couldn't shake the feeling that the wilderness was growing more dangerous with every step.

The trees seemed to loom taller, their branches twisting into grotesque shapes, and the air carried a faint, acrid smell that made his stomach churn.

---

They had been walking for hours when the first attack came. A low growl echoed through the trees, and Paul froze, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his greatsword.

 Alfred's ears twitched, and he clutched the small dagger Paul had given him, his wide eyes darting nervously.

"Stay close," Paul said, his voice low and steady. "And don't do anything stupid."

Before Alfred could respond, a pack of rabid beasts burst from the underbrush, their eyes glowing green and their teeth bared in snarls.

Paul drew his greatsword in one fluid motion, the blade gleaming in the dim light. The beasts lunged at him, their movements unnaturally fast and erratic.

The first beast came at Paul from the side, its claws slashing through the air. 

Paul sidestepped the attack and brought his sword down in a sweeping arc, cleaving the creature in two.

The second beast leaped at him from behind, but Paul spun around, his sword a blur of steel, and the beast's head rolled into the dirt.

Alfred, meanwhile, was doing his best to stay out of the way. He darted behind a tree, his dagger clutched tightly in his hand.

But one of the beasts spotted him and charged, its jaws snapping wildly. Alfred let out a yelp and scrambled up the tree, his small size and agility saving him from the beast's claws.

"Master!" Alfred shouted, his voice high-pitched with panic. "A little help!"

Paul glanced over and saw the beast clawing at the base of the tree. With a roar, he charged forward, his greatsword cutting through the air with a whistle. 

The beast turned just in time to meet its end, Paul's blade slicing through its neck.

"Thanks, master," Alfred said, climbing down from the tree. "Alfred owes you his life."

Paul smirked. "You owe me a lot more than that, Alfred. Now, let's keep moving."

Paul was Not in a good mood, this would be the Tenth attack on them in the span of 5 days. And truth be told it was getting worrisome, they needed to find shelter for the night, and fast 

-----

They had barely taken a few steps when a deafening screech echoed through the forest. Paul and Alfred froze, their eyes scanning the treetops. The sound came again, louder this time, followed by the crashing of branches.

"What is that?" Alfred whispered, his voice trembling.

Paul's golden eyes narrowed. "Something big. And it's in trouble."

They moved cautiously toward the source of the noise, their weapons at the ready.

What they found was a sight neither of them would soon forget. A Griffin—a majestic creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle—lay on the forest floor, its Black feathers matted with blood.

 Around it were the bodies of several rabid beasts, their twisted forms lifeless but their eyes still glowing with malevolent light.

The Griffin let out a weak cry as it tried to rise, but its injuries were too severe. Its left wing was torn in different places, and deep gashes marred its flank.

 Paul approached cautiously, his greatsword lowered but still ready.

"Easy," Paul said, his voice calm but firm. "We're not here to hurt you."

The Griffin's piercing eyes locked onto Paul, and for a moment, it seemed to consider his words. Then, with a final, shuddering breath, it collapsed, its body going still.

Alfred stepped forward, his eyes wide with awe. "Is it… dead?"

Paul knelt beside the Griffin, his hand resting on its feathered chest. "No," he said after a moment. "But it won't last long without help."

"What can we do?" Alfred asked, his voice tinged with desperation.

Paul hesitated, then reached into his pack and pulled out a small pouch of herbs. "We can try to stop the bleeding," he said. "But it's going to take more than that to save it."

As Paul worked to tend to the Griffin's wounds, Alfred kept watch, his dagger clutched tightly in his hand. The forest was eerily quiet, as if even the wildlife knew something was wrong.

---

By the time they were done, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the forest. The Griffin's breathing had steadied, but it was still too weak to move. Paul stood, his golden eyes scanning the horizon.

"We can't stay here," he said. "It's not safe."

Alfred nodded, his eyes darting nervously. "Where do we go, master?"

Paul didn't answer immediately. Instead, he climbed a nearby hill, his gaze fixed on something in the distance. Alfred scrambled after him, his small frame struggling to keep up.

At the top of the hill, Paul stopped, his eyes narrowing.

Below them, nestled in a valley, was a dilapidated settlement.

The buildings were crumbling, their walls overgrown with vines, and the streets were eerily empty, the fences around were nothing to write home about with holes all around it.

But what caught Paul's attention were the banners that still hung from the ruins—banners bearing the symbols of barbarians, orcs, and beastmen.

"Master," Alfred said, his voice barely above a whisper, "what is that place?"

Paul's jaw tightened, his golden eyes gleaming with determination. "That," he said, "is where we're going.If my father is still alive, he'll be there."

Alfred's eyes widened. "Your father? But… what if it's dangerous?"

Paul smirked, his hand resting on the hilt of his greatsword. "When has that ever stopped us?"

Going back to carry the Griffin they made their way down the hill.

Paul couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched.

The wilderness was full of dangers, but the greatest threat might be waiting for them in the ruins of that settlement. And Paul was ready to face it—no matter the cost.