Instead--
She was there! Sleeping in the bed!
It made sense, of course. Even the dim mind of the monster could understand that much. A girl with such coppery hair--such a coppery, splendid soul--
Hungry!
--would want to wake to the sunrise. Feel the coppery rays bathing her in a new day.
A new day which would never come again. Soft laughter began to gurgle up in the monster's thick throat. But it forced the sound under. Just a moment more of silence, and it would--feed.
A claw reached up for the latch. The monster knew, for a certainty, that the door would be unlocked. Such an innocent soul . . . it gathered its haunches.
Hungry!
* * *
The vise that clamped down on its head struck like a god's hammer. It vaguely remembered such a hammer. . . .
But there was no time to think of ancient weapons. The monster writhed like a lizard, caught by a hawk, its limbs thrashing and flailing.
Thrashing and flailing in--nothing. Talons smote thin air; a tail lashed in emptiness. Everything was dark, a darkness not even the monster's eye could penetrate. Dimly, stunned, it realized that its head was in a giant maw. Realized--dimly, stunned--that it was being carried through the air. Like a lizard, caught by a hawk.
The monster's thrashing grew frenzied. Something smote its back. Almost--not quite--breaking the spine. But the blow was enough to paralyze the monster.
* * *
Not even his fear of Chernobog could have kept the shaman from fleeing in terror, now. The spirit that had passed over him had seemed like a golden avalanche of fury and destruction.
As it happened, the shaman was quite safe. He was beneath the Lion's contempt. Nor did he have to fear Chernobog's wrath. His master was far too busy--far too frantically busy--forging his own defenses to worry about the doings of a pitiful slave.
* * *
Some time later--how much, the monster was too dazed to know--it was tumbled to the ground, its head spit out of a maw like a bad seed.
Wildly, scrabbling to get back to its feet, the monster looked around.
It was back in the cage. Except . . . even as it watched, the tatters in the vapors closed in, barring any exit.
No, not closed in . . . were driven in, by the flapping of great wings. Seeing the size of those wings, the monster flinched.
Then, flinched again, as it finally looked at its assailant. Flinched, and sidled away. Whining in its throat.
There are rules, creature. The voice hammered into the monster's brain. This is no longer our time--neither yours, nor mine. But there are still rules!
The monster howled as a great paw slammed into its flank, ripping gouges in the flesh. The blow was terrifying in its power. For all its own strength, the monster knew it was no more than a mouse at the mercy of a cat.
A very large and angry cat.