The hero vanquishes the beast
The Beast was breaching the entrance to the kingdom.
By the time the kingdom’s Guardian detected the intrusion, it was too late to barricade the way and prevent the Beast’s advance. The Beast had been stealthy, sneaky, and cunning – slipping past all the scouts and rangers and guards, slipping right through the very gateway that led straight to the heart of the kingdom. The threat had suddenly become too real, too close.
The Guardian was shocked at how easily it had happened. Doubtless, there was magic at play here. We didn’t anticipate this, he lamented to himself, and now we’ve been caught unawares. We failed to prepare for this.
Nevertheless, the Guardian regained his composure quickly and readied himself to meet the Beast. A grim determination stole over him, replacing all the panic and the worry. This was his duty, his calling. It was what he’d been training for his whole life. He would stand fast and would not abandon his post. Would not allow the Beast to advance any further and endanger his kingdom, his people. He would face up to the Beast and he would keep them safe.
There was a reason the Guardian had been appointed the kingdom’s final line of defense to protect the kingdom’s treasures, to protect the king and queen. There was a reason they had entrusted him with this responsibility. There was a reason he, and he alone, had to take up the vital role of safeguarding his own kind against harm by preventing attacks from all intruders and enemies.
He was the best of them all, and he was the only one who could do the job.
The Guardian was ready. He uncoiled his barbed tail and stretched his long, sinuous neck out to its full length. He unfurled his enormous wings and shook them out carefully. As he slid silently into position, his metallic scales glinted dimly in the gloom of the cave. He steadied his breath, ready to rain fire down from above, ready to meet his death if it came for him today.
The Beast was already waiting in front of him. Fully clad in its own unholy imitation of scales: shiny armour encasing it from neck to toe. But unlike other Beasts of its kind, it wore no helmet on its head to hide its gruesome face. Its golden hair spilled down to meet its crimson cape rippling in the air behind it. It had come alone on its own two feet, no white horse to serve as its steed. It held a glimmering sword steady in two hands, pointed it straight at the Guardian, and arrogantly shouted its challenge.
The Guardian was ready. There was no more room for fear.
He moved a clawed front leg, and stepped forward to vanquish his foe.
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