47

The trees shuddered violently as something enormous stepped forward. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something far more more dangerous.

Solaine barely had time to turn before the shadows lunged to life.

A Lizardman.

It stood over eight feet tall, its body a fortress of jagged, obsidian-green scales, thick as armor. Unlike the frail kobolds, this was no scavenger—this was a warrior.

Its muscles rippled beneath its hide, claws wickedly curved, each talon capable of easily shearing through flesh. A serpentine snarl curled across its elongated snout, revealing rows of dagger-like fangs, saliva dripping from its maw.

But the worst part was its eyes.

Blood-red. Unblinking.

It had been watching. Waiting. Hunting.

Then—it struck.

A blur of scaled muscle and death.

"SOLAINE!"