The Bear and the Bell

The revelation of the Ten Blasphemies still hung heavy in the air as the trio made their way back through the Whisperwood, the diary's warnings fresh in their minds. The forest seemed to press in around them, shadows stretching unnaturally long in the fading light. The trees whispered with unseen movement, their gnarled branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers.

Then the ground shook.

A monstrous bear, standing at least fifteen feet tall, emerged from the undergrowth. Its fur was matted with old blood and something darker—a thick, glistening oil that dripped from its maw and clung to its claws. Its breath fogged the air, hot and rancid, carrying the stench of rotting meat. Its eyes burned with a feral, unnatural intelligence, pupils slit like a serpent's.

"Oh, come on," Therion groaned, already stepping back.

Lyria didn't hesitate. "Leave Therion behind."

Therion's head snapped toward her. "Wait, you're actually—?"

Ardyn grabbed Lyria's arm and bolted.

Therion's indignant shout was cut off as the bear roared, its massive paws slamming into the earth where he'd just been standing. The impact sent dirt and roots flying, the force of it knocking Therion off-balance. He barely had time to teleport—his body flickered, shadows swallowing him whole before he reappeared atop a nearby boulder, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

"You bastards!" he yelled, but there was no real heat in it—just the adrenaline-fueled glee of a hunter's son who'd been handed the world's worst game of tag.

The diary, sensing the chaos, flipped open on its own, a single page scrawled with:

"HAHAHAHAHAHA—"

Therion didn't have time to be offended. The bear lunged again, its claws—each as long as daggers—raking through the air. He let it get close, just enough for its jaws to snap shut inches from his face before he vanished once more, reappearing behind it.

"Hey, ugly!" he taunted, waving Gareth's hunting knife. "Catch me if you—oh shit—"

The bear moved faster than anything that size should. Its claws grazed Therion's side, slicing through fabric and flesh in one brutal swipe. Blood sprayed, painting the leaves crimson as Therion was sent spinning into the dirt. He rolled, gasping, his fingers pressing against the wound. The pain was sharp, burning, but he forced himself up, teeth gritted.

Then—ding.

A soft, clear chime cut through the chaos.

Ardyn stood at the tree line, the small brass bell from Therion's pack ringing in his hand. The bear's massive head swiveled toward the sound, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air.

Lyria didn't waste the opening. She lunged, dagger flashing, and buried it deep in the beast's eye.

The bear screamed.

The sound was deafening, a guttural howl of pain and fury. Black ichor gushed from the ruined socket, splattering across Lyria's face and arms. She barely flinched, twisting the blade before yanking it free with a sickening squelch.

What followed was pure, brutal chaos.

The bear thrashed, blind and furious, its claws shredding bark and earth alike. Trees splintered under its weight, their trunks groaning before snapping like twigs. Therion teleported in and out, slashing at its flanks, each strike opening deep gashes that oozed thick, dark blood. Ardyn darted in when he could, his aether-sight guiding him to weak points—joints, tendons, the soft flesh beneath its jaw.

Lyria played bait, dancing just out of reach, her every move calculated to enrage it further. The bear's claws missed her by inches, tearing through the earth instead, leaving deep furrows in its wake.

And the diary?

"THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY DEATH," it wrote, its pages shaking with laughter.

Finally, with one last, desperate strike, Therion drove the knife into the beast's throat. The blade sank deep, severing muscle and sinew before lodging in bone. The bear choked, its massive body convulsing as black blood bubbled from its maw. It staggered, its legs buckling, before collapsing with a final, earth-shaking thud.

Silence.

Then, weakly, Therion raised a bloodied hand. "So. We're keeping the pelt, right?"

The Aftermath

By the time they staggered back to Therion's house, the bear's hide was rolled tight under Lyria's arm, its meat bundled in leaves. Therion's side was bandaged with strips of his own shirt, the fabric already soaked through with blood. His breath came in shallow, pained gasps, but he still managed a grin.

Ardyn's hands still shook from adrenaline, his golden eyes flickering with residual aether-sight. He could still see the bear's death—the way its life force had unraveled, threads of dark energy dissipating into the air.

Gareth took one look at them—bloody, grinning, and dragging a monster's worth of trophies—and sighed. "I'm not even asking."

Gareth, however, inspected the pelt with grudging approval. "Good kill." Then, eyeing Therion's injury: "You lived. Disappointing."

Therion flipped him off, then winced as the motion tugged at his wound.

The diary, now tucked safely in Ardyn's pack, radiated smug satisfaction.

"Worth it."

The Diary's Secret Note

As Gareth turned away to inspect the pelt, the diary twitched in Ardyn's pack. A single page tore itself free, fluttering silently into Lyria's lap. Another slipped into Therion's bloodstained pocket. A third tucked itself into Ardyn's sleeve.

The message, scrawled in Elias's frantic handwriting, was identical on all three:

"You do know that the thing you killed was the Titan bear's cub**, right? Not the kind that's that small."

Therion's breath hitched. "Small?!" he mouthed, staring at the note.

The writing continued, ink bleeding like a warning:

"A real Titan bear is at least *40-50 feet tall*. They're not just beasts—they're living blasphemies, forged by the same experiments that created the Archivist. And guess what? Mama's nearby.

P.S. Don't tell Gareth. He'll make you go back and fight her for 'training.'"

Therion's face went pale. Lyria's grip tightened on her dagger. Ardyn's aether-sight flickered nervously to the tree line.

Somewhere in the depths of the Whisperwood, the earth trembled—not from footsteps, but from the deep, reverberating breath of something truly monstrous.

The diary's final line:

"...Maybe burn the pelt after all."