The Nameless Beast

The Arrival

A week ago, Ezekiel had stood in the central square of Tikal, surrounded by towering temples, their stone faces lined with hieroglyphs recounting the deeds of great kings. The air had been ripe with the scents of cacao and chili carried by traders, while bird calls and the chants of priests filled the atmosphere. He had been someone else then, someone important—a warrior, a protector of Ak'chun, a budding city-state at the fringes of the great Mayan Empire. But the arrival of the outsiders had unraveled his identity as quickly as a woven reed basket immersed in water.

The strangers had come from beyond the horizon in vessels glittering like the wings of dragonflies. They carried promises of power beyond the gods’ own comprehension. Ezekiel, alongside the elders, had watched their demonstrations with a mixture of awe and fear: healing wounds with a beam of light, calling storms with a whistle. But it had come at a price. The beasts they unleashed to show their strength had been unlike anything born of this world.

"You give us reverence," the outsiders had said, "and we will grant you dominion over all rivals."

It had taken only two days before Ezekiel realized their promises were a lie. The strangers sought dominion, not partnership. They unleashed their horrors one after the other, not sparing even the city's sacred cenote, where generations of offerings had been made to the god Chaac. The elders had been the first to fall; Ezekiel himself barely escaped with his life, unknowingly becoming the bane of one of the unleashed monstrosities that now pursued him to this forsaken jungle.

The Reckoning

Now, crouched behind the roots of an ancient ceiba tree, Ezekiel tightened his grip on his short sword. His tunic clung to his torso like a second skin, damp with sweat and smeared with dirt. The sapphire-blue embroidery around its edges—a symbol of his station—mocked him with its once-proud beauty. He could hear the beast sniffing, hear its ragged breaths, the guttural growls reverberating through the trees.

He had not planned for any of this. Yet as the outsider’ manipulation replayed in his mind, stirring a familiar churn of fury and guilt, Ezekiel realized that this creature was as much a pawn as he had been. A victim of masters that sought only control. He gritted his teeth as an idea began to form, dangerous and desperate.

Standing slowly, Ezekiel stepped into the clearing. The bloodied obsidian pendant hanging from his neck glimmered faintly in the light filtering through the canopy as Ezekiel drew his blade. The beast's pupils dilated when it beheld its prey, but Ezekiel planted a foot firmly into the ground. He raised his sword high and let out a guttural roar of his own—the kind of raw, primal challenge that reverberated far deeper than any weapon.

The Final Gamble

What followed was a battle that etched itself into the very soil of the jungle. Ezekiel sidestepped the lunging creature, his blade finding pockets between its armored scales. Each strike, though minor, injured the beast just enough to keep it enraged and distracted while Ezekiel dodged and weaved around it like a flame that refused to be extinguished. Blood—both his own and the beast's—sprayed across bark and stone. His vision blurred from exhaustion, and his body screamed for rest. But Ezekiel's purpose burned fiercely within him.

In one last act of resolve, he climbed a jagged rock outcropping, calling out to the creature in a final taunt. It leaped toward him, teeth bared, its grotesque maw snapping shut just as Ezekiel plunged his sword down. The creature's momentum carried them both over the edge, and they plunged into the river below.

The world dissolved into cold chaos as Ezekiel wrestled with the dying beast. Its thrashing diminished as the current pulled it downstream, and for a moment, all was silent. Exhausted but alive, Ezekiel dragged himself to the shore, collapsing on a patch of soft moss under the twilight sky. As he lay there, staring at the first stars that dared to appear, a faint smirk crossed his face.

The outsiders may have brought ruin, but they underestimated the resilience of those born of this land. There were still battles ahead—ones Ezekiel would face not as the broken remnants of who he had been, but as something newly forged. Somehow, his own reflection in the murky river waters felt like an unspoken high five, an acknowledgment of survival and courage he hadn’t known he possessed.

Genre: Historical Fantasy

The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Join me and my Friends in the High Five Challenge!

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