#bearcomic

In the morning—if indeed it was morning, as the underworld remained lit to a dull red glow the entire time she’d been underground—Ursa uncurled from beside Cerberus and climbed her staff hand-over-hand until she had more or less regained her feet. Her back ached from sleeping on jagged rocks, and she winced when she put her weight on her injured knee. The hellhound had shattered her bones, and her magic had healed them once more, but “good as new” they were not.

After a quick, conjured breakfast, the pair continued on their way. The druid kept a steady—albeit slow—pace, but the three-headed dog took the long way: running this way and that, snorfling urgently at scents that only he could detect, and marking the passage from time to time as he went.

After a half-hour or so of shambling, keeping as much weight on her staff as she could manage, the passageway opened to a cavern so vast that it was hard to believe they could still be underground. In fact, the extents faded into the distance, so she doubted she could see precisely just how vast it truly was.

And everywhere, everywhere she looked, souls of the departed gathered. Some sat in groups, others wandered singly, but their sheer numbers overwhelmed her. “Tuur!” she shouted at the multitudes, then not as loud, “Tuur.”

Her staff slipped from her grip and clattered against the stone. “Shit,” she whispered to no one. She hung her head. “I suppose it makes sense … everyone who has ever passed away in all of history…”

Cerberus stooped, and his leftmost head retrieved her staff, then held it out for her until she took it from his mouth. “Thanks buddy,” she said, taking a moment to pet his snout. “Hope you’re not expecting to play fetch with it.”

“Aw, why the long face?” asked a melodious voice from behind her.

Ursa spun as quickly as she could manage without falling over, she raised her staff defensively, but the bear leaning up against the cavern wall did not react. He just smiled as if this were the greatest place to be.

And. He. Was. Gorgeous!

Despite her eternal love for Tuur, just the sight of the grizzly with the perfect cinnamon fur was enough to make her heart beat louder. He had golden eyes, powerful muscles, and a belly so vast that it looked like he was ready for winter’s nap. And sure, the horns on his head and the bat wings on his back were unusual, but with the look he had going, they worked.

“Oh, I see,” he said, his perfectly white teeth sparkling like stars, “you’ve come looking for someone named Tuur.”

“I… I am!” she gasped. Then, struggling to contain herself, she hobbled closer. “Do you know him? He’s a panda with a terrible sense of humor, the sweetest disposition, and brown eyes so soft…” She shook herself from her memories. “Do you know where I can find him?”

The bear grinned wide. His eyes disappeared into crescents and his teeth gleamed so brightly that they filled Ursa’s vision. She leaned forward on her toes waiting until he laughed, “Not a chance!”

“Oh,” the druid huffed, sinking in on herself slightly.

“But I do know a lovely couple who will!”

“You do?” she gasped, but he was already walking away, strolling with long strides as if headed to a fancy party. “Wait! Wait!” Ursa called as she hobbled after him.

Cerberus whined but remained by the druid’s side, and the two rushed to keep up with the cinnamon grizzly. Though he walked quickly, he never let himself get so far ahead that Ursa lost track of him.

When they finally arrived at their destination, the druid scrunched up her face, confused at the sight. A pair of doors, each standing seven foot tall and nearly three feet wide, had been mounted to a flat spot in the cavern floor. With craftsmanship beyond any she’d seen before, both had been carved to resemble a bear’s face. But though the doors’ bases looked sturdy enough, there wasn’t any sort of wall behind them. The two were free-standing in their casings as if someone had forgotten to build a home behind them.

“Uh,” Ursa muttered, confused. She took a moment to peek around the doors, but the back sides looked no different than the fronts.

“Never mind that,” laughed the winged bear. From atop one of the doors, he snatched a wand, and from the darkness above them, four brilliant lights came to life like sunlight streaming through gaps in dark clouds—one focused on either of the doors, one on the cinnamon grizzly, and one on Ursa herself. She winced and shielded her eyes, her night vision so disrupted that the rest of the cavern fell away into darkness.

The horned bear pointed the wand at his mouth, and in the smoothest of tones, he announced, “Welcome once again! Today’s challenger is…” He pointed the wand at the druid’s mouth and waited, his teeth sparkling like diamonds.

“Uh… Ursa?” she said into the twig.

“Welcome, Ursa!” he laughed, the wand pointed back at his own mouth. With a twinkle in his eye, he explained, “Today, Ursa will be facing two doors. Door number one has been carved from hickory, and the grain has been polished to a beautiful shine.”

The carving on the leftmost door came to life. It looked shyly down, a blush of mahogany coming to each of her cheeks. “Oh, Typhon, that’s so kind of you to say!”

“Oh, whatever,” grunted the face carved into the rightmost door.

“Door number two has been carved from one single slab of oak!” Typhon announced.

“Like that’s something to be proud of,” huffed the hickory door.

“Uh,” interrupted Ursa, “and how is this supposed to help me find Tuur?”

“Because,” the horned bear explained with one finger raised, “stepping through one of these doors will take you right to him!”

The druid frowned, apprehension lining her face. “And the other?”

“To annihilation!” Typhon cheered, his voice dripping with honey.

“What?” gasped Ursa.

“He means,” the door on the left explained, “that if you were foolish enough to step through that door,”—the hickory face glared at the oaken door—“then you’ll be completely annihilated, and you’ll never be able to reunite with Tuur—not even in death.”

“Ugh,” the oaken door growled. “Why do you tell everyone that? You’re the door that leads to annihilation!”

Ursa’s lower lip drooped. She turned to the winged bear. “Which door leads me to Tuur?”

“Don’t ask me! Only they know. But I’ll warn you,” the cinnamon bear laughed, mugging a grin as if he were using his favorite catchphrase, “Someone’s a Liar!”

“So, I guess you’re saying that I need to … uh…” she said, seeking affirmation from Typhon that he wasn’t giving her, “have to first discern which door is the liar … and then ask the other door which one leads to Tuur?”

The winged bear only smiled. Ursa looked over at Cerberus, but though he tilted his head supportively, his size and strength couldn’t help her. So, she turned back to the doors and addressed them both, “What color is my fur?”

The carved bears responded simultaneously; though the oaken door replied, “Brown,” while the hickory door said, “A lovely shade of brown.”

Ursa scowled. Her fur was brown, so the oaken door hadn’t lied. Did that mean that her fur being lovely was a lie?

She scowled over at Typhon, but he winked when he explained, “It would be far too simple a challenge if one door could only tell lies, my dear. One of them lies, sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s not capable of telling the truth.”

“Okay,” said Ursa, “so, I need to figure out which door is incapable of lying and ask them which door to take.”

Hickory started, “If you wanted to know who was capable of cruelty—”

But Oak interrupted, “Back to this, huh? I already apologized! And you never even—”

“I don’t owe you forgiveness!” shouted Hickory.

“Guys?” Typhon whispered from the side of his mouth. “We’re getting off track here.”

“And how could I forgive,” Hickory barreled on, “when you just keep doing it?”

“All I said was—”

“I know what you said!”

“But all I—”

“It wasn’t what you said, and you know it!” she shouted over him. “It was how you said it!”

“I can see that you guys are having some issues right now…” Ursa said in a reassuring voice, but her attempt to mediate between the doors fell flat.

“This is the same sort of crap you’ve pulled for the last millennium!” shouted Hickory.

“Me?” Oak shouted back. “Ever think that maybe you’re over-sensitive and taking everything as an attack? I could ask what time it is, and you’d pretend that I was calling you old!”

Cerberus whined and the druid leaned back against him, frowning hard.

“C’mon, I need you on your A-game, guys!” the horned bear hissed at the doors, but they ignored him, shouting louder and louder—shouting always, listening never.

Typhon looked over at Ursa. He smiled at her, but the smooth, easy grin he’d worn before looked faded and desperate. “Heh. Looks like today’s challenge is … uh, extra exciting!”

“Not really,” the druid huffed. “Pretty simple stuff, actually.”

Typhon’s face lit with hope once more. “Oh yeah? I mean of course, oh yeah! For a clever adventurer like you … uh…”

The druid just stared at him, and he searched desperately for something to say. At last, he managed, “Someone’s a Liar!” but he failed to deliver it with even a fraction of the charm he’d used before.

“Yup,” said Ursa.

“Oh, uh, so you’ve figured out which door is which?”

Ursa leaned her weight back on her staff. “They both lead to oblivion,” she said as she turned to walk away.

“Uh, no!” Typhon chuckled. “That’s not how this game is played!”

“And you,” Ursa said without looking back, “are the liar.”

Writing by my author friend Gre7g Luterman! Illustration by me~

Ursa squeezed past the roughhewn planks and into the dimly lit cavern beyond. At times she had to duck, other times she had to crawl, and then there were a few spots where the passage grew so narrow that she feared she’d have to turn back. But eventually, the way opened wide and tall, and her only challenge was keeping from sliding down the chute of loose stones that led her deep into the earth’s crust.

While she hiked across the scree, Ursa tried to puzzle out the source of the red light illuminating the cavern. Wherever the glow was emanating from, it didn’t seem to cast a shadow. The dim light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Using her staff to steady her footing, she worked her way down the gentle slope for half an hour until—perhaps a hundred yards ahead of her—she could see that the cavern narrowed abruptly into a lumpy corridor. But blocking the way was a different sort of lump—something huge and hairy rested on the cavern floor, its attention focused solely on the corridor beyond.

“Hello?” called the bear, not wanting to startle the humongous creature. “Are you trapped?” she asked. The way ahead looked large enough for the creature to navigate, but she was confident that the way behind her wouldn’t be.

Six ears stood high and pointed her way before the creature rose and turned. The beast was huge! It easily stood seven foot tall at the shoulder, and three different heads loomed high above that. Metal clanked and echoed off the stone walls, but the growl that followed rattled the teeth in Ursa’s mouth.

“What the…?” she gasped. “No!” She hurried forward, scrambling over rocks and gravel, moving so quickly that the beast actually took a full step back as she approached.

Ursa skidded to a stop. A chain—each iron link forged as thick as her thumb—dangled from the creature’s middle neck and ended in a thick iron plate bolted to the cavern’s floor. She grabbed one of the links and heaved, pulling just as hard as she could, but the iron plate showed no sign of yielding.

“Who…” she grunted while she pulled, “did this to you?”

The dog’s leftmost head—with curious eyes and shaggy fur—stooped to sniff at the druid while she toiled. It shoved its cold nose up under her armpit and nearly bowled her over with a snorfling sniff.

“Stop that! Stop that!” She put her palm flat on his forehead and shoved him away, only for him to stick his snout back under her arm again the moment she tried to pull the chain free. “Stop it!” she giggled as the sniffing intensified.

Giving up on pulling the plate loose with her hands, Ursa shoved the end of her staff into the bottom-most link. She channeled her life force into twisted length of oak until it glowed bright green, but the wood creaked and threatened to snap when she pried against the stone floor.

“Damn it,” Ursa grunted in frustration, throwing down the staff. Then, she followed the chain up with her hands.

The dog’s middle head—sleek of fur and eyes wide with worry—tugged hard on the chain, pulling it taut until the spiked leather collar rode up as high on the dog’s neck as possible.

“Oh, you poor thing!” cooed Ursa the Kind. “Your neck is rubbed absolutely raw. When was the last time this collar came off?”

The middle head yawned nervously, and it licked at its lips, but Ursa grabbed the end of the collar strap and yanked it loose from the loop. “Shh, don’t pull so hard,” she whispered. “Just let me have a little slack, and I’ll get you free.”

For just a moment, the dog eased up, and the druid pulled the prong loose, so the strap could slide from the buckle. With a dull metallic clunk, the collar and chain fell to the stone floor. All three heads crowded around the collar, sniffing madly at it, but Ursa ignored the horrid thing.

Instead, she put her hands to the raw skin where the collar had rubbed the fur from the dog’s neck, then she channeled her healing magic into it to sooth the damage. “I don’t know who could have been so cruel and thoughtless,” she grumbled, “but they better hope that I never get a hold of them…”

When the spell was complete, Ursa stooped and retrieved her staff. While bent over, she checked the tag that still hung from the collar. When she stood, she found herself eye-to-eye with the third face. The rightmost head glared at her, eyes glowing yellow and a pelt that was more scabs and scars than fur.

“Cerberus, huh?” she asked the third head. She ran her fingers across his pelt. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for the scars. The scabs I can fix, but they’re just cosmetic at this point.” Still, fed a trickle of healing power into him and the dry, crusty skin fell away, leaving fresh, mostly smooth skin beneath.

The third head stared, fierce still not as aggressively as it had before. “There. At least that will keep you from scratching at them, keep them from getting infected,” she said.

Ursa kissed his cold nose, before waving and heading down the passageway alone. Over her shoulder, she called back, “You be a good boy now, okay?”

The druid continued on her way for another hour. At times, she thought she heard movement or the sounds of a creature, but nothing she heard was comforting and familiar. She knew the sounds of every forest dweller, but here in the underworld, she had no idea what to expect. She’d certainly never run across a three-headed dog before, that was for certain. Just lucky for her that it was so friendly.

Ursa yawned. There was no deadfall inside this cavern, but that wouldn’t much matter. She wouldn’t need a fire for warmth and didn’t need to build a shelter from the elements. Besides, she had plenty of mana left to conjure some food and drink, but she was growing a little anxious about finding a place to rest.

Normally, she would take turns with Tuur keeping watch so that the other could rest, but with his passing, he’d left her alone in the world. So, Ursa kept an eye out for cracks and side passages—hoping to find one wide enough that she could squeeze inside but still sufficiently snug that it might keep a foe at bay. Considering her height and girth, she didn’t hold high hopes, but she knew she’d rest easier even in an alcove than she would curled up in the main tunnel.

She heard the sound once more, and then again, but louder this time, a crunching of feet on gravel. “Hello?” called Ursa. “Who’s there?”

Around a bend, two eyes peeked out, glowing red like coals in a bonfire. Beneath that, a huge maw slowly opened, featuring an unnatural number of teeth. With each heaving breath it exhaled, black smoke and drifting embers floated out.

Ursa paused, uncertain. In some ways, the creature reminded her of a dog, but in other ways a bull—not only due to its massive size, but also from its proportions. Most of the beast’s weight centered over its forelegs.

She’d been a druid almost all her life, and at this point, Ursa used several spells so often that it hardly even registered when she’d cast them. “Animal Friendship”, in particular, would have to top that list. “Who’s a good boy?” she asked, projecting friendly confidence.

But at this, the creature scrambled forward, its long claws digging deep, kicking rocks and gravel out behind it as it ran her way.

The druid grabbed her staff from the narrow end, holding the curling top out in front of her. “Now, hold up there!” she called, trying to project calming caution, but the creature didn’t slow. Ignoring the staff, the monster leapt, claws and teeth slashing the air while Ursa rolled away to safety.

The hellhound circled about, preparing to charge her once more, while Ursa slapped a hand to her shoulder, stemming the blood flow from the monster’s glancing bite.

“Now, you stay right there!” the bear shouted. Without any conscious thought, her hand traced spellforms in the air, and a thick mass of vines sprung up from the gravel beneath the creature’s feet. The hellhound yelped in surprise, trying to step away, but the vines moved quickly, entangling all four of its coal-black legs.

Instead of fighting with the vines, the hound drew a deep breath and then spat a gout of flame in Ursa’s direction. She tried to dodge out of the way but took most of the fiery impact to her shoulder and back.

“Gah!” she shouted as she tried backing away over the loose scree, trying to get out of range should the creature try its breath weapon once more.

Frustrated, the hellhound bit furiously at the vines that held it, snarling and snapping as it tore the lush greenery away. Meanwhile, Ursa grabbed her staff in both shaking hands and chanted, channeling the powers of nature and life until a black and swirling storm cloud obscured the cavern’s ceiling. Power, pure energy crackled inside the cloud as static electricity arced across the underside of the cloud and concentrated in the middle.

At nearly the same moment, the hellhound broke free of the last vine holding it in place and a lightning bolt nearly as thick as Ursa’s arm leapt from the cloud to the vine-covered cavern floor.

In the dim, enclosed space, the flash of light and explosion of thunder were so intense that they knocked the druid backward, and she slid down the loose scree on her burnt back. Her pupils constricted to pinpricks, leaving her blinded.

“Did I get it?” she gasped, lifting her head.

But as if in answer to her question, she heard the bark as it leapt. Then, it landed on her legs. Ursa screamed as its claws dug deep in her thigh, its teeth sank into her knee.

With its massive neck muscles, the beast shook her like a rag doll, her knee snapping and popping as the bones shattered.

“Help me!” Ursa screamed on the verge of passing out. But the creature showed her no mercy, only loosening its bite for a moment to try and get a better grip.

The bear swung her staff blindly while it gnawed on her leg, sometimes connecting and sometimes swishing through open air.

But then, just as she was certain she’d meet her doom, a great baying howl filled the chamber as a gigantic three-headed dog bounded toward the combatants.

For a moment, the hellhound hesitated as if uncertain whether Cerberus would side with him or the bear—but only for a moment. Then, it released Ursa’s leg and bolted, unwilling to challenge the gigantic dog for the meal.

Ursa didn’t even bother taking a parting swing as it ran. Instead, she grabbed her leg with both hands and tried to squeeze the larger wounds closed.

Cerberus skidded to a stop at her side. Then, he rolled on his back curling this way and that, as if trying to scratch an itch with the cavern’s floor. Then he stopped, his leftmost head staring at her, shaggy fur disheveled and tongue lolling as he waited.

Ursa groaned in pain. “Okay, okay,” she finally managed. “Sure, belly rubs, but first I need to use the rest of my spell slots on this knee if I want to keep my leg.”

Writing by my author friend Gre7g Luterman! Illustration by me~

bearlyfunctioning:

Ursa squeezed past the roughhewn planks and into the dimly lit cavern beyond. At times she had to duck, other times she had to crawl, and then there were a few spots where the passage grew so narrow that she feared she’d have to turn back. But eventually, the way opened wide and tall, and her only challenge was keeping from sliding down the chute of loose stones that led her deep into the earth’s crust.

While she hiked across the scree, Ursa tried to puzzle out the source of the red light illuminating the cavern. Wherever the glow was emanating from, it didn’t seem to cast a shadow. The dim light seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Using her staff to steady her footing, she worked her way down the gentle slope for half an hour until—perhaps a hundred yards ahead of her—she could see that the cavern narrowed abruptly into a lumpy corridor. But blocking the way was a different sort of lump—something huge and hairy rested on the cavern floor, its attention focused solely on the corridor beyond.

“Hello?” called the bear, not wanting to startle the humongous creature. “Are you trapped?” she asked. The way ahead looked large enough for the creature to navigate, but she was confident that the way behind her wouldn’t be.

Six ears stood high and pointed her way before the creature rose and turned. The beast was huge! It easily stood seven foot tall at the shoulder, and three different heads loomed high above that. Metal clanked and echoed off the stone walls, but the growl that followed rattled the teeth in Ursa’s mouth.

“What the…?” she gasped. “No!” She hurried forward, scrambling over rocks and gravel, moving so quickly that the beast actually took a full step back as she approached.

Ursa skidded to a stop. A chain—each iron link forged as thick as her thumb—dangled from the creature’s middle neck and ended in a thick iron plate bolted to the cavern’s floor. She grabbed one of the links and heaved, pulling just as hard as she could, but the iron plate showed no sign of yielding.

“Who…” she grunted while she pulled, “did this to you?”

The dog’s leftmost head—with curious eyes and shaggy fur—stooped to sniff at the druid while she toiled. It shoved its cold nose up under her armpit and nearly bowled her over with a snorfling sniff.

“Stop that! Stop that!” She put her palm flat on his forehead and shoved him away, only for him to stick his snout back under her arm again the moment she tried to pull the chain free. “Stop it!” she giggled as the sniffing intensified.

Giving up on pulling the plate loose with her hands, Ursa shoved the end of her staff into the bottom-most link. She channeled her life force into twisted length of oak until it glowed bright green, but the wood creaked and threatened to snap when she pried against the stone floor.

“Damn it,” Ursa grunted in frustration, throwing down the staff. Then, she followed the chain up with her hands.

The dog’s middle head—sleek of fur and eyes wide with worry—tugged hard on the chain, pulling it taut until the spiked leather collar rode up as high on the dog’s neck as possible.

“Oh, you poor thing!” cooed Ursa the Kind. “Your neck is rubbed absolutely raw. When was the last time this collar came off?”

The middle head yawned nervously, and it licked at its lips, but Ursa grabbed the end of the collar strap and yanked it loose from the loop. “Shh, don’t pull so hard,” she whispered. “Just let me have a little slack, and I’ll get you free.”

For just a moment, the dog eased up, and the druid pulled the prong loose, so the strap could slide from the buckle. With a dull metallic clunk, the collar and chain fell to the stone floor. All three heads crowded around the collar, sniffing madly at it, but Ursa ignored the horrid thing.

Instead, she put her hands to the raw skin where the collar had rubbed the fur from the dog’s neck, then she channeled her healing magic into it to sooth the damage. “I don’t know who could have been so cruel and thoughtless,” she grumbled, “but they better hope that I never get a hold of them…”

When the spell was complete, Ursa stooped and retrieved her staff. While bent over, she checked the tag that still hung from the collar. When she stood, she found herself eye-to-eye with the third face. The rightmost head glared at her, eyes glowing yellow and a pelt that was more scabs and scars than fur.

“Cerberus, huh?” she asked the third head. She ran her fingers across his pelt. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for the scars. The scabs I can fix, but they’re just cosmetic at this point.” Still, fed a trickle of healing power into him and the dry, crusty skin fell away, leaving fresh, mostly smooth skin beneath.

The third head stared, fierce still not as aggressively as it had before. “There. At least that will keep you from scratching at them, keep them from getting infected,” she said.

Ursa kissed his cold nose, before waving and heading down the passageway alone. Over her shoulder, she called back, “You be a good boy now, okay?”

The druid continued on her way for another hour. At times, she thought she heard movement or the sounds of a creature, but nothing she heard was comforting and familiar. She knew the sounds of every forest dweller, but here in the underworld, she had no idea what to expect. She’d certainly never run across a three-headed dog before, that was for certain. Just lucky for her that it was so friendly.

Ursa yawned. There was no deadfall inside this cavern, but that wouldn’t much matter. She wouldn’t need a fire for warmth and didn’t need to build a shelter from the elements. Besides, she had plenty of mana left to conjure some food and drink, but she was growing a little anxious about finding a place to rest.

Normally, she would take turns with Tuur keeping watch so that the other could rest, but with his passing, he’d left her alone in the world. So, Ursa kept an eye out for cracks and side passages—hoping to find one wide enough that she could squeeze inside but still sufficiently snug that it might keep a foe at bay. Considering her height and girth, she didn’t hold high hopes, but she knew she’d rest easier even in an alcove than she would curled up in the main tunnel.

She heard the sound once more, and then again, but louder this time, a crunching of feet on gravel. “Hello?” called Ursa. “Who’s there?”

Around a bend, two eyes peeked out, glowing red like coals in a bonfire. Beneath that, a huge maw slowly opened, featuring an unnatural number of teeth. With each heaving breath it exhaled, black smoke and drifting embers floated out.

Ursa paused, uncertain. In some ways, the creature reminded her of a dog, but in other ways a bull—not only due to its massive size, but also from its proportions. Most of the beast’s weight centered over its forelegs.

She’d been a druid almost all her life, and at this point, Ursa used several spells so often that it hardly even registered when she’d cast them. “Animal Friendship”, in particular, would have to top that list. “Who’s a good boy?” she asked, projecting friendly confidence.

But at this, the creature scrambled forward, its long claws digging deep, kicking rocks and gravel out behind it as it ran her way.

The druid grabbed her staff from the narrow end, holding the curling top out in front of her. “Now, hold up there!” she called, trying to project calming caution, but the creature didn’t slow. Ignoring the staff, the monster leapt, claws and teeth slashing the air while Ursa rolled away to safety.

The hellhound circled about, preparing to charge her once more, while Ursa slapped a hand to her shoulder, stemming the blood flow from the monster’s glancing bite.

“Now, you stay right there!” the bear shouted. Without any conscious thought, her hand traced spellforms in the air, and a thick mass of vines sprung up from the gravel beneath the creature’s feet. The hellhound yelped in surprise, trying to step away, but the vines moved quickly, entangling all four of its coal-black legs.

Instead of fighting with the vines, the hound drew a deep breath and then spat a gout of flame in Ursa’s direction. She tried to dodge out of the way but took most of the fiery impact to her shoulder and back.

“Gah!” she shouted as she tried backing away over the loose scree, trying to get out of range should the creature try its breath weapon once more.

Frustrated, the hellhound bit furiously at the vines that held it, snarling and snapping as it tore the lush greenery away. Meanwhile, Ursa grabbed her staff in both shaking hands and chanted, channeling the powers of nature and life until a black and swirling storm cloud obscured the cavern’s ceiling. Power, pure energy crackled inside the cloud as static electricity arced across the underside of the cloud and concentrated in the middle.

At nearly the same moment, the hellhound broke free of the last vine holding it in place and a lightning bolt nearly as thick as Ursa’s arm leapt from the cloud to the vine-covered cavern floor.

In the dim, enclosed space, the flash of light and explosion of thunder were so intense that they knocked the druid backward, and she slid down the loose scree on her burnt back. Her pupils constricted to pinpricks, leaving her blinded.

“Did I get it?” she gasped, lifting her head.

But as if in answer to her question, she heard the bark as it leapt. Then, it landed on her legs. Ursa screamed as its claws dug deep in her thigh, its teeth sank into her knee.

With its massive neck muscles, the beast shook her like a rag doll, her knee snapping and popping as the bones shattered.

“Help me!” Ursa screamed on the verge of passing out. But the creature showed her no mercy, only loosening its bite for a moment to try and get a better grip.

The bear swung her staff blindly while it gnawed on her leg, sometimes connecting and sometimes swishing through open air.

But then, just as she was certain she’d meet her doom, a great baying howl filled the chamber as a gigantic three-headed dog bounded toward the combatants.

For a moment, the hellhound hesitated as if uncertain whether Cerberus would side with him or the bear—but only for a moment. Then, it released Ursa’s leg and bolted, unwilling to challenge the gigantic dog for the meal.

Ursa didn’t even bother taking a parting swing as it ran. Instead, she grabbed her leg with both hands and tried to squeeze the larger wounds closed.

Cerberus skidded to a stop at her side. Then, he rolled on his back curling this way and that, as if trying to scratch an itch with the cavern’s floor. Then he stopped, his leftmost head staring at her, shaggy fur disheveled and tongue lolling as he waited.

Ursa groaned in pain. “Okay, okay,” she finally managed. “Sure, belly rubs, but first I need to use the rest of my spell slots on this knee if I want to keep my leg.”

Writing by my author friend Gre7g Luterman! Illustration by me~