Rita, a wild and adventurous woman, decided to take a solo stroll through the Thundarr forest. The heat and humidity were stifling, so she stripped off her clothes, leaving her naked and vulnerable.
The heat in Thundarr Forest was suffocating. Sweat dripped down Rita Faros’ skin as she moved deeper into the dense greenery, seeking a cool spot near the river. The chirping of insects and the rustling of unseen creatures filled the air. She had left her power boomerang in the Cave of Shecon, convinced that a simple stroll would be harmless.
But she was wrong.
Unbeknownst to her, Murder Dog, a menacing figure with a sickle, had been following her from her cave of Shecon.
The Chains of the Hunt
She barely had time to react when the noose of cold steel wrapped around her throat. A brutal yank sent her sprawling into the dirt. Before she could struggle, another chain snapped around her wrist, then the other, each limb dragged apart and shackled to thick forest trees. A deep, guttural laugh echoed in her ears.
Murder Dog stepped forward. His mask, a twisted mockery of a hound’s snarling face, tilted as he studied her. “Shecon,” he whispered, his voice thick with amusement. “Not so powerful now, are you?”
Rita pulled against the chains, her muscles flexing, but the bonds held. She was caught.
Murder Dog lifted his sickle, its curved blade glinting in the flickering light. He pressed it against her cheek, drawing a thin red line as blood trickled down her skin. “You think you’re strong,” he continued, his tone mocking. “But strength is nothing without power. And right now… you have none.”
The first strike came hard—a vicious slash against her shoulder. Pain burned through her as she gritted her teeth, refusing to scream. Another cut followed, this time across her thigh, making her legs tremble from the wound.
Then, from his satchel, he pulled out a glass jar. Inside, coiled and waiting, was a red cobra, its hood flaring as it sensed the air.
Murder Dog knelt beside her. “This is my gift to you, Shecon. Let’s see if you can charm a snake before it drains the life from your veins.”
With a sinister laugh, he smashed the jar at her feet and vanished into the darkness.
The cobra slithered forward. Its tongue flicked, tasting the blood in the air. Its red eyes locked onto Rita’s, and its body coiled, preparing to strike.
Rita’s breath was ragged. Her mind raced. No weapons. No armor. No backup. Only myself.
Summoning her strength, she twisted her wrists, feeling the rough iron scrape against her skin. The pain fueled her rage. Shecon had fought beasts before. She had survived battles against the worst scum of Thundarr City. She would not die here.
As the cobra lunged, she moved.
Swinging her legs up with sheer force, she looped her feet over one of the chains, kicking her body upward. The sudden movement startled the snake, making it retreat slightly. The pain in her wounds burned, but she ignored it, contorting her body and twisting her fingers until—
SNAP.
The rusted bolt of her left shackle broke loose. With one arm free, she reached for the chain binding her right wrist, wrenching at the lock. The snake, recovering, struck again—its fangs grazing her side, but not deep enough.
With a furious roar, she yanked herself free.
The cobra lunged a third time, but this time, she was ready. Using the chain still bound to her ankle, she swung it like a whip, cracking it against the snake’s head. The reptile recoiled, dazed. Seizing the moment, she grabbed it by the throat and, with one brutal motion, snapped its spine.
Shecon stood, bloodied and breathing hard.
Then she heard it.
A slow, mocking clap.
Murder Dog was watching from the shadows.
“You are full of surprises,” he mused. “But you’re still wounded. Weak. Do you really think you can fight me now?”
Rita spat blood onto the ground. “Try me.”
Murder Dog lunged, sickle flashing in the moonlight. Shecon met him head-on, turning her chain into a weapon. The battle was raw, brutal. She ducked, weaved, using her surroundings, kicking him into a tree and cracking her fists against his ribs. Murder Dog struck back, his sickle slicing through the air, but she caught his wrist mid-swing and twisted, forcing him to drop the weapon.
She drove her knee into his gut, sending him staggering. Before he could recover, she wrapped the chain around his neck, yanking it tight.
“You’re not laughing now,” she growled.
Murder Dog clawed at the chain, choking, his strength fading. But before she could finish him, he pulled a hidden blade from his boot and slashed at her leg. Shecon recoiled just enough for him to break free.
“You win this round, Shecon,” he rasped, stepping back. “But next time, you won’t walk away.”
And with that, he melted into the darkness.
Shecon stood there, her body aching, blood dripping from her wounds. But she was alive. And she had sent a message:
No matter how deep the darkness, she would always fight back.
