I had done my best to staunch the flow of blood from my left arm, using the juice from the five-leafed plant as Nuran had showed me. The wounds cut deep, through the sleeve and nearly an inch into my flesh, rendering my arm nearly useless. The blood loss was draining my wakefulness, and I spiraled downward into a dream like state. The wound to my chest, I feared, was much worse.

I sat there and gazed upward into the baleful eye of the full moon, wondering how I would get out of this one. The beast had gotten the best of me, and only through divine intervention was I able to escape a quick and final death at his claws. I had struck a lucky blow, temporarily blinding the monster, but he would not let be for long.

Yet, even though I still drew breath, each ragged gasp brought with it a finality. My son would soon don this mask, as I had the day after my Father’s passing lo those many years ago.

The thought of my son brought a smile to my lips. To see how he’d grown into a great man before my eyes was a wondrous blessing. I prayed that he would not be as grief stricken as I had been on that dark day.

My reverie was soon shattered, as the roar of the beast shook the very earth upon which I sat.

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!

My heartbeat quickened at that primal sound. It echoed deep within my very being, touching on something inside that answered with a voice lesser men might cultivate into fear. The roar spoke volumes, letting all who heard it know that the King of Beasts was angered- woe unto those who crossed his path.

There had been a time when these majestic creatures lived alone, atop the food chain. Yet, as always, man had found a way to usurp that throne, employing tools, weapons and blood. With that thought in mind, my one good hand clutched at my Father’s sword, knowing that it was all that stood between me and the slathering death that sought me out that night.

I’d heard the phrase ‘deafening silence’ whilst on a trip to Europe many years ago. At the time, I found those words puzzling, as are many things parroted by ‘civilized’ men who have not the intellectual grasp on the words they bandy about, simply reciting them as if it gives their station in life merit and meaning. Such men would not last a day in the Deep Woods.

However, on that night the silence in the jungle was deafening. Neither insect, nor bird, nor frog, nor babbling brook seemed to issue forth with any audible evidence of their existence. It was as if the roar had stolen the voice of all who called the Woods home.

I strained my ears against the silence, as if I could will my hearing to detect even the faintest of noises, which would grant me knowledge of the beast’s whereabouts.

Try as I might, I heard nothing.

All my life, I had been accustomed to working alone. That is the lot of The Phantom. A life destined to solitude, for who can share such a burden when there is but one of us in every generation?

Yet, that night, I felt more alone than ever before. Even my guns, which had always accompanied me like the best of friends, were now gone – lost in the initial struggle with the monster.

It was as if the very jungle cried out to me, demanding that I realize the extent of my isolation.

Then it came again.

ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR!

It is truly strange what thoughts trample through your mind in moments such as these. I’d defeated countless blackhearts, endured unbearable pain, soul crushing hardship and more injuries than I cared to remember, but not once had I questioned my own mortality.

Yet, in that instant, for the first time in my life, one fraught with more danger than most men would ever dream of, I considered my own end. Would I die there, back against that ancient tree with none to know of how I met my maker?

Would there be a final chronicle in the life of the fourteenth man to don the mask? Or would the books on my shelf simply cease to continue after my last adventure? History would announce me as the missing Phantom, the first to simply disappear from the jungle. What legacy would that leave for my son?

From memory alone, I could recite tale after tale of my father’s adventures. Many a night, whilst he was away doing his duty, I would sneak into the Chronicle Chamber. By candlelight, I would devour every word penned by his hand in those majestic tomes. Once I’d read all that he had written, I moved on to my Grandfather’s tales and then his Father before him.

What a grand life we are called to lead!

From the darkest jungles to the high seas to the finest palaces in Europe, the adventures of Phantoms past took me on limitless flights of fancy as a boy. Every night I could hardly wait for my sweet mother to fall fast asleep so that I might read yet another tale of excitement and daring do.

I still recall the night my father, just returned from his latest mission, found me curled up, sleeping soundly with a book of the Eighth held in my arms. He would later tell me he had known of my passion for the Chronicles for several years, but for some reason, that night he chose to wake me and allow me to watch as he chronicled his latest tale.

ROOOOAAAAARRR!

That terrible sound, like living thunder, throttled the very tree against which I laid. It also shook me from my reminiscing. Perhaps my blood loss had rendered my ingenuity useless, for it was at that moment that I realized continuing to languish in my memories was sure to spell my end.

But, I thought my memories might hold the key to salvation. Surely, I was not the first Phantom to face defeat at the hands of such a monster! In the vault of memories this experience had opened, I scoured for a tale of such an encounter.

My father, the finest swordsman to ever live, found himself more often than not ‘pon the decks of ships, fighting off wave after wave of brigands, buccaneers and raiders. While many were monstrous in their deeds, none held the distinction of brute physicality my current foe possessed.

What of the twelfth? Certainly, he might have faced such a foe! If not him, then possibly the Eleventh or Tenth?

ROOOAAAAARRRRR!!

The dull pain in my skull reverberated with every bellow from the beast. The power of his latest spoke volumes to me: he was much closer than before.

The throbbing made concentrating far more difficult than I had ever experienced. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…’s passing lo those many years ago.

The thought of my son brought a smile to my lips. To see how he’d grown into a great man before my eyes was a wondrous blessing. I prayed that he would not be as grief stricken as I had been on that dark day.

My reverie was soon shattered, as the roar of the beast shook the very earth upon which I sat.

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!

My heartbeat quickened at that primal sound. It echoed deep within my very being, touching on something inside that answered with a voice lesser men might cultivate into fear. The roar spoke volumes, letting all who heard it know that the King of Beasts was angered- woe unto those who crossed his path.

There had been a time when these majestic creatures lived alone, atop the food chain. Yet, as always, man had found a way to usurp that throne, employing tools, weapons and blood. With that thought in mind, my one good hand clutched at my Father’s sword, knowing that it was all that stood between me and the slathering death that sought me out that night.

I’d heard the phrase ‘deafening silence’ whilst on a trip to Europe many years ago. At the time, I found those words puzzling, as are many things parroted by ‘civilized’ men who have not the intellectual grasp on the words they bandy about, simply reciting them as if it gives their station in life merit and meaning. Such men would not last a day in the Deep Woods.

However, on that night the silence in the jungle was deafening. Neither insect, nor bird, nor frog, nor babbling brook seemed to issue forth with any audible evidence of their existence. It was as if the roar had stolen the voice of all who called the Woods home.

I strained my ears against the silence, as if I could will my hearing to detect even the faintest of noises, which would grant me knowledge of the beast’s whereabouts.

Try as I might, I heard nothing.

All my life, I had been accustomed to working alone. That is the lot of The Phantom. A life destined to solitude, for who can share such a burden when there is but one of us in every generation?

Yet, that night, I felt more alone than ever before. Even my guns, which had always accompanied me like the best of friends, were now gone – lost in the initial struggle with the monster.

It was as if the very jungle cried out to me, demanding that I realize the extent of my isolation.

Then it came again.

ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR!

It is truly strange what thoughts trample through your mind in moments such as these. I’d defeated countless blackhearts, endured unbearable pain, soul crushing hardship and more injuries than I cared to remember, but not once had I questioned my own mortality.

Yet, in that instant, for the first time in my life, one fraught with more danger than most men would ever dream of, I considered my own end. Would I die there, back against that ancient tree with none to know of how I met my maker?

Would there be a final chronicle in the life of the fourteenth man to don the mask? Or would the books on my shelf simply cease to continue after my last adventure? History would announce me as the missing Phantom, the first to simply disappear from the jungle. What legacy would that leave for my son?

From memory alone, I could recite tale after tale of my father’s adventures. Many a night, whilst he was away doing his duty, I would sneak into the Chronicle Chamber. By candlelight, I would devour every word penned by his hand in those majestic tomes. Once I’d read all that he had written, I moved on to my Grandfather’s tales and then his Father before him.

What a grand life we are called to lead!

From the darkest jungles to the high seas to the finest palaces in Europe, the adventures of Phantoms past took me on limitless flights of fancy as a boy. Every night I could hardly wait for my sweet mother to fall fast asleep so that I might read yet another tale of excitement and daring do.

I still recall the night my father, just returned from his latest mission, found me curled up, sleeping soundly with a book of the Eighth held in my arms. He would later tell me he had known of my passion for the Chronicles for several years, but for some reason, that night he chose to wake me and allow me to watch as he chronicled his latest tale.

ROOOOAAAAARRR!

That terrible sound, like living thunder, throttled the very tree against which I laid. It also shook me from my reminiscing. Perhaps my blood loss had rendered my ingenuity useless, for it was at that moment that I realized continuing to languish in my memories was sure to spell my end.

But, I thought my memories might hold the key to salvation. Surely, I was not the first Phantom to face defeat at the hands of such a monster! In the vault of memories this experience had opened, I scoured for a tale of such an encounter.

My father, the finest swordsman to ever live, found himself more often than not ‘pon the decks of ships, fighting off wave after wave of brigands, buccaneers and raiders. While many were monstrous in their deeds, none held the distinction of brute physicality my current foe possessed.

What of the twelfth? Certainly, he might have faced such a foe! If not him, then possibly the Eleventh or Tenth?

ROOOAAAAARRRRR!!

The dull pain in my skull reverberated with every bellow from the beast. The power of his latest spoke volumes to me: he was much closer than before.

The throbbing made concentrating far more difficult than I had ever experienced. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…’d grown into a great man before my eyes was a wondrous blessing. I prayed that he would not be as grief stricken as I had been on that dark day.

My reverie was soon shattered, as the roar of the beast shook the very earth upon which I sat.

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!

My heartbeat quickened at that primal sound. It echoed deep within my very being, touching on something inside that answered with a voice lesser men might cultivate into fear. The roar spoke volumes, letting all who heard it know that the King of Beasts was angered- woe unto those who crossed his path.

There had been a time when these majestic creatures lived alone, atop the food chain. Yet, as always, man had found a way to usurp that throne, employing tools, weapons and blood. With that thought in mind, my one good hand clutched at my Father’s sword, knowing that it was all that stood between me and the slathering death that sought me out that night.

I’d heard the phrase ‘deafening silence’ whilst on a trip to Europe many years ago. At the time, I found those words puzzling, as are many things parroted by ‘civilized’ men who have not the intellectual grasp on the words they bandy about, simply reciting them as if it gives their station in life merit and meaning. Such men would not last a day in the Deep Woods.

However, on that night the silence in the jungle was deafening. Neither insect, nor bird, nor frog, nor babbling brook seemed to issue forth with any audible evidence of their existence. It was as if the roar had stolen the voice of all who called the Woods home.

I strained my ears against the silence, as if I could will my hearing to detect even the faintest of noises, which would grant me knowledge of the beast’s whereabouts.

Try as I might, I heard nothing.

All my life, I had been accustomed to working alone. That is the lot of The Phantom. A life destined to solitude, for who can share such a burden when there is but one of us in every generation?

Yet, that night, I felt more alone than ever before. Even my guns, which had always accompanied me like the best of friends, were now gone – lost in the initial struggle with the monster.

It was as if the very jungle cried out to me, demanding that I realize the extent of my isolation.

Then it came again.

ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR!

It is truly strange what thoughts trample through your mind in moments such as these. I’d defeated countless blackhearts, endured unbearable pain, soul crushing hardship and more injuries than I cared to remember, but not once had I questioned my own mortality.

Yet, in that instant, for the first time in my life, one fraught with more danger than most men would ever dream of, I considered my own end. Would I die there, back against that ancient tree with none to know of how I met my maker?

Would there be a final chronicle in the life of the fourteenth man to don the mask? Or would the books on my shelf simply cease to continue after my last adventure? History would announce me as the missing Phantom, the first to simply disappear from the jungle. What legacy would that leave for my son?

From memory alone, I could recite tale after tale of my father’s adventures. Many a night, whilst he was away doing his duty, I would sneak into the Chronicle Chamber. By candlelight, I would devour every word penned by his hand in those majestic tomes. Once I’d read all that he had written, I moved on to my Grandfather’s tales and then his Father before him.

What a grand life we are called to lead!

From the darkest jungles to the high seas to the finest palaces in Europe, the adventures of Phantoms past took me on limitless flights of fancy as a boy. Every night I could hardly wait for my sweet mother to fall fast asleep so that I might read yet another tale of excitement and daring do.

I still recall the night my father, just returned from his latest mission, found me curled up, sleeping soundly with a book of the Eighth held in my arms. He would later tell me he had known of my passion for the Chronicles for several years, but for some reason, that night he chose to wake me and allow me to watch as he chronicled his latest tale.

ROOOOAAAAARRR!

That terrible sound, like living thunder, throttled the very tree against which I laid. It also shook me from my reminiscing. Perhaps my blood loss had rendered my ingenuity useless, for it was at that moment that I realized continuing to languish in my memories was sure to spell my end.

But, I thought my memories might hold the key to salvation. Surely, I was not the first Phantom to face defeat at the hands of such a monster! In the vault of memories this experience had opened, I scoured for a tale of such an encounter.

My father, the finest swordsman to ever live, found himself more often than not ‘pon the decks of ships, fighting off wave after wave of brigands, buccaneers and raiders. While many were monstrous in their deeds, none held the distinction of brute physicality my current foe possessed.

What of the twelfth? Certainly, he might have faced such a foe! If not him, then possibly the Eleventh or Tenth?

ROOOAAAAARRRRR!!

The dull pain in my skull reverberated with every bellow from the beast. The power of his latest spoke volumes to me: he was much closer than before.

The throbbing made concentrating far more difficult than I had ever experienced. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…’s sword, knowing that it was all that stood between me and the slathering death that sought me out that night.

I’d heard the phrase ‘deafening silence’ whilst on a trip to Europe many years ago. At the time, I found those words puzzling, as are many things parroted by ‘civilized’ men who have not the intellectual grasp on the words they bandy about, simply reciting them as if it gives their station in life merit and meaning. Such men would not last a day in the Deep Woods.

However, on that night the silence in the jungle was deafening. Neither insect, nor bird, nor frog, nor babbling brook seemed to issue forth with any audible evidence of their existence. It was as if the roar had stolen the voice of all who called the Woods home.

I strained my ears against the silence, as if I could will my hearing to detect even the faintest of noises, which would grant me knowledge of the beast’s whereabouts.

Try as I might, I heard nothing.

All my life, I had been accustomed to working alone. That is the lot of The Phantom. A life destined to solitude, for who can share such a burden when there is but one of us in every generation?

Yet, that night, I felt more alone than ever before. Even my guns, which had always accompanied me like the best of friends, were now gone – lost in the initial struggle with the monster.

It was as if the very jungle cried out to me, demanding that I realize the extent of my isolation.

Then it came again.

ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR!

It is truly strange what thoughts trample through your mind in moments such as these. I’d defeated countless blackhearts, endured unbearable pain, soul crushing hardship and more injuries than I cared to remember, but not once had I questioned my own mortality.

Yet, in that instant, for the first time in my life, one fraught with more danger than most men would ever dream of, I considered my own end. Would I die there, back against that ancient tree with none to know of how I met my maker?

Would there be a final chronicle in the life of the fourteenth man to don the mask? Or would the books on my shelf simply cease to continue after my last adventure? History would announce me as the missing Phantom, the first to simply disappear from the jungle. What legacy would that leave for my son?

From memory alone, I could recite tale after tale of my father’s adventures. Many a night, whilst he was away doing his duty, I would sneak into the Chronicle Chamber. By candlelight, I would devour every word penned by his hand in those majestic tomes. Once I’d read all that he had written, I moved on to my Grandfather’s tales and then his Father before him.

What a grand life we are called to lead!

From the darkest jungles to the high seas to the finest palaces in Europe, the adventures of Phantoms past took me on limitless flights of fancy as a boy. Every night I could hardly wait for my sweet mother to fall fast asleep so that I might read yet another tale of excitement and daring do.

I still recall the night my father, just returned from his latest mission, found me curled up, sleeping soundly with a book of the Eighth held in my arms. He would later tell me he had known of my passion for the Chronicles for several years, but for some reason, that night he chose to wake me and allow me to watch as he chronicled his latest tale.

ROOOOAAAAARRR!

That terrible sound, like living thunder, throttled the very tree against which I laid. It also shook me from my reminiscing. Perhaps my blood loss had rendered my ingenuity useless, for it was at that moment that I realized continuing to languish in my memories was sure to spell my end.

But, I thought my memories might hold the key to salvation. Surely, I was not the first Phantom to face defeat at the hands of such a monster! In the vault of memories this experience had opened, I scoured for a tale of such an encounter.

My father, the finest swordsman to ever live, found himself more often than not ‘pon the decks of ships, fighting off wave after wave of brigands, buccaneers and raiders. While many were monstrous in their deeds, none held the distinction of brute physicality my current foe possessed.

What of the twelfth? Certainly, he might have faced such a foe! If not him, then possibly the Eleventh or Tenth?

ROOOAAAAARRRRR!!

The dull pain in my skull reverberated with every bellow from the beast. The power of his latest spoke volumes to me: he was much closer than before.

The throbbing made concentrating far more difficult than I had ever experienced. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…’d heard the phrase ‘deafening silence’ whilst on a trip to Europe many years ago. At the time, I found those words puzzling, as are many things parroted by ‘civilized’ men who have not the intellectual grasp on the words they bandy about, simply reciting them as if it gives their station in life merit and meaning. Such men would not last a day in the Deep Woods.

However, on that night the silence in the jungle was deafening. Neither insect, nor bird, nor frog, nor babbling brook seemed to issue forth with any audible evidence of their existence. It was as if the roar had stolen the voice of all who called the Woods home.

I strained my ears against the silence, as if I could will my hearing to detect even the faintest of noises, which would grant me knowledge of the beast’s whereabouts.

Try as I might, I heard nothing.

All my life, I had been accustomed to working alone. That is the lot of The Phantom. A life destined to solitude, for who can share such a burden when there is but one of us in every generation?

Yet, that night, I felt more alone than ever before. Even my guns, which had always accompanied me like the best of friends, were now gone – lost in the initial struggle with the monster.

It was as if the very jungle cried out to me, demanding that I realize the extent of my isolation.

Then it came again.

ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR!

It is truly strange what thoughts trample through your mind in moments such as these. I’d defeated countless blackhearts, endured unbearable pain, soul crushing hardship and more injuries than I cared to remember, but not once had I questioned my own mortality.

Yet, in that instant, for the first time in my life, one fraught with more danger than most men would ever dream of, I considered my own end. Would I die there, back against that ancient tree with none to know of how I met my maker?

Would there be a final chronicle in the life of the fourteenth man to don the mask? Or would the books on my shelf simply cease to continue after my last adventure? History would announce me as the missing Phantom, the first to simply disappear from the jungle. What legacy would that leave for my son?

From memory alone, I could recite tale after tale of my father’s adventures. Many a night, whilst he was away doing his duty, I would sneak into the Chronicle Chamber. By candlelight, I would devour every word penned by his hand in those majestic tomes. Once I’d read all that he had written, I moved on to my Grandfather’s tales and then his Father before him.

What a grand life we are called to lead!

From the darkest jungles to the high seas to the finest palaces in Europe, the adventures of Phantoms past took me on limitless flights of fancy as a boy. Every night I could hardly wait for my sweet mother to fall fast asleep so that I might read yet another tale of excitement and daring do.

I still recall the night my father, just returned from his latest mission, found me curled up, sleeping soundly with a book of the Eighth held in my arms. He would later tell me he had known of my passion for the Chronicles for several years, but for some reason, that night he chose to wake me and allow me to watch as he chronicled his latest tale.

ROOOOAAAAARRR!

That terrible sound, like living thunder, throttled the very tree against which I laid. It also shook me from my reminiscing. Perhaps my blood loss had rendered my ingenuity useless, for it was at that moment that I realized continuing to languish in my memories was sure to spell my end.

But, I thought my memories might hold the key to salvation. Surely, I was not the first Phantom to face defeat at the hands of such a monster! In the vault of memories this experience had opened, I scoured for a tale of such an encounter.

My father, the finest swordsman to ever live, found himself more often than not ‘pon the decks of ships, fighting off wave after wave of brigands, buccaneers and raiders. While many were monstrous in their deeds, none held the distinction of brute physicality my current foe possessed.

What of the twelfth? Certainly, he might have faced such a foe! If not him, then possibly the Eleventh or Tenth?

ROOOAAAAARRRRR!!

The dull pain in my skull reverberated with every bellow from the beast. The power of his latest spoke volumes to me: he was much closer than before.

The throbbing made concentrating far more difficult than I had ever experienced. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…’s whereabouts.

Try as I might, I heard nothing.

All my life, I had been accustomed to working alone. That is the lot of The Phantom. A life destined to solitude, for who can share such a burden when there is but one of us in every generation?

Yet, that night, I felt more alone than ever before. Even my guns, which had always accompanied me like the best of friends, were now gone – lost in the initial struggle with the monster.

It was as if the very jungle cried out to me, demanding that I realize the extent of my isolation.

Then it came again.

ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR!

It is truly strange what thoughts trample through your mind in moments such as these. I’d defeated countless blackhearts, endured unbearable pain, soul crushing hardship and more injuries than I cared to remember, but not once had I questioned my own mortality.

Yet, in that instant, for the first time in my life, one fraught with more danger than most men would ever dream of, I considered my own end. Would I die there, back against that ancient tree with none to know of how I met my maker?

Would there be a final chronicle in the life of the fourteenth man to don the mask? Or would the books on my shelf simply cease to continue after my last adventure? History would announce me as the missing Phantom, the first to simply disappear from the jungle. What legacy would that leave for my son?

From memory alone, I could recite tale after tale of my father’s adventures. Many a night, whilst he was away doing his duty, I would sneak into the Chronicle Chamber. By candlelight, I would devour every word penned by his hand in those majestic tomes. Once I’d read all that he had written, I moved on to my Grandfather’s tales and then his Father before him.

What a grand life we are called to lead!

From the darkest jungles to the high seas to the finest palaces in Europe, the adventures of Phantoms past took me on limitless flights of fancy as a boy. Every night I could hardly wait for my sweet mother to fall fast asleep so that I might read yet another tale of excitement and daring do.

I still recall the night my father, just returned from his latest mission, found me curled up, sleeping soundly with a book of the Eighth held in my arms. He would later tell me he had known of my passion for the Chronicles for several years, but for some reason, that night he chose to wake me and allow me to watch as he chronicled his latest tale.

ROOOOAAAAARRR!

That terrible sound, like living thunder, throttled the very tree against which I laid. It also shook me from my reminiscing. Perhaps my blood loss had rendered my ingenuity useless, for it was at that moment that I realized continuing to languish in my memories was sure to spell my end.

But, I thought my memories might hold the key to salvation. Surely, I was not the first Phantom to face defeat at the hands of such a monster! In the vault of memories this experience had opened, I scoured for a tale of such an encounter.

My father, the finest swordsman to ever live, found himself more often than not ‘pon the decks of ships, fighting off wave after wave of brigands, buccaneers and raiders. While many were monstrous in their deeds, none held the distinction of brute physicality my current foe possessed.

What of the twelfth? Certainly, he might have faced such a foe! If not him, then possibly the Eleventh or Tenth?

ROOOAAAAARRRRR!!

The dull pain in my skull reverberated with every bellow from the beast. The power of his latest spoke volumes to me: he was much closer than before.

The throbbing made concentrating far more difficult than I had ever experienced. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…’d defeated countless blackhearts, endured unbearable pain, soul crushing hardship and more injuries than I cared to remember, but not once had I questioned my own mortality.

Yet, in that instant, for the first time in my life, one fraught with more danger than most men would ever dream of, I considered my own end. Would I die there, back against that ancient tree with none to know of how I met my maker?

Would there be a final chronicle in the life of the fourteenth man to don the mask? Or would the books on my shelf simply cease to continue after my last adventure? History would announce me as the missing Phantom, the first to simply disappear from the jungle. What legacy would that leave for my son?

From memory alone, I could recite tale after tale of my father’s adventures. Many a night, whilst he was away doing his duty, I would sneak into the Chronicle Chamber. By candlelight, I would devour every word penned by his hand in those majestic tomes. Once I’d read all that he had written, I moved on to my Grandfather’s tales and then his Father before him.

What a grand life we are called to lead!

From the darkest jungles to the high seas to the finest palaces in Europe, the adventures of Phantoms past took me on limitless flights of fancy as a boy. Every night I could hardly wait for my sweet mother to fall fast asleep so that I might read yet another tale of excitement and daring do.

I still recall the night my father, just returned from his latest mission, found me curled up, sleeping soundly with a book of the Eighth held in my arms. He would later tell me he had known of my passion for the Chronicles for several years, but for some reason, that night he chose to wake me and allow me to watch as he chronicled his latest tale.

ROOOOAAAAARRR!

That terrible sound, like living thunder, throttled the very tree against which I laid. It also shook me from my reminiscing. Perhaps my blood loss had rendered my ingenuity useless, for it was at that moment that I realized continuing to languish in my memories was sure to spell my end.

But, I thought my memories might hold the key to salvation. Surely, I was not the first Phantom to face defeat at the hands of such a monster! In the vault of memories this experience had opened, I scoured for a tale of such an encounter.

My father, the finest swordsman to ever live, found himself more often than not ‘pon the decks of ships, fighting off wave after wave of brigands, buccaneers and raiders. While many were monstrous in their deeds, none held the distinction of brute physicality my current foe possessed.

What of the twelfth? Certainly, he might have faced such a foe! If not him, then possibly the Eleventh or Tenth?

ROOOAAAAARRRRR!!

The dull pain in my skull reverberated with every bellow from the beast. The power of his latest spoke volumes to me: he was much closer than before.

The throbbing made concentrating far more difficult than I had ever experienced. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…’s adventures. Many a night, whilst he was away doing his duty, I would sneak into the Chronicle Chamber. By candlelight, I would devour every word penned by his hand in those majestic tomes. Once I’d read all that he had written, I moved on to my Grandfather’s tales and then his Father before him.

What a grand life we are called to lead!

From the darkest jungles to the high seas to the finest palaces in Europe, the adventures of Phantoms past took me on limitless flights of fancy as a boy. Every night I could hardly wait for my sweet mother to fall fast asleep so that I might read yet another tale of excitement and daring do.

I still recall the night my father, just returned from his latest mission, found me curled up, sleeping soundly with a book of the Eighth held in my arms. He would later tell me he had known of my passion for the Chronicles for several years, but for some reason, that night he chose to wake me and allow me to watch as he chronicled his latest tale.

ROOOOAAAAARRR!

That terrible sound, like living thunder, throttled the very tree against which I laid. It also shook me from my reminiscing. Perhaps my blood loss had rendered my ingenuity useless, for it was at that moment that I realized continuing to languish in my memories was sure to spell my end.

But, I thought my memories might hold the key to salvation. Surely, I was not the first Phantom to face defeat at the hands of such a monster! In the vault of memories this experience had opened, I scoured for a tale of such an encounter.

My father, the finest swordsman to ever live, found himself more often than not ‘pon the decks of ships, fighting off wave after wave of brigands, buccaneers and raiders. While many were monstrous in their deeds, none held the distinction of brute physicality my current foe possessed.

What of the twelfth? Certainly, he might have faced such a foe! If not him, then possibly the Eleventh or Tenth?

ROOOAAAAARRRRR!!

The dull pain in my skull reverberated with every bellow from the beast. The power of his latest spoke volumes to me: he was much closer than before.

The throbbing made concentrating far more difficult than I had ever experienced. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…‘pon the decks of ships, fighting off wave after wave of brigands, buccaneers and raiders. While many were monstrous in their deeds, none held the distinction of brute physicality my current foe possessed.

What of the twelfth? Certainly, he might have faced such a foe! If not him, then possibly the Eleventh or Tenth?

ROOOAAAAARRRRR!!

The dull pain in my skull reverberated with every bellow from the beast. The power of his latest spoke volumes to me: he was much closer than before.

The throbbing made concentrating far more difficult than I had ever experienced. Perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…’d lost more blood than I’d first guessed?

Regardless, I was unable to deftly finger through the memories of my ancestor’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer…’s tales with any clarity or function. It seemed a fore drawn conclusion that my end would come before I had discovered that one memory that scratched at my mind like a loose tooth.

Blurry thoughts, half-remembered imaginings and jumbled word pictures fought for control of my mind, each vying to take control from the true master of the moment: pain. If I could just put aside the anguish long enough to concentrate, I would solve this riddle of remembering and know how my ancestor had felled the beast that stalked him on that far away night. But, I was no longer the ruler of my own mind and because of that, thoughts I could not control shot through bringing with them a dream like haze of twisted musings and smoky visions.

At that moment, I realized I must gather my wits and honor my legacy. No Phantom would simply wait for death to slink upon him, with slathering jaws and hot breath, rank with the smell of decaying meat.

NO!

Those men who regaled me with their escapades as a child were not the timid variety. They would rise to the occasion and face their foe, staring right into the maw of their own destruction with little more than a wry smile and fierce determination to give their best, even if the odds were insurmountable.

With that thought in mind, I firmly planted my right fist in the ground, and by sheer force of will, gathered my legs beneath me and pushed myself erect.

There I stood, ready to do battle as the thirteen who had come before me would have done. I could no more dishonor their memory than they could do so to those who preceded them. Nevertheless, if I were to rest a moment longer……

NO!

I was Phantom! I would stand my ground and face the beast with all the fury I could summon from within my soul. This would not be the day that my blood ran out. This would not be the day that issued the age-old cry “The Phantom is dead, long live the Phantom!”

And there I stood, trembling from pain and exhaustion, light headed from blood loss and hunger, battered by the beast who seemingly had slunk up from the very pits of hell. Ready to die, as many had at the claws of this monster. But, I would not falter.

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!

As the thundering sound shook the earth underneath me yet again, I raised my Father’s sword, ready to do battle with the beast. He had bested me before, but this time he would learn that even a mighty predator such as himself stood no chance against The Man Who Cannot Die!

It was then I heard something else in the night. At first, my mind went wild, as if I’d just regained my hearing from a spell of deafness. What was that sound I heard? It was familiar, somehow, reminding me of a more peaceful place, and a time of solace.

Plap! Plap!

The sound had a rhythmic sense to it and in that rhythm was a serene peace brought on from a faint memory. What was it? Where had I heard that sound before?

My mind faded into reverie for the briefest of moments. There she was, standing in all her beauty alongside the brook that ran behind the Skull Cave. The mother of my child, the love of my life… My nostrils involuntarily flared as I took in the scent of her who owned the heart that beat within my chest.

Plap! Plap!

A voice in my head urged me to look around for the source of that sound, but I could not take my eyes off her fine, chiseled features, like that of a porcelain doll. I drank in her beauty as I had every time I’d set eyes upon her since the moment we first met. To this day, she was still able to steal my breath away. Her fair ivory skin, smoldering blue eyes, long silken black hair-

Plap! Plap!

There it was again, the rhythm had become annoying, like a fly who evades every attempt to shoo him off. Yet, that sound prevented me from focusing solely on the vision of my bride. My eyes fell away for the briefest of moments and alighted upon a drop, falling rhythmically from a leaf near the brook, splashing ever so gently on a river rock below.

Plap! Plap!

My gaze once again rose to her face, but something was not right. A painful darkness clouded her features and her mouth voiced silent words as she extended her alabaster arm, gesturing ever so gently with her finger in the direction of my feet.

The pulse in my veins jumped at the sight of her anguished visage. Then my eyes followed her motion as the lines between memory and reality blurred. I looked down, and there it was, the source of the sound. On the ground between the roots of that ancient tree. There, on my left boot.

Plap! Plap!

A crimson puddle that seemed almost tranquil at first, before it was violently interrupted-

Plap!

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!mon from within my soul. This would not be the day that my blood ran out. This would not be the day that issued the age-old cry

NO!

I was Phantom! I would stand my ground and face the beast with all the fury I could summon from within my soul. This would not be the day that my blood ran out. This would not be the day that issued the age-old cry “The Phantom is dead, long live the Phantom!”

And there I stood, trembling from pain and exhaustion, light headed from blood loss and hunger, battered by the beast who seemingly had slunk up from the very pits of hell. Ready to die, as many had at the claws of this monster. But, I would not falter.

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!

As the thundering sound shook the earth underneath me yet again, I raised my Father’s sword, ready to do battle with the beast. He had bested me before, but this time he would learn that even a mighty predator such as himself stood no chance against The Man Who Cannot Die!

It was then I heard something else in the night. At first, my mind went wild, as if I’d just regained my hearing from a spell of deafness. What was that sound I heard? It was familiar, somehow, reminding me of a more peaceful place, and a time of solace.

Plap! Plap!

The sound had a rhythmic sense to it and in that rhythm was a serene peace brought on from a faint memory. What was it? Where had I heard that sound before?

My mind faded into reverie for the briefest of moments. There she was, standing in all her beauty alongside the brook that ran behind the Skull Cave. The mother of my child, the love of my life… My nostrils involuntarily flared as I took in the scent of her who owned the heart that beat within my chest.

Plap! Plap!

A voice in my head urged me to look around for the source of that sound, but I could not take my eyes off her fine, chiseled features, like that of a porcelain doll. I drank in her beauty as I had every time I’d set eyes upon her since the moment we first met. To this day, she was still able to steal my breath away. Her fair ivory skin, smoldering blue eyes, long silken black hair-

Plap! Plap!

There it was again, the rhythm had become annoying, like a fly who evades every attempt to shoo him off. Yet, that sound prevented me from focusing solely on the vision of my bride. My eyes fell away for the briefest of moments and alighted upon a drop, falling rhythmically from a leaf near the brook, splashing ever so gently on a river rock below.

Plap! Plap!

My gaze once again rose to her face, but something was not right. A painful darkness clouded her features and her mouth voiced silent words as she extended her alabaster arm, gesturing ever so gently with her finger in the direction of my feet.

The pulse in my veins jumped at the sight of her anguished visage. Then my eyes followed her motion as the lines between memory and reality blurred. I looked down, and there it was, the source of the sound. On the ground between the roots of that ancient tree. There, on my left boot.

Plap! Plap!

A crimson puddle that seemed almost tranquil at first, before it was violently interrupted-

Plap!

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!mon from within my soul. This would not be the day that my blood ran out. This would not be the day that issued the age-old cry “The Phantom is dead, long live the Phantom!”

And there I stood, trembling from pain and exhaustion, light headed from blood loss and hunger, battered by the beast who seemingly had slunk up from the very pits of hell. Ready to die, as many had at the claws of this monster. But, I would not falter.

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!

As the thundering sound shook the earth underneath me yet again, I raised my Father’s sword, ready to do battle with the beast. He had bested me before, but this time he would learn that even a mighty predator such as himself stood no chance against The Man Who Cannot Die!

It was then I heard something else in the night. At first, my mind went wild, as if I’d just regained my hearing from a spell of deafness. What was that sound I heard? It was familiar, somehow, reminding me of a more peaceful place, and a time of solace.

Plap! Plap!

The sound had a rhythmic sense to it and in that rhythm was a serene peace brought on from a faint memory. What was it? Where had I heard that sound before?

My mind faded into reverie for the briefest of moments. There she was, standing in all her beauty alongside the brook that ran behind the Skull Cave. The mother of my child, the love of my life… My nostrils involuntarily flared as I took in the scent of her who owned the heart that beat within my chest.

Plap! Plap!

A voice in my head urged me to look around for the source of that sound, but I could not take my eyes off her fine, chiseled features, like that of a porcelain doll. I drank in her beauty as I had every time I’d set eyes upon her since the moment we first met. To this day, she was still able to steal my breath away. Her fair ivory skin, smoldering blue eyes, long silken black hair-

Plap! Plap!

There it was again, the rhythm had become annoying, like a fly who evades every attempt to shoo him off. Yet, that sound prevented me from focusing solely on the vision of my bride. My eyes fell away for the briefest of moments and alighted upon a drop, falling rhythmically from a leaf near the brook, splashing ever so gently on a river rock below.

Plap! Plap!

My gaze once again rose to her face, but something was not right. A painful darkness clouded her features and her mouth voiced silent words as she extended her alabaster arm, gesturing ever so gently with her finger in the direction of my feet.

The pulse in my veins jumped at the sight of her anguished visage. Then my eyes followed her motion as the lines between memory and reality blurred. I looked down, and there it was, the source of the sound. On the ground between the roots of that ancient tree. There, on my left boot.

Plap! Plap!

A crimson puddle that seemed almost tranquil at first, before it was violently interrupted-

Plap!

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!’s sword, ready to do battle with the beast. He had bested me before, but this time he would learn that even a mighty predator such as himself stood no chance against The Man Who Cannot Die!

It was then I heard something else in the night. At first, my mind went wild, as if I’d just regained my hearing from a spell of deafness. What was that sound I heard? It was familiar, somehow, reminding me of a more peaceful place, and a time of solace.

Plap! Plap!

The sound had a rhythmic sense to it and in that rhythm was a serene peace brought on from a faint memory. What was it? Where had I heard that sound before?

My mind faded into reverie for the briefest of moments. There she was, standing in all her beauty alongside the brook that ran behind the Skull Cave. The mother of my child, the love of my life… My nostrils involuntarily flared as I took in the scent of her who owned the heart that beat within my chest.

Plap! Plap!

A voice in my head urged me to look around for the source of that sound, but I could not take my eyes off her fine, chiseled features, like that of a porcelain doll. I drank in her beauty as I had every time I’d set eyes upon her since the moment we first met. To this day, she was still able to steal my breath away. Her fair ivory skin, smoldering blue eyes, long silken black hair-

Plap! Plap!

There it was again, the rhythm had become annoying, like a fly who evades every attempt to shoo him off. Yet, that sound prevented me from focusing solely on the vision of my bride. My eyes fell away for the briefest of moments and alighted upon a drop, falling rhythmically from a leaf near the brook, splashing ever so gently on a river rock below.

Plap! Plap!

My gaze once again rose to her face, but something was not right. A painful darkness clouded her features and her mouth voiced silent words as she extended her alabaster arm, gesturing ever so gently with her finger in the direction of my feet.

The pulse in my veins jumped at the sight of her anguished visage. Then my eyes followed her motion as the lines between memory and reality blurred. I looked down, and there it was, the source of the sound. On the ground between the roots of that ancient tree. There, on my left boot.

Plap! Plap!

A crimson puddle that seemed almost tranquil at first, before it was violently interrupted-

Plap!

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!’d just regained my hearing from a spell of deafness. What was that sound I heard? It was familiar, somehow, reminding me of a more peaceful place, and a time of solace.

Plap! Plap!

The sound had a rhythmic sense to it and in that rhythm was a serene peace brought on from a faint memory. What was it? Where had I heard that sound before?

My mind faded into reverie for the briefest of moments. There she was, standing in all her beauty alongside the brook that ran behind the Skull Cave. The mother of my child, the love of my life… My nostrils involuntarily flared as I took in the scent of her who owned the heart that beat within my chest.

Plap! Plap!

A voice in my head urged me to look around for the source of that sound, but I could not take my eyes off her fine, chiseled features, like that of a porcelain doll. I drank in her beauty as I had every time I’d set eyes upon her since the moment we first met. To this day, she was still able to steal my breath away. Her fair ivory skin, smoldering blue eyes, long silken black hair-

Plap! Plap!

There it was again, the rhythm had become annoying, like a fly who evades every attempt to shoo him off. Yet, that sound prevented me from focusing solely on the vision of my bride. My eyes fell away for the briefest of moments and alighted upon a drop, falling rhythmically from a leaf near the brook, splashing ever so gently on a river rock below.

Plap! Plap!

My gaze once again rose to her face, but something was not right. A painful darkness clouded her features and her mouth voiced silent words as she extended her alabaster arm, gesturing ever so gently with her finger in the direction of my feet.

The pulse in my veins jumped at the sight of her anguished visage. Then my eyes followed her motion as the lines between memory and reality blurred. I looked down, and there it was, the source of the sound. On the ground between the roots of that ancient tree. There, on my left boot.

Plap! Plap!

A crimson puddle that seemed almost tranquil at first, before it was violently interrupted-

Plap!

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!… My nostrils involuntarily flared as I took in the scent of her who owned the heart that beat within my chest.

Plap! Plap!

A voice in my head urged me to look around for the source of that sound, but I could not take my eyes off her fine, chiseled features, like that of a porcelain doll. I drank in her beauty as I had every time I’d set eyes upon her since the moment we first met. To this day, she was still able to steal my breath away. Her fair ivory skin, smoldering blue eyes, long silken black hair-

Plap! Plap!

There it was again, the rhythm had become annoying, like a fly who evades every attempt to shoo him off. Yet, that sound prevented me from focusing solely on the vision of my bride. My eyes fell away for the briefest of moments and alighted upon a drop, falling rhythmically from a leaf near the brook, splashing ever so gently on a river rock below.

Plap! Plap!

My gaze once again rose to her face, but something was not right. A painful darkness clouded her features and her mouth voiced silent words as she extended her alabaster arm, gesturing ever so gently with her finger in the direction of my feet.

The pulse in my veins jumped at the sight of her anguished visage. Then my eyes followed her motion as the lines between memory and reality blurred. I looked down, and there it was, the source of the sound. On the ground between the roots of that ancient tree. There, on my left boot.

Plap! Plap!

A crimson puddle that seemed almost tranquil at first, before it was violently interrupted-

Plap!

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!’d set eyes upon her since the moment we first met. To this day, she was still able to steal my breath away. Her fair ivory skin, smoldering blue eyes, long silken black hair-

Plap! Plap!

There it was again, the rhythm had become annoying, like a fly who evades every attempt to shoo him off. Yet, that sound prevented me from focusing solely on the vision of my bride. My eyes fell away for the briefest of moments and alighted upon a drop, falling rhythmically from a leaf near the brook, splashing ever so gently on a river rock below.

Plap! Plap!

My gaze once again rose to her face, but something was not right. A painful darkness clouded her features and her mouth voiced silent words as she extended her alabaster arm, gesturing ever so gently with her finger in the direction of my feet.

The pulse in my veins jumped at the sight of her anguished visage. Then my eyes followed her motion as the lines between memory and reality blurred. I looked down, and there it was, the source of the sound. On the ground between the roots of that ancient tree. There, on my left boot.

Plap! Plap!

A crimson puddle that seemed almost tranquil at first, before it was violently interrupted-

Plap!

ROOOOOAAAAARRRR!