Sergei flinched: one moment he was facing the Deinocornus and the next, he was flat on his back, the wind knocked hard from his lungs, claws raking into his flanks with the weight behind them of a beast that weighed over a thousand pounds. His arm came up, head twisting aside, in an attempt to block those massive jaws from closing on anything vital.

Agony wrenched through him as fangs punctured flesh, gripping down and crushing his left forelimb. His own cry echoed the wail the Deinocornus had made earlier: half-roar, half-agony, ringing through the jungle.

The creature felt flesh and bone in its mouth. It tasted blood, and savagery overrode it.

It bit down, jerked back, and thrashed, trying to destroy whatever it had managed to seize.

Agony spiked through his forelimb, white-hot enough to block all else from his mind. Flesh was torn from bone, and that bone itself--he heard a crack, like the breaking of a branch.

Pain and then a strange, numb tingling roared through that limb.

Panic struck him. He roared again, a pained sound, and struck hard and viciously with his right limb, aiming claws for the side of the Deinocornus's neck. He attempted to rip straight through that hide, tearing downward, severing veins and arteries--no longer thinking of a gemstone, but saving his own life.

Claws ripped through flesh, though perhaps not as deeply or as cleanly as Sergei would have liked.

At last the Deinocornus flinched away, leaping backward and shaking its head with rapid blinks. Blood poured from its neck, on its left side--Sergei's right--and it hesitated a moment while blinking small, distressed blue eyes at him.

Then it turned, careening off into the underbrush, fleeing in a one-animal stampede.

This would be a kill, but not the instant one Sergei had hoped for: instead it would flee, bleeding out over several minutes.

Sergei would need to follow the blood trail... and hope nothing else decided to follow it, too, given his now-broken forelimb.

Panting, bleeding from multiple wounds--none life-threatening, but all painful--Sergei pushed up from the blood-matted leaf litter. He cradled his wounded left arm with his right, feeling the strange and horrible sensation of cracked, grinding bone.

He looked around, and spotted his spear some distance off, in the underbrush; only the faintest gleam of blue tipped him off. He plodded quickly over, hefting it in his good hand--leaving the other to dangle painfully--and set off into the underbrush.

He hesitated only for a moment, before plunging into its shadows.

The Deinocornus had moved quickly, and collapsed about two hundred yards off. The trail ran straight uphill, the blood visible in spatters along leaves and trailed thinly along the dirt below.

Then it ran over the crest of a hill, and downhill; Sergei would find a freshly flattened area just beneath the crest where the Deinocornus had fallen and skidded. It had then picked itself back up, and collapsed just beyond; he'd find it breathing a final few rasping breaths, no longer aware of its surroundings.

Despite his efforts, Sergei would find that this creature bore no gemstone to take... and now he was left with a broken arm, and the fresh scent of blood.

His discovery of the dying Deinocornus--after a panting, stumbling pursuit through the undergrowth--was followed with dismay. After it had died, he carved it to pieces in a hunt for a stone, and found nothing.

He gave up, after a time. He set his spear aside and collected some vines with his good hand, using snout and hand to clumsily tie a branch to the broken bone as best he could. It wasn't a real splint; it wasn't even good, but when he looped it around his neck, at least the forelimb was no longer flopping loosely.

Sergei slid down, sitting beside the dead beast. He laid his spear in his lap and then set about eating the creature. He was an omnivore, after all, and always hungry; there was no point in letting this creature's meat go to waste.

All the while he kept a wary eye out for any other carnivores, or scavengers, that might make themselves known. He debated a deliberate trap, or bait. He doubted he could fight another one of these, and survive, not with a broken arm. Maybe not even with an unbroken set of arms.

He had little time to think it over.

Attracted perhaps by the sounds of battle, and certainly the scent of blood, the eight-foot-tall monstrosity that appeared before him now was keenly focused on murder.

A six-eyed head appeared in the foliage, its ragged beak parting in a snarl; cobalt feathers flashed with warning lights and then it charged, hissing horribly. Scythelike forelimbs spread wide, and its raptor run took it straight for the sitting barbearian. Ripclaws killed any predators that encroached on their territory--or they died trying. And with one good arm, it wasn't likely Sergei's would be a case of "dying trying."

He'd been more than aware of this possibility. With jaws stained by the blood of his meal, and his spear in his lap, he had only seconds to react but he'd been ready.

His beady eyes snapped wide, though: this creature, while not as heavy as a Deinocornus, was tall and instantly vicious. He barely had time to register the sword-like claws before it was nearly on him. He snatched up his spear and turned, bracing the butt to the ground and angling it to impale his attacker.

Regardless of whether he managed this--to thrust the spear right through it in a desperate act--he was still struck an instant later by those sword-like claws. He felt them rake through flesh, tearing through his chest, his arms, ripping apart the vines he'd wound so carefully around the one. He tipped backward, wheezing, and twisted the spear as best he could with a single arm, then kicked out with both his feet to try and force the monster back.

Had it come down to claws and fangs, Sergei would have likely died--or at the very least been forced back into his chrysalis. But crafted weapons evened a playing field admirably, and this Ripclaw was impaled upon Sergei's. It seemed surprised, angry, a horrific screeching squawk escaping it.

Yanking itself backward freed it, or maybe yanked Sergei's spear from his hands, but either way blood cascaded down in sheets and it staggered.

A moment's hesitation and it rushed him again, slashing wildly before collapsing. It landed atop him, heavy and difficult to move, its blood pouring down over his legs.

Death throes slammed him, tearing this way and that before limpness overcame it.

Sergei would find, to his likely deep dismay, that despite this second life-and-death battle, the Ripclaw also had no gemstone.