The teak forest shook as Buto Ijo walked. He was a giant, green-skinned and tusked, with an appetite for human flesh and a temper to match. He carried a jagged club, the Gada Ijo, which was essentially a tree trunk dipped in iron.
Above the canopy, a screech pierced the air. Gale Wail.
A Harpy, blown far off course from the Mediterranean, saw the giant. To her, big target meant easy prey. She was half-woman, half-vulture, and all hunger.
The Buzzing
The Harpy folded her wings and dove. Sky-Snatch.
She was a blur of dirty feathers and bronze talons. She raked Buto Ijo’s shoulder as she passed, leaving deep red furrows in his green hide.
buto Ijo roared, swatting at the air. "Mosquito!"
The Harpy turned tightly, using the trees for cover. She swooped again, aiming for the giant's eyes. She pecked his forehead, drawing blood, and flapped away before his massive hand could close around her.
She cackled. He was slow. She was the wind.
The Grand Slam
Buto Ijo stopped swatting. He stood still. He wiped the blood from his brow and gripped his club with both hands.
"Come back," he grumbled.
The Harpy, emboldened by his stillness, went for the kill. She dove straight down, talons extended for the throat.
Buto Ijo didn't look up. He listened to the whistle of the wind.
At the last second, he pivoted. Earthrend Pivot.
He swung the Gada Ijo with the force of a collapsing building. It wasn't a precise strike; it was a wall of wood and iron moving through the space the Harpy tried to occupy.
CRACK.
The sound echoed for miles. The Harpy didn't just break; she shattered. Feathers exploded like a pillow fight in a hurricane. Her crumpled form was launched horizontally, crashing through three distinct banyan trees before coming to a rest.
Buto Ijo shouldered his club. "Too crunchy," he decided, and kept walking.