It approached. Well, as much as the end can be said to approach, as opposed to us approaching it. The great beast, that stalking horse of the apocalypse, with massive paws that looked like human hands, a lion's head with a mane of fire, and the body of a wolf.
The great hunter Talianto was selected from all people to confront this end. Of all people her spear flew the straightest, her blade cut sharpest and cleanest. If there was any hope of defeating such a monstrosity, of doomsday that moved in shadow and swished a spiked tail clearing all behind it, it was Talianto.
She kissed her husband, and nuzzled the child that he held. Surely this would be a hunt from which she would not return. For even if she could pierce the lightning heart of the beast, he would tear her to pieces, her lifeblood would mix with the dying beast, and in many years a new terror would birth from it.
It was the way of things.
The beast roared like crashing rocks, like the end of the world should sound. It sounded like nothing at all, a terrifying void in the world. Talianto carried her spear, her knapped flint knife, and stones. She picked up the spoor at the edge of the forest, shadowy bite marks left in the trees. She tracked it for days, not eating, not sleeping.
When she met the beast in the forest, in a clearing where the sun brought dewy ferns out of the ground, the great beast was feasting upon some poor animal. Gore dripped from its mouth, and Talianto threw her spear. It bounced off the beast, and the beast turned. Talinato thurst...
and the story ends there. Or does not, for there is still the story.