Foilage and the canopy of trees covered the swamp floor from the sun's wrath. Brambling branches jagged and gnarled the ground, as a rank gaseous cloud simmered in the humidity overhead. A deep and dark crowd of rickety trees stands, arms linked for miles in a silent choir. The trees stood tall and looming, the sentinels of the Fen. Their grossly disfigured hands stretched in attempt to reach the sky, swaying their derelict fingers to the bleak skies up above. A breeze began to sift between trunks, carrying the sickly stink of wood rot. A bayou barely flows, being stagnant and boggy. Mosquitos', moths', and lord knows what other bugs' buzz is deafening in the hot, sticky air. The swamp is dark and foreboding, grown with great gloomy pines and hemlocks. The trees rot in the swamp, looking like alligators sleeping in the mire. The swamp is chalk full of pits, quagmires, weeds, moss, slime, mud, rotting trees, and stagnant pools of water. 

A figure, who was large, at least 8 and a half feet, tread carefully, like a cat, along the prostrate trees. His muscles were like mountains, defined and bulging, striating his massive frame. He was beefy and barrel chested, bullnecked and brawny. A giant broad copper-colored armor sat atop his thickset body. A silvery grey bandana and a tall and large cowboy hat that sunk over his eyes covered up his face, with a blue electric eye piercing the obscurity of the face. Two abnormally large revolvers rest at the hulkering beast's sides, bouncing along with his step. He took in his surroundings shrewdly, his posture calm and erudite, exuding confidence. Suddenly the colossal cowboy stopped in his tracks, crouching in front of a massive claw print in the mud. The print was set deep in the mud, exhibiting a very heavy creature had left it behind. He suspected that these were the tracks of the supposed "Thunder Beast" he was supposed to kill. Nearby villagers had sent many a demon hunters after this beast; all had failed. But then again, Hephaestus was no average "demon hunter." It was time to fight fire with fire, monster with monster. Because that's what Hephaestus really was: a monster. 

Hephaestus approached a slothful and idle river, accompanied by a runty bridge. The wood rasped and groaned under Hephaestus' boots, and he was surprised the rickety little bridge even held his monstrous weight. Suddenly their was a large crashing sound, and Hephaestus bounded off of the bridge onto solid ground just as it splintered away behind him. He took in his new surroundings, quickly flipping on his thermal vision trying to identify any immediate threats. That's when he saw the large creature hanging from the branch above, glowing a burning red in his thermal sights. An admirable foe indeed. Hephaestus tensed and readied himself, wondering what the beast would do next.