Monica was always interested in many things. Every day she found something new, something complicated, or something strange. She would often spend time trying to understand these things on her own, but sometimes there was clearly more to the discovery, and she would have to bring it to someone else to ask about it.
Once, during one of her little games of sneaking up on Eva, she found a box that clicked. It was an annoying box because it didn’t stop clicking, even when Monica lifted it up and looked at it more closely. The insides were all metal, and each piece moved on its own, spinning at different speeds but never stopping… well, until Monica killed it by accident.
Bringing it to Rick, he told her she'd broken a “clock,” something meant to measure time.
Like always, Rick managed to make something simple too complicated. He talked about how time wasn’t the same everywhere, that sometimes it could move faster or slower depending on many things. Her mate was very smart in many things, but this was not one of them; he kept insisting that the only way to make time change was to go faster or be near very big things.
Monica clearly knew more about this because, unlike Rick, she’d seen time go slower and faster. When she was around her human, everything moved so quickly Monica would sometimes wish she could pull on it all to enjoy it more.
And sometimes, time would just stop.
Looking at the empty spot where Rick had been, this was one of those times.
Nothing moved, nothing but Monica’s thoughts. She couldn’t twitch or blink; her own heart squeezed tightly, lungs empty. She couldn’t even move her eyes away from the empty spot, minute bits of dirt suspended mid-air.
It was unpleasant.
Four of the Silent Deaths were pinning her arm with knives; even this close, Monica could not smell them, could not sense their energy, and she knew that even if time came back to normal, she would not be able to hear their heartbeats nor their breathing. They were nothing; they killed without existing, always sudden, right when you let out a sigh and relaxed.
Monica should’ve known better. Monica shouldn’t have relaxed.
Now Rick was gone.
Rick was gone.
Monica glared harder, willing time to return to her.
Specks of dirt rained down from the shields the tribe held above them. Her teeth clenched tightly, pain from the multiple stabs burning their way up her shoulder, free claw inching forward. While her eyes shifted toward her target, the Silent Death in question was also moving, releasing the dagger and pulling away.
A second dagger rose from her prey’s belt, slowly rising toward the approaching claw. Monica didn’t flinch even as the metal cut deep and down her arm right as she found her grip on the head.
A grip that failed; fingers abruptly no longer able to squeeze, tendons torn and muscles failing. Monica didn’t slow, leaning forward, mouth opening as she inhaled, willing the prey closer. Her fangs met flesh and she bit down, warm blood spraying around her as she tore the maiden’s throat out.
The world was returning to normal speed.
Left claw flung wildly at anything within reach as knives yanked and tore through her. Her tail trailed behind her and, like a rope with a rock at the end, whipped around the head of another. At the same time, Monica took a step forward, twisting her whole body, adding momentum and yanking on her tail. With a crack, the second Silent Death’s head spun until it was facing backward.
Another of the Silent Deaths vanished. Monica could feel the power in another of them, so she roared, throwing darkness to keep them grounded.
More knives, something cold sank into her gut, becoming hot. Monica spun to smash her face against the mask, shattering it and revealing a face wrapped in bandages. She tried to close in to finish her off, but a punch threw Monica’s head back. With the half-step, she kicked at her, making sure to dig in her claws as she ripped downward, tearing at her chest.
Then she was gone, leaving Monica’s foot against empty air.
Everything was speeding up, fire crawling up both her arms and spreading from her gut. Monica felt danger and dropped flat against the ground as a hand had nearly managed to grasp her head. With a thrust of her tail and legs, she leapt up face-first at the attacker, biting down and ripping the arm off, knocking her back against Urtha and shoving darkness at them before they could escape too.
The Orc gripped the maiden's head and began to pummel her with her fists, completely ignoring the free arm that kept stabbing at her. And right at the same time, another of the Silent Deaths vanished.
Another twinge of danger and Monica kicked backward without thought, thrusting with the whole of her weight. She hit only air, but several cold slashes followed her movement, ripping at her ankle and trailing up to her thigh, looking for where it would bleed the most. Monica didn't hesitate to leap back with her good leg; her tail thumped against the ground to give her the balance her injured limb no longer provided as she swung her elbow. The Silent Death didn't block; instead, they punched the incoming attack directly, thinking they had enough strength to stop it.
They were wrong.
Their fist shattered against Monica's bone, and she pulled her arm back just enough to throw the attack again. Too quick to be stopped, this time she smashed against their skull, a severe crack following suit right as Monica lunged after the stunned enemy. They collapsed to the ground, and the Silent Death struggled with their free arm, kicking and kneeing Monica at the same time.
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Monica just kept hammering at their head with her elbows, darkness welling around her as she kept her prey from escaping, her claws otherwise limp and useless. Over and over until she felt the skull cave in and all struggling stop.
No, not just the struggling, everything stopped. The hammering rain of not-spears had stopped. The movements of the Silent Deaths had stopped. Monica was left straddling her victim, breathing hard, and bleeding profusely, her fur dyed red.
She tried to stand but found all but her left leg and tail failed her.
Looking down, everything was bleeding. Usually, she didn't bleed for this long; injuries tended to... ah, it was the fire, the fire thing that burned inside. It was a familiar feeling, from the prey with many legs.
Rick was gone.
Gritting her teeth, she used her tail for support as she rose to stand as best she could. With heavy breaths, Monica glanced up in the direction she could sense Rick.
"Monica first, the blades were poisoned," someone said. Monica's head wasn't doing too well. Everything was too hot, burning.
Rick was gone.
Dia’s soothing touch reached her leg, and wounds began to close. The heat began to die down, but it was slow. Dia was fighting the fire inside Monica, and Monica just stayed there, letting her, trying to think.
"We’ll get him back," Dia said. "Just like last time."
Rick was gone.
Monica knew where they were taking him, but she knew she wouldn't be able to get to him in time, not like this. The place none could leave, the place where death took you before you realized. The one place Monica could not reach.
The land of Silent Death.
Everything was spinning slightly; Monica’s legs didn’t have the strength to stay standing, so she fell back to her knees, eyes fixed on the direction Rick was being taken. Maybe… maybe she could catch up. If Dia kept healing her, then maybe she'd make it in time. It would be a day of pushing herself hard, maybe two, but if she made it before... before...
A thump turned her attention to the side, Dia had collapsed, breathing hard, pale and shaking.
"Shit, Spikes!" Urtha rushed to her side, quickly picking her up and glancing at Monica. At the still bleeding Monica. "Did she-"
"Something in the wounds makes them harder to heal. Not a poison, but my energy just doesn’t..." She groaned, rubbing her head. "It took ten times more energy than it should have just to get her stable."
"Tarantella poison? Or perhaps their webbing in a dust form?" Eva was concerned, looking at Monica with a deep frown. "It naturally disperses elemental energy, makes it hard to control your powers when you touch it. Casting a spell would be straight-up out of the question. It's also incredibly useful to block scrying."
"If she's stable, we should focus on..."
Monica stopped paying attention, eyes fixed on the ground, fighting against the burning inside. Breathing was hard, moving was hard; she knew the feeling, even if she didn’t remember it properly. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, holding it in, following her instinct.
The wrongness was all within her, burning whatever it touched. It wouldn’t kill her, there wasn’t enough, but it made even moving painful. Focusing on her insides, Monica tried to remember.
It was fuzzy; memories from before Rick were hard to piece together. They often came to her through dreams or in little pieces. It made it easy for her to understand the big things, the longer things, but not the small ones. She knew she’d lived in a cave, that she hunted prey, but every time she tried to focus on any specific prey she’d hunted, things would be muddy.
This too was muddy, a feeling of fighting things that hid under the ground, that made holes and traps… Monica was fighting dirt. That was why it burned, because dirt in open wounds hurt. Maybe? She wasn’t sure Rick or Eva would agree she was thinking the right way, but it made sense to her, and that was what mattered. The burning was trying to make it harder to do things with her strength and her shadows.
Shadows weren't too good at breaking dirt, but strength was.
With a slow nod, Monica stopped trying to push out the burning using her darkness, and instead focused on making herself stronger. At first her body cramped, blood pumping harder, heart racing; Monica fought against moving, channeling that strength into her heart.
Bit by bit, the burning sensation was dying down. Her own body began to take over the healing process.
“She’s purging the poison,” Urtha’s voice called out.
“And exhausting herself. We’ll keep an eye on the Chieftess; doubt she’ll be in any condition to fight once she’s done,” Sheel said. “Go help Spikes.”
By the time the burning had died out, Monica was drenched in sweat, most of her injuries closed, and the feeling within herself was mostly one of exhaustion. Sheel helped her up to her feet and led her over to the large tree. Exhausted physically and mentally, she could only ask to sit down near the tree and slump against the wall. Every limb was as heavy as that time Rick had asked her to help move heavy stuff in his stink-den, if not more so.
What else could she do? Even with the tribe, they weren’t strong enough.
“I hope you’re not giving up on the Father,” Sheel looked down at her, hands on her hips and staring intently.
“Not giving up,” Monica said under her breath, sighing. “But… not strong enough.”
The fire-maiden was amused. “I’d say the exact same thing about the Father. He’s fragile like a twig, but he took over the tribe anyway.”
Though she agreed, Monica didn’t know how to think like Rick. She was smart, and smart at fighting, but Rick was smart at not-fighting. And right now they needed to fight, but no matter how hard she thought, there just wasn’t anything they could do to get to him.
“What do you think makes him strong?”
The question was an obvious one. Monica sighed as she looked at Sheel again. “Rick is strong of gut, of heart, and of head. But not of arms or claws.”
It was a different strength from Monica’s, and one he didn’t understand, not truly. A big heart couldn’t make death stop, a strong gut couldn’t make it kneel, and a full head might be useful, but not without claws. Rick wasn’t strong here where words didn’t matter, much like how Monica wasn’t strong underwater.
Sheel shook her head. “You can get stronger on your own, but the Father cannot, not in a meaningful way. His source of strength is external: the maidens that follow him, the tools he makes, the land he rules.”
Monica flinched, lowering her gaze. There were things she didn’t agree with, but she couldn’t completely deny the other maiden either. It was… frustrating. Very frustrating.
“If the tribe becomes stronger, then the Father becomes stronger.” She made a gesture at the open door. “That’s what Spear, Little Spear, and Spikes are doing right now. If we’re not strong enough to rescue the Father, then we just need to find more power.”
There wasn’t much else Monica could say to that, only frown and ponder.