Meda had decided on a course of action. First, figure out the competition. It would very likely have to fight and kill soon, very soon. So, knowing the challenges it would face in advance would help greatly. Along with its shattered memories and special mutation, the amount of advantages it could gain over its peers would be massive. And if Meda could find and complete enough hidden Goals? Well, that would just snowball its strength even further. And the faster it got stronger, the faster that the Hated would feel the burn of PAIN.
Second, figure out how to catch a flying thing. Its body was a slow, unwieldy, and quite noticeable blob. The flying things, which it had spotted once or twice in its dash into the trees, were small, fast, and stealthy. Unless one was actively flying or releasing one of its screeching calls, they were hard to spot with its omnidirectional vision. It was all around Meda, but the quality of the vision was lacking. It wanted the wind, and the shards of memory agreed.
Finally, discover if the Hated had any presence in this place. If so, they either needed to be hidden from or killed. If the latter was an option, slow and painful would be best.
The elemental had made its plan, reluctantly leaving the root hollow and squirming up the side of the valley. It was an arduous ordeal, as the dirt and gravel making up the walls were very loose. But after falling more times than it preferred to count and displacing enough of the wall to carve a shallow furrow up the valley, it reached the top. And at the top, it saw a killing field.
At first, the scene was idyllic. The valley broke through on top of a hill, so Meda was surveying the grassland from a good vantage point. A tree poked through here and there, but they were far rarer than in the valley. Bright red grass billowed in the wind, rippling as if it were a sea beget with tumultuous waves. Rocks, bleached almost white in the sun, broke the sea of vegetation like ships defying a stormy ocean.
Until one realized that the grass was supposed to be green. So much blood had been spilled that the whole field had been dyed crimson. And that those cracked boulders were not stone at all, but piles of picked-clean bone, left in piles after massacres as if they were nothing but dirty dishes. The closest tree to the hill had the corpse of a wolf-like creature, likely a Beast, impaled clean through the side by a branch. It was hanging like a festive ornament, slowly dying as the branch stemmed the flow of blood.
And then there were the battles still going on.
A pillar of flame, what could only be a Fire Elemental, wove over the grass. It sprouted from a jagged blue crystal, its own Core, from which came legs and grasping talons of fire. The crackling of the flames rose and fell like laughter, peaking in volume as it embraced an ice Construct with burning-hot arms. The creature could only struggle weakly as it slowly melted to death, its spells doing nothing but prolonging its demise.
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An ethereal silhouette of white mana, a Spirit, apathetically dueled with a Swarm of wasps, explosions of magical force keeping the bugs at bay. Even when a cloud of bugs made its way to the creature, they simply passed through it, having no magical forms of damage at all. To the Spirit, it was less harmful than an itch. The Swarm tried to flee, but a bubble of white mana surrounded all the survivors. The spirit spread its arms, and then slowly brought them together to clasp its hands. As it did, the bubble shrunk as well, until all that remained was an apple-sized ball of pressurized bug guts.
A sizable reptilian Monster charged at a Water Elemental, sparks leaking from its mouth and dancing along its blue and gold scales. A Myth, specialized in lightning. The mass of flowing water tried to slap the charging predator away, but the moment its body hit the scales a great cloud of steam went up into the air. As the battle progressed, all the Myth had to do was touch the Elemental and more of its foe would evaporate. Eventually, it lost too much water to support its Core, and the crystal fell to the ground with a final *crack.
Atop one of the bone piles, another massacre took place.
An Undead, one of the Hated holding a rusted spear, charged at the thing atop the pile. It was suddenly encased in red light and shot forward with savage might. Likely some sort of benefit from the Class System. Its strength had skyrocketed, as visible by the bones flying down the pile from its steps. It reached the top and leaped past even that. It turned in the air, pointed its spear downward, and fell with all its might and weight. It was turned into nothing but a red mist by a single disinterested swipe of the Horror's hand.
Beasts ran up the pile in droves, accompanied by the occasional Construct or Myth. Most were similarly disposed of with the power of a single strike, but some, those that had to be at least Tier 2 or 3, made it up. They died too, but they usually got at least one or two hits in beforehand. The Horror would very likely die on that pillar, but it would take dozens of other Monsters down with it. The power that it had received in exchange for its mind was immense.
The field shook. Another Spirit rose above the field, this one glowing a radiant silver. The Horror looked at it with savage glee, and lept from its bone pile with enough force to turn a good amount of the remains to powder. The Spirit sent a veritable barrage of spells at the thing, and though they broke off great chunks of the unnatural Monster, it still wasn't enough. The Horror reached the air where the Spirit hovered and, its hand covered in dark magic, ripped the challenger in half.
The two halves of the Spirit's remains pulsed, and even from the hill, Meda could feel the pure magical pressure coming off them. It built and built as all the mana that had made up the formidable monster gathered, and then exploded. A flash shook the field, and a shockwave soon followed.
Meda was sent crashing back down into the valley, its gelatinous body barely managing to cushion its fall. trees groaned and fell, and the peace of the forest was shattered.
Next to it, right next to a fallen tree, there lay the broken remains of a nest. In it, a bird huddled, with both its left leg and wing stuck at angles that should not be possible. Its Evolution Goal, served to it on a silver platter. Or rather, served to it on top of the head of broken and beaten but still alive Horror, positioned as if it were a hat.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.