Those thick vines wrapped around the back of the mansion had looked intimidating from afar, but not only could I squeeze myself through them with a pinch of effort—I could claw through one within seconds. And I didn’t even have to Swipe or Slash! Pride in my Attack Stat welled up in me as I growled and hyper-speed clawed at a vine.

Chora, meanwhile, was hunched over me, looking back and forth. Both of us could hear the magpies getting suspicious, then agitated, Now the beating of wings sounded out from seemingly every direction. When would they begin their all-out attack?

The answer, it turned out, was “right when we got through.” After half a minute, I’d finally made a big-enough vine tunnel for Chora to crawl through, and even found light on the other side. The magpies shouted out and struck, but a kick of wind pushed them away.

As I crawled forward, I wondered what we could do about that part of the flock. We’d have to plug this hole with a rock or somethi—oh, there was one. Actually a bunch of them.

We stepped out and took in the scene, along with a parade of rank smells. Chora helped me lift and shove a big rubble-rock in the hole, but she warned, “I think they’ll be back. They can peck through the vines.”

Oh. Yeah.

We knew we didn’t have too long to just stop and stare at the interior. In some ways, we wouldn’t have wanted to. Animals had made their homes here, and homes on top of those homes, for so many generations that the rotten remains of the old were heaped up under the new. Old broken pottery shards mixed indiscriminately with nuts and peelings…and bits of shiny things. Stolen treasure?

Although my Treasure Detector was oddly silent.

We were standing in a “room” with only fragments of its walls remaining. On what was still standing and not choked out by vines, precious few flakes of a fancy wallpaper clung on for dear life, and a portrait frame miraculously stayed up, though the painting hadn’t survived. Some kind of candle holder, or faucet, or bizarre fantasy-land ornament, stuck out near the corner, glinting in a spot of light.

The earth below was lumpy, but we could feel solid patches of concrete floor just centimeters below.

Chora kneeled beside the wall to pick something up—I watched—and then we were rudely interrupted by a wave of screaming magpies through a doorway.

And, aw no, they were ready. Like readier than anyone has ever been. They weren’t just glowing with their best magic, their bodies sending up white and orange flares. No, they also had their weapons out. Claws and beaks, for the most part, but also swords in the talons of a handful.

I guessed I never needed arms in the first place.

Chora, with a shout, windmilled her leg and blew a strong current through the flock. That whipped a solid line through, but nine-tenths of them remained and didn’t slow down at all. They swarmed us.

Guard—again!

As my body flashed and stiffened, a million sharp edges spun around and across me. Feathers blinded me.

Feathers! My trophies!

While the dazzlingly uncomfortable stack of three Guards wasn’t making me impervious, it did turn their attacks to mere dents—so much so that ordinary scratches, according to my HP Stat, did nothing. It was the powered-up claws and beaks that did more, and the odd sword (ouch that one cut my eye) that stung.

HP 88% (311/353) SP 66% (194/293)

DEF 101 (+150%)

Welp, couldn’t stay here forever. With my best shot at an all-out howl, I pounced onto the closest available magpie and went absolutely berserk with Swipe. After some amazing carnage, suffice it to say they went down quick.

EXP: 78% (1762/2250)

Yeah! Fight that!

Sadly, they did fight that. Five or six magpies retaliated at the same time, coordinating powered-up beak strikes right into my stomach. I buckled.

Defensively, magpies were nothing special. But even worse than their power in numbers was the power of their beak attacks.

HP 42% (148/353) SP 41% (119/293)

…Wait, was this what Chora meant when she said “armor-piercing”? Attacks that ignored all my buffs?

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Oddly, though my body was reeling, my mind was resolved, solid as steel.

It was like the encounter with the sudden deluge of raccoons was a training session. As if my subconscious was saying that this wasn’t so bad. My suffering was limited. I’d seen this before, and now I knew that the most valiant way that I could go out—if I was going out (which maybe I was, because come on, like twenty seconds had passed and HP numbers don’t lie)—was by pulverizing every bird in sight the same way I’d done it just now.

After all, the reason I’d chosen Swipe over Slash was because it would stay active for longer. Not much longer, but I would make that time enough.

In useless enthusiasm, I made up a new name for this storm of attacks—which was more like a mentality, a state of berserk being: Swipe Barrage!

Before I knew it, shed feathers flooded the air, blurs whizzed past my vision before I could blink, and I’d crashed to the ground right beside the bird hurricane. I swiveled my head just in time to see Chora’s feet at the bottom of a matching hurricane, as steady as if they’d been bolted to the spot. Surely her arms were whirling and punching, creating the cyclone, intermittently blasting winds forward. I saluted her (not literally).

But the magpies knew I’d fallen out of their death-cloud, so they shifted slightly to the side, thus engulfing me again.

I scampered out. They followed, along with their zero-damage scratch damage.

Yowling, I scampered out again! They dutifully followed.

I scampered out—something in the floor had caught my eye. Actually, it was the same thing Chora had knelt to grab. Only she wasn’t picking anything up, as I now realized. She was trying to push something aside. To uncover.

The hole behind this great big shard of rubble wasn’t like the myriad others. On the other side was neither plant life nor daylight. It was just darkness.

Before I went in, I spared a look back at Chora. Was she going to get eaten alive up here?

On one hand, her gusts were blowing more and more birds away—and those who were pushed out were likely losing interest, since the flock was definitely thinning. On the other, attacks were breaking through. Wings and beaks were either hitting her or coming close.

But in the middle of exchanging blows, Chora spared one arm to gesture toward me. To wave me off.

After all, magpies were coming for me too.

I nodded, then dove.

The magpies reacted as if they were shrimp tossed in a hot, well-oiled pan: with a heartstopping screech and a sizzling burst of energy. The cloud seemed to leap onto me like a licking flame. And it was full of flame, with magpies redoubling their magic efforts, charging their beaks and swords.

Inwardly, I couldn’t help but ask: who was manufacturing so many bird-sized swords and leaving them in a werewolf mansion?

Okay, maybe they were just daggers. Either way, it didn’t matter—if I hadn’t jumped into that hole, I would’ve been either impaled or forced in, thanks to tons of sharp tips.

Instead of skewering me, though, they got in each others’ way, almost trapping themselves like a bunch of stooges. I landed in the dust, wheeled around to take a look at a hole that was surprisingly high up—meters away in a fairly big cellar. The magpies, barking at each other, wriggled beaks and blades back and forth until eventually they backed away.

One magpie remained. I pawed around, grabbed a rock with both paws, and threw it up. The rock was not even close to making contact. It just hit the wall and bounced off. The bird looked at the point of contact suspiciously, then back at me. With a final caw, they hopped backward, and a meager stream of light entered the chamber.

Either they no longer saw me as a threat, or they wanted to take out Chora first—the easier prey. She had better be alright, I thought. In fact, I almost wanted to get out again and surprise her with reinforcements, but…

I was probably in a cool secret treasure room.

No, it couldn’t be. There was so little here. Whatever antiques were here looked more like they’d tumbled in years and years ago (just like I had moments ago) and were now covered in veils of spiderwebs and dirt.

I was stepping on a broken necklace, its pearls dulled but still salvageable. In front of me was a pile including a candelabra, a wacky two-pointed dagger, a dented bucket, a half-broken mosaic, and an umbrella.

Oh, that one qualified as treasure. And it was new! I ejected my last two koi corpses and took the umbrella right away.

But beyond the disappointing loot, something was off about this place. The noise outside felt so distant, as if instead of falling down some hole, I’d plunged underwater. I was in a strange pocket of quiet calm. At the same time, I couldn’t have been alone, right? After all, there were spiderwebs here.

Just when I had that thought, I heard something. But it wasn’t a skitter or a chirp. More of…a pulse.

Yet when I looked around, scanning as patiently as I could, the room was exactly the same.

Hm… Still suspicious and guarded, I took stock of what I could detect. The floor was faded tile, and the pattern itself was actually intact. Some of the pentagons were precious stones…garnet or topaz, maybe. Many others, naturally, were chipped and scratched out.

But there was one fantastic find down here: an entire mural.

These tiles were preserved somewhat better. While the paint was fading, the few precious stones still flared shockingly bright. They were topaz eyes in the heads of cats.

I was looking at a scene of werewolf domination. Humans leashing cats in domestic scenes, humans serving cats their table scraps, humans commanding rows of cats to jump through hilarious flaming circus hoops. Housecats, a wildcat or lynx, and even a…liger? And then, for good measure, just to make sure the viewers knew these were lycanborn humans, a full moon hung from the top-right corner, above a werewolf howling mid-change. Was it just me, or did the collars on the cats and the whips in humans’ hands look bolder than the rest?

Still…darn. I felt conflicted about the idea of “a pet cat.” Maybe I wouldn’t hate that lifestyle for everyone, but I certainly did hate it for me. What I certifiably hated, though, was the idea of pet cats getting whipped for mindless amusement.

I heard the pulse again, and then I saw it.

In a pile of webby rubble right in front of the mural, I spotted two glowing patches, also the color of topaz.

I couldn’t look for long. A box interrupted.

Message from Teague, the Goddess of Werewolves Hellooo~! You’ve accessed Teague Terminal #5! How may I assist you? OuO