(Dylan)

Ostello’s confidence faltered at Runemist’s request to give up control. For a moment, his eyes darted from his opponent to his team leader as he second-guessed himself. Driven by instinct, his distraction was too tempting for the beast to resist.

Its tightly coiled muscles unleashed as the galizine sprang forward. Runemist sidestepped into the slash and yipped as the furless felid raked across her braced arm. The claws were long, sharp, and too numerous for her blade to deflect cleanly, tearing through the fabric of her sleeves and deep into her flesh. With her good arm, she twirled like a dervish, lashing out with slashes of her own. The beast hopped away after suffering a few light nicks from her blade.

Runemist growled, holding the beast’s gaze. “Galizines are at least a two-adventurer takedown.” The purple blood trails on her arm dried up, likely through magic.

Dylan wondered if she had her own passive regeneration ability. There was so much going on. He couldn’t tell what was magic, a racial, a passive, or something else he wasn’t yet aware of—there was a lot of that going around.

Runemist signaled for Ostello to go left while she continued right, flanking the monster. Its head swiveled back and forth, forced to split its attention. It let out another roar in protest.

“Attack,” Runemist commanded. Ostello’s jaw tightened as he moved in sync with her. She twirled with her blades again while he made a fist, thick barbed thorns sprouting from it. The galizine leaped backwards, avoiding both attacks.

Runemist landed in a low stance, growling. “It’s too bloody fast…”

Ostello lifted his knee high before slamming his foot down. A fissure shot out from under his heel, the ground groaning as the knitted root system under the jungle floor ripped apart. Rocks and dirt were swallowed up as the gap grew toward the galizine. Again, it was too fast, leaping up into a tree to avoid falling into the expanding pit.

The intense elf relentlessly pursued the scaled beast. A series of stone plants shot up from the ground, instantly blooming into foot-sized platforms for him to sprint along like a set of temporary stairs. The plants wilted with a brittle crack, crumbling into dust shortly after he stepped on them.

The stone blossoms spiraled around the tree, allowing him to climb higher than the perched galizine as it hissed and crouched, its muscles coiling defensively at his unconventional approach. Finally high enough, he dove, his thorn-laced fingers reaching out to latch onto the galizine’s back.

Unable to maneuver into a counterattack, the beast abandoned the tree, leaping down to avoid the grapple. Ostello overshot the tree and fell, tucking into a roll as he landed. The beast had a head start and was upon him before he finished his roll, swiping at his leg. A sickening snap echoed as the galizine swatted Ostello away.

The intense elf tumbled sideways, his body trembling as he clutched at his injured leg. Only able to get to a knee, his face twisted with pain and determination as he silently stared down the approaching beast.

Runemist shadow stepped to him again and summoned another curtain over the three of them. The galizine, unable to see, retreated from the darkness and turned its attention toward Wedge and the initiates.

Dylan couldn’t see them through the curtain, but he could still hear muffled voices and the low rumble of the beast’s growls.

“Get up,” Runemist’s voice commanded.

“Listen,” she said sharply. “Dorian’s not here. Athrax can’t tank without his gear. We’re spread out, and I can’t be everywhere at once. And we’ve got initiates, for Mother’s sake. Not to mention one of them is a bloody refugee. Now set aside your infernal pride and bring him out.”

“Fine. But I don’t want to hear it when he doesn’t listen to you.”

Ostello stepped out from behind the umbral curtain. The understory grew dark as clouds quickly gathered above them. Thunder rumbled as lightning flashed through the clouds above, illuminating the dim area in sporadic bursts.

His eyes arced with sparks of energy, glowing white with increasing intensity. The sudden storm gave the monsters and Athrax pause, their attention drawn to the angry sky above as static electricity crackled in the air.

“What in the bloody Pits is going on now?” Athrax growled through clenched teeth, his cybernetic arms straining as he shoved the saurmonk pile off him and broke free.

Ostello’s electrified gaze turned to the storm above. “Perun!” he yelled into the sky. “I invoke my right as your vessel.” Thunder cracked in response, and the storm churned violently, flashes of lightning illuminating the roiling clouds.

Thunder bellowed its response, unleashing a bolt of lightning upon Ostello. His entire body arced with unbridled energy, the raw power searing through him and threatening to consume his very being. When he spoke, his words boomed with thunder and force.

The Avatar held out his arcing hands, flexing his fingers as streams of energy danced between them.

“Still common rank,” Perun said loudly with a sigh. “This vessel can barely contain the smallest fraction of my power.” The words resonated painfully in Dylan’s skull as he and the others covered their ears against the booming voice.

Runemist dispersed her umbral curtain and stepped beside the Avatar, glancing down at her tattered sleeve. “Then I humbly suggest you hurry up and smite our enemies before his mana runs out.”

The Avatar laughed, the sky rumbling along with him. “Fret not, little one. It will be more than enough.” Around him, the air grew thick with static as the hairs on Dylan’s arm stood erect.

The galizine loosed a challenging roar at the Avatar, its claws digging into the earth as it stood on its hind legs before leaning into a charge. A grin spread across his face as he sprinted toward the galizine, eagerly accepting the challenge.

The beast took to the air, its muscles propelling it forward with a mighty leap, bared fangs and claws aimed at the Avatar. At the last moment, he brought up his forearm to block the six-hundred-pound scaly missile.

The beast latched onto his offered limb as he poured raw arc energy into it. Its muscles spasmed uncontrollably, its jaw locking down harder as acrid smoke rose from its scorched flesh and the crackling energy filled the air.

The Avatar gave a hearty laugh as he continued to cook the beast’s internals, halting and taking a step backward as the energy cut off abruptly. The galizine slid off his arm, whimpering on the ground at his feet. An unbidden yawn forced itself on him as he shook his head, his shoulders slumping slightly.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“This vessel has such a limited capacity,” Perun said, fending off another yawn. The Avatar raised an arm, summoning rapid lightning strikes that lit the jungle with blinding flashes. The arcing energy surrounding him crackled furiously, as intense as when he first transformed.

The galizine lay on its side, convulsing as wisps of smoke rose off its half-charred body. The stench of burned flesh filled the air. Dylan couldn’t imagine it getting back up. Then again, five minutes ago he couldn’t imagine Ostello turning into a god either…

“Thank you, Perun,” Runemist said, inclining her head with a hint of respect in her voice. Or was it reverence?

“You’re welcome, little one,” Perun said, his voice still booming.

Runemist held her hand out toward the galizine and snapped her fist closed. Dylan heard a wet, sickening pop from within the monster. It let out a guttural death rattle before going still.

He blinked, and wondered, ‘Did… did she just use the force? Just like Christian Bale—Goddamnit Charles, now you’ve got me calling him that.’ An unsettling thought crossed his mind. ‘Wait… am I with the bad guys?’

Runemist scanned the battlefield, checking on the rest of her team while tactfully trying to dismiss the god. “Feel free to return to your throne.”

Perun lowered his voice to just below bellowing and said, “But there are still foes about.” He gestured around them.

Dylan heard Athrax grunting loudly and turned to see what was happening. A saurmonk had latched onto him, its jaws locked around his furry ankle. Somehow, the old soldier had lost his boot during the struggle.

Athrax had his cybernetically enhanced arms wrapped around the saurmonk and wrenched it free with a bone-rattling pull. A wet, slurping pop followed as the creature’s head separated from its body. The disembodied head remained locked onto his leg. He sighed heavily, muttering a curse as he dropped the headless body in a heap and gave his leg a sharp kick, trying to dislodge the stubborn head.

“We’ve got it from here, mighty Perun,” P’reslen said, floating above them all.

Dylan poked his head out from behind Wedge, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Are you some sort of god?”

Runemist winced and pinched the bridge of her snout as Dylan conversed with a god. The Avatar chuckled, his shoulders jostling as the sky rumbled with a deep, resonant growl.

“Dylan,” Eury said, jabbing him in the side with her elbow. “Please don’t anger the god of storms.”

The Avatar gave him a radiant smile that seemed both welcoming and unsettling on Ostello’s face. “Yes, little one, I am Perun, god of storms. Do you seek a patron?” Around him, the others tensed, giving Dylan the impression he shouldn’t answer hastily. The Avatar’s attention shifted as he turned to address another presence that only the god could see or hear.

“Greetings, my lady,” Perun said, taking a knee and bowing his head.

‘Who, or what, does a god bow to?’ Dylan wondered, continuing to watch the one-sided exchange.

“Apologies, I… I wasn’t aware,” Perun said. He picked his head up to glance in Dylan’s direction. “Does… he know?”

Dylan assumed the pauses in the conversation were when the invisible, inaudible entity was speaking.

“As you wish,” Perun said with a nod and then got back to his feet.

“That’s the last of ‘em,” Athrax said, slurring his words as he approached. His gait staggered, and he swayed as he walked, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.

W’itney gave him a concerned look. “You don’t look so good.”

“Right as rain, sunshine,” Athrax rasped, his grin faltering. “Just need a little kip.” He pinched two fingers together before promptly dropping to his knees with a thud, his face landing squarely in a fern that rustled in protest.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” W’itney asked, as they all heard the old soldier snoring in the bushes.

“Saurmonk venom is paralytic,” Hay’len said, looking to Runemist.

She shook her head. “I have nothing to cleanse him, but I’ll keep his health topped off while his body processes the venom.” She sighed, noticing the concerned look on all their faces. “Let’s all take an extended water break while he sleeps it off. He’ll be fine.”

P’reslen landed beside Runemist and pointed to the blackened galizine and politely asked, “May I?”

“Yes, but do it over there.” She pointed away from them, toward a huge mossy rock.

P’reslen nodded, walked over, and grabbed the galizine by the tail, tucking it under his arm as he leaned forward to drag the body.

Dylan watched the noble draconi drag away a body twice his size. “What’s he going to do?”

“He’s going to loot,” Runemist said.

“But…” Dylan glanced back at the smoking, lifeless body for something he might’ve missed. “It doesn’t have any pockets.”

“P’reslen has a looting ability,” she said. “He doesn’t need pockets, just a hard surface.” She noticed Dylan still had that look on his face—the one that said he had more questions.

“Go on,” she gestured after P’reslen. “Watch if you’d like. Just keep your distance if you don’t want any on you.”

That was just cryptic enough that he couldn’t resist even if he wanted to. He chased after the draconi dragging a galizine corpse behind him.

“Need a hand carrying that?” Dylan asked as he approached.

P’reslen stopped and turned back, looking Dylan up and down with a faint, amused smile. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.” He resumed tugging the corpse over the jungle growth.

Dylan braced a hand against a tree as he stepped up and over a large rock. “Runemist says you’ve got a looting ability.”

“Yep.” P’reslen repositioned his grip after a leg got snagged on the large rock.

“How does it work?”

“It’s like most other looting abilities,” P’reslen said, switching the tail to under his other arm. “I destroy a recently killed corpse,” he added casually, “to reveal hidden loot.”

“Oh, that’s neat.”

“You might want to stand back.” P’reslen stopped a dozen feet in front of an enormous boulder, its surface weathered and streaked with moss. Dylan wondered why they’d stopped to look at a rock.

“Why’s that?”

“Because my ability can get… quite messy.” P’reslen gripped the tail securely in both hands, his muscles tensing as he waited a moment for Dylan to step back. When he didn’t, P’reslen shrugged and twirled around, shotput style.

After a few rotations, he grunted and said mid-rotation, “It’s called corpse explosion.” Then he flung the corpse into the makeshift wall.

Dylan watched as the feat lived up to its name. The galizine’s corpse exploded on contact with a sickening splat, bits of flesh and bone scattering on impact. The immediate area, including himself, was now covered in galizine.

He stood there, looking down at his hands dripping with purple gore. A slimy piece of liver slid off his shoulder and plopped onto the ground with a wet smack as he looked over at P’reslen, who was also matted with gore.

“This… this is how you get loot?” Dylan asked, horrified.

“As Lo’kai says, ‘Adventuring isn’t all fame and fortune, oftentimes it’s just messy.’ Shame we won’t be able to take all the loot with us.” He frowned, letting out a small sigh. “Quinten’s the one with the storage ability."

Dylan continued to stare at the gore-covered draconi as they walked away toward the nearest unmoving saurmonk. P’reslen casually bent down and lifted the one-hundred-and-fifty-pound body over his shoulder. Then he walked back up to Dylan and dropped the corpse at his feet with a heavy thud, making him flinch.

“You can give me a hand gathering up the small ones if you still want to help,” P’reslen said. “Keep an eye out for a boot. I think Athrax is missing one.”

“Small ones?” Dylan asked, his feet still planted to the ground, frozen in shock at the brutality.

“The little guys.” P’reslen pointed to the corpse at Dylan’s feet. “They should be light enough for you to manage.”

‘How strong are adventurers?’ Dylan wondered as he squeezed one of his biceps, feeling very inadequate.

“Just watch out for their mouths or you’ll join Athrax for naptime.” P’reslen was dragging two back this time, their limp forms rustling along the jungle floor as he held each by an arm.

Dylan let P’reslen do his thing and walked back over to the group with Perun, shaking his head as he tried to process the sheer absurdity of ‘looting’ abilities.

“You’ve, uh, got purple…” W’itney said, gesturing all over their body with their hand. “Everywhere.”

Dylan sighed. “I know…” He wiped his hands off on a leaf and then froze, his eyes widening slightly. His head darted between Runemist and Wedge. “This isn’t going to give me a rash, is it?”

There was a gruesome pop as P’reslen hurled a saurmonk at the boulder. The wet impact echoing through the clearing.

Runemist paid them no mind, focusing on diplomatically persuading Perun to return Ostello’s body.

“Nonsense,” Perun said dismissively. “It takes but a mere portion of my consciousness to inhabit this vessel. I still remain on my throne and rule my realm.” Above them, the storm continued to crack and boom in his presence.

“Surely—”

The Avatar cut her off by raising his hand, arcs of lightning chasing each other around it. “I have decided to accompany you for the day. It has been far too long since I’ve walked among mortals.” Around him, the group exchanged uneasy glances.