CHAPTER 132

“It’s not an otter.” Michael said tightly. “It’s sapient, dangerous, everyone in position.”

Tom’s brain kicked into gear.

There was no doubt. This was the alien he had seen via his oracle dream. That the ‘otter’ was here in front of Tom told him that the vision had not been a warning to run.

What then?

He remembered the feeling when he was in the person’s head. The thoughts that had flittered through its mind. That concept of terror races and the fact it had looked down on the practice. The underlying philosophy that might did not equal right and other sapient species were not there to be destroyed or dominated. That mindset was important because this physically cute looking otter had completely disregarded the wasps.

The alien was much stronger than him, in truth probably more powerful than all of them. Tom suspected that there were only a handful of humans here who possessed a skill capable of hurting the otter. One of them was his meteorite spell, but he had been careless with his work building the walls. His mana was half empty, and he didn’t have the mana to cast the spell. Not that it mattered, there was a difference between having a spell that could hurt someone and possessing one that was not only powerful enough to do damage but also capable of hitting the target. Privately he doubted Harnessed Meteorite met that second criteria and nor did any of the other tricks he possessed.

There was no point denying reality. They had feared this happening, and it had.

They were screwed and at the mercy of what to human sensibilities was a cute zoo animal.

The griffin shifted where it stood. It was just a shiver of a movement, but it emphasised how huge it was. It was a monster with big wings and a feline like lower body and a classic bird’s head. That was where its similarities to the beasts of legends portrayed in computer games ended. It was not the noble creature from Earth legends. Instead, it was closer to resembling a tatty workhorse than the traditional depiction of health and power Tom was used to. It’s feathers were stringy and ready to fall on mass. Its torso was thin and appeared almost wasted. They could all see its ribs. If it had been the size of a cow rather than a giant land-air-whale, it would have looked almost pitiful.

Everyone else probably thought it was starved and neglected, but Tom having shared its owner’s mind knew differently. The griffin was in perfect health, and those markings that a human’s mind associated with weakness were not what they appeared.

It was a giant creature whose primary mode of transport was flying. Extra weight was a liability, and the creature had evolved to store energy in its blood as opposed to fat cells like earth animals. Tom suspected the feathers, which would have implied either sickness, age or starvation on earth were a similar cultural difference. From what he could tell, they were a mark of robust health like vivid red plumage on various birds or at least that was what he supposed. The griffin was anything but unhealthy.

Tom focused identification on the birdbrain and shivered. Its attributes, like he expected, were off the charts. Both strength and vitality beyond what Tom could measure and its agility while measurable was more than twice his own. Those attributes combined with its size… Maybe Everlyn could take it a surprised arrow to even a head as large as that might be deadly. As for Tom, possibly Harnessed Meteorite could bring it down if he scored a direct hit. The problem was how the spell worked. It needed time to build power and with agility and strength scores the griffin would be able to effortlessly hop or flap out of the way.

Tom did not know all the trump cards of the humans in his group, but he doubted that any of them possessed strikes of greater power than his own or Everlyn’s.

If they had, he should have heard about it in one of the many conversations he had overheard over the last hour when everyone was discussing the longjoules defence. Instead, they had all talked about his meteorites and Everlyn’s deadly bow.

“Does anyone have the rank on the Griffin?” Tom called out frustrated at how thin his voice was.

“Too strong for us.” Everlyn reported quietly. “It’s got a weakness on its back that is targetable, though.”

“You mean where the otter is sitting.”

“Yes.” she said tightly.

Tom had noted that the saddle extended further than needed, and he wondered about it. Now he knew it had a secondary use as armour.

The otter still sat calmly regarding them. It looked ridiculously out of place on the dry plains and riding a flying beast of burden, but expectations went out the window when you were dealing with sapients. Tom remembered when he had been fighting in the arena, the opponents he had faced then had been a mix of sophisticated, well equipped, unequipped, noble or complete bastards.

To survive in Existentia, he needed to put preconceptions aside after all the most horrifying of those arena adversaries at least visibly had been the most noble.

Everything had to be judged on their merits, and he knew what type of creature this otter was. “We should parlay.” Tom declared. “Make peace with it.”

The otter still did not move, and Tom focused on assessing it. It was doing the same to each human. Focusing on them one after the other so he assumed it wasn’t crossing any cultural boundaries. It took a long time for his method to extract results. The otter’s aura was one of quiet exploration and not violence but its rank… High and unmeasurable despite the thirty seconds he had spent trying to uncover the details.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“I’m not getting anything on the otter,” Everlyn told him quietly. “I can’t even glean an inclination about its preferred method of fighting.”

Tom gripped his spear tightly, a weapon he hadn’t realised he had summoned. Everyone on the wall shifted uneasily as the otter’s eyes swept over them, spending ten seconds assessing each individual in turn.

“We should parlay.” Tom repeated firmly, forcing himself to talk. There was something beating down on him that was suppressing him. A silence that it felt taboo to break.

“Agreed. Do not attack.” Michael declared in a strained voice.

Almost five minutes passed in an awkward stand-off. The humans were ready but unwilling to move till the otter acted. In the time it assessed them with its enormous eyes filled with curiosity.

Then it waved its hand, and they all saw a shimmer as it activated some sort of ability.

“Greetings hu-mans.”

Most eyes went to Michael. Who awkwardly cleared his throat. “Greetings. I apologise. We have travelled overland from a long way and we don’t recognise your species.”

The otter cleaned its whiskers. “So a new competition has started.”

The words rocked everyone on the wall. There was an up-swell of aggression amongst the watching people. They all knew that if a native found them and identified them, there was a real risk of slavery. Next to him a ball of water formed as a ranged fighter prepared a spell.

“That is terrible news, if true.” Michael answered smoothly. “Are you a competition race? We will be happy to trade guidance with you.”

The otter furiously cleaned its whiskers, an act which Tom suspected was its version of laughter.

It visibly forced itself to calm down and lowered its paws.

“I appreciate the quick thinking, but I don’t recognise the name hu-man.”

“We performed poorly in our competition many thousands of years ago,” Michael continued. “We have been scattered wandering tribes since.”

The otter paws twitched and fiddled with its snout. “That is a tragic story.”

“Yes, it is.” Michael agreed.

“And you are the last?”

“We don’t know? We are wide spread so other might be nearby.”

The otter’s nostrils trembled. “Wide spread? But I’ve never heard of you?”

“That did surprise me,” Michael said evenly. “I expected to be recognised.”

The otter’s hands jerked to its whiskers. It rubbed them furiously, twitched rolled off the saddle and landed with a thump on the ground below still energetically rubbing its nose. It picked itself off the stone. “Sorry. My manners escape me. It’s just…”

It frantically cleaned its whiskers. “Sorry.”

That the otter was comfortable enough to lose control of its body because it was laughing too hard was not a comforting sign as far as Tom was concerned.

“Your story flicked my whiskers.”

“We are not aware of your customs.” Michael said smoothly. “I’m not sure what you mean by flicked your whiskers.”

Tom was sure he knew very well what the expression meant, but pointing out, mentioning, or even acknowledging that the alien was in hysterics in response to their lies was not productive.

“I hope I have not offended you.” Michael continued. “Our preference as a race is not to be warriors, so I hope any misunderstanding will not descend into violence.”

The otter hoped forward and regarded them. It was tiny when it was on all fours. It only came up slightly over Tom’s knees. When on its hind legs it would reach his sternum, sort of as tall as a ten-year-old child.

He was not fooled.

Size rarely mattered.

The otter cocked its head at Michael. “I’m not sure you’ve told the truth once since this conversation started. That’s not a good start to our relationship.”

“I haven’t said a single–”

The otter held up a single paw, and it was like an immense pressure struck them all. Tom was not confident he could do anything more than speak in a whisper.

“Skill,” Everlyn whispered deathly quietly to not clash with what Skill the otter had used to silence Michael. But her voice was projected by her trait so that he heard her clearly and he suspected others had as well.

“I don’t blame you for lying. But you can stop now. I know you are a competition race. Further deception is pointless.”

“That’s not true.” Michael ground out and impressed Tom with his willpower, allowing him to talk so precisely when suppressed by a skill or maybe the otter had let him talk.

“Enough.” Another wave of immense pressure and the air popped again. “I know why you lie. But you can stop the theatrics. Before seeing you, I suspected but couldn’t confirm that a new competition had started, but you are definitely evidence that one has.”

Across from him, Michael tried to speak, but not a single sound came out.

“The clues are rather obvious.” The otter continued, sounding bored. “You have no children amongst you. You set up fortifications for a town in a zone you couldn’t possibly claim and triggered a system quest. That speaks of breathtaking ignorance. Finally, your power mix is all over the place.” The otter’s paw pointed right at Tom. “For example, no naturally created rank eleven could have skill levels over two hundred.”

“They were from a challenge trial.” Tom said evenly, discovering the separation for him at least had been lifted. “It was an incredible stroke of luck.”

The otter’s whiskers twitched. For a moment Tom thought it was going to fall over again, but it managed to keep its feet by shoving both of its paws into its mouth. The expression was like a toddler covering their mouth in shock.

It recovered its composure.

“I might accept that with your earth magic, but the other two? Or did you find three separate challenge trials?”

Tom said nothing.

The otter hopped forward.

“Hold your attacks.” Michael ordered.

It kept going till it was only five metres from the wall. “I would like to trade.” The otter announced quietly.

“We have nothing to trade.” Michael said evenly.

“You need ranking points. I think I can help.”

“You can’t cheat the GOD’s.” Tom blurted out.

“Bless their continual indifference.” the otter responded instantly its eyes narrowing angrily in Tom’s direction.

His cheeks heated despite himself.

“I would like to discuss terms under the flag of trade.” the otter said formally.

“We don’t know your customs.”

The otter’s whiskers twitched. “You don’t need to. If you hadn’t worked it out, birdbrain could probably wipe you out by himself.” The otter’s head inclined toward the massive griffin. “You can profess ignorance, cling to your lies, pretend in your head that we’re equals, but we’re not. I’m perfectly capable of destroying you or asking my companion to do it for me. You’re not forcing me to trade I’m offering. If I wanted to, I could take what I want, but it’s not my species preferred mode of interaction.”

The threat hung there.

The otter twitched and rapidly rubbed its whiskers.

It was laughing at its joke.

If it was even a joke.

“How would that work?” Michael asked.

“It varies by species, but usually one or a small number of delegates are appointed to undertake negotiations.”

“We will meet you under the flag of trade.” Michael said abruptly clearly deciding that resistance was pointless. “Tom, Joline,” Michael suddenly said. “Please join me.”