Demon blood was foul. It was dark, almost black, with a scent to it as if every single smell in the world was combined and then blended up and finally covered with copper. Fortunately, it was faint and not overpowering.

But one thing was for sure. It was not red. Even that specific tint of grey that D’Argen saw instead of red when he could not see colours.

It was as if the thought was heard by someone because the red in his eyes turned darker and darker. But it was not only from the demons. The blood covering Thar’s back was turning the same colour. The sludge coming out of the wound on his leg was definitely not his own blood.

It was wrong. It was not real.

D’Argen touched the sludge with a finger and then raised it to his lips. It did not look like it but it tasted like real blood. He spat to the side. Something was changing what he was seeing.

One of the bark demons threw its head back and opened its large mouth. The rows upon rows of tiny sharp teeth disappeared into the darkness of its maw. It screamed loud into the night. By the time the sound faded away completely, it was a howl coming out of a long snout.

D’Argen was not fighting bark demons. He was being attacked by wolves.

The other two wolves howled back. They backed up a few steps and started slowly circling him from opposite sides. D’Argen kept two in his peripheral as he faced the other, the one that moved in such a way it allowed him to see Thar and the shack demon.

Behind the wolf was Thar, his white robes swirling up a storm as he hacked at where the shack demon’s wings would be. They were not there. Neither was the blue skin. The sword passed through the air smoothly and only inflicted flesh wounds on the large white bear he was facing off against. Those wounds only enraged the animal into standing on its hind legs to swipe at him. As D’Argen watched, the two white shapes started blurring together once more.

The roar that followed was deafening and—

It was a roar. It was a bear’s roar.

Not a scream. Not a demon.

D’Argen opened his mahee to consume that sound. It flowed in so fast it felt like he was punched in the core of his magic. The sound flowed through him as if now that he knew what it was, now that he heard it correctly, his mahee was consuming it all. He reached inside himself to touch his mahee and felt it respond immediately. It made him crouch and one of the wolves, back to a shapeless blur, jumped over his head. He moved his arm up and his dagger slid through fur and skin. The wolf yelped and collapsed. It did not get back up.

“Thar!” D’Argen screamed at the top of his lungs. There were only two wolves left alive but D’Argen’s eyes only revealed two light grey lumps moving through the snow towards him. He slashed at the air in front of him to keep them back.

“It’s not real!” D’Argen called out. “Whatever you’re seeing, is not real.”

“It feels real,” Thar replied.

“It’s not—it’s not a demon.” D’Argen corrected himself. “It’s a bear!”

One of the blurs hesitated and the other rushed with another roar. D’Argen took the sound into himself and then used it. He flipped his dagger to point out to the side and rushed the two blurs that were the wolves. Only one of them fell under his blade and he slid in the snow, turning around at the last moment. His eyes were starting to hurt again and his head was pounding.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Trust me! Aim for its center, not the sack!”

Thar did not respond. D’Argen could not see. He opened his mahee as wide as he could and let the world fade away into that white space of nothingness. Thar’s black silhouette was moving fluidly through the white space against a much lighter grey blur. It looked like a drop of black ink in water that had split apart, long strands of it reaching to try and mark new space.

Much closer was an even lighter grey blur. D’Argen rushed it instead. He pivoted at the last moment and slashed out with his dagger. The wolf’s yelp barely sounded. D’Argen did not stop his run and rushed at Thar instead. He closed off his mahee at the last moment.

Thar grunted when D’Argen crashed into him, throwing them both out of the way of the bear’s attack. D’Argen felt cold breath on his cheek and an even colder hand slip between his robes to his waist.

“What was that for?” Thar groaned from under him right into his neck.

D’Argen flinched away and quickly got off Thar. It involved kneeing the man in the side and almost stepping on him, but he was off. When he turned to look for the blur, all he saw was a field of white. His wounded leg stabbed at him and he shifted his weight to give it a break.

“It’s a bear. I swear it’s a fucking bear.”

“You saw it?”

D’Argen did not respond. He was not sure what he saw anymore. “Just…” D’Argen trailed off when a piece of the white field broke apart from the rest to come at them. He saw a vague shape form. It was running on four legs. It moved like a bear, not a shack demon. He jumped out of the way, though his leg protested with a stab that had him biting his tongue. Thar followed his example.

“Your mahee,” D’Argen said though he had no idea where Thar was. “Your mahee! Clear the air! Trust me,” he called out louder.

The scent of copper in the air faded a little as Thar released his mahee. The snow under them turned to ice and the creature attacking them slipped. Thar, however, did not say anything. Instead, he swung D’Argen’s sword through the air in complicated arcs and weaves. It sang. D’Argen consumed it and rushed the blur again.

The ice under him was very slippery. D’Argen focused his mahee on his speed rather than balance. He slid on the ice, dropped to his knees, and slashed out with his dagger. It struck and stuck. Hot blood warmed his fingers only for a moment before Thar used his mahee again. The air became so cold that the blood on D’Argen’s fingers crystalized. The ice slid him out of the way of another attack. D’Argen felt the air shifting where his shoulder had been a moment ago.

Without his daggers and his sword in Thar’s grasp, D’Argen had no weapon except his speed. He turned around and felt for solid ground to push himself off of. Before he could, he heard metal sinking into flesh and then a roar even louder than before.

“What the fuck!? Is that a bear?” Abbot screamed somewhere from the snow. His voice felt like a balm both because it meant that the artist was awake and because of his question. Whatever was causing both D’Argen and Thar to see things did not affect Abbot the same way.

Not anymore.

Thar let out a grunt and asked, “Is it dead?”

D’Argen could not see anything at all except white blurs and flashes that made his head pound.

“Yea, I would say so!” Abbot answered instead. “Hey! Lilian, wake up. Yaling?”

When Yaling let out a groan from somewhere to the side, D’Argen felt something inside him unclench.

“Lilian?”

Too soon.

“Lilian? Wake up.” Abbot’s voice was starting to sound panicked.

“What is it?” D’Argen asked quietly. That clench inside him was returning.

“They are not waking up. Lilian?”

“Stop shaking them,” Yaling groaned out again. “Oh wow, my head hurts so much. Just, wait. Give them a moment.”

“But, why? Lilian?”

“Stop it, Abbot. Wait. Here, let me.”

D’Argen felt a hand on his shoulder and he flinched.

“My apologies,” Thar said from behind him. “How are your eyes?”

“Ahh… still can’t see,” D’Argen replied and finally closed his eyes. “It hurts, actually.”

“Wait, what happened to your eyes?” Abbot asked.

“What’s wrong with Lilian?” D’Argen asked instead of answering.

“I do not know. Everything feels fine but…”

And then the mountain screamed once more.

This time, it was the sound of a Never Born in battle. It was a god falling to the mortal realm. It was Lilian screaming in pain. When the last of their cries faded away, a deadly silence covered the mountain. It was muffled and D’Argen felt the headache turn into a pounding behind his blind eyes and an echo of screams in his ears.