In the dim gray darkness just before morning’s first light, Alden sat alone a short distance from camp. Time and again he observed all there was to observe: the animal hide tents of his Chanat serfs, the dwindling fire kept barely alight by a Chanat warrior whose name he had yet to memorize, the rough slopes of rock and dirt that hovered over them on either side. Most of all, however, he observed the clear sky above and the countless stars that dotted it.

A wonderful sight, plagued only by a shining full moon which brought with it too much light.

In other times it would have kept him awake for long hours until he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open, only to awake shortly after, having gained none of the refreshment sleep was meant to bring. But sleep was a problem no longer; Alden had not slept once since the start of their journey, nor had he slept for many weeks before then. The workings of his magic, which even the Vigilants thought strange and powerful.

It had been a necessity. Sleep had been coming to him less and less since his becoming baron. Stress, he assumed, or else a side effect of what had been done with the Oracle of Hilva, whose whispers had permeated his dreams during what little sleep he had achieved. The causes didn’t matter. What did matter was that he could not sleep, and that, after more than three days without a wink of slumber, he began to hear voices that were not spoken and see shadows moving at the edge of his vision.

With insanity encroaching day by day, he was forced to subject himself to Syncope magic at night whilst by day he would pour over the Book of Complete Knowledge until, after another three days of tireless work, he was able to change himself such that sleep was an unneeded luxury.

That, or he had gone truly insane, and all life that he experienced now was merely the deranged figment of his imagination.

He did not care to dwell on that fear, though it came to him unbidden, regardless.

Without sleep Alden’s days were nearly doubled, presenting him a unique opportunity.

Congratulations!

You have achieved the Fourth Step of the Divine Steps Realm.

Reward: +25 points to all physical Stats.

By night he trained and studied. By day he tackled the daily affairs of running a barony. Affairs which, in his estimation, would be near insurmountable upon his return.

His head ached already.

Inevitably, however, day broke. Light fell upon the brown, rocky expanse of the canyon’s end, which marked the entrance to Tejin’s strait, awakening those who called him Lord from their dreamy slumber.

Dayan was the first to wake and to greet him, as always, followed quickly by Dayan’s wife Yesui, his cousin Tabur, and his uncle Bilge. The others came after in spurts of two or three, opting to greet him during and after breakfast, which to the Chanat was always a grand affair. That morning they dined on a soup of mutton and wild herbs so fragrant it burned Alden’s nostrils, along with bread Uhtric and the other Drygallis natives had brought. The Chanat did not eat bread often, and picked at it curiously, eating only small chunks at a time until Alden took a piece, toasted it at the fire until it was golden brown, and slathered it in some of their sheep’s butter. After that they mimicked him and smiled happily as they ate.

The best part of breakfast for Alden, as with every meal with the Chanat, was the cheese. The Chanat were renowned connoisseurs of cheese, boasting an unmatched variety. There were curds from every animal in their herds, from goat to sheep to cow, with each mixed with different herbs, nuts, spices, fruits, or sugar, depending on the cheese maker’s taste. Others were pressed using wooden boards with flat rocks stacked atop, then placed in leather bags filled with special brines, where they would age for weeks or months. Alden’s favorite, however, was a strange type of cheese that grew blue spots, and though its smell deterred him at first, it took only a quick sampling for his taste buds to fall in love.

“We must go soon,” Dayan said shortly after breakfast came to an end. A warrior by birth, Dayan already donned his scale armor, forged from the emerald scales of some monster. Held beneath his arm was a helmet of bright silver steel, forged in the shape of a lion’s face. “Did you see anything in the night?”

“No,” Alden replied. “Should I have?”

Dayan shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. There are tracks ahead I saw yesterday, leading up the slope.”

“The flesheater?”

Dayan shrugged again. “Hard to say, my lord. You see, there?”

He pointed ahead to where the canyon began to widen. On the right side there was a boulder of such immensity it seemed immovable. Or, rather, would have been. The boulder’s northern face was jagged, having been split in two, and a distance closer to them was its other half. Both bore two sets of claw marks, each with a distinct shape–one with four thick lines as thick as an arm, the other with seven thin ones.

“See those marks there?” Dayan said, pointing. “Four claws, same as a flesheater. But big. Bigger than I thought possible for a flesheater. And such destruction could only have come from a fight. Our prey has a rival. A strong one. I am not sure which took victory.”

“Rival?” Alden asked. There was little in the way of details on monster behavior in Drygallis, where monsters were rarer.

“Rival, yes. Or perhaps it is ‘competitor’ in your stone language? I apologize, I do not know. What I do know, my lord, is that the two fight for territory and prey, which is good. The people of the Sky Plains to the west are not warriors. With a rival, neither will stray far until the other is dead.”

“So we shouldn’t kill it.” Not that he had planned to.

“We can’t kill it. Big monsters like this, they are very territorial. If they think there is something trying to take their lands they will fight it until one of them is dead. Big as they are, they may fight on and on forever.”

“Hmph. Sounds like people,” Alden muttered.

Dayan smiled. “Yes, people are very much like monsters at times. But most are not so strong, fortunately.”

I’m not so sure, Alden thought. There was him, for one, who could conquer a city alone and without bloodshed. Then there were the various knights of Drygallis, many of whom matched him in raw power, if not exceeded him. None compared to the Vigilants, whose power frightened him to his core, and which, by their own admission, were not even among the Empire’s strongest forces.

There are more monsters in human shape than true monsters.

He turned his mind to the end of the canyon in front of them, which opened up into Tejin’s strait. A long segment of land, Tejin’s strait was composed of plains and grasslands which the Chanat called home. Even the non-warriors Dayan spoke of were Chanat–the word simply meant ‘born of the horse’, and was used to refer to all nomadic peoples.

“These people,” Alden began, scratching his jaw. “The ones in the Sky Plains. How do they differ from your people?”

Dayan smiled broadly and puffed out his chest. “I am of the Bloody Grass, my lord. I am a warrior, born and raised. I slew my first animal at the age of seven; a dog leapt for my brother, but he did not see, and I had my spear at hand. So I thrust, and it died, and our father taught me how to skin it. I used its pelt for a blanket on cold nights until it fit me no longer. After that, I learned to hunt the prey of the grasslands, starting with the great wild bulls that roam the plains. Then I learned to fight the weakest of the monsters, and then people, and on and on until I have become the warrior I am today.

“Such a life is not lived in the Sky Plains. We of the Bloody Grass name them Ahngira–shepherds, in your tongue. Tabur’s mother is from their people, may her spirit rest. They are good shepherds and raise fine animals, but they are timid, easy to intimidate.”

“What makes them such great shepherds?” Alden asked. Dayan laughed.

“Sheep are the only thing they are not frightened of, or so Bilge says. But I think it is the grass itself. The grass is as blue as the sky above, and to walk through it when there are no clouds in the sky is a strange thing. You walk and walk until eventually you do not know up from down and fall to the ground dizzy. But sheep and cattle have no such problems. The only problem is they love the grass too much.”

“Love it too much?” Alden asked.

“Oh yes, my lord, they are gluttons for the blue grass. They will eat and eat without end until they become sick, so the Ahngira must keep them in grassless pens for most of the day. Traders from your country have visited often, asking many questions about the grass. They are from…” Dayan paused to think. “Tormere College, I believe? Odd folk. Scholars, they called themselves, though I do not know the meaning of the word. They had large books they would scribble in. One had the habit of muttering as he scribbled.”

The mention of Tormere brought with it a flood of his first, clear memories. Memories of awakening in a bed to the smell of herbs and blood, of being enamored for the first time, and of a certain doctor.

“What did they want with the grass? Did they ever say anything about it?”

Dayan nodded. “Many times. They traded for it every time they came, despite the Ahngira telling them to take some freely. But they insisted and offered gold, which the Ahngira took. But gold is not so useful in Tejin’s Strait, and the Ahngira told them this. When we want something, we give something the other can put to use. After that the scholars came back with tools: iron and steel shovels to clear away dirt and rock, buckets to carry milk, swords and spears and arrows for to hunt with. Even armor, once, though I do not recall what became of it.”

Alden listened in silent irritation. Dayan had the habit for going on at length without answering a question when asked, and Alden learned quickly that there would be no changing his ways.

“Why did they value it so much?”

Dayan shrugged, then leaned back in his saddle. “The meat of the Ahngira is known to be the best in all of Tejin’s Strait. Beef, mutton, goat, all are better from the Ahngira than from any other tribe. The scholars said it was the tastiest in all the world. I think they are right in this. I have tasted the mutton of your country and do not care for it.”

“You could settle for cheese, as I do,” Alden suggested. But Dayan merely scoffed.

“Our cheese is the best in the world, this I know for certain, but it is not meat. You will be alone in this among the Chanat, now and forever.”

Yes, Alden thought. Alone among the Chanat and everywhere else.

“They thought it was the grass that did it, then?” Alden asked, steering the conversation back. “These scholars, I mean.”

Dayan shrugged and narrowed his eyes. He stopped, then slowly swung his bow around, the movement completely silent.

Ahead there was movement–something quick and small darted between the rocks, its red silhouette long and grotesque.

Nocking an arrow, Dayan sucked in his breath, adjusted his aim, and let the arrow loose.

It struck the creature as it was midway between another set of rocks, killing it instantly. Even from a distance it could be smelled, a horrid, suffocating odor akin to decaying flesh and rotting eggs. The smell affected Dayan, too, whose face crinkled together unpleasantly.

“Grotworm,” Dayan said simply.

A single good view of it, even from a distance, was enough to know it was a monster. Halfway between snake and insect, its back was a slippery carapace of red scales that shone in the sunlight.

As they got closer the finer details became distinguishable, and Alden felt his shoulders lax in relief that he had not fought it up close. Its mouth was a set of six independent jaws that opened into a gaping maw of spikes and teeth, along with a forked yellow tongue.

Dayan must have noticed his discomfort as, riding as close as his horse would allow, Dayan poked at it with his spear, flipping it over so that its numerous curled legs faced the sky. Still amidst its death throes, the grotworm’s legs flailed, creating a chittering noise as they scraped together.

“Enough of that,” Alden said, and with a moment's focus he ignited the corpse.

Dayan laughed. “You Drygallins are so skittish, always afraid of every bug on the road.”

“Only bugs as large as dogs,” Alden replied.

“Ha! A small dog, yes, that is true. But they make for a good meal, you know.”

“Surely not?” Alden asked. The smell alone had churned his stomach. He could not imagine the taste.

“Oh yes. For other grotworms, that is. They eat their own as much as they eat everything else. A good thing, I say. Their nests are as large as twenty tents put together and filled with countless eggs. If they were not so stupid they would eat us all, I say.”

Dayan’s smile disappeared, replaced with a look of shock as a revelation came to him.

“What is it?”

“We are not yet in Tejin’s Strait,” he said.

“What does that matter?”

“Grotworms make their nests in the dirt, but avoid the rocky canyon. To see one here is tejmal…a bad omen, I believe it is phrased in your stone language.”

As if on cue there was a disturbance in the distance, and as Alden looked out beyond the canyon he saw a Chanat scout riding at them with feverish abandon and shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Monster!” the man yelled in the Drygallin tongue. “Monster! Haga!”

Dayan rode ahead, yelling angrily at the man. The scout calmed, then exchanged words with Dayan, whose body seemed to shake with fear.

“He’s found it!” Dayan yelled. He rode back to Alden, his face gleaming with a fresh sheen of sweat. “Past the canyon and three hills over. It's coming our way. And it’s big.”

Alden hoisted himself down from his horse, feeling both tired and invigorated. A part of him itched to fight, to conquer. The dark hunger that was always with him, always threatening to devour him from within until he was but a shell of malice

Another part dreaded the possibility of losses.

“Take your men out of the canyon and split them–half on each side. I’ll lure it into the canyon and trap it. After that we can work on breaking one of its horns off.”

Dayan shook his head. “We should attack it from behind.”

“No. I won’t risk it,” Alden said. But there was a defiance in Dayan’s eyes, the kind that said he would obey no matter what Alden said. “Fine. Keep watch from behind the damned thing. If I need help, help. If I don’t, stay out of my way.”

“This I can do,” Dayan said. He took the reins of Alden’s horse, yelled something to the other Chanat, then led the Chanat and Drygallin men out of the canyon.

Alden felt the tension in his shoulders grow. His bones itched with worry as a thousand disjointed thoughts passed through his mind. Thoughts of failure, and the results of his continued arrogance. What if someone died? He had felt that loss before, and his tongue still felt the bitter taste of it. And then there was the life of the flesheater itself, one he wanted, and needed, to preserve. He had wasted enough time hunting for just the one monster. Another was out of the question.

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

He heard the beast before he saw it. A low scraping noise that echoed through the canyon and caused the distant horses to let loose frightened whinnies. When it breached the top of the last hill his stomach sank.

Titanic Flesheater

Age: Unknown

Health: 100%

Mana: 700/700

Stats

Strength: 1600

Intelligence: 20

Wisdom: 0

Dexterity: 50

Agility: 450

Endurance: 3400

Fear had struck him for the first time when he first witnessed the myrmecoleon, a beast so large it towered over normal men, with claws as long as daggers and a mouth so large it could swallow a child whole. He had since exceeded that height through magic. Twelve feet at his largest, reduced to only nine following the siege of Licester, each of which was taller than the six-legged lion monster.

“Fuck me,” Alden muttered.

The flesheater’s size could only be described as gargantuan. It did not climb over the hill so much as crawl through it, its body digging away at the dry dirt beneath it and crushing stones to pieces. Only the front half of its body could be seen, the other half obscured by a mountain of dust, yet what he could see made his stomach somersault.

Is it even alive? He wondered.

The thing was not flesh and muscle and sinew, but thick white bone that encompassed a pale red sac within, shown only throw narrow slits. Despite that, it moved with an enviable swiftness as its front legs pulled it along, and in moments it was at the canyon’s entrance.

Mana burning in his veins, Alden conjured a ball of flame that struck the beast. The flames engulfed its sharpened skull, alighting its torso in brilliant orange light, then dissipated to reveal the beast’s unharmed visage. Opening the hinges of its titanic mouth it roared, sending a wave of hot wind that passed Alden by like the winds of a violent storm.

It charged at him, its furious footfalls shaking the earth with every step.

“Here goes nothing,” Alden said, and with a clap he unleashed his Syncope magic. The beast faltered, crashing headlong into the canyon’s left wall and bringing down an avalanche of dirt and rock upon it.

Alden shielded his eyes as a wave of dust hit him, then had the sense to conjure a shield around him. But even before the dust had settled he could hear it. A disconcerting sound like the scratching of steel against rock. Pushing the dust away with conjured wind, he saw the beast rising from the rubble unscathed.

From behind the monster he saw horses at full gallop.

“Stay away!” he yelled. Too late.

The flesheater’s tail swung out behind it, long and flexible like a whip, and struck the three fastest riders. Riders and horses both were lifted from the ground and sent flying into the canyon’s wall and crashed against it with a sickening splatter.

With a flick of his hands he conjured white lightning and struck behind the beast. The bolts exploded on impact, tossing dirt and rock into the sky and creating a wall of flames, separating the riders from the beast. The Chanat roared in anger, throwing out a dozen obscenities in a tongue Alden cared not to understand. He would not have more blood on his hands.

But the flames and lighting did nothing to dissuade the flesheater. Enticed by the angry sounds of the Chanat, it turned its incredible bulk toward them, flicking its tail at Alden. He leapt over it, then conjured a wave of wind beneath him, propelling him over the monster and the wall of flames.

In his haste he landed hard, sending a jolt of pain up his legs, slowing him. By the time he turned the flesheater was almost upon him, its giant maw and slithering tongues reaching for him. He pushed the beast back with a mighty gale of wind, but it dug its claws into the dirt and began to pull itself toward him.

Fuck. The beast inched toward him, and Alden saw that its tentacle-like tongues were covered in a thousand tiny spines.

One red tongue lashed out and wrapped itself around his leg. In a hot flash of pain it embedded its spines into him.

Warning

Blood is being drained.

-60HP/sec.

In the place of warm blood was a cold creeping sensation as the beast’s spines sucked at his blood.

Setting the tongue alight with flame it recoiled back into the dark depths of its owner’s mouth. The beast screeched, a sound so high and terrible it shook Alden to his bones and for a moment he thought his ears would bleed. When the screeching stopped the flesheater was on the move again.

Clapping his hands together he sent another bolt of Syncope magic towards the beast, twice as strong as the last, and the beast’s tongues went limp. But its skeletal frame continued its pursuit.

From behind him he could hear the Chanat yelling, along with what few Drygallin soldiers he’d brought. He could not tell their words apart over the roar of the flames behind him, so hot and so close they burned his back and the heels of his feet. Even still, he heard the steady gallop of a single horse, and knew who dared approach.

He conjured another volley of wind to slow the flesheater’s pace.

Dayan, warrior of the Bloody Grass, leapt over the towering flames the flames licking underside of his horse. It screamed in pain as it landed, almost throwing Dayan from his saddle. It tried to stand twice before Dayan caught his bearings, stood, and loosed an arrow through the horse’s eye.

“We must kill it,” Dayan said. Alden did not have time to complain.

“Spear,” Alden said. Dayan looked at him as he had gone mad.

“I do not…” he began, but by then Alden had put out his open hand, bare.

Find a good spear for him and buy it, he ordered.

Spear Found

Hama’s Shadow

120 Base Damage.

+30 Dexterity.

+30 Agility.

The spear appeared in his hands, and Dayan’s eyes went wide. It was a wondrous work of art, a glaive with a blade of white steel and a shaft of blue metal that sparkled in the light.

“Take it!” Alden ordered. The flesheater’s spiked tongues were already near once more, thrashing about like beheaded snakes.

Dayan took the weapon. He tested its weight and balance, swinging and twirling it through the air, then, as the red tongues came too close, he struck.

In a single, swift motion he cut three of the tongues, two sliced cleanly in twain, the other connected only by a string of flesh. Bright red blood sprayed forth, showering them both, and the beast screeched.

The tongues retreated back into the flesheater’s maw, and the beast stepped backwards.

“Wait for my order,” Alden said to Dayan. Dayan nodded.

With waves of razor sharp wind he cut at the flesheater, the pink sack of flesh held within its skeletal frame opening up with bright red wounds. The white armor-like bones of its body remained unscathed, however, and so, veins burning and hands crackling with energy, he conjured a blast of deafening lightning. It struck the beast head on, tendrils of electricity bouncing off its titanic skull and searing the rockface of the canyon’s walls, and the beast staggered. Yet the frame of its skull appeared untouched.

“How tough is the damn thing,” he yelled. Dayan gave a defeated laugh.

He had wanted, at least, to break its armor to create an opening for Dayan to strike. But with armor that strong…

Extending a hand Alden shot out a beam of light. In an instant his mind was filled with a thousand shapes and a thousand colors, then thousands and thousands more appeared until there were too many for his mind to handle.

Stat Up

By straining your mind's limit you have received 1 bonus point to Intelligence.

He heard screaming. A man’s screams, so loud it deafened all else. His senses returned to him piece by piece, starting with his skin, which tingled all across his body. Taste came next, with a strange, bitter flavor that receded until all that could be tasted was blood. Vision came last; through blurred eyes he realized he was knelt, down facing the dirt, and the screams were his own.

“My lord,” Dayan said from his side. There was fear all over him. Slowly, Alden stood, feeling as if he weighed ten times as much as before.

“I know how to kill it,” he said. Dayan did not look convinced. “When the time comes, thrust as deep as you can.”

Conjuring streams of flames and bolts of lightning, Alden struck at the beast’s sides, aiming as far behind it as its monstrous frame would allow.

Come at me! Come at me, damn you! He needed to enrage the beast, get it to charge, then…

It worked, and the flesheater roared, then charged. Leaping to the left, he attacked with fire and wind, drawing the flesheater’s attention. It turned, ignoring Dayan and revealing its flank.

“Now!” he yelled.

Dayan leapt, thrusting his weapon in between the steel hard ribs, his hands wielding the very end of the weapon’s shaft. Hama’s Shadow sank into the pink sac of flesh with ease, all the way to the end and even beyond until even Dayan’s hands were consumed.

The beast groaned and stilled.

Congratulations!

The Flesheater has been killed.

Rewarding 13,100xp to the party.

Please choose a distribution method.

He hovered over the options only a moment.

Dayan rewarded all xp.

Dayan can now change class.

Dayan has advanced from an Atak Warrior to a Jira Warrior.

Dayan

Class: Jira Warrior

Health: 100%

Mana: 100/100

Stats

Strength: 122

Intelligence: 35

Wisdom: 22

Dexterity: 72

Agility: 150

Endurance: 86

Luck: 32

Charisma: 25

Dayan’s eyes went wide. He moved, taking a few careful steps, then, in a sudden burst of energy, the man ran and leapt high above the ground. When he landed he was laughing like a madman. By the crazed look in his eyes, Alden thought he might have become one.

“My lord,” he said, running up to Alden like an enthused child.

“What?”

“How have you done this?” Dayan looked at his body in awe, though, as far as Alden could see, there had been no change in his appearance. Dayan must have realized this, as he backed away a few steps, crouched, then launched himself into the air once more, higher than before. As he came to the apex he tucked his knees to his chest and spun forward, completing three full spins before he slammed back first into the dirt. His arms and legs uncoiled, sprawling out against the dirt. He groaned, and Alden stepped to help him. But then the groans turned to fits of laughter.

“It is incredible!” Dayan said, sitting up. “I have never felt so good, my lord. What is this strange magic?”

Alden chuckled. “Not magic. Something else entirely.”

“Whatever it is, lord, it is incredible. Like a gift of Akra. I feel as if I could conquer twenty tribes all on my own.”

Perhaps you can, Alden thought. Changing class brought with it immense growth. Truly immense.

He reviewed Dayan’s Stats once more, dumbfounded. He had grown in the span of a single battle by an amount that had taken Alden months, until he had met Amice and learned the Way of the World.

He would have been jealous, if not for the pride he felt.

“Continue to serve me, Dayan, and this will be only the beginning.”

Dayan laughed. “Serve I will, my lord.”

After the fires were put out the others joined them. The Chanat cheered and danced, despite none beside Dayan having had a hand in the battle, while the few Drygallin men with them stood around the dead beast, muttering and laughing halfheartedly. There was gloom and doubt hovering over them. Flesheaters in the north were smaller, weaker, and even then were dangerous enough to require knights or large hosts of soldiers to take them down.

The Chanat, however, had attacked such a beast with a recklessness that could almost be seen as bravery.

“Relax,” he said as he stepped up to the monster’s corpse. But they did not and, in fact, became more restless as he began to inspect the corpse.

The beast’s bones were smooth and hard to the touch. He concentrated his magic into a small section of it, allowing an influx of information into his mind, and he realized just how hard they were.

“What are doing, milord?” one asked.

“Trying to figure out how we’re going to get this thing back,” he replied.

“Break it, surely,” the tall, lanky man offered. Alden wished it were that simple.

“Fool, didn’t you see milord fightin’ it?” the muscular one said. “Fire, lightnin’, stone. Damn thing’s hard as steel.”

“Harder,” Alden said. “Much harder.” He produced a blade of shining, mirror-like steel from his Inventory. He struck the sword against the monster’s corpse with all the force he could muster, the handle reverberating painfully in his hand. His ears rang.

The sword dented from the blow, folding almost in half. Alden didn’t know if he should have felt smug that he was right or irritated that such creatures existed at all. He settled on irritated.

“By the Gods,” the muscular man muttered. He touched two fingers to his chest, then to his head–the sign of Acceptance. It was meant to help the true believers of the Council of Gods accept unfortunate truths in the world, both in their hearts and their minds. But to Alden the act was a strange thing to witness, especially from his own men, and it always brought a degree of discomfort.

“Is there any other way to break it apart?” asked the lanky man. Alden wasn’t sure.

After the wind, fire, and lightning he’d thrown at it he was almost out of ideas. He could sever the bones with concentrated magic–assuming flesheater bones operated under the same rules as human bones–but with the density of the bones themselves, not to mention their size…

There was the simple solution of using the System. It would mean revealing himself, something he had thought about long and hard and still had not come to a conclusion on. He opted against it.

“We will camp here for a night, maybe two. I’ll send a group of riders ahead to gather more men. With any luck we’ll be well on our way before they unite with us, but in the worst case we’ll have more bodies to throw at the damned thing.”

“Bodies, indeed,” the stocky man said, glancing at the three dead Chanat riders. They had been gathered together and laid upon the ground, bodies facing the sky, as the others began to strip from them weapons and jewelry and clothes.

“Savages,” the muscular man said.

“It is their custom,” Alden replied. He had to admit he found the custom strange as well. He would have to ask Dayan later as to the meanings involved.

“Well, it’s a right fucked custom,” the lanky man said. Alden glared at the man, and he flinched.

“Leave it be,” he said.

The men said their farewells and left him after, and for that he was grateful. Without them he would not have to suffer their ignorant complaints, nor their tedious shows of religious devotion.

Maybe it’s best I store this thing and get us moving.

Holding out a hand, he willed the corpse into his Inventory.

Failure

Cannot store Active Items.

Active Items? Is this damned thing still alive?

Conjuring Diagnosis Magic once more, he delved not into the bones as he had before but deeper, into the flesh sack held within.

As the dots formed in his mind’s eye he began to discern what lay within, despite his sluggish pace. Gathering too much at once had scarred his mind, almost destroyed it, and he did not care for a repeat So he tread slowly, carefully, dissecting the beast layer by layer. There were the common organs as one would expect; there was the brain, which was as large as a hunting hound, and the heart that Dayan had pierced with Hama’s Shadow, which was as large as a boar. But the similarities ended there.

There was no liver or kidneys or pancreas, nor did the beast have any lungs to speak of. Its stomach, which made up most of its insides, was filled with long tendrils made of thick muscle. Each tendril, in turned, was covered in sharp spikes, not unlike the beast’s tongues, which, after a few moments more of Alden mapping out the beast’s belly, he realized that these tendrils and the tongues he’d seen were one and the same, different only in their length.

But perhaps the strangest phenomena the beast held was its musculature and its nervous system. The nervous system he was uncertain of, having only a light grasp from nights of reading, but on the matter of musculature he was certain.

Things didn’t add up.

Flesh and muscle ended too soon. Its muscles did not connect to the heavy bones that lined its exterior. Nor did the flesh itself, which was merely attached loosely to the skeletal structure using what Alden could only imagine was a glue-like substance produced from more than a hundred odd nodules that lined the connected areas.

He turned his magic to the bones once more, delving deep into their structure. There was no marrow, no blood, only hard bone. And the flow of magic, which he followed until he reached its source at the skeletons' spine. He felt the magic there, and, he knew at once, it felt him.

He recoiled.

“Get away!” he roared, so loud it strained his throat.

His people fled from the corpse, wide eyed and bewildered and staring fearfully towards Alden. Their confusion turned to annoyance and laughter, thinking his words were mere jest.

Then the skeleton began to move.

The ribs opened up and the sack of flesh within disconnected, falling to the ground with a squelch as it deflated, bright red blood pouring from its gaping hole. Rising up, it towered over Alden. His heart stopped.

With blinding speed the skeleton attacked with its front claws, shredding the front of Alden’s torso as he backstepped, narrowly avoiding being turned into a red smear. Doubling over from the pain, he sewed his wounds back together with magic as he fled from the beast. He ran until he reached the nearest group of riders, who were frantically pulling on the reins of their horses and yelling.

Run, he was going to say. Run, flee, get away. I’ll handle this. But just as the words came to his lips he saw the skeleton stiffen and collapse into a heap of dust and bone.

“What happened?” the muscular man from before yelled. The Chanat murmured in their tongue.

“Is it dead? Truly dead?” Dayan asked.

There was only one way to tell for certain.

Creating a barrier of magic, Alden approached the corpse once more. Reaching out again, he felt for the flow of magic he’d detected before. When he did not find it, he scoured over the enormous skeleton’s entirety, a feat that took minutes of careful work. By the end of it he was certain the source of magic was no more. The beast was well and truly dead.