Mordred exited the compound a few hours later, shouldering a sack full of supplies and a giant yellow orb in place of his abdomen. Everything felt fine, of course, but god was it going to be a pain to hide when he undresses.

Right. Let’s not ponder on the specifics of the conspicuous yellow ball just yet, and figure out where to go from here. His alter ego had left him only the faintest memories of where the gaol was located, and since he didn’t have a map, well, that left only one option:

“Pick a direction,” He turned right, “Geronimo!” And he was off!

----------------------------------------

…It turns out that — to absolutely no one’s surprise — blindly walking through the forest without a single clue as to where you were going would be a bad idea. Mordred had to find that out the hard way, sadly, when he was snared by a trap that left him hanging upside down.

Mordred sighed as he failed to escape from his binds for the umpteenth time. He wasn’t feeling that odd sense of vertigo overcome him just yet, so there was that, but he didn’t see himself getting out of this predicament anytime soon either. However, what may seem like bad luck, at first sight, would eventually lead to a monumental discovery, something he probably wouldn’t have found out until very late into the future, maybe too late.

“Ahem! If there was a better time to have my future ‘hang upon your fickle axis’, I’d say it’d be now.” He chuckled helplessly. He knew it was a last-ditch effort — and a stupid one at that — but hey, what didn’t he have but time?

Beep!

“Woah… that was new!” He stared at the screen-like panel incredulously. It was nothing special, pictures arranged in a grid of five by five with a neon blue backdrop reminiscent of a shopping catalogue. Below that were numbers, stretching from one all the way to two hundred, with ellipses in between for fine-tuning.

Mordred couldn’t hold down the exasperated chuckle from escaping his lips. Is this what it was talking about?

Just then, a disembodied voice echoed from deep within the orb’s core as if it had heard his thoughts, “Correct.”

It wasn’t shameful to admit that a little squawk of surprise was all he could muster at that moment, and— okay, maybe it wasn’t his proudest moment, but you could hardly blame him!

“What are you?” He stared at the orb with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. On the one hand, he was amazed at the fact that he was talking to a ball implanted in his abdomen. On the other hand, he was talking to a ball implanted in his abdomen… yeah, it’d be best if he erred on the side of caution.

“There is no need, for I am not your enemy,” Mordred’s eyes widened at that.

Wait… can it read my mind?

“There is no need for me to; for I am you, and you are me,” again it replied with uncanny accuracy, like it was taking a magnifying glass to his head and observing his every thought. Hell, if what it just said was true, maybe it was.

Mordred didn’t hold onto that thought for long, though, when he heard a shuffling from the bushes. He swore under his breath, before doubling his efforts to escape his binds.

“If I may make a suggestion,” the orb said as it began scrolling through the screen’s interface for him, “why not synthesize yourself this?”

Mordred watched as it automatically clicked on the picture of a blade. It was relatively short, about the size of his hand while also being thinner than a regular kitchen knife. It reminded him of a parrying knife, actually, with its curved crossguard and shorter handle.

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

“I believe it will serve you well,” it continued, “both in its utility…”

He didn’t hear that last part, though, when the unknown creature in the bushes made itself known to him: stepping out of the undergrowth in a constant prowl was a killing machine; muscular legs built to run for days, a lithe, agile body brimming with destructive energy and haunting yellow eyes that pierced through the endless void of dark. It was a Gailopine.

Oh, shi—

Mordred didn’t even have the time to think before it was on him, claws out.

If I don’t escape… he moved by instinct, pushing himself away from its grasp. I’m going to die!

The Gailopine roared bitterly, its claws grazing nought but a fleck of his shirt. It glared at the impudence of its prey and lunged in for another attack, this time diving headfirst with its maw gaping wide.

Mordred took hold of the trunk with both hands, trying to climb up and right himself on a low-hanging branch. It was only in between that twilight period of errant thoughts and careless calculations, however, did he realise…

It was too late.

Mordred gasped as he felt a row of sharp, dagger-like teeth dig into his left arm, cutting through skin, piercing bone, and ripping apart muscle. He was going to be completely honest: he thought he was going to die, then. Yet despite gut-wrenching shock to his system, Mordred was able to slam the Gailopine into the thick bark of the tree. It yowled in pain but refused to let up, releasing its grip on his arm and turning to something else. Something more fragile.

Something like… his fingers.

“!!!” The world went white for Mordred, and for a moment, all he could do was let out a silent scream as he felt the feeling leave his hand. It hurt. It fucking hurts. Nothing could ever prepare Mordred for that sort of agony, but he knew that if he didn’t get over it soon, he might not have to worry about feeling anymore. After all, the dead cannot suffer.

Get off me! He growled, and with a desperate kick to its face, he sent the Gailopine into the air, launching it back into the shrubbery from whence it came. Mordred hung limply, taking precious seconds to catch his breath and sort himself out.

Fuck, this is going to hurt tomorrow… he hissed in pain at the large gashes on his forearm, feeling the ripped cloth of his shirt stick to his skin as it soaked in his blood. And then, his gaze travelled down to his fingers. Mordred let out a shaky breath at the sight of his fingers… he acted quickly to stop the bleeding, ripping away a piece of his shirt so he could tie it around his arm.

Mordred couldn’t do any more before he heard the oh-so-annoying sound of that hiss. Fucking cat won’t give up, huh?

It did not. Mordred’s eyes shot daggers at the Gailopine, a gesture it was all too glad to return. The pair didn’t sit there and stare for long, though, before it was on the prowl.

Here it comes! With a well-timed boost from the tree, he tackled the Gailopine mid-air. Of course, not even that could stop the momentum of a creature the size of a lion leaping at full speed, but he never intended for that to happen: Mordred grunted as he was knocked into the tree, almost certainly bruising something, and breaking something else. Still, he was able to get the Gailopine in a chokehold. It wasn’t going to go down without a fight, but again, he had never intended for it to go down peacefully.

That’s right! Struggle! Struggle till you get me out of here! He grinned as he lead the squirming Gailopine towards his binds. It wasn’t easy, but if anyone were to walk up to him and tell him wrestling against a tiger was easy, he’d have laughed at their face.

It didn’t take long before random chance won over, and after a few attempts, the sturdy cord of rope trapping him to the tree was cut in half, sending them flying in opposite directions.

Yes! I’ve done it! I’ve— he was silenced when his triumphant gaze met the Gailopine’s. What he saw… wasn’t shock. It wasn’t alarm or surprise or… anything. In fact, there was no emotion in its gaze at all, like it had expected this and was merely waiting for its plan to come to fruition.

Its gaze was one of apathy, and it did something to Mordred, something fierce— like there was a fire lit inside him and he had to do whatever he could to quench it, even if it meant doing something he would regret.

You… You don’t get to look at me like that! Not after my arm! Not after my fingers!

It wasn’t necessary — he knew it wasn’t — he could’ve run into the cover of foliage and evaded its sight; he would escape with his life, if nursing a bruised ego, but live to fight another day.

That wasn’t how he wanted it to end. No! Not until it gets what’s coming to it!

So as he lay there, smeared in blood and grime, Mordred made a decision.

He would not be a coward again!