Nick endured a barrage of stinging slaps as more bladed projectiles slammed into the leather of his jacket. They left deep bruises behind, although fortunately nothing hit his head or unprotected flesh. His left hand hurt like hell, but at least the wound didn’t seem to have severed any nerves or major blood vessels. A silver lining in the storm that had descended upon his head.

The twisted cries of the redfang hunters were growing closer by the footfall, but it wasn’t all bad news. By now, Nick was nearly out of the swamp. A little further and he would reach the closest hill and could climb to higher ground. He had seen the ruins of a windmill jutting up from the hillcrest earlier in the day. If he could endure this assault long enough to gain the safety of its walls, he had a real chance of holding out against the creatures who were stalking him.

He stumbled as he reached the bottom of the hill, having misjudged the start of the rise by several feet. He had only viewed this terrain from a distance while moving through the swamp, and his visualization of the area was part memory and part approximation.

Thanks to his sudden stagger, a pair of projectiles went whizzing past his ear instead of striking him in the back of the head. A serious blow that Nick wouldn’t have been able to walk away from.

Now that he knew his opponents were aiming for his vitals instead of center mass, he tried to move unpredictably. He ran while weaving from side-to-side, taking another two hits to his back and dodging another strike to his skull in the process.

By now, Nick was gaining elevation quickly, moving faster after leaving the swampy terrain behind him at last. Before much longer, he should rise above the bank of mist, which tended to hover low to the ground.

After climbing halfway up the hillside, he abruptly broke free from the blackmist’s inky grasp. The sunlight shining in his fog-blinded eyes was so bright that for a moment, he thought it was another form of attack.

He had to close his eyes to slits until they began to adjust, savoring the warmth of the sunlight on his skin. The knowledge that no unseen assailants prowled the skies ahead. That he would gain the safety of the windmill’s walls within another handful of heartbeats.

At least he had grown used to running sightless over the last few minutes, so the penetrating radiance didn’t slow him down. He staggered away from the seething ocean of darkness, desperate to gain more elevation and leave the blackmist behind him for good.

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The moment that his eyes adapted to the afternoon light, he spun around, gazing down into the swirling mass of magical mist below his boots. He turned just in time to see something shooting out from the fog, heading right for his face.

Lacking time to dodge, he drew his dagger and raised the weapon in a single motion, turning his head to one side to protect his eyes. With a ringing ping, the object struck the flat of his blade and shattered, fragments falling to the ground by his boots.

While the hunters had yet to leave the mist, he wouldn’t be safe until he moved beyond their range. Now that he could see their attacks coming, Nick could actively dodge instead of moving unpredictably and praying that they missed. He started walking backwards, heading for the shelter of the mill’s stone walls, evading another half dozen strikes as he went.

That was the moment when two enormous wings emerged from the mist like a pair of fins, with a second set trailing behind. Shit, they’re coming right for me. Escaping from the blackmist might not be enough to stop them. I might have to drive them off with force instead.

Nick drew his sword, conjured a mana dart, and braced himself for combat, expecting the redfang hunters to come streaking out from the pitch-black fog, eager to finish the fight. But that was not what happened.

What happened was that each of the redfangs fired a parting shot before turning around, disappearing into the blackmists, which were already receding into the distance. As a cry of bestial frustration rang out over the marsh, Nick let lose his dart in the direction they were headed, then sprinted to the mill and darted inside. Thank god, they’re bound to the mist after all.

To his immense relief, he discovered that nothing was laired within. He was safe at last, at least for the moment. Now that the adrenaline and his arctic clarity were fading away, the pain of his wounds caught up to him, alongside the exhaustion and stress from his near escape.

He looked down at his injured hand while fighting to catch his breath. The projectile was still embedded in his flesh, and he winced as he pulled a long onyx feather free from the wound. When he sat down and leaned against the wall, he realized that a dozen more were sticking out from the leather of his jacket.

Fortunately, the needlelike quills hadn’t been able to pierce all the way through the toughness-modified armor, or he would have been in serious risk of bleeding out, assuming that he made it out of the mist to begin with.

Going forward, he would have to take the hunters into account. Thanks to the latest global event, the blackmists had transformed from an inconvenience into a lethal threat. But through a combination of luck, quick thinking, and the growing power of his imagination, Nick had emerged from another crisis with only modest wounds. Now it was time to recover while he could before his next ordeal began.