Splish.

Cain froze.

A slow glance back told him that the lake man was still out of it, drunk on his pheromones as he was. Telrind had showed himself to be… clingy. That was the word for it. Clingy and massive. Even now, at the very edge of the guardian’s mucky form Cain felt like he would sense him moving away any second. So he moved slowly. Slowly.

Splish.

There it was again. The demon looked around, head moving just a little faster than he’d dared to earlier. The mud and debris making up the lake man’s body was all around him. Cain pushed himself to send out another wave of pheromones. He felt his surroundings shiver as they soaked up his magic.

Cain felt dizzy. It was a novel experience. He hadn’t even known it would exhaust him to work his magic this hard. The whispers at the back of his head hadn’t warned him. Perhaps they didn’t know. Had any other of his kind been caught by a creature as mighty as Telrind before? They didn’t know. Frustrated over the lack of information to go on, Cain turned his focus back to the task at hand.

Escaping.

It was hard work. He was underwater. Far beneath the surface of the lake. The light far above taunted him. ‘Try harder’ it seemed to tell him. ‘I’m trying,’ he would hiss back if he didn’t fear it would snap the Telrind out of his daze.

He’d worked hard for this. His body was still sore and complaining about moving any more than he already had. He had to get away.

As tempting as it was to stay in the lake man’s grasp until Rowan returned with a boat, which could take ages mind, Cain’s patience didn’t quite agree with the notion of staying put in one place for so long. He’d grown impatient, despite the pleasure of Telrind’s near constant attention. Having someone indulge in him like the lake man had had spoken to some primal part of the demon. The part that demanded to do what he’d been made for. To bring pleasure, to hunt and deceive, and to do what all demons craved the most; to feel.

At first it had been addicting. A flood of sensations only this unique scenario could grant him. He’d feared drowning at first, but Telrind’s impatience, or perhaps his recklessness when it came to new playthings, had shown that oxygen was more of an option for the demon. Cain had felt like he was choking at first, then water had filled his lungs and the instinct to gag and cough and flail had disappeared. Perhaps it was another act he was urged to put up for his victims? To seem real. Mimic people, act like them. He might not be a human, but the best way to seduce one was to act in predictable ways wasn’t it? Humans liked to feel in power. To know what would happen. A wonderfully exploitable trait for any creature able to mimic them.

Cain smiled. He’d gotten the hang of it now he thought. Telrind had seemed all too happy with the reactions his prodding and teasing got. So happy that he hadn’t noticed the way Cain’s magic had slowly dulled his mind until only something vaguely resembling consciousness remained.

At first Telrind had played along with the mimicry of humans. He’d revealed a somewhat human body beneath all the muck and grime. Pale, lean limbs, and a gaunt face with tired but excited eyes. Black messy hair. Ears and teeth that were just a tiny bit too long and pointy to pass for human. He’d played along, done as humans did and used his hands and mouth. It had been fun. A slow start. Telrind had said he wanted to savor the feeling. To enjoy his newfound entertainment slowly.

After few hours the lake man had faltered into little more than a writhing mess of shapes and grasping limbs. Needy and intrusive. It had stopped registering noises, and focused solely on soaking up Cain’s magic. So much for taking it slow.

Cain grinned. That was his doing wasn’t it? Even a guardian couldn’t stay sane when left to ingest his magic for long enough. Even the mighty fall.

Splish.

...Though he wasn’t too sure of how long the mighty stayed down, so he put some more energy and speed into his escape.

Clawing his way towards the surface was hard, no less so with his body burning with exhaustion. So close.

He felt the dark tentacle-like limbs of mud and reeds tighten its grip around his body. They held his legs and waist, moving slowly as if in a trance, just rubbing up and down his skin as if urging more of his magic to seep through it.

Feeling the resistance they offered his escape, Cain obliged. He sent another wave of pheromones into his surroundings, and felt the tentacles tremble and go slack almost at once. The lake man had overdosed on his magic to the point of nearly losing control of his limbs a long time ago, but the addictive traits of Cain’s magic kept Telrind’s body reaching out for more. Cain moved faster towards the surface to avoid getting caught by the tentacles when they returned.

They would return. Just give them a moment to recover. Telrind was terrifyingly fast to recover when given a chance, and the fact that he still could recover spoke of just how resistant he was to the stuff. It was only his lack of restraint that gave the incubus the upper hand.

Splish.

Gotta hurry. Cain clawed his way through muck and seaweed. It swirled around him, ever active, moving just enough for the clueless to suspect something off about the sludge at this lake's bottom.

Keep moving.

The surface. He could see clearer now. He was part the worst of it. Juuust a little bit closer. Cain reached out, fingers grazing the bright surface of the lake. Cold air met his hands as he pumped his legs more fervently. Then something cold and slimy wrapped around his ankles.

In a panic, Cain doubled his struggles. Not again, he thought as Telrind’s sluggish tentacles tried to pull him back down again. Driven by fear and determination, the demon’s wings and tail unfurled on their own, spreading out from nothing into a brilliant display of frilled leather wings and straining, delicate bones and muscles. They were not meant for flight. Not for a competition of strength. Not even meant for physical labour really. But what else could he do?

He felt more of the lake man’s cold and numerous limbs rise up to grab hold of him. His wings started to protest painfully as tentacles of reed and mud tried to wrap around them at the wrong angle. Not again.

He’d failed several earlier attempts at fleeing, just like this. He’d make it all the way to the surface, then just as he was about to break it Telrind sobered up. Not again.

A vibration ran through the water around him, quickly followed by a enraged screech. Black ichor swirled up into the waters, thick like oil. Cain didn’t know the source of it at first, then he looked down at his thrashing tail, noticing the bloodied spines that had erupted- no, were erupting along its length. Sharp needle like protrusions that cut and stung whenever the lake man’s limbs tried to grab hold of him again, each time pulling back with another shriek as black strings of goopy blood trailed from their wounds.

Cain only paused for a moment to take this new change in, then, as most demons did, he choose to not question sudden changes, and resumed his desperate swimming towards the surface.

He broke through it with a gurgling gasp, his previously water filled lungs suddenly remembering that they prefered not being filled with liquid. Coughing and sputtering, Cain splashed about at the surface of the lake while trying to blink the world around him back into focus. The sun glared at him with such intensity that he nearly dunked his head back under the water. He managed to stop himself, and just in time too, because the next moment he felt Telrind’s slimy tentacles return for him, quicker now, but just as disoriented as before, now due to the pain, rather than the demon’s magical scent.

Given such a strong new motivation, Cain gave the nearest limb a firm kick, which earned him yet another shriek from far below, a sound that promised several things Cain had no intention to stay and experience for himself.

Spotting the overgrown bank of the lake, the demon set his direction and started moving, much to the dismay of his exhausted body. Only when he started moving did he get away from the direct light of the sun. It was setting he realised. The sky was red, foreboding, and brilliantly bright in that way only a sunset could dye it. It was pretty enough to make anyone other than a demon fleeing from a enraged force of nature pause.

The newly grown spines lining his tail made contact with Telrind’s searching limbs three more times before muddy ground met Cain’s fingers. He barely felt it, numb as he was. The water had turned chilling and the cold ate away at his warmth quicker than he cared for. He had just made it out of the water and into the reeds when the lake exploded.

Water sprayed high enough to blot out the horizon in a terrifying show of power and intent. A frenzied shriek followed it soon thereafter, louder and somehow more distorted above water than beneath it. Cain felt the ground beneath him shudder as yet another explosion of sound and wetness threw itself out of the lake. This time a heavy bang followed the sound. A spray of water hit his back as Cain scrambled to his feet and made for the forest line. He turned his head for a split second to check the state of the lake. He regretted it almost immidiatly.

Black and brown threw itself above the roiling surface of the lake, shuddering tentacles and vague shapes made out of muck and debris. The lake man was turning his domain upside down, throwing water into the air while his heavy limbs thrashed about in a blind rage. It looks almost as if the bottom of the lake had climbed out of the water, and were now furiously throwing its limbs about in a blind search for what had enraged it. Cain ran faster.

The forest surrounding the lake seemed to share his opinion, because in front of his very eyes the trees uprooted themselves. Pale maple trunks moved and twisted with groaning sounds of bending bark and rustling leaves, a sight reserved for the night and the truly disastrous moments. Disaster felt the most accurate, because late as it was, the sun was still visibly glaring at the entire spectacle from just above the line of the horizon as if the entire scenario was beneath it.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Cain pumped his legs and ducked in beneath the leaves of the forest, just in time to feel the impact of one of the lake man’s limbs crashing into a far off tree. The impact sent another tremble through the ground, and everything from insects to mushrooms fled away from it. Cain would have been fascinated enough by the sight of his moving surroundings to pause, had he not felt the spray of mud hit his back as he turned to follow the general direction the forest was going in.

He could feel the rage of the lake as clear as a thought in his mind. Compared to the lake, the maple forest was in chaos. Where the lake was clear, furious, intent, the forest was a startled outrage. Confusion was thick in the air, the base that made up this slew of emotion, but trying to out volume that was the rage of wounded pride. The demon knew that if the rå had been close to him he would have heard her scream in fury. Who had the audacity to act out like this near her domain?! It was disorienting. Cain was an outsider, and a demon at that. His connection to the Underground made the turmoil of the two guardians stand out clear as day to him, yet as an outsider he was given no instruction on how to deal with it. He could feel Telrind trying to pull him back, demand his return, but he wasn’t one born in the lake, nor had he laid down any roots near it. The lake had no claim to him, and as such, the demand was little more than a request. A furious, threatening, request that promised a world of pain should he deny it.

The thought of it drew out a wild cackle from his throat. The danger of it made him feel alive. It was a rush, so sweet and pure. Raw emotions mixed with the burning exhaustion of his body. A deliciously dangerous rush. Cain savored it the only way a demon could. He howled with glee and fear and soared through the woods at breakneck speed, knowing in his very core that even broken bones couldn’t stop him.

The moving forest flew past him as he ran, flashing crimson and torn green. Water flooded the ground and fought with thrashing roots. Shapes moved past Cain in the opposite direction, all huge, lean, and hungry, all eager to please Lan’s fury. Cain laughed and hurtled down a hill, wings folding in lest they get caught and ripped off. He let his tail remain for balance, and as the ground greeted him he rolled and continued.

The previously unified movement of the forest had ceased. Chaos reigned as half of the Maples tried to flee from the enraged lake, while the other half surged towards it to push it back into the hole it called home. Cain followed the fleeing half, but soon enough even that part of the forest fell behind.

Sudden emptiness caught Cain as he leapt out of the woods. Flat ground replaced the lumpy floor of the forest and the sudden change threw Cain’s balance way off.

With a surprised yell the demon fell, then tumbled a good few meters before he managed to catch himself. Disoriented, Cain shook his head and looked about. In front of him lay the plains. Far to his right a well used path cut through the grass on its way towards the distant settlement. When Cain squinted he could see that Harwall was lit up and active, far more than one would expect at this time of day. The deep sound of a alarm bell suddenly rang out, painfully clear even at a distance. Cain slapped his hand over his ears and winced loudly at the sound, hating it within seconds.

Behind him the lake and the Maples continued to war, the roar of beasts, trees, and water only barely out voluming the cry of the bell. Cain felt that the bell had no business being that loud.

Still a bit dizzy, but far too eager to get away from both sounds and their sources, the demon stumbled back to his feet. He noted the chaos on both ends, then he saw the silhouettes of the Pines behind Harwal shift and decided that south sounded like a lovely place to be right now. Deciding so, the demon dusted himself off, noticed his lack of clothes for the first time since he’d escaped the lake, then decided against worrying about it for now, and set off towards the south, the opposite direction off… Well, everything relevant for the time being. He had no intention to remain near two, possible three if the Pines were getting involved, warring territories. They could sort it out while he explored the south.

Meanwhile in Harwall.

Rowan had spent his afternoon working on a boat. Not a real boat, at least in the sense that someone would ever sail it. He’d been making a toy boat, as instructed by Margret. Usually such a suggestion would have seemed crazy to him, but Margret did have a reputation of knowing things and how to deal with them, so he’d chosen to trust in her rather than run around in a panic on his own. He might have been able to find the right people to help him make an actual boat, but that would have taken days, not to mention the cost.

Rowan was no boat builder. Hells, he couldn’t even make furniture. Frail but pretty things was more his forte, thus his career as an artist rather than a carpenter or a stone mason. It had seemed enough, right until his new friend had gotten himself taken hostage by a guardian that demanded he make him a ship if he wanted to see his friend again.

So, Rowan was making a toy boat. He’d worked hard and actually made something pretty similiar to the real deal, if downscaled to the size of a cat and without a whole lot of details normally seen on a boat. Or a ship. Rowan had lived his entire life land locked, so the terms didn’t really come naturally to him. A ship was just a larger boat wasn’t it? But a toy ship was smaller than both a boat and a ship, so it’d be called a toy boat right? Or a toy ship… He didn’t know, nor did he think it would affect the final product much if he called it this or that. Point was that it would float, look kinda fancy, and a lake man would deem it fit to sink in some creative way. And hopefully it would save Cain from going mad or turning into some kind of lake changeling. Could changelings turn into other kinds of changelings? He didn’t know that either. Maybe he would ask Margret when he was done with the boat.

He would have worked on it the entire night, but his body had other ideas. He hadn’t really rested, not since the demon had gotten its hold of him and that entire mess had started. Rowan was exhausted, tired, spent. He wanted to continue working on the boat, but his hands were growing unsteady and his eyelids were getting heavier by the minute.

“...Tomorrow. I’ll finish it tomorrow.. He’s a demon, he’ll survive.” Rowan tried to convince himself that he could spare himself a few hours to rest up and finish the boat early in the morning instead.

The sun hadn’t set just yet, but it wasn’t far off. An early night then. Just a few hours. He might make a mistake if he didn’t rest too, and that might be worse than being a few hours late. He didn’t know how picky the lake man would be, or how alert he would need to be when offering him the boat either for that matter. What if he got angry? Margret would come with, but what could she do? Maybe he shouldn’t trust her so blindly on this. Cain’s life was on the line wasn’t it? But then again, how well did he know the demon? They’d only known each other for what, a day? And he was a demon…

Thoughts of doubt haunted Rowan as he undressed and flopped down on his bed. Maybe he was working himself up a bit too much over it all… He was too tired to decide on that. Troubled, the artist closed his eyes and let sleep take him. It took only a few minutes. Sadly it only lasted as long too. A distant sound had Rowan’s eyes squint open just a tad. He couldn’t tell what he’d heard, nor was he awake enough to think much more off it. But a few seconds later another sound followed the first, louder this time. A distinctly worrying sound.

Rowan pondered the pros and cons of ignoring it. It sounded distant, possibly even outside the settlement. He lived close to the wall so that was plausible. Maybe a roaming monster or something having a fit. They did that sometimes. The alarm bells would start ringing if it was actually something to worry about.

Reluctant to wake up any more than he already had, Rowan remained face down in his bed and waited to see if the sound returned or not. He hoped it wouldn’t. He groaned loudly into the mattress as it did.

Rowan sat up with a grimace and glared at nothing in particular. His bedroom had no windows, but he could see some of the red sunlight coloring his floor through the door to the rest of his house. Sunset. Who was throwing a racket at sunset?

Crash.

The sound was louder this time, closer or just louder. He couldn’t tell which, but it was enough to get him out of bed. More sounds of distant violence rang out as he searched for some relatively clean clothes and got dressed. He would have to do laundry soon. If the Maples moved that was. He wouldn’t risk another run in with Lan over some dirty clothes, no matter how icky it made him feel to smell his own filth on his clothes. Being a werewolf made him just a smidge less tolerant to dirty clothes. Had he lived in a city down south he might have cleaned his his stuff more often, but up north he had fewer opportunities to do that. Harwall had no finished well yet. The land moved too much up north for wells to be easy constructions.

Rowan groused about dirty clothes and well hating land while pulling his dreads back into a loose ponytail. The alarm bells rang at the same time he stepped out of his bedroom, which, both comically and infuriatingly, made him stub his toes on the threshold. His moment of pain and swearing leeched some of the drama out of the sound of the bells.

The bells of Harwall were simple things, large bells of some cheap metal hung up in temporary towers of timber. They would get proper towers of stone once the wall was set up. Now they rang loud and clear and the sound made Rowan’s head hurt.

Irritated more than anything, Rowan made his way through the mainroom of his home, to the door, then outside it. As expected of a emergency near sunset, Harwall was falling into a sluggish sense of chaos. Chaos, because anything worthy of the bells meant possible death and tragedy, and sluggish, because at least half of the settlement would have prefered if the emergency could have waited until morning. People did not care to die before bedtime.

A good number of guards were rushing about, armors on and weapons at the ready. Rowan made to shout for one to find out what the hell was happening, but before he could do much more than open his mouth, the door to Margret Rotwall’s house slammed open and clocked a guard in the face. Rowan watched in astonishment as Margret stormed out through the door, looked around, then turned around to yell at the poor guard what the racket was about. The guard’s companion had to shoo her away from the downed guard, who had a broken nose and a even worse temper thanks to Margret’s door.

Rowan’s sensitive ears managed to pick out the gist of the half yelled conversation, despite the noisy chaos of the streets and the distant rumbling.

The Maples were fighting something, possibly the lake. A shiver ran down Rowan’s spine as he heard this. A fight between guardians? That could end the settlement if it reached that far. He’d seen the tense relationship between Telrind and Lan so he had no doubt they would go all out if it really was a fight between them.

Just as he had that thought, the ground shook. In the distance came a noise of breaking tree trunks and raging waters. The entire street went silent for a split second, then, as riled up crowds of people tended to do, they panicked. The sharp sounds of whistles broke through the otherwise chaotic sounds, and the piercing sound was enough to make Rowan stumble back and bed over, hands on his ears while his insides burned. The sound was painful, and it made him wanna tear himself free of his skin and run down the street to rip the whistles out of whoever’s hands were holding them. Possibly rip the hands off too. He couldn’t focus.

A warm hand on his back snapped him out of those thoughts, but the ringing in his ears remained. So did the sound of the whistles. Vaguely he noticed armored people running about, trying to get those panicking to calm down. Someone was talking to him. He couldn’t hear what she was saying over the sounds of the street. Margret had his back. The wiry old woman had her face set in a determined yet worried expression. Another tremor ran through the ground.

“On your feet and get inside.” Margret pulled at his shoulder, showing a surprising amount of strength. While still feeling woozy from the loud noises, Rowan stumbled up and let her pull him over to her house. Only when they were at her door did his head clear up enough for him to hesitate.

“Aren’t we supposed to go the town hall?”

Margret let out a stressed huff as Rowan stopped.

“No time for that. Esbi just got up off her ass and in just a moment we’ll be feeling the effects of that.”

She’d barely finished talking when another tremor shook Harwall, this time strong enough to make the houses rattle and groan with strain. Margret left no time to argue. With a harsh shove she herded Rowan inside her home, shut the door, then slumped against it and exhaled loudly. Rowan left her that moment of relief, knowing full well that she wouldn’t drag it out more than she could.

As expected, Margret took another deep breath and then she was back on her feet again. A swish of black flew past Rowan’s feet, nearly making him fall on his ass as he reeled back from it with a start. Herman the roster graced him with a discontent hiss in his passing, clearly not happy with the artist being there. The bird went right past him, making a beeline for Margret. Noticing the agitated bird by her feet, the old woman bent down and scooped him up. Herman made another hissing sound, a tad happier this time, and then he settled down on top of her shoulder, with his yellow little eyes glaring daggers at what he perceived as a intruder. As usual, the rooster showed far more intelligence with that one glare than Rowan felt comfortable with a bird having. There was something deeply unsettling about meeting the bird’s eyes. Despite this, Rowan felt himself resisting the urge to look away. The bird did not approve of the challenge, but before any of them could go a step further, Margret intervened with a snide comment.

“Both of you stop your cock measuring contest. I’ve got enough with one of them around.”

Pun delivered, Margret smiled. Rowan made a embarassed sound and used the excuse of walking away to sit down in her sofa to break eye contact with the rooster. Herman saw through the lie apparently, because he let out a croaking clucking that sounded awfully similar to laughter as the artist retreated. Margret sighed.

“You’ll have to tolerate each other for the night. I doubt the guardians will be done before morning. Wise as they are, when it comes to quick moving and actually communicating they can be terribly slow. Trees and puddles were never known for their social skills I’m afraid.”

Rowan nodded absently. His head was still spinning a bit too fast for his liking. While muffled now, the chaotic sounds from out on the streets were still hammering away at his sensitive ears. He had an urge to slap his hands over his ears, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Margret watching him. So he stayed as he was, with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. A small voice at the back of his head was trying to get him to run back out into the chaos again. Staying cooped up while knowing what was going on out there didn’t sit right with his feral side.

Another tremor made the many bottles and pots strewn about the shelves in Margret’s home clir in protest. It was quiet sound, the kind that made you all the more aware of the silence once it stopped.

Margret remained where she stood for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. She studied the man sitting in her sofa. Saw his yellow eyes and the way his lips occasionally trembled as if he was fighting a reflex to bare his teeth. She’d prevented him from joining the rest of Harwall in the town hall, out of fear for what would happen if he lost his temper after all.

Silence reigned whenever the tremors faded. Rowan sat quietly, worrying about what damage the settlement would suffer. He was born further south, and as such he hadn’t experienced what it was like for the lands to move and rage to this degree. The north had a temper and the guardians had far more energy up here when human roots hadn’t weighted them down yet. Rowan worried about that, and Margret wondered what she should do now that she’d discovered the werewolf.