Redmane took a few deep breaths. And then one long one, inhaling slowly, filling his lungs all the way up with air.

Then he dove back down into the water.

The Abyssal Well had no bottom he could see. Not that he could see anything in water this dark to begin with. It occurred to him as he swam that he didn’t know how to return to the Abyss at all. He had no Skill for it. But perhaps it was simply a matter of swimming deep enough.

He closed his eyes and checked through his Carnivorous Metamorph library to see if he had gills. He did not. The Gruu of Midva Forest hadn’t eaten any fish, it seemed.

Frustration couldn’t keep him breathing, unfortunately. Even lungs as mighty as his eventually found their limit.

Redmane swam to the surface and once again broke up out of the water gasping for breath.

Why had she looked at him that way?

She’d been making preparations? For this?

He growled, slapped the wet stone of the well’s rim.

Next time he’d get some straight answers. If there would be a next time.

Redmane hauled himself out of the water and sat on the edge of the well, dripping, wet hair plastered to his face and neck, his cloak heavy with water. He rested his chin on his fist and took a moment to digest everything that had just transpired. Tried to make sense of it all.

The Numantians were not here to spread their civilization.

They were here to consume all of the magic in this world, as they had done with countless worlds before.

And when Volos died, the Astral Highway would close, and that would be that.

But if that were the case, why build a city like Taracon? Why go to the trouble of spreading their culture? Why give the natives Astral Communion, and make them Imbued?

There were a few possibilities. One, perhaps the work of draining an entire world of its magic took a long time, and required the cooperation of the unwitting natives, at least in part. Two, the Imbued and any other converts could be taken away from this world before its draining, willingly or otherwise, along with anything else of value.

He considered the Sicarius.

The System called it a ‘First Generation Imbued,’ but it wasn’t a human. It acted like a dead thing. An automaton, given unnatural life by magic.

Was such the fate of all Imbued?

Redmane didn’t care how bright Numantia shined.

If they tried it, he’d rip their city down with his bare hands.

The crone had revealed much to him, but it felt like she’d left him with more questions than answers. He vented a frustrated breath out his nostrils, stood, and brought forth the wings of the Manticore.

Carnivorous Metamorph

Gnosis: 399

Flying straight up was a strenuous activity. A perfect way to let off steam. The feeling of ascending, in defiance of the pull of the earth below, was also quite gratifying. Redmane glowered up into the darkness above as he climbed.

The force that set him free was the same that would destroy him.

Its actions were inscrutable. It was as the crone said, the System could be uncaring, it could be flawed, or it could be deliberately self-destructive. He knew not.

First, he had to find the truth of it.

Then he could decide who lived and who died.

Redmane flew all the way to the landing at the top of the Deepwell Monastery’s immense staircase, entered the Priory and marched right past two confused children and the red cat they were playing with, his wet feet and dripping cloak leaving a trail of puddles behind him.

Outdoors once again, he noted that the day had progressed. It was well after noontime now, and on its way toward the horizon the sun painted the west sides of the buildings in yellow darkening to orange, and the east sides in long shadows. Redmane skipped roof-hopping in favor of flight this time.

He found Acreman Barba in much the same condition as he’d left him.

Except this time he had visitors.

Barba had crawled to the back of his corral, a dark trail of blood staining the sand. His ankle was still a ruin, as was the side of his face. Overall he looked to be feeling quite sorry for himself. But he didn’t have time to pout, because there were a number of other Mongrels in the corral with him. Drawn by the scent of blood, they had come to try having a bite of Barba’s bleeding flesh while he was still alive.

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There were four of them, each with a different mix of animal features. Each with bone white fur from head to toe, and deeply dark eyes.

Mongrel Thug

Monster Type: Mongrel (Abyss Touched)

Level 90

And then there was the leader of their little pack. This one wore a tanned leather vest, the only garment to have survived his sudden change in size. The rest hung on his body in tatters. He had the head of an opossum and wickedly long claws. Like his mates, he was white as chalk all over.

Fedor the Footpad

Monster Type: Mongrel (Abyss Touched)

Level 92

Fedor was trying to get a bite at Barba’s face. The Acreman kept batting him away with one hand, groaning in pain and frustration. while trying to shove and strike at all the others at the same time. His already wounded body collected more and more bite and scratch marks. It would only be a matter of time until he’d bled too much to put up a fight anymore, and then he would be their dinner.

Except he wouldn’t.

They would all be Redmane’s dinner.

Stalk

He alighted on the wreckage of the corral’s roof, his presence hidden by Gnosis. And then he carefully crept up close to the group, to the point where the edge of the roof he perched upon was directly above Barba, Fedor and all four of his cronies.

Roar of the Elder

Five Mongrels, and one huge Mongrel, screamed in pain and slammed their hands onto their ears at the same time.

Lion’s Lunge

Redmane pounced at Barba like he’d been shot from a cannon, leading with an overhead claw. He was badly wounded already, and had been harried down to the end of his strength. Best to finish him first, before the others could rob him of his kill.

The claw struck the precise center of Barba’s forehead, between the horns, just above the snout. It blasted his head wide open, spraying blood, flesh, brains and bits of skull all over everyone.

Acreman Barba Slain

Tasks Completed: 1/3

Level Up

Level 71 —> 72

Level 72 —> 73

Level 73 —> 74

Quality Points awaiting allocation: 3

He’d handle that later. Right now he had Mongrels to slaughter.

But they had recovered from their brief disorientation. The roar damaged them, but not enough for a kill.

Abyss Walk

Abyss Walk

Abyss Walk

Abyss Walk

Abyss Walk

They all vanished into their own shadows.

And worse than that, he couldn’t sense them with Tracking. They were gone from the world.

Until they weren’t.

Suddenly, five presences re-appeared in different places around him. The nearest was right on top of him.

Underneath him, to be precise. In his own shadow.

Redmane wheeled around in time to see a furry white hand reaching up out of his own unnaturally dark shadow. It snapped closed around his ankle and tried to drag him into the Abyss.

One trip there today was enough for today.

Flame Breath

Gnosis: 319

The Mongrel made a valiant effort to hold on, even while its hand, wrist and forearm burst into flames, the flesh splitting and bubbling and the fur smoking. Redmane didn’t know if the fire would penetrate into the Abyss itself, he couldn’t see. But the Mongrel let go regardless.

Redmane flapped out his wings and took flight, just as three more pairs of hands reached for him from different shadows nearby. He directed the stream of Flame Breath at those as well, and they all retreated into the Abyss again.

There was another moment where the presences of Fedor and his Mongrels vanished, and again they resurfaced in different places.

Only now he’d taken to the air. So for the moment, at least, he did not appear to be in danger of being dragged back into the Abyss.

But the situation presented a novel problem. As far as Redmane could recall, he hadn’t been hunted by a pack before. And this Abyss Walk skill was enough of a nuisance when it was just Samo using it. Now there were five of them, moving in complete safety from one attempted ambush point to the next. Redmane could feel their presences disappearing and reappearing as they followed the path of his flight.

They hunted as a group. They moved together. But they didn’t seem especially intelligent.

There was a solution for this, certainly…

Redmane spotted something, just as he had that thought.

A squat, rectangular stone building behind the blacksmith shop, which was little more than a shed. It would be cramped in there, and perfectly dark. He picked up speed and swooped down toward it, feeling himself gain distance from the five Abyss Walking Mongrels. But that distance wouldn’t last.

He’d have to prepare quickly.

Redmane landed, banished his wings, hauled open the door and slammed it behind him, leaving him in darkness. The room was full of tools, he thought. It smelled like iron and leather and stale oil.

He brought forth the Manticore’s venomous tail, and activated Skills as quickly as he could.

Carnivorous Metamorph

Flicker

Gnosis: 269

They had momentarily lost sight of him, or so he suspected, but they would likely know he was in here. They would at least send someone to check.

Even better. Fedor sent four someones.

Redmane felt their presences the instant they appeared.

Roar of the Elder

Roar of the Elder

Roar of the Elder

Gnosis: 169

He didn’t give them a chance to get away. Roar after roar made their eyeballs vibrate, their eardrums rupture, it shook their brains around in their skulls violently. They bled from the ear and eye sockets, frozen in pain. Heavily damaged. They could retreat back into the Abyss as quickly as they had appeared, but it mattered little if they bled out in this world or that one.

With the minions dealt with, all that remained was their master.

And he was here, in the room. Waiting.

Redmane stood still, trusting Flicker to foil his ambush.

There was a screeching roar as Fedor barreled out of the shadows behind him, raking down with a huge claw.

Flicker

Redmane let the Skill pull him through space. He appeared behind Fedor, stung with the tail of the manticore, slashed with his claws as fast as his muscles would permit.

Unlike Samo, he survived.

But in retrospect, Samo had it worse.

Fedor wheeled around nearly as fast as Redmane had disappeared, and it seemed the Mongrel was in the mood for an earnest exchange of blows. He ate everything Redmane threw at him and threw back his own flurry of claws, not even pausing to register the pain of his own injuries. Redmane took the blows without attempting to evade, since he was in the middle of his own attack. And he had Corpus to spare.

Corpus: 9658

Redmane noted with some surprise that Fedor’s first instinct was not to retreat.

Instead he fought like a cornered animal, which is what he was.

A move worthy of respect.

Fedor snorted and lifted his claws, the way a boxer might square up with his opponent in the ring. It appeared that even if he’d lost his powers of speech in the transformation to a Mongrel, vestiges of his humanity remained.

Redmane nodded, grinning, and raised his claws to mirror him.