The days seemed both to drag on interminably and to speed by as the Chosen marched along the coast, trudging on in what seemed like an endless march. Few of the numerous beasts on the beach or in the sparse forests that climbed the mountains to the East posed a challenge, and the few intelligent humanoids they passed were usually either the crew of coastal vessels, who largely issued friendly waves as they passed, or sailors disembarked to hunt for supplies in the same forest that supplied most of their meals.
Until one morning, Layla looked up from her panel and harumphed, “Well, that’s it, kids. Today is the first Big Day since the god of all nope ropes swallowed us and upchucked us onto Fantasy Island 2, Succubus Boogaloo.”
“What day is it?” Rory pulled a bowl of breakfast from the pan.
“It’s Labor Day. Time to put away your white chinos for the season, boys,” she giggled.
“You sure?” Erin nibbled at the bizarre fleshy pineapple-coconut plant Jack had chopped to go with breakfast.
“Yeah, I’ve been keeping a tally. Today should be September sixth back home,” she replied.
“Nah. Time doesn’t pass like that back there,” Rory interjected around his mouthful of eggs.
“Hmm?” Layla grunted.
“When the big noodle brought me to see Darius… what, a couple weeks ago? Back while we were waiting for Erin to heal from getting her shit wrecked by the giant shrimp? Anyway, for Darius, it was still something like two or three in the afternoon,” he recalled.
He watched as Layla started doing the math, drawing the numbers in the air in front of her face.
“No sense in doing the math on the dilation, El. Too many variables,” he grinned.
“I can still get an estimate,” she scowled.
She continued for a few minutes, then swallowed the rest of her fruit and swiped her panel away.
“Shit. It might still be the same day. You don’t know what time it was?” she turned to him.
“Nope. Wasn’t watching the nightstand clock in the face of all those abs,” he smiled serenely.
“Useless,” she stuck her tongue out at him.
“Hey, Jack, how far have we come? I lost track a few days ago after fought those big starfish-bears,” Erin interjected.
He finished packing away the mess kit and pulled a small journal from a belt bag, “We’ve improved a good bit since we set out from Orenmar. We were only making fifteen or so miles a day, but we’re up to about thirty now that everyone’s Endurance has improved some. That’s still a pretty leisurely pace compared to what I think Erin could do in a day, but minus the rest days, I think we’ve covered about a hundred and thirty miles. Give or take ten… or fifteen. Maybe twenty,” he shook his head.
“Welp, this coastline ain’t gonna walk itself boys ‘n’ girls!” Erin popped up, haphazardly tossing the rind and remains of her breakfast behind her. “Time to get a-movin’.”
By now, only Layla groaned and complained when it was time to pack up camp and get back on the trail. Well, sometimes Rory groused a bit. And occasionally Erin wanted Jack to cook a bit more food. And rarely, sometimes, Jack just wanted to lay under a blanket instead of walking in the searing light of day.
It was a long walk.
-----
Two days later, Erin bounced three feet into the air and shouted an inarticulate war cry of joy. When she landed, she bolted back toward Layla where she had been trudging along behind her and picked the succubus up, tossing her a foot into the air.
“YOU FEEL THAT YOU BEAUTIFUL SEX DEMON YOU?!” she yelled, holding Layla off the ground at arms’ length.
“No, but you can just keep holding me like this. My feet don’t hurt as much,” the mage grumbled.
Erin walked Layla north along the beach about fifteen feet, then stopped as the light bulb went off above the succubus’ surprised face.
“Ohhhh. Okay, yeah, I get it. Look guys!” she laughed.
The boys ran forward, each receiving the same mild vertigo-like sensation as the Compass Wind shifted to blow directly North. A new shrine was within range.
“Hell yes. Finally, some dividends. What are we, still three hundred miles from the Pass? And already a shrine,” Rory grinned.
“Something like that, yeah. Weird this one isn’t on a mountain though, isn’t it?” Jack wondered aloud.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
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You have entered the domain of a crystallized mana font with the Mutation hybrid aspect.
You possess the Seal of the Compass Wind. Do you wish the Compass Wind to guide you to [The Writhing Wood]?
[Yes] [No]
“So, we’re pretty sure the shrine’s inside this dungeon, right?” Layla scratched her chin as they stood at the edge of the font’s influence.
“Well, we walked about six miles around the outside edge, and the compass moved the whole time, so yeah,” Jack chuckled.
“What’s the Mutation aspect?” Erin cut in.
“You two, I swear. For like the seventh time, just poke the panel and it’ll tell you,” Layla stuck her tongue out and Erin and rolled her eyes.
The dreadnought stabbed a finger at the panel, shooting Layla a glowering scowl.
[Mutation Magica]
A hybrid aspect of Mana, composed of the Tide and Wood elements, representing the shifting vicissitude of life. Mutation magica can be used to improve, alter, or transfigure the flesh of creatures. Efforts to mutate a creature are resisted by the soul, depleting Spirit.
Fonts aspected to Mutation create bizarre hybrids of the creatures within, but weaker creatures may succumb to the tumorous proliferation of unpatterned metamorphosis.
“Oh, this… sounds… super creepy,” Erin grimaced.
“I bet it drops some wild loot,” Layla grinned and shot a glance at Rory.
She could see the dollar signs immediately start to roll through the salesman’s mind.
“If we’re goin’ in, we should eat first. Just in case the stuff inside is… inedible,” Jack made a disgusted face.
“Biscuits?” Erin perked up.
“Hon, we ran out of biscuits a week ago,” Jack replied.
“I know. I can hope,” Erin grumbled.
“I promise, when we get to Moryven, we’ll clear out a bakery,” Jack laughed.
“A girl can dream,” Erin mused.
They made a quick camp and wolfed down their rations, then made preparations to head into the font.
“What do you think we should expect in here?” Rory asked as he finished packing away his kit.
“I expect it’ll be some weird shit,” Layla laughed, fastening her armored bodice and throwing her hood on.
Jack and Erin packed up the remainder of the mess kit and cleaned up the camp as the rear guard milled near the forest’s edge.
“We should be on lookout for stuff that our armor won’t protect us from. Poison, acid, gas, that sorta stuff,” Jack clanked his gauntlet against her pauldron.
“Why would you thin-OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!” Erin suddenly shouted.
At the edge of the forest, slinking out of the underbrush, less than thirty feet from where Layla and Rory were chatting, a creature had emerged from the wood.
It had the general body shape of a big cat, but the similarities ended there. The creature’s long snout was bifurcated in a vertical maw that slung brilliant green drool in ropy strands as it worked the grotesque jaws. The vertical mouth was flanked by an asymmetrical cluster of glowing viridian eyes on each side, which trailed away from the head, spotting across the skull, down the throat, and peppering the nape. The creature’s fur held on in ragged patches, but the skin bubbled with unsightly bulges, emerald fluid sloshing faintly within the buboes. The rough hide of the torso gave way to a chitinous coating along the back, which slowly progressed into a shell-like segmented flank, terminating in a collection of six scorpion-like legs and a vestigial insectoid tail, as though the font’s transformative mana had tried to create a stinger and failed in the process.
Rory and Layla spun to face the creature where it crouched, ready to spring. Muscles bunched across its forelegs and shoulders and the deformed tail shivered and rattled. It lowered itself, then tensed before the pounce, when suddenly…
“OH FUCK YOU, HORROR SHITSHOW! CONVULSION!” Layla yelled and skittered away from the beast.
The creature’s muscles seized in mid-leap and it fell to the ground, spasming uncontrollably. Jack walked up to the beast as it flopped about and placed a hobnailed boot on its neck, then drove his longsword through the skull, three feet into the ground.
“Withering Blade,” he invoked.
The sword burst into black flame, and the creature’s brains, skull, and skin began to liquify and slough off in sheets of purulent corruption.
“Good job, Layla,” he said over his shoulder as he studied the mutant die slowly.
The creeping necrotic power reached one of the thick vesicles on the creature’s neck, which popped and disgorged a nauseating acrid fluid onto the sandy ground. The sparse grass began to sizzle and melt as the fluid did its terrible work.
“Oh, fuck this place,” Erin cringed away from the beast as it deliquesced into a mixture of decayed flesh and steaming caustic vitriol.