At a glance, the forest had appeared much easier to traverse. The ground was devoid of sinkholes, she wasn’t weighed down by the water, and the mud stopped plaguing her scales. But while it was less draining to navigate, working through the undergrowth came with its own set of challenges. The greenery grew in such abundance that it was impossible to forge straight ahead. Saplings and shrubs obscured her vision at every turn, their sharp branches prickling at her skin whenever she passed them. Though their trunks bent with surprising ease, they would often rebound and smack her in the head upon release.

The larger trees were no better. Their roots, invisible beneath the foliage, proved a Grade A threat to her easily-jammed toes. She was so annoyed that she almost wished for shoes, despite her personal distaste.

It was right as she considered the ugly, repugnant foot decorations that she stubbed her big toe for the sixth time. Nearly cursing, she raised the injured foot and hopped around on her other leg, only to bang her head against a particularly low-hanging branch. The world spun around her as she crumpled into a heap. She was so ashamed that she wanted to lie down and stop existing, to pretend that she was another speck of dirt. But though she followed through on the whim, her reverie was soon cut short.

Cawing at the top of its lungs, a metal bird dove at her with its wings spread and its beak brandished. Even without the battle cry, the monster was impossible to miss. The engine installed in its rump lit the forest in an orange-red light as it spat enough fire to roast a whole cow.

She narrowly avoided the angry missile with a tumble, but the dodge carried her face right into a tree. Her vision blurred from the impact, she scrambled to her feet and grabbed her spear just in time to impale the avian arrow.

Raising the kill to her face, the halfbreed furrowed her brow. She had attacked the bird with an upwards stab—the strike was clearly delivered from below—and yet, the frog antler was lodged in its back.

Her curiosity was heightened when she ripped the bird off her weapon and tossed it aside, only for it to fall up instead of down. But as strange as the circumstances were, she had no time to entertain her thoughts. Another oversized crow attacked right as the first was dispatched. It was followed by a third, a fourth, and a fifth, all quickly corrected by her anuran spear.

For a moment, it looked like she had escaped their notice. But then she shifted her eyes to the horizon. The skyline had been turned from black to orange, revealing dozens, if not hundreds of birds converging on her location.

Paling, she dove into the shrubbery and crept along the forest floor. The birds passed directly overhead, their shadows looming as they flew circles around her previous location.

Claire slipped from bush to bush. Her movements were aimless. She hadn’t the slightest clue where she was going until she caught a peculiar dark spot out of the corner of her eye. When she moved closer, she found a hole in the ground, a tunnel beneath a massive, thorny tree. The burrow’s entrance was a tight squeeze; most girls her age wouldn’t have been able to fit, but having failed to inherit her mother’s hips, the tiny halfbreed soon slithered her way through and discovered an open chamber. While there wasn’t enough space to stand up, she could easily sit on her knees without hunching over. Its horizontal dimensions were more generous; there was enough room to spin around without bumping into any of the walls.

Having confirmed its safety, she crawled back up the two-meter-long tunnel and retrieved her belongings. Her larger bag was used to block off the den’s second, less vertically inclined entrance. She padded it with dirt, turning her bone mace into a structural support to seal it shut.

She stuck her easily handled weapons—two shorter antlers and one slightly longer one—into the floor and directed the tip of her spear into the tunnel.

The ravens were already closing in. It didn’t take long for one of the cyborgs to venture into the blocked tunnel. It pecked at the leathery pouch, once, twice, thrice, as if to inspect the peculiar, processed material. Claire gulped. She kept her ears focused on the curious bird as she spun around and aimed her spear. It was an easy kill, but she stayed her hand.

She breathed a sigh of relief as it finally hopped away, only to find another impending crisis as she turned her attention to the other tunnel. Another curious raven had found it. She immediately finagled her spear back into position, but she was too late. It squawked at the top of its lungs, sounding the alarm right as she ran it through. Its impalement distorted the cry, but the flock heard its message loud and clear.

They wasted no time in mounting an attack; a wave of assailants was on her in a matter of seconds. The birds employed their usual tactic, but the tunnel neutered their efforts. Only a single raven could fit through the corridor at once, and there was no space for the intruders to evade her weapon.

The birds seemed to understand this as well. They soon stopped charging, opting to gather around the den’s entrance instead, some in the trees, some on the ground, and some even a few steps inside the tunnel. But that was as close as they got. None dared to venture within range of her strikes.

They quieted as their numbers grew. The constant squawking was replaced by a wall of eerie, mechanical glares. Their cybernetic eyes were soulless and empty. And yet, refreshing. Their raw hatred was much purer than the jealousy and animosity that often lingered in the other noble ladies’ gazes, but she knew they could be ensnared all the same.

She doubted it would be quite as easy—all that was needed to make an insecure Lady stomp over was to flutter her long, floppy ears at her promised man—but Claire had a plan.

Her face reset to neutral, the halfbreed activated Llystletein Authority and selected her most recent acquisition. A thick, oily liquid began streaming from the tip of her free hand. She pointed her finger towards the tunnel’s exit and ejected the fluid with enough force for it to leave the underground shelter. When exposed to the light of the moon, the solution revealed a dazzling amber shade like that of a filtered ale. Its scent, however, was noxious, reminding her more of the grease used to polish a blade than a beverage that would accompany a fine dinner. Something in the back of her mind warned her against its consumption, but she went ahead and popped her finger into her mouth.

The rogue almost gagged as her tongue was assaulted by its bitter, sour flavour. Her flesh burned as it pooled under her forked tongue, a sensation that slowly, painfully made its way down the back of her throat. She almost couldn’t believe she wasn’t drinking poison.

Log Entry 540

You have been poisoned. Your health regeneration has been reduced from 24/hour to -36/hour for twelve hours.

Claire immediately pulled her finger out of her mouth when she spotted the log entry, but it was too late. The burning sensation had spread from her throat to her gut; her stomach was practically screaming in pain. But even worse than the agony was the lack of a response. Not a single one of the hundred-odd birds had reacted.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Narrowing her eyes, she glanced at her ticking health before reluctantly coating her spear with poison and tossing it out of the cave, impaling the unfortunate flier that had happened to be in its path.

Log Entry 541

You have slain a level 11 altered raven.

Log Entry 542

You have acquired the Thrown Weapon Mastery skill.

Log Entry 543

You have acquired the rogue-specific Envenom skill.

She had hoped for a level to purge the ailment, but glancing at her log revealed no such luck. The poison continued to assault her, draining her health at a worrying rate.

Still, the attack wasn’t without its boons. With the main deterrent removed, the birds perked up. Silent glares turned to shrill cries as they began diving into the tunnel with vigour renewed. Though her head was still spinning, Claire wasted no time descending upon them. She stabbed an antler into the first intruder’s flank, skewering it, before swinging the weapon again with enough force to send its mangled corpse flying. A similar fate awaited both the second and third assailants, but not the fourth. Having deduced its comrades’ fate, the bird cut its engine as it emerged from the tunnel. It twisted its body and folded its wings, slipping right past the incoming attack.

Its moment of heroism was bright but short-lived. Claire tackled it into the wall and stabbed it with the antler in her other hand. Her body was fixed with its death; strength poured into her limbs, cleansing the poison and restoring her health.

The halfbreed’s ears perked up as she made the kill. She spun around as soon as she heard the thumping, but she was too late. A black-feathered bird cannonballed through the barrier and into her side. It didn’t do any damage—its beak was muted by the bag and she was able to dispatch it with a quick swing—but its efforts left the second entrance open and exposed.

Birds streamed in from both directions. The ravens that used the steeper door weren’t much of a threat. They had to turn at least once upon entry, and she always had enough time to dispatch them. The other tunnel took most of her focus, but she continued easily dispatching the invaders, stabbing them with her daggers each time they emerged. Until they reached their limit.

First to break was the blade in her left, its longest branch snapping off as she parried a headlong charge. But while certainly problematic, the loss was not nearly as tragic or damning as the bird’s survival.

Two ravens had turned to three. She quickly retrieved her spare weapon and caught the intruders in a wide swing, but her seated position prevented her from delivering the necessary force. The first two she touched were instantly killed. She rammed her blade straight through their bodies. But the last was undeterred.

The two-time survivor righted itself in midair and charged. Its thrusters boosted its speed and forced her to deflect its beak. She ended its life with her other blade. It was a successful execution, but a costly one. The following pair entered in the meantime and adjusted their positions. Again, she was put on the defensive, leading yet another pair to join the assault. Claire prepared for the worst, but with hardly any space to pick up speed, the birds’ attacks were surprisingly lacklustre. She warded off most of their blows, with the few that landed only glancing off her scales or nicking her skin.

More birds squeezed into the space, but the situation never spiralled out of control. There simply wasn’t enough space for the corvids to leverage their numbers. If too many of them were present, they would only get in each others’ way. The corpse count didn’t help their case. Some of the birds even began popping into the room just to retrieve their dead and widen the stage.

Claire was not alone in learning the limitation. The black-feathered avians respected it as well, only entering if there was enough room to stretch their wings. They were frighteningly intelligent, even tagging out if too wounded or exhausted, but the longer they fought, the less likely their victory appeared.

The halfbreed’s swings became smoother and more refined, and her strikes more vicious and deadly. She was starting to see the flaws in the ravens’ movements. That was when her second blade broke.

Despite the birds’ hopes, the weapon’s loss barely affected her. She had no trouble replacing the blade with one of their comrades’ fresh corpses.

A distinctive deep squawk signalled a sudden retreat right as her confidence reached a high. Even those in the midst of attacking her turned tail and flew back up the tunnels.

Claire allowed a small smile to creep onto her face as she silently celebrated her victory. But her excitement was cut short when she heard a splat outside the burrow. She raised her arms and braced for impact as an upside-down frog made its way through the tunnel, but its weaponized tongue never broke her arms or gouged her flesh. The only thing to strike her was a blast of swampy water.

When the confused halfbreed examined it again, she found that the creature was already dead. The birds had only been using it to transport the liquid.

Looking up at the branches, she saw more of them inbound. A lot more. Dozens of dead, bloated frogs dotted the sky. The corvids were hoisting the amphibious buckets to the forest floor and dumping their contents into the burrow. The swamp water pooled on the ceiling. Rapidly. The muddy liquid touched the top of her hair, dirtying and dyeing it a shade of brown. She was concerned but not panicked. At least not until the fifth frog was emptied. It was filled not with swamp water, but something cleaner and more transparent. Something that pooled at her feet.

Unlike the marsh water, which would have escaped through the exits, the spring water was capable of drowning her.

They had her in check.

She had only two choices. Wait and drown, or die to the swarm. Her first instinct was to leave, but there were too many birds on patrol for her to sneak out unnoticed and they were too fast to simply outrun.

Shaking her head, she grabbed her mace and stuck the femur’s fat end into the watery dirt. She scooped as much of it as the bone would hold and threw it aside. It was a paltry amount; the soil had barely moved, and the muddy consistency only hindered her efforts. She tried again and again, but all the blood, oil, and water had made it almost impossible to handle.

Biting her lips, the rogue clenched her fists and punched the wall of her newly constructed mineshaft. The right cross tore through the mud, displacing a volume far greater than what her dysfunctional shovel could have removed. For a moment, she stood frozen in place. She stared at the hole for a good five seconds before wordlessly reattaching her mace to her bandolier and working with her bare hands. She stuck her fingers into the mud, scooping and tearing large chunks at once.

Log Entry 596

You have acquired the Digging skill.

The combination of a new skill and a better toolset accelerated the rogue’s advance, but it only took a few minutes of digging for her to realize that her speed was still lacking. The cave was already a quarter full, and she had only made five meters of progress. The biggest problem was a lack of brute force. Tearing through the tree’s roots took a lot of effort, and there were many large stones in her path, too heavy and time-consuming to remove. Based on how quickly the water was rising, she suspected that she would only be able to excavate another ten odd meters before she had to start digging straight up, and that simply wouldn’t suffice. She would never escape the range of their patrols.

Groaning again, she dumped all her ability points into strength and brought its value to a total of seventy-eight.

The accompanying change was game-changing. She suddenly found herself capable of tearing through the thickest roots with no effort. Likewise, the rocks that she had once struggled to painstakingly remove turned light as paper. One hand was all she needed to rip them out of the dirt and toss them over her shoulders.

Three skill levels later, she broke through the ground a few hundred meters away from the burrow. After double-checking for birds and confirming that none were above her, she widened the hole and slowly crawled out of the ground.

Her cheeks slackened. A faint grin appeared on her lips as she closed her eyes and focused her ears. They were still working on drowning her. Not a single raven was actively patrolling the area; the only ones standing guard were situated around the burrow’s known exits, and those that were airborne were focused entirely on transport.

She had escaped. And the aesthetically challenged pigeons didn’t suspect a thing.