“Are you sure you really need all those antlers?” asked Sylvia.
“That’s the third time you’ve asked me that in ten minutes,” grumbled Claire.
“I know! But you clearly have way too many!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Claire was covered in antlers. She had one in each hand, six strung to her belt, and another four tucked into her bandolier—there were so many sharp, jagged horns on her person that they dug into her skin with every step, prickling and annoying the halfbreed as she followed her guide through the forest.
Yet another pair sat atop her head. She had repurposed a freshly cleaned skull into a bone helmet, her ears poking out of the eyeholes and her nose beneath its upper jaw. Happenstance allowed her to see out of it; the dead anuran’s nostrils sat at eye level, blocking her vision only when it was jostled out of place.
“It’s just that it looks really uncomfortable,” said Sylvia.
“How it looks is irrelevant,” said Claire.
“If you say so…” The fox was still dubious, but it didn’t take long for her to change her tune. “Oh yeah, that reminds me! I finally figured out your race.”
Claire tilted her head.
“You’re half lizardman!”
“Wrong.”
“Really? Are you sure? You’ve got two legs, scales on your neck and slits for eyes!” Sylvia pointed a paw at each part of the other girl’s body as she listed them. “There’s no way you’re not half lizard!”
“You’re way off.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Claire reached through a hole in her helmet and brushed her fingers against the massive, triangular scales that adorned her cheeks. “My mother was a lamia.”
“Huh?” It took the fox a moment to react. She was stupefied, both by the claim and the fact that it was spoken. “Wait! That can’t be right! You have legs!”
“Yes, because my father had four. If you take something with four legs and put it together with something with no legs, you get something with two legs. It’s basic math.”
“No, no, no, that doesn’t make any sense! You’re supposed to take after one of your parents or the other! If it worked like that, I would have three legs and an arm!”
“It makes sense to me,” said Claire.
“Well, it really shouldn’t!”
Ignoring the fox’s retort, the half-half-snake raised her ears and checked the surroundings for birds. So far, they had encountered a grand total of zero ravens. Considering the previous night's headcount, it was an unthinkably suspicious number, but Claire continued to follow the vixen's guidance nonetheless.
She didn’t have much of a choice. The centaurs were supposedly headed to her destination, but following them was far beyond the scope of her abilities. They moved so quickly that they escaped Tracking’s range in a matter of minutes.
“Why don’t you like talking about yourself anyway?” asked Sylvia.
Claire frowned. “There’s no point.”
“Yes there is! I barely know anything about you, and I really, really, really wanna know what your dad is.”
“Maybe I’d be more inclined to talk if you stopped trying to mess with me.”
“Uhhh… I’ll try!”
“Sure.”
“I really will!” huffed the fox. “Besides, it's your fault for being so serious all the time. I just thought you’d like it if I helped you loosen up a bit.”
“By making me eat poisonous fruit?”
“That’s not the part you were supposed to focus on.” The fox puffed up her cheeks. “I mean, come on! Chasing me around was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Not really.”
“Ughhhhh…” The fox groaned. “See? This is exactly what I mean! You’d be so much happier if you could just learn to enjoy the simpler things in life.”
“There’s nothing fun about chasing a rat.”
“What the heck!? I’m not a rat!”
Similar conversations ensued as the pair walked through the forest. Sylvia’s voice was by far the more frequent. She ranted about all sorts of random topics, from her heritage to her hobbies, often going on for so long that Claire had all but grasped the fox’s ecology by the time the environment finally started to change. The forest darkened, and not because of the time of day. The trees in the area ahead of them were absurdly well-grown. Their trunks were many times wider than those of the oaks and willows, they were tall enough to reach the marsh, and their canopies were so thick that they almost completely blocked out the sun.
The rampant light thieves had committed enough crimes against their kin that the forest floor was nearly devoid of greenery. To the standard leafy weeds, it was a desert, a splotch of wilderness too extreme to survive. And yet, it was prime real estate—the perfect place for a mycelial empire to thrive. Violet chanterelles littered the ground, grown among fields of oysters and buttons and kings.
Fleshy, fibrous tentacles grew from every which way, their crimson sprouts spreading and glowing with an eerie lunar light. There was even the occasional bearded milkcap. They hung from the trees, dripping with a nectar so sickly sweet that the half-snake could taste it from afar.
The fox grew quieter as she moved through the darker section. She still spoke, of course, dropping various tidbits of knowledge about the plants and their functions, but her lectures were not nearly as extended.
“I think this is as close as we can get without getting caught,” she said as they neared a particularly bright clearing. “Oh, and welcome to Darkwood Hollow!”
The two halfbreeds were situated in a tree. One was on all fours, perched on a thick branch with her arms between her legs, while the other was directly above her, positioned between her ears with her tail swishing from side to side. It was practically a perfect fit. Sylvia was just the right size to sit on Claire’s head without any notable discomfort on either of their parts.
“Remind me. Why are you on top of me again?” grumbled the chair.
“Better me than that silly helmet, right?” The fox spoke with her eyes on the skull hanging beside her. There were bits of blood smeared all over its interior, matching the various tiny cuts and prickles that embellished the half-lamia’s face.
“Shut up. It was supposed to be a good idea.”
Aside from the neatly placed mushrooms, the only notable object that resided within the hollow was a runic obelisk covered in moss and highlighted by a wide beam of light. The vegetation around it had been meticulously removed, leaving a circular patch of dirt that exposed the stone’s wide base and further drew attention to the glowing runes inscribed within it. The monument-centric glade was almost a serene sight, ruined only by the dozens of ravens that hovered around it.
“Oh, oh, look over there!” Sylvia raised a paw. “You see the tree with the purple flower on its trunk? That’s my house. Me and my mom are the only ones who live there, but we had to make it extra tall since dad stops by sometimes and he wouldn’t fit otherwise. You’re a little bit taller than him, but I’m sure you’d fit too. Well, not right now since it’s flooded, but later.”
“Be quiet.” Claire pinched the fox’s mouth shut, keeping her fingers in place despite the critter’s protests. “I’m trying to think.”
The ravens that sat around the rock were silent; the bird lounging at its base was the only one to voice its cries. Twice as wide and three times as tall as its peers, it immediately stood out from the common rabble not only for its size but also its composition. Its body was nearly devoid of the enhancements that corrupted its servants. The only unnatural parts it wore were a pair of thrusters and a single eye.
“Any idea what level it is?”
“Ummmmm… probably around fifty? I’m not really sure.”
“Useless fox,” Claire grumbled.
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“What the heck!? I’m not useless! How am I supposed to know what level it is in the first place? None of us have the Judge class, and it’s not like we’d know even if we did! It’s not like we can sit down and talk to it.”
Ignoring the critter drumming its paws against her skull, Claire focused on the bird and considered her options. She doubted that she could take it in a straight fight if it was twice her level. She might have stood a chance if her classes were any more effective, but neither offered much beyond their raw stats. More importantly, creatures above fifty were ascended, effectively existing in a higher state of being.
“What would Father do?” She bit her lips as the words left them, almost hard enough to draw blood. The mere suggestion of following in his footsteps annoyed her to no end, but she fought back her reluctance and worked her mind until she was confident enough to grin.
Her plan made, she crept down the side of the tree, hid behind a massive mushroom, and got to work. A few minutes was all she needed to craft the beginnings of an underpass. It was a shallow hole. The roof, only thirty centimetres beneath the surface, was barely thick enough to dampen the sounds of her labour.
“Uhmmm, Claire? What are you doing?” asked the hat.
“What does it look like?” responded the mobile chair. She continued pushing the soil out of the way, one large chunk at a time.
Tracking kept her pointed at her target, relaying the bird’s approximate location even through the earthen wall. She continued to move until she was in position—directly beneath her prey. It took a moment for her to locate its feet, but she soon found the places where the soil was most burdened and, with a deep breath, drove her hands through the loose earth.
The bird was caught completely off-guard. Too confused to resist, it managed little beyond a flabbergasted squawk before she wrapped a rope around its ankles and yanked its legs beneath the soil.
She applied her mace before it could struggle and smashed one of its exposed talons. It started flapping its wings in a panic when she pulverized the bone, screeching and screaming as it fought against the earth.
The raven gathered its mana as it broke free and formed a dark purple lump in front of its face. It was a deadly attack, a powerful spell that would smite the fool that wronged it. But then, just as it was about to unleash its magic, its beak rebelled. The jet-black bill twitched to and fro, lurching uncontrollably as it unleashed wave after wave of seed-bearing sails. Despite the constant sneezing, the bird squawked out a command. Every raven in the area looked towards the hole and focused their eyes on the underground threat.
And that was precisely why Claire’s next attack did not come from below. She snuck out of the tunnel, climbed a tree, and dropped down from the canopy to deliver a heavy blow with her mace. The overhead strike smashed an outstretched wing and threw the bird king to the ground. Claire raised her weapon. She stiffened her muscles and prepared to finish her victim with a powerful overhand strike, but another raven dove straight at her neck, forcing her to dismount and evade.
The master bird hopped to its feet as she splattered its kin and, with an enraged roar, flapped its wings and returned to the sky. The bone she struck was undoubtedly broken. It was bent at an unnatural angle, and a jagged, splintered piece was visibly jutting out through its feathers. The wound hurt the bird king’s control—it drifted with every flap—but somehow it remained fully capable of flight.
A loud grating croak erupted from the depths of its throat. It was a paralyzing warcry that reeked of power and experience. Or at least that was the impression it had radiated before it was suddenly interrupted by the need to clear its nostrils. The flier resumed its rallying call as soon as it recovered, but the effect was gone, lost, even in the face of its blatant, seething fury.
Snickering aloud, Claire smashed another wave of birds and retreated into the canopy. Her once yellow cloak dyed brown from all the mud, served to camouflage her from the foes in pursuit.
Completely escaping the flock was impossible. There were too many of them to lose sight of her, and they actively communicated her location by way of squawk, but the rogue continued with confidence.
Grabbing one of the smaller birds in the midst of its charge, Claire broke its wings with a squeeze, coated it in a layer of rocket fuel, and threw it straight at its boss. Unfortunately for the halfbreed, and even more unfortunately for the disabled bird, the less-than-aerodynamic projectile missed its mark and struck a large tree. The neck-to-trunk collision echoed throughout the woodland. A dull crack accompanied by a sickening wet splatter.
She flicked her tongue in annoyance as the bird king retaliated in kind. Pointing its beak straight toward her, it finally released the magical projectile it had once failed to unleash. Claire deflected the purple dart with a freshly drawn antler, but the blade failed to protect her. The crackling mana surged through the bone and up her arm before zapping her body with a blast of arcane lightning.
The lance-shaped slug had been nothing but a vessel, a spell made to deliver another. And she had fallen for its trap.
With a grimace and groan, Claire picked herself up and leapt just far enough to dodge a second, identical attack. She outran three more, only for the bird-shaped jet to burst through the canopy. Its wings were folded and its engine was roaring. Burning hot flames spewed from its rear, marring its path with smoke and ash. Its first strike missed, impacting the tree to her left, but it kept going, rising into the air as it tore through boughs and branches like sheets of paper.
It spread its wings mere inches from the swamp and came to an abrupt halt. Momentum nulled by some mechanism or other, it jumped back into action, flipping on its head and reigniting its thrusters. Another attempt to run her through.
The second attack came with a twist. The raven king spun like a drill as it soared towards her, its body covered in the same dark lightning that had adorned its projectile attacks.
The halfbreed narrowly escaped the avian’s path, but her perch was not as lucky. Its three-meter trunk was run through and its insides were charred by the thrusters’ flames.
Claire spun around and threw her antler. The spinning blade pierced the raven’s lower back and drew a bloody splatter, but the bird didn’t flinch. It matched the attack with one of its own, only for the spell to be thrown off course by another violent sneeze.
Not missing her chance, Claire flung her mace at the raven’s tail. The weapon was wedged inside a thruster, warping it out of shape from the impact alone. A similar attack followed soon after, but the kitchen knives weren’t nearly as potent, even with all ten of them combined.
The rogue took a deep breath as she pulled another pair of antler blades from her bandolier. She coated both in soarspore poison as she dashed forward, seeking to close the gap while the goliath was preoccupied with its nose. The distance vanished in the blink of an eye, but the sovereign’s defences weren’t so easily pierced. It spun around at the last second and blasted her with a spell at point blank. Claire kicked off the ground, but she wasn’t quick enough. The dark projectile struck her in the shoulder and triggered an electrical surge even more potent than the last.
A feral scream erupted from her throat. It felt like she was being cooked alive. The spell had used her magical circuitry as a conduit, travelling throughout her frame as it shocked her over and over. Her whole body was damaged. Her hair was burned and frizzled, her fair skin was charred, and her scales were roasted as they shrivelled and bled. Not even her internals were spared. The contents of her stomach had boiled, with the acidic vapour scorching her insides as it made its way up her melted throat.
She was stunned by the pain at first, but she clenched her jagged teeth and endured. The attack had only drained half her health. She would be fine so long as she didn’t take another hit.
Wheezing, she flung herself out of the incoming body slam. Two smaller ravens struck her before she could regain her footing, one in her back, and the other across her face. Both were promptly stabbed to death, but their expiry failed to restore the damage they caused.
Still, the rogue rose to her feet, brandished her weapons, and took a defensive stance. Her blades were used to repel anything that drew near. But her eyes remained on the black-feathered ruler. She launched an antler each time it sneezed, steadily wearing it down with her venom-coated blades.
But then the bird learned. It stopped charging at her. Leaving its lackeys to fill the gap, the monarch fell back, pelting her with magic from afar. Shadowbolts soared through the air, one after another without pause.
She continued to evade them, but it only grew harder as the dance drew on. The bird learned to predict her movements; half of its projectiles landed right in her path. The flock grew more troublesome as well. The melee fighters used the mage’s covering fire to worm through her defences, often charging right as she locked in her trajectory with a dodge.
The trees were her only saving grace. Their trunks were too thick for the purple-black spears to pierce them, and Tracking allowed her to keep an eye on the ruler even when she broke line of sight. The flock’s headcount was down to a measly two dozen, shrinking further with every exchange.
But then it happened.
One remarkably irritated squawk later, the king suddenly stopped attacking and went dead silent.
Even though it was supposed to be poisoned.
When Claire looked towards it, she found the ruler in the midst of recovery. Only the bottom half of its beak remained on its face. The other had been left in a tree, nostrils, veins, and all.
The bird was panting, clearly in pain, but it flapped its wings, puffed up its chest, and croaked an order nonetheless. Once all the others were out of its way, it reared its head and unleashed its mightiest spell yet.
If the previous attacks were shadowbolts, the concentrated strike was a shadowbeam, a continuous ray of energy that moved with the corvid’s lower jaw. The distance made the spell nearly impossible to evade. Sweeping its head, the raven blasted through everything in her vicinity. Every mushroom it hit was burnt to a crisp, every branch it struck was lit aflame, and every bird it brushed was blown apart. The thickest trees lasted a little longer, enduring for a few seconds before turning into lifeless husks. Claire barely evaded the lightning by leaping up the seemingly indestructible obelisk. When the pillar of dark energy rose to follow her, she dove past it, sprinting at full speed toward its caster.
Beam spells were powerful, but they were also contractual. Like rituals, they spanned a set amount of time based on the magical energy expended. The limitation was a trade-off, a shackle that produced a result far greater than the input. Only expert practitioners could end their beams early. Less skilled mages often had to continue channelling until the spells petered out on their own, lest they were willing to deal with the consequences—like botched rituals, mishandled beams were prone to backlash. And that was precisely what Claire was after.
The birds seemed to realize this as well. The remaining peons threw themselves at her with no regard for their lives. But stop her they could not. She killed those she could and ignored those she couldn’t. Their beaks gouged at her, but none of the damage was bad enough to bother her. Not after she had endured their boss’ wrath.
Closing the distance came with its own set of disadvantages. The magical bird’s aim grew more accurate, nearly catching her several times. It was only thrown off by her projectiles, which it had to destroy to prevent interruption.
By the time she reached it, she was barehanded, with only two antler blades on her waist and two smaller daggers strapped to her thighs. It tried taking to the air, but with a bludgeoned thruster and a broken wing, there was only so much it could do. It looked like it was in check. Until its spell reached its natural end.
Gasping with her eyes wide, Claire barely managed to evade a sudden shadowbolt with a forward roll. The halfbreed pushed herself off the ground feet first and kicked the creature right in the chest. Her daggers came out shortly after. One was driven into its fleshier eye, while the other shattered its mechanical counterpart.
The bird batted at her with its wings, but none of its blinded strikes landed. She kept dodging toward its broken shoulder, stabbing at it repeatedly until it was ripped from its socket.
Spinning around to its rear, Claire mounted the bird's back and slashed at its spine. The first attack didn’t do the trick, nor the second or the third. But the fourth did. With a loud thud, the raven’s body collapsed.
Its head rolled onto the ground, with blood violently erupting from its severed stump.