Three things happened, each one in the time between staccato heartbeats.

The first saw the muzzle of Malik’s rifle settle on the agitated bird. A cold, remorseless gleam, like the edge of an executioner’s ax, shone off the soldier’s sapphire eyes as he squeezed the trigger. The massive crow instantly evaporated into a whirlwind of quills, as if Mal had just detonated a jar of raspberry jam inside a feather pillow.

The next beat of war’s deadly dance pulsed in Malik’s chest as the carbuncles came to a screeching halt. The sight of the crow being violently erased was enough to yank their attention away from the deadly turtle. With all six legs desperately digging into the mire for traction, the two green cat creatures splashed brackish water in all directions as they wheeled about in search of the new threat.

By the third beat of his heart, Mal had lined up a second shot to send toward the turtle’s massive shell. But, for once, the tortoise wasn’t the slowest competitor in the race. Either unaware or uncaring, of its passenger’s demise, the colossal creature took advantage of the carbuncles' monetary distraction. Like the crack of a whip, the turtle’s head blurred through the air as its long neck snapped forward, letting its wide mouth engulf one of the carbuncles from shoulder to hip. The amphibian’s bite applied so much intense pressure to the carbuncle’s furry frame that a fountain of red erupted from both ends of the creature, like a hand squeezing a tomato till it burst.

Unaffected by the gruesome sight, Malik pulled the trigger, summarily blowing a fist-sized hole through the turtle’s shell.

The flow of time abruptly reasserted itself as the watery shores of the lake descended into chaos.

Malik heard the angry commotion of the black birds perched in the Gloam trees behind him, their displeasure filled the air with a cacophony of squawks and shrieks. No sooner had the crows voiced their fury than the turtle opened its mouth to release the carbuncle caught in its jaws. Like a limp rag, the furry predator’s lifeless body landed in the muck with a muted splash. Its mouth now free, the turtle bellowed its rage in a deafening roar that sent ripples rushing across the surface of the nearby lake.

Malik ignored it all and blew another hole straight through the turtle’s shell.

Got to find something vital. I could poke holes in that beast all day and it would still limp over and bite my head off before it bled out. Could go for the head, but the way it's moving is going to make for a tough shot at this distance.

Mal’s finger was tightening on the trigger to send another tritanium round hurtling toward the turtle when a writhing shadow suddenly fell over him. The sound of heavy wingbeats was his only warning as a huge, black-feathered bird swooped down toward him. Aborting his shot, Malik barely had time to bring his rifle up to ward off a set of talons that slashed clumsily at his face.

“Goddamnit! What is wrong with the flyers on this planet!” Malik spat.

The oversized crow replied with an ear-splitting shriek. Its wings flapped in short, quick motions that were just enough to keep the creature hovering awkwardly. Three beady black eyes assessed the human for a split second before the bird’s long orange beak lunged forward to pluck Malik's head from his shoulders.

Malik's hands moved down the length of the rifle with the confidence of a blind man caressing a long-time lover. Strong fingers found the perfect grip to make the weapon sing with the whistle of the wind sliding around its stock. The short, compact swing met the crow's lunge with a skull-splitting crunch. The bird's wings immediately grew still, causing the dazed bird to tumble from the air to strike the ankle-high water with a resounding splash. Unfortunately for the bird, the rancid water was the least of its worries because Malik used the momentum of his swing to bring the rifle's stock back up against his shoulder. The EM rifle's muzzle was brought to bear, held less than a meter from the bird's three unfocused eyes.

Mal squeezed the trigger, giving birth to a bloody geyser of water, mud, and brain matter.

“Take that, you yata garasu asshole,” Malik snarled, never missing a chance to name the wildlife.

Fetid swamp water was still raining down around him as he swung the muzzle of his rifle toward the battle at the other end of the shore. The lone carbuncle had managed to mount the turtle’s shell where it was currently savaging the yata garasu that it had found there. Two of its six claws were raking across the thrashing bird, each rapid swipe throwing feathers into the air like a lawn mower tossing grass clippings.

While the carbuncle eviscerated the bird, the turtle struggled to twist its neck around to get an angle of attack against its unwelcome passenger. Even in the brief moments that Mal could spare to evaluate their fight, he saw the turtle snap three times at the green-furred cat-fox. But its neck was just a bit too short, leaving it powerless to stop the carbuncle’s onslaught.

Malik added to the turtle’s distress by punching through its shell with another tritanium round.

He was just about to squeeze the trigger again when he felt like someone had drug the world’s largest cheese grater against his bare back. Pain blossomed across his skin from his left shoulder to his right hip. A yata garasu’s talons had carved deep furrows in his flesh, like a farmer’s plow tilling up red clay. Stumbling forward from the attack, Malik barely had time to turn around and face his foe before the giant crow sent its beak in for a coup de grâce. Its open beak almost closed over the muzzle of Malik’s gun before the EM rifle snorted like an amused demon. The tritanium round it spat sheared through the yata garasu’s skull at five times the speed of sound.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Mal had no time to enjoy his latest victory. The flutter of wings behind him announced the arrival of yet another angry bird. Hampered by the wounds oozing blood down his back, he was a half second too slow to bring his weapon to bear to peel another shot off. Instead, he was forced to shift his grip to use the rifle’s tritanium length to ward off the slash of razor-sharp claws.

Unfortunately, when the yata garasu’s talons met the EM rifle, instead of being brushed aside, they closed around the tritanium weapon like a stern mother holding a toddler’s hand at a street corner.

Then it tried to take to the skies.

Malik’s blue eyes grew wide in alarm as a sudden buffet of the yata garasu’s wings nearly knocked him from his feet. Thick, putrid mud squelched around his boots as he struggled to brace himself against the inexorable tug of the three-eyed crow as it leveraged its massive wingspan. By the third hard wingbeat, Malik could feel his feet threatening to rise from the soggy ground. To make matters worse, the sudden darkness cast by a descending shadow announced the imminent arrival of a pincer attack.

I’m going to pluck you bald and make Oscar a pillow out of your feathers. For a moment, Malik glared at the crow as if the sheer animosity of his gaze could stop its heart.

Then, with no other choice, Malik relinquished his rifle.

The yata garasu shrieked its triumph as it wobbled through the air with its prize clutched greedily in its claws. Malik would have cursed the dirty bird if he hadn’t been so busy trying to avoid its cousin’s backstab attempt. He tucked his shoulder in as he threw himself to the side. The yata garasu’s grasping claws barely missed Malik’s shoulder as he rolled through the ankle-deep water that stung the fresh wounds on his back like scalding alcohol. Tramping down the pain radiating across his back, Malik rose to a knee and drew his pistol in one fluid motion.

Wings fluttering in frustration, the crow started to take a second swipe at the human only to abruptly plummet from the sky when Malik blasted a hole through the center of its chest. Before it had even hit the ground, Malik was lurching to his feet as he turned to line up a shot with the yata garasu that was trying to abscond with his rifle. Its faltering flight caused his first shot to miss the massive bird, but a quick second shot hit one of its long legs, amputating the limb in the blink of an eye. The crow squawked in outrage as the sudden change in weight distribution sent it listing wildly to one side. The rifle, along with a severed leg, struck the water with an explosive splash. For a moment, Mal thought the damn bird would try to circle back for his gun. But, instead of turning back for its ill gotten gains, the yata garasu joined a growing number of its kinsmen as they abandoned the swamp in search of safer places to relax.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Malik plunged through the bog like a golden retriever on a duck hunt. Chest heaving, he reached up to pull the wet mask from his face so he could draw in a ragged breath. The noxious, sulfurous scent that clung to the swamp like a putrid fog made him want to retch. The mask he’d made from his shirt hadn’t done much to blunt the impact of the toxic fumes, but it quickly became clear to him that it had spared him from the worst of the bog’s rancid smell.

By the time he reached the spot on the shore where his rifle had disappeared beneath the water, Malik’s eyes were leaking a steady stream of tears. The acrid burning sensation in the back of his throat had worked its way down to the pit of his gut where his stomach roiled in protest. He forced down the queasy sensation as he hastily holstered his pistol and dropped to his knees. Brackish water flowed over his shins and down into his boots while his fingers sifted through the mud that lay beneath the murky water.

Come on. It's got to be here.

Malik quickly looked toward the ongoing battle between the turtle and the carbuncle. He was much closer to their conflict now, their battle taking them further up the lake’s shore while his fight with the yata garasu had taken him down the shoreline. Also like his own fight, the battle taking place thirty meters away looked to be nearing its conclusion.

Malik began to rapidly sweep his hands through the mud as he tipped forward to crawl through the muck. His rush was due to the obvious wounds the carbuncle had taken throughout it’s fight. It visibly favored one of its hind legs and its long, fluffy tail was bent at an unnatural angle. Its green fur was matted with dark splotches that indicated even more wounds that couldn’t be readily seen.

The carbuncle wasn’t the only injured combatant. Lines of torn flesh ran up and down the length of the turtle’s neck. The three holes Malik had put in its shell continued to dribble dark, viscous blood like an exosuit with an oil leak. But for all its wounds, there was no question that it would end the day victorious. Even as Mal watched, the carbuncle barely managed to avoid a snap of the turtle’s jaws. Though the furry green creature dodged the worst of the attack, the blunt force of the turtle’s snout smashing into its ribs sent the carbuncle rolling through the shallow water with a pained whimper.

Then Malik’s hand closed around the barrel of his EM rifle.

Water streamed off of the weapon as he hoisted it to his shoulder. Pivoting on one knee, he brought the muzzle around as he curled his finger around the trigger. Mal’s clear blue eyes took in the scene of the gargantuan turtle looming over the carbuncle as it feebly attempted to rise.

Then he squeezed the trigger.

One shot tore through the turtle’s shell at the base of its neck. The beast recoiled, swinging its blunt snout toward Malik with a thunderous roar. In reply, Malik’s rifle chuffed like a happy bulldog as it put another hole through the creature’s shell. Blinded by rage, the turtle ponderously lifted one of its massive feet from the muck to take a lurching step toward the insignificant human.

Malik took his time. Like the devil patiently waiting for his favorite sinner, Malik let the beast take two more graceless steps toward him. Then, when the turtle's swaying head grew still as it focused all of its malevolence upon him, Malik fired a single shot.

The entire swamp seemed to quake when the titanic turtle collapsed at Malik’s feet, dead as a forgotten god.