The trader removed their mask. Instead of the chain smoking middle aged man Zane had been expecting, he found himself face to face with what looked to be a woman in her mid twenties.

She was very pretty, with high cheekbones and finger length bubblegum pink hair. The multiple layers of heavy clothing she wore made it hard to guess what her figure might be like, but judging by her face, Zane assumed she would be a knockout.

Pinky was actually a kitsune, but she had decided against revealing that fact to the rogue cultivator for now. There was no way of knowing how he would react to the news, so she kept her ears and tail safely hidden. Besides, there was a non-zero chance one of them would end up killing the other. Which was a shame, because her new diet had been going so well.

The kitsune had sworn off eating people, or draining them of their essence. It made her progress up the mountain slower, and it was hard to resist temptation sometimes. But at least she didn’t have to deal with angry locals going fox hunting. That always sucked.

As Pinky looked at Zane’s beautiful face and vacant expression, she knew that the rogue cultivator would be trouble. He was just her type, in a lot of ways. But her friends down in the lowlands had talked her into swearing off sleeping with, or consuming, attractive idiots. She was on a cleanse.

“So, why were you pretending to be an old man?” Zane asked as the surprise finally wore off.

Pinky explained that she disguised herself as a man while traveling because it was much safer, and she tended to get better prices. “You can never be too careful,” she said.

The young man was still confused. “But what about the voice?”

“Oh, that's a class ability.” the kitsune lied, her voice softening as she spoke. It was still a little husky, but in a good way.

“Neat trick,” Zane told her, realizing that Pinky was the first woman he had talked to in ten years.

As they transitioned back to arguing about what to do with the bodies, Zane got an idea. It had taken him a while to understand how the fog worked. Apparently it affected people differently depending on their level, and it got worse the higher up you went. That was why people needed to hire sherpas to carry their stuff up the mountain. Most pack animals weren’t strong enough to survive the thicker fog.

“We should feed them to the horses,” Zane said as the three neurons in a trench coat that he called a brain reached a decision.

Pinky got a look of confusion across her face, but gestured for Zane to continue.

Zane explained his reasoning. “Ok, so the fog messes with anything that's too low level to survive at a given altitude. If we feed the horses a bunch of cultivator meat, they'll get strong enough to go higher.”

Zane waited for Pinky to tell him his plan was stupid. Instead, she seemed to think about it. “Well, that could work… we would probably need more cores though.”

The chef reached into his money pouch. “By an amazing coincidence, I have plenty to go around.”

Pinky’s eyes narrowed. “Zane, where did you get those?”

“Don't worry, they're from people who were raiding the village where I was staying.” Zane assured her.

“Right…” Pinky looked at the small fortune worth of human cores and felt a pang of hunger as she imagined how much essence they contained. There was a black market for them, because of course there was. But it would be easier to dispose of the cores by feeding them to the horses. At the very least, that would get them away from her.

She stopped and glared at Zane. “What's in your mouth?”

“Nothing,” the chef lied as he sucked on one of the cores like a cough drop.

Pinky sighed and counted to ten in her head before she spoke. “Zane, please refrain from cannibalism while in my presence.”

Zane shook his head. “It's not cannibalism. Technically, I'm a kobold.”

Pinky's eyes narrowed once more. She hadn’t been expecting that. “Maybe you should explain things from the beginning.”

***

As Zane told his origin story, Pinky got increasingly flustered. Once he got to the part about the young lordling with the red helm she asked a few clarifying questions. After Zane answered them, the kitsune started swearing.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“You killed Lord Grasa's son?” Pinky shouted.

“In fairness, he did call me a ‘chicken fucker’ as he was riding away,” Zane said huffily.

“That's no excuse to kill him!” Pinky resisted the urge to punch a hole in the wall. “Lord Grasa is going to have his cultivators hunt you down like a dog.”

“Probably not.”

“Oh? And why is that?” the kitsune asked.

Zane shrugged, “I tend to get away with stuff. Don't ask me why. I just do.”

“Well, you did get a blessing from a trickster goddess, and you are decently attractive…” Pinky frowned again, remembering she was supposed to be on a cleanse. “I thought you said your master told you not to tell anyone about the god stuff?”

“Well, I was trapped in a cave for ten years. It's not like I've talked to many people since I got out.”

Pinky's face started to soften, then she realized Zane was using his himbo trickster magic on her. The kitsune growled with annoyance. She could see why he was so good at getting away with stuff.

***

They stashed the cart and horses in the storage area behind the restaurant. Then, Zane dragged the bodies over to a makeshift feeding trough and got to work. His class told him that it was important to go between the bones instead of trying to cut through them. Between that, and a freakishly sharp knife, he processed the corpses in record time.

Then there was the question of how to get the horses to eat the evidence. Zane called on his culinary skills for answers. Unfortunately, knowledge on how to tempt a herbivore with cultivator meat wasn't part of his class.

He had a feeling that the hardest part would be getting them started. Zane had seen enough horror movies to know that after the horses got a taste of the essence infused meat, it would be impossible to get them to stop.

The young man briefly wondered if he was creating abominations that would terrorize the lands for years to come. Then Zane remembered that he was immortal. Besides, it would be really cool to have a badass horse. Even if it did eat people.

He mixed some finely minced meat with grain and put it in the makeshift feeding trough. “Eat up!” he said cheerfully.

***

Daisy the draft horse didn’t like the fog. It threatened to steal the warmth from her bones. She felt like she was walking through thin icy water, losing her life one step at a time. But she was a good horse, so she did as Mistress Pinky told her.

The other animals felt it too. The higher they went up the mountain, the thicker and more oppressive the fog became. Only one person seemed to be unaffected, the one they called Zane. He walked as if it were a beautiful day. He smiled and laughed.

Daisy looked at the offering before her. She knew what it was. The dogs talked of meat. They told her she was made of it, and they would enjoy gnawing on her bones when she became too old to pull the cart. They did not know that she had tasted such things for herself, and that they were good.

Horses were supposed to eat grass and grain, not consume living creatures. But Daisy had given in to hunger before. Birds used to raise their young in the rafters of her stable. One day a chick fell from the nest, and as Daisy looked at the curious broken thing, the hunger had risen.

Her body had called out for things Daisy couldn't name as she looked at the helpless bird. It felt like someone else was controlling her body as the horse took the chick in her mouth, as she bit down.

Now Daisy could feel the same hunger rising inside of her. She needed something, and Zane had offered it to her. The others looked at the death scented grain, not daring to consume it.

They silently judged Daisy as she approached the bloody trough. But they too had been weakened by the fog. That hateful oppression had stolen the warmth from their bodies and the light from their eyes. They could not stop her.

The horse did not understand sin. But as she consumed the flesh of the cultivators, Daisy knew she was damned. Yet she continued to eat, to devour what had been offered. And as she swallowed each precious morsel, the fog began to retreat.

Daisy let out a sigh of relief as she swallowed the last of the meat laced grain. She could feel warmth spreading out from her heart, chasing away the chill that had taken up residence in her bones. The horse could even see a single ray of sunshine sneaking in through the skylight.

She looked up at it curiously. The sky outside was blue. But when she told the others of her discovery, all they saw was the gray oppression of the fog.

They refused to eat. They said it was wrong. They called her an abomination, a wolf in the shape of a horse. One even lashed out at her with a hoof. But the blow was weak. Weak like them.

Daisy had hoped to save them from the fog. But it was clear to her now that not all wished to be saved. That not all could be saved. In that moment, a line formed in Daisy's mind.

On one side were those who ate. They consumed and got strong. The creatures on the other side were prey. They existed to feed the strong. Daisy took her rightful place at the bloody trough, and began to eat.

When she was finished, Daisy felt different. Her mind was sharper. Her muscles were stronger. And for the first time since she came to the mountain, Daisy felt safe and warm.

There was light all around them, Daisy realized. She fixed her eyes on the strange rainbow flecks that floated in the air. They seemed to be some sort of energy, like fragments of sunlight.

Daisy looked inside herself for the first time. She could see the rainbow sparkle of essence radiating from her chest. The meat had bestowed this great gift upon her. She needed to consume more of it. She needed more blessings.

Her eye landed on the other horses. They too had the faintest of sparks. But it was flickering and fading. Their light was being smothered by the fog.

Daisy knew what needed to be done. The others had made their decision when they failed to eat. Now, they themselves would be consumed. Surely that would be a better end than slowly dying to the fog.

“Don't worry,” Daisy whispered as she approached, “Your light will live on, in me.”