We had worked hard with Bob, trying to tame him of some of his more impetuous impulses. But when he saw a school of fish, he reacted instinctively and decided he would just eat them. He was hungry; he was always hungry. It was a curse of the Slaugh, that void of hunger that could never really be satisfied. The school of fish, the flashes of silver as they swam in front of him was too tempting to resist.
He hadn't bothered to use [Identify] and the Cirein Croin was rare, the chances he had ever encountered one before now was slim. That meant he hadn't recognized what the schooling fish represented, and it was too late for Sieph or me to warn him and explain what we were up against before he attacked.
He swallowed at least half the silverfish in one gulp, not bothering to shred their bodies in the process. If he had, his attack might have been effective. But the silverfish were a diversion, a trap the Cirein Croin used to tempt fishermen and marine life. They were legion, and each fish was actually a part of the larger monster.
Bob had been foolish enough to fall for its trap, and he paid the price in the next instance when the school of fish transformed. The fish that he had swallowed tore out of his stomach, ripping themselves free in an explosion of guts and partially digested food that tainted the water and turned in pink.
At the same time, the remaining fish that he had failed to swallow had darted forward, rushing to meet their brethren. The two sections clashing against each other, joining together to form a whole.
Each fish slotted together, acting as the cell structure for the new body taking shape. The Cirein Croin was revealed, the fish merging into the monstrous semblance that had terrorized any race that braved the oceans. There was no stopping the transformation, no part of the schooling fish to attack that might interrupt the creature's reconstruction. Until the process was complete, the fish would ignore our attacks.
I used [Identify] to see exactly how screwed we were once the process was complete.
[Juvenile Cirein Croin: Level 7 Boss]
My first thought was one of relief. A juvenile and only level seven? It could have been worse. We should be able to defeat this even with Bob out of commission. Maybe. It would take him at least a minute to heal the damage that had been done to his stomach, but I didn't think this battle would last much longer than that minute he needed to heal.
As the transformation finished, my next thought was that it didn't matter that this beast was a juvenile and level seven, we were still screwed. The creature was massive, much larger than the school of fish hinted at.
Even as a juvenile it measured at least thirty feet long, where the extra mass came from could only be attributed to magic. Magic was a great equalizer, and it made all things possible. Unlike the silverfish the Cirein Croin was comprised of, its final shape was eel-like. It seemed to be more serpent and octopus than fish. It did have two arms that helped with movement, each arm ending at web hands that were outfitted with claws powerful enough to rip us apart.
There were eight tentacles similar to what might be found on a squid, each of them ending with hardened wedges that allowed for propulsion and bludgeoning attacks. The body moved squid-like with bursts of jet propulsion powered by water that had been stored in a muscular mantle cavity.
The ability to coil and bludgeon prey, or to rip them apart with its claws would have been formidable on its own, but the creature also had a set of teeth so impressive it made Bob's own teeth seem childlike. There was one final ability that was the reason so few people that encountered the beast lived to tell about it. It sang.
Stolen story; please report.
A whale-like harmony of confusion and pacification that those whose will was not strong enough to resist had them almost sacrificing themselves to feed it. Those people lost to the music the creatures made. Similar to whale-song, it was so enticing that those that heard it would often swim and offer themselves up, delivering themselves to be eaten, to feed the belly of the beast.
I wasn't certain about Thutmose's attributes to withstand that siren's call, but when I saw he had activated [Shield Bash] I relaxed. I wouldn't need to worry that he would be mesmerized and sacrifice himself to the monster or be unable to protect the rest of us. He often used [Shield Bash] as his opening gambit, giving the rest of us a second to get into position, the stun effect giving us time to attack.
This time, the stun effect didn't materialize.
I thought it likely that Cirein Croin was immune to crowd control or stun-like debuffs. Beag and I immediately retreated to the Shadow Realm to regroup. I still planned on releasing [Death's Icy Breath], not sure if the creature would be immune to damage over time debuffs as well, but the freezing effect should do something.
The Shadow Realm was severely restricted, I found once I'd entered. The area we found ourselves in was limited by Zone mechanics. We were fighting in an area between Zones, a schism between realities. We had left the Sunken Shrine Zone but hadn't yet entered Lionfish Atoll, and the Shadow Realm was affected by our location.
Beag and I had never found ourselves restricted within the bounds of Shadow Realm before, and it was worrisome to realize that there were real-world mechanics that could shape the space we were learning to control. We were too new to our powers to be surprised; I had realized a few days ago that there had to be some controlling limits on our talents. It would be too over-powering otherwise.
I moved as far from Cirein Croin as the Shadow Realm would allow before exiting. [Death's Icy Breath] didn't have a casting time, so I spammed a few blasts targeting different areas of the beast. For the Sidhe, our magic was more about intent than activation. We didn't need casting times or trigger words, and even those spells that required us to channel our magic relied on our will to determine how long those spells lasting.
We had no magic pools to worry about, no resource that might drain. We could not run out of the energy to power our spells. The number that Magic represented in our status sheets related to strength, not depth. That number was a benchmark that determined how powerful our spells would be. The depth of power that could be released for each spell. Over and over again, with no need to worry about running out of magic.
It was one of the advantages of being a species of Fairy. Each of us was gossamer flashes of Wild Magic. Creatures formed of magic, by magic, and ruled by the vagaries and whims of magic.
It was why Bob wasn't going to die after a pool of fish exploded out of his body. We were Immortal, and that Immortality came with certain perks. We could be killed, but as long as even one living cell remained, we could rebuild and take back that life. King Teigh believed our immortality engendered as much jealousy among the other Pantheons as our control of the Summerlands.
The only certain way to kill Sidhe was seldom spoken of. Even Sidhe's parents refused to pass the secret on to their children until they were adults and could swear an oath to only share the process with their own children when they were able to swear that same oath.
If we were cut off from magic. We would fade. Just as food and water provided sustenance, magic was necessary for the Sidhe. More so, in fact. We could go without food, water, even air. But deny us access to magic and we would fade into oblivion, the process so fast that there was no time to restore the connection and save our lives.
Even the curse of iron wasn't as effective at killing the Sidhe as severing their connection to magic. A Sidhe could survive a wound inflicted by iron. Even a decapitation could be healed if actions were taken quickly enough. But there was no healing, no coming back when our magic was stolen.
It is why we place such importance on the fey. Why we believe that if the last fey ever died, so too would Fairy. We were intimately linked, magic, Fairy, fey, and Sidhe. Tied together by bonds of Fate that could never be severed. And if the connection to magic was lost, Fairy, fey, or Sidhe would die.
And the reverse held true. If Sidhe, fey, and Fairy died. Magic died. A fate so horrifying that children lost to innocence and belief would clap their hands desperately to save the flickering life of a dying fairy. To will the small creature to live, to blaze with light and fly.
Tinkerbell was a story writ large, spread across the multiverse to serve as a warning that even the children of men could understand. That spark of magic was worth saving because a world without magic was a lonely, cruel place to live.