While his friends unleashed their arsenal of ground-shaking songs, Tim climbed the roots, eager to dig and get back to the snake before something else took his prize. Without the MP restoration in the orev bulb not the aura in the now dead Takekuma, Tim wouldn’t last two seconds in their skirmish. The snake bite that stole Indi’s life aura sapped all his extra liquid aura—the well he drew from to manifest Aura spells, or familiars like Indi.
He plunged his hands under the orev’s surface form, sticky sharp carpeting that grew like crabgrass. His hand tracked under its flaps until he found a root. He stabbed his dagger into the soil with enough room to not puncture the seed pod, sawed wide and stuck his hand inside to feel for the bulb. At the bottom, he severed it from its roots. XP rose in his Foraging skill’s storage near to halfway to next level by the time he cut out the third one. He took a mouthful out of one of the tangerine like bulbs. It was spongey and tasted like banana tofu, but the MP and HP boost kicked in right away. Enough he could shoot a Danger Sense pulse toward the commotion of the battle.
He dug out the fourth bulb while waiting for his spell to reach them. He sent it wide and caught the Crimoan firing their crossbows from tree cover. Roz’s wind chime sounded like a screaming ghost, deflecting arrows when he spun it their way. He had to spin and twirl it the other way to disrupt the drakkon, and when he did, the bowman advanced.
Tim tried his Aura Bow, but the closest Crimoan was a red shot by thirty feet according to his Sniper Sight. If he were to climb that close, he better be ready to handle all the fight. His reserves were too low. Despite the war’s din and his allies’ danger, he let the bow fade into his wrist and retreated down the tree roots.
Along the way back to the snake, he chewed enough orev to make him choke. He took a drink from his canteen too quickly and choked worse. Arrow bolts peppered his position, but he ducked out of their way, trying to mute his cough into his arm.
Once he reached the tail of the dead snake, he activated Magic Hunt and traced the snake’s corpse for clues to get inside and raise its spirit. The lined ridges along its belly were all uniquely grown, so no two were alike. His eyes twitched over a similar seem to what he’d seen on one of the others he’d hunted. In this case, he saw the difference–the miniscule ridge, almost like a birthmark, which may house the sleeping spirit. How such a long snake could fit its spirit into something the size of a freckle flabbergasted him. Is that what mine would be like? He carefully lined the tip of his dagger with the intersection between scale and ridge, then pressed it in until it popped. Get it Indi, Tim thought and cast his friend inside. The double cost to his MP hurt, but it would hopefully be worth it.
Takekuma Raised.
He tucked the snake corpse in his backpack and sent Indi on a Magic Hunt to peel the raised spirit from its shell.
“Yee haw!” Indi’s muffled shout sounded in response.
While he went to work, elbow deep in aura muck and loving it—Not really, though I am thankful to get my revenge, Indi thought.
Tim ran back to the jexin. I didn’t forget you, girl.
When Indi reached the poison glands, Tim spent MP on Alchemy and absorbed the properties into his liquid aura. Tim ate two orev bulbs to replenish the MP he burned to unlock Takekuma Antivenom. As soon as that showed up, he used the MP to transform one of his vials into an antidote. He poured it into the jexin’s bite mark, amazed at how quickly the puss boiled away and shrank the swelling.
He knelt beside her and fed the jexin some of the Takekuma. She ate with quick powerful bites, barely chewing before swallowing, and purred between servings. New best friends! Tim took it gladly.
He cut off a six-inch section and tossed it to the hungry girl. She buckled up to catch it and settled onto her front limbs and paws at work to help make quick work of the morsel. She licked her lips and a gleam of pink and green aura shined through her smiling eyes.
Tim took a swig from his canteen, then poured some in his palms for the jexin to lap up.
Beyond the cliff above, Chris healed while Roz kept the chime spinning. Jil’s arrow speed amplified with contact in Roz’s wind tunnels. The tandem added insult to injury when his song sent spasms across the drakkon long enough to open their posture for Jil’s arrow to mow them down. Her defensive strategy held up admirably, but more and more Roz had to abandon his chime to switch to his bow. Thron punished anyone who got too close. The wounds they took in the effort piled on their stamina and drained Chris’s MP to keep them above the tide.
Tim ate a handful of regenerative leaves as a notification appeared:
Tonda the Level 11 jexin would like to join your party.
Top skill: Eye poke - Tonda can leap fifteen feet with green shot accuracy to hit its target right where it counts.
Dryfu! Your new best friend. She’s a bit large for anything romantic, but—
Haha. Do you appreciate my extra info? I’m in the midst of a war zone.
Yeah. Don’t die on account of the info. Thank you though.
It takes more energy to pull the information, and I’ll gain more as I re-level. It’s worth it though. Here’s a new stat element I earned to what I can read about new party members.
Strengths: Cunning +9, Solo Hunter +8, Sprint +7
Weaknesses: Bite power +4, recently poisoned,
Length 55 inches
Weight 44 lbs
Stamina 2/10
Age: 3 - Adolescent
Stolen story; please report.
I might not always want that in battle but thank you. Since she has a level, is she someone’s animal?
That or she’s eaten prey with a leveling spell in its system, or their masters pay for their leveling at a sanctioned stable during its leaf year—that is, the year that country owns the leveling jewel.
Is there a way to tell if she has a master?
She wouldn’t have invited herself. The master would have, as rare as that might be.
Tim’s already lofty impression of Tonda increased a full measure. “You’ve been a mean girl, huh?”
She rubbed her head against his leg and turned to a growl at the fifty feet of jungle between him and the rock path he’d climbed to reach the orev. Aura wraiths floated like a school of patient hunters, overwhelming his route with their numbers. In their patience, they spread wide, closing in on his hiding spot in spectral whispers that taunted him to show himself. To end the fight.
A scene from the movie, Margin Call came to mind, where the mid-level boss climbed onto the building ledge overlooking nighttime New York City and its plummeting heights. People aren’t afraid of the fall. They’re afraid when they get on the ledge, they’ll jump, his line went. The closer Tim inspected the unexplainable intersection between skeleton and flesh preserved in aura, the more Tim felt a need to step out and show himself. The closer they reached, the more Tim wanted to welcome them.
No, Tim. That’s their power. Stay where you are. Remember who you are.
Dryfu’s words cut through the malaise between him and his limbs, as though he’d become isolated in his thoughts and was near to handing the keys to his body to the true owners. Tim set his hand in the grass and casually cast Battleground into the cool, damp soil. His touch allowed the spell to attach without as much MP spend.
The air was not yet cold enough to freeze, but plenty chilled to make a long night miserable if he had to stay here without fire.
A tide of neon green filled the ground around them. Tim touched it with Protection and pretended like he was a shrub in the night. Aura wraiths loomed mere feet away, sniffing and scanning for the life they knew hidden.
They passed by like forgotten kings cursed to roam by the same power that preserved them in murder and mayhem. Curiosity to know at least one of them released a pulse of aura that formed on his fingertip and drifted off before he could stop it. The globule ebbed and flowed like a drop of blood in zero gravity. It’s too thick. When it impacts the wraith, they’ll know he’s here.
Tim channeled aura into his axe and dagger and studied the droplet driftiting left and right. By the end, he managed to control it away from a headshot, dipping it down to soak into the ratty remnants of its cloak. Tim cast Spirit Memory as the maroon droplet spread color into the smoky gray cloth. The wraith slowed. Nothing they did sprang from urgency. Curiosity and appeal drew its attention over its shoulder.
Tim’s ping faded, absorbing like a gentle breeze he hoped to keep silent as it passed through the hollow house that was the wraith’s frame. Josim was his name. He’d owned a medium range farm of grain and vegetables with a new patch of wicker sea the year of his death. Last spring, a cartel middleman tried holing up in Joe’s house.
A rip tide of sorrow kept Joe submerged. Lias. The middleman who wasn’t as small time as he appeared at introductions had entered as a business partner in need. The Farar surrounded his farm. Lias used Joe’s family as shields, hiding them until he needed them in the way. Joe blamed them both, and despite the dozens he’d killed as a wraith, none of their lives quenched the wrath that burned inside. He would go on killing forever and never taste satisfaction or final revenge. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. The aura keeping him upright required it. That same aura circled his invasion as though Tim were the one trapped in the house.
Doors and windows slammed shut everywhere he turned. The same spirit that kept Joe in this prison wanted to add Tim to its collection. An aura mage was a rare prize indeed. Ripples of delight issued from this dark souled roamer, sending a shiver through Tim. He passed through the kitchen to a tight hallway.
Now, upstairs, where all the doors in the single hall were shut. The wooden floorboards heated with the friction of aura shifting into place. Before it could get there, Tim kicked the middle door. Its thick wooden base rebounded and sent a jolt of pain up his leg. Laughter cackled from inside the rooms.
Tim? What are you doing? Where are you?
Dryfu’s voice sounded distant. The volume was no longer of a side-by-side clarity; it carried from outside the house.
Tim felt the separation like a missed train and the weight of being left behind without a plan or an escape. He equipped his axe and drove it into the door as aura regenerated into the new cuts and cracks. Flecks of wood chipped away in meaningless fragments. The door was too thick—intentional in keeping prisoners in.
The more Tim fought with his aura the more the wraith pulled him closer. Like clutching fire to his chest and hoping to find victory before his end.
I’m still in my battleground. I have a backpack with a Takekuma spirit waiting to absorb. His words lifted him out of the breathed tendrils of light into his escape. The tunnel beyond was yet within reach. Indi, is the spirit ready?
“Almost there, boss. You hang in there. I’ll get it.” Indi grunted and sighed in relief. “Almost.”
Tim’s arm hung at his side, too heavy to swing again.
A hole in the door provided a line of sight to a tree in the backyard. Joe waited there, not the wraith pulling Tim’s face against the door. Not the aura blending in with his cheek, sewing him to the wood and pulling hard on the strings.
The smell of Takekuma spirit danced across his wet nose hairs, tickling him to sneeze.
Tim could think of nothing else.
He sneezed.
The dark woods woke, and Tim’s mind split in twain. Stuck on the door, smelling the night air.
Joe stopped.
Another wraith nearby did also, only out of curiosity to why Joe stopped.
Tim had a unique connection with the latter, allowing him to know Stupid Flyn was always in his business. If they could kill each other, Joe would have offed that one first moon.
Indi was ready, the snake was raised, but as soon as he opened his pack to feed and give Tim strength, the wraiths would attack. He could tuck it away, but every second his brother’s life was in danger. Not gonna do it, he thought in his best George Bush.
The house was dark. The door in front of him shifted like a sideways turn on a Rubik’s Cube. The front door replaced the chipped bedroom oak. Its silver doorknob clicked and turned.
Joe, in the same outfit he wore the day he died, a solid dark blue Jean shirt with white shingles arched elegantly over the chest pockets and rimming the underside of his collar. His bronze belt buckle had an open-mouthed bass with sharp front teeth.
Tim didn’t remember the buckle from the dream.
“You wear Farar, but your heart is not theirs. Do you,” he started, then stopped as his gaze landed on the dagger. “Did the wanderer give you that?”
Tim nodded. The wraith’s mind wandered.
“Did you accept his calling?” it asked, finally.
“Calling?” Tim didn’t know exactly what that meant, but he was trying. “I’m here to help you. I’ll use this and whatever—”
“Help me kill Lias. You smell like his nixstone. Take me to him.” His voice smoked through a flap of skin hanging at his throat. The wound that took his life still hung on. The open scar opened like bat’s wings, where the chunk missing from his chin was its mangled head. “And I’ll let you go.”
“Your friend is watching.”
“And you can kill him, aura mage.” His eyes lit with excitement.
An aura beetle crawled off the flap on Joe’s chin and took wing. Joe’s tongue snapped out. The beetle disappeared. Joe smiled, swallowed, and the bug wiggled out under a flap. “That’s Opco. We’re just playing catch.”
Tim grabbed the wraith’s arms. “I have to go. Watch my back and I’ll watch yours. Deal?”
Tim sent an official party invite.
Joe sucked his teeth. A grotesque odor blew out. About threw him out by itself. “Party invite ax-cepted.”
Did he just pun? Now, Indi!
A torqued firehose of delectable aura shot Tim through the roof on a rainbow’s arc back to sunshine.
Joe waved in the sudden distance. His total chill perplexed Tim almost as much as where he was going. Wisps of clouds brushed by, and the force was too great to do much more than shake and fly backwards. Tim collided with his body and tipped off balance. The jexin’s front paw extended claws that stuck in his bracer, halting him.
Flyn the wraith rippled with fury. He pointed and shrieked loud enough to wake the sky.
Tim hooked his bow, nocked his arrow, and jerked his aim—Back and forth, red to green— let it fly. Point blank. Greenshot. Bye, Flyn. The arrow ruptured his face like a melon. Critical hit!
The forest wailed. Arrowhead Eyes lit slime green diamonds in the dark.
They were surrounded.
Eight wraiths propelled through trees—enduring the burn to ensure a victorious hunt.
Tim checked on Tonda. She hopped up and off they shot for the tree.
“Go!” Joe shouted.