The skinny tunnel leading to Yeluan’s home forced Tim and his friends to a laborious crawl. Tim felt worst for Thron. His brute force packed the walls, but he had to go slowly to ensure the ceiling didn’t cave. Yeluan went ahead to warn their master, leaving Mistif behind to ensure they found the Hive.
“Thank you for healing me,” Mistif said, during their first break. The slower pace was probably good for him. He rolled his opposite shoulder from the newly restored paw.
“Artisans and the cartel have taken over this forest and killed most of our gatherers.”
“Why?” Tim asked.
“They take over our burgs, harvest our bodies for their nixstone skull spells and plant Wicker Sea in our tunnels. I’m on my way back from the capitol.” Mistif whimpered and his pupils enlarged, welling with tears. He managed a few shakes that left little hope for his friends and family there.
“I’m so sorry,” Tim said.
“Four burgs lost in two days. I won’t let them have mine.”
“What’s the spell they need the skulls for?” Roz asked.
“Rogue leveling. Within the nixstone crusted around that skull is an imbued spell capable of turning XP into levels. They ran out of their original method and apparently found the best conversion to fivel skulls.”
Roz shook his head. His mohawk fin turned purple as the thin cartilage fluttered and flattened along with the four flesh spikes on his face.
They’re called frills.
Whatever they are, Tim was glad to have him on his side. Guy reminded him of the dilophosaurus from Jurassic Park, ready to stand up against the Barbasol Killer.
That movie does look cool, Dryfu thought back, trying on the American slang.
“If the cartel’s involved, there must be money in it,” Jil said. “Where’s the leveling jewel?”
“With the nivelador and a small sect of acolytes, I assume. I haven’t seen it, or even have a clue where they do it, but they found a way to scratch through the pact by enchanting skulls. Both the nixstone and Wicker Sea are part of their spell storage imbued into the skulls. The Sea crops harden like coral and grow well in the long, cool tunnels, maximizing their enchanted germination spells. Somehow it helps the skulls maintain the leveling spell stored inside.”
Mistif nodded and said, “Tried to anyway. I think Tim’s Magic Hunt spell disrupted the artisan last night. The hole in the skull must be where it misfired. It’s a tricky concoction in that thing. My intel into the cartel’s body trafficking suggests they’ve paid for their relationship with kidnappings by the thousand. Whether they’re dead or something else, this has been underground for years.”
“And would explain the rigged trial,” Jil said.
“So this is the secret inn we’re looking for?” Tim asked, patting the pouch where he stored the skull.
“Appears to be one of them,” Roz said. “With many more to hunt if they’re small as a fivel’s skull.”
“How do we use it?” Tim asked. “Do we need an artisan?”
“That’s the only human skull I’ve seen,” Mistif said. “Master Oke might know more.”
Thron gave a short whistle to get going.
As they passed deeper into the tunnel, Tim’s habitat bonus faded. He no longer sensed the enemies above, nor the energies of the lives around him. It left him feeling like crawling into battle in a bathrobe against a pride of lions. Good thing I got my posse.
“What types of preparations have you made?” Tim asked.
Mistif described a series of tunnel collapse defenses that had failed against the magic of their invaders in the other burgs. They needed help in a big way even if most of their warriors stayed behind to fight.
The tunnel eventually gave way to a mega theater of openings. A fifty foot high black stone hive awaited them in the cavern’s center. Ambient yellow lighting filled the dozens of openings. Bats fluttered off their perch along a section of high wall, screeching and filing out through an opposite exit.
A fivel opened the front door and shouted something inside. Yeluan appeared shortly after and waved them to hurry inside. Frantic fivel gathered cases of food and bags full to the brim before descending through trap doors. Every step and decision executed seamlessly. The greatest concentration entered and exited through spiked double doors opening to a throne room.
Inside they found a fivel packing boxes for smaller fivel to carry away on hooked poles. He stood almost to Tim’s shoulders and packed some serious muscles. His bandoleer was lined with yellow and green striped balls linked on chains. He wore a French looking hat with a gold star. Two arcing lines were shaved into the sides of his red hair like scars from a fight with a tiger. Various tools from picks to hatchets and spools of rope encircled his belt. His backpack hung with enough weight to break someone half his size, but he held it with flexed control.
“Master Oke,” Yeluan said, presenting Tim and his friends to the leader. “This is Tim and his friends..”
“How did you do survive the artisan trap?” Oke asked.
Tim showed him his dagger, the gotr bone’s glow was dim but still ebbing and flowing with the artisan spell’s aura. “This and a few spells also enabled me to reform this, minus a hole from the spell misfiring.”
He withdrew the skull, turning curiosity to rapt attention. Prior to that, he’d been a leader with too many fires and not enough water to put them out. Fivel were in full evacuation mode, clamoring in the tunnels all around.
Their leader squinted an eye at Tim and each member of his group in turn. “Can you use it to save our home and stop these artisans from their invasions?”
“I—we can,” Tim said, boosting the confidence in his voice as he said it. “Your people are our new allies.” Tim mimicked the fist to heart that Thron had shown him earlier when thanking him for saving his life.
Master Oke made a fist on his heart, then extended his fingers under his flat teeth and blew over them. “Let it fall.”
Tim wasn’t sure what to say that could top his panache. “Amen,” he said with some southern gospel spunk.
That’s a fivel phrase derived from their hope for fruit to fall and be gathered. It means, may you be blessed, or may it be as you hope.
Cool. Likewise.
Extend Tertiary partyship to Yeluan’s master and remainder of their burg?
Tim agreed and focused on their leader.
Master Commander - Remmin Oke
Race: Fivel
Class: Trapper Lv. 9
HP: 245
MP: 21
While Tim read the stats, Master Oke pushed his red clothed throne back on metal sliders. A treasure chest adorned in shining silver appeared in the alcove below. He took a key from under his hat, turned it until it clicked and lifted the lid.
“Scouts recovered intel on how these were created using a spell and a concoction combining acolyte blood, ewwan boils and two fists of Eiyero.” Master Oke said.
Mistif looked down in shame. Apparently, he wasn’t part of that intel group.
“I just heard,” Oke said and nudged Mistif’s chin with a paw until he looked his leader in the eye. “I’m glad you made it back. We thought this was it from the capitol group.” He pointed at skull. “I believe I have what you’ll need to get that one going,” he said and opened a small chest with gold adornment.
“What’s Eiyero?” Tim asked.
Oke took out a brick of powder in a glowing magenta package. “Cost of doing business if you want to survive the night.”
Did we just meet Scarface?
Shh. Listen.
“It’s a lethal drug the cartel use to fund their hold on just about everyone’s front pocket,” Jil added. “But I’ve never seen it packaged like that.”
“This isn’t ordinary Eiyero.” Oke pressed a finger on the magical barrier, sending a spike of white rippling across its surface. “They enchanted it with a time spell infused with an enclave stable enough in residue from leveling spells to create an aftershock type bonus of gaining levels.”
“If a higher-level artisan can slip up so easily, what’s to say this won’t go off in our face?” Tim asked. “Do you think I can protect our group?”
“You crafted the skull. Without my advanced sight, I wouldn’t have caught the seams infused with your aura. Use that foundation to own the spell and Protect your friends like you did when the trap went off.”
“Fair enough,” Tim said, equipping his dagger. With a glance at his brother, he said, “I don’t remember this ticket coming with a side of Narcos, but I should’ve known you like to throw a party.”
Chris winked, and a swirl of brown sand circled his pupil. “Like it’s nineteen ninety-nine.”
“Dryfu? Last words?” Tim asked his friendly perched on his shoulder.
“If you survive, not only do you gain the XP from what you’ve earned before the first leaf falls and wipes most of it away, you also gain the benefits of the storage spell you see enchanting it in pink. Or magenta for you Crayola carrying showoffs.” Dryfu truly couldn’t be bothered.
“Well thank you for that addendum. What was that benefit?” Tim asked.
“Our scouts say the leveling spell could last between a few hours, or up to a few days,” Oke said. “Out there, you’ll need that kind of help.”
“Thank you, Oke.” Tim took in the room to eager eyes and his brother chewing on his lip in excitement. He raised his hand. “I’m go for launch if you all are.”
“Roger that, Apollo,” Jil said and put her hand out to go in for an all team on three.
“The fewer the people the stronger it will work,” Oke said. “I’ll let you and your party—”
“No,” Tim challenged. “We are doing this for you and your burg. You stay. Let’s use your knowledge and tunneling skills to defeat them.”
“I like you, ranger. Your heart is rarer than your class, or your dagger. There’re only five slots maximum, and this skull is already weakened. You can have this one. Thank you, though. Before you start. Moncata, bring the war chest,” Oke called out through the open door. “I have a gift,” he said with a proud smile.
“This is more than enough,” Tim said, indicating the big bag of glowing drugs and jar of what he assumed were the boils needed for the spell. This was nuts wrapped in candy from a stranger.
Two fivel hefted in a wooden chest sealed with a silver, anti-thieving enchantment.
Oke took out a slick black leather vest and tossed it to Tim. It had a with a X symbol stitched inside a heater shaped shield along a chest pocket. A deep purple background filled the spaces between the yellow X and the flying, blue sea turtles sewed with impressive details. He felt their anger and feared whatever world could have such monsters. Its craftsmanship in the stitching, even to the points in the turtle’s claws and the fury in their eyes bestowed honor on the wearer.
“Thank you,” Tim said and started unbuttoning it. The wooden buttons were light but sturdy. The cloth, a velvet hemmed leather thick enough to stop an arrow, if he had to guess, and lightweight.
Oke then surprised him with a silver headed chopping axe. The light tan wood handle caught with a firm base. Its blade had a black rune engraved along the flat end in a language he didn’t recognize. “Also for you. As thanks. We looted it from the same camp where we found that skull. The emblem worn by knights of Fararesin, which is a castle not far from here. If one of them catches you wearing it, tell them it was a gift earned by saving a fivel burg. They should have a strainer in their camp to cleanse you from the Eiyero once the leveling wears off.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Items gained:
Farar Knight Leather Vest: +14 Defense, +2 Weight, 9/10 Durability - Concealed Enchantment. 24 small item slots, including small blades, pouches and a twenty-foot rope. Tier 2.
Silver Chopping Axe: +11 Attack, +5 Carving, +2.5 Weight, 8/10 Durability. Engraving in Lekrain. Tier 2.
Can you read Lekrain? He asked Dryfu.
It has two initials. The closest resemblance in English would be K.W.
“Should go well with your small blades skill,” Oke said. It wasn’t fair Tim couldn’t see his skills, but he wasn’t complaining. “Because they’re a gift, you can still wield and wear them as Tier 1.”
“Thank you.” Tim took his coin from his pouch, thinking he could wait but manners told him it was better to give him a gift in return. “For you.”
Oke’s eyes lit up at the shiny coin. He caught it and his eyes grew even wider. “A wanderer’s coin?” He shook his head and offered it back in a closed paw, refusing to look Tim in the eye.
“No. I insist. May our peoples ever be friends.”
Oke relented to observe Tim’s hands on his hips. “Fine,” he said, and smiled. Taking in the gift, tears formed in his dark eyes. “This’ll build and supply three more burgs. When we defend this one, your generosity will be legendary among my people.”
Oke took an emerald-colored velvet pouch from the same crate, with thin yellow rope as elegant as gold tied it shut. “I was already going to give you this for your work healing Mistif. Thank you.” He tossed it to Chris. Its contents clinked when he caught it. Oke chuckled at Chris’s sudden fear. “Don’t worry. That went through a lot and the vials didn’t break. It’s a goblin shaman’s kit. A good one I think. We couldn’t identify the seeds. May it bless you even more than my gift to your brother and your gifts to us past present and future.”
Chris gave a short bow. “Thank you.” He spared a short glance at Tim suggesting he also had no idea how a goblin shaman’s kit could help a wood sorcerer, but if Oke gave it to him, it ought to be of some benefit.
Oke muttered a command and he left with the other fivels left. “After you pour this in with the boils,” Oke instructed, handing Thron the powder, and popped open the jar. Gagging odor like hot mustard sprayed into a hot dump filled the room, forcing Tim to hold his breath. Even through his mouth, it was bad.
“Imagine what it smelled like to kill the thing that bore ‘em,” Oke said. “After you pour those in the burn hole, hold it like this…”
They positioned around the skull with three in front and two on the sides, ready for the spell to shoot through the orifices.
Like any good spell should, am I right, Dryfu?
Focus.
Shouting erupted outside. The invaders had arrived. Oke left the skull with them. “These doors will contain the spell. I’ll be waiting out here.”
He shut the door and Thron helped Tim pour the ingredients into the skull. Boil juice oozed over the powder. A pop ricocheted off the inside. Thron backed into position while Tim held it steady. With its insides bubbling and hissing, Tim traced his finger across the brow and held it out. Blinding stardust punched him between the eyes and shot a hot lance through his ears, popping his hearing and singing his brain with liquid fire. It was a wonder he kept the skull upright for what felt like an hour of hell’s torment. Had he known the pain it would have brought he would have passed and taken his chances without.
Heat and pressure lifted him to his toes as the following message wrote into his mind:
Congratulations! The sacrificial skull was last used by a ranger class, easing the transition from prior class language to write on your soul.
Tim had no idea what that meant, the power lancing through him left no room for rejection.
You have gained four levels! You are Now Lv. 5 Ranger.
Congratulations! You have ascended to Tier 2! You can now buy and sell Tier 2 armor and weapons. Tier 3 items are equippable only if gifted or via supplemental powers. In short, you now have longer to hide your face in public. Well, on second thought, you probably should still, but maybe a little less so, if you’re feeling gutsy.
You’re calling me ugly now?
Do I kill dicks for a living?
Yes, yes you do.
All right then.
Delight and relief flowed between them and their bond. This was cause for celebration, and they both knew it.
You have gained the following level bonuses:
Lv. 2 - Choose your Fighting specialty: defensive, single melee, dual weapons, or projectiles.
That’s what I’m talking about! Tim couldn’t wait to start specializing his class. The options read as:
Defensive: gain +1 Defense to every piece of armor and defensive item. At class level 5, 15, and 25 you gain 2, 3 and 4 respectively.
Single melee: gain +2 Attack to single handed melee weapons. At class level 5, 15, and 25 you gain +4, 6 and 9 respectively.
Dual weapons: gain +20% chance of critical strike on second weapon’s attack. +50% at level 10 and 75% at level 25.
Projectiles: gain +15% accuracy and +1 Attack. Every other level gain 5% accuracy and +1 Attack cumulatively.
Tim had thought of projectiles when he started as a ranger, but he kind of liked the raw adrenaline of smelling his prey when he fought them. In their hunting so far, he’d found himself craving that balancing act of fear and courage when you were close enough to battle eye to eye or gripping their flesh and forcing your blade through their defenses.
That is a bit weird.
Hey. The toiga didn’t fight fare from the start. I’m talking about animals I’m hunting and those who are trying to kill me.
Okay then. No correlation otherwise. Got it…
My point is I used to kickbox and I liked the adrenaline of being up close on your sparring partner. It feels like you have less time to overthink and less of a chance to overcome a mistake.
Why not lead with that then? What you said… never mind.
I also like the one-two punch over the predictable wind up and gauntlet style whammo.
Whammo. Got it.
Shut up. It’s a word. Anyway, I pick Dual Weapons.
Attack style chosen - Double Whammo. Look at him now!
+20% chance of critical strike on second weapon’s attack.
What is critical strike exactly? I know final fantasy had like a random higher attack. How does that work here? Have I had one?
No. No, you’re quite bad actually. Critical hit is more of a finesse bonus. Your attack style will now have a twenty percent chance of a magical boost to kick some serious dick.
Alright then. So, more power too?
Yeah idiot.
Hey now.
I’m kidding!
Okay what’s next? Attribute points?
It could be.
Ten attribute points are ready to spend. (2, 2, 2, and 4 for reaching level 5. 4 attribute points for each level gained until level 10.)
Str 6, Dex 11, Con 4 (-1 racial), Wis 11, Int 5 (+2 racial bonus), Char 3
The benefits were immediate! Muscle tightened into his back and really everywhere it mattered, but he felt the easing of his back pain and tightness into his legs. Oh, he could have kissed someone.
I’ve got a good suggestion. For now, Roll for HP and MP.
A die appeared in his palm, emerald green with sky blue numbers in vine stylized font. He tossed it into the air. It flipped within the tracers of cloud and star dust. He couldn’t see his friends, but the pain in his flesh which had been sharp and hot melted away to a calming heat similar to a perfectly temped salt bath. The die returned to hover before his face.
He rolled until it disappeared into his chest. His maximum for HP and MP lit up with new totals:
HP 73
MP 41
Not bad! Your next part is to be tested for skill levels. This is based on use, importance to the overall mission, and outcome. What you learned or were given by the wanderer are at the most basic skill level, meaning you can do them, but lack control and power to excel. Every level gained stacks 10% more control and power into the skill. Each one has tiers to reach to branch off into new and combined skills. Tier 3 is accessible at Level 10, Tier 4 is 20, 5 is 30, 6 - 50, 7 - 60, 8 - 75, 9 -90, 10 - 100 is the max level available in any class or skill. Some evolve well before then.
Your current Skill Tree looks like…
A jolt of tickling energy burst in his hands and shot into the rest of his body. Its trace left a sense of examination and smelled of burnt gunpowder. It awoke in his mind and erupted in a new, cool wave that pushed back through the original pathways in his nerve fibers.
Forestry Lv 3
Foraging Lv 3
Self Defense Lv 3
Parrying Lv 2
Fleeing Lv 2
Danger Sense Lv 3
Protection Lv 3
Party Oversight Lv 3
Analyze Lv 2
Healing Lv 3
Recovery Lv 3
Ally Maker Lv 2
Politician Lv 2
Small Blades Lv 4
Riding Lv 1
Tracking Lv 4
Hunting Lv 4
Skinning Lv 3
Magic Hunting Lv 3
Trapping Lv 4
The cool pressure passing through him settled and released its hold. He dropped a couple inches to land in new strength. The rest of his group landed at the same time
“This way,” Oke took a ball off his bandoleer and led them out the doors.
Another fivel met them right away. “We routed them to Section 1, and they’re almost through our defenses.”
Oke started that way.
“Wait, a second force broke through into Section 7.”
Oke halted and rebounded, waving Tim’s group to follow on the double. “That’s our nursery and infirmary.” He tossed the ball to the fidgeting fivel. “Don’t let them break through Section 1, Alwen.”
“Sir?”
“Do it. If an artisan or its mob breach the funnel, you throw that at the first one.”
“I’ll head that way,” Thron said and ran without looking back. The fivel with the grenade ran soon after.
“Alright follow me,” Oke said and waved them in the opposite direction.
Tunnels bustled with fivel corkscrewing into walls to prepare for their traps.
Oke passed into a tunnel with a two paws and a hind claw scratched into the lighter rock slab beside the entry, indicating Section 7. Roz twirled his whistle as he ran, sending a deathcall shrill into the new hive. Similar to the one they entered to meet Oke, this amphitheater had red dirt and rock hewn into a hub with three levels of terminals. Oke led the charge up a ramp. The closer they got to the third level, the finer the distinction between murmuring and warfare. The battle was ahead, and he was going to run right into it. At the top a bowl exposed at least thirty apartments carved deep enough to provide beds for pregnant or nursing fivel.
Oke took them over the bridge and veered for the right tunnel and the few dozen fivels in light armor and short swords fell under Toiga riding warriors. Their longer, heavier blades and hammers crunched bone and sliced bodies into heaps to thud or squish under their wolves’ paws. The times fivel used their mouse screw were only in attempts to escape. It’s a slaughter.
“Orrrrraaaaaa” Oke hollered into the chaotic tin of carnage ahead. He reached to his back and pulled out two long pegs with a black net tied between both ends.
Roz twirled his whistle across the tunnel. The rope glowed in a golden hue the faster he spun it. The spotlight into the tunnel illumined Toiga riders, green skinned with jutting bone facial malformations, bulging muscles and bloodshot eyes. His warsong hit them like a plague. The first stage of resistance, as Roz had told him, was feeling trapped in a bubble of fat and muscle. You flex every muscle in return, but soon the pressure is too much. These foes suffered a quicker transition into stage two. Roz had said his experience should have been enough to level his warsong skill, and it looked clear he had. He called the second stage Plague’s Teeth. For those who didn’t perish at Jil’s arrow or were wrapped in Oke’s net and smashed into a rock, this third group suffered the worst. Plague’s Teeth sucked skin into terrible lesions. Roz’s warsong ripped the toiga in a death by a thousand cuts. Muscles popped and tendons snapped as the lesions grew deeper still. Ruptures in the toiga spewed bursts of blood into the beasts’ deep gray coats.
Similar to the suddenness of their wounds, so too blossomed the sensation born from their battle rage. Adrenaline pumped through Tim heavily enough to carry him on the chorus of a hardcore metal song. He switched his knife to his left hand so it would strike for the first of his one-two combos. Axe gripped in his right, he growled and charged the toiga rider trying to fight through its beast’s limp. Tim beat it for speed, forcing the rider to cross its shield. His blade tip jolted into the metal and recoiled more than he expected.
Dryfu thwacked the toiga in the nose. Its distraction and forced twist opened space for Tim to swing his axe into the rider’s back. His blade cut through its padded lizard skin armor and deep into muscle. The rider roared and dropped his shield.
A sword swung at Tim’s face. Instinct spared him and followed up with a stabbed knife into the rider’s sternum so quickly it shocked Tim. Experience tingled into his hands through the rider’s blood, storing in the channel for Small Arms attacks.
The toiga snarled and whipped its head. Tim retrieved his dagger to stabbed it in the windpipe, just like Roz had showed him. If you’re close and have the opening, this is your sweet spot, he’d said.
Bubbles of experience popped inside his skin, pleasurable as it energized his muscles and pumped energy into his blood.
A burst of hot metal struck Tim’s side and spun him as a toiga rider kicked him in the tailbone. Tim toppled onto the hard dirt. The impact sparked renewed pain in his ribs sharper than he’d dreamt possible. His HP showed 58. The rider’s growl closed in. Tim tried rolling. Flaring heat lanced through his side. A lesion opened in the toiga’s front thigh. Tim rolled through the pain and swung his axe at the weakened leg. His angle dodging the rider’s downward arcing sword put him in the path of the charging toiga. Thankfully his axe swiped the leg clear off and the toiga fell the opposite way. The rider’s pulling back on the reins tipped it free of hitting Tim. He landed on his back. The jolt spiked pain through his insides and resounding out from his broken ribs. Only the fact he was alive and wanted to stay that way kept him rolling.
Chris caught him with a sprung vine into his side. The green darkened and hardened into a wooden exoskeleton, stiff but firm and shielding him from bellybutton to the muscles in his hips. HP filtered into his score as the burning cooled off and sapped the sharpness from his breaths.
The freedom from pain opened a channel in his Danger Sense that locked onto a power source up in the unseen beyond the upper terminals.
A toiga rider fell off its beast in his path. Chris’s bear cub grew to two and a half feet in the leveling spell, and man did his claws tear through that rider’s throat. Jogey leapt off and galloped toward a toiga suffering under the lesions.
“Thanks Chris,” Tim said and started toward the power source.
Chris shook his head. “Uh uh. I’m coming, too.”
Jil loosed an arrow through a rider’s skull. “Your Magic Hunt sense tracking something?” she asked as she nocked another arrow and scanned the mass of toiga and riders. Their numbers fell by half and those who stood had to fight through massive lesions stretching their bodies open.
“Yeah,” Tim called back.
A toiga leapt at Jil, who loosed an arrow into its chest and rolled free. “Roz’ll stay.”
“Bet!” Roz swung his bow staff into a toiga’s thigh. The impact smashed muscle weakened by the lesion. It collapsed forward, snapping its leg before Roz stabbed his staff in its head. “Woohaa!”
That sounded an awful lot like Busta Rhymes, and Tim appreciated the perfect timing of his protégé.
Oh the wonderful things you’ve brought to this world…
Roz leapt into a spinning staff strike. His frills fanned and danced around his head, sending sound waves that slowed the charging rider. His strike clocked the guy in the head with a crunch and lights out.
“Come ‘ere,” Chris told Roz. He lowered his staff and released a yellow bulb of sudden light. It appeared and disappeared like a puff of air, then reappeared in Roz’s foot long gash in the thick part of his tail. Vibrant green vines grew out of the wound, pierced the edges and started sewing it shut.
“Got you all in check!” Chris said and pumped his staff, checking with a wide smile that Tim saw. “You need something, brother?”
A yellow mist clouded his eyes as he turned, but slowly faded as he built speed with Jil. His shoulders shook in a shiver Tim knew must be from the experience. He beamed with a smile cast in opposition to the blood stains on his face and hands.
“Yeah. Let’s go hunting.” Tim smiled back as he gave in to the longing for more. He activated Magic Hunt and was swallowed into a tunneling sensation dragging him toward an unseen target.