Booter is nowhere to be seen. My perception stretches out, looking for the faintest hint of his presence. All I can feel is an absence of shadow closing in on me. I lock on the absence and hope my intuition is correct. Simultaneously, I begin erasing my image from the demon's perception. A shadow appears at my back within a second and swings wildly at where I stood.
The massive claymore passes inches from my back. Shadow extends from the blade and slices into my iron-like armor. The shadow vanishes, and only the absence can be sensed. This time when Booter reappears, I am standing five feet from where I was. My perception scramble works, and he stands beside my afterimage. He quickly swings and vanishes once more before I can get a cut-off.
Booter stays in his shadow longer this time. No longer able to sense me, the demons begin targeting Fen's ball, forcing me to slay the surrounding monsters. I keep the absence of shadow in my mind, always noting where it is. When Boots does appear again, he is not alone. With him are seven shadow clones. This stupid fight just got stupider.
"I can't give you back your sword," I say, cutting through the monotony of our sword fighting.
"Lies!" Yells a shadow clone. My blade cuts through the phantom immediately afterward. "My sword is in you. I just have to cut it out," Another phantom picks up the conversation, splicing together the severed pieces.
"You probably don't want to hear this, but your sword is never coming back. It's been dissolved." I dodge several attacks from phantoms and add some counterattacks of my own. Goose Goes Down perfectly slices through a shade from head to two — the downward strike proving more formidable than the made-up name.
"You swallowed my father's sword. I will have it back."
"Your father's sword was an incompetent piece of metal that only had looks and a pretty edge." I hold nothing back and prepare for the aggressive retaliation that is sure to follow. "You ever think why you were able to beat your father…? My guess would be not based on skill but on equipment. The sword you're currently swinging is far superior."
The truth glances off the phantoms leaving behind enough bite to fuel a ferocious spat of sword swings from the five of them. Five swords smash into my blades. I swing, parry, and block all of them and counterattack with a vicious strike. Two phantoms collapse.
"The sword was forged by the same master forger." Pride beams off the middle phantom. "Ma makes no mistakes when she is forging…."
A sense of realization severs Booter's pride around the same time my sword exits his heart. The two remaining phantoms drop along with Boots.
Sparked by the death of the head bull, the remaining demons lose all sense of control. The shell and my empty presence are no longer a priority. We are still a focus for some. The rest are content fighting and slaying each other. Violence and death gain a new level, forcing me to participate in the slaughter.
I stay close to Fen's side, never letting her shell get damaged. I'm covered in gore, and the ground is littered in death. Putrid smells feel the air forcing me to breathe out my mouth. Occasionally, I gag on the remnants of death that are so abundant. Oddly death mana is not the oppressive force it usually is.
The pale, hungry mana is only a regular participant on the battlefield, sharing equal space with all the other elements. As the fighting grows erratic, I can recruit strong soldiers to my noble cause of rolling Fen back home.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Booter and eight other minotaurs are tasked with rolling and protecting Fen. Nine giant demons, including drakes, wyverns, and some nasty-looking golem of mud and trees, act and the rearguard.
As the lone vanguard, I carve our path through demons and trees, fighting for every footstep. The hill has a consistently steep slope that becomes increasingly difficult for my party to traverse as the soil becomes soft and wet. Several minotaur slips on the forest shrubs that are freshly watered with blood. Despite the struggle, we inch up the crowded, challenging hillside.
Less than a mile left to climb, our progress halts. Standing before us is a lone cat with a wooden mask that looks like it's pulled straight out of my last night's nightmare. Dryad, knight, is the only information I can acquire on the cat that looks like it tried to get pretty for a date and then gave up halfway.
"Soldier of Death, my priestess, would like to have a word with you," says the masked cat's oddly terrifying yet seductive voice. The dryad stands calmly, threatening me to defy her wishes. I oblige.
"Tell her she can visit me on my hill," I say, and then start walking. The druid takes to my offer kindly in her own way. She turns into twenty similarly disturbing cats and quickly possesses the surrounding trees. Awakened to a new life, the possessed trees uproot, shaking the earth and loosening the soil.
"We will gladly devour you," the trees echo the eerie sentiment with disturbing laughter. This is so much worse than my last nightmare, and that was full of spiders and things. Trees are not meant to be creepier than spiders.
The nightmare intensifies as the forest crowds my party. Branches are whipping at us, tearing my minotaur apart. Booter takes a blow to the face and is left with a nasty gash revealing his skull. Thankfully the dead bull doesn't feel it and keeps his grip on Fen. My rear guard is quickly torn to shreds or trapped under roots. The blood begins seeping into the loose soil, causing the ground to slowly slide down the hillside.
My footing becomes precarious as I cut through branches and leaves. I can feel myself being pulled back down the hill. The distance between me and the minotaur and Fen grows by the second. Then boulders begin rolling down the slope, cast by fugitive trees uninterested in the group whipping session.
Wicked laughter haunts my party as our slow slide downhill grows quicker. It doesn't matter how many branches I cut through. They keep coming back, livelier and snappier than before. The remaining demons, still plenty in numbers, no longer attempt to challenge my group. I don't blame them for not wanting to step into this hell. The minotaur and dropping one by one, and the shell is beginning to crack.
Fen, are you doing alright? I keep the fight moving next to Fen to help keep her safe.
You weren't kidding about hell in a shell. This has been the worst experience. Are we there yet?
Yeah, I liked the name more than the actual plan. It was close to working, though.
Close?
Trees came alive, uprooted, killed my party, and now the hill is sliding because the roots decided life is better mobile.
Let me out; I'm ready. Fen's confidence takes me by surprise. Passively I send my perception into the shell and get a reading on her. Fen, Rook Guardian, Death.
Damnit. I inwardly curse. Death has claimed another. I keep my frustrations to myself and deliver instructions to Fen on cycling and using her new mana. I keep the instructions short, simple, and easy to follow. Practice. I will give you some more time. This is the last instruction I give her before shifting all my focus back to the fight.
In terms of fighting, we are winning. Though it is down to Booter, a nameless minotaur — now named Taur- and I- are putting a dent in the trees. My energy-enhanced strikes methodically slice through limbs reducing the constant whip pressure. Unfortunately, the meatier trunks aren't sliced as quickly, requiring twenty to thirty strikes to fall. Six have already been cut down, only to have the copy cats inside the trees retreat out of site.
In terms of the battle, we are losing ground… quickly. Our slide continues to pick up speed and dirt. It is impossible to keep my footing. Taur is battered by boulders and buried by earth. Booter is doing all he can to keep Fen on top, using all his body as a float. I'm also trying to survive.