From his perch, Nameless watched the Bramble Hides snuffle through the waterlogged soil, their snorts and huffs causing the water around their trunks to bubble and froth.

He listened to the sound of their short tusks tearing through the tubers and roots they brought to their mouths, as well as their rumbles and calls, without so much as twitching.

If his purposes for having followed the Beasts weren’t for growing some of his Skill’s proficiencies, the Bramble Hides’ numbers and overall bulk likely would have dissuaded him from engaging in conflict with them.

They were bulky squat Beasts, similar to the Tapir he had run besides some days ago, only these sporting four short tusks and a rather oversized – and significantly more prehensile – trunk instead. Further differentiating the creatures was the source of the Bramble Hides’ name, a skin rife with vines, thorny shrubbery, moss, and flowering blooms.

Nameless caught two small calves wind their way through their elders’ legs, the flora covering their forms bouncing as they quickly trundled about, “Even the youngest of their numbers bare the plants indicative of their union with Nature…”

Amongst the hierarchy of Beasts, the Brambles resided within the category just above their more Mundane counterparts – like the Phiomia – being considered Quasi-Magical Beasts. They – just as others of their ilk – bore a… connection and affinity to a particular sphere of magic, being enhanced by it. However, unlike the truly Magical Beasts, they lacked the conscious ability to outwardly utilize their magic.

“Dangerous and likely far too resilient for me to wound on my own they may be,” Nameless mused as a soft breeze blew through the canopy surrounding him, “But lacking in the capacity to use their magic at least allows me the ability to avoid their detection.”

Firmly ensconced within the embrace of the jungle as he was, Nameless was… grateful that none of the Bramble Hides were powerful enough to have transitioned into being a Magical Beast, otherwise…

He held back a shiver at the thought of fighting a Bramble Hide, capable of magic, enclosed inside what was ostensibly the source of their affinity, “It would be less of a fight and far more a one-sided massacre…”

One of the largest amongst the Brambles released a strident call, causing Nameless to look towards it, the rest of its kin lazily lifting their heads to look its way, with even the calves halting their play to give attention.

He tracked as the large Beast huffed and shifted, its plodding steps sloshing loudly through the low water. It was proceeding deeper into the jungle, whether by virtue of the waters being depleted of their more choice selections of food, or its growing tired of the surroundings, he couldn’t say, “It seems our time is at its end.”

The herd of Brambles followed slowly after, Nameless remaining concealed above them, the little ones’ having to nearly run to keep up with their larger counterparts. Their passage was loud, [Stealth] a seemingly unknown Skill to them; the crack of branches, the splash of water, and their rumbles and calls, drowning out all but the close sound of his breathing.

He waited until the last of the Beasts left his sight – the sound of their moving off still the most dominating noise of the forest – before getting up, precariously balancing along the length of the thick branch he had been laying upon.

It was fortunate that the many trees of the deeper jungle almost appeared to be grown for scaling, their thick branches and trunk capable of baring even Nameless own considerable weight, “As irritating as it has been cultivating a Skill I should have had already, I can at least say it was well worth the effort…”

He carefully twisted himself around, the branch bobbing under his paws, the mingling of [Proprioception] and [Climbing] granting a surety of step to counter the perilous nature of the bough…

Though the Skills’ aid did nothing to settle Nameless’s nerves at the shaky footing, “Yet another thing I will have to get used to…”

With tentative steps, Nameless approached the trunk, feeling far more assured the closer he became to the far stronger base of the limb. He gazed down, his eyes following the scratches of his own claws carved into the bark, all the way to the forest floor.

“It might be better to just jump, rather than try and climb down…” The distance between himself and the ground was – by Nameless’s estimates – at least twice his length, a non-inconsiderable height. However, while he was confident in his capacity to climb up… he had yet to find any comfortable manner of climbing down.

“Or possibly a combination of [Climbing] and [Leap] may suffice?” Even if he wasn’t comfortable, Nameless understood the necessity of taking whatever chances available to him to progress his Skills… even if they weren’t for any grand jumps in his proficiency, “After all, what matters more than my comfort, is getting used to using the Skill in as many circumstances as possible.”

“Especially while I am safe to test at my leisure.” A slight gust blew through the tree’s crown, shaking its branches and leaves. Nameless’s own feather’s ruffled just as the leaves, his long unruly hair blowing over his face from the wind behind…

And, just as the wind, he moved.

Nameless leaned down off the branch, allowing himself to be pulled towards the ground, his claws digging deeply into the trunk’s bark. He awkwardly staggered his drop, retracting and unleashing his claws to jarringly control his descent, until he was close enough to the forest floor to merely… [Leap].

He landed hard with a splash and the *splat* of mud, his paws stinging from both the impact as well as the abuse he had put upon his nails, “Not exactly the most pleasant – or even skillful – drop I could have made…” He looked upwards, seeing the trail of divots and cuts leading up to the bough he had been perched upon, “However it was certainly the best I have performed thus far.”

He huffed and shook his head, bringing his attention around to his surroundings. The jungle’s ground had changed considerably, the constant rain having waterlogged the soil within so significantly that the ground was more reminiscent of marshland; and much of the plants and shrubbery too had been affected, both being far more vibrant and full now properly watered.

With the wet *shuck* of his paws being released from mud, he began to walk away. With a practiced flick of intent, he brought [Stealth], [Tracking], [Spatial Sense], and [Proprioception] up to their fullest capacities, feeling the weight of each settle behind his wings and subtly shift at his posture.

In the days following his full recuperation, Nameless had turned most of his focus to his Skills – growing his understanding of those he had and working to gain those he lacked, like [Climbing] – and, while it had led to a significant fall off in his Growth, he felt a great deal of… security in growing his capabilities first.

It was devoid of that pressure of having to hide the full breadth of his abilities from Mother, where Nameless was finding his stride. The balance he was managing – even while using as many skills as he was in tandem – being a perfect example of how the freedom the Proving provided him, to contemplate and experiment, was already allowing for him the space to truly develop.

“While raising [Climbing]’s proficiency should be considered, I should avoid focusing on it overmuch while I still have a great deal more… integral Skills to advance first.” Nameless mused, paying specific attention to his steps, trying to more meaningfully entwine his four current Skills together, “Especially if it means reducing the possibility of straining my soul, like if another situation similar to the wildfire were to arise.”

While the water and thick mud made walking completely silently a near impossibility, [Stealth] in combination with [Tracking] allowed for Nameless to find – and follow – a path that… reduced the sound of his presence; [Proprioception] refining his motions further and [Spatial Sense] assisting in defining the best trail forward, lessening the impact he made on his surroundings.

Nameless smiled, his enjoyment for novel uses of his Skills made plain, the soft *slap* of his paws becoming drowned out by the rising susurrus of the jungle.

The coos, clicks, trills, and croaks that had disappeared under the rage and madness of the earlier storm had returned, melding together to create a cacophonous storm of their own. The occasional long gust of wind tousling the many trees’ crowns joined the creatures’ calls, sounding much similar to the rain that fell from above and drenched their leaves.

Continuing on, Nameless paid especial attention to the louder howls, roars, and hoots, wanting to avoid the possibility of stumbling onto some manner of dangerous creature without warning.

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He pressed through a thick fern – bespeckled by bright red seeds – and paused halfway underneath, a loud screech emanating from the distance causing his ears to twitch. However, what had brought him to a sudden stop was not the scream itself… but a particular scent that slithered through his nostrils and settled upon his tongue.

“Hmmm…” Nameless’s eyes thinned, his mouth opening to scent at the smell better. He inhaled, feeling the air swirl through his maw and nose, tasting what lingered upon it, “Death.”

He could sense the pungent smell of decay and blood, but also a slight familiarity mixing amongst the scents of death, “It is an odd thing… I know it, but I just cannot place where I recognize it from.”

He chewed on his bottom lip, lost in thought, the sounds of the jungle disappearing behind his preoccupied mind, “I do not have to give it so much thought. I can just as easily turn away and continue heading back towards the cave as I had originally planned.”

“However,” Nameless huffed, pushing all the way past the fern he had paused under, “If not to sate my curiosity, I should go to observe or search for a possible threat in the vicinity of my practice grounds… Then again,” He shifted his neck from side to side, feeling it crack and loosen, his claws unsheathing of their own volition, “Maybe I have just grown tired of practicing, and would like to proceed to something more… claws-on.”

―――――――――

The acrid scent of decay made Nameless’s nose sting, a feeling of an almost oppressive filth hanging within the air, sullying his hide and fur, “Wherever that scent is coming from is getting close…”

With the growing smell of death, the very atmosphere surrounding him had changed; the more lively sounds of the jungle’s wildlife had become drowned out under a harsh and irritating gale of buzzing hums, and a certain… stillness had fallen upon the close forest, leaving even the breeze that swirled through the tree tops hollow and dreary.

Nameless cautiously stalked forward, reducing his pace, the unknown of what lie behind the spoiled odor filling him with anxiety, “At least I know better what that familiar smell was now.” Carefully winding between some moss and vine covered boulders, he scented at the air once more, nearly hacking at the thick flavor of rot that filled his maw, “I’thekik and Onyx-Fangs.”

He clambered onto a large, downed tree – trunk resting over the odd line of boulders – the light rain above able to reach him through the gap left in the canopy by the tree’s fall, “Though I cannot even begin to consider why their scents are so steeped with death…”

Stopping, his eyes gazing out over the brush and soil ahead, his mind wandered, “If it were just a conflict between the Fangs and I’thekik, I doubt there would be so many leftover dead for the scent to be so… pervasive.” A gust of wind blew in his face, smacking him with the sickening stench, “It could be a hive… however, the I’thekik would be far more prevalent if one was so close.”

“Well,” Nameless chuffed and jumped down to the ground, his paws coated in mud, “Whatever the reason behind it, I will have an answer soon enough.”

He quietly continued onwards, doing his best not to disturb what foliage was in his way, striving to keep his presence as unobtrusive as possible.

The horrid stench of rot grew to an eye watering proportion, Nameless having to devote more and more of his attention to his breathing so as to avoid retching and possibly bringing attention to himself… but he was undeterred.

One paw went before the next, his eyes searching for any physical signs of the decay he had been following. Intrigue, anxiety, fear, and anticipation spurred him forward; his mind wandering with ideas of what he might find behind every shrub and thicket he had to pass through.

He painstakingly became accustomed to the smell, its sour stinging losing some – but certainly not all – of its bite and, as he pushed past a particularly thick bout of brush, Nameless was grateful of its having lost some of its pungency.

“Ah…” Before him was a sizeable clearing, covered predominantly by long grasses, a sparce few fully grown trees towering over the space. However, whatever beauteous glade the area had been…

It was no longer now.

A considerable portion of the clearing was crudely overturned, its soil soaked with viscera, and what grasses remained standing – within and besides – were covered in dark, dried blood. Corpses of Onyx-Fangs and a clawful or two of I’thekik were spread about the destroyed area, not a single one devoid of some manner of grievous wound, their broken forms strewn chaotically about the ground.

Limbs shattered and ripped apart, bodies shredded into nothing but ragged chunks of meat, scattered entrails rotting under the open sky; the sight that filled Nameless’s vision was nothing less than a fetid slaughter, the pall of death hanging over the creatures’ baleful carcasses as thick as the insects that swarmed about them…

And they were plenty.

While large Carrion Locusts, fat Nettle Winged Flies, and other loathsome scavenging insects were abound, the most prevalent of all the bugs were – in truth – butterflies.

Pheonix-Tails, Fang Wings, Jewel Tips, Golden Royals, and many, many more covered the death laden space. Their wings fluttered in mesmerizing patterns, the slightest breeze agitating entire swathes to the air in great clouds of scintillating colour, the sheer numbers of them creating a fluttering field all of their own.

However, all their dazzling colours did little to hide the gore they feasted upon; mounds of them shifted over the taught greyed hide of the dead Jackals or the shattered and splintered carapaces of the I’thekik – wings lazily opening and closing – and rings formed around murky puddles of clotted blood and ichor, lines of butterflies following winding trails of mostly dried lifeblood back to the corpse from which it had leaked.

A very minute portion of him was enticed to move closer, to examine the corpses and destruction surrounding them in some effort to ascertain what had exactly occurred…

Yet, he was held fast by a sense far more concerning than the oppressive scent of rot on the air.

“A Stage Four was here…” It was barely recognizable, enough time having passed between whatever events had occurred, and the moment Nameless had arrived, for whatever creature’s former presence to have mostly dispersed. But his having been constantly exposed to Mother’s made it far easier to pick up on what errant traces remained, “While its having been around at all is… terrifying. That this Stage Four’s presence has dissipated at all means that it is unlikely to occupy, or even frequent, this place.”

“Though…” Nameless willed his [Soul Sight] to rise, his vision blooming with an ethereal clarity, “If that were true, why was it here at all?”

He squinted and observed the field of slaughter, taking in as much detail as he could from a distance; beyond the insects, the overall destruction, and the decay that had occurred over time, to the story that was told by what was left behind…

“Whatever attacked was obviously a Monster.” Nameless started, “That few – if any – of the I’thekik or Fangs were eaten makes that a likely possibility. The… violence it wreaked, also furthering the likelihood.”

His eyes traced over the myriad mangled carcasses, observing the many disparate ways in which they had been damaged, “Mostly wounds made from slashing, it would appear… Claws, or something similar then?” He also caught the telltale marks of fangs on some of the corpses, even fewer appearing crushed and trampled, though the slashes and cuts still remained the majority method of attack, for whatever Monster had struck.

The longer he looked the more Nameless realized how much information had likely been lost to time; the rotting of the bodies, the water now drenching the soil, and the countless scavengers wiping away the finer details from observation.

But fortunately, he was vigilant enough to pick out even that which was – now – mostly obscured or nearly washed away.

“Hmmm…” Nameless rumbled, unconsciously stepping forward before coming to a halt once more. He spotted… something, a part of his mind witnessing an important feature that he had yet to realize himself.

Methodically, his eyes swung over the slaughter, hunting for whatever was the cause of the feeling scratching at the back of his brain, “There is something I am missing. But what?” His vision narrowed, focus tapering into a point as sharp as his fangs, “What should I see?”

Desire and intent collided in a brilliant flash behind his eyes, a new form rapidly swimming to the surface of his awareness, moving to his designs. His sight blazed into even further clarity as – what he could only believe was a new Skill – breached the domain of his soul and mind, settling itself at the forefront of his consciousness…

And granting him sight.

Information that had originally slipped past his notice now leapt into focus, his eyes immediately snapping to a portion of the overturned soil that his attention had otherwise neglected, “That is what I was missing then…”

What had appeared as merely a water filled depression was… more; the scattered stones, exposed roots, and oddly sheer side at one end depicting a different story, “The Monster came from underneath.”

While mostly lost to the weather, he followed a general “path” outlined by the carcasses left behind, one he would have missed if not for his newfound insight.

Where the Fangs and I’thekik were thrown, cut, crushed, and shredded marked a – likely unexpected – trail of destruction, created by a ground-borne Monster of some kind, “While there are no signs of overt magic use, if it emerged from below, it is likely to have some form of Ground magic at its Stage; Soil or even Stone possibly.”

“It is good I came here…” Nameless stepped back, taking some measure of comfort in the press of foliage against his flanks, “Not knowing about the presence of something as… paralyzing as a Stage Four, would have been far worse than the fear I have of being aware of it.”

A dizzying amount of thoughts filled his anxiety ridden mind, “Reaching Stage Two would be unlikely to do much, if I were to cross the Monster that created this slaughter…” He felt a shiver run through his body, his every muscle quivering beneath his hide, “However, as I am now, I am even more vulnerable.”

He turned, sifting through the maelstrom of his mind, putting his back to the death and rot that had beckoned him, “I need to move faster… Even if I am never to meet the creator of such wanton death, there will always remain the possibility of another – just as powerful – creature becoming aware of my existence.” His mother’s face, of all things, flashed past his eyes, “Stage Two would at least give me a chance of surviving such things.”

He put one paw before the next, fear and anticipation filling his chest in equal measure, returning back from whence he had come, “And for all I might desire to experiment within this newfound freedom of mine; try and cultivate new Traits and Skills, push and test them – and myself – to their very limits and beyond, I can do no such things if I am dead.”

“No more practicing or training.” Nameless’s eyes shone with a resigned determination, his presence fading under the shadow of the canopies above, “It is time to reach Stage Two…”

“No matter what it may take of me.”