A Kaleidoscope spins on a central bearing of my forehead. The mosaic of greens mesmerises my mind into the longest waking slumber I’ve had since before smartphones. A gravelly cough breaks the illusion and the rotating world stabilises. I’m laying on my back staring up into the foliage. My forearm throbs with aching pain, reminding me of the ordeal.

Demise stains the air with putrid acidic smells that block out the forest's fresh scents. The Tate Modern exhibition of ‘Obliterated Imp’ is still on display, it’s currently being embellished with similar themed pieces of art. Such as; ‘The Sword in the Bear’ and my personal favourite, ‘Satan's prison murder’ (shank still embedded).

I sit up slowly and look for the source of the cough. Piia has managed to crawl back to her original bush, most likely for the water leaves and to get away from her attempted murderer. I stand and traverse the carnage, poorly avoiding body fluids and parts. I crouch next to Piia and take her hand in mine.

“You saved me Piia, it was going to tear me apart. Thank you, thank you for giving me another chance.” I say it was pure sincerity. She nods in reply with a faint smile.

“How are you feeling? Can you talk at all?” I know the answer already.

Piia points at her neck and squints in pain, she then shakes her head. It must have done a number on all the soft tissue in her throat, it will be a painful recovery and she won’t be singing anytime soon.

“The stench of death is thick here and will attract attention. Do you feel well enough to move?”

She shakes her pale face and then points into the clearing.

“What is it?”

She makes a swinging motion with her arm and points again at the mountain of fur. I see the sword sticking out, proud like a hiker that has conquered Everest.

“A weapon, smart move.” Manoeuvring over to the sword, now deeply embedded into the hide and flesh, I inspect the blade. Fresh hazel leather straps make up the handle, clearly cared for though it's obvious the weapon has a history of war.

The round pommel was decorated with an archaic emblem. The foreign symbol triggered a crude memory of the runes floating above the Daemon's body.

Did I reach out and touch those magic symbols? I can barely remember the incident, however, it would explain why I had passed out on the corpse of the Daemon I killed. I try to recall any runes appearing in my vision with information, but nothing comes to mind. I’ll work it out once we have escaped this damned clearing and rested.

Returning to the task at hand. I grasp the sword’s hilt and, channelling King Arthur as my spirit animal, pull hard.

Nothing moves. I tug harder with both arms. It feels like I’m lifting the bear’s weight as well. I pull back the mossy fur and investigate the entry point. The flesh has welded to the blade due to the Daemon's magic, I presume.

I work the sword like a lever, back and forth. Barely cutting into the bear's thick hide, hopefully creating some breathing room.

Climbing onto the bear for a better position, I notice swirls of fine red smoke trailing from blood on the bear's gigantic shoulders, the blood has melted holes through the moss clumps.

At this point a large portion of its fur is caked in dark blood, however small splotches of red iridescent blood stand out amongst the rest, this blood isn’t congealed and looks fresh, the non-smoking blood that also covers the mossy fur hasn’t melted them away and appears normal for exposed blood. As I’m staring at tiny trails of ruby smoke being emitted from their source, the blood suddenly hardens and darkens. The smoke instantly stops.

Well that was weird, I think to myself. I should ask Piia about it. I have hundreds of questions and my only companion in this world can’t even speak, typical. I need a notebook or a blank scroll to remember each one.

Before I begin my climb, I look into the glazed eyes of the bear and place a hand on its head.

“Enjoy your peaceful slumber, oh great forest dweller.” I grab a handful of bear hide and hoist myself onto its back and grab the sword hilt.

“Now release thou blade beast.” I balance on the head, mindful of the bone skewers protruding its spine. Getting into a deep deadlift position, I pull with all my might. Injured forearm muscles screaming in protest, the blade doesn’t shift a bloody inch.

Letting go before I give myself haemorrhoids. I look at Piia and shrug.

She’s trying to say something, but she’s making no audible noise.

“I can’t hear you.” I mean obviously, she’s making no sound. She points at her lips in response, making a kissing expression and then a smile. She repeats the motion over while still pointing. I suck at reading lips on humans, goats (sorry Satyrs) are much harder. I focus on her mouth intently. ‘Looo tit’? Wait a minute. Is she saying ‘Loot it?’ I form the question in my mind while standing on the bear’s corpse. Runes suddenly appear before me

Would you like to loot Guardian Bear?

Yes please.

Loot added to inventory:

Xiphos

Guardian bear poncho

Guardian bear claws

Guardian bear meat

You gotta love a loot system.

The runes vanish. I look down and yelp at the fleshy mess I'm standing on and jump off the bear. The sword has vanished, the alarming part is the bear’s head and back have been skinned, revealing its exposed stringy muscles.

I can see how the vertebrae of the spinal column form the spike protrusions. A large segment of flesh on its back has magically disappeared as well.

I gag at the sight, my sheltered upbringing in the Western world never exposed me to the daily slaughter of animals for our gluttonous demands.

Is the raw meat dripping in my pockets? In fact, where is all my loot?

Checking my immediate area and my person, I find nothing. Is Piia in my party and can greed me? I saunter over to Piia, happy to be leaving this clearing soon.

“I ‘looted’ it, but it all disappeared into the ether. Any ideas where loot goes?” I ask the question knowing that interpreting Piia’s sign language will perplex me further.

She kisses her teeth, making a sharp noise and frowns. Irritated by my ignorance.

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Piia might not know, she never mentioned having a storage ability herself. Satyrs don’t even have Spirit, not that I am looking down on them for lacking it. She has a good argument about not wanting to empower because humans would kill her kind and collect their Spirits themselves.

Wait, when I was empowering before with the prayer to Order, the angel voice taught me to look internally and access the collected Spirit.

What if a storage ability works in a similar fashion.

I concentrate on the items, imaging the sword clearly in my mind.

Strange symboled pommel, brown leather handle, dirty gunmetal blade.

I picture the blade appearing in my hand, swinging the Xiphos like a Greek warrior. I open my eyes and notice new runes at the very edge of my vision. Focusing on the runes, ready for my subconscious to translate them for me, I stop thinking about the sword and the runes disappear.

“Bollocks.” I mutter under my breath, I need to hold the image of the word throughout the process. I try again, the greek sword in my mind's eye. As I reach out with an internal sixth sense, the runes form again and this time move from the corner of my vision to form a celestial sword in front of me.

The weapon hangs in the air, like a white translucent copy. I reach out for the hilt, the weight sinking my arm as it forms into a solid object.

Incredible. Inventory storage might be my only decent magical power, but I'll take it over carrying crap through the woods. Now to max out my storage with potions that I'll never use.

I swing the blade around as if I’m a seasoned swordsman.

A husky chuckle breaks the clearing's silence, closely followed by harsh painful coughs. Piia, now teary eyed from the strain, was laughing at my Conan impression.

“Don’t laugh, it’s our only protection.” Holding the blade before to reinforce my point. It's fairly short in length, like a giant's knife that will be good for stabbing rather than slashing.

I mentally rummage through my other rewards. I don’t need to hold the bear meat, I can guess what that's like, glancing towards the rectangular chunk missing in the Guardian's back.

I extract the bear poncho, the clothing appears before me and I grasp the celestial copy to form the clothing. The whole garb is surprisingly light when you consider how thick the fur is, which is soft and clean.

In fact both sword and poncho saw battle recently, however the looting process seems to clean them thoroughly, not a speck of body fluid or moss. The bear poncho looks like it was naturally formed to fit around a human shape with no obvious stitching or manipulation.

Magical tailors are the best.

I lift the flopped hood up to stare face-to-face with the bear. I tense for just a second, recent trauma is still pending. The lower jaw is missing, allowing unimpeded vision while donned. The maroon streak down the back, was a clear threat to all. I throw the poncho on, hood up. I smile, turning to Piia and gesture to my new attire.

“Doesn’t exactly sell the whole Shepherd role.” Piia makes the teeth kissing noise, I wonder if that’s a Satyrs equivalent of eye-rolling. Piia, still leaning against the tree, seems content with resting a while longer. Munching down water leaves trying to relieve her tender throat.

I look around the clearing at the remaining corpses that appear far more alluring now.

“Can’t miss that loot.” I saunter some more, like a prospector heading to Golden California. The first imp that Piia karate-kid kicked, was still in the bush.

I prod its back with my sword. “Loot please.”

Loot added to inventory:

Imp ear

Imp testicle

If the loot system gives, it must be for a reason. I hope that imp testicles aren’t this world's equivalent of a quick healing ointment. I’m even happier knowing everything is stored in another dimension rather than straight into my pockets. I touch some dried blood from the other imp off a blade of grass.

Loot please, I think to myself.

Unlootable due to obliteration

Well it’s official, the bear messed that guy up. I can’t even loot the remains. I continue to the final bounty of Ramhead. I kick its arm.

“Gimme the loot.”

Loot added to inventory:

Short Sword sheath belted

15th Lux pendant

Opio pendant

4 Denar

I retrieve the sheath, a dark leather recently oiled, either by the Daemon or the inventory magic. I belt it underneath my poncho. Much faster to draw the blade from my hip than my inventory space.

I inspect the pendants, both crudely marked with signs that the looting system must translate for me to understand. I remember this jewellery hung from Ramhead’s horns, whether to symbolise wealth or rank. One of the imps shouted ‘Opio’ referring to Ramhead. Must be a name or title.

I pull out the four denar, simple coins with markings on both sides. I wonder how much I can buy with this?

Right, enough plundering, we should escape this place before dark. It’s difficult to identify the time of day without seeing the sun or direct sunlight. It has certainly felt like a full 24 hours since I fell into Silva, trauma has that effect.

I make my way back to Piia, she’s looking stronger and ready to venture out.

“Ready?”

She nods in reply, putting her arm out for assistance. I let her lean on me and we embark in the direction the Daemons and bear originally appeared from. Piia leading the way, I trust her judgement, as we enter a corridor of destruction.

Shredded bushes, snapped branches and clawed trunks clearly outline the bear's path towards the clearing. Patches of dried blood mark the Daemon's route, like a black highway through the forest.

Further down the highway, I consider our destination and the possibility of walking into more Daemons or bears.

“Is your tribe close by?”

Piia shakes her head in a ‘no’.

“That’s good. I’m thinking there could be more Daemons and bears in the area, didn’t they come from this direction? We could end up walking into more of them?”

Piia points down the highway with determination, ‘This is the way’.

“Ok, that is our bearing. But how about we step off this corridor and into the denser shrubbery?’ Piia stops and points into the forest and croaks a word.

“Sloooow.” She then points down the corridor, I reply before she can speak.

“Fast, I get it.”

We move on. I have the sword, though I’m just as likely to hurt myself as anyone else. I need practice and a tutor. I could become a great swordsman and travel this world, visiting incredible sights and having grand adventures.

The Daemon's face flashes into my mind, claws flying and tearing flesh. I look at my blood stained arm, wound hot and stinging. My short lived dream vanished with the realisation, I’d die very quickly alone.

The shadows slowly deepen as we stumble along. The glow of Mother’s lights stands out, beautifully speckled throughout the forest, unfortunately they aren’t strong enough to allow travel at nighttime.

The gentle woodland noises you associate with Disney movies, die down as the sun slumbers. I become more aware of our loud laboursome footsteps, snapping twigs and dried leaves. Still shoulder to shoulder we catch bushes every few metres, our movement more about comfort for Piia than stealth.

The previous magical wonder I felt dies with the light. Fear creeps in with the shadows and the creatures that begin their hunt, it’s an innate primal reaction from my hunter-gatherer ancestors.

Piia searches continuously, I assume for predators, stops and cranes her head around a tree. Squinting into the darkness, her eyesight was clearly better adapted than mine.

She nods out into the woods and we bank off the exposed corridor and into the deep woods.

We quickly come across a round wall of moss and leaves. Piia stops me short before I collide head first with the horizontal carpet.

The events of the day have left me spent, I recall the wounded Satyr being the support for the last half an hour. She’s certainly made of sterner stuff. Up close I realise the wall of moss is a very girthy tree trunk. We manoeuvre around the trunk, Piia searching with her apparent owl eyes. I consider lying on the ground and sleeping, I’ll say a prayer to Mother for my new bear sleeping bag.

Piia stops and lowers herself to the ground, she must have had the same thought.

In a prone position, she pulls back the moss and foliage to reveal a gap and crawls through, wincing with effort and strain on her leg.

I follow her inside to discover a secret of Silva. The inside is hollow and filled with green motes floating around. Capable of housing four people comfortably, the dangling motes illuminate the internal space like emerald fairy lights.

The soft moss also carpets the floor and the inside of the trunk. I crawl to one side and rest my head, eyes fluttering with exhaustion. I can just make out Piia’s shape in the low light, her body rising and falling with deep breaths of slumber. Before the sandman can choke me out, I feel my stomach complain with hunger. That’s tomorrow's problem.