The soapbox racer rattled and groaned, every bump of the rocky slope threatening to send Ablee airborne. Her knuckles tightened around the wheel, her grin widening with each near-miss. A boulder loomed ahead, its jagged edge promising disaster. Ablee yanked the steering rope, skidding to the side in a spray of gravel, the cart tilting precariously before slamming back down with a bone-jarring thud.
“Hold together, baby!” she shouted.
Then it came—the shadow. The vast silhouette cast by the towering crocodile beast as it reared onto legs bizarrely long for any normal croc. Its upright frame embodied raw power, stretching high, easily the height of three men stacked atop one another. The beast's physique was like that of a colossal ape, its broad shoulders rippling beneath scales as thick and unyielding as forged iron. It glimmered in the ley-line light, its texture jagged and uneven, a scarred mosaic of brutal combat carved into its hide.
Its elongated body was built for dominance, not for survival—a monstrous statement against nature itself. Jutting down its spine was a jagged ridge of bone, its sharp points protruding like the peaks of a fortress wall. Its tail was a battering ram of muscle and sinew, sweeping low and sending chunks of earth hurtling through the air. Each of its claws was the length of a sword.
Ablee didn’t falter. Her eyes locked forward, her racer rattling and screeching. She didn’t dare slow; hesitation would mean death. A low rumble vibrated from the beast's chest. The air screamed around the snapping motion of its tail as her cart slipped between its legs. Its jaws, lined with rows of yellowed, uneven teeth, snapped down just behind her.
The jagged shadow of its tail loomed over her. Ablee ducked into her racer as it whooshed overhead, missing her by a hair. The gust of its passage sent her cart wobbling.
She kept her bent position, her heart pounding as she shot downhill.
Exhilaration cut through her fear, and she let out a whoop. “Too slow, big guy!” she yelled over her shoulder, her grin as sharp as the fangs she’d just dodged. Her racer tore down the slope, leaving the enraged brute clawing at empty space. Ahead, the slope smoothed, promising speed, but a scream snapped her attention back to the ledge above.
Rhody’s cart wobbled uncontrollably, the girl’s pale face stark against the chaos. The monster’s roar had clearly shaken her, and her cart careened toward a ledge. Ablee shouted something, but the words were lost in the wind as Rhody rushed to the brink.
The acolyte's breath hitched, and the world slowed to a crawl, the jagged edge of the cliff drifting lazily closer. A deep hum filled her ears as her Ace of Wands ability, just recently discovered, surged. Her senses sharpened, her body moving with unnerving precision. She shoved herself out of the cart as it toppled over, her heavy pack trailing behind her. Her arms crested the ridge and fumbled to grab hold of the ground. The weight of her pack pulled against her, her arms straining to hold on. “Don’t look down, don’t look down,” She muttered through gritted teeth, her fingers slipping. Stone crumbled beneath her boots as she kicked at the rock wall, desperate for a foothold.
Zeph watched over her shoulder, her sharp eyes narrow. Without hesitation, she yanked the rope of her racer, aiming it directly at the beast’s leg. The impact was deafening, the cart crumpling like paper against the scaled limb. Zeph lept free mid-crash, landing in a roll before drawing Applause.
“Hold on!” she shouted, unloading a volley of shots into the monstrosity behind her as she sprinted toward Rhody. Sparks flew where bullets glanced off its hide, the creature barely flinching. It raged after her, Zeph didn’t stop, her focus on Rhody’s dangling form.
Ablee’s racer screeched to a halt, its wooden wheels sliding against the dirt. Her body passed through the rippling wooden form of the vehicle. Feet catching the ground, she propelled herself into a sprint, her eyes fixed uphill where the chaos unfolded. Her shout rang out over the clamor. “Hey! Over here, you oversized pair of boots!” She waved her arms, her voice full of mockery.
The monster’s head jerked toward her. It roared, the sound echoing through the canyons, and turned to lumber in her direction.
Ablee’s legs kicked into second gear, and she darted toward a jagged boulder, sliding through it with a surge of her Ambrosia. Her body emerged from the other side coated in a fresh layer of stone paint. The wet earthen armor gleamed in the ley-light, and her pounding foot drops set a tempo for her ascent.
Zeph grabbed Rhody’s arm. With a grunt of effort, she hauled the girl upward, both of them collapsing onto solid ground. Rhody panted, her eyes wide with lingering terror.
“Thanks,” she gasped, clutching her chest.
“You may have been better off falling...” Zeph replied, digging for ammunition in Rhody's pack. Behind them, the beast roared again, rushing to meet Ablee, "What do you think, Rhody? She's got this one, right?"
Rhody sucked in cold air. They could run and hide, let Ablee face it alone. The beast and Ablee. Both were problems, one of which would likely be handled in the ensuing clash... But...
Rhody's thumb tugged at the button of her deck's pouch; she shook her head, "She could have just continued downhill. We have to..."
"Damnit, you're right." Zeph frowned, then jumped to her feet and took off, bounding, each step catching air, carrying her faster and faster downhill.
Ablee growled, charging at the creature’s legs. Her first punch connected with a resounding crack, sending tremors through her arm. Stumbling slightly, the beast recovered with alarming speed. It swung a clawed hand, narrowly missing Ablee as she ducked and drove another stone-clad fist into its knee.
Zeph rushed toward the fray, Applause blazing. Each shot found its mark, peppering the beast’s joints and softer scales.
“Rhody, ammo!” Zeph barked over her shoulder, tossing Applause back without a glance to see if the girl was in position. The weapon spun through the air, and Rhody, racing to keep up, caught it with fumbling hands, her expression frantic.
“I’m on it!” The sizzling hot revolver in Rhody's hands brought her another round of Clarity. The revolver reloaded; she snapped the chamber shut and hurled it back, shouting, "Catch!"
Zeph, rolling backward to avoid a snap of the beast's brutal teeth, caught it and fired a round that buried into its lengthy jaw.
Ablee pressed her advantage, whirling her rocky fists into a salvo of blows that shook the beast’s legs. “I've met punching bags that were more graceful!” she taunted, her voice full of reckless confidence.
The monster growled, its eyes flashing. Without warning, its massive tail swung around, catching Ablee off guard. The impact sent her flying, her rocky carapace, and gravity colluding to drag her downhill. She crashed through debris, her hardened form rolling uncontrollably and disappearing into the distance.
Zeph gritted her teeth, her focus unwavering despite the setback. She darted around the creature, firing strategically while avoiding its crushing blows. The revolver clicked empty again, and she tossed it back to Rhody with a backward flick of her wrist.
Rhody yanked it from the air, her voice rising in a frantic cheer. “You’ve got this, Zeph!”
Zeph didn’t respond, focused solely on weaving around the crocodile-ape's blows, each swipe of its claws or snap of its snout a potentially life-ending event.
----------------------------------------
The faint hum of a ley-line vibrating tickled their ears, it was an almost imperceptible thrumming that carried a note of urgency. The combatants didn’t notice at first, their attention fixed on the roaring monster before them. But as the sound grew louder, Rhody’s gaze snapped upward.
Overhead, a sleek yacht-like Liner descended along a minor ley-line. Its hull was beautifully crafted, narrow, and elegant, like a blade slicing the sky. Polished oak panels exuded pride, bordered by bands of reinforced steel. The mast was a towering spire of dark metal, its tip anchored to the ley line by a glowing hook. The hook, forged from dark iron, shimmered like hot metal—but instead of fiery orange, its glow was an ethereal, pulsing blue, as if it drank the very energy of the line it rode upon.
Its sail, a pristine fabric of pure white, fluttered dramatically in the breeze. Though designed for the air, the Liner had wheels tucked discreetly under its hull, each bolstered by thick-springed shocks and reinforced axles meant to withstand rough landings. The bottom of the ship promised resilience; its steel-plated frame was lined with scuffs and scratches—the battle scars of a well-traveled vessel.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Perched on the deck was its captain, a man whose presence was as striking as his ship. His coat, as white as the sail, was trimmed in gold. It fluttered as he leaned casually against the mast. His tousled chestnut hair shone in the fading remains of daylight, and a roguish grin played across his face.
His eyes, an intense stormy gray, surveyed the scene below with veteran confidence. At his side, a stately cutlass hung from a leather belt, its hilt engraved with a constellation of crossing lines.
“Hold steady, friends!” he called out, his voice smooth and commanding, carrying over the chaos like the leader of a storm-tossed fleet. Eyeing his approach, a grimace pulled across the beast's face. With a deft pull on the ship’s rigging, he slowed its descent, the sail billowing with the cross-wind. The yacht screeched along the dirt path, its stalwart hull bouncing as its course slowed.
He wasted no time, clambering up the mast with the dexterity of a monkey. With a dramatic flourish, he detached the glowing hook from the mast and leaped upward. His hook caught the ley-line, and blue energy pulsed through its iron, lighting it up like molten glass. He pulled back his legs and kicked them forward, shooting through the air as if on a zipline, hurtling toward Zeph and Rhody.
The wind caught his coat as he glided effortlessly along the line. His movements were theatrical, each grandiose motion executed with a practiced ease that bespoke years of experience. The blue light of the line dipped with his weight like a pulled lute string. Nearing the ground, he let go of the hook with a flourish. The line yanked it up, and the twirling hook slid off the rebounding thread of lightning. A spray of loose gravel and dirt shot out ahead of his pristinely polished boots as he skidded to a stop on his heels. He extended his arm, and the grip of his hook landed in his open palm.
The sight was enough to make Rhody’s knees buckle. “That was... incredible...” she whispered, awe breaking over her.
The man straightened, brushing the dust from his coat. “Good evening,” he said, his lopsided grin widening as he drew his cutlass left-handed. The blade shone like quicksilver. “Hope you don't mind the intrusion—”
“Took you long enough!” Zeph shouted, leaping over a bone-shatterer of a tail-swipe.
“Apologies,” he replied, spinning his cutlass and sauntering forward to join Zeph in the forge flames of the maddened beast's assault.
The crocodilian monster roared, its razor-sharp claws slashing through the air. The man lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air with a hiss. Each motion was fluid and wickedly aggressive, aimed at the deep scars along its hide. Zeph followed suit; her shots timed perfectly with his movements. Together, they revolved with clockwork choreography, her precision complementing his flair.
Zeph retreated for a moment, catching her breath and handing Applause to Rhody. The girl, still half-dazed by the display, fumbled to reload it. Her voice was a mixture of panic and admiration. “Who is this guy?”
The assassin's eyes didn’t leave the battle. “No idea,” she replied flatly, “But he’s useful.”
The man laughed, his blade deflecting a strike from the creature’s claws. Zeph cocked her white-hot wheel gun and lunged back into combat.
The tide of the battle began to shift, the duo's combined efforts driving the scaled ape-fiend back step by step. As they rallied, it bellowed, no longer looming with the same invincibility. The fight was far from over, but for the first time, victory felt within reach.
The pair flowed around one another. Zeph moved like the wind, Applause snapping in perfect time. The hook and blade-wielding dervish danced beside her, his cutlass flashing in devastating arcs. Their strikes wove together, a cadence of blade and bullet, offense and evasion. The beast roared, its claws carving deep furrows in the stone, and the rhythm built — faster, tighter.
The sharp crack of Zeph’s shots punctuated a tempo.
BANG!
BANG!
A beat, a hum, began to rise in Zeph’s throat. A sound long buried. The music of memory stirred in her like the forgotten voice of a friend.
----------------------------------------
Dust swirled through a sleepy western town.
Rows of clapboard houses and sun-starched ground.
Not one bar brawl, shoot-out, or skull,
So damn monotonous and dull.
From within a squat white-walled home, a door banged open.
Out stomped Zeph—a girl of thirteen years and three days—black hat askew, a wooden BB pistol gripped in her hand. Her golden hair curled out wild and untamed as she glared down the empty street.
A wagon wheel creaked. A dog barked in the distance.
She sang, her voice bright but clipped; she was like a fire locked in a cage. Her words hit like sparks, popping in the stale air.
“Another day—,
Another yawn,
and here's this tiresome town at dawn.
The blacksmith bangs,
The cowboys hum,
I wish that I was blue and numb.”
Zeph marched forward, her pistol swinging in rhythm with her steps, stomping purposefully on every beat. A tumbleweed rolled lazily into her path, and she sent it flying with a sharp kick.
The street bustled to life. Men tipped their hats. Mothers swept porches. Children chased each other through clouds of dust, singing out snatches of melody that harmonized with Zeph’s. A rancher strummed a banjo lazily on the steps of the saloon, adding twang to the town’s sluggish tune.
As Zeph strode into the street’s rhythm, everyone began to sway and move to the plodding harmony. Voices blended like a creaking wagon train across a rutted trail.
“Mornin’, Zeph.”
“Howdy, Zeph.”
“Don't your swine need to be fed?”
“Ey there, Zeph.”
“Look 'ere, Zeph.”
“Don’t let those dreams get to your head.”
Zeph spun dramatically, her arms thrown wide, and her frustration bled into a sardonic grin. The children nearby mimicked her, twirling clumsily, their laughter cutting through the dusty melody.
“Well isn't this swell?
It’s still the same!
The world goes on—why have a name?
A butcher cuts,
A cobbler kneels,
Like dirt stamped under wagon wheels.”
She raised her pistol and twirled it, striking an exaggerated gunslinger’s pose before firing into the air.
“Bandits wait beyond that ridge,”
POP! The BB pistol fired.
“I’ll meet them all atop the bridge!
A bounty high,
A legend made,
To claim a mark's—the grandest trade!”
The banjo plucked a cheeky tune as shopkeepers muttered and shook their heads, wiping their brows or folding their arms in choreographed exasperation. A baker, hands streaked with flour, clapped a rhythm as he wiped his apron in time with the beat.
“She’s mad,
A loon,
A girl with no sense.”
“She’d shoot out,
her eye,
If given the chance.”
The town choir swelled, swaying and rolling their eyes in perfect unison. Children mimed exaggerated gun battles, throwing themselves to the ground, felled by imaginary bullets. Zeph strutted past the general store, her eyes glued to the silver-plated revolver in the window. Its tag gleamed like a beacon: fifteen dollars.
“Guns and assassins,
What nonsense she’ll spew!
But chores will remind her—
Life’s work is the glue.”
Zeph spun on her heels, brandishing her pistol as she marched up to a trio of gossiping women with wicker baskets. The women shifted their stances like a practiced waltz; their noses tilted skyward. Her voice rose to confront them.
“The trick-shooter! She told me how—
Assassin's work! I want it now!
With perfect aim,
With iron will,
I’ll climb my way atop that hill!”
As Zeph belted the line, she leaped atop a barrel. The banjoist struck a dramatic chord as she sang of her imagined future. Her shadow stretched long in the golden light, and she gestured toward the horizon as if drawing out her dreams.
“I see it there—
The world’s dark edge.
Beyond that fence.
Beyond that hedge.
Where shadows pool and steel burns hot,
You'll find me there—taking my SHOT—.”
A crumpled, hand-drawn wanted poster fluttered from her coat, and she waved it high like a battle flag. The children danced around her barrel in a mocking circle, laughing and pointing, but she continued.
“Trick-Shot Legend, Assassin Queen!
Her pistol bright with silver sheen.
The page will turn; their jaws will drop.
And Zeph’ll climb—
And Zeph’ll top—.”
She struck a triumphant pose, her hat tipped low as the last note rang out.
The laughter faded, and the townsfolk scattered back to their daily routines, their movements a dull echo of the earlier harmony.
"Girl needs to pull her weight. Have ya seen the state of her ma's ranch?" someone muttered, tipping their hat in time with the lingering music.
“Yer right, she’s dodgin' more than a prairie dog in a barn dance.”
Zeph sighed, hopping down from the barrel. Her pistol hung limp in her hand, and her voice softened into a wistful melody.
“They laugh and scoff,
They don't believe—
But I’ve got dreams they can't conceive.
What’s life to me, if life’s this small?
If nothing changes, nothing calls?”
The banjoist shifted into a minor key as boots clattered against wooden planks, drawing all eyes toward the rider storming into town. His horse’s mouth foamed, and his voice broke through the fading tune like a cracked whip.
“It’s come agaaaaain!
All teeth and claw!
It killed the Whitmans—ate 'em raw!”
A gasp rippled through the town choir, their staggered voices rising in alarm.
Zeph’s head snapped up, and she stepped forward, her gaze sharp.
“What's that?” she demanded.
The rider wheezed, slumping forward in his saddle. “A terrible beast! Part armadillo, part mountain lion! Down near the gorge!”
The music trembled with tension as the mayor waddled out of his office, pale-faced and shaking. “I'm puttin' a bounty on its head! Fifteen dollars—”
Zeph didn’t hear the rest. Her eyes locked on the general store window, where the revolver gleamed. The music surged with pounding purpose.
Her BB pistol raised, and her voice rang out, clear and defiant.
“A beast’s rough hide—
A silver prize.
It’s finally time, no compromise!
I’ll take my aim,
I’ll take my shot.
I'll slay this beast, and earn my spot!"
The town choir erupted into chaotic protest, their movements clashing as voices overlapped in frantic disarray.
“She’s lost her mind!”
“Someone stop her!”
“Please Mayor, rescind yer' offer!”
But Zeph, undeterred, pushed through the crowd, her grin wide and wild. The banjo picked up a furious tempo as the music swelled into a final triumphant refrain.
“Let them sneer!
Let them doubt!
I’ll earn myself some gosh darn clout.
This town can scoff,
But I will soar!
It’s time to reach—for something—MORE—”
The last note soared into the dusty sky as Zeph burst from the throng, her black hat tilted rakishly, her pistol raised in challenge. The townsfolk stilled, and the music faded into the whisper of the wind.
BANG!
----------------------------------------
Zeph's attention snapped back to the present as Applause cracked again, her gun barrel glowing faintly from the heat. Ruby channels poured down the crocodile's limbs. Lightning struck in the distance, outlining its wet form brilliantly. Its fury pooled along the ground, replaced with the primal call to endure. It routed, rumbling down the trail on all fours, battering the path with its knuckles.
Zeph made to pursue, but their enigmatic rescuer held out his arm, "Let it go; my circle knows where it lairs." He turned to his vessel, parked with its mast pointed at an off-angle. "We'll want to beat that storm back to Mango Port."