If I could change one thing about this whole endeavor - it would probably be not doing it. Certainly, if I wanted to play hero, I could have just had a change of clothes and let my actions speak louder than words. Weakening myself seemed like an error I was coerced into making. Of course, that was just my wailing mind lashing out at being under the thumb of those far inferior to me only a few days prior. It drove me to improve.

[Fire Wall] burst up in front of us, blocking four of the vines from reaching us. Jakob withdrew a knife and slashed out at one as a second wrapped around his leg. I slashed two from the air as a third wrapped around Basil’s arm. As I turned towards Florence, one vine caught her around the neck, another around her gloved arm. In trying to move forward, the last two snaked across the floor and tied up each of my ankles.

The cleric cast a heal at the Mage, even as his vine ripped through his robe and into his arm. Of course, for him, this was less of a problem due to being a skeleton underneath the false appearance of an elf. I swung backward, stumbling slightly but severing the two vines keeping me in place. Jakob cut through the one around his leg as it dragged him to the floor, tumbling amongst the shorter vegetation.

Florence was panicking slightly, a natural response to something clawing around your throat. I moved closer to her with my blade, fixated on the rivulets of blood running down her pale neck. Slow motion delayed the inevitable only briefly; this was surely bound to happen, right? Both of the humans were fitting victims for my first bite - and here was the Mage almost served on a silver platter. Memories of my previous initiation into true vampirehood burst like fireworks. Insatiable lust for blood.

With a wide arc, my greatsword cleaved the two vines restricting her and turned away. I could hear her heartbeat pounding in my ears even as I moved away, willing my feet to move with all the strength I had. She coughed and gasped for air as the Cleric healed her. The desire to rip my companions to pieces slowly withered and died almost as quickly as the severed vines.

“Are you okay, Victor?” Florence took a deep breath as her wounds recovered. “And - thanks.”

I waved my hand in the air briefly, seemingly unable to chew out any words. I took the risk of turning back to them and was briefly relieved that I didn’t immediately burst into assailing the Mage. Jakob stumbled back to his feet, a grimace as he wiped some mulch from his clothing. Basil gave him a heal, too, then clasped his book shut.

“Need to recover my mana,” he gave us a brief bow.

“Thank you, Basil.” I smiled and hoped my fangs weren’t showing. The Party seemed to relax rather than turn on me in anger, so I lucked out.

“I hope this won’t be a constant thing,” the Ranger gestured to the now limp vines around us. The wall of fire had abated and just left a smoldering line across the damp vegetation.

“Should be uncommon enough,” I scratched at my beard and began to grasp at the normal thought process. “If it was dense with those, then the necromancer would be more than an F Rank.”

Jakob shrugged and picked his bow back from the floor, readying and arrow to it.

“Although we are of the same Rank, Villains often have the advantage when in their Lairs. It’s partly why Parties are important.” Basil tapped his fingers on the book cover.

“A fifth member would allow us less personal toll,” I agreed. “A burden shared is a burden lightened.”

“Like carrying a casket,” Jakob added, idly looking out to the route ahead.

An apt metaphor for a variety of reasons. Not that the middle of an aggressive jungle was the best place to start looking for new Rankers to compliment our little arrangement - but they had been hesitant before.

“Safe to say,” Basil shot me a slight smile, “if the Necromancer has her head on correctly, she will be aware of our presence now.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“If she has, then we will ensure that we will cause her head to be on incorrectly.” Florence nodded to herself, looking slightly off.

“Which of us was the poet again?” The Ranger rolled his eyes and deftly sidestepped her attempted shoulder punch.

A little brevity kept you grounded in times like these. As long as your focus wasn’t drawn away from the looming danger looking forward to the slightest weakness you displayed. I could count on my hands the number of duels or battles I had won just because my opponent had shown that brief sliver of hesitation or dropped their guard. All it took sometimes was that one error, and it could be the difference between living or being a bleeding sieve at the boots of your assailant.

“On guard,” I reminded them, the conclusion of my brief introspection. “We have barely begun, and I do not want to become fertilizer.”

They each nodded, and a stoicism returned to their faces.

We returned to the miserable task at hand. And for a while, our traversal through this hostile environment was slightly less fatal. Through slow progress and intent perception, the number of hazards we were able to avoid increased. It made for a large increase in travel time, but other than a few scrapes and cuts we made it nigh on two hours without anything too worrying.

Mostly, I was thankful that the intensity kept my mind on track. We were one measly accident from my cover being blown. Were I not so inclined, I could almost believe the gods had set that up as a test for me. Florence had looked the perfect picture of the most cliche first victim possible. One heaving bosom by candlelight away from believing I was part of a trashy romance novel.

My original victim hadn’t even been so typecast. A rough fisherman who had drunkenly gotten into a quarrel with the wrong man. Romantising the bite was for poets and those with no experience. It was bestial, violent, and more akin to a wild cat putting down its prey. I had indulged in the mundane beauty of it over the centuries, sure - supped from many a delightful noble or wined and dined upon those with enough beauty or power to rule kingdoms - but it wasn’t the reality of things.

It was also a death I would not wish on Jakob or Florence. How I intended to reconcile all the conflicting thoughts in my head was possibly part of Basil’s original ruse - maybe his own boredom had me running through the maze in search of the cheese. The smell of cheese was in the air, but it was mostly likely just to lure me into a trap- I paused and held up a hand.

“There’s a smell around here.” My nose twitched, knowing that in bringing it to light, they were more likely to attempt to gauge the scent rather than avoid it. “Dangerous,” I added.

Basil sidled up to me. “Poison, perhaps?”

Jakob squatted down and tried to peer around us for the culprit of the suspect stench. “Anyone feel ill?”

“Not currently,” I shrugged as the other two shook their heads. Not that any poison worth using would notify you before it was too late. Something was definitely odd about the smell - but I couldn’t place it. It didn’t have that ominous danger to it, the threat of death and ruin.

“It smells quite nice, I think.” Florence shrugged and began walking at an angle to our right.

“Stay in formation,” I frowned at her. “Florence. Florence?”

The woman continued on her path, ignoring us. Concern spread across our faces as we glanced at one another before we went after her.

“Florence?” Jakob pestered, running up beside her.

“It smells so nice,” she repeated, voice sounding distant as if in a daze.

“The source of the smell,” I growled. A simple trick often found in nature. Plants that would lure insects in with false promise of sustenance - and then consume them. No point for assuming that was where the Mage was headed.

I ran out ahead of her, as she had not deviated in the direction it stood to reason that eventually-

My boots slid to a stop across damp mud and ruined leaves. A clearing broke through the dense jungle plant life - a rough circle of mulch and wet decay. In the middle of this area was a large bulb shape, around twenty feet high. Large leaves sat clumped around it, each as wide as me and deep green. Tiny hairs were visible along them, and they rustled in my presence. Although I had expected something at the end of this trail, this plant was more monumental than I could have anticipated.

I looked behind me as the Mage stepped into the clearing, the two men right behind, still trying to delay the inevitable without the use of force. Strangely, I was unable to discern if the smell here was worse or had vanished. It may be able to hook one victim at a time, a vegetative fisherman reeling in the first thing that took a bite.

As I turned back to the plant, the bulb twisted and opened into four sections. Fang-like teeth protruded from the fleshy burgundy insides, a barbed trap that I paled to compare to myself. The whole monster turned downwards as if to face us as if it had sentience.

“Jakob,” I growled, my sword burning a bright crimson. “Kill it now!”

My feet sloshed against the slurry of dead vegetation as I began towards the creature, a rhythmic pulsing through the floor vibrating my bones as four large tree-trunk sized vines burst forth from the ground around us.

With Florence still on her path of self-destruction, we were fast out of time.