"What. The. Fuck. Is.That?"

Slipping into what the Big Me was describing as a picket dimension was quite a thing. It wasn't like going through the wardrobe into Narnia, but neither was it a slap in the face with a wet fish.

The moment I crossed the dividing line, my perspective slipped and the land . . . concertinaed outwards. What was objectively about a ten feet square of land on my map, quadrupled in size to reveal . . .

A larder.

Yep. That was the only way to describe it. Rows upon rows of trees which were adorned with sharp, metallic spikes on which hung hundreds of bodies. Wyverns. Deer. Boars. Some strange human/animal hybrids which made me think Mr Tumnus got away pretty damn easy being turned into stone.

However, that was nothing compared to the giant creature walking up and down the area singing to the corpses.

I believe that is a Shriket, my dear.

The monster was at least twelve feet tall and about half as wide. It's hard to know where to begin describing it because my mind keeps going, 'FUUUUCCK' when I look at it. Let's start with its lower half. There were legs. Yep, there were definitely legs. They were as thick as tree trunks and covered with a soft down of feathers. The thing had massive talons instead of feet with five claws as long as my leg on each. Fortunately, to stop it all looking too cute, the whole ensemble was splattered liberally with blood and pieces of flesh. Nice.

Moving upwards, the thing's torso was almost human—albeit magnified to a ridiculous scale. Its musculature put Lancelot to shame, even though much of it was covered by the same grey, blood-soaked feathers. The vibe was that I should be seeing some wings somewhere, and - sure enough - when it raised its arms to stroke one of the bodies, I made out a thin flap of skin that connected the hand to the thigh. It was something like a bat, but I'm not sure that gets across how disgusting it looked.

Think of that bit of chicken fat that never quite renders down in the pan and multiplied by - I don't know - raw effluence overrunning your toilet.

I guess that leaves the head? Yep, the Shriket had a head. Beak. Staring, insane eyes. Rotting flesh. Tick.

I vomited as noiselessly as I could manage.

I believe I have located our missing party members, my dear.

Wiping my mouth and flushing it out with a quick burst of Qi, I stared down the rows of the dead to where Merlin was tugging my attention.

Right at the far end were Owain's men. And his horses. The fucking thing had impaled them all on the spikes it hammered into the trees for this eventuality. And there they hung, helplessly, feet off the ground.

Blood pooled on the ground beneath them, and I could see it trickled down the bodies of men and their mounts.

"Big M, they're bleeding. So that means they are still alive, right?"

In answer, one of the horses whinied and kicked its legs pathetically. The Shriket reacted to the noise and skipped - yep, I know - down to that point of its all-you-can-eat buffet.

It sniffed the terrified animal for a few seconds and then casually tore off one of its legs. The horse screamed as the creature chomped down on its prize. However, it was clearly not to its taste, as, in moments, it regurgitated the food down its front and tossed the half-eaten leg to one side.

"Ageing the meat, it is," Lancelot whispered at my side. "Not too rare, it likes."

Fuckadoodle do.

And then I saw him, right in the middle of a collection of dead and dying spearmen. King Owain. Sharp spikes protruded from his shoulder, and - presumably because of his greater weight - two others had been hammered through his thighs.

Owain's head was resting on his chest, and for a moment, I assumed he was dead. Then a cough racked his body, and his head roiled in agony for a heartbeat and then settled back down.

I looked around at the handful of spearmen that had followed me out into the woods. Without Merlin leading the way, I doubted anyone else would stumble upon this spot shortly. Assuming Arthur sent out scouts for us, they were never going to find us. I nudged Lancelot. "We need to do something."

Lancelot shrugged carelessly. "For sure. Plan you have?"

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"Talk to me about Shrikets, Big M."

They are largely wysiwyg, my dear. Give or take. It can depend on their age, as—over time—they develop the ability to enforce temporary mental effects. Terror. Disorientation. Freeze. It is certainly not to be taken lightly.

What you see is what you get? A fucking giant carnivorous bird that had already defeated an elite bodyguard, not to mention all the other beasts and creatures it had casually strung up for next week's lunch.

"Drynwyn, tell me you have a horrifying anecdote about the time Ryhddrech Hael got a Shriket drunk and showed it a good time."

Funnily enough . . .

"You're kidding me?"

Of course, I fucking am. It's a giant monster. Rhyddrech liked to fuck around and find out. But even he had his standards. All those feathers, though? Motherfucker looks flammable.

Superficially so, I am afraid, my dear. Shriket have more in common with trolls than they do with birds. I doubt you will find fire and lightning will do too much to it. It'll have not dissimiliar resistences as you do. On the plus side, and I'm trying to look for an upside here, should you defeat it, I'm sure there will be vast amounts of Earth Qi for you to be able to absorb. There was a pause. And you'll be able to save some lives, of course.

I looked again at all of Owain's men, impaled and dying on the trees. Most of them were still hanging on - that's a terrible pun, my dear - but time was clearly running out.

The eyes of the handful of men I had at my disposal were like saucers. "We're going to need more men, my lady," one of them stammered out. I think he was one of Corys's warband.

"Nah. Owain had fifty spears, and it did him no good. We're going to do this the old-fashioned way."

Lancelot grinned. "Charging in without over-thinking?"

"I always like you, mate."

*

I mean, things could have gone smoother.

It all got off to a pretty decent start when I gave the Shriket a nice double dose of coupled with some of Drynwyn's finest. The monster went up in a very pleasing column of flame, and I was gratified to hear its insane singing turning into shrieks of agony.

Then Lancelot slammed into it, knocking it off its feet, and began hacking away at it while the other men ran to Owain and his bodyguard and started trying to leave them off the spikes.

Just as a head's up, my dear, it's about to . . .

And then the Shriket screamed. This, though, wasn't a noise of agony but rather an aural attack that ripped through our small assault group. I watched in horror as my plucky little group of spears collapsed to the floor, hands covering their ears, crying out in terror. Even after the Shriket's call stopped, they carried on reacting as if the noise continued.

Even Lancelot had been affected, falling away from his attack and clutching his head. I rushed forward to pull him out of the way of the flailing talons as the still-burning creature thrashed around.

"Big M?"

, my dear. It has essentially, but hopefully temporarily, driven them insane.

Lancelot was clearly fighting the impact of the technique far more effectively than any of the others, and he was already groping around for his sword. "Nasty," he growled. "It's like Mother is hitting me with oar of canoe all over again." He shook his head a few times, his face white. "I okay now."

But then the Shriket shrieked again.

This time, Lancelot completely collapsed, his eyes rolling back in his head.

And I was one-on-one with the monster.

So, yeah, when I say things could be going better . . .

The Shriket was on its feet again; all its feathers burned away. If possible, with all its covering burned away, it looked even more horrifying than it did originally. The joy of my early childhood had been blunted by watching the Dark Crystal at too young an age. If you know, you know. Imagine one of those fuckers, the size of a rearing bear, and we will be on the same page.

I could swear the bastard grinned at me as it moved forward to attack. Having no other ideas, I let Drynwyn drag me into hacking range.

*

I'd been working really hard on my swordplay. There comes a time in every girl's life when she gets fed up with her magic sword having all the moves and just wants to bring a little something to the party herself.

I'm not saying I was ever going to be able to mix it with the best of them, but with all my cultivationy - are you really creating that adverb? - empowered speed and strength, I was better than most.

Will you fucking let me take the lead?

Drynwyn disagreed.

Interestingly, though, our little battle of wills seemed to be working for us. The Shriket was doing its best to absorb most of my attacks on its forearms, which were taking epic punishment. However, Drynwyn was looking to pull off rather more exotic and complex strikes, so we were being the very definition of utterly unpredictable depending on who was in charge at any given moment.

We were not, however, doing much more than fighting to a standstill. As I ducked under a flashing claw, it occurred to me that it was taking everything I had to keep things this way. The Shriket only needed to connect with me once, and that was going to be that. And all the time I was dicking around, Owain and his men were bleeding out.

The Shriket shrieked at me again, and this mental attack stumbled me back a step, giving it just enough space to land a kick in the middle of my chest. It was like being hit by a car. Fuck it. It was like being hit by an entire motorway of cars.

I tumbled backwards, arse over tit, and crashed into one of the larder trees, the spikes tearing into me.

With a significant effort, I wrenched myself clear, tapping my mana stone earrings to repair the insane damage I'd received. I tried not to look down at where the kick had split open my ribcage, as my lungs had spilt out before my Qi kicked in and began rebuilding things.

It was time to take stock of where things were.

You know, if you make it through this, it will be one heck of a story.

"Cheers, Big M." And I charged.