It was the day Finlay’s second life would end… and start anew. It wouldn’t be a particularly good end. And he might’ve been better off staying on Earth. But he couldn’t let the world of Ilaya fall to the Sporeal Tide again.

Before jumping too far forward, the end comes first.

“The weather doesn’t look good.” Finlay’s frown creased two scars across his stern face, roughened by years of war. He wasn’t stern; he just looked like it. He tilted his head to get lazy strands of dark brown hair out of his tired eyes. Gazing at the sky, he wondered how many days it hadn’t been blue.

Swirls of deep purple powdered blotted out the sun, continuing the long cold night. He'd think the scene was beautiful if he didn’t know what was going on. It reminded him of a nebula from a science book his mom read him as a kid instead of bedtime stories.

Such a long time ago.

Monstrous whales, several times bigger than the biggest of Earth, breached the dark clouds and ruined his reminiscing. They descended upon the valley, paddling the air with too many flippers, swarms of smaller flying terrors following in their wake. On their backs, the whales carried hundreds of monsters. Finlay knew their bulging stomachs held even more.

Those creatures weren’t in the science books of Earth, for sure.

Not in any book of Ilaya either.

They came from worlds consumed by the Sporeal Tide to condemn this one to the same fate. Most of Ilaya had fallen, its inhabitants forced to join the monstrous hordes attacking the Aegis Forest where the dying World Tree stood. The forest was home to the goatkin and became the last refuge of those with free will. There was nowhere else to run.

“Very observant, my unhorned friend,” said a deep voice so monotone it was difficult to tell if the speaker was sarcastic or not.

Ramuel landed on a tree branch to Finlay’s right. The appointed War Buck of the Herd Queen observed the whales, his rectangular pupils remaining level with the horizon as he tilted his bearded chin up. Not counting his massive coiled horns that were the envy of other goatkin, Ramuel was a good couple of heads taller than Finlay, though Finlay was quite tall himself. Ramuel’s armor of living bark writhed around his body, occasionally exposing the golden Soulheart on his chest.

“Unfavorable to plants, this darkness,” Ramuel rumbled on. “Leaves wilt and turn yellow. You need a touch of the sun likewise, my unhorned friend. Quite fatigued, you look lately.”

“Trying not to die is too taxing.” Finlay had barely rested since the siege began. Try as he might to hide it, his low anima pool was showing. They didn’t have any Speckles to replenish their anima. “I’m thinking of sunbathing when the weather clears up. Works for the plants, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps the sun will greet us tomorrow,” Ramuel said with a rare hint of amusement.

Finlay cracked a smile. They both knew they’d never see the sun again. None in this forest would. “If it’s sunny tomorrow, laundry will be my priority. I’ve been wearing the same clothes for days.”

“I know.” Ramuel tapped his nose. “Goatkin has a better sense of smell than humans.”

They laughed. A luxury these days.

Ramuel was an odd one among his people. Brooding and reclusive, the goatkin would rather talk to plants than other races. Some of their plants could talk back, so there was that. Most goatkin opposed opening the Aegis Forest. They weren’t stupid. The goatkin knew they’d fall to the Sporeal Tide on their own. They simply preferred keeping to themselves up to the end. Having met all sorts of people in his travels, Finlay couldn’t blame them.

It was Ramuel who pleaded with the Herd Queen to accept the refugees. They joined forces to defend the Aegis Forest, the goatkin’s Awakened Trees infused with Soulhearts proving their prowess of legends. Most importantly, the goatkin had plenty of food untainted by Spores. The World Tree nourished their crops even with the sun gone.

“A whole lot more of them today,” Finlay said. The Sporeal Tide cascaded from the mountains in the distance down to the valley, a dark avalanche melding with the plains blackened by fire. “Those pesky whales are almost within range, I think.”

“And so, we begin.” Ramuel threw back his head and roared, his throaty call reverberating throughout the forest.

Drums thundered and horns blared in answer. Fireworks lit up the sky with symbols of different colors, relaying orders across the vast greenery. Armies coordinated as one, grudges of old and differing beliefs set aside. If only they had together worked when the Sporeal Tide first appeared. Too late to think of ‘what ifs’ now.

Ramuel nodded at Finlay. “Don’t perish, my unhorned friend. I trust such a simple task isn’t burdensome?”

“I’ll get smellier if I die,” said Finlay with a smile. “Take care of yourself too. I still have to repay your help.”

“If death claims me, take my Soulheart and let me continue to fight. That is repayment enough.” Ramuel was away before Finlay could reply, leaping over treetops with legs ending in cloven hooves, the double-headed axe on his back bouncing.

Finlay clasped a small pouch secured by a chain around his neck—his ritual before every battle. Inside the pouch was a dried seed gifted by his grandfather, the only thing that stayed with Finlay after he was inexplicably yanked from Earth twelve years ago. The seed was a family heirloom and also, supposedly, a lucky charm. There might be some truth to his grandfather’s story. Many, many times, Finlay should’ve died. Yet, here he still was.

Golden fireballs arced up the sky, pushing back the darkness—the ironboomers of the dwarves began to sing and make the earth tremble. Lesser but more numerous cannons built by humans joined in the chorus. Sylphshades let loose their magical arrows, layering keen whistling to the music of war. Bursts of energy followed, cast by Telvari sages wielding elderbone staves. The background was rustling leaves, the forest stirring as scores of Awakened Trees with Stone Troll Soulhearts hurled boulders covered in explosive runes etched by the Lha’at.

Clouds of flying monsters rushed down and formed a wall between the rising projectiles and the whales. Chains of explosions opened massive holes in the swarm. More monsters filled the gaps and met the incessant barrage with their bodies.

Untouched, the whales continued their approach.

“Why can’t they just be mindless monsters?” Finlay sighed as he tucked the pouch back into his padded tunic.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

The pouch settled next to the elderbone-hewn sternial that jutted out of his chest like Ramuel’s Soulheart. The sternial was warm though Finlay hadn’t used it yet—he had worked it overtime for several days. It pulsed with the life echoes of six Soulhearts; half were on the brink of shattering. Finlay and Hilda the Bulwark were the last Soulheart Wardens of the Hexalinker rank. The handful of Wardens with higher Links had all perished in the war.

Finlay fed anima into the Soulheart of a spectral roc inside his sternial. His shoulder blades pushed out, stretching his skin. His chest expanded into a wedge as his enlarged sternum flared and ribs angled forward—this keel bone was the anchor for powerful muscles stretching over and under his arms to his back. He had done this many times before but still hadn’t gotten used to the sensation of his insides rearranging.

And there was plenty of rearranging needed.

No pain, fortunately. Only a slight itch and a grating sensation he couldn’t put into words.

Wardens gained the ability to transform upon reaching four Links. Contrary to what the uninitiated might think, morphing the entire body into a specific beast was easy. Relatively. Partial transformations, successful ones, were incredibly difficult to pull off. Even Pentalinkers struggled with them. One couldn’t just pop out an extra arm and expect it to work. Knowledge of physiology and an intricate control of anima was required. Morphing wings that allowed flight was another level of challenge—Finlay needed to change his bone composition, making them lighter while reinforcing them with anima.   

He wriggled the protrusions through slits in the back of his shirt, making sure they didn’t snag on anything. In one breath, the bones multiplied and elongated, two spines spreading seven feet to each side, skin covering them tautly. Long black feathers erupted like spears thrusting out his skin, unfurling the full size of the wings. A few test flaps left afterimages and trails of black smoke.

“I’ll get going now,” Finlay said, turning to the tree he stood on.

On its trunk was a large wooden mask carved into the likeness of an owl. The mask opened its eyes and clicked its beak. A green glow wrapped Finlay and calmness washed over him.

“Thanks for the boost. Uh, you too.” Finlay had no idea what it said.

The Awakened Tree grunted as it raised its branch arm, elevating Finlay high above the other trees busy with catapulting enchanted rocks at the enemy. A stroke of his powerful wings, he was a blur in the freezing purple sky.

Screeching abominations flocked to him.

Their bodies burst into minced meat upon meeting his barrier of wind. He was like a car and the monsters were squished bugs on his literal windshield.

As he soared higher, flying hosts draped in malignant spores came from every direction. He let loose black wind blades, each the size of a canoe, slicing dozens of the tightly packed enemies. Zigzagging through the air, he targeted the biggest clumps of fodder to thin their numbers fast. He’d be overwhelmed if not careful. Bombardments from below kept the small fry busy protecting the whales instead of chasing him.

There was the risk of getting hit by friendly fire. His grandfather’s lucky charm had to work extra hard.

Finlay aimed for the nearest whale. It was practically a floating island.

Before impact, he enclosed himself with his wings, hardened the feathers, and spun his body. He drilled into the belly of the whale, shredding its insides with waves of energy explosions made with his Bittermane Soulheart. Tremors from a Great Mogloth that could level a castle expanded the destruction. Lastly, his Valefire Dracowyrm Soulheart produced rings of white flames that incinerated the whale’s pulverized flesh and bones along with the monsters inside it.

Finlay opened his wings as he emerged out of the whale’s topside and scanned the air. No Enslavers or Node Nobles to stop him? He couldn’t sense their natura-dampening aura. After almost dying to a Prime Sporeal yesterday that seemed to read his moves, Finlay thought the Tide would send even stronger creatures specifically crafted to defeat him.

He looked down at his handiwork—a hole the size of a basketball court carved out the middle of the whale. It had been ages since basketball crossed his mind. Why am I thinking of Earth things today?

Through the hole, he saw the battle on land far below begin.

Monsters crashed against layers of fortifications ringing the Aegis Forest. Hilda the Bulwark furrowed lines of deep moats to break the monstrous charge, throwing excavated earth up into towering walls. Abominable armies trapped in the moats were set ablaze by Archon Khaero and the elven Witchblade dancers. Ramuel carved destruction behind enemy lines, seeking to assassinate Node Nobles and weaken the coordination of the enslaved hosts.

But the Sporeal Tide pressed on with their inexhaustible armies.

Flesh Titans, each a grotesque amalgamation of hundreds of monsters, broke through the earthworks. Awakened Trees, wielding powers of different beasts, and Heart Frames, the last that the dwarves could cobble together, engaged in a slugfest with the Flesh Titans.

How long can we hold…?

Finlay shook his head.

Just fight!

This world was gone—he accepted that a long time ago. But he’d never stop fighting. Every monster he’d take out was one less attacking another world. Give them, whoever they’d be, a better chance at defeating the Sporeal Tide. This was all he could do.

Whale after whale, Finlay brought them down, a funky burnt smell filling his nose. He made sure the massive corpses crashed into the attackers below. A huge headache if even one whale succeeded in delivering its package inside the forest. They had no reserves to deal with enemies showing up past their defenses. Forces would need to be pulled from the barely holding frontlines.

“That’s fourteen.” Finlay flared his wings to brake after bursting out of another body. “Or fifteen? Do I count you as two?”

The colossal eel-like monster with jaws wider than a flying whale didn’t answer.

The hole Finlay exited from was in the middle of the eel’s bulbous forehead. Light radiated from the hole and streaked across the eel’s immense face. Countless smaller cuts appeared. Fountains of purple blood spurted from the slashes. The giant flying eel, stretching thrice the length of a whale, began to fall. Its body fragmented into numerous cubes, each the size of a house, and plummeted to the rest of the Sporeal Tide. 

“You should be three points, including that pesky Node Noble.” Finlay felt warm blood running down his arm. He didn’t wear armor for unrestricted transformations. His anima-tempered skin was stronger than steel anyway. This level of pain was nothing to him.

A Node Noble hiding inside the eel caught Finlay off-guard. It could’ve been a Node Lord, judging by how strong and fast it struck him. Incredibly lucky Finlay twisted his head away before the blow connected.

Another thanks to Grandpa Swaney’s charm.

Finlay healed the gash across his shoulder with anima, a Warden’s prized ability. While restoring his body, he took care not to smoothen the scars on his face—the mark of his promise to give it his all fighting until the end. That end was coming nearer and nearer.  

Blurriness overcame his vision. Dammit!

His anima fluctuated badly. Fatigue was catching up but rest was nowhere to be found. Another eel came with five whales.

There was no end to this.

Finlay was heading to the next eel when he heard a worrying sound. Faint but distinct from other noises of battle. He banked his left wing and made a sharp turn to the forest. The majestic World Tree, its shimmering canopy as wide as a city, roof-sized leaves displaying the colors of the rainbow, stood in the middle of the ocean of green.

At the edge of the World Tree’s shade hovered shimmers of a signal flare—the red symbol for an emergency.

A false alarm? How could an enemy be that far back? No whale got through Finlay. On land, their lines had been breached thrice, but the defenders rallied to throw out the enemies each time.

Explosions blossomed into purple flames that consumed the trees.

Two more flares shot up. Red again.

Real trouble.