[ Curzan Burton defeated. 200 EXP gained.] 

Still grasping his bow, Curzan’s headless body stood swaying before crashing onto the ground. A pool of blood formed to match the head’s own as the grass was stained crimson.

A pained gasp escaped Joel’s lips. As the [Berserk] ability faded away, all of his dulled wounds became sharp once again. An arrow remained stuck in his side, his blood dripping off of the fletching. It was enough to nearly bring him to his knees. Curzan’s scarred face — mouth and eyes wide open — stared back at him. For a brief moment, a sickening pang lulled in Joel’s gut.

But how’d he get free from the vines? It felt like Bhas had released the magic— 

Bhas. The fight wasn’t over. He swung around quickly. This time his eyes went wide.

Standing next to the wagon cart, the feverish Flendel stood opposite Bhas. His hefty hands were shaking and holding Joel’s chipped quarterstaff. He wheezed in a labored fashion and his red face betrayed his exhaustion. A smear of blood ran across the end of the staff. 

The source of the blood was from a gash above Bhas’s eye. Dark blood streamed down the side of her face like a veil. But it didn’t cover the furious outrage in her twitching glare. The intense bloodlust seeping from the lunar elf almost froze him in place. Flendel was barely standing, addled from his illness, yet the burly man still instinctively flinched. 

Joel knew he had to move or Flendel was dead. A step forward coursed pain through him, a reminder from the arrow lodged through him. Sucking in air, he snapped the arrowhead. Gritting his teeth to stifle a scream, he tugged the shaft of the arrow out. The pain was blinding as spots appeared in his vision.

A scream snapped him awake. 

Looking up, he saw that Bhas had cleaved through Flendel’s hand with her dagger. The large man fell onto his back, writhing and holding his bloody stump at the wrist. The terrifying, cold smile plastered on Bhas’ face never wavered. She cut Flendel over and over again, his screams feeding the frequency of her downward strikes. 

Each of her slashes was deceptively lazy. The strikes appeared careless to an untrained eye. In reality, every blow was perfectly aimed at a non-vital spot, cutting deep enough to maim but not kill. 

Rushing forward, Joel activated [Second Wind]. He didn’t have time to check his HP; he could feel that he needed it. Information poured into his mind, telling him to avoid clenching that hand and to hold his arm at chest level. The momentary respite allowed adrenaline to course through him, the bleeding slowing.

Flendel screamed again as Bhas grabbed his severed wrist. She ruthlessly lifted his bloody arm above the kneeling man’s head. With a single thrust, she plunged her dagger straight down the soft of his armpit.

Fury flushed Joel’s face once more, though this time unaided by the Barbarian ability. Reaching the lunar elf, he aimed his cutlass’ edge squarely at her head and swung with all the force he could muster.

Bhas slipped away, side stepping the chop. With a wave of her illuminated hand, roots burst from the ground, a wave of plants threatening to overwhelm him. 

Joel threw his body to the side, tumbling onto his shoulders. Momentum allowed him to twist to his feet quickly, and he spun to face her. The wall of creeping tendrils withered back into the earth, giving way to Bhas’ casual stance. 

“They always said bright eyes never had manners,” she said to herself in melodic elvish. Flendel was dying at her feet, gargling red foam as blood flooded his punctured lungs.

“Fuck you,” Joel spat. It seemed like elves had a word for it after all. 

Brow arched, amusement surfaced on Bhas’ face. “Aren’t you an interesting one? Most dayflies don’t bother learning our words. Accent needs work though.” A chuckle followed as she wiped the blood from her eye. 

He kept his gaze firmly on her free hand, realizing it was the true signal to dodge. The vines and roots were hers to utilize but she was still required to physically direct them. With his speed, dodging her spells was feasible. It was only that he had to be mindful of where the plants would burst from. 

Another wet choke came from Flendel, crimson froth covering his face. She was letting him die so painfully, so pointlessly — treating it all like a game.

The knot in Joel’s stomach twisted. He shook his head, casting off the feeling. There was no space for anything other than focusing on defeating the pale elf. He shot a look at his remaining HP. 

—

…

 

HP: 63%

…

—

Even if Curzan wasn’t aiming for vital spots, both the [Berserk] and [Second Wind] abilities had paid off their investment. The proof being that his HP hadn’t yet dipped below half. He knew he’d need every single drop as he took a flag guard stance — sword held forward at head level. 

A deep breath and his mind cleared. 

Spell casters avoided close quarters combat and prolonged exchanges while using their magic. It was like racing in an obstacle course while playing a chess game in your head. That was his opportunity. That had to be the way forward. 

“So did that grump put up a good fight?” The lithe elf nodded towards his outstretched cutlass. “I wanted to spill his blood myself one day. But Dirien had a sweet spot for the old dwarf.” 

He ignored her and charged. 

The elf’s hand flicked to the left, so he darted in the same direction. A bundle of erupting vines narrowly missed his torso. There was no need to pause; he pivoted and immediately continued his dash.  

Two paces and she was in striking range. His cutlass was the longer blade against her dagger. But Bhas was clearly experienced, so that meant using a feint.

Faking a lunge, Joel twirled his wrist to turn the attack into a vertical slice. A sharp clang of steel against steel rang in the air as her dagger caught his blade’s edge.

The weight of his blow strained her arm but the elf refused to topple. Propping her free elbow against her dagger hand, she braced against him. Surprising strength emerged from her slight frame, alongside a feral smile that promised renewed focus. She snuck two attacks — quick and avoided on only sheer instinct.

The first was a hooking inside low kick, aimed at tripping him, but he dodged with a simple backstep. The second was another flick of her hand while still using the elbow to push the dagger. Thick roots burst through the grass at his legs.

A simple step wouldn’t save him this time. So Joel leapt away, breaking the deadlock and slashing at the reaching roots. It took three frantic backward strides and five sword swings before the tendrils stopped chasing. 

Sweat stung his eye as he caught his breath —  stifled heaves. He took several more cautious backsteps. His legs were screaming at him to relax, his steps starting to feel heavy. His lungs were on fire, each breath desperately wanting to be ragged. 

Yet he kept his face as calm as he could muster. It was a shitty poker face but it’d have to do. He couldn’t afford letting Bhas see exhaustion creep on him. 

Was her magical endurance that steep, outpacing his stamina? Furthermore, her plant magic was quick, faster than he liked. Speed that had to be adjusted for. 

He’d just need a moment. “The entire crew’s dead. Just give me the elves.” Wiping the sweat from his neck, he tilted his head to the cart. “There’s no guarantee either of us leave uninjured. This is pointless. We could both die here.”

A sardonic chuckle. “You cut down members of the Burton gang willy-nilly and now this is pointless?” The dark-eyed elf spared a look at Flendel before giving the unmoving body a prod with the toe of her boot. “Don’t get me wrong, these weaklings disgust me. But you don’t believe I’ll let you buzz away and steal my playthings.” She kicked the dead man’s head.

Feverish Flendel handing him the wagon key. Giving him a chance in the fight by attacking Bhas. The man was brave, and deserved better. The thoughts reignited a simmering fury.

Joel kept his gaze squarely locked on the elf, the status screen illuminated in the corner of his eye. For now, a bit more speed to avoid the restraining vines. 

[Ability Score Upgrades], [DEFTNESS +50], [Confirm].

A feeling of lightness surged through his fatigued muscles. The balance of his feet felt better, as if the ground was evening out underneath his soles. He flexed his grip on the cutlass’ hilt. 

Bhas tilted her head, looking over at Curzan’s decapitated form. “And I can’t allow that to go unpunished. Worthless as he was, Dirien and Symar are going to be upset enough when they hear.”

He wished she’d stop talking, so he darted towards her, weaving through the summoned roots. His blade carved through any that got too close, though only a few truly threatened him. Through the moving tides of roots and vines, Joel closed the gap between them. 

Sure, she was slowing him down. The ten paces felt like ten miles. But she wasn’t going to catch him. 

A pivot to avoid a wayward vine. A slash to remove a grasping root. Like a dancer who mastered their choreography, every step gained perfect purchase. 

He made certain to never look away from Bhas — her face contorting in delight as the gap between them narrowed. An expression that sent a chill up his spine; it threatened to unsteady him.

With another jerk of his head, he dodged a spray of roots. Adrenaline reminded him to be sure. So he pushed forward, slashing his way through the swarm of sprouting vines.

Two paces away, three slashes forward. One pace away, four slashes forward.

Finally having her within reach, he let out a desperate roar — followed by a storm of strikes at her. Each slash and thrust was heavy, but he refused to lock blades with her. Whether dodged or deflected, he chained each of his attacks into another. 

If she avoided his sword, he threw a punch or kick. If she blocked that, he swung his blade again. A stream of attacks that denied her any time for spellcasting. 

Every breath and movement was tied to ensuring another attempted attack. Eyes wide open, his gaze was locked upon the elf. An unsettling smile was still plastered across her face. 

Then he saw it. A tremble within her smile. The beads of sweat mingled into her bloodied brow. Just like him, she was tiring.

His attacks surged, both in pace and intensity. It was mirrored by his agile opponent, all playful ease evaporated. He could barely muster a breath between each strike. It felt as if they were dancing underwater, the loser being whoever came up for air.

Finally, the cutlass nicked her cheek, a precious reward for his exhaustive efforts. He buried the feeling of excitement, maintaining his rhythm with a subsequent jab. The punch — targeted at her blind side, the blood-stained eye — landed flush and stumbled her back.

The perfect amount of space for a short slash. Enough to cut her open. 

He swung with all might. Pain cut across his face. 

[Damage taken. HP: 41%]

Joel gasped; his body tumbled, rolling with the momentum. Fear and confusion forced him to spring to his feet, cutlass held by both hands. His face was weirdly both wet and hot. The side of it felt numb and loose — hanging. 

He choked a scream when the pain hit him.

Falling to a knee, he grabbed at what felt like his cheek, yet it was too far from his face. In shock, he immediately used [Lay On Hands]. His hand illuminated with gold-white light that seemed to cool his face.

Within that healing light, he felt his face stitching itself back together. Applying just enough to subdue the pain and mend his cheek, he stopped himself from using more by pulling his hand away. For now, five percent would have to do. 

Her laughter filled the air. “Hah! Look at that. We’re both little sneaks, aren’t we?” She giggled further when she saw his surprise.

Bhas licked his blood off of her free hand. Except, instead of her pale hand, a sable panther’s paw was in its place. Razor sharp claws, wet with Joel’s blood, stretched from it.

She was right, they were both sneaks. A partial transformation was a rare way to use magic. But early access users justified it for this very reason. 

Don’t go all in on ranged offense. Rather, use magic to be decent at both long and close range. Shore up a spellcaster’s inherent weakness. 

Just his luck. 

“I have to say,” she continued, a look of curiosity upon her bloody visage. “You’re young to have been this well-travelled.”

What was she talking about? 

She noticed his confusion, bemusement returning. “Everyone talked about how you are from the Archipelago, considering your propensity to punch.” The claw morphed back to her own hand to massage her bruised eye. “But then there’s the fact that you can use the savage way. Rare for someone who isn’t a wastelander.”

Bhas concluded with a tap to the cheek. “And then there’s the divine magic. Holy orders tend to hold onto that tight. All of it’s not impossible for a dayfly, if they spent decades learning. Several decades. Like I said, you’re too young.” Her eyes gleamed with a craving, like a predator waiting to dissect its prey. “Who are you?”

He was too tired to care about this. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh, how fun. I admit that makes me more curious.”

He was way too tired to care about this. The combination of magic and shape-shifting needed to stop. 

How was she even casting magic? He didn’t spot a channeling focus on her. The degree of magic she was wielding would require one. Something had to be used as a foc— 

The realization cleared all other thoughts and calculations. Her dagger. 

At first, he’d assumed the serrated blade was simply to goad gullible enemies into close range — where she would shred them with her transformed claws. The truth was she was harnessing magic through it, but utilizing hand signals to direct summoned vines. 

He hated to admit it. Despite her playful demeanor, Bhas showed the prowess of a seasoned combatant with her layered attacks and quick adaptations. All skills and contingencies learned through experience. 

Again, just his luck. 

However, he was sure he was still quicker than her. If fighting was about little tricks, he’d make sure his act was relieving her of that dagger. 

He bounded forward, beginning to cut though the tides of vine and root. Another quick dodge, another defensive parry. His blood splattered around as he danced towards her. 

Bhas ended the waltz by meeting him half-way. His surprise only allowed him to lurch back.

The jagged edge of her dagger whipped past his face, a whistle away from taking his eye. Blocking another clawed swipe, he kicked her chest to recover some distance. As she was pushed away, her claws dug deep gashes down his blocking arm.  

He ignored the damage notification. The pain told him enough.

“Is that all?” she shrieked in malignant glee. “This was enough to finish off Boreth!?”

His free hand glowed alight again, instantly applying more healing to mitigate the pain. He’d need nearly everything to shift the odds into his favor. Glancing at the shut wagon door, he allowed the healing wash over his cut arm. 

“If either of you are hurt, sorry,” he muttered softly. The words were to soothe himself more than anything else. Another four percent. Once the feeling in his arm returned, he darted at the lunar elf, taking a low stance. He shot a straightforward thrust, locked on her center. 

Rather than meet the strike onward, Bhas deflected the thrust with the flat of her dagger. The same way she had parried all of his thrusts. The same way he wanted her to defend. 

Joel let go of the ivory hilt, letting the cutlass get knocked aside into the tall grass. Sucking in air, he fired off a reaching roundhouse kick, driving the top of his foot into her dagger-holding hand. The blow propelled the dagger from her hand, punted a few feet away.

No more roots. No more magic. A good, old fist fight.

Unleashing a barrage of strikes, he was relentless. A martial flurry of raining punches and kicks. Every dirty trick he’d learned in real life sparring was on display. 

Lead hand in front of her eyes, to block vision. Followed by a cracking straight right hand that shot her head back. Step on her front foot, preventing evasive footwork. Heavy bodyshot, a hook to the gut that folds her. 

Jab, straight. Straight, hook. Left, right, right, left. He could feel himself chipping at her consciousness, her eyes glazing over.

A punch’s power came from the hips. So Joel shifted the weight of his hips into a punctuating blow, his knuckles colliding into her jaw. The elf soared back, slamming into the side of the wagon. A downward smear of red on the wall trailed her as she collapsed into a slump.

His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, weariness and fatigue seeping into his limbs. Pain shot from his knuckles, already swollen. 

He looked around for his cutlass, though he only spotted Bhas’ dagger several feet away. Instead, Flendel’s body waited for him, the man’s dead eyes staring up at the sky. 

How horrible. 

A snicker behind him froze his blood. He spun around, fists raised. 

Bhas stood there, swaying unsteadily. Her hand covered her mouth as if she couldn’t contain her mirth. Her midnight black eyes were possessed with delight and malice. 

Two opposing instincts tore at Joel. One told him to reinitiate another rushing combo. Put an end to this fight. 

Yet the other instinct pulled him to caution, warning him of recklessness. She should’ve been too tired, too hurt. But then why had she stopped shaking so quickly?

The elf turned her hand, wiping her mouth across the back of it. With a small gulp, she let out a satisfied sigh. Her shoulders sank as their tension disappeared. 

 “Forcing me to use my lifeberries,” she complained. Running her hand through her hair, she gave him a bloody and bruised glare. “I’m going to make you scream.”

Lowering to all fours, she closed the gap between them in two primal bounces. Both of her arms morphed into the sable fur of a panther, each claw retracted and ready to shred him into ribbons. 

Every muscle fiber within him screamed as he slipped the whirlwind of slashes. The elf’s expression became animalistic, and so did her strikes. It forced him to block, which was a poor idea against someone with claws.

Cheek, shoulder, arm. Little by little, the unpredictable attacks were starting to reach their marks. Her feral speed allowed no space for counter strikes.

Unless he broke her rhythm, this was death by a thousand cuts. 

Another block was accompanied by a raking pain, her claws slicing into his biceps. Using the tug of piercing claws, Joel tightly grabbed onto the loose fur of the panther’s arm. Trapped together in a close grapple, he balled his free hand tight.

His fist smashed under her chin, an uppercut that snapped her head back. Her claw tore across his torso, ripping through his flesh. Every blow of his was answered with one of hers. 

A cascade of damage notifications flared up. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He kept punching.

The world was blinking, coming in and out of focus. The world was numb, wet thuds spiking him awake. The world was drowning, and he needed air.

Though it felt like conceding, he desperately hooked his free arm around hers. Entangled together like drunken dancers, the grapple jerked to and fro. 

The blood loss was sapping his strength. Even the effort of staring at her irisless, black eyes drained him. Once again, her expression became feral. 

To his horror, Bhas’ face warped into the maw of a panther, her teeth shifting into sharp canines. She brought her jaws down, upon his exposed neck. 

Joel shifted his weight, tugging her arm down like a judo master. Then he screamed. 

The jostling had forced the bite to miss the vital spot at his neck. Instead, Bhas’ transformed jaws clamped down on his clavicle. With an audible pop, vicelike pressure snapped his collarbone. Pain shattered through him, his thoughts scattering.

Everything hurt.

There had to be a way, something to use. Why was she so strong? Strong? More Might then? More Might for what? Another exchange? That meant death by bleeding out. 

Everything hurt.

No. Needed to end this fast and certainly. A weapon to end this. Cutlass. Quarterstaff. Where were the weapons? What was he thinking? Weapons he couldn’t reach? Idiot.

Everything hurt. 

He risked a glance at the damage notifications.

[Damage taken. HP: 13%]

[Damage taken. HP: 11%]

More pain jolted a grimace out of him as Bhas bit down harder, mangling broken bone and bloodied sinew. Black spots dotted his vision. Life was being squeezed out of his diaphragm. 

[Damage taken. HP: 9%]

[Damage taken. HP: 7%]

Too exhausted, he muttered the words over and over again.

Bhas let out a curious growl, bite still clamped down onto him. 

[Damage taken. HP: 5%]

“Confirm.” Joel spat out, tasting metal in his mouth. “Confirm, confirm, confirm!”

Letting go of one arm, he held his palm out, past Bhas’ shoulder. A semi-translucent hand — inky purple and black — rifled out. 

[Mana Hand]. 100 EXP. A level 0 spell, a cantrip. That meant no channeling focus required. Not strong enough to attack or throw anything itself. But grab and retrieve?

[Damage taken. HP: 3%]

Controlled purely through desperate instinct, the spectral hand shot back to his own. His grip replaced the hand’s grasp. Bhas’ serrated dagger was heavier than it looked.

[Dagger Proficiency]. 50 EXP. 

With a flick of his fingers, he twirled the devilish blade into a forward grip. A depleted swipe of his wrist followed, and the jagged edge sliced through Bhas’ neck like paper. 

Warm blood poured over his chest. Her panther bite went limp as her face warped back to her own as she slid off of him. She slumped at his feet, a smile replaced with a dull, confused gaze.

Whatever words she tried to choke out, he couldn’t care to decipher, but he waited and watched until her sounds stopped. Until she stilled. 

[ Bhasura Arsil defeated. 500 EXP gained.] 

Joel stumbled past her, eyes locked on the lockbox carriage. It felt like a journey to simply reach the dense door. Slipping on slick, red grass, he dragged himself back to his feet.

Thoughts jumbled together and eluded him. If the world would stop being so slippery and sit still, it would be much easier to think. Silly, unhelpful world. 

He still had a percent of [Lay On Hands] available. Though his hands momentarily lit up, he resisted the temptation to apply the healing to himself. He gave another shake of the head to keep the desire at rest. The young ones inside could badly need the aid. Panting, he limped to the cart, one labored foot after another. Each step sent a shockwave of pain to his pierced collar.

He placed a blood-soaked hand on the wood door, catching his breath. The descending sun cast his shadow against it. No padlock meant no key required. A hard tug and the door remained closed. It refused to budge, stuck against its frame. 

“You both alright in there?” His hoarse voice made his elvish sound garbled.

A cry came from inside. Panic swelled. 

Pounding with the pommel of the dagger, he placed his ear against the cool wood. “Hey, is something wrong? You okay?!”

“Please!” A feeble elvish voice, shouting but barely audible through the thick walls. “Help, he isn’t moving!”

Slamming the dagger between the frame and the door, he used it as a lever. Pushing against the blade, he heard the wood creak. With a grunt, he shoved his shoulder to apply his full weight. 

The dagger snapped, its blade breaking in two. But not before the door cracked open an inch. He desperately wrenched the door open with his raw hands. 

Inside the wagon, it was worse than before. The stench was still nauseating and fresh red splatters marked the inside of the iron cage. He must’ve looked terrifying, drenched in blood and dirt, because the young elf paused to stare.

Irenval was clearly hurt in some way, wincing as he held his side. His shackled ankles were still bruised purple. But the loam elf’s concern returned toward his brother — shifted into a bear cub and stuffed into a cage too small to change back. 

The cub wasn’t moving. 

“Ishval needs to get out, please, get him out.” The desperation in the elf’s voice reached his eyes.

It hurt too much to do anything other than nod while simply leaning on the door frame. First things first, give what little healing he could to Ishval. Dropping the snapped dagger, his hand lit up with a dimmed, warm light.

Not much juice left, but it’d have to d— 

“Mother, no!” screamed the elf, shouting past him. 

A ground-shaking, heartbroken roar erupted behind him. Joel spun around before a powerful blow sent him flying into the wagon. 

[Damage taken. HP: 0%]

The world went dark.