Rip and Hiss had been woken by something buzzing near them. Then the roots had sprung up and tried to capture them. Both murder muffins, now nearly fully grown, jumped as one and assessed the threat.

It was small, like a firefly, and horrible to look at. It had a green glow to it. Furthermore, it had the same shape as the creator, but it was naked. Its mud-brown hair hung on its head in lumps. Something dripped from its claws, little needle things that they were.

It was horrendous. It wanted them to submit to its will. Not only that, but it was foolish.

Hiss was the first to attack, as was her right as the main hunter between them. She aimed a strike with her paw to get the little beast out of the air where it could be stomped on.

The thing flew, unreachable at the last second. It hissed and it dived towards Hiss’ eyes. It tried to rake its claws inside, but it wasn’t the only thing that could jump.

Hiss jumped back and circled the annoying bug. It was wrong. Its limbs were made for an attack and its mind was weak. Hiss knew the last thing because when she made to move back the thing followed.

It flew quickly, claws aimed at Hiss’s eyes again. Hiss ducked and ran at the last second. The thing couldn’t stop its momentum. It crushed into the wall of the cave, and it was impelled on the sharp edge of a wall crack.

Still, it fought. This demon thought that it was the boss of their cavern. Everyone could tell that Hiss and Rip shared the title of boss and protectors of the sacred apple tree.

Rip moved behind it with slow, calculated, steps. It was still dangerous, even impelled. With his right front paw, Rip pushed the thing further through the spike of the wall crack.

It screeched and struggled, but the two murder muffins could tell it was getting weak, cold. Just as the creator stormed to the grizzly sight, only to gasp and fall on her behind, the tiny monster breathed its last.

“Bellchime! Oh, no…” The creator began to wail then. It was a sad, heartbreaking sound. Rip and Hiss felt guilt creep into them. They retreated to the bountiful water, maybe to see it for the last time.

They had done their duty, protecting the sacred apple tree and the sea horn buried in its roots. But the creator still felt pain over it. She still cradled the evil monster which had tried to enslave the murder muffins as they slept.

Theanore took Bellchime’s corpse and carried it outside. She had been worried about her father, only to find him feeding the chickens. Then she had been happy that she would have time for the imprinting of her friends to Bellchime. But her world was upturned when she found Rip finishing off Bellchime.

How could it have happened? In the story, Bellchime had made friends with everyone. Even the evil Queen bee! Now Bellchime was dead. She was never going to see her house. She was never going to help make enchantments.

Achievement unlocked: Coping with loss.

Theanore the nymph is in mourning for the first time. The missed opportunity that came with the death of her very first created boss monster has shaken her. As a result, she is given a worker elf as a consolation prize.

A strange, green-clad creature, with red boots, no bigger than Theanore herself, appeared. The boy? The boy bowed and remained like this.

“Are you good or are you like Bellchime?” Asked Theanore.

“Bellchime?” Asked the elf. “I think I am good, yes. I like making things and I only eat greens, mistress.”

“This is Bellchime,” said Theanore as she showed the elf the dead fairy.

“A forest demon! Get it away before it poisons our water supply!” Screamed the elf, running to hide behind a pumpkin.

“I need to bury her,” said Theanore.

“It is dead?” Asked the elf hopefully, and Theanore nodded. Then the boy did a happy little dance, and Theanore frowned at him.

“She doesn’t deserve your scorn!” Yelled Theanore as she ran outside with the dead fairy. She went to the place where just yesterday she made bricks for Bellchime’s house and placed her in a hole. The soil turned a sickly gray around the dead fairy, and Theanore teared up.

“System, what do I do?”

Fairies need to be burned. Their deaths are a curse to anyone who they feel is responsible.

With a grim look, Theanore went to the fire pit and placed the Bellchime among the embers. They began to cool, and Theanore piled up more wood and blew air to get the fire going. It turned a sickly green, but soon the smell of burning flesh spread into the air.

Crassus found his daughter placing wood into the green fire, and he immediately got worried. This was a magical fire. When he neared his little nymph, she hid her face into his chest and sniffled.

“Bellchime was evil and Rip killed her. The story was a lie.”

There hadn’t been any fairies in the Empire for centuries. Had Crassus known that they were evil, he would have stopped Theanore. The only thing he could do was squeeze his daughter’s shoulders and bring her closer to himself.

“That is the way of stories, little nymph. They are all lies. Especially those which make you feel good. The world is a cruel place. No one wants to give their children a fairy tale about the realities of it. My parents were no different.”

“Your parents gave you the book?” Asked Theanore, now calming down.

“If you would like to see the surrounding goodness, don’t search for it in stories, Thea. Search for it in the actions of others. Both have the potential to be false, but stories are almost always untruths.”

“I have to be more careful,” said Theanore as she watched the green fire. “Maybe the system is evil too. It tried to enslave Mari, and it gave me Bellchime with almost no warning.”

“You are a dungeon core, Theanore,” said Crassus with a sudden seriousness to his voice. “You are supposed to be evil, to be molded by it, too. But you are not. Do you know why?” He moved the girl so that she looked at him. She adorably tilted her head but remained silent.

“Because you are strong,” said Crassus, kissing her forehead. “Promise me you will remain so.”

“I promise, father.”