Breaking from the pack of direwolves encircling her, Sarakiel knew she had to rush past just one of them.

Using her main body’s eyes to see behind her, one of the direwolves appeared just a bit shorter than the other members of the cabal before her, closing in with a hunter’s trepidation. “Shit.” She swore before flipping around and breaking out into a sprint.

Pushing in that direction, she sprinted towards the animal, looking to juke past it at the last second.

The young direwolf was prepared, however.

A warmth spread through her right arm as something dug in and held on.

“Fuck! Shit!” The succubus glanced over to see her limb held in the mouth of the snarling wolf, the searing pain starting to settle in. Its teeth sunk in right below the crook of her elbow, rending her underdeveloped forearm muscles into sinews with razor-sharp incisors.

The plan could not end here. Merle could not continue living after all he had done.

Taking a momentary break from her concentration, Sara did the only thing she could. Pushing past the beast, something had to give.

Suddenly, the pain subsided.

She gained ground once more, separated from the creature. Without another thought, she continued to sprint towards the town.

Blood trailed from her as she ran. Quickly glancing at her arm confirmed her thoughts: the direwolf had ripped it off.

Samuel had never lost a limb during battle before, but he had sustained far more grievous wounds. The difference was that he had a team of expert clerics on hand. This time, she only had one hand.

It hurt. Twelve hells, did it hurt. But the succubus continued to press forward to the hamlet of Thistlebrook, whispering prayers between her only possibility of escape.

- - - -

Her body was not made for running, but it tried.

Sarakiel tried her best to hold down her huge breasts with her only good arm, she had to intentionally widen her stance to stop her thighs from rubbing against each other, and equivalent to lungs in her platyhelminth main body failing to allow for proper oxygen transfer.

Breaking from the tree line, she stepped out onto the trade route. At this time of day, she did not have to be concerned if anyone else was on the road, she just had to get away from any trees.

The direwolves, expert hunters, knew their prey could not run for three minutes, let alone thirty seconds. The blood trail alone gave them plenty to follow closely behind and encircle their prey, keeping pace with their slow prospective meal.

The succubus stopped, panting heavily as the wolves drew in around her once more. As opposed to the goblins, the elder stepped forward squarely in front of her. Locking eyes with the wolf, its gaze held an otherworldly mixture of sympathy and sadness. His figure appeared noble, his expression seeming to offer her a dignified death.

Sara only had one last option and she was working through it as well as she could with the time she granted herself.

Closing his eyes without a secession from his prey, the direwolf took a crouching stance, showing the long ivory horn emerging from his skull, the white contrasting sharply against his stark fur. Following their leader, the other wolves surrounding the succubus bowed in respect for the kill as well.

Baring his fangs, a low growl emitted from the chief creature. In the blink of an eye, the horned direwolf launched itself through the air, all 300 pounds aiming for the jugular of his prey.

Years of combat experience came back to her.

While not a direct translation to her skills as a warmonger, one thing stayed the same: all creatures aim for the throat.

Sarakiel dropped to the ground, her hair trailing behind her, dodging the tackle before she lifted into the air.

Ascending higher and higher, the other direwolves took a second to shake themselves out of their confusion and jumped after their vertically moving prey, snapping at whatever morsel they could to drag her back down to earth.

Few tried to climb the trees alongside the trail to help them reach the tantalizing dinner that suddenly lifted up out of reach, but could not reach far enough due to the width of the road.

Rising to the top of the deciduous trees, Sarakiel looked down at the canines pacing below, waiting for her to drop. “Twelve hells be damned…” She cradled what was left of her right arm, the blood still sprinkling down onto the hounds below. Catching her breath, she took off her bedsheet shawl and wrapped it around the open wound, “That should not’ve worked…”

The chant to the levitate spell was nothing complicated for an accomplished mage, but thankfully this was the one spell she actually did practice back with the witch. By the time the idea had hit her, the direwolves were already too close for her to recite the spell and get out of their reach, meaning she needed to buy time for at least one of those conditions.

Something she had to sacrifice an arm for.

While nature taught them to be cautious hunters, the direwolves below were also just as diligent. Sara knew the limitations of the spell, she was only able to move vertically, not horizontally, meaning she would have to remain suspended there all night.

- - - -

“Holy moly! That was a nail biter!”

Sara had finally grown used to her spot aloft the moon’s glow in the night sky. Having fully calmed down, her stomach continued to churn with the nausea the sending spell caused. “Shut the hell up, bitch. I wouldn’tve been in this spot if it weren’t for you.”

The witch cackled, “So you’re still being a piss baby? I thought you reached out to me to apologize earlier?”

“I didn’t. I thought I made it clear I didn’t want to waste my breath by ending the spell with you?”

“You… You can’t cast the spell, silly? What makes you think you can end a spell you didn’t even cast?” The witch’s high pitched laugher carried over the high fidelity remote communication, echoing in her familiar’s mind, “Who taught you how to cast it? Wasn’t me!”

Sarakiel’s stomach continued to do flips. Putting her only remaining palm to her forehead, she almost wanted to lower herself back down to the few remaining direwolves below. “So you just listened to me almost fucking get eaten and didn’t fucking do anything about it?”

“I already told you, I couldn’t do much if something tried to eat you! That was, like, literally yesterday!” Ashara had to stop what she was doing to catch her breath. “Man, Sare-bear, how did you ever live to be an old man if you never could hear a thing? I, of all people, know you got functioning ears!”

“Fuck you, demonic whore! End the fucking spell or I’ll end mine!”

The witch finally stopped laughing and grew quiet. “Look, bud, someone’s gotta say it, so I guess I will: I’m sorry.” Ashara shuffled what sounded like glass containers around, “I know our circumstances are the only thing that keep us together, but I’d like to think of you as a friend.”

Normally, Sara was used to the capriciousness of the tiny witch, but the tonal whiplash almost snapped her neck. “If you saw me as a friend, why the twelve hells did you kick me out?” Before, the only person who dared to be visibly mad at Samuel was Stella, but that was only when he knew he deserved it.

She hesitated when she almost used the wrong arm to rub the back of her neck, “I would’ve left eventually. I just needed a little more time to make sure I could kill that bastard.”

“I know… But I didn’t like the idea of getting more used to you being there and just leaving.” The tone the witch took reminded her of the time Sara had finished learning the very spell she was using, “There’s kind of a reason I keep myself in this hole, ya know…”

Sara heard enough. “Alright, don’t get too sappy on me, witch. I guess I can forgive you for now.” Warm sensations fluttered in her stomach, going to battle with the deep-seated nausea, making her want to vomit more.

“Geez!” Whipping back around to being her typical self, the sound of glass breaking on the floor could be heard through the connection, “You gotta get used to being sappy, Sare-bear! You’re a girl now! It’s, like, our thing!”

Sarakiel decided that was a good time to finally empty her stomach on the direwolves below.

- - - -

As the night progressed, her watch dogs began to depart one by one. They reminded her of some old hounds she kept herself, the way they would look up to the table to catch any falling scraps.

By the time the first rays of the sun crested over the treetops, the succubus knew she had to touch ground and return to the treeline, lest those traveling the high road would look up to see a floating, topless, horned woman with a scaly tail.

Testing to see if any of the direwolves were diligent enough to wait for her touch down, she hovered just above the ground until she felt there was no sign of the forest’s apex predator. Her arm still stung, having a rough break through flesh and ligament. She was not sure if monsters could contract diseases, but the arm needed to be sanitized and cauterized until another option presented itself.

“Just need to keep going. If there’s nothing left, then I’ll try to charm a doctor or something…”

Moving around Thistlebrook during the day was far easier than expected. The citizens typically moved around the river port, so the back of the town stayed fairly empty.

Once past the town, a familiar road welcomed her back. She could not say how many times she traversed the trail from Thistlebrook to her old home, but having something remain the same from her past life forced her to crack a smile.

Deciding to indulge a little, and still a bit shaken up by the direwolves, she allowed herself to walk along the path during this final leg. Clouds began to amass as memories of taking the carriage to and fro with the family occupied her thoughts as her feet, while personally unfamiliar with this route, guided her to the imposing Proudmane Estate.

Much to her relief, the elm and stone home stood tall. The outer cobble fence remained steadfast, continuing to ward off thieves or beasts to this day, encircling the property. Trees that either the mother or daughter planted could be seen from behind the wall, another hopeful sign the house was still inhabited.

Sara did a cursory scan from behind the wrought iron gate, something her grandfather built nearly a century ago. Much of the landscaping appeared overgrown, the bushes grew tall and shapeless after what very well could have been two years of negligence. The flowerbeds that were once meticulously maintenanced were now invaded by native grasses and weeds. Coated in a natural patina of moss, the marble statues and pillars, which were his only contribution to the courtyard, were near unrecognizable, but still stood strong.

“M-maybe she got caught up in grieving and never let the servants take care of the lawn?”, Sara gulped. With a slight push, the gate opened, dropping her heart a little.

Taking the brick path Samuel added by hand back in the day, it felt like she was not welcome. The clouds hung over, a silver overcast, threatening rain on the remote villa. Sprigs of grass defiantly jut out from between the bricks, something that Stella, no matter how her mood or health, would allow.

Sara’s stomach growled. Nerves danced the tango alongside hunger, leading her to see if she was still holding a sending spell with Ashara. As she approached the main entryway, more signs of neglect began to jump out, “Much better than having this place burnt down…”

With her hand on the door knob, she offered a silent prayer to any of the goddess who would listen to the wishes of the damned.

- - - -

The foyer was as it was when Samuel last left for his ordered patrol.

No signs of struggle. No signs of an invasion. No signs of life.

A thin coat of dust sat upon any and every thing. The curtains were closed, a sign that whoever left, did so of their own volition. Sara sighed from the bottom of her soul.

Barring any sort of sordid discovery, it appeared everyone got out safe.

“My, my…”

Sarakiel’s vision shot upwards to a tallman sauntering down the staircase, a freshly poured glass of wine in his gloved hand.

Adorned in a navy blue coat that wrapped tightly around his spindly frame, the fur cuffs and neck were an unnatural shade of silver. His equally silver hair shimmered in the few beams of light that found their way indoors, reflecting off of the stemmed glass. One would have a hard time telling this man’s age due to one of his most defining features: a blue mask that crested outwards with a bird’s beak.

“So… You are the Archivist’s magnum opus?” Continuing down the staircase, the masked man took his time looking up and down her form. Sara instinctively covered her chest in response.

“In all my time on this rock, never have I seen such an abhorrent creature …”