Mud had only known her for a day, but Layhla had seemed nearly
untouchable, A bastion of lethal grace, a predator perched securely
at the top of the food chain.
She was now
face-down in the grass, her breathing shallow, peacefully unaware of
the winged nightmare that towered over her.
The Lord of the
Forest had come to reclaim its realm.
“Layhla!” Mud’s
guttural scream shattered the stillness of the oasis. He lurched to
the left, positioning Sludge between himself and the colossal Owl.
He thrust the Staff
of Embers forward, aimed directly for the heart of the beast.
Nothing. The wood
remained cold and dead in his grip.
If
he didn’t act, the only person he knew in this world was going to
die. She was harsh, and forced him to his limits, but so far she was
the only person that had given him any kind of chance since arriving
here.
He
gripped the staff, until his knuckles were pained and white, as he
roared a command, Trying to force his thoughts to become reality.
“Firebolt!”
Still
nothing. The system didn’t care if he yelled.
Mud
forced himself to stop. He took a deep, steadying breath, closing his
eyes. In the darkness, he could hear the Owl snapping its beak to the
rhythm of a vicious tune.
Fire.
Heat. He was that heat. The
warmth started at his feet, a slow, crawling simmer that climbed his
legs and scorched its way up his spine. The Staff suddenly came to
life in his grasp, a conduit for the inferno he was feeding into it,
with the crescendo building at its tip.
“Firebolt!”
he screamed. This
time the word wasn’t a plea, it
was an order.
A
sphere of churning, orange-white flame erupted from the Staff of
Embers. It hissed through the air, hurtling towards the Lord of the
Forest.
The
spell had connected, but his aim was wide. The bolt slammed into the
beast’s shoulder, singeing
a patch of thick, downy and feathers. It was a hit, but as the Owl’s
health bar flickered into existence, Mud’s heart sank.
He’d
barely shaved off a sliver of the creature’s Hit Points.
The
Lord of the Forest didn’t screech. Instead, it slowly rotated its
head at a sickening impossible angle, locking those devilish yellow
eyes onto its new target.
Mud.
“I
am so screwed,” Mud whispered. He raised the staff again, his hands
trembling as he tried to summon another firebolt.
He
expected the owl to fly; he wasn’t prepared for it to charge.
The
owl launched itself across the clearing with terrifying speed.
Leaving the grass, he surged through the air, slamming directly into
Sludge’s translucent form. Sludge was barely even able to slow the
monstrosity down; the Owl’s sheer momentum and ferocity was too
much. Pieces of Sludge splattered in every direction.
Sludge’s
health bar plummeted dangerously into the red, the summon shivering
as it struggled to hold its physical form together.
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In
a blur of feathers and muscle, the Lord of the Forest was on him. Its
beak darted forward like a spear, aimed squarely at Mud’s throat.
With a stuttered, lucky jerk, Mud shoved the Staff of Embers upward.
CRACK.
The
beak slammed into the enchanted wood instead of Mud’s windpipe. The
force of the blow was overwhelming, his bones vibrating painfully as
they tried to suppress the impact. He tried to dig his heels into the
dirt as he was propelled backwards, stumbling into the treeline. He
smashed into a trunk with a bone-jarring thud, his vision swam as he
struggled to keep his feet and a chunk of his health bar began to
fade away.
Mud
scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving. With a desperate flick of
his wrist, he dismissed Sludge. The slime’s physical form dissolved
into a spray of gray lights and vanished.
He
didn’t know what happened to a summon that died in battle. Would
they respawn at the plaza like he did, or were they gone forever? Mud
was too afraid to find out just to buy himself a few more seconds.
He
didn’t have long to dwell on it. The Lord of the Forest was closing
in, but it wasn’t charging anymore. It moved with a slow,
swaggering gait, completely unintimidated by the man trembling before
it. Its head continued that sickening, rhythmic twitch, snapping from
left to right at odd angles as it tracked Mud’s every move.
With
a heavy sigh, Mud planted his feet and began to channel again. He
focused on the heat, until the Staff of Embers hummed and reeked of
sulfur and flame. Once the tempest reached its peak, he unleashed the
firebolt on the titan before him.
The
owl barely flinched. It reached out a single, taloned wing and lazily
swiped the ball of flame away, dissipating the magic like a
bothersome gnat. Bored.
Panic
finally overrode his pride. Mud turned and bolted, his heavy boots
thumping against the forest floor as he dove into the deeper shadows
of the trees. Behind him a sudden gust of air flattened the ferns. He
didn’t have to look back to know the Owl had taken to the sky. He
could almost feel the weight of those predatory yellow eyes watching
him from the canopy.
Mud
dove into a thicket of thorns and ferns, his breath coming in ragged,
desperate stabs. He didn’t have time to check stats or verify
skills. He simply pulled up his menu and slammed the summon command
for the Forest Imp.
With
a digital pop, the creature appeared in the brush. “Ewww, Masta.
You a-callin’?” The Imp looked up, its spindly limbs twitching
expectantly.
Above
them, the canopy groaned. The rhythmic, heavy thumping of large wings
beating the air was a constant, horrifying reminder that the predator
was still there, circling. It wasn’t looking for them; it was just
waiting for the right moment to strike.
“We
need to hide. I’m being hunted by a giant owl,” Mud hissed,
poking the little creature’s bony shoulder. “You’re from here.
What abilities do you have to get us away from that thing?”
Every
ounce of mossy green color drained from the Imp’s face. It looked
up at the swaying branches, its pupils dilating in pure terror.
“Masta,
please send me back!” the Imp wailed, lunging forward and clinging
to Mud’s leg with an iron grip. “You dun mess with Old Yellow
Eyes! He’s a soul snatcher! He eats ya! He eats ya whole up!”
“Hey!
Calm down!” Mud shook the Imp roughly, trying to rattle some sense
into the creature. “We’re going to figure this out, but I need
you to use your head.”
“Uh…
Uh… well, usually we just hides, Masta,” the Imp stammered,
shrugging his bony shoulders. “No betta hida’s in any forest, not
anywhere. We blend, see? We blend!”
A
piercing, glass-shattering screech erupted from the canopy above.
Both Mud and the Imp snapped their heads upward, their eyes wide.
“Masta,
he’s a very mad birdy…” the Imp whispered, his voice trembling.
“He says give up. He says he make it quicksy if you stop runnin’.”
“Wait,
you can understand him?” Mud hissed, with a flash of irritation.
“Oh,
Masta, please just send me away!” the Imp broke down into
uncontrollable sobs as the Owl screeched again, the sound closer and
more resonant with every pass.
The
world suddenly exploded in a churning whirlwind of feathers and
shredded leaves. A razor sharp talon whistled over Mud’s shoulder.
It slammed into the dirt, pinning the terrified Forest Imp to the
forest floor with a sickening thud.
The
Imp shrieked in helpless, high pitched terror. “Masta! Masta!
Help!”
The
Lord of the Forest leaned down, its beak snapping like a pair of
shears as it prepared to finish its flailing snack. Mud didn’t
hesitate. He thrust the Staff of Embers forward with one hand, aiming
it squarely at the Owl’s exposed back, while his other hand made a
sharp, swiping motion in the air.
He
dismissed the Imp.
The
creature vanished in a haze of white light just as the beak struck.
The owl pecked at the empty dirt, its head jerking in visible
confusion. It slowly rotated its neck nearly three hundred and sixty
degrees, its yellow eyes locked onto Mud with a look of murderous
bafflement.
“Flame
on,” Mud yelled.
He
unleashed a point-blank blast of fire directly between those glaring
eyes. The force of the explosion was considerable and direct; the owl
was driven backward into the dirt, sliding a dozen feet through the
undergrowth.
The
Lord of the Forest climbed slowly back to its feet. A quarter of its
health bar was gone, along with a significant portion of the plumage
on its face. The charred, smoking skin around its eyes gave it a
demonic appearance, and the look it leveled at Mud promised a painful
slow death.
Mud
let out a dry, horrified gulp and tried to level his staff, but he
was too slow. The adrenaline that had carried him this far sputtered
out. The owl cleared the distance in a single, blurred heartbeat.
The
talons hit him with a sick thud, piercing his chest and driving him
into the dirt with a force that rattled his teeth. The world shook.
Mud clawed at the creature’s legs, his fingers slipping in the
blood as he fought to breathe under the crushing weight.
Then,
the beak descended.
It
was sharp and clinical. Mud felt a sickening pop as his world
fractured; his left eyeball was torn from its socket in a spray of
heat and gore. He screamed, raw and gurgling as half of his vision
simply vanished.
The
bird was a cyclone of hate and anger. It continued to peck and
scrape, shredding his heavy frame into a mangled mass of human flesh.
Finally,
blessedly, Mud just laid there, bleeding out into the roots of a
forest whose name he didn’t even know.
Who
was he? He thought his name was Mud. Or maybe it had been Chris.
In the fading light of his consciousness, he realized he didn’t
really care.
His
vision was gone, but his remaining senses registered a sudden change.
The crushing weight of the bird had vanished. There was a flurry of
motion nearby, a medley of screeching, heavy grunts and the whistle
of steel through the air.
Mud
didn’t care. He died.
Want
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