Lazo

Forsaken

Here's the character. She's more of a faraway city-dweller, but hopefully she'll fit well enough. Let me know if there's anything I should change.

Faint

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Faint

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪

ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖: Beryl Shev (She has not used the name in a decade)
𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕤: Faint
𝔸𝕘𝕖: 22
𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕤: Human
𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣: Female
𝕆𝕔𝕔𝕦𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: Former professional thief (with training more in-line to that of an assassin)
𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥: Neutral Good

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𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖

ℍ𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥: 5’7”
𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕: Lithe and athletic
𝔼𝕪𝕖𝕤: Jade
ℍ𝕒𝕚𝕣: Long, auburn. Usually tied in a ponytail for convenience.
𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕟 𝕋𝕠𝕟𝕖: Very light, almost pale.
𝕋𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕤/𝕊𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕤/ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: Faint has a few scars, mostly old cuts, strewn haphazardly over her body. She usually hides them under her clothing, except for the few on her hands.
ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕥𝕪𝕝𝕖: Faint’s preferred clothing is utilitarian, though perhaps a touch masculine. She often wears a brown, pocketed leather vest over a loose burgundy tunic, form-fitting brown pants held in place by a sturdy black belt, and black boots reaching just under her knees. Occasionally a gray travelling cloak falling down to her knees completes her attire. It is rare to see her show skin aside of her face and hands.

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ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪:

Sensible * Diligent * Supportive * Melancholic * Wry * Cautious

ℝ𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕤: Single
ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕖:
Faint was lead to a simple room with a table and two chairs. Her interviewer was waiting inside, and after making swift introductions, they were seated. Though she was somewhat daunted at the prospect of speaking about herself, Faint felt at ease. As far as she could tell, there was no reason to expect danger, and even if there was, they had not searched her before leading her in.
What first impression do you make?
She rose her eyebrows at her interviewer’s first question. “I would think you would be better equipped to answer that.” When the quip failed to garner a response, however, she lowered her eyes, hiding some embarrassment. “Ah. I have been told people think I’m gloomy. Some people tell me I act older than I actually am, too.”
What are you like in a high stress situation?
She shrugged. “We make do with what we have. I’m used to dealing with problems as they come along, and losing my calm has never helped with that.”
What are your best and worst qualities?
“I think I’m a diligent person. I don’t know what would have been of myself if I hadn’t been able to apply myself fully to a task. As for a worst quality…” For a moment, her thoughts turned to the strange land she was now in. Alone. All her life she had spent in the company of someone else, and the sudden change was not easy for her. However, just as she was about to say she worried about her ability to be independent, she reconsidered. “Like I said, people say I’m rather gloomy. I myself don’t think I have the most charismatic of personalities.”
What is something about yourself that you would never admit to anyone?
Scenes from her previous life flashed through her mind as the interviewer finished the question. Faint blinked, then replied, “I’m sorry, but for obvious reasons I’d rather refrain from answering.”
What are your dreams?
Faint frowned. It was obvious that the question made her uncomfortable. “I have no dreams to speak of. Until recently I didn’t even think about it.”
How do you want to be seen by others?
“Often times I’d rather not be seen at all,” she muttered, before catching herself, “though I guess that’s not the point of the question. To speak plainly, I’d rather be seen as useful, and inoffensive. Valuable.”
How do you see yourself?
“’A victim of extenuating circumstances’” she quoted, a wry smile touching her lips. “It sounds like an excuse, but it’s difficult for me to re-examine my life without one.”
Do you tend to make snap judgements, or stop and think about things?
“It depends,” she said seriously. “If it were up to me, I’d like to think things through where possible, but life doesn’t always wait on you. A sharp instinct will serve you well in those times.”
What haunts you?
Faint smiled sadly, but refused to answer.
What is your philosophy on life?
“I don’t have a philosophy per se. I spent a lot of my life trying to keep other people happy, so, as long as they were, and we were all still alive, it was enough for me. Though,” she added with a troubled frown, “sometimes I wonder if by the end it hadn’t been something I just did out of habit.”

ℍ𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕤:

• Putting her needs second to those of others

ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕓𝕚𝕖𝕤:

• Reading
• Wood-carving

𝔽𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤:

• Disappointing others

𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤:

• Books
• Honest folk
• Feeling useful or being depended on

𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤:

• Comments about her appearance
• Feeling like a burden
• Herself

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𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟:

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤:

• Athletic skill: Faint has a finely-trained body, with great stamina and strength for her size. Her flexibility and balance leave little to be desired.
• Nursing: A holdover from a previous life. Faint is used to taking care of ill or injured people. This is aided by some practical knowledge of medicinal plants, though, suspiciously, most pain killing herbs she is familiar with can just as easily be used to make poison.

𝕄𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝/𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤:

• Presence Concealment: The skill that earned Faint her name was her eerie ability to conceal her presence even in plain sight, becoming bland and uninteresting to the eye to such a degree that people may not realize she is in the room. The effectiveness of this ability is reminiscent—and might even be an instinctive use—of magic. Even lacking this skill, Faint’s training has made her adept at moving lithely and silently, avoiding notice.
• Lockpicking: Faint is a skilled lockpick, always equipped to break her way into places she shouldn’t.
• Knife Nut: Faint is frighteningly effective with her chosen weapons. She wields her long knives with a deadly grace almost reminiscent of a martial dance. Even should she find herself without these, she is rarely without several spare throwing knives and short daggers.
• Unarmed combatant: While not as deadly as with her knives, her mentor would not allow for her to be defenseless while unarmed. Faint is a flexible and able combatant, trained in techniques to incapacitate opponents as practically and quickly as possible. These typically revolve around striking the body’s weak points, such as solar plexus, crotch or throat, or holds that don’t require her to leverage a lot of weight.
• Inner Focus: Aided by breathing and meditative techniques, Faint can sharpen her senses of hearing and smell, and even control her body’s temperature to a degree. This latter ability was gained in training meant to aid survival in harsh environments, but she has found it useful to avoid security measures that detect a person’s body heat.

𝕀𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪:

• Satchel: Usually tied to her waist. Contains her coin purse and her lockpicking tools.
• Lockpicking tools: As expected, tools used to open locked doors and containers.
• Long knives: A set of thin, curved knives almost long enough to be sabres. She often carries these sheathed at her hips when traveling or otherwise expecting trouble.
• Spare/Throwing knives: A number of knives hidden on her person. If one pays close enough attention, they may see a handle peeking from under her boot, or subtle bumps under loose sleeves.

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ℍ𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪:

Long version

Faint—though she did not go by that name at the time—was born in a port town, the third child of a skilled carpenter and his wife. Unfortunately, tragedy struck early in her life, and a virulent plague streaked from overseas. Her father fell victim to the disease, as did her oldest sibling. Her mother also contracted the plague, and though she survived, it left her crippled and bedridden.

Faint does not remember any of this, aside from small tidbits recounted by her mother and her older brother, who, like her, had recovered from the affliction. Her earliest, most tender memories of her life are those of being held in her mother’s frail arms. Soon, however, she took it upon herself to tend to her mother’s every need, however a small girl barely half a decade old could. At first, by taking the coin proffered by her bedridden mother to buy kindling for the hearth. Later, as the coin began to dry, by gathering dung from stables near the city’s edge. Later still, when the charity from friends pitying the poor widow and her children turned to annoyance, she begged or took food off stalls to bring it home. She would occasionally change her clothes and clean her bed sores. She helped support the woman’s meager weight once they lost the rights to their home and had to move to a hovel in the slums. Most of all, she avoided her brother as best she could.

Her brother did not take their misfortune in stride the same way Faint had. He remembered the time before their father had passed, and missed them deeply. The sight of his weakened mother terrified and angered him, to the point where he avoided her as much as he could. He fell into a kind of resigned indolence, idling his days away until he found his way to questionable circles. Soon, he began to resent his little sister’s earnest efforts to sustain the nightmare he lived with. It started as an accident. He may have even regretted it, at first, but it did not take long for beatings to become the norm.

Faint did not understand why the change had happened, but she knew from then on that the house had become dangerous. She moved quietly at all times. Eyes cast down, a presence once lively turned mute and silent. She learned to go unnoticed. Her mother noticed the welts and bruises, and worried, but Faint had no words to explain her situation, and her mother, though she suspected, did not have the strength to pursue the cause.

Faint still had not reached her tenth birthday before that strength failed. One day, she woke to find her mother had passed. Panicked, she set out to find her brother herself for the first time in years, hoping for him to tell her what to do. He had nothing to tell her. The next day, he took his mother’s remains and buried them. The beatings stopped, not to resume.

Faint continued to go out to the streets to find what the family might need to survive, but without her patient, she found herself with time left over to grieve. There was a hope there, however, that now that her mother had gone things might be different between her and her brother.

This hope died one night, when she overheard her brother speaking with some friends of his. One of the topics was the fact that the siblings’ parents had left them nothing to live off of after they passed. A frightful suggestion was passed along by one of the men speaking. Slavery as it were was not a lawful practice within the kingdom, but the port was frequented by people of many different cultures and walks of life, some of which might even avoid the eyes of the port authorities. A young, healthy girl might fetch a fine price to the right person.

The words extinguished the young Faint’s last ember of hope, and that she quitted their home that day, taking residence in the city’s streets. Only a few days later, however, her life took another turn.

One day, with the little food and coin she had kept for herself completely exhausted, she set her sights on a passerby’s coin pouch. She did not misjudge her mark and took the purse without difficulty. However, immediately after snatching her prize, a man rushed out and grabbed her by the wrist. Not the passerby, not a guard, but rather a stranger, an old, bear of a man that had seen the robbery take place and she had carelessly ignored. Still too close to her victim, a stolen purse on hand and afraid to make a real commotion lest the man was replaced by a real guard, she only dared struggling and ineffectually kicking at the man’s shins. Before she could gather her wits and reevaluate the danger she was truly in, she was dragged into an empty alley and knocked unconscious.

She awoke in an unfamiliar bedroom and was greeted by the one who had carried her away. Though as far as she could tell nothing had been done to her while she slept, her first thought came back to that night before she abandoned her home, and the talk of oversea slavers. Despite the kidnapping, the man denied that accusation, though only in part. Rather, he had simply chosen someone to pass on his skillset, and added that she would simply vanish if she proved uncooperative, at which point he would go back to looking for candidates. In that regard, she could think of herself as a slave. That said, he would not be unkind. She would be provided with food and a room of her own while she remained under his care, though, of course, she would not be allowed to leave until he was convinced that she would not try to flee.

The pleased turn to the man’s expression told her that her interest was writ plain on her face. A place to sleep sheltered from the weather and consistent meals would be enticing for anyone in her circumstances, but most of all, she realized that she would not be found by her brother or his friends while she was under this man’s keeping. It was the kind of offer she might accept even if she was not being forced. It was too good to be true, in fact, and a part of her dreaded what the old man might choose to make her do. It was in timid tones that she finally asked what would be required of her.

As it turned out, the man identified himself as a professional thief and racketeer, and true to his word, he set out to teach her everything he knew. A large breadth of disciplines was covered, from reading and writing, to rhetoric and arithmetic, down to physical, survival, infiltration and weapons training. The latter training was hellish for a young girl of her disposition, stretching her body and mind to its limits, and her teacher was always quick to remind her that, if she could not do what he expected of her, he would find another. It was due to this, rather than because of any kind of overt mistreatment, that she ever entertained the notion of escaping, but the idea that she might be once again thrust defenseless into the streets was always quick to cure her from rebellious thoughts. Fortunately, her progress seemed to satisfy her mentor, who never did good on his threats to do away with her.

Another might have questioned the nature of the skills being imparted as excessive, but, as the matter stood, the young girl could only be amazed by the skills of a professional criminal, as opposed to a street rat like her. Only later, as her training progressed, and her mentor pushed her to put her skills into practice with his contacts among the city’s underbelly—among which she earned her name—did she begin to realize that her teacher was showing her things outside of the norm for their apparent profession. When asked, her mentor’s only explanation for this incongruity was that he had once been a soldier in the army, and that training had served him well after he had left it. This time she doubted the skills she had been taught could have come from the kingdom’s army, but chose against pressing further. It had already been many years since she had begun her training, after all, so the distinction made little difference in the practical sense.

One day, her mentor caught wind of caravan bringing goods for a powerful noble of their city. He gathered some of his connections, adamantly claiming that the goods being brought into the city included priceless artifacts and riches that could set some of them for life, and began to draft a plan to take over the caravan before it reached the walls. The plan succeeded, but Faint soon learned that the noble had ties to the city’s Assassin’s guild, which usually served as royal spies and killers, and that part of the shipment was, in fact, meant for the shadowy cabal’s head.

It was quickly made apparent that she was not the only one to learn about this detail. One day, while returning to her lodgings, she caught wind that their house had been visited by a complement of guards, and that her mentor had been seized by the authorities. Within the house, in one of her mentor’s hidden compartments, she found a letter folded around a single boat ticket. It seemed her mentor had anticipated such a thing, and had begun preparations to leave the city. Unfortunately, he had counted with having more time before someone sought him out. Later, she learned that one of his contacts, fearing a cull of the city’s criminal elements by the assassins, had revealed the location of the plan’s mastermind. Her mentor was sent to a cell to await trial, but by the next sunrise, news arrived telling of a prisoner that had ended his own life within the prison holding cells. All involved in the debacle caught a glimpse of the strings moving to silence the man.

Only at this point did Faint finally decide to leave behind the city where she was raised.

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: Faint was born into an impoverished family and lived with her mother and brother. Her mother was crippled by illness and her brother was abusive. Soon after her mother passed away, Faint fled to the streets, where she was picked up and kidnapped by a mysterious man.

This man claimed to be a professional thief looking for a successor. Under him, Faint underwent training that was more fitting for a highly skilled assassin than any kind of thief, though she was never employed in that specific capacity. Over a decade later her mentor was caught and executed after a suspicious job.

Finding a letter and a ticket for a boat at her mentor’s house, Faint finally abandoned the city where she was raised, likely for good.

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𝔼𝕩𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕤

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℚ𝕦𝕠𝕥𝕖: “People say you don’t choose your lot in life. Sometimes I wonder what I’d do if I had the chance.”

Forsaken

This looks fun. I have a character I've been sitting on for a while and I think she might be a good fit with a tweak or three. Is there still room for people to jump in?

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Sand sat cross-legged in a quiet corner of the Beacon gardens, eyes closed and back held straight in a meditative posture. Her hands rested together on her lap, palms facing upwards, and over which a single silver coin sat.

Her team’s mission concluded, she had barely taken the night of to sleep the exhaustion away before throwing herself back into her training.

Taking steady breaths, Sand sharpened her focus. Tiny white particles danced around the coin as she used her Semblance to slowly raise the small object in the air. Gently, steadily, so as to not send the lightweight disc flying, she pushed it upwards, until it had risen just over a feet above her hands. There, the coin ceased its steady ascent, trembling in the air. A crease formed on Sand’s brow, betraying her efforts, and she opened her eyes, glaring at the obstinate coin that refused to rise any further.

Finally, the small lights vanished, and the coin fell back onto her hands. Sand sighed, shuffling in place in an attempt to loosen her suddenly taut muscles.

A Semblance was a Huntsman most unique tool. Once discovered, they were expected to set apart some time to properly understand this power and to nurture its potential. Perhaps in this account it could be likened more to a singular muscle to train rather than a tool, but given the differences in the particulars for each individual, whatever was involved in this training could differ substantially per person. The help that could be rendered by friends and instructors was limited for those reasons.

Thus the evaluation of one’s progress and potential was largely left to the individual in question, and in that regard, Sand felt as though she had made little progress in some time. Much like the rising coin, her abilities seemed to have hit a ceiling of sorts. It was frustrating because she also believed there was more to be found, and yet her own efforts did little to support that belief.

Sand shook her head, blonde hair swishing to and fro, and she closed her eyes again. She focused again on the coin, feeling a tingling, electrical sensation spreading over her palm, and she knew without looking that the little motes of light that accompanied her power were dancing over it.

She could push and pull on things without touching them, as long as she was close enough. That was the extent of her ability, but it was a functional description based on experience, lacking explanation for the underlying principles. She was deeply aware of how limiting such an understanding of her semblance could be. After all, when it had first manifested, she had only known to pull things closer. Perhaps the fact of the matter was that she had gone as far as she could given her current understanding.

If she knew how her ability truly manifested, things would be different. There were some semblances that were tied very strictly to a specific phenomena, some which could result in abilities very similar to her own. If she came to understand the underlying principle, she could have a clearer picture of the possibilities. It was something she had thought on before, with some help of her instructors, and she remembered specific examples that had been brought to her attention.

The power to control magnetic fields could allow one to exert a force on objects without touching them, like she could, but then only if the objects in question were made of metal. The coin she held in her hand satisfied the criteria, but she had in several occasions used her ability without such limitations.

Gravitational fields could serve a similar, more general purpose. Perhaps too general, in fact, for she had seen students with powers that acted on such phenomena, and generating attractive or repulsive forces could be but the most basic of applications. None of them had been burdened with as limited a range as hers, however, nor had their powers affected them directly with each application, beyond perhaps feeling drained of energy. Sand’s power could not reach far as it stood, and every force she manipulated would always act on herself in an opposite way as whatever she sought to affect. In this manner, for example, she could use her power to jump higher than others, not by rendering herself weightless, but by pushing down on the earth with her power in concert with her physical legs.

Someone had once suggested to her that her semblance worked with similar principles as the ‘Casimir Effect’, but what she had been able to dig up on the subject did not convince her that her Semblance worked according to such a concept. After all, her ability was not limited to attractive forces, and its influence clearly extended beyond microscopic distances.

Sand sometimes wondered if people whose Semblance related to phenomena like those could ‘feel’ what they were manipulating. If a person could touch and describe the sensation of a magnetic or gravitational field in their grasp. When Sand used her Semblance, she felt pinpricks over her skin, but if she ignored the opposing pressure of the force she created, the feeling was more akin to her hand falling asleep than of grasping something outside herself.

“That would be a nice thought” she muttered, eyes still closed, “if I already had all I needed to solve this issue. If I could just take a deeper look inside...” A thought occurred to her as she trailed off, and her brow furrowed.

Sand’s slowed her breathing, attempting to regain the focus of her meditation. The sensation of pinpricks over her palms was still there, and Sand centered her attention on the sensation. In concert with with a long, deep breath, Sand willed the power back, as though to pull it deeper into herself. The electric feeling began to spread through her hands, steadily climbing up her arms. The sensation felt disconcertingly like all the blood in her arms was draining back to her heart, and the tightness in her chest from her held breath only enhanced the illusion.

Paradoxically, despite the feeling of numbness spreading through her hands, she could acutely feel the mounting pressure of the coin pressing against her open palm. Almost as if she was caressing it with her fingers, she could feel every ridge and groove over its surface. For a moment, she could almost picture the alien object pressing and slipping into the old scar it rested over, but she quickly dispelled the distracting image from her mind. It had been a long time since that accident, and her control over her semblance and aura had improved significantly.

The electric sensation spread until it reached her core, and there she held it like a bated breath, eager to be released. Her lungs echoed the sentiment, making her temples throb as they demanded fresh air. Sand opened her eyes, glaring at the coin pressing against her skin and slowly, steadily, agonizingly, Sand released the captive breath along with the power she held in check.

In a flutter of white motes, the coin began to rise, quickly hovering past the height it had reached before. One feet, two feet, three feet. Sand continued her slow exhalation despite her vision beginning to swim. Four feet, five. She had almost reached six when she her lungs emptied. The coin ceased its accent, trembling in the air as it had before. Finally, Sand was forced to take a breath, and the coin fell back down to her waiting hand.

She took a gulp of fresh air at that, leaning back out of her crosslegged pose to a more relaxed posture. She brought a hand to her forehead and only then realized that beads of sweat had begun to form over it.

Still, for all her ragged breathing, a satisfied smile formed on her lips. It had been some time since she had felt like she had made a breakthrough in her training. In fact, she thought as she resumed her previous posture, I should keep practicing before I forget this feeling.

No sooner had she closed her eyes, however, that her Scroll rang out.

Sand grumbled under her breath, producing the annoying thing from her pocket and silencing the timer announcing it was quarter to noon. For a moment she held it, quietly wondering whether it would be good for her to change her plans for the day to keep practicing, but quickly decided against it. There was something she had resolved to try that day, and she couldn’t keep postponing it forever.

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The trip to their destination was a short one, and soon enough Stand stood before the door to team JBLS’s room. All she needed to do now was knock and see whether there was anybody home.

It was the simplest thing in the world. Nothing odd about it either. Not only were the room’s occupants her classmates in many of her courses, they were practically neighbors to her. There was nothing odd about her trying to get in touch with them.

Though I’m only truly interested in meeting Jericho. And I’m expected to write up surveillance reports about him. The fact that she had spent some her free time the previous week pinning down his schedule and learning about his teammates from what she could find in social media and the school directory did not make it easier to talk herself into it.

In fact, a mounting feeling of dread and exhaustion reared at the back of her mind, pleading her to go back to her practice, or to take a drive outside the school, or go read one of the books she had brought over from Atlas, or essentially do anything other than this. For a moment she even fancied that she would go back to the CCT tower, set up a meeting with the Professor, and burn that bridge for good. She might well had done it had she thought she was harming someone by keeping tabs on Jericho like this, or that someone else wouldn’t simply be sent in her place if she declined. That said, she had received documents that near enough proved the former wasn’t the case, and she was too pessimistic not to expect the latter.

The truth of the matter was that, ethical concerns aside, she was mostly afraid of going out of her way to interact with others. It was not a feeling she thought she would ever be completely rid of, but she had long been determined to try. Even if this occasion was particularly awkward.

Enough of that. Just need to stick to two principles. Try to act like a normal human being, and try not to make it obvious that you e-stalked half of them. She had practice with the first, at least.

After one last moment’s hesitation and ignoring the tightness in her chest, she rapped her knuckles against the door.

@HereComesTheSnow@Write@Plank Sinatra@FlitterFaux

The Crucible - Winner Take All

The window sills warped, the crystal cracking and falling inwards against the buffeting of super-heated air. Fire swept upwards, catching on the curtains and beginning to spread through the ceiling.

It had happened so suddenly, Dew had barely the time to throw himself to the floor.

He had only realized something was amiss moments earlier. There had been no movement on the streets since he had passed the arrow to the plant snake. When he happened to glance down to street level, however, he noticed that some of the decorative plants placed at the building’s entrance had been moved. At first, he thought he might have been misremembering their positions. It was not as though he had put much effort into memorizing the appearance of the building’s face. He would have put the feeling down to his imagination, were it not for the fact that just as his gaze began to wander, he caught a slight shimmer of light, and one of the vases suddenly beginning to shift.

He recognized the shimmer for what it was, but it was far from a pleasant realization.

He took the shot immediately after, but it was made painfully obvious that whatever was out there was not alone. He was readying himself to fire again when another figure materialized itself down below and a gout of flame roared his way.

“Shit!” Dew exclaimed as he scuttled away from the fire. “I didn’t see a drone—did you see a drone?”

For its part, the plant snake did not offer a helpful response. The sudden onset of the flames, even now starting to spread inside the building, had put the creature in a panic. It thrashed away from the heat as if in pain, whining pitifully the whole time.

“Yeah, me neither,” Dew answered himself as he propped himself up, trying to peek past the blaze to the streets below. Even with the right angle, all he could see below was ash and smoke. Did no drones mean it was the College? The same kind of thing Pithy had run into the previous day? Or was someone—

The deafening blare of fire alarms drove the thoughts from his head as he reflexively brought his hands up to protect his ears.

The snake’s response was much more violent, and definitely more unexpected. It’s thrashing intensified, until suddenly it burst into a swarm of black butterflies that just about knocked Dew on his back again through the sheer force of volume as they scattered about, most flying past the flames through the open windows.

Dew’s only answer to the bizarre event was to spit In an effort to get the taste of butterfly out of his mouth.

“Okay,” he said, though he could hardly hear himself over the alarm. “You do that.”

Which left him with just himself to sort out. A glance around the room showed no signs of the arrow, and he was not about to try to figure out what had happened to it and the snake with the sirens blasting at his eardrums, so as he pulled himself back to his feet he decided that was no longer his problem.

Pithy had said it would be up to him to figure out what to do and to buy time, but adaptive camouflage and flamethrowers had not exactly been part of the conversation.

All he knew was that Pithy would be heading to the bookstore, and trouble would most likely be following her. Meaning that if he wanted to do something about it, he would have to head in that direction.

That was as far as that thought went when a fresh blast of the alarms interrupted it.

Whatever the case, his sniping spot was getting a little too hot for his liking, so without another thought he slung his rifle and ran for the exit.

---

The muted crackle of Dew’s firearm, followed by the distant blaring of sirens, made Pithy raise her gaze from her work. Confirmation that her plan had deviated from its optimal course.

Given the way her wards had been triggered, she had all but assumed something was off. Namely, the first ward to be triggered had been within the room she and Dew had stayed the night, and it had only been triggered once, indicating that whoever or whatever had crossed the threshold had done so on their way out. The rest of the wards that triggered suggested a single entity, but the abruptness of its appearance, as though it had manifested already within the building, made her hasten to put her escape plan in motion.

Pithy had used the bracelet she had claimed from Bonesword to transform into a slime creature, taking advantage of her newfound malleability to traverse a trash chute to the lowest floors, from where she took a back exit. From there, she had made her way to the back of the bookstore she had explored the other day.

The interior of the bookstore was not as she had left it, but this was something she had hoped for. After all, before she had left, she had taken pains to find and break the building’s water piping so it would leak through the night. As a result, much of the floor had been flooded. The spacious hall at the entrance, being slightly lower in elevation, had seen the water rise high enough to completely submerge the lowest set of tomes on its bookshelves.

After a moment, she cast her gaze back down to the crystalline shapes at her feet. The glowing runes on the rapier held in her left hand illuminated her surroundings with a pale light, bathing her surroundings in a chilling cold. A similar foreboding glow bled from within the bandages covering her right arm. She allowed the magic to flow mostly unrestrained, to the point where a fragile coat of ice had formed over the water closest to her.

It was the sound of breaking glass that shattered her concentration this time, and this time she stopped her work with a mental curse. The noise had come from within the bookstore.

Already? I thought I would have more time than this.

She had frozen shut the back exit she had used to enter the store, but rather than force the intruder to use the front entrance as she had hoped, it seemed they had broken in through a window.

Pithy turned towards the rows bookshelves at the back of the hall, blade and magic at the ready. However, the bundle of black butterflies that fluttered into sight was far from what she had expected. She had already raised her rapier, power billowing, when the mass of butterflies shuddered and a familiar shape clinked to the floor below it.

Pithy’s eyes widened as she recognized the arrow she had but glimpsed after her initial duel with Mountain Dew. The one which, according to Nero, had become a source of power for the rouge members of the College.

A moment later, the butterflies pressed against each other and the plant creature she had become familiar with plopped down onto the floor, letting out a whine of complaint. Pithy made towards it, kneeling to grab the artifact and to take a closer look at the decidedly smaller snake.

Pithy noted the piece of parchment wrapped around the shaft and quickly unfurled it, scanning through its contents. She took a deep breath.

I know that whatever that power is, it came from the arrow, Nero’s words echoed in her mind. The only things I can say about the power, though admittedly this is mostly guessing based on what we’ve seen, is that it’s not like any kind of magic I’ve ever seen or heard of, that it’s different per person, and that it comes from within.

She quickly re-read the note before putting it away. The appearance of an unknown party claiming to be an ally was concerning, but given the strange reactions of her wards and the sounds coming from outside, she was less inclined to dismiss its claims out of hand. Moreover, where in other circumstances she might have believed the arrow to be a poisoned trap laid by the enemy she sought to face, the way the snake had presented itself to her suggested the artifact was likely to be the genuine article.

She imagined Dew must have come across the object as he left the apartment building, and perhaps having similar misgivings as her own, decided to test the veracity of the letter. “That said, I did not expect Dew to use you as a guinea pig,” she noted as she examined the plant creature.

Predictably, the snake offered no intelligible response aside from a sibilant hiss. At the very least, it seemed whatever excitement it had encountered had rendered it more responsive to her words. She decided to press while it still responded to her.

“Did he tell you to deliver this?” The snake bobbed its head in a clear affirmative. “Did he stab himself with it?” The snake flinched away when she brought the arrow closer to ask her question, but nodded a moment after nonetheless.

“I see. It’s clear what I should do, then.” Pithy nodded to herself, her resolution solidifying. “There is but one thing. I had meant to keep you out of this battle,” she told the snake, “but I fear that is not realistic anymore. So instead, I would ask for your cooperation.”

The Three Realms War [Act II] [DMC/Bayonetta/Darksiders Crossover]

A low rumble reverberated from Fenn’s chest. His reptilian tail twitched nervously in almost cat-like discomfort, and the cobblestone was scratched and dented in certain places, where he had pressed against it with his claws in the restless clenching and unclenching of his fists.

It had not been long since Fenn had set an entire forest to flames in an attempt to flush out his enemy. The insult of his foe’s avoidance still stung, and his blood still boiled with the prospects of battling a mighty adversary.

The beast lay against the side of a stone building in one of the city’s plazas, eyes closed in a futile attempt to find some rest. He wished to close his eyes and follow the trail of his thoughts, as he commonly did when waiting between hunts, but in his agitated state he could not keep his ears from latching on to the sounds coming from the inhabitants of this place. For once, Fenn found himself missing the warmth and quietude of the Council’s citadel. The surrounding plaza was currently vacant, the few humans that remained outside despite the presence of the otherworldly creatures in their city had left when they caught sight of him, but he could sense that some had gathered in nearby streets. At first, they had been little more than gawkers, but it had not taken long for a proper cordon to be formed around the plaza. He could hear the exchanges between some of the men as clearly as though they were speaking into his ear.

“Any updates?”

“No sir, it hasn’t moved from its spot.”

“Good. Tell me the minute that changes.”

“Sir, do we have any word on where it came from? Did hell lose one of its war dogs?”

“Still waiting on that. Suffice to say, if it doesn’t belong to anyone we may have a problem in our hands.”

The longer he listened, however, the more difficult it was to focus on the words over the weak, rhythmic thrumming that served as the conversation’s backdrop. The hound’s forearms tensed once again as he focused on the sound of small, weak hearts and sloshing blood. In this city where the forces of the three realms had gathered he found himself wondering just how much of it could he spill before an adversary fit to satisfy him stood in his way.

However, before he could delve too far into that line of thinking, a familiar scent roused him. Fenn opened his eyes, craning his head towards one of the nearby streets as an unfamiliar woman broke through the cordon.

“Hey, Lady, wait! Don’t approach, the beast is dangerous!”

The woman—tall and bronze skinned—shrugged off the hand that tried to hold her back. “Oh please, he’s just a Pup.” She pushed back yet another soldier who tried to ‘protect’ her, this one with enough force to topple himself and a few of his comrades.

She approached in quick, long strides, not giving the continued shouts of the humans behind her any mind. Green eyes narrowed as she grew closer, meeting Fenn’s. “Isn’t that right, old friend?” She asked, lips quirking into a cocksure grin.

In that moment, a part of him dearly wished to tear that obnoxious smirk from the woman’s face. It was because of her that he found himself in this land, because of her that he had to restrain himself. Fenn had known when she had asked for his assistance that he would need patience to serve a purpose; that he would need to act against his instincts to join the chaos born of this realm’s last breath. He had promised to make her enemies his own, but it had taken but an hour before she had found herself doing the bidding of another.

“Imp,” he growled. Was it finally time to express his dissatisfaction?

The hound began to rouse himself, lifting his large body with his four limbs. Behind the woman, some of the men that had followed her began to raise weapons, only to be stopped by one of their own.

“Put those things away. Get back to the cordon and make sure no one else gets past the tape.”

Fenn glanced away from the woman, sparing the retreating men a glance. The one who had issued the order still stood some distance away, keeping watch over the two demons. Had he sent them away because he had realized they would be ineffective if he chose to attack, or because he believed that this strange woman would be the one to take care of this ‘problem’ of theirs?

Whatever the case, the momentary distraction spared him a moment to cool his head. This was not the time or place to voice his complaints. He stared back at the demoness standing in front of him. “You have returned from your search,” he observed.

“I have,” she echoed. “You as well it seems.” She took a moment to look him over, searching his expression. “You seem dissatisfied? Or is that just your usual face?” Her brows furrowed. “No, I think that’s just your usual look.”

Rather than the usual dismissive grunt to the shapeshifter’s antics, Fenn answered with a question. “Have you come to mock me?”

“It was not my intent,” she answered, playing with the tip of her braid, “but do forgive me, my assignment left a lot to be desired. I had anticipated some excitement, but all I got was a so-called golem.” She sighed, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “I’m about as bored as you are, if I had to make a guess.”

In spite of himself, Fenn let out a harsh laugh at the sentiment, so close to mirroring his own. Though that said, boredom was not a good way to describe his the tension coiling through his muscles. “It is ironic that you should say that, Imp. You see, the snake showed itself while you were away.”

“Really? For the love of, of course he turns up when I’m not there.” She crossed her arms. “Well? What happened? You looking bored and him showing up seems counter to each other. Did he beat you?”

“Worse. He vanished into the woods.”

“Oh.” She shook her head, sadly almost. “Poor trees. They must’ve been there for centuries.”

Fenn let out a long breath through his nose. A slitted eye moved to glance at the nearby humans, their captain still watching over the pair and no doubt listening to their exchange. “I tire of the vermin’s presence, Imp. Let us take this elsewhere.”

A weak slap against his leg brought his gaze back to the Imp. “Don’t be too harsh on them. They’re not used to dogs larger than they can pick up by the scruff of their neck,” she admonished playfully.

“True. The existence of your kind has been a tough pill to swallow.” The leading human chose that moment to interject, directing his remark to Lily and drawing the hound’s attention once more. “In fact, it would be best if from now someone accompanied the big fellow while in the city.”

“The pest speaks as though I am not present.” Fenn’s lifted his lip in displeasure, showing teeth as he took a step towards the man. “It ought to know better.”

The man grimaced, but, to Fenn’s grudging respect, turned to face the demon’s glare. “Fair enough, big guy. I’m going to be frank. We’re stretched thin trying to keep tabs over what’s happening in the city, and maintaining something like a sense of normalcy for the people living here. The monsters in human skin are one thing, but when something like you comes along in a populated area, we need to mobilize people we don’t have to block off whole sections of the city just for the chance to figure out if the latest monster to stroll down the street is capable of holding a conversation, or would rather rip the intestines out of the first person to come near it. I would rather not waste our time, if possible.” The man paused, as if going over what had come out of his mouth. After a moment, he added, “I say with all due respect.”

“I question the sincerity of your last statement, human.“ The hound considered the small man before him. His gaze strayed towards the nearby demoness for a moment, before he finally grunted. “I have been asked not to bring harm your kind. Beyond that one point, your brethren’s peace of mind is of no consequence to me. I go where I please.”

“I see.” The man sighed, stepping away. Once again, he addressed Lily, whom he obviously regarded as the more agreeable of the two. “In any case, don’t let me stop you from going on your way. I will tell my men to open up the plaza again in the meantime.”

“Thank you,” she said, lifting the sides of her dress and bending at her knees. Anyone who did not know better would think the gesture one of genuine respect, but Fenn knew it to be one of innumerable mocking gestures in her repertoire.

“You handled that remarkably well,” Lily noted after a few heartbeats, watching the retreating soldier.

“Forthright words demand forthright answers,” the hound retorted.

She twirled on the spot, stopping to face Fenn. “But much as he worries needlessly, he does have a point. Normal people become frightened by your presence… Maybe it’s time you learned how to hide yourself in plain sight?”

“Were you not listening, Imp?” The demon growled irritably and strode past Lily. It was obvious he did not mean to sit still while they conversed. “I care little for the concerns of these coddled apes—certainly not enough to degrade myself by concealing my nature. Let them fear. They are right to.”

Lily followed, lips pressed into a thin line. “I would appreciate if you did not call them ‘apes’. Nevertheless, them not being frightened of you has its advantages. It is easier to gain information, for one. Not only will they trust you more, but you will also find that you can get into places you couldn’t before. There is also stealth to consider. It will be easier to get the better of this ‘Vega’ if you can get close to him without him noticing. Being smaller will help with that.”

The implied suggestion that he should sneak upon the foe he wished to battle angered Fenn, and he answered hotly, teeth bared. “And what shall I do then? Strike the snake down while unawares, ending this scramble for the Seals in one fell stroke? What a convenient narrative you have weaved, Imp. An insulting one, at that. You must not know me as well as I believed if you thought I would agree on those grounds.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Really?” She asked, sounding exasperated more than hurt at the accusation. “If I wanted to suggest an ambush I would have spelled it out. So far you haven’t been able to so much as get close enough to see him, correct?” She did not wait for a reply before continuing. “Being smaller would allow you to possibly get close enough to challenge him, right then and there, and put you in a position to chase should he flee. You and I both know you’re as likely to want to make an ambush, as I am to turn into a man.”

“I assure you that none of that has to do with my size.” The hound gruffed with a surety that made the point difficult to debate, even if it remained difficult to believe. “Even if it did, a more compact form is not beyond my capabilities.”

She skipped up past him, turning to walk backwards even as she faced him. “Truly? Leaving aside the fact that your size makes you easy to spot, you claim to be capable of becoming, at the very least, smaller? Do show me, I would like to see just what kind of smaller creature the mighty Fenn can become.”

Fenn had to stop in his tracks lest he flatten the woman, and he quickly found himself cursing his loose tongue. He brought one massive hand to his face as if to ward off an oncoming headache. “What is this about, Imp? Why are you suddenly so fixated on seeing me match these vermin in appearance?”

“One part curiousity,” the demoness admitted, “but another part because it would be useful to reach our goals. There may be times when I would require your aid, and it would be in a place where you’re too big to fit in, or other times when cooperation through diplomacy, not intimidation, will work in our favour. If you will, consider it a skill you can use to get your end of our bargain quicker.”

Fenn felt the claws prickling his hide for a moment before he relaxed the grip on his head. Much as the thought shamed him, the Imp was not wrong. Being who she was, given her predilection for the apes of the third realm, he should have known she would eventually ask this of him. “Fine,” he assented begrudgingly, bringing his arm down. “If it will keep you from pestering me further, I shall show you. But not here, not in the open.”

A wide grin appeared on Lily’s face. “Wonderful.” She twirled around again, dress flaring, and started walking. “I know a place. Follow me, Pup.”

---

Seeing no reason to complain further, Fenn had fallen in line behind the comparatively small Lily. Some time passed with a smatter of idle chatter, with the woman’s occasional probes towards Fenn hesitance being answered with curt grunts and dismissive gestures. It was only when they were well on their way, and a semblance of silence had fallen over the pair, that the hound himself spoke up.

“I care little for this soft world, Imp. Neither do I wish to bathe in the blood its people, as others of our realm would. This is only the second time I make this crossing. The previous, came before we met.”

Lily gave him a sidelong look, keeping in step with him as a moment of rare, thoughtful silence surrounded her. She clasped her hands behind her back. “I am happy that you say that,” she said at length, her gaze trailing skywards. “I had feared that, whatever you ask of me once this is all over, would involve shedding their blood. I am not certain I could bring myself to do that.” She offered him a wan smile. “So for what it’s worth, thank you for not wishing death upon this world.”

“Fool. You are wrong to thank me,” he chastised. “If I do not wish for humanity’s end, it is because I do not think it worthy of notice in the first place. More than that, if I did wish for it, I would need do nothing to achieve that desire. The humans are nothing if not thorough. They shall find their end even without the involvement of us outsiders.” He grunted, clearly annoyed by the turn the conversation had taken. “The reason I say this is so you understand that, when I first arrived to this realm, it was not by choice.

“That time, I was much diminished, and the barriers isolating this realm were still intact. Much like the lowest footsoldiers of the Prince of Darkness, that resorted to possessing puppets to survive the crossing before the Seals were tampered with, neither could I exist as myself within this realm. My self was lost to me, instead replaced by one that escaped this world’s rejection.” The hound let off a long breath through his nostrils. His usually stern glare was clouded by the far-off memory, lost in the distance. “Given your… malleability, you may not understand this, but this new form was not my choice. It was simply the result of my nature clashing with this world’s. It was an indignity I had to endure for near a century before I managed to regain enough of myself to make the crossing once more.”

“If the humans destroy themselves, that is their choice, but I would stand before the flood if heaven or hell overstepped themselves,” she said with such surety, that no doubt was left that she wouldn’t. “But you were forced to change? You are right, I am not familiar with that. Here,” she pointed towards a large pair of double doors, “a storage facility. We can have some privacy in there.” She pushed open the doors, allowing entry.

“You have my condolences, then. Losing my freedom is… not something I want to imagine,” she continued, closing the doors with a low boom. She turned around, a few motes of fire flickering into existence around them for better lighting. “So? Will you show me now, old wolf?”

No sooner had she began to turn, however, that a dark shape lunged at her. For the briefest moment the thought that the warehouse may not have been as empty as she had first believed crossed her mind, but it was quickly discarded. The creature had pounced from outside of the door.

The shadow moved with alarming quickness, and mid-step as she was, she could not dodge out of the way before the thing fell on her, heavy weight pressing down on her shoulders. A row of sharp teeth were the first thing she saw of her assailant, bared in a feral grin inches from her face. Though smaller and sleeker, she immediately recognized the familiar features they were attached to with the exception of its eyes. The large wolf’s eyes were no longer slitted like a reptile’s, but round and gleaming like the animal they belonged to.

The wolf uttered a guttural growl, and had she had any doubts as to the identity of her assailant, they would have disappeared at the slight jingling of the manacles fastened to its leg, smaller though they were and with most of the chain links gone.

“I was wondering how long it would be until you jumped me, Pup, but I am still surprised it happened this soon,” she said, laughing. The dagger she held against his ribcage, its tip pressed just hard enough to be felt, betrayed her good humour. A small warning in response to the unexpected pounce. “I would appreciate it, if we postponed that for another time.”

The snarling grew in intensity for a moment, and she could spy strings of drool beginning to pool at the corner of Fenn’s lips. Before she could reconsider making actual use of her weapon, the growling ceased. The wolf reared its head, jaws clicking as they closed. A moment later the weight of its paws left Lily’s shoulders as it moved off of her.

Lily remained on her back, tilting her head to watch the animal pacing nearby, ears standing at attention and eyes staring suspiciously at its new surroundings. Now that it had stepped off Lily, she could get a better look at her assailant. Large beyond her initial impression, the creature’s powerfully muscled shoulders could easily reach up to her ribs. A tapestry of white, faded scars covered the animal’s body, leaving its dark fur to grow in thin, messy clumps over a few intact patches of hide. Somehow, only the animal’s head seemed to lack any significant scarring. Where for Fenn’s scaled body the old wounds seemed to compliment the demon’s imposing air, on this form’s comparatively smaller frame and softer hide they gave the beast a tired, tortured appearance.

“You look old,” she said contemplatively and started rolling over onto her stomach, already pushing herself up by her arms. “Wounded,” she said, her dress growing slack around her. “Sick.” Her braid undid itself, the hair pooling across her back before it melded into her body, from where black, coarse fur started spreading across her skin.

Small hands condensed, the long nails thickening to curved claws as her limbs rearranged themselves, becoming digitigrade to match her new paws. Fine, delicate features pulled forward into a canine muzzle, her previously flat teeth now larger, longer, and sharper.

Though unclear if the words had meant anything to it, the other creature in the room took notice of the change. The wolf, swung its wary gaze at the woman, lips curling warningly as its body tensed.

Within another few moments whatever remained of the human-like Lily was gone, and in her place stood a large black wolf, regal and powerful, with the remainder of her dress covering its withers. Lily shrugged off the dress and moved forward slowly to meet Fenn, her new paws quiet on the floor save for the click of her claws. Each step had her stand taller than before, going from no larger than a dog to a head larger than Fenn in his canine form—the size of a small horse.

“I can help you gain an appearance that mirrors your true self, even in disguise,” she said, yet her mouth or muzzle did not move to produce the sounds. “A form that is worthy of Fenn the Chained Hound, if you will.”

The first wolf’s ears flicked confusedly at the sound, but even though smaller than the new creature, its warning posture remained. Instead, the approach of another of its kind seemed to put it even further on edge.

Finally, the wolf’s restraint snapped, and the tension in its muscles loosened as it lunged forward with a snarl. However, before it managed to pounce on the other creature, a sudden cloud of smoke appeared to engulf it.

The smoke suddenly solidified, taking back Fenn’s more familiar appearance. “Damn you, Imp. Did you wish to provoke me?” The hellhound brought a clawed hand to its face, forcing vacant eyes back into focus. For a moment, it had been questionable whether he had been aware of the finer details of his short time while transformed, but these doubts were quashed when the hound let out an irritable grunt. “There are no worthier forms than these. Therein lies the problem.”

Lily chuckled, her mouth opened in a canine grin, her tail wagging. “Someone is territorial I see,” she noted and started circling him—her gait casual and un-threatening. “I did not mean to provoke,” she continued while studying him, ”but to demonstrate. I wanted to show you what you could become, if you put your mind to it.” She completed her circle and trotted back to her dress, shrinking herself and awkwardly shuffling into it in her furred form, before quickly reverting to her humanoid appearance.

“I can dance between species and appearance with each step I take. You should be able to at least retain yourself, while adopting a different form of your choosing.” She took her hair over one shoulder and started braiding it, weaving in a small number of ribbons as well. “To make it easier, make it similar to yourself. The colour of your fur, for example, the texture of it. Think of that covering your new body; a smaller body. The important part is knowing what you want, and then willing it to happen.” She paused the braiding to scratch her chin. “It’s not too different from your flames, I would presume. You control whether they burn or not. Apply the same logic.”

Fenn looked displeased, as usual. “Fur? You would have me take on that form again?”

She stopped herself short of palming her face, though she couldn’t stop her eyebrows from raising instead. “No.” She tied a ribbon into a bow in her braid, and let it fall, finished. “Not that form. A new one, but similar. I want you to consciously change your own body, not regress to some lesser version. Every form I take, has the potential to utilize every shred of my power, as such they are me, in every sense of the word. It is the same thing I want you to accomplish.”

A humming sound reverberated in the demon’s chest, almost hesitant. “Fine,” he said at last. “I would not have allowed this to carry on this far had I not intended to humor you.”

Lily grinned. “Wonderful.”

With that, Lily closed off the door to the warehouse, and the two demons threw themselves into this exercise. Lily continued to demonstrate her ability to Fenn, taking the time to explain the ways she channelled her magic to the given effect. Occasionally she would offer mental exercises to put her impromptu pupil in the correct state of mind. For his part, the hound repeatedly attempted to follow instructions, but be it because of his way of thinking, or some intrinsic difference in the nature of their powers, he failed to effect the minute changes that Lily requested of him. Every time the hound shifted, the scarred wolf took his place.

The lesson was not entirely without progress. With each attempt, Fenn’s hold over the lesser animal’s instinct grew. Lily held this to be a kind of progress, though not the one she had expected, or wanted. He disagreed, seeing it as little more than proof of familiarity. The animal’s instincts were no different from his, and only the ego required to balance them was lacking. After centuries without the need to adopt that lesser form, some adjustment was necessary. One way or another, a breakthrough that would allow Fenn to fine tune his appearance to the degree Lily wished for seemed unlikely, and frustration was beginning to set in over both parties.

“Cassandra had an easier time understanding this, and she was only twenty at the time,” Lily huffed, her arms crossed underneath her chest. “I’d have thought you would have an easier time, given your familiarity with our powers and nature.”

“You speak as though we are kin, Imp,” Fenn shot back, equally irritated by his continued failures, “but have you ever sought to teach this to others beside your spawn?”

She was about to answer that, of course she had, but that would have been a lie. He would probably see through said lie as well. “I have not,” she admitted. Begrudgingly. “But Shapeshifting is not a natural ability of mine, so that excuse won’t work.”

“And yet shapeshifter is far from an apt title for most demons.”

She grunted and walked to one of the shelves carrying various supplies, staring at them without really noticing what they were. “To change you need to be willing. Are you sure you’re just not too stubborn to?” She looked at him over her shoulder. “Perhaps the fact that you were forced into that state is why. It’s not your own choice.” She turned around fully, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should try a different approach. Discard the big naked poodle idea, and think bigger. Think of a human shape. Big, hairy, and a sour look on his face, is what I’m thinking. You already know how to will yourself to change into something else, so do what you do then, but decide to become a human instead.”

“So we finally aim for the point of this exercise.” The hound grumbled. “So be it, but should this fail as well, that will be the end of it. You will not bring this issue to me again.”

Fenn looked away from the demoness, stern gaze focusing on some point past the nearby walls as he once again touched the thing within himself that brought about change. His form wavered, losing consistency until the hellhound was replaced by a cloud of smoke his own size. This had been the same process he had undergone when transforming into the scarred wolf before, and it was not terribly different from the transformation that brought back the Hellhound she was more familiar with.

In hindsight, that it was not the same process she underwent with her own shapeshifting should have hinted at the difficulties she would have in getting Fenn to apply her own methods, even if she still believed the principles behind the changes had to be similar enough to her own. However, while previously the smoke had dissipated in the next moment to reveal the reduced Fenn, this time the cloud held itself together for long enough to be worrisome.

Suddenly, the smoke cloud fell, spreading over the floor before quickly vanishing. At what had been its center, a brutish man stood. Towering in height and powerfully built, the echo of the demon was clearly visible even before one took notice of the numerous scars marring the man’s dull ochre skin, or of the chains wrapped around his arms. A mane of long black hair swept back to reach past his shoulders, and the man’s severe features and sunken, close-set eyes were framed by a full, bristling beard.

The examination was facilitated by the fact that the man was stark naked.

Taking a long breath, Fenn looked down upon the unfamiliar body, lips twisting into a very human, if displeased, grimace.

“The chains are a surprise,” Lily noted with a cocked smile, “but they can be hidden with some sleeves. Well done, though. You now look like a human.”

“I believe I feel as one, too.” While still recognizable as his own, Fenn’s tone as a human was smoother than before, lacking the deep reverb that usually accompanied his words. If his deepening scowl meant anything, he was likely both aware and unamused by the change.”Soft and dull of senses.”

She started circling him, not for the first time impressed by his physique, but for different reasons this time. For one, she had assumed before that the chains were present simply because of the change being a forced one, and not of his own volition. It turned out, she realised that he simply viewed them as such an intrinsic part of himself, that he wouldn’t be rid of them.

That aside, she had always preferred to be tall among humans, but Fenn blew her out of the water for the moment. She was not shy to admit that she had met more than a few ladies, and men, who would throw themselves at him given the chance. Granted, they were likely to be put off by the chains. He definitely looked every bit as she had expected Fenn to as a human, if longer haired.

“We should get you some clothes,” she concluded. “I know you usually go all natural, but there is such a thing as too much attention in public… Or at least attention for the wrong reasons.”

“So I have gathered.” He finally looked up at Lily. “Are we done, Imp? The sooner I can return to myself, the better.”

She stopped her circling in front of him, looking up to meet his grumpy gaze. A small part of her was amused by the fact that she did not need to crane her neck as much as she usually did. “You don’t seem to be fond of being smaller.” It wasn’t a question. Perhaps it was just because his expression was easier to read as a human, but he definitely looked more displeased than usual. “Keep the advantages in mind, it is not always a detriment. I keep myself near half my real size because of said advantages.” She shook her head. “Not everything is a measuring contest, old wolf. But you have learned what I wanted you to learn, so I would say we are finished with at least this part of our conversation.”

“You truly think…” The man trailed off, biting down his retort to her teasing. A cloud of smoke materialized and billowed over the man. The next moment, the familiar Hellhound emerged from within. “Aye, let that be the end of that.”

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Cold sweat dribbled down Pithy’s brow as she tightened the bandages on her right arm. Once she was satisfied with the tightness, she held the bandaged limb out towards the room’s door. Ice began to coat the lock and hinges, sticking them in place.

She let out a slow breath at that, hugging the inert limb close to herself. She could hardly feel anything below the elbow now, but the waves of cold easily swept past the covers where she touched them.

Not my finest work, but it will do for what lies ahead, she thought with forced dismissiveness. It was far too late for regrets at that point.

She leaned back against the wall, letting herself sink down to a sitting position. All that was left was to wait.

As she had told Dew earlier, she had sprinkled the inside of the building with a number of detection wards. A very simple and inconspicuous cantrip, a variation of which she often used to keep herself aware of her surroundings when resting in unfamiliar places. She had left the wards at various thresholds, such as entrances, emergency exits, stairs, elevator doors, and more specifically, the doors to the two rooms where she had left instructions for the enemy she awaited. They were not disguised—given her condition, attempts at doing so would only have made them more obvious—but they were unassuming enough that she doubted they would be sniffed out unless an intruder was well-versed in the arcane, and was actively searching for them.

That said, that it was not a certainty was something she was deeply aware of. Aside from the few clues she had left to guide intruders, like the lights left on at the apartment and the smashed lock for that room’s door, those wards could well become a second trail for someone to follow. Fortunately, that it would grab the attention of any who found them could be of use to her. For that reason she had not placed any magical wards at the entrance to her hiding place. If someone crossed them or attempted to tamper with them, she would know. Unless they preferred to wander aimlessly through the building until they happened to land upon her, they would have to.

She planned to use this to her advantage to keep track of intruders until she felt it a good time to use her escape route. Namely, the metal chute to the basement placed in the room she had chosen. It would not normally have been an option, given that the opening was not large enough to fit a grown human—or elf, for that matter—but the black and green bracelet fastened to her left wrist gave her some flexibility in that regard.

Pithy nodded to herself. If all went according to plan, she would be able to shape the next altercation to her needs. For that, she would need to be watchful. Both of the state of her wards, and of sudden noises like the thunder of Dew’s weapon in the distance.

---

Dew was going to be angry if all he had gotten was a cosmetic reward. There was a reason people had gone up in arms against lootboxes when they caught on to how disgusting a monetization system it actually was. The power lottery couldn’t be much better if it also came with extreme pain and vivid hallucinations at every pull.

Though what kind of whale demographic that could attract he was not sure he wanted to know.

Once Dew managed to shake himself out of his stupor and he caught his reflection in the window, it did not take long for him to find the change. The creepy black eyeball was not exactly subtle.

He had rushed off to the apartment’s bathroom to have a better look at that point, leaving only a clueless plant monster to keep watch.

Unfortunately, attempts at figuring out what the eye did—most of which revolved around staring intently at the toiletry—did not shed light on any new abilities beyond a persistent itch that made it hard to keep it open. It reminded him of the feeling he got when he spent too much time staring at a screen without blinking.

Man, if Pithy got mad about red eyes, she’s going to freak out about this one.

Eventually, he gave up and came back out to the dark living room. He found the large plant monster Pithy had adopted slithering around the discarded arrow, curiously poking it with its snout.

“Guessing you didn’t see anything while I was out?”

The creature craned its neck to look at him, blowing a quick raspberry his way.

I swear all snakes are assholes. He walked over to where the creature was, shooing him away with a hand before leaning down to pick up the arrow. He brought it closer to his face, examining it. It didn’t look at all different from when he had first picked it up—certainly not as though it had gone through his arm not moments prior. What had been the point of that, anyway? He wished a tutorial message would have appeared to tell him what was new. He almost wondered if he should take another stab at himself to see if it did anything different.

A chill raced down his spine at that thought, the pain and hallucination he had seen flashing through his mind and sending a shiver up the hand that held the relic.

Maybe I should leave the real experimenting to Pithy, he thought, letting the hand holding the arrow fall to his side.

He took his camping spot close to the window once again, surveying the empty streets. Almost as if to punctuate this thought, a bird crowed in the distance.

Dew sighed.

He knew where to stand to keep himself hidden from view. It was not as if he had never camped a single spot in a map, waiting for people to come by for easy kills when he couldn’t expect quick respawns. As long as you found a good spot, that was a way to get your chicken dinners when you were not terribly familiar with your surroundings. Not something that would fly with an audience, mind you, but that was not an issue here. That said, he was not typically expected to sit still for hours on end before anything happened.

Sadly, he had agreed to do this stakeout thing properly, so he couldn’t well take a nap this time. Bored as he was, he found himself wishing something happened sooner rather than later. That, in turn, led to thoughts of what he should do when that time came, and that once again redirected his thoughts to the arrow he still held in his hand. More specifically, to the fact that it had not originally been meant for him.

“And I’m supposed to play decoy if things go south too, aren’t I?” He might not get a chance to get the relic to Pithy before things got ugly.

Taking a glance at the large snake monster lounging nearby, though, it occurred to him that there was a solution to that predicament.

“Here boy,” he said, patting his leg and drawing the snake’s attention to him. “See this? He said, holding the arrow out. “We need to get it to that lady in white we’ve been following around. Thing is, we can’t go and give it to her right now, and I probably won’t be able to go give it to her later. You with me so far?”

The creature stared blankly at him.

“Great. Well, I’m going to need you to hold onto this thing and go give it to her when I tell you. She took you to the bookstore yesterday, right?” He paused for a moment. “Do you know what a bookstore is?”

The snake tilted its head lightly.

Dew scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Place with all the rectangles?” At the snake’s silent stare he drew the shape in the air and added, “you know, like this?”

At that the snake let out a short hiss, bobbing its head forward.

Oh, good, it does understand. I feel like a crazy person when I’m talking and it just stares without doing anything. Dew went to place the object at his feet, but hesitated as a thought struck him. He paused to wrap the paper the note he had found with the arrow around its shaft before leaving it on the floor by the snake. “Great, then hold onto this for now.”

The creature loomed over the proffered object, sniffing at it curiously, before it reared back, shaking slightly. For a moment Dew wondered if the thing was scared of the relic, until he noticed its head bobbing up and down, as though trying to dislodge something from its throat. The snake made a retching noise, and an oval object only slightly smaller than Dew’s fist clattered on the ground.

“Nice. Is that a timer? Did you steal it from the apartment’s kitchen?” As the snake leaned down to swallow the arrow, Dew picked up the object, turning it in his hand curiously. “Probably mistook it for an egg.”

Turning the dial on a whim, Dew quickly realized that the snake had vomited something far more valuable than an oven timer.

The Three Realms War [Act II] [DMC/Bayonetta/Darksiders Crossover]

The hound let out a surly grunt at the demoness’s answer. Yet, he found himself feeling pleased, the air around him losing some of its weight. He had prodded for a piece of the spider’s mind, and had received a more thoughtful answer than he had expected. That did not, however, mean he agreed with the reasoning.

“I have heard humans refer to such an outlook as ‘result-oriented,’” the hound drawled with heavy sarcasm, “eager as they are to spin deficiencies of character as desirable traits. Should that be the case, one must wonder what was achieved through this exercise.”

“To answer that, we’d have to look at what it caused. There is of course the obvious; the deaths of countless demons. Then there is the copious amounts of blood that the battle left in its’ wake. There is also the now raging fire which I presume we have you to thank for? Though there is no way your quarry knew that would happen.” Malvossia crossed both sets of her arms and pondered a moment before continuing. “It could have been exactly what it was. An attack, meant to breach the wall and storm the city. With the defences down there is a chance the attack might have succeeded and your quarry could have gotten what they wanted. If you have the resources to spare it’s worth taking a crack at your goal, even if there is only a slim chance of succeeding. Considering how weak these demons were, I doubt this attack cost them very much.” Malvossia stared out across the battlefield at the raging fire that looked like it would be burning for some time. With a disappointed sigh the demoness lowered her body to the ground and tucked her legs underneath herself; she crossed both sets of arms atop a crenulation and rested her head upon them. “And let us not forget the most classic of reasons. A distraction. If your quarry is in anyway intelligent -and it is best to assume they are- they would know the angels and demons beyond this stony barrier would be off trying to thwart their plans and would not remain within the city. With the defenses down, an attack would clear out any remaining foes within, the non-human sort anyway. But what do you think, Cerberus?”

“I question the point of attacking this place to begin with. The one who sent these demons off to battle, the one I sought to hunt down and kill, was the same demon that destroyed the other Seals of the Apocalypse. I recognized the snake’s scent in the wind the moment they showed themselves. With that said, no seal has been found within this city.” The hound blew a rough breath through his nose. Had the enemy’s goals changed since last time? Could it be that destroying only some of the seals had been its objective?

No, were that the case, would it still be sneaking in the shadows? The Imp described this one as one of the most powerful demons she had ever come across. Had it managed to restore itself completely, what need would there be to hide then?

Fenn shook his head. “As you said, a distraction seems likely at face value. However, this attack would not have given the snake an opportunity to act. Did you notice during battle, Crone? The demons we fought were but meat puppets. Living corpses. Weak as they were, slaying this warband in the first place must have taken some time. I can say with certainty, as well, that the snake was in the forest when I charged in. Even if it did not show itself, it was never truly unaccounted for.” The hound let out a short, caustic chuckle. “Even if its aim had been to infiltrate this place during the assault, you yourself have shown such measures are unnecessary simply for the sake of crossing these walls. It seems more likely, then, that the snake was testing the limits of its powers. Either that, or...” At that, the hound fell uncharacteristically silent, narrowing its eyes.

“Or…? You seem to be in a bit of a dramatic mood.” Malvossia tilted her head slightly so she could look at the wolf with two of her slitted eyes. “I must say” she continued, “it rather suits you. Paints you as a rather ponderous and prudent pooch.” The demoness giggled, at least it could be assumed to be a giggle as the sound she immited was that of a band of cackling demons.

“It was not my intention to amuse,” he groused.

She turned her gaze back towards the fire. “Don’t leave us in suspense my friend. Or…?”

“It occurs to me,” Fenn said at length, “that the snake may well have found allies to act in its stead.”

Malvossia quirked an eyebrow that she did not have. “You came to this conclusion, how?”

A white figure surrounded by a starry blackness flashed through his mind. Yet that is hardly the only party who could take an interest in the Seals’ destruction. Some are closer than we would wish, and need only to recognize the chance to act unnoticed when it is presented to them. The hound grumbled in annoyance at the turn his thoughts had taken. Thoughts that availed him naught, that could only lead him to indecision, where it was not his place to make those choices in the first place. Like a spider sitting on its web, jolting at every tremble of its threads. I forget myself.

“By assuming the worst, naturally. I have found such thinking often reaches closer to truth.” The hound gave a ponderous roll of his shoulders, and turned to leave. “I do not think this snake one to waste time so freely otherwise.”

“The human’s have a saying for assuming.” Malvossia giggled but did not elaborate further. “Best to keep on our toes and tackle what's thrown at us, rather than be concerned about could be’s and maybes.”

“There is wisdom in that, aye.” The dog let out a slow chuckle, sparing the demoness a glance. “Alas, wisdom is wasted on a restless hound.”

“So long my friend. I shall remain a little longer to help the humans strengthen the defences.”

The Three Realms War [Act II] [DMC/Bayonetta/Darksiders Crossover]

@Zarkun@Lmpkio@Lugubrious

The distressed researcher bit her thumb nervously as she watched the fight unfolding below, having pulled her vanishing act the moment the monsters had appeared. Samantha clung tightly to a tree branch some distance away from the melee, her camouflage keeping her out of the monsters’ sights.

And her teammates’, for that matter, which became somewhat worrisome when the half-demon Gideon pulled out his firearms. No amount of hazard pay would make up for being hit by a stray bullet or bolt of magic.

So Samantha thought, but this was already a touch better than her old solo expeditions. No armed escorts then, never mind hazard pay.

“Not to say,” she whispered to herself, a hint of giddiness mixing into her voice, “where else am I going to see a Nephilim in action?”

Indeed, the tall warrior had torn into the group of Assaults with an ease fitting the scraps of information she had found regarding the dead race. To their credit, Gideon and even Souta were not far behind. “In fact, this fight is going so well I wonder if I could convince them to take one alive… well, as alive as an undead monstrosity could be.” She doubted they would listen to her, though, particularly if they had to carry the squirming beast while they looked for the spiders’ den. It already was hard enough to simply try to ask questions about the Council given the company without mixing in bizarre vivisection related favors.

She would have to content herself with gathering samples from the corpses. The largest and most twisted of which, she noted, was slowly stumbling towards the brawl. A brawl which, while she had been too busy staring, had moved closer until the Frankenstein’s monster of a demon was marching uncomfortably close to her hiding spot.

Samantha, shifted against the branch, trying to reposition herself to see if she could move somewhere farther away—when a shuddering tremor made her stomach sink.

The branch splintered, and she fell with a surprised yelp, her camouflage broken. She landed unceremoniously on her back, letting out a dizzied groan as she propped herself up to took a look at her surroundings.

Her gaze quickly found the team she had been sent with, noting with some embarrassment that they were all staring in her direction. “Come now,” she half-slurred, “is this really the first time you see a scientist fall from the sky?”

It took Samantha a moment to realize they were not in fact focused on her, but on something past her. She felt a tremor on the ground, and blinked. Swinging her head back, she came face to disfigured face with the abomination she had been keeping tabs on moments earlier.

Ah, of course. How could I forget?

The creature lifted a maimed arm, its mouths opening to let their keening wails. But no wail was louder than the scientist’s as she stood and dove away with terrified briskness. The blow missed her by inches. At the same time the flap on her knapsack flew open, and pages of parchment flew out as though carried by a strong wind, flapping onto the creature’s face while Samantha fled into the bushes.

---

@ConteAmarula

By the time Fenn left the forest, the flames had already reached the tree line. The fires danced phantasmagorically behind his black silhouette as he lumbered towards the city’s walls.

He noted that they remained largely in the same state he had left them, proof that he had not overestimated the Crone’s ability. Humans milled above the ramparts, some facing the flames while others ran to and fro on tasks of their own.

When the hound came into view, some of the weapons mounted atop the wall turned to face him. Fenn sneered at them. He almost wished for them to open fire, if only to give him an excuse to vent his frustration. The snake had eluded him. Had set puppets against him in the face of his challenge. Had remained hidden even as the hound proceeded to turn the surroundings to cinders. The seething rage had bolstered his flames, and even with the flames no longer dancing over his fur, the air was heavy with the hound’s restrained anger.

He clambered onto the ramparts. Truthfully, he had little interest in what the humans had to say. Even when he first approached the walls, his intent had been only to kill time while prey came to him. The pretext of defending the settlement from the horde of demons had been all but abandoned when he had caught a whiff of the snake. He did, however, have a reputation to uphold. If not for himself, then for his warlord. Had another demon not been at the wall, he may not have had such freedom to act.

The Crone was already waiting above the ramparts, along with the man who had sought their aid at the wall. Fenn approached, ignoring the tension among the observers. Then ignoring the man’s stuttering thanks, until he finally saw fit to leave. He was not the only one to do so. After the display, the wall’s occupants had decided to give the two demons a wide berth.

“This is the second time this snake eludes me,” he remarked gruffly, glaring at the burning forest. “The first time, my quarry struck a blow while I was weakened and preoccupied with another foe, then left before I had a chance to recover. This time, it avoided me entirely. Even alone, it ignored my challenge. What does this tell you, Crone?”

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

In the face of Thoúlē Aristeas’s praise, Sand bowed her head lightly in acceptance. The warm reception was a relief for her, but she could not shake the feeling that this much was expected of them. In fact, Sand felt they had failed to perform to the level they could have achieved.

Had it not been for the surprising efficacy of Violet’s semblance, coupled with Sand’s fortunate decision to fetch the rifles, the flock of Grimm may have posed a real problem for the exposed team of Huntsmen on the ship’s hull. Another may have left it at that and been happy for the lucky coincidence, but the fact that Violet’s use of her power had taken her by surprise made Sand keenly aware that she did not really understand her team’s strengths and weaknesses.

Where she wanted to be happy with the results, the frustration in that thought lingered in the back of her mind even as she addressed the noblewoman.

“We’ll take the chance to rest, in that case.” She glanced back at her teammates, gesturing at the two rifles she was carrying. “I’ll go ahead and return these in the meantime.”

With that, Sand left the others to their own devices. She was quick to find the officer that had lent her the weapons, a young man wearing the Atlas uniform that could only have been a few years older than her.

“Nice work out there,” he said when he saw her approach. “It’s always a treat seeing Huntsmen at work.”

“Just glad to be of service,” she answered, almost automatically.

The man hummed, taking stock of the weapons in her arms. “Looking to put those away, right? Give’em here.” As she handed him the weapons, and just before she took the chance to return to the others, he added, “wait here.”

Sand blinked, pausing to watch the man disappear into the ship’s armory. A moment later he came back out, still holding one of the rifles in one hand, and a harness in the other.

When he presented them to her, Sand found herself reaching out to grab them. “What’s this?”

“For the missy back there,” he said. “After seeing her shoot in the screens, we figured she deserved to keep one. Got a feeling we’ll all be better off with a rifle in her hands, anyhow. Let her know she’s free to keep it if she wants.”

“Oh. That’s unexpected,” Sand said as she took the ‘gifts’ and tried not to dwell on the fact that she was not being given anything despite her having been outside sniping the approaching Grimm as well. “I’m grateful, but are you sure this is fine? Won’t handing out hardware like this get you in trouble?”

“Don’t worry about it. I cleared it with the captain. Turns out these things go missing all the time.” The man winked at her. “For example, when someone tosses it away in a rush to keep a friend from falling off an airship and the gun happens to slide off the edge down to Grimm-infested wildlands.”

Sand blinked as comprehension dawned on her, and the man let out a self-satisfied chuckle.



“Well done, team,” Sand said when she returned to the others. She didn’t waste time presenting Violet with her prize. “Especially you, Violet. You impressed the crew so much, they want you to keep the guns we borrowed. Be sure to thank them before we’re done here.”

With her hands now free, she stood back, pausing to rub her forehead and pull her hair back. It was nervous fidgeting, she knew. Part of her wanted to leave the conversation at that, but she still felt the need to at least address what had happened above.

Taking a deep breath, she continued. “We did well this time, but that could have turned out for the worst very easily. Robert, you need to be more aware of what’s happening around you. We’re a team, but we may not always be there to catch you if you fall.”

This is turning out wrong, she realized. Her intent had not been to single out one of them in the first place. Assigning blame was a messy affair either way. The instructions about sticking to her or Trad that she had given before they went to the ship’s roof had meant to prevent situations like that, but who was she supposed to blame for it not working? Robert for straying too far? Trad for not keeping closer tabs on Robert? Herself for staying close to Violet instead of Robert? Or for not specifying who should pair up with who? An attempt to make their battle plan flexible may simply have made it difficult to follow properly.

She sighed. “That goes for all of us, I suppose. This isn’t just a training exercise. Let’s be more careful next time.”

---

For a place they had been calling the ‘ICE CreAM facility’, the place where the ship alighted gave Sand an intense sense of disquiet.

She and the rest of SVRT followed Thoúlē as she dismounted the aircraft to meet the solitary person awaiting their arrival.

Though it took her a moment to realize it, there was something odd about the arrangement that did not inspire confidence in the young Huntress. It did not surprise her that there were no other aircrafts to be seen in the landing strip— given the location and purpose of this facility, as well as the difficulties they had encountered in the way, she imagined air traffic was nonexistent for most of the year.

What did bother her was the absence of any visible landing crew aiding the descent or storage of the aircraft. She also found it strange that the white-haired man waiting for them had the need to ask who they were. Had there not been any communication between the ship and the facility prior to landing?

She shook away the intrusive thoughts. As far as she knew, it was explicitly because the facility saw so little traffic that none of the infrastructure one would expect was in place. Letting her paranoia run rampant without any context was simply not a good idea.

Better to defer to the inspector where unsure, she resolved, glancing at the noblewoman and waiting for her answer.

@Guess Who@Awesomoman64@Abillioncats@Crimmy

The Three Realms War [Act II] [DMC/Bayonetta/Darksiders Crossover]

Fenn continued his inexorable pursuit through the forest with nary a thought for the obstacles in his way. The earth and trees in his wake bore marks of his advance in the form of deep gouges where his claws had sunk, broken tree branches, bent trunks, and large scores in numerous trunks where coarse black scales had brushed against them.

The hound had locked into a singular scent, one he had felt before, faintly, at the site where he had first seen the destruction of a Seal. One that had once again been present when a thin blade had split his hide and torn his stomach open. The scent was stronger now, burrowing into his snout with a numbing intensity. It reminded him of the sickeningly sweet stench of rot.

It was in his mouth now too.

Along with broken tree branches, his path was littered with the bodies of the crazed demons, where they had accosted him in his path. The hound had answered with fangs, claws and monstrous strength, and many of the creatures left behind were now missing limbs, or had had their bodies bent at impossible angles. A good number had not even been killed, left instead to squirm and cry piteously in their broken bodies, but the hound hardly cared.

The sickly scent may have been wafting from them, but they were not its source.

Even as he had been forced to slow down his approach to accommodate for his bulky frame amidst the trees, it did not take long for Fenn to reach the scene of the carnage.

Numerous demons lay dead inside the clearing, haphazardly strewn about wherever they had fallen. The corpses were covered in wounds, the still fresh blood splattered over their surroundings seeping into the forest floor. The cloying scent he had followed mixed with that of the charnel, stagnating in the air over the clearing and giving it a dense, viscous quality, almost as though he was breathing in mud.

The hound marched to the center of the clearing, senses attuned to his surroundings. If his prey was to be found in the vicinity, however, it had concealed itself capably.

An irritated growl built inside the demon’s throat. “I know you can hear me, snake!” he challenged, powerful voice sweeping over the still surroundings. “You who sunk your fangs in me before you shed your skin! Face me, so I may return the favor!”

Outside the hound’s field of view, there was movement. Three of the demons that until then had been as corpses stirred. Darkness cloaked one of them, a black cloud lifting it above the ground, while the other reptilian monsters brought their limbs under them and began to creep forward. From underneath the cloaked demon’s darkness, a single, clawed appendage was raised with a sharp talon pointed at the back of the hound’s neck.

It the blink of an eye, it had stretched and covered the distance.

But rather than soft flesh, it was caught in Fenn’s fangs. A baleful eye stared back at the small demons as steaming blood began to drip where the blade was being held.

The two reptilian demons shrieked, surging forward. Fenn turned to face them, roughly pulling at the cloaked demon by its talon. With a heavy wrench of his head, he smashed it to the ground, the blade finally snapping from the force. Fenn swatted away the first of the smaller demons with his tail as he turned, but as the other jumped forward over it, the hound brought up one of his tree-trunk arms, snagging it off the air.

Without stopping, Fenn raised it over his head and leapt at the cloaked demon. Dazed from the previous impact, it barely had a chance to look up before the combined weight of Fenn’s fist and the squirming demon in his grasp fell over it with a meaty crunch.

The two creatures shrieked and squirmed as he held them under his weight, motes of flame beginning to gather where he held them. Finally, with a snarl, the hound pressed down. A detonation rocked the clearing, fire spreading from its center.

There, the hound turned, bringing his weight away from the charred remains. Where since he had arrived at the human’s settlement all that had adorned his scales were the chains affixed to his arms, orange flames now rose and flickered over his fur, bristling like raised hackles.

The hound spat the remains of the cloaked demon's bladed talon, and snarled furiously as he saw more of the corpses rise, the cloying scent growing in intensity the moment the purple poison seeped into the bodies. From beyond the confines of the clearing, he could hear the screeches of more demons rising, the forest coming alive with their cries, yet his quarry still did not show itself.

“COWARD!” Fenn howled. “It shall be known that the dreaded architect of the Seals’ destruction quails at the thought of facing a single hound!”

When all he received in response to his taunt were the howls of the newly revived creatures, the hound’s expression grew darker. His lips moved, the words now low and grave, if no less filled with menace. “Very well, then. I shall leave nothing left of this place for you to hide in.”

The ground under the corpses glowed for but a moment before plumes of fire rose from under them.

From afar, smoke and flame could be seen beginning to rise from the forest, the unchecked fires brought about by the demon beginning their rapid spread.