Lemony and Fiji walked through a narrow tunnel where the walls were covered in a thick, glowing slime that smelled like wet copper. The air was ponderous, making Lemony's skin feel sticky.
He looked up at the massive Mossback walking beside him. Fiji was so large that his rocky shoulders scraped the ceiling every few steps, sending showers of dust down on them.
"How long have you actually been down here, Fiji? Were you born in the abyss?"
Fiji slowed his pace, his large feet making a wet thumping sound.
"Not born," he rumbled. He sounded like he was trying to remember a dream from a long time ago.
"Fiji just wake up. In the dark. Three hundred snows ago. No mother. No father. Just rocks and moss."
"Three hundred years, and you never tried to leave?"
Fiji tilted his head, a clump of green moss falling from his chin. "Abyss is home. Up there is too bright. Too much wind. Here, the rocks talk. They tell Fiji stay."
Lemony looked at the giant with a mix of pity and curiosity. It was strange how the abyss in this place worked. He even wondered if Fiji was even a natural creature or just a pile of minerals that the Great Beastiary had breathed life into for a joke.
As they walked, Lemony noticed a dull ache in his chest. His body felt different. Ever since he swallowed that black strand from the bat, his senses were too sharp.
He could hear the tiny scratching of insects behind the walls, and the light from the moss felt like it was burning his retinas. His blood felt thick, moving through his veins.
"Go on ahead for a second. I need to catch my breath."
Fiji nodded slowly.
"Fiji wait around corner. Don't get eaten."
Once the giant was out of sight, Lemony leaned against the cold wall. He had heard stories back at the Pamon mansion about how the body could reject a foreign essence if it wasn't integrated properly. He felt like a thief wearing a suit that was three sizes too small.
He didn't want to be a bat. He didn't want to be anything other than himself, even if himself was a nobody.
He shoved two fingers down his throat, gagging as the bitter taste of bile rose up. He forced himself to keep going until his stomach convulsed. He fell to his knees, coughing and retching onto the cave floor.
Among the mess he had just vomited, something was moving.
It was the black strand. It flickered like a dying ember, twitching in the dirt.
As soon as it was out of him, the burning in his eyes faded. The world went back to being dull and quiet.
He felt weak, but he felt like Lemony again.
He reached down and carefully picked up the strand. It felt cold and oily against his skin. He wrapped it in a small scrap of cloth and tucked it into a hidden pocket in his trousers.
He knew how the biology of this world worked. Everything was built on these strands, the tiny blueprints of life that the Great Beastiary used to write the world.
By taking it out, he had stopped the mutation, but he had also lost the protection against the poison.
He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at the dark tunnel ahead. He was a normal creature aagain, or as close to it as a Manul could be.
"Fiji! I'm coming!" he called out, his voice sounding thin in the vastness of the cave.
Lemony caught up to Fiji, his legs still feeling a bit like jelly.
As he walked, a memory flickered in the back of his mind, something he had pushed aside during the frantic fight with the bats. He had felt a strange warmth on his chest back then, a fleeting sensation of weight.
He checked his chest.
The crest was there, but it had settled back into the shape of Common Paws. It was the mark of a normal, bottom-tier creature, the kind the world usually stepped on without noticing.
But he remembered the notification that had burned into his vision for a split second after he swallowed that first strand and survived the purple rot in his veins.
Deed of the Poisonous Taker.
He realized then how the Great Beastiary worked.
It wasn't about being a hero.
It was about performing actions that defied the natural order while still having the "small value" of a disposable character.
Surviving that poison was impossible for a Pale-Mantle Manul, and the world had acknowledged it with a Deed.
But a Deed wasn't enough to climb the ranks.
To reach the First Rank, to actually become someone who could stand against the fate written for them, he needed more.
He needed to stack these impossible actions like bricks and, more importantly, he had to keep Blazoning.
In this world, everything was a cycle of consumption. You took the essence of others to rewrite your own biology, turning your body into a living ledger of everyone you had defeated. It was a cruel way to exist, a constant hunger for the strands of others just to prove you deserved to breathe.
"We here," Fiji rumbled, breaking Lemony's train of thought.
They stood before a massive gate made of black iron and reinforced with the rib bones of some ancient, long-dead titan. It looked less like a door and more like a mouth waiting to swallow them. Fiji stepped forward, his huge stone hands gripping the edge of the gate. With a groan of metal that sounded like a scream, he pushed.
At first, there was only darkness.
Then, one by one, torches along the walls ignited with a cold, blue flame.
The light revealed a chamber so vast that the ceiling was lost in shadows. And there, perched on a throne of obsidian, was Malphas. The creature was gargantuan, a nightmare of feathers and sharp angles that didn't seem to belong in the natural world.
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Outside, amidst the falling snow and the distant roar of the fire, the gunslinger and the wolf leader stood perfectly still. They hadn't moved a muscle toward their weapons in minutes.
"How does a wolf like you end up as a hired claw for a place like this?" the gunslinger asked.
The wolf leader didn't snarl. He looked tired.
"The city doesn't have much room for my kind unless we're wearing a collar. I have three sisters in the lower wards. They need medicine, food, a roof that doesn't leak. The government doesn't give those things to 'predatory types' for free."
He adjusted his grip on his spear, but he didn't raise it. This was the reality for most who worked the frontier for the central authorities. In the grand design of the world, those with claws like the leader wolf were often funneled into enforcement or waste management.
"It's just a job. You follow the contract, you get the credits, and maybe your family eats for another month."
The gunslinger tilted his hat up.
"I'm looking for a girl. Mara. She's a Lepus-kin. Long ears, twitchy nose, probably looks like she's seen too much."
The wolf leader shook his head slowly.
"I haven't seen any rabbits around here. We usually clear them out of the perimeter for survivors before we rest up. If she was here, she was already sacrificed to Makphas, or either killed by my men over there."
The gunslinger sighed, looking at the burning base.
"Right. It was worth a shot."
The wolf leader shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the man behind the brim of the hat.
"Before we settle this, I have a question of my own.One for a man who travels as far as you do."
The gunslinger leaned back, his hand hovering near his holster.
"Ask away, dog. I am a fountain of useless information."
"Do you know someone named Lancelot Von Centauris?"
The gunslinger's eyes went sharp. Before he could even form a syllable to answer, the air behind him warped.
A sudden, violent pressure slammed into the space where he had been standing.
He threw himself to the side, his boots skidding across the frozen mud as he blocked a strike with the reinforced barrel of his sidearm.
Clang.
Standing where the snow had just been falling was a creature of impossible grace.
He was a two-legged Centauris, his upper body sculpted like marble and his lower half possessing the powerful, lean build of a high-bred stallion.
His skin had a faint, pearlescent sheen, and his hair flowed behind him like a silken banner. This was the rightful heir of the Centauris family, a lineage that dated back to the founding of the Veridian castles.
"A crude greeting for a crude traveler," the Centauris spoke. His voice was melodic, carrying a weight of authority that made the wind itself seem to quiet down.
"One must wonder if the dust of these outskirts has clouded your vision, wanderer."
The wolf leader dipped his head in a respectful nod.
"Commander. You're finally here."
"The stench of failure travels faster than a courier, Lupine. Go. Scour the ruins of that base for survivors. I wish to converse with this gentleman in private."
The wolf didn't argue. He turned and disappeared into the smoke of the burning base, leaving the two men alone in the white silence.
The gunslinger stood up, wiping the frost from his coat.
He remembered this kid.
A few decades ago, back at the Veridian military tournaments, Lancelot had been the golden child of the academy.
Back then, the gunslinger had been a decorated drill instructor, a man who thought he knew everything about the hierarchy of power.
But as he looked at Lancelot now, he saw a faint purple hue shimmering around the Centauris's form.
Rank 3: Veteran, the gunslinger thought, his heart sinking. He is leagues above me.
"You have grown arrogant, Lancelot. The last time I saw you, you were struggling to hold a practice blade."
"Time is a generous teacher to those with the blood of kings," Lancelot said. He drew a blade of pure, condensed light from a hilt at his hip.
"Shall we see if your trigger finger has slowed with age?"
Lancelot moved.
He blurred.
The gunslinger fired three shots in rapid succession, the muzzle flashes lighting up the falling snow. Lancelot didn't even flinch.
He spun his light blade in a mesmerizing arc, deflecting the lead bullets with surgical precision.
"Too slow," Lancelot whispered, appearing at the gunslinger's flank.
The gunslinger swung his heavy pistol like a club, but Lancelot stepped back with a dancer's grace, his hoof-beats light on the snow. He lunged, the light blade whistling through the air. The gunslinger barely parried the strike, the heat of the energy blade singeing his sleeve.
He is playing with me. His movements are too clean. There is no waste.
"Your form is stagnant," Lancelot remarked, his voice calm even as he unleashed a flurry of stabs that forced the gunslinger back toward the cliff edge.
The gunslinger snarled, tossing a flash-bomb at Lancelot's hooves. The white light blinded the area for a split second, and the gunslinger used the moment to fire a heavy-caliber round meant for armor.
Lancelot simply tilted his head, the bullet whistling past his ear, and then he was there, his blade pressed against the gunslinger's throat.
The heat was unbearable. The gunslinger could feel the hair on his neck curling.
"You were a fine teacher once. But the world has moved on from men like you."
Suddenly, a swirling vortex of purple and black energy tore open in the air behind the gunslinger.
A portal.
Lancelot paused, his eyes narrowing at the strange magic.
"It seems your ride is here, old man."
The gunslinger didn't wait for a second invitation. He threw himself backward into the swirling void, the cold of the snow replaced instantly by a sickening pressure.
As the portal collapsed, the last thing he saw was Lancelot standing tall in the snow.
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Sissy gathered the ten children into her arms.
She looked back at Crysorgo one last time.
She remembered how he used to carve small wooden toys for her when she first arrived. She remembered him telling her that no matter how deep the abyss was, the sky was still there above them.
You were my sky, she thought.
She forced herself to turn away.
The fire was growing too hot, the base groaning as if it were about to collapse. She kicked off the floor and flew.
She was carrying too much weight, her wings screaming at the strain, but she didn't stop.
She saw the leader wolf standing in the base, but she veered sharply to the left, avoiding his gaze.
She passed over the fields of dead bodies, her eyes squeezed shut so she wouldn't have to see any more familiar faces.
She flew until her lungs felt like they were filled with glass. Finally, she landed in a small, sheltered crevice beneath a massive, protruding rib bone of the mountain.
"Stay here," she said to the children, forcing a small, shaky smile.
"Rest. You are safe now."
The children huddled together too, since they were too exhausted and terrified to do anything. Sissy stepped away, walking toward the edge of the bone. She leaned against the cold white surface, her shoulders shaking.
At first, she tried to be silent. She bit her lip until it bled, trying to hide the sound from the kids.
But then, the weight of it all simply crushed her. She let out broken sob that turned into a full, agonizing wail.
"Why?" she whispered, sliding down the bone until she hit the dirt.
"Why did you leave me? Crysorgo, you were supposed to be the one who knew the way out! I can't do this! I am not a leader! I am nothing!"
She fell onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest.
Her mind was a carousel of ghosts. She saw Cutie's smile, Lukerion's quiet strength, Crysorgo's steady hand, and Koro's fierce loyalty.
In her mind, they were all gone. Just shadows in the smoke.
I have no one now. I am completely alone. I don't know how to survive. I don't even know how to find the next meal for these kids, let alone leave this mountain.
The hopelessness felt heavier than the mountain itself. She squeezed her eyes shut, the tears soaking into the dirt.
Please, she begged, if anyone is listening, help me find an answer. Give me something to hold onto. Tell me what to do.
The wind howled, but no voice answered.
Please. Show me the way. I can't be the heart of anything if I'm broken.
Still, there was only the cold.
Please... just give me an answer.
Then, she drifted into a shallow, fitful sleep.
When she opened her eyes again, the light had shifted.
It had been hours. The air was colder now, the silence of the abyss pressing in on her from all sides.
I'm still here. And I'm still alone. This is it. This is how I die. Just another leftover forgotten in the ribs of the world.
A fresh wave of tears started to well up, but then, she felt something.
A touch. It was a firm, grounding pressure on her shoulder, the touch of a creature that knew pain just as well as she did.
Sissy froze. Her breath hitched. She slowly turned her head.
Standing there was a Pale-Mantle Manul.
He looked different.
His eyes were sharper, his stance was more certain, and the air around him felt heavy with a power she didn't recognize.
But those eyes... she knew those eyes.
He came back.
He actually came back from the hole.
She felt a spark of something she thought had burned out forever. It wasn't just a friend. It was the answer she had been begging for.
"Lemony," she whispered.
Lemony Xaphan Pamon had been her answer all along.