ZAN'S HEART JOLTED as though a bolt of lightning-based magic had struck his body!

  "Fae activity? Where?!" he asked, his eyes scanning the room ahead but seeing nothing.

  They cautiously entered the room. His eyes peeled; he expected trouble with every step. What was different about the room, he asked himself. "It looks green?" was his answer.

  Screen Master's MAC voice pinged in his ears as a System notification came up: [Fae Creature: 'Fatal Graze' detected: Fatal Graze is a 'Slow Killing,' Fae Assemblage. It is a fungal growth drawn to potent sources of magic. It enraptures its targets, keeping them docile as it slowly drains its victim's life energy using its growth as a colonizing body].

  "Horrifying," he said, as he latched on to the more potent and vividly green-esque places of the room where this 'Fatal Graze' clearly kept itself.

  He approached the portion of the room with caution. If this creature was going to attempt and 'enrapture' him, he would need all of his mental alacrity to resist and--

  "Zan! Snap out of it -- ZAN!" Jiehong yelled before taking him by the shoulders and shaking him free of his stupor.

  "What... w-what happened?" he said.

  "We nearly lost you for a moment. You became like an undead and walked ahead aimlessly," Whiskey said, going on to explain what happened. "Jiehong was trying to ask you for orders, and you just mumbled something and walked ahead without replying. Simulacrum eventually yelled at Jiehong to act and shake you. Now, we're here."

  "Shet! R-really? I was just thinking about how I had to resist. I was on guard! Did you guys kill it?" he said, asking his friends if he had been robbed of his comeback.

  "No. You were only out for a moment. But a moment's enough, Zan!" Whiskey said, keeping her intensity high.

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  "Yes! I believe it! Whiskey, switch places with Jiehong. I will take lead again but shield my eyes from its core up ahead -- what I am assuming if the core, anyway. Jiehong, keep me in a simple conversation. If I falter, pull me back and shake me. Keep your eyes on my back, okay?"

  "Understood," Jiehong said, doing as told and affixing his gaze to his brother's spine. With Jiehong's right hand tightly holding onto his brother's side, and Whiskey at Jiehong's back, the trio pushed ahead, his gaze stoic as he held his vision to the side while on approach toward the creature.

  One step: Jiehong began the simple conversation. It was to keep their mind focused while the fae creature attempted to enact its nature and colonize them as a host bodies. But not today! Jiehong, thought, his brother thought. "I sure to like the Slipstream," Jiehong said.

  Step: "I know what you mean. It gives us so much!" he replied back, canned, but that was the point. "Focus yourself, Zan!" he shouted at himself as every step brought them closer and closer to danger.

  Another step: "I don't like how it goes away." Jiehong said. Step: "Why can't it just stay around all the time?" Step.

  By now, he was panting. He did not know why, though. His mind raced with thoughts and half-baked schemes to resist the creature's mental impressions. Magic was no good for him, here. No sum of magic could help him maintain his concentration, and therefore, his safety and his life -- or at least none he knew. All he had to keep him safe was his furious mind and it attempted to wrestle down the potent and clinging aromas unleashed by the Fatal Graze, its desperate attempt to claim them and their spiritual life essence as its own.

  Step. Step. Step: "Faster, now!" he told himself. To Jiehong, he replied, "I would like it to be around all the time. Then, we could work at night! How awesome that would be!"

  "I don't know about that," Jiehong said, mockingly. Step.

  One final step and Zan gasped out to the Screen Master, "How do we kill it?"

  MAC replied, "Fire is its weakness. A simple fire--"

  Not waiting to hear the end of MAC's reply, he immediately conjured a simple ball within his clawed-up hand. Stealing a final glance in its direction, a risky glance, but one he felt he could get away with since the flame he conjured surely had to give the fae reason to fear him and therefore break its own concentration, his gaze was successful. He found where its position was -- oozing out from some crack in the wall -- and lobbed his tongue of flame in the general direction of the wall.

  Instantly, the atmosphere changed. With the creature's body hit by the fire, a shrill sound, not unlike steam escaping from a kettle, briefly filled the room. Then, only a small burnt-smelling wisp remained in what had once been a goosy-gooey, overflowing, fungal hole.