[28:17:55]

  It shouldn’t have been surprising that after brutally murdering and resurrecting one of their own, the jackalope horde would send out warriors to get revenge. Yet finding their warriors proved almost too easy—they stalked the eastern woods just kilometers away, moving with none of Flint’s former stealth.

  Buck and Flint moved like shadows between the pines, their boots finding silent purchase on the needle-strewn ground. Mr. Seeker’s bloody eyes pulsed as he scouted, the Minion’s vision revealing patterns in the jackalopes’ movements.

  The warriors moved in rigid even-numbered groups—pairs, quartets, sometimes even sextets—following set paths with mechanical precision. Clearly, they didn’t know where they were going, that they were searching for something. That they were looking for him.

  Their patrol routes formed perfect geometric patterns as if drawn by some unseen dungeon master. If Buck hadn’t known any better, he’d have assumed they were not unlike NPCs in a video game. Stuck on a path, unable to leave it due to their programming.

  But what fascinated Buck most was their fear.

  These weren’t the fearless barbarians their scars and trophies suggested. Their ears twitched at every rustle, hands flexing on tomahawk handles wrapped in coyote fur and adorned with heron feathers. Their eyes flitted back and forth, jumping at even the slightest sound. It was fascinating to watch. One massive brute—his armor studded with what looked like rat teeth—yelped when a pinecone fell nearby.

  From a distance, he would’ve assumed that if they sighted him, they would charge forward, fearless. Their hulking forms adorned with primal leather armor, their only goal, to annihilate their prey. Were they truly this scared of him? Was the legend of the Whisper so frightening?

  An enemy that was spooked by every snap of a twig, every rustle of an insect through a bush, every creepy laugh from those weird squirrel things? This was exactly what Buck needed.

  “Flint,” Buck whispered, “they’re terrified.”

  The Revenant’s nostrils flared. “The Whisper walks these woods now.” His claws tightened around their grotesque rope—fifty rat tails braided into a squishy, still-bleeding snare. The hangman’s knot dripped onto Buck’s shoes from where they had tested it on a rat earlier.

  Gods, it was so squishy.

  But it also served a purpose. They were going to capture a jackalope. It wasn’t a perfect plan. Hells, Flint had come up with it. But who was Buck to deny his undead bodyguard’s passions? Thankfully, Bev found it in her mechanical heart to provide them with a [Skill].

  [Trapping] (Basic - Combat)

  Level 3

  A true hunter uses everything at their disposal. The very environment is your weapon. Be it for food or for devastation. Trapping is a useful tool to add to your arsenal. Just don’t trap something you can’t handle! Don’t want you stumbling upon some Mythic Creature of Legend that fell down a hole you dug. That would be bad for everyone. Especially you. Cause you’d be dead.

  As with the other skills, it provided them with invaluable insight into the design of their traps. Each Level increase brought new revelations— the precise tension needed in the rat-tail ropes, the optimal angle for Flint’s leverage, and how to artfully scatter pine needles to conceal the noose. It wasn’t perfect, hells, it was downright embarrassing really, but their experience gain had plateaued.

  They needed live practice.

  The pair of jackalopes patrolling the riverbank were perfect candidates. Buck had shadowed them for hours now, herding them toward Flint’s position with all the patience of a spider weaving its web. The Revenant waited behind a towering pine, his massive frame somehow disappearing into the bark’s deep grooves.

  The warriors moved with forced bravado, their half-moon patrol pattern betraying their reluctance. Every twitch of their jackrabbit ears, every furtive glance into the shadows revealed their true nature—they weren’t predators tonight, but prey being pushed beyond their comfort zone.

  Buck activated [Push], sending one of his remaining rat Minions barreling from the underbrush. The creature’s furious chittering and rustling movements were perfectly calculated to provoke—

  The leaner jackalope moved with terrifying speed. Its hand dropped to its side in that familiar motion Buck had learned to dread. Air condensed into a shimmering tomahawk shape, the weapon humming with pent-up energy. Before Buck could react, the wind-blade released with a sound like tearing canvas, bisecting the rat cleanly.

  The pair of jackalopes by the riverbank couldn’t have been more different. The leaner one moved with a runner’s grace, its coarse reddish-brown fur matted with forest debris. Its antelope-like antlers—short, stubby protrusions barely a hand’s length above its head—marked it as clearly distinct from Flint’s massive, elk-like rack with its five and four-point tines. Yet both wore similar leather armor etched with those same mysterious runes in the language of the Gods.

  Buck’s breath caught. Were these different tribes? Genders? Some evolutionary split? The questions vanished as the lean jackalope dismissed her wind-blade and turned toward her companion.

  “Scared of a little rat, Coal?” The thin jackalope said, snorting through its snout. Its voice carried a different cadence than Flint’s—higher pitched, with strange vowel elongations. “The Burned Queen does not look kindly on weaklings”

  Despite being younger and less muscular, the larger companion—clearly of Flint’s variety—straightened defensively. Its deeper voice rumbled, “Do not act as if my fear was unwarranted.” Coal stated, straightening his back. “The Whisper has already taken one of our numbers. It stands to reason he will hunt again.”

  “Hmph. To this day, I wonder why our pairing was destined. Your emotions cloud your judgment. One of these days, I will not be here to protect you.”

  Buck didn’t wait for the conversation to continue. His tried and true method, which worked against the coyotes, proved successful. His fist flashed forward with [Punch], tearing through the jackalope’s ribs in an explosion of crimson. The dying warrior collapsed, revealing Coal standing frozen, his muzzle speckled with his companion’s blood.

  For a heartbeat, the forest held its breath.

  Buck’s attempted battle roar came out more like a teenage boy’s voice crack, but the effect was the same. The already skittish jackalope turned to run, fleeing straight toward Flint’s position.

  This wasn’t going to plan, but the chase was on. Ignoring the gasping breaths of the jackalope beneath him, Buck charged. His boots pounded the earth as he pursued, watching for any sign of that energy buildup.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Flint was prepared. They had looped their rope over a thick branch, leaving the noose on the ground in a simplistic snare trap. The trees were thick here. With the direction that Coal was running, there was no chance he would miss it. Flint only needed to pull with all his strength at the right moment.

  Buck could hear the exasperated breaths. The clumsy bumbling through the underbrush. These creatures really were scared of him. What had he done to cause such a response? It had to have something to do with how they were created. Had the Root implanted some false memory of him? Creating a history that he was their boogyman? It was impossible to know unless he captured this guy.

  Buck chased after him. Using his past experience of running through these woods to keep up with the bounding jackalope. He couldn’t help but feel a rush. He had grown powerful during his time here, almost too powerful. His hunts had become routine. Coyotes, herons, rats- he knew all their tricks and all the ways they would try to kill him. But these jackalopes? They provided a new challenge.

  A pulse of energy washed over him. The Source? No. This was the same feeling when they summoned their axes. He was casting a spell. He couldn’t let that happen. Buck activated [Gray Mist] just as the jackalope turned off the path, fleeing into the dense underbrush.

  Buck’s breath caught in his throat. What was it doing? Turning off the path, he charged toward a section of the forest with the highest density of trees. It would be child’s play for Buck to capture him now. Unless it had some way to escape.

  With a practiced motion, he activated [Step Forward]. Rapidly closing the distance between him and the jackalope. With each flash, he grew closer. Each step propelled him meters forward. The forest around him turned into a blur of browns and greens. But his prey was just too far away. He hadn’t wanted to scare him too much. Now he was paying the price.

  Buck watched as he angled toward a massive pine. At the speed he was running, it looked as if he was going to charge full speed into a tree? It clicked into place. This is how the other jackalope escaped before. The one who had thrown the stone axe. These creatures must have some sort of escape ability. Maybe a movement ability like his [Step Forward]?

  Digging deep into the storm of Source spiraling within him, Buck tried to increase his speed. Pushing all the Source he could into the ability. He felt it accepted the Source. Filling more with each step, the distance increasing. He was going to do it.

  With a final burst, Buck phased through his quarry at the exact moment the jackalope tried to activate its ability. The disrupted energy backfired spectacularly—the jackalope face-planted into the tree trunk with enough force to shake loose a shower of pinecones.

  Flint emerged from the brush, their grotesque rat-tail rope dangling from one clawed hand. Both men started at the unconscious jackalope.

  “Well…” Buck wiped blood from his knuckles, watching the creature's chest rise and fall. “Don’t just stand there. Tie him up before he wakes up.”

  —-

  Coal awoke to a pounding headache that radiated through his skull like wildfire. The Burned Queen’s wrath couldn’t burn hotter than this. What had happened? More importantly, where was he? His last memory flashed before him—his spell activating, his body beginning its transformation into living nature—it should have carried him safely to the PIllar of Voices. He should be back with his brothers and sisters. Safe.

  Instead, muffled voices brought him back. They were soft, distant. They didn’t know he had awoken. This was his chance. It took time to charge up [Verdant Passage], and he needed to see the tree he was casting it on. He would need to run. Put a little distance between him and his captures.

  A pang of doubt racked Coal’s weakened form. Could he do it? Could he truly escape the Whisper? Gods. It had moved so fast. Coal had watched how each of its steps propelled it forward, leaving behind disfigured afterimages of pure gray mist. There had been nothing he could do but accept his fate. What could he do now?

  He had to try. It was his duty to his tribe. The Children of the Howling Moon could not lose any more warriors. The Whisper was the only enemy to defeat.

  Coal went to move, but was surprised to feel his body restrained. Restrained by some strange rope that was both hard and soft at the same time. What kind of infernal contraption was this demon using?

  “Hey. Uh…jackalope guy.” The voice was like grinding stones to Coal’s sensitive ears. “Shit, what did the other one say your name was? Coal? We can see you squirming around there. You’re clearly awake”

  Coal’s eyes flew open to behold his nightmare-given flesh. The Whisper of Death, it loomed over him—that hairless, pallid demon whose very existence defied the Root’s natural order. It was as if the Eidolon itself had spit out some failed experimentation.

  Sunlight glinted off its sickly white skin, highlighting the dried blood encrusting its arms like perverse war paint. There was something about it, an aura almost, that radiated off of it. This creature had faced death and laughed in its face. He knew in his heart that he could never face this beast.

  The pounding in his chest only quickened as Coal focussed on the blood. Quill’s blood. Coal’s stomach dropped. The realization struck like a tomahawk blow. His pairing bond was severed. His warrior sibling was slain. The ultimate shame burned hotter than his headache.

  “Do with me as you wish, Whisper.” Coal rasped, throat as dry as when he first summoned his flames. “The Children of the Howling Moon will not have me now.”

  The abomination had the audacity to look…apologetic? “We just wanted to ask some questions.”

  “Questions?” Coal’s laugh came out as a wheeze. All this time, being the apex predator of the Ancestral Valley must have truly gone to its head. “You’re wonton slaughter has not gone unnoticed foul beast. You may have my body for whatever foul rituals you wish to enact, but I will tell you nothing of my people.”

  Coal felt a smile spread across his face. His death would be witnessed. He may have failed his pairing, but his spirit would be returned to the Root. His Source would not be wasted on this demon.

  His gaze darted to the monstrous figure emerging from the trees—a once proud jackalope now reduced to a shambling corpse. Gods, what had he done to his brethren? His once majestic fur now stained the color of grave moss, eyes burning with the foul green stench of death.

  [Citizen Flint]

  - Level 8 -

  They’d named the abomination after their fallen brother. The blasphemy stole Coal’s breath.

  “What have you done, Whisper!” Spittle flying from Coal’s muzzle. “You dare defy the will of the Burned Queen! Using our bodies as your playthings! When she returns, you will beg for your life. This valley you call your home will tremble beneath her might. Your pitiful form will be nothing beneath her majesty! The tribes will finally be united, and you will be on your knees…”

  Flint’s fist connected with Coal’s jaw with the force of a falling star. The world dissolved into spinning fractals of pain. The strength. The Whisper had done something to his tribesman. Mutated his strength to match his own. It was confirmed when the creature spoke.

  “I apologize, Master.” The undead jackalope said, his voice deep, tinged with something unholy. “He was rambling.”

  “It’s ok, Flint.” The Whisper responded. “Don’t hurt him anymore, though. He may be raving like some religious nut, but he’s still our best option to learn what the hell is going on.”

  Coal coughed, trying to unscramble his head. “You dare name him that? After what you did to his body? Our Warchief told the truth. You are an abomination! You must be killed.”

  “Hey, listen man.” The Whisper continued, his voice desperate now. “I didn’t give him that name. He picked it himself. And I don’t know who your Warchief is or what they said about me, but you probably know more about what’s happening than me. Every living thing in this forest has tried to kill me on sight. Your people included. I was just sitting at home, enjoying a nice juicy raspberry, when this guy came running out of the woods with a flaming axe and nearly killed my friend.”

  “Master,” Flint said, falling to one knee. “I did not try to kill you. If I did something to offend you, I will be punished.”

  “Flint,” The Whisper said, flinging its pale arms up as it turned its back to Coal. “It wasn’t you-you who did it, it was the old you. I’ve explained this to you. Also, I told you we were just gonna talk to this guy. If our plan had worked, he’d just be hanging upside down, and we coulda talked without hurting him at all. Why did you go and punch him in the face?”

  Flint. This creature claims that he named himself? Lies. All of this was lies. He was trying to turn him. Trying to convince him that he had somehow broken the system. The Root was absolute. Its laws are written on the very fabric of the universe. Its power, omnipotent.

  Coal focused on the mana trickling into his [Verdant Passage]. The fools hadn’t gagged him—hadn’t realized a jackalope warrior’s magic flowed through breath and blood alike. As the Whisper prattled on about raspberries and misunderstandings, Coal felt the ancient pine at his back begin to hum in resonance.

  The spell clicked home.

  Bark patterns bloomed across Coal’s skin as his molecules unraveled into the tree’s essence. The last thing he heard was the Whisper’s startled curse before the forest swallowed him whole.