Alchimia Rex

Rick opened his eyes to the night sky and let out a pained sigh that was followed by a coughing fit as pain blossomed all across his chest. He wasn’t restrained, but he could barely move. Everything burned and ached and felt as if his body was trying to tear itself from the inside.

He groaned, recognizing the symptoms of his body having been exposed to too much elemental energy. The good news was that he was conscious, meaning it had not reached a point where it was lethal. Though the dizziness, headache, and inability to focus his gaze did not bode well.

Trying to sit up was fruitless; he was far too weak to even gather the strength to do that much.

Closing his eyes, Rick focused on his breathing.

An elemental energy overdose had only three paths it could take. Either it killed him, someone sucked the energy out, or his body naturally processed it until it returned to a stable state. Rick focused on that last option, ignoring the world around him, focusing on the tingling burning sensation coursing through his veins.

Every breath he let out was hot enough it almost burned his lips. Every breath he sucked in was cold and soothing, reaching down his throat and pooling in his gut.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Hold.

Breathe in.

The cycle slowed down with every iteration. Rick’s first exhalation took ten beats of his heart. The second took eleven. The third took twelve. Bit by bit he forced his body to relax, sweat drenching his clothes as he struggled against his own body’s need for air. Time became meaningless. The task of keeping his breathing even and calm pushed out all other thoughts, all other feelings and considerations. Only the focus to sustain his breathing remained, counting down.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Hold.

Inhale.

With time, the burning running through his veins was reduced to simmering embers, his body flush and drenched, but finally with room for thought. The weakness from before had become more extreme, yet different. It was no longer the burn of muscles too hot to work but of harsh exertion. It reminded him of the training and weight-lifting sessions with Urtha, the deep burn of a workout.

Opening his eyes again, he saw the first signs of orange dawn in the sky overhead.

Very slowly and carefully, he rose to his feet to look around. He was in a… forest? The edge of one. It wasn’t like the forest near Sinco; the trees were shorter, with frond canopies. There were signs of a fire having passed through the area not that long ago, charred trunks and blackened splotches of land were mixed in with green shrubbery.

And more importantly: not a single trace of anyone else.

No footprints, no tents, no supplies, nothing.

Rick knew he couldn’t be alone, but then again, what was the point of not being tied down? With one last look to his surroundings, he focused inward, to the bonds. There was no one nearby. All he got was a vague sense of direction towards what he figured had to be Sinco since it was where all the bonds pointed at… all but one. Eva’s pointed to the exact opposite direction.

His brow furrowed. They were alive, but he couldn’t understand how or why he’d be in between Eva and Sinco, with either direction being so far away. Yet right now was not the time to ponder these things, not with so little to go off of.

But before he started moving… he focused. It took but a minute to draw out that feeling of “how would Monica see things? What would she do?” Like slipping on a warm jacket on a cold night, he gazed upon the trees anew. Where would Monica hide? If Rick were her prisoner, what would she do? The answer came in immediately: hunt. The captors were almost assuredly out hunting for food, leaving Rick behind with the impression that he would never be able to run away. Or at least, that would’ve been Monica’s decision under the current circumstances, why else leave a prized prisoner alone?

Taking a deep breath, Rick proceeded to remove the torn pieces of his armor, noting the deformed scar-tissue. Dia would’ve done a better job, he thought, though grimaced at the memory of what had transpired right before his kidnapping.

Lips thinning, he glared. Third time. This was the third damn time he’d been kidnapped. Everyone wanted a piece of him; they saw him as a token, a prize. It was infuriating, to be seen as just a valuable piece to be tossed around and snatched up.

Time and again.

Removing the torn armor, he allowed the “Monica” in him to guide his hands. Actions that were devoid of reason until he stopped to think. First strip whatever had the strongest traces of scent and blood. Second, lather himself in dirt, mask his scent with what was available locally. Then… he started walking, but his steps did not feel normal, his bare feet practically tip-toeing as he moved forward. Uncomfortable, but he’d long since gotten used to bad footwear, his feet calloused from so much walking. And more importantly, it was quieter than with the boots.

The direction he took was not directly towards Sinco but tangentially. And as he walked, he focused. The “what would Monica do” question was strong, clear, and had ideas. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was not the only perspective.

It was still a very odd feeling, to have instincts that weren’t his own. It wasn’t as if what he was getting out of it was information. Trying to “think like Raphaella” didn’t make him any more capable of figuring out some way to design enchantments. No, it was a shift in perspective, in seeing the world around him in a different angle.

Monica focused on scents above all else, trying to figure out the places where the scents would linger longest. Raphaella was on sight, seeking places that might prove an effective hidey-hole to escape some predator’s gaze. Urtha’s focus was on the layout of his surroundings, of how each tree and bush and stump could prove an obstacle during a fight. Dia’s perspective looked at the forest through the hazards that were present: were those mushrooms poisonous? Would those thorns tear through his pants? And Eva… much to Rick’s surprise, was not out of her element. The Vampire’s instincts were more strongly predatorial, seeking out any traces of blood.

He kept cycling through each perspective as he progressed through the forest. He knew that he wouldn’t make it too far. It wouldn’t be long before Throag and whoever else was with her came back from their hunt. At that point they’d hunt him down.

No, his goal was to make them waste time.

So with nothing but an aching body that was probably dehydrated, he pushed onward.

Throag’s fur tingled with a mix of anticipation and frustration. She moved through the shadows of the Burnt Swamp with considerable caution. Her claw throbbed in red-hot pain that shot up her arm, numbing it for a split second. Gritting her teeth, she glared at the malformed fingers.

Whatever that healer had done to her, it refused to mend properly. Her claw had been nearly entirely rendered useless, pain throbbing sporadically as if to remind her of the battle once more. She tried to focus on the task ahead, but her patience was wearing thin, as was her concentration.

They’d known that crossing the Burnt Swamp in such numbers would cause the watchers to stir from their guideposts. The other clans had no doubt caught wind of Mother’s movements; moving everyone in such a way was too blatant.

Now everyone was starting to head out in search of them.

Normally, they would’ve been able to slip through, unnoticed, unperturbed. As vigilant as the watchers were, they posed no threat against a whole clan. Similarly, no clan would risk a challenge against them, not when either Mother or Throag could pounce on them in turn.

But these were not normal circumstances. Mother and one of Throag’s nieces had been exposed to a stench that refused to go away. So pungent and potent it was that a human could’ve pinpointed their location a day’s march away downwind. Now the clan was forced to use their most dangerous fighter as a lure rather than the ever-present hidden threat.

Their opportunity to slip through would be far narrower, doubly so with the bounty of humans they’d brought along. There would be less room for error, and-

“Where is he?”

She came to a stop, looked around the clearing, sending out a pulse of annoyance.

“Hm?” One of her sisters emerged from the shadows, yawning and stretching. “He’s right… oh.” The Tigress’ tail lashed in annoyance, but Throag could smell the apprehension as she remained near the shadow of the tree, but the smirk was all too familiar. “Must’ve run off while I napped.”

This was revenge of some sort, over any one of the tiny perceived slights the clan-sister had endured. “You let him leave.” The Sabertooth spoke flatly.

“Not my fault you left your prey to go play with the watchers.” She easily replied with a shrug. “He couldn’t have gone that far; he was half-dead last I checked.”

Claws throbbing, Throag’s fangs tightened. For once, the Sabertooth wished she could just do as the dumb humans did and “pull rank” on the maiden. To claim she was superior, stronger, and thus, in charge. But they both knew that would be fruitless, that was not how the clans worked. Those of the clan were there by choice, and any who sought to impose their might over another would quickly find their clan empty and those of their enemies fat with new members.

“If a feral eats him, Mother will not be happy.”

“And the whole of the deadlands will smell her coming.” The Tigress chuckled.

The Sabertooth scoffed at the immature feline who did not know to look beyond herself. Even now, there were too many of the clan who’d only come because of the prospect of snatching some “fancy” city humans. They cared not for the broader issues that assaulted them. As long as they could hunt, fight, and have strong offspring, little else concerned them. If not for Mother’s wisdom in seeing the bigger picture and the machinations of the blood-suckers, they would’ve long since been enslaved or eradicated.

Throag had witnessed other clans falling to such fates from her time working alongside the blood-suckers as an “insider” to learn more of their ways.

“I will find him, then.” She stomped off; trying to engage with the young-one would only result in needless delays. “Be ready to move when I get back… unless you’d rather get through the watchers on your own.”

Ignoring the Tigress and turning to her prey, Throag took in the scents and began to follow it, half-certain she’d stumble on to the stupid, weird human in the next hour or two. Not the first time going after a runaway stumbling blindly through the wilderness.

Or at least that was what she thought, until she found that the trail she’d been following led to a hole under a tree with just a piece of bloodied cloth in it. She let out an annoyed huff, rolling her eyes. Of course. The human had been living with a Sabertooth, so he’d know how to protect himself a little.

Backing up and finding the true trail, she started to pay closer attention to more than just the scent. There were tracks to be followed, and he’d been busy doubling back a lot more than she would’ve thought. Twice she’d thought she’d found him, only to discover some feral gnawing on bits of leather armor stained with fresh blood.

Twice more she found the tracks coming to a complete stop, and needing to double back, only to realize that he’d clambered up a tree and hopped off further ahead.

What should’ve been a quick hunt was starting to become annoying. Throag knew better than dawdle, but at the same time, she refused to get serious. It was a human! The weirdest human she’d met, but still a human. Weak, frail, and entirely unable to get away.

Yet as the day reached noon and the number of fake leads had not dwindled any, Throag reached out with her power into the shadows. No longer did she seek her quarry through smell and sight alone, but through the very darkness of the forest. The Sabertooth knew he couldn’t be too far off; the scents were fresh, the blood “bait” sometimes still slightly wet.

Moving a bit more slowly, she looked at the forest not through her eyes but through her powers. Every shade and every dark little corner granting her a tiny spot to sense her surroundings further and further out.

Ears twitching at every sound, at every disturbance, she filtered out the rustling of leaves and other sounds.

There were a few feral Doggirls skulking around, foraging for food a bit north of her direction. Another handful of ferals south, sleeping away between the roots of a tree. Boar piglets hiding in bushes, waiting for some flying maidens to pass by, and… nothing.

Nothing.

Thoag’s hackles rose alongside an edge of panic.

Someone had picked up the human; there was no other way to explain how she couldn’t find him. If it was one of the watchers, then things could get complicated. The apprehension of calling for help was gone, turning back towards her clan-sister. She’d have to bribe the cat to help her, but she couldn’t allow this situation to escalate. Not while Mother was preoccupied with leading every hunter in the continent on a merry chase.

She ran back towards the clearing, jumping through shadows, senses already stretched out thin in search of possible threats. If a watcher had taken the human, then surely there would be others preparing for an ambush.

“Hello.”

Throag leapt out, claws throbbing and ready.

But there was no ambush, no attack, no maidens.

Just the human, Rick, sitting against a tree.

He looked up at her, short of breath, drenched in sweat, and eyes that twinkled with a mix between annoyance and amusement.

“Took you long enough.” He proclaimed in between heavy breaths. “I’m starving.”