Vigor Mortis

“What do you mean there’s nothing in front of us?” Baldreg asks.

“How is that ambiguous?” Ivan drawls back. “There’s nothing in front of us. No movement. Some wind and that’s it.”

“Nothing triggers my danger sense in that direction either,” Fulvia confirms. “It’s as blank as good farmland.”

“What the actual fuck?” Baldreg swears quietly. “Does anybody here know what that means?”

“I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a fungus plague,” Ivan insists. “Spore canisters. We’re gonna walk in there, inhale something bad, and then fucking die.”

“Well, that’s what we have Claretta for,” Baldreg answers. “Claretta?”

All eyes swing my way. I shrug.

“You’re all as fungicidal as I can make you,” I insist for probably the fifth time. “I still haven't detected a hint of it, but at this point I hope it’s spores. We’re best equipped for that, since Ivan never shuts up about it.”

Ivan flips me a nasty hand sign and I smirk back at him. As the team’s biomancer, I’ve saved their lives several dozen times and they know better than to backsass me too much.

Baldreg heads in first, the team’s defender and leader. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a face entirely hidden by a bushy black beard, the dual-talented bastard can move crazy fast and shrug off blows that would kill anyone else. He excels at drawing attention or moving to back the rest of us up wherever he’s needed. Ivan and Fulvia both scout, with Ivan working as our main long-range offense in combat with his kneticism and Fulvia just using her massive goddamn mace. She tends to mostly be a distraction against smaller, quicker enemies, but holy shit there’s no one better when a big motherfucker starts charging at you from between the trees. Ivan’s always been the runt of the group, pale, thin, and even shorter than I am. While Fulvia isn’t much taller, we don’t tell her that to her face. Her insane strength is all talent-based, letting her crush things far larger than her thin frame would imply. I’m actually almost as tall as Baldreg, sporting short-cropped blonde hair and a freckled face that other people seem to like a lot more than I do. All of us wear light armor except Fulvia, who’s strong enough to wear full chitin plate without getting slowed down.

We’re all hunters, naturally, sent to investigate the drop zone of those black orbs Hiverock dumped on us. Slowly we follow Ivan in, the forest eerily silent around us as we make our way towards the center of whatever is causing this disturbance. Magic enchantments on my allies keep me constantly aware of changes to their health, which should alert me instantly if some amount of toxin or contaminant is introduced… at least in theory. The plants around here seem unaffected by whatever caused this utter lack of animal life, the slight rustle of wind flowing through the top branches being the only sound other than our own footsteps.

“I see something,” Baldreg whispers.

“I still feel nothing,” Ivan answers.

“Same,” Fulvia confirms.

“Could be a corpse, then. Let’s check it out.”

We approach cautiously, Ivan firing a pellet into the creature’s head to no reaction. Sure enough, a corpse is exactly what it is. An inky black creature the likes of which I’ve never seen lies dead on the forest floor, with two bladed forelimbs and two raptor-like hindlimbs. Its mouth hangs open, with even its sharp, curved teeth and tongue the same pitch-dark color as the rest of its body. Yet perhaps most notably…

“Why wasn’t the corpse eaten?” I wonder, prompting a few nods from my teammates.

The monster was bitten in quite a few places, having most likely died of blood loss. But whatever bit it to death didn’t eat it afterwards. Why? Why kill it and just leave it here?

“Maybe it’s poisonous?” Ivan ponders.

“If it’s bad enough to ward off creatures from the area we’d see other corpses around it,” Fulvia insists.

“Do we burn it?” I ask, turning to Baldreg.

He shakes his head.

“No, it would have risen by now if it was going to. I don’t want to risk toxic smoke, either.”

We nod in agreement, getting back in formation to move out. More and more black creature corpses litter the ground as we get closer to the center of the dead zone, though each looks different from the last. Some have four limbs, some have six or eight. Most are chitin-covered, though many have fur or just night-like skin. These dark creatures are far from the only corpses around, too; countless dead monsters of known varieties are strewn about, each having been injured just enough to die, then left to rot.

I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. The whole team is aware that stomping head-first into an unknown situation this deep into the forest will likely be the death of us. Yet that is exactly what we’re here to do. We’re hunters.

We walk into an unexpected clearing, or at least what will be a clearing for the short time before the forest reclaims it. A devastating scene of destruction lies around us, trees smashed and toppled, corpses strewn everywhere. Most notably, in the center of it all are the remains of the black ovoids dropped by Hiverock. Each one is broken, either from the fall… or from within.

“Eggs,” I hiss. “Fulvia wins the bet.”

“Fuck yeah I do,” she murmurs. “But also: shit.”

“Hey, at least it’s not spores,” Ivan comments wryly.

Baldreg thinks for a while, examining the haphazard pyramid of dropped eggs formed from the fall. The black creatures definitely hatched from them, many corpses hanging limply from partially-shattered shells as they burst on impact. The sheer number here is massive, creating a towering structure of loosely stacked ovoids. Hundreds, if not thousands of these creatures must have been released into the surrounding forest, slaughtering everything in their path.

“We’re going to cut towards Vaiala,” Baldreg decides. “It’s the closest decently-sized town. If these monsters are going to be a problem, they’ll need to know first.”

We nod in confirmation, setting back out on high alert. The dead zone seems to hold no further surprises for us, and it’s almost with trepidation that we leave it, heading aftward. From there, it’s the usual slog, avoiding confrontation as we trek through the deadly forest.

The first time we encounter a living specimen of the black creatures, the fight is surprisingly straightforward. Large and ravenous, a massive centipede-like monster rushes directly at us, lacking any apparent thought or subtlety. Baldreg holds it back as Fulvia makes quick work of it. It’s just like any other monster, it seems.

We continue on, easily dispatching most of the creatures we encounter… but taking care to avoid anything that makes either of our two scouts nervous. Each and every inky black beast we stumble on seems ravenously aggressive, barreling towards us on first detection with no thought of self-defense or caution. We try to keep clear of all such creatures; though there are far fewer things roaming the forest than we’re used to, the number of remaining monsters that Fulvia insists are out of our weight class is abnormally high. Still, we press on, managing to avoid major dangers, at least for now.

“Hold up,” Ivan suddenly whispers, causing us to freeze. “I feel nestweaver threads.”

Fulvia scowls.

“I don’t feel anything that could be nestweavers, though.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Ivan agrees. “But I’m feeling a lot of threads. Like there was a broodmother here or something.”

Fulvia and Ivan working in tandem has always been a dream team for our ability to scout threats. Fulvia uses a classic danger sense, but Ivan uses kineticism to feel for movement. While he generally lacks the ability to pick up on fine details, nestweaver threads were a priority to learn the air patterns for, and he learned them well.

Nestweaver, naturally, is just the official term for one of the many kinds of giant fucking spiders. While most of them don’t grow beyond my knees, certain kinds of nestweavers can get enormous, and broodmothers can be a city-destroying threat. I don’t groan out loud, but we all know those awful words are coming…

“We’ll have to go check it out,” Baldreg sighs. “Point the way, Ivan.”

He does, and our course changes slightly as Ivan points out hidden threads or simply cuts them down with magic. As we travel, the nestweaver presence becomes more and more obvious, with huge thread-made structures lining the trees that give the creatures their name.

Soon, though, we start seeing the corpses.

“It’s like the dead zone,” Baldreg murmurs.

“It’s worse than the dead zone,” I answer.

Laid out before us, many creatures are trapped in webs, all dead. All of them have had their limbs bitten off in a startling display of inefficiency, like some monster was trying to keep them alive as long as possible while it tormented them, leaving the corpses to attract more prey into traps once the victims finally died. I share this opinion with the team, to their distress.

“Are you sure, Claretta?” Baldreg insists. “If that’s true, we’re dealing with something that has a degree of intelligence.”

“I don’t see any other reason the creature would eat the limbs first. Most of a body’s nutrients are going to be in the organs. The wounds are definitely from bites though, and the lack of limbs strewn around implies they’re being swallowed…”

“Back in the killzone, the bites were all over the place,” Ivan comments. “Here, they’re just on limbs. What the fuck is happening?”

“Shut up,” Fulvia snaps. “Something’s coming. Mid-weak.”

We tense, getting ready to strike. Slowly, one of the black creatures pokes out from behind a tree, peering curiously. This one has six legs, yet attached to a more mammal-like torso about the size of a child’s. Its four front legs taper into points, while its back two are thick, with coiled muscles that seem specialized for jumping.

The creature tilts its head at us, and after we briefly stare each other down it turns and retreats back into the forest.

“Where’s it going?” Baldreg asks.

“Circling,” Ivan mutters back.

“Shoot it,” Baldreg orders.

Ivan does exactly that, pulling a pellet from his pouch and firing it somewhere in the underbrush beyond where I can see.

“I got a glancing hit. It’s running off.”

“Good,” Baldreg nods. “Let’s keep going.”

We continue making slow progress, bit by bit, until Fulvia suddenly calls out.

“Two incoming fast! One’s way too strong!”

“Shit!” Baldreg curses. “Retreat!”

Fulvia points a direction and we hoof it fast that way, but she immediately starts swearing again.

“Still incoming! Turning to follow us!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! About face, intercept!”

I sprint past Baldreg as we rapidly reverse formation, turning around just in time to see the little shit we shot at just a few minutes ago rushing at us with an absolutely massive creature snapping at it from behind. Though the small monster’s head and face are more insect-like than human, I swear the damn thing is grinning.

Then it jukes past us, and the big monster hits. It’s another dark one, a lumbering, four-legged beast with two thick, club-like arms. Roaring madly at us, it immediately swaps targets to our team when the little thing runs past us by simple virtue of us being closer. As it swings an arm down, Baldreg steps to the side, giving Fulvia an opening to land a crushing blow while Ivan magically fires more pellets with twice the force of a bow.

I, for my part, start singing. Though I’m a biomancer by trade, the talent I was born with is actually metamancy. I understand the complex flows of magic far more easily when manipulating them with my voice than with my hands, and oftentimes instinctively find myself tweaking the structure of spells as I cast them to vary the effects into more beautiful patterns. I can literally heal people with songs, although personally I prefer the upbeat tune that heightens my team’s reflexes and perceptions.

Bow in hand, I contribute to our gruesome work as my breath flows with music. Although my arrows draw little blood from the exoskeletal beast, I happen to be a damn decent shot. The fight quickly turns in our favor once I nail one of the beast’s eyes.

Just as quickly, it turns out of our favor as the smaller monster leaps from the brush and hamstrings Fulvia with its teeth. She shrieks in pain, dropping to one knee. Ivan and I let loose projectiles in the smaller monster’s direction but fail to land crippling shots, letting the beast rush off once again.

“Shit! Claretta!” Baldreg shouts.

I’m already swapping songs, pounding my chestplate three times to indicate a major injury. The damn little bastard tore a huge chunk out of the back of Flavia’s knee, hitting an artery and severing important muscles. Grabbing her under the armpits I drag her back, only to watch Ivan turn around and barely dodge another attack from the little one.

This is bad, very bad. I have to focus my attention on Fulvia’s leg, though. When we get enough distance I put pressure on the wound and focus my magic in there, coaxing her body to repair the damage as quickly as possible. Ivan and Baldreg are each stuck fighting their respective opponent alone, which is without question a losing battle unless I can get Fulvia back on her feet to finish off the big one.

The little one breaks contact with Ivan, leaping at Baldreg who barely manages to dodge it and the larger monster. Once again, the little one retreats, leaving half of us guessing on where it might strike from next.

The battle carries on this way, and even once I get Fulvia back into the fray she’s exhausted from the strain I put on her body by healing her that quickly. Little by little we wear down the huge beast, but more quickly than that, we ourselves are worn down.

Suddenly, the big one lands a lucky hit, biting off Baldreg’s sword arm and a significant chunk of his shoulder along with it. With horror, I realize I can’t save him from that. He’s going to die, and after him the rest of us will too. Yet at that moment the little one switches sides, biting at the large monster’s back legs! The giant turns its head to kick and Fulvia slams it in the flank, knocking it over. The small monster takes another quick pair of bites before scampering off, Fulvia follows it up with a powerful swing to pulp the larger monster’s head.

“Claretta!” Fulvia roars. “Get Baldreg!”

“He’s dead!” I answer, catching my breath. “Where’s the little one?”

“Still… agh, fuck! Still circling around!” Ivan hisses. “I think it’s making more webs!”

“I thought you said nestweavers made the webs!” Fulvia snaps back.

“Well I thought they— incoming!”

Ivan turns and fires a shot, missing. The small, black-toothed monster lunges at him, taking a hand, a kidney, and scampering off before Fulvia or I can strike back. Ivan bites down a scream of pain, and once again I’m singing as fast as I can to desperately keep him from bleeding out.

“We have to move!” Fulvia insists. “It’s just trapping us!”

Ivan falls unconscious in my arms, but I manage to halt the flow of blood before he dies. Fulvia scoops Ivan onto her back and we run, refusing to give up. Whatever these monsters are, we can’t take them. Well… we could take most of them. Just not this one. There’s no doubt in my mind it lured the large one on purpose, using it against us. And now, with our group’s leader dead and our primary scout down, we don’t have anyone that can spot and deal with the nestweaver threads…!

Just as I feared, I run headlong into a web. Damnit, but what are we supposed to do!? If we had been slower, more careful, we would have just been eaten alive. I’m trapped now, though, and it’s over. Fulvia tries to free me only to get caught herself. The nestweaver webs tangle us, and in an instant the black-toothed monster is on top of us, layering thicker strands from its forelimbs and binding us up. I stare with horror as it begins to feast, starting with Fulvia’s foot. Despite its small size, it chomps through bone in a single bite.

Lying bound on my back and waiting for my team to die, I do the only thing I can do. I sing. It’s not a magical song, just an old favorite. I’ve always loved my talent, having blessed me with the kind of voice I need to make good use of it. I sing a song about a lark, a lone bird flying between the islands. Fulvia screams, and I close my eyes to sing louder, tears streaming down my cheekbones. What else is there to do?

Suddenly, there’s a pressure on my belly. Opening my eyes, I stare face-to-face with that grinning, ruthless monster, its black teeth stained red.

“Done with the others so soon, are you?” I ask it.

It tilts its head, naturally not understanding the words at all. Yet to my surprise, I hear a groan from Fulvia’s direction. She’s alive! I start singing again, this time a song of healing. The monster just sits on my belly, watching and listening. We’re almost certainly going to die, but we’re hunters, damnit! I’m not going to just roll over and let it happen! If this thing is full, we might have another chance!

Her left leg is completely gone, though. I have magic to restore limbs, but it will take days of treatment. That wretched, six-limbed beast just lounges like a cat on top of me, watching with slow-blinking eyes as Fulvia’s bleeding ebbs and stops. Then it walks off my stomach and bites off my arm.

All I can do is keep singing.