“As for the rest of you, you’re doing great. Continue on.”
***
Devon crept through the forest, following the signs of Greel’s passage. He’d been clever, pushing aside brush rather than breaking it and jumping from root to root to avoid creating a packed trail near the encampment. But after maybe five minutes of walking, not only had Devon increased her Tracking skill to 4, but she’d also stepped out onto something of a well-used trail. She crouched down and examined the earth, trying to determine whether there were footprints made by more than one person, but even with her Darkvision, which had reached 10—tier 2!—she couldn’t yet make out anything but trampled soil.
She loosened her machete in its sheath and crept forward, ears perked for sounds from the night. Now that she was away from the encampment, the birdsong had grown louder, and animals—no doubt, many of them snakes—rustled in the undergrowth. The air smelled like the garden section of a home improvement store. Cool against her skin, it was comfortable, but she sensed it would feel cold if she stopped moving for very long.
She reached a section of trail where the area of packed earth grew from just a couple paces across to around five feet. The trail narrowed again on the other side, leaving no real explanation for the opening. She carefully searched the edges of the small clearing, but spotted nothing, until…
There it was. A bundle had been stashed beneath a cluster of large leaves. Greel kept a bedroll and a rucksack out here. She pawed through the rucksack hoping for weapons, but it held nothing but rations and spare clothing. Too bad. She shoved everything back under the foliage and continued on.
A couple minutes later, a low growl rose from the jungle beside her.
Devon leaped back and yanked her blade from the sheath. She held the machete before her face, dropped into a combat crouch, and searched the darkness beyond the trail.
Brush exploded into motion as a massive creature jumped out, claws bared and glinting, a roar rumbling in its throat. It landed on the trail, dagger-like fangs glistening in the faint light. The sabertoothed cat’s eyes shone in the darkness. Its tail flicked back and forth, rattling the foliage as it crouched before her.
Shit.
“Nice… kitty?” She said, noticing just then that scales rather than fur covered the beast. So technically not a cat after all. It responded with a growl and swiped at her. Claws glanced off her vest.
“All right, then. We don’t need to be friends.”
The sabertoothed cat-lizard-thing was at least four times her size. Devon looked down at her machete and shook her head. This wasn’t going to be easy. She circled around to get her body onto the open trail where she could move. As she did, the faint moonlight painted her shadow on the packed earth.
Right! Shadow Puppet. Time to see what the ability could do.
She focused on her shadow and willed it to elongate. Almost as if flexing another limb, she felt the darkness move in response. The shadow stretched out long, extending beneath the sabertoothed beast, and—defying the laws of physics—stood up tall on the far side of the monster.
Unfortunately, the sabertooth didn’t seem to notice. Its tail swished as it crouched to pounce.
Devon raised her blade and got ready to dodge. She gritted her teeth and stared at the shadow, willing the beast to take notice.
And, as if responding to her desire, the shadow leaped forward. She felt its motion as an extension of her body, as if someone had taken hold of her arm and moved it for her. Her shadow-self stomped on the sabertooth’s tail.
To Devon’s abundant shock, the beast growled and spun, swatting at the shadow. Claws slashed across darkness, and distantly, Devon felt her shadow wither. Energy began to leak from the casting. This wasn’t going to last.
Indecision froze her in her tracks. Should she use the distraction and try, despite her better instincts, to take the beast down? Or should she run while she had the chance?
Devon had never gained a lot by running.
With a shout, she jumped forward and landed astraddle the scaled beast. A memory flashed to life, of riding on the bog serpent’s head in what felt like another lifetime, Owen calling her a cowgirl. The sabertooth bucked and writhed, reptilian yowls rising from its throat as it struggled to dislodge her. The machete glanced off scales, unable to penetrate. Devon grabbed a finely scaled ear, held it tightly with one hand and sliced through it. The creature roared.
Her shadow looked at her and shrugged as if to ask what the hell that was supposed to do.
“If you have a better idea…” she muttered.
But by the time she finished the sentence, her shadow dissolved, all power having leaked from the casting. She glanced at her mana. The added Cunning from her vest had increased her pool to 40, though just 20 remained now. She cast Shadow Puppet again, forcing her awareness to embrace both her shadow-self and her wildly-tossed body. Her shadow jumped forward and grabbed hold of the sabertoothed-thing’s hind leg, weighing the beast down, though not by much.
The beast snarled and reared and almost threw her. She clung with all her strength. It wasn’t going to be enough.
Think, Devon.
As soon as she got the idea to distract the sabertoothed-thing with something like a globe of darkness, her shadow rushed forward and enveloped the beast’s head. It stuffed arms down the monster’s nostrils, and when the beast opened its mouth, the shadow shoved in a leg. Devon cringed. Not exactly what she’d imagined, but it seemed to be working. Now blind and suffocating, the monster thrashed, bolted, and rammed headfirst into a tree. It slumped over, dazed, and stopped flailing long enough for Devon to take aim at its throat. She slashed with the machete, slipping it between the scales and into the soft flesh beneath. The sabertooth gave a rattling cough then went still.
You have gained a special attribute point: +1 Bravery.
You have gained a special attribute point: +1 Cunning.
You have gained mastery in Shadow Puppet - Tier 1: 10%.
Breathing heavily, Devon stood. Her shadow stood with her, no longer acting, but merely following her moves. Ever so slowly, it curled down to lie flat against the earth, melting away into the ordinary darkness cast by the moonlight and her body. Swallowing, Devon crouched and began skinning the beast to activate looting. The monster disintegrated into components.
You have received: Sabertooth Meat x 2
You have received: Sabertooth Scale x 10
You have received: Ivory Fangs x 2 (unidentified)
More unidentified items. Judging by every other game she’d played, that meant that the fangs had some sort of magical ability associated with them.
How to identify items, just another thing on my growing list of crap to figure out…
Devon glanced at her experience bar. The kill had put her a good chunk through level 5, but she still had some distance before her next ding. Oh well.
Stretching, she stepped back onto the trail and checked the game clock. She’d been moving for a couple hours, including the fight. No wonder Greel needed a bedroll for whatever he came out here to do. She doubted he made it back before dawn very often. She sheathed her machete and continued forward, senses alert for more threats. After maybe another half hour of walking, she heard voices ahead and immediately dropped to a crouch. She traveled the final fifty yards over the course of ten minutes, carefully placing each foot.
Once in sight of the clearing where the voices were coming from, she slipped into the foliage, wincing when a single stick cracked. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to notice. She peered through the leaves and spotted three shadowy figures. Greel was unmistakable, his hunched shoulders as much a fixture on him as his sneer. The other two were burly men, clad in clothes more suited for the wilderness than she and her followers were in their thin cloth. She couldn’t make out what the men were saying, but the tension in the air was obvious. Words were hissed, and occasionally, one of the thugs would shake a fist.
She listen
ed as hard as she could, hoping that she’d gain some sort of skill point by concentrating on the sounds. But before a notification popped up, she gasped as one of the big men pulled back his fist and prepared to strike.
“Now wait,” Greel said, reaching for his hip… and the rusty knife he no longer had.
The fist connected. Greel spun but, remarkably, kept his feet.
“Wait,” the other of the thugs said. “Rough him up, but don’t kill him. We need information on the woman who took over.”
Another wet sound cut the air as a fist connected, but incredibly, Greel was still standing. To Devon’s shock, he kicked, connecting with one of the men’s knees and sending him down.
“You little weasel!” The other yelled, snatching Greel by the tunic and lifting.
Devon clenched her jaw. She might not like Greel—and the feeling was mutual—but he was one of her tribe. These men clearly were not. Standing up, she drew her blade.
Chapter Twenty
DEVON PEERED HARD at the men, activating her Combat Assessment skill.
Hired Thug
Against just this guy, you might have a chance if you land a lucky blow or the lawyer helps out.
Hired Thug
You want to fight both of them? Not sure why you’re even considering it.
Then again, you did take down that ogre…
You have gained a skill point: +1 Combat Assessment.
“All right, you made your point, game,” she whispered. Not good odds. She doubted she could count on Greel’s help, but her special attributes and Deceiver ability had to count for something, right?
Greel still hung in the air, grasping at the thug’s wrists and uselessly kicking his feet. Devon glanced overhead, judging the angle of the moonlight. She’d need to advance a few paces into the clearing before she’d have a shadow. What then? She remembered the spell description for Shadow Puppet; it had claimed that her puppets would have different properties depending on what sort of light was used in their casting. During her fight with the sabertooth, her shadow had made physical contact with the monster, but it hadn’t inflicted much—if any—damage. Shadows drawn by the moonlight must be physically weak. But it had been quick, almost liquid. And that had been quite a trick, cramming itself into the beast’s… facial orifices. Yuck.
Regardless, the suffocation thing was cool. Maybe it would work again.
Devon shoved brush aside and sprinted forward until her shadow appeared on the ground before her. Quickly, she groped for her shimmering awareness of her mana pool and poured magical energy into the shadow, giving the figure life. When she gave the shadow a mental nudge, it arrowed across the clearing. Her creation streamed up the body of the man who held Greel in his grip and enveloped the man’s head. The thug let out a muffled cry, dropped Greel into an astonished heap on the ground, and started clawing at the darkness enclosing his face.
The man’s fingers tore the vitality from her shadow. Her spell lasted just a breath longer before disintegrating into nothingness. The thug gasped, sucking precious air into his lungs. She peered hard, assessing the damage. His health had only dropped by 10% or so.
Her gaze shot to the other fighter, just now struggling back to his feet after Greel had kicked his knee out. His health was down by a quarter.
Devon’s eyebrows raised. Given that Greel had knocked off that much health with a single kick, either he was extremely lucky, or he was… good?
“Greel, get over here!” she called in her most commanding voice. As the lawyer ran toward her, she emptied the last of her mana into another Shadow Puppet and sent it darting toward the far side of the clearing.
As her shadow melted into the forest, Devon focused her concentration. Gritting her teeth, she willed her creation to grab a few twigs. It took all her shadow’s strength to snap them.
But it was enough. One of the fighters pivoted toward the sound.
“We’ve got more coming,” he growled.
The man with the hurt knee took a couple limping steps toward the thicket. The other thug faced them. His hand now gleamed in the moonlight, armored with brass knuckles. Devon grimaced at the thought of that fist connecting.
“You traitor, Greel,” the brass-knuckled man said. “The boss will hear about this.”
Greel stood beside Devon’s shoulder, a conflicted expression on his face. He didn’t like her. The question was, did he like these other guys even less?
“Your boss won’t hear anything if they don’t make it back to report,” she said.
“Good point.”
“Where did you learn how to fight?”
Greel shrugged. “You’d be surprised how many people think it’s fun to rough up a lawyer. Has given me lots of practice over the years.”
Brass Knuckles squinted in their direction, trying to make out details in the dark.
“What’s your combat strength?” Devon hissed as she raised her machete.
The lawyer snorted. “Remember that knife you took from me?”
Right. Well, she wasn’t about to give him her blade.
The pair of thugs stood back to back, circling slowly. Devon compelled her shadow to break another twig. That distraction wasn’t going to last much longer.
“How fast can you run?” She pitched her voice low, hoping the fighters couldn’t make it out.
“As it happens, running away from disadvantageous situations is another lawyer skill.”
Devon gestured with her chin. “We need to separate them, take them down one at a time. Try sprinting across the clearing to lure one but keep out of reach.”
Greel snorted. “I thought I’d let them catch me.”
She ignored the remark. “If one chases you, I’ll try to take him out. Circle back.”
“Yeah, fine.” Greel burst into motion. Devon blinked in surprise. He was fast for someone with such a stiff appearance.
As he dashed past the pair of fighters, Brass Knuckles grunted. “Little weasel. He’s trying to join the others.”
The big man gave chase, Hurt Knee limping behind. As his heavy footfalls shook the spongy ground, Devon’s shadow dove beneath the fighter’s feet. At her mental command, the shadow substance consolidated. Devon jerked with the shock as the man’s toe caught on her phantom. The fighter crashed down hard, breath leaving his lungs in a whoosh. Her shadow slithered away, damaged but still alive.
Brass Knuckles groaned, disoriented. Devon gripped her machete, ready to dash forward, but pulled up short when Greel suddenly yelped, cut hard to the side, and sprinted toward Hurt Knee. The lawyer planted a foot and launched a flying kick that took the fighter in the side. Devon winced when she heard ribs crack. The man’s health plummeted as he and Greel went down in a tangle.
Devon sprinted forward, her Tribal Sandals pounding the wet ground and boosting her speed. She grabbed Greel’s hand and dragged him free as his opponent rolled and tried to snatch him. Greel scrambled to his feet and ran with her. The pair slid to a stop at the far side of the clearing.
Both fighters were climbing to their feet, Hurt Knee below half health, Brass Knuckles down to maybe 80%.
“Are you with the tribe now, Greel?” she asked. “No more lies.”
“I admit to playing many sides. But I always follow my self-interest when choosing my allegiance. Right now, that’s with you.”
Devon stabbed a hand into a bag and grabbed one of the ivory fangs. She shoved it into his grip. “It’s not a rusty knife…”
He held it awkwardly. “Piercing weapon. I’m not—”
“Would you rather fight barehanded?”
He shook his head and adjusted his grip. Circling slowly, he walked like an arthritis sufferer. Devon never would’ve guessed he could let loose with moves like that flying kick. There was an advantage in having an ally like that if she could find a way to trust him.
Greel closed the distance as the thugs advanced, more cautious than before. Devon brought her shadow i
nto action. The dark form darted with unnatural quickness, raining light blows on Brass Knuckles to distract him. With a strangled yell, the man waved his hands in the air. Unfazed by her puppet, Greel sprinted forward and landed a glancing blow on the exposed skin of the man’s forearm.
The man shrieked.
Devon grimaced as the flesh suddenly pulled back from the scratch, opening a gaping fissure on his arm. The edges of the gash scaled over, turning greenish-white like the flesh of the sabertooth. Greel looked down at the fang with new appreciation.
“Ew,” she muttered.
Brass Knuckles freaked. He slapped at his own arm, eyes wide-rimmed.
“Enough of this!” he yelled as he whirled and started running. Devon inhaled. Focused. She tossed her shadow in front of the man to distract him as she sprinted forward, reversed the machete in her grip, and clocked him on the back of the head with the hilt.
He fell to the ground, limp.
The other man staggered backward, hands raised.
“Mercy,” he said, dropping to his knees. “I’ll pay.”
Devon had already closed half the distance between them. She pulled up short as she swung her shadow wide to come at him from the other side.
“We might make an arrangement. I’ve got some questions I’d like answered.”
Greel fixed her with a hard stare. “Don’t trust him. He knows what punishments await in Eltera if he tells you anything.”
“He can’t earn those punishments if he doesn’t return to Eltera,” Devon said. In the back of her mind, she hoped he might turn coat. She could use more fighters in her tribe.
She caught a look passing between the man and Greel an instant before the thug sprang, landing on his good leg and aiming a fist at her weapon arm.
Greel stood just a step out of his path. Close enough to knock the attack aside. He remained still.
Growling in frustration, Devon sent her shadow forward. The dark figure leaped and collided with the thug, knocking the man just slightly off balance. She stepped aside, raised her blade, and drew it across the man’s neck as he stumbled forward. His throat opened, and he raised his hands to clutch it as he fell. He thrashed once and went still.
Temple of Sorrow: A LitRPG and GameLit Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 1) Page 13