The map lied. What it marked as a path disappeared beneath two feet of black water thirty yards past the tree line, swallowed whole by the bog. Crispin's boot sank to the ankle on the third step. The fourth nearly took it entirely. Roots caught his heels like deliberate hands, while the water smelled of rot and old iron and things that had been dead long enough to become part of the ground.
Only Regulus slithered through the bog unconcerned. In his three-headed Hydra form, he glided; his body cut silent wakes through the stagnant pools. Crispin watched him, a small smile touching his lips as he realized his partner was no longer flinching at the storm or the deep water.
"What do we do if we are too late?" Bethany asked, her voice tight with the strain of the environment.
Crispin sighed and shook his head, his gaze fixed on the darkening treeline. "I'm not sure. We did not receive orders to execute the mythics ourselves.
Bethany stopped and turned, making direct eye contact. "We need a plan, Crispin. I don't want to kill them."
"I agree." He looked out over the water. "Regy? Come here, please."
The multi-headed Sovereign swam over to them, his movements fluid and easy. He pulled himself onto a slightly drier bank, his heads weaving to look at Crispin.
"If we run into more of those creatures, do you think you could collect samples of the toxin and maybe use your alchemy to create an antidote?"
Regulus let out a low, vibrating growl and gave a firm, singular nod.
Crispin met Bethany's gaze again. "That will be the goal. We need to ensure that if they've taken the Thunderbird, we have an option for resolution that doesn't involve taking its life."
Bethany stepped forward and hugged Crispin, her face buried against the cold, wet plates of his armor. "Thank you for not feeling violence has to be the only answer."
Crispin leaned down and hugged her. "Let's get going. The longer we stand here, the more danger all the mythic creatures are in."
Bethany pulled away and nodded, her resolve hardening. High above, Ashara let out a sharp, chiming cry that echoed through the mist.
"Ashara says there is movement near the ridge to the east," Bethany reported, nocking an arrow. "Let's go."
The ground refused urgency. Furtive movements rustled the ferns and cypress knees around them—creatures fleeing their approach or something else tracking them through the fog. They reached the ridge, which thick moss and rotted vines choked.
Regulus went rigid, a sharp pulse of warning hitting Crispin through the bond. "Crispin," he rumbled, "odd vibrations. Beneath."
Crispin tested a patch of the mire with his boot; it held his weight, but the ground felt unnervingly tight. Before he could speak, the underbog erupted.
A jet-black serpent, a Titanapython, burst through the moss with the force of an explosion. It was staggering in scale, larger than an entire village terrace, its length infinite as it uncoiled from the muck. Its eyes did not hold the natural reptilian glint, but pulsed with a sickly, abyssal taint.
"Crispin! Look out!" Bethany screamed.
Regulus reacted faster than human sight. He shifted mid-air into his massive Shadowmane form, his charcoal-and-red frame colliding with Crispin. He caught Crispin's void-silk cloak in his teeth and hurled him toward Bethany's position on the ridge.
"My Anchor!" he roared, the sound deep and resonant in Crispin's mind.
The serpent struck, its fangs as long as shortswords. Regulus dodged with a blur of speed, his paws tearing deep gouges into the serpent's jet-black scales. The Titanapython hissed, a sound like a steam pipe bursting, and lashed its tail. The impact leveled several petrified trees, sending shards of stone-wood whistling through the air.
"Regy, stay high!" Crispin shouted, scrambling to his feet and raising his Shadow-Twilight spear.
Bethany loosed a volley of arrows, guiding each shaft toward the gaps in the serpent's heavy plating. The arrows thudded into the black flesh, but the creature barely acknowledged them, its mind entirely consumed.
Crispin lunged forward to maintain his footing on the slick moss. He drove the obsidian tip of his spear into the serpent's side, but the scales were harder than any armor he had ever forged. The serpent turned its massive head toward him, its jaws opening wide to reveal a throat dripping with black ichor.
Regulus pounced from the side, shifting into a hybrid form that combined the Shadowmane's strength with the Hydra's multiple head-stems. He clamped his jaws onto the serpent's neck, dragging the massive beast's head away from Crispin. The two monsters thrashed in the mire, a chaos of iridescent scales and charcoal fur.
"Now, Crispin!" Bethany cried, her bowstring singing.
Crispin stepped into the path of the serpent's lunge, thrusting his spear into the creature's open maw to brace against the bite. The Titanapython's jaws snapped shut with the force of a tectonic shift. The Shadow-Twilight spear, a weapon that had carried him through the Shadow-Thicket, could not withstand the pressure. With a deafening crack, the obsidian-tipped shaft splintered into a thousand shards.
The recoil threw Crispin backward, stinging his hands. He reached for his thighs, drawing the long elvish kukri he had taken from the scout's camp. The silver filigree on the blades caught the violet lightning of the storm.
"Regy, pin it!" Crispin roared, his voice raw.
The Sovereign slammed his full mass into the serpent's coils, pinning the midsection into the bog. Crispin dived forward, the kukri flashing in short, brutal arcs. He carved through the softened underbelly where the necrotoxin was weeping most heavily. The blades, though decorative, possessed an edge that made the spear look like a child's toy.
With a final, desperate lunge, Regulus unleashed a jet of refined blue dragon-fire directly into the serpent's open wounds. The Titanapython let out one last, shuddering hiss before its massive frame went limp.
Silence returned to the ridge, broken only by the heavy breathing of the exhausted party. Shimmering panes of light flickered into Crispin's vision.
LEVEL: 7→8 (Crispin)
[889→600 / 1600]
LEVEL 8→9 (Regulus)
[556→110 / 2000]
MAS: 21 KG→53 KG | COH: 101→131 | ASC: 43→64
PRC: 77→91 | SPL: 23→40 | SPD: 49→70
"We're alive," Bethany whispered, leaning heavily on her bow.
Crispin didn't answer. He looked at the shattered remains of his spear, then at the kukri in his hands. He walked to the carcass and harvested the massive, jet-black skin with practiced efficiency, and collected the corrupted gem cluster. The guild would definitely want it to study.
Regulus approached the dissolving head of the serpent. His surface rippled as he drew a sample of the raw necrotoxin into his mass.
"Got it," Regulus sent through the bond, his metallic voice sounding determined. "Beginning synthesis." This form jellified and slid over the serpent. Assimilating begun.
(Regulus)
Assimilating 2300KG.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
2310KG Mas spent. Liminal Space Upgraded x 10.
Total Storage: 1278KG / 2600KG
"Good," Crispin said, looking toward the east. "The Thunderbird is next. We're not losing anyone else to this rot."