Chapter 024 Rubicon

So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet coloured beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns.

- King James Bible: Revelation 17:3

******

******

The blow was perfect. Perfect in execution. Perfect in timing. Perfect in impact. Neron could do nothing, not in time, not to matter. He was too far. Too worn down. Too surprised.

In that moment, where mass and momentum carried a small body down onto a fragile neck, all Neron could do was watch.

It was a... rabbit? No, it was too large and the legs were too long. It was a jackrabbit, a hare, with brown fur and black marks on the tip of its ears and tail. Neron barely caught a glimpse of it in the gloom, in that frozen moment where bone crunched foot, spine, and ground met. Then it was gone, leaping away and into the shadows of the trees.

It left behind an unconscious snake, a pitiful beast, and the broken body of a fox.

Neron, arm raised in an instinctual movement to... to something, let the limb fall limply. Cuholy twitched and Neron's eyes were drawn the fox sprawled just beyond his little hovel. Her eyes met his. 

She was still alive.

Of course she was. A broken neck or spine wasn't not immediately fatal. It was what came after that killed. Asphyxiation from blocked airway or internal bleeding.

Wide, terrified eyes looked at Neron. She was alive. She was dying. She was in pain. Neron had promised to protect her. Through wheezing air and bubbling blood she was begging him to save her.

Cuholy did not want to die and Neron could not stop it.

Slowly, with limbs heavy from the cold, the wet, the lethargy, and from a nameless melancholy, Neron reached out and scooped the small creature from the forest floor. She'd filled out in the last few months together, yet she was still so small, so fragile compared to him.

The hare could still be around. The ravens could still be watching. The wolves could find a place to jump the river. Neron was not safe. He too could die any minute.

And he didn't care. Couldn't care.

"Hey," Neron said softly as he cradled the small form in the crook of his arm. His back bent, protecting her from the rain and placing her near the warmth of the bark. "You were amazing tonight. Absolutely phenomenal."

Cuholy spasmed, legs twitching and claws scraping his arm in movements she could no longer control. More blood bubbled from between her snout. Yet her eyes remained alert. Terrified. Begging. She did not want compliments. She did not want praise. Cuholy wanted to live.

She'd come back, he knew. She might not have believed him, but she'd come back in six hours. That return, that inconsequence of death, had been the basis of Neron's entire plan. He'd wanted her to die, wanted her to realize that death wasn't something to fear with him around. He'd taken advantage of every opportunity he could, and created more beside, just to force her to fight.

Yet, in the end, all his planning had been pointless. She'd chosen to fight on her own.

Her fight had also been pointless. They'd been ambushed by creatures they had no way of knowing were there and been forced to flee anyway.

Their flight had been pointless too. They'd survived such long odds, against a group of predators that outnumbered them when one should have been enough to snuff them out, yet that hadn't saved her either.

Whether Cuholy lived or died now, it didn't matter. Whether Neron and Jorry survived the night, it didn't matter. They'd still die eventually. Délaash might bring them back but even that was temporary. They'd still die. In a decade. In a century. In a millennia. When the game server was shut down for the final time or when entropy achieved that final stillness. 

It was all the same pointlessness in the end.

It was enough to make a man scream. It was enough to make a man cry. It was enough for a terrifying, nameless emotion to swell up in Neron's chest begging for release.

Useless. Futile. Inconsequential. Meaningless. Pointless.

The fight. The game. The struggle to survive when death was the inevitable outcome. It was all so... so... Empty!

Void.

Void of meaning. Void of worth. Void of purpose.

Neron held a small, broken, twitch body in his arms, and all he could think of was how meaningless this all was. All he could feel was that gnawing void. 

Yet...

"I mean it," Neron's voice was soft. Soothing. "I would not have survived without you. None of us would have. You are the reason we are still alive. You saved us. You saved yourself."

Her eyes were clouding over. Her twitching and spasms lessened. The pitiful whimpers and cries were falling. She was still in pain though. Still would be for minutes. He'd once told her it could take a long time for someone to die, even with a fatal wound such as decapitation. And this was not immediately fatal. It didn't need to be fatal at all. Neron knew there were spells out there that could heal this. Knew skilled surgeon in his world could have saved her life. Yet here, now, it was fatal. Neron knew it. Cuholy knew it. And she struggled all the same.

The struggle for life was short, violent, and painful.

So he told a lie. A soft lie. A kind lie.

Like words of kindness or the struggle to survive, it was completely pointless. It would change nothing in the long run. 

Empty words. That's all he was and all he knew. Empty words.

Yet...

"Everything is going to be alright," the Beast whispered, one hand reaching up to scratch at the base of her ear in the way she liked. 

The other wrapped around her broken neck. 

"Just rest. When you wake up everything will be fine. We will be safe and sound and nobody will be trying to kill you."

The naked hope in her eyes, the belief in that lie, remained until all struggle ceased and all light left her.

Neron held the broken body of the fox, empty meat where Cuholy once lived. 

It was light.

He let it drop to the forest floor, uncaring as he leaned back against the tree to stare up at the canopy, leaves rustling in the wind. Great globules of liquid fell upon him.

His face was wet. The sound of water surrounded him. The freezing rain on leaves, stone, and bark. The river's passage over rock and through the path it had carved for itself over countless years.

Neron rolled his head listlessly, looking toward the fish that had nearly drowned him.

#

Arapaima are a fresh water fish that can reach over three meter in length on earth.

Estimated length: 2.33 meters.

Likely a juvenile.

#

Neron let out a hollow chuckle that turned into a watery cough as he waved away his Knowledge popup. There was a chunk missing from below the gills where Cuholy had finished it off.

A single fish. A single, juvenile fish, had nearly killed him. Him, a genetically modified human adapted to live on a harsher planet had almost died because of a juvenile fish that had almost gone extinct because it was food. Yet a fox no bigger than his arm had killed it. That fox had just died to a hare.

And they'd both, fox and fish, be back in six hours.

It was all just so absurd, so pointless, that Neron couldn't help but laugh.

Once more his head lolled back to thunk against the trunk and he stared at the hidden sky.

It was pointless, it all was. This was a game. Entertainment to distract him, to kill time, until his life could continue. Success or failure did not matter. 

In a year, he'd probably have forgotten this. 

In ten years, half a century would have passed in the game and Cuholy would be dead for good. 

In a century, this game would probably have shut down and everything in it would be gone, an apocalypse it had no way of preventing. 

In a thousand years, Neron would probably be dead, any memory of him gone except for a record or two. 

In ten or a hundred thousand years, any record of God's Nature and those who played it would be gone. 

In a million, ten million, or a billion years, humanity would probably be gone as well.

In a hundred billion years, the universe might very well be silent and dead, no life or light to be found within.

Success or failure, life or death, it did not matter. Could not matter.

Yet...

"Hey," Neron called out to the forest around him. "Why did you kill her?"

There was silence except for the wind, the rain, the river, and the howls of distant wolves.

"I know you can still hear me. I know you can understand me. Just as I know I can understand you if you speak. So speak. Why did you kill her?"

More silence.

Maybe the hare had fled after killing Cuholy, rushing in a straight line so far and fast that it truly could not hear him even with its sensitive ears.

Maybe this too was pointless, this speaking into the void.

"You had a reason. I know you did. You targeted her alone, even though the snake was unconscious and weaker. You did not try and fight me at all, you just left. So... Why did you kill her?"

...

...

...

"Had to."

Neron did not need to tilt his head to find the voice. There was the jackrabbit, sitting on a branch on a nearby tree, looking down on him. A thin branch was held in its front paws and and it chewed at the leaves and bark as it watched him warily, ears flickering at the slightest sound.

"Why did you have to?"

The hare took a bite, leaves folding in its round cheeks as it nibbled, and Neron got the impression that it was thinking over its words.

"She killed me. I kill her."

Revenge. Neron almost laughed again as he cast his eyes down on the coiled snake. How pointless. 

Yet Neron was not such a hypocrite as to call it an invalid reason. It just left more questions.

"When did she kill you?" Neron asked. He hadn't seen Cuholy hunt a hare but maybe it had been while he'd been logged out?

"Don't know. A while ago." The voice was feminine and almost... disinterested? Uncaring? It seemed more interested in the branch it chewed on than Neron or the fox it had killed.

"Was it in this forest?"

"No."

Neron furrowed his brows. They'd been in the dungeon for a few weeks, and the forest for a bit longer. If it was before that, it had been while out on the heath and over a month ago.

Wait. They were on the opposite side of the river than the road. Crossing it wasn't impossible, in fact they were on one of the narrower parts, yet it was still a good fifteen meter crossing. There were certainly places where a hare could jump it, but not for a few kilometers in either direction. And if this creature was from up north, it probably hadn't followed them, jumped across at one of those points, and waited for them. There was no way of knowing they'd ever need to cross the Mandory. So how had it found them?

"How did you know we would be here?"

"She killed me." The jackrabbit said it as if it were supposed to be the answer to his question, yet Neron couldn't understand. Not yet at least.

"Because she killed you, you knew where she would be?"

"Not 'would be.' Is."

The hare had evolved. That was the only explanation. It had evolved to get an ability to track down those that killed it, or perhaps designated targets, rather than increase in size or change race.

Neron remembered Cuholy's state when he'd found her. Emaciated and hungry, yet joyfully singing for all to hear across the heath. He remembered she'd killed a rabbit... but maybe it was a hare?

"Will you try to kill her when she returns?" Neron asked, gesturing to the corpse beside him.

The hare looked down on him, finishing her branch and smacking the one she was on with a powerful kick. It separated another from the main and she began to eat that one.

"No. She killed me. I killed her."

That changed things.

"Your ability to find her, is it just for her, or for anything that killed you?" Neron asked, leaning forward to put his hands nearer the burning bark, warming them. "If I were to kill you, what would happen?"

The jackrabbit stopped eating. Its ears faced him. Its eyes, large, round and brown, locked on him with intensity. And its voice was filled with so much rage and hate that it was palpable.

"I will return. I will find you. I will kill you."

Faced with that malice, that threat, all Neron could do was smile.

"But you need to return to do that," Neron pointed out. "You might not. After I kill you, you might die again. And again. And again. If that happens, if you never return, then your threat is pointless."

With every word he spoke, the intensity of its eyes grew. The rage.

"I will return."

"You might return," Neron corrected, still smiling. Then he held up the empty corpse of the fox she'd killed. It hung limply in his grasp. "Cuholy will return. In six hours, to be exact."

It hung too limply, Neron realized. The skin was too loose, and the weight was off. It was like holding a fur bag filled with bones and meat.

Had Cuholy...?

"So?"

"She will return in full. No loss of Self from her death." The laser-like focus of rage shifted toward the corpse for a second before returning to regard him once more. "By the time the sun rises, she will be whole, without any repercussions from her death. Because of me." 

Her larger, round eyes silently continued to pressure him with their intensity, yet Neron could not feel it. It was hard to feel anything, to find the motivation to keep speaking. This too would be pointless in the long run.

Yet...

"But if you die, you will not. Every death is a gamble. And it only takes failing the gamble once for your vengeance to go forever unsatisfied." The hare, for the first time since it threatened him, shifted. Not much, just a readjustment of its weight on the branch, but that was enough to tell Neron he was on the right track. 

This creature had evolved an ability just to take revenge, it had followed them for weeks, waiting for an opportunity from the opposite side of a river yet never knowing when it would get it. When the time came, it found its prey with companions that posed a genuine threat to it, yet it did not hesitate. That spoke of a mono-focus, of a singular goal that drove it and Neron had found it.

The hare did not fear death, it feared being killed. 

No, fear was not the right word. It hated being killed. There was probably nothing that enraged it more than letting its killer live without repaying the debt. Yet that hatred, that rage, only went so far as equal repayment. It did not seek to slaughter Cuholy any more than the single time.

Inequality, that was what the hare feared.

The root of the issue wasn't something Neron was likely to find in a short conversation, yet he already knew enough to move forward. Knew enough to 'win.'

"So join me," Neron reached out his hand to the hare on the branch. "Like her, I will make sure you return. I will make sure you can always get your vengeance."

There was a moment of silence, and it seemed as if the wind itself held its breathe as the jackrabbit looked down at him. Evaluated him.

"You are not angry I killed the fox."

"No. I am not."

There was none of that rage he'd felt upon being saved by Gabriel, none of the desire for revenge Jorry or this hare might have felt. In fact, if Neron were to describe his feelings at the moment, it would be... disappointment.

What he was disappointed with, he could not name, could not formulate into the correct words, not even in his own mind. Was Neron disappointing in himself? In Cuholy? In Jorry, the situation, the hare, the wolves, or the whole world? Was it all of them? None of them? Neron could not say, yet the the dissatisfaction was there, fighting and contributing the void in equal measure.

The hare might have seen the truth in his gaze, or perhaps she notice that whatever rage he did hold was not directed her way. Either way, she hopped from the branch, to another, to land in Neron's open palm.

"Are you not afraid I am lying," Neron asked, a touch of bemusement rising from the tumult within. She was a large creature, for a lagomorph, almost equal in size to Cuholy.

"If you are I will kill you."

"Very well," Neron nodded as he lifted her up to eye level. "Do you have a name?"

"No."

"Do you want one?"

"Sure."

Neron gave it some thought. He did not have a great amount of time if he wished to 'win,' so he could not get hung up on naming her for too long. At most, he could dedicate an hour to finding it and only that much because he needed to warm up. If he followed his usual naming conventions, he had plenty of options due to rabbits and hares being common mythological symbols.

"How about 'Jack?' The jackalope is a hare like you, only with horns and is famou-"

"Sure."

Brought up short, Neron surveyed the hare in his hand for a moment, then he nodded.

"It is nice to meet you Jack. My name is Neron Kaiser. The snake is Jorry and you know Cuholy. I lead this little group of wanderers, and right now we are traveling southward to see the Bone Wall. Occasionally we stop to kill things."

"Okay."

"I am a Player, a being from another world using a false body. With it, comes abilities. The first of which lets me talk with any Beast and allows me to copy any trait of those who join me. In return, they gain the ability to communicate amongst themselves and do not lose their Self when they die."

"Alright."

"While we wander, I try to accomplish any goals my group has. Jorry wishes to get stronger and evolve. Cuholy wants to die as little as possible and eat regularly. Both can be accomplished by killing beasts and monsters as we come across them. Do you have a goal of your own?"

"No."

Neron paused.

"Truly?"

"No.

"Not even to get stronger? Would that not make any revenge you seek easier?"

"I will get it. I do not need your help for that."

The delivery of her words did not give the impression of confidence, so much as absolutism. She didn't think she'd get revenge, she knew it just as she knew herself. It was a faith, a belief, without needing any grounding in reality.

Neron moved on without further prompting. That would be a problem for later. The here and now were more important.

"Then why did you agree to join me?"

"Felt like it. No reason not to."

Neron did not know what to say to that, so he shifted the conversation slightly to his actual goal.

"Then I will look forward to traveling together in the future."

The hare simply nodded, long ears scanning the area and her nose twitching were the only movement except the nodding of her head.

#

The Nest (9)

All Beasts may now join you in common cause of survival and growth.

You can communicate with all Beasts.

You can assimilate traits of the Beasts who join you.

Beasts who join you will resurrect at your location.

Beasts: 4/10

#

Neron stared the screen he'd pulled up to make sure the hare was genuine in her interest in joining him. She was, but that wasn't what held his attention. It was the level. It had been level nine this morning.

At what point had he mastered the Jacobson organ?

Now that he thought back to it, he had a definite moment when it had been mastered already. He'd called upon Cuholy's claws to slay the fish trying to drown him. But what moment lead to the final assimilation of the previous trait, he did not know. Was it during the fight? When he'd run away in a panic? When he'd snapped out of it? When he'd confronted the wolf? When he'd gotten away?

Neron did not know. All he knew was that he'd known he'd assimilated it... somehow. Somehow, in the midst of fleeing and fighting for his life, he'd realized that the Jacobson organ had become completely his. How else had he known not to dismiss it when calling upon fox claws? No, his subconscious mind had known it well before he'd consciously realized it.

That meant something. Something about the mechanism of his skill.

He'd think on it, and its implications later. For now, he had something he wanted to test out.

"The Nest: Fingernails."

#

Warning

Changing from a trait that has not been fully assimilated will reset any progress gained from the assimilation.

Are you certain you wish to continue?

Y/N

#

Jack watched claws retract from the tip of Neron's fingers as he agreed, leaving behind the regular protective plate of keratin. Her whiskers barely twitched at the phenomenon. Nor when he called out the newest trait he wished for.

"The Nest: Jack's targeting skill."

#Spirit Insufficient#

Despite the rejection, Neron felt a measure of satisfaction. 

Beasts could use magic. That was the definition of a 'monster' in this world and was common sense. What was less agreed upon was why and how. Scholars and mages debated the topic hotly, yet a few things could be accepted as, if not wholly accurate then at least close enough for the difference to only be academic. After all, Neron was not the first person to be able to talk to animals with Selves, his skill was just more comprehensive that the limited options Natives had. There was no universal 'speak with animals' spell in this world, instead usually it was only familiars, long term pets of mage lords, or the occasional therianthrope with the ability to speak with the associated species, as Neron had imitated with Cuholy and his fox-like appearance.

From the record of those few scholars who did manage to communicate with a 'monster' and learn their ways, the method they used magic was basic. Instinctual. As much a part of their biology as their limbs or brain. They did not cast 'spells' by warping their Spirits into certain shapes, instead their Spirits automatically learned to assume those shapes after evolution or from birth. While some theorists went to far as to suggest that early magic was created by learning to artificially shape humanoid spirits to imitate these monstrous abilities, that was considered fringe theory, if not disprovable due to the loss of history from multiple societal collapses. Instead, the prevailing theory was that beasts' ability to cast these 'racial spells' was similar to the Blessed Job system, a blessing from a god of some sort. A number of myths pointed to this effect, if from different deities. 

Neron was not particularly interested in whether a dragon could breathe fire because The Butterfly wanted to destroy the world or if Reul needed them to light his forges. No, what he was interested in was the fact that he too could gain these 'spells' from those Beasts who joined his cause. He'd believed so, if only because he could 'speak' to monsters as well as non-magical Beasts, yet he had never had the opportunity to test it.

Until now. And potentially twice over at that.

"What?" Jack asked, seeing nothing occur and noting Neron's eyes on the fox's corpse. 

"Your ability," Neron deflected. "It is too potent for me at the moment." No reaction to the flattery. "Let me try something else." 

Pushing up the sleeve of his arm, Neron looked to the fur he'd adapted from Cuholy. Like all traits, it was transformed in adaption. It wasn't dual layered, probably because he'd only listed it as 'fur' instead of separate 'coats.' Neron hadn't corrected that issue because he worried that the latter would impact his ability to sweat, which was of critical importance. 

For the most part, it had focused on places where he naturally grew body hair. There were patches that were bare, such around his eyes, nose, and genitals, while more that were incredibly thin, such as around his chest, but the rest of his body was covered in a dense layer the color of his normal hair. As far as trait assimilation went, it had been the easiest by far, only taking a few days and completing once he'd grown accustomed to wearing clothes over it and keeping it clean. It only provided a modicum of temperature control, at least compared to that of animals with fur of a similar density, due to his size letting heat out much faster than smaller creatures. Yet it still had some advantages, ones which he would compound now.

"The Nest: Seasonal adapting fur."

Under their gazes, they watched the dark fur lighten in a rippling wave from root to tip. Not fully white, like some hares would do during snowy seasons, but light enough to blend in much better to rainy forests and barren heath during the winter months. It wasn't invisibility, or even really camouflage, just a slight colour distortion that would make his edges a touch blurrier in the appropriate environment. Having tried a fox's eyes, Neron knew that their perception could be vastly different and that blur could be the difference between being noticed by a predator and not.

Jack watched the transformation without comment or reaction, but Neron's eyes had shifted to refocus on his skill. It was only because still had his screen open that he noticed the change in real time.

#

The Nest (10)

All Beasts may now join you in common cause of survival and growth.

You can communicate with all Beasts.

You can assimilate traits of the Beasts who join you.

Beasts who join you will resurrect at your location.

Beasts: 4/11

#

He'd already assimilated it.

Upon reflection for the moment, Neron realized why that was. The change of colour required no actual change in action and mindset. If he were the type to care for his hair colour or style, he might have needed to fold it into his self-image, but he wasn't. It was like his skin colour, it only mattered to others thus it had an impact on the world, but not on himself. A different colour did not affect his identity. He simply was and his colour did not require conscious or unconscious thought.

If there was one benefit of the yawning void within himself, it was that it had never struggled with self-identity. Because it did not matter. Who he was did not matter. What he looked like did not matter.

Yet...

Neron called upon fox claws once more, choosing to continue trying to gain those rather than take a gamble. The hare's ears, like Cuholy's, were potent but now was not the time to suffer from the disorientation, nausea, and lack of balance that would come with them. Nor had he researched other desirable traits from the creature.

"See," Neron spoke as he pushed down his sleeve. The feeling of wet clothes on his fur and body wasn't great, but he had no change of clothes. All of his supplies except what he was wearing across the river in the dungeon currently being plundered by a pack of wolves. The bark would just have to dry it on his frame as the gain of warmth from taking it off wasn't worth losing the jacket's enchantment. "You can see why I wish for you to travel with me, correct?"

"Sure."

The hare was not giving him much to work with. She seemed incredibly easy going and blasé, yet he could not forget the intense rage and hatred directed his way. He had no idea what else might set her off, and thus had to be circumspect with his words.

"Yet I cannot allow you to do so if it will cause issues with Cuholy or Jorry. Will you have a problem with them?"

"So long as they do not kill me."

"I guarantee they will not. I do want to make something clear though, I will be recruiting others. It is too advantageous not to. Some of them will be predators, like Cuholy. Will you have a problem with that?"

"No."

"Finally, I want to know, what will you do if we die? If, while we are traveling, we are killed?"

There was that focus again, the intense look that transformed round, passive eyes into pinpoints of rage.

"Anything that kills me? It dies."

"And, what if what kills you is far away? Will you leave us to chase it down?"

"Yes." There was an undercurrent in the word, a silent 'you better not get in the way.'

Yet Neron had not steered the conversation in this direction to get in her way. No matter how careless the creature appeared to be, her thoughts were clear in the few words she chose. 

'I will.' 'Me' not 'we.' Neron had never never expected loyalty in the first place, not from someone he'd just met and who'd killed a companion not half an hour ago. Not yet at least.

"Then you will have a hard time," Neron said in apparent sympathy. "As a by product of my ability to keep your Self after death, you resurrect at my location. And if I die, I resurrect at the most recent town I visited. You will be far away from any potential killer."

When Neron had recruited Cuholy, he'd used a similar argument to convince the fox it was in her best interest to keep him alive, to fold her own self preservation instinct with his own. Now he was using it for the complete opposite reason.

Though the jackrabbit did not react openly, Neron could almost imagine she was rethinking their deal. Was the guarantee of a return worth the loss of the resurrection in the nearest 'safe' place from a potential killer? Either way was a gamble. The scales were balancing in her head and he needed to add his own weight to the desired side.

"How about this," Neron suggested as if coming to a decision. "You said you did not want anything from me in exchange for joining, but we can use this as what you get. In exchange for traveling with us and letting me copy your traits, I will promise to help you find and kill anyone who kills you. Is that agreeable?"

"Okay." The scales tipped and the hare made a decision.

While time would tell if his attempt of tying her to his group through common interest would pan out, he'd achieved the first of his goals for the night.

Nothing might have truly changed from recruiting the hare.

His disappointment might have even grown over the course of this conversation.

It might all be pointless in the end.

Yet...

Yet Jorry still wished to be a dragon.

Yet Cuholy still wanted to live.

Neron did not hate people like that.

The void was the same as it had always been, but Neron had lived with it for as long as he could remember. He'd still constructed his world around that emptiness, a world most would admire and desire. A world he shared with a handful of other actors. Their first line was the same as his. Their last line would be the same as his. Yet Neron could not deny the curiosity and desire to see their plays, to live through their stories, their rises and falls.

Even if it was just a voyeuristic admiration for those with desires and goals they'd fight and die for, Neron did not think he was wrong in acting his own small part. A supporting actor and a stage hand. He'd set the scene. He'd let the actors say their scripts. And he'd ignore the disappointment and yearning void in order to raise the curtains on their show.

He'd told Cuholy a lie. 

He'd claimed it would be alright even as he crushed what little air she gasped for.

But he'd only told the fox a single lie.

Jack had changed the script, but not the play. Instead of an antagonist she'd become another support. A prop. A tool and weapon.

Neron had promised Cuholy that when she awoke from that long sleep, she'd be safe.

Neron hadn't lied about that.

Six hours. 

His resources included a dead fox, a half drowned snake, a hare without a care, and himself. 

His enemies were a flock of birds he had no way of hurting and could see everything he'd do and hear everything he'd say and a pack of wolves who'd killed three Players more powerful than himself. He had no idea of their numbers, just that it was at least two to one and any single member of their pack could kill them all.

Neron looked to the two animals and a corpse that surrounded him and let out a sigh. 

For the first time he could pinpoint one source of his disappointment. Maybe if he were a 'gamer' he wouldn't think this way? If he approached this world with ideas of 'boss rooms' and 'adds,' he might have been able to re-frame everything in his mind to something other than a real-world equivalent. This would just be another 'grind,' another phenomena to push through to get the next level.

Yet Neron was fundamentally unable to treat God's Nature as anything more or less than it was, so he sighed and got up anyway.

Looking out over the water of the river, to the enemies beyond, the Beast could not help but lament how easy conquering them would be.

******

"I don't like this plan," Jorry grumbled even as he curled himself tighter around Neron's chest and the piece of bark with its burning tip hanging out of his pocket.

It seemed like his sister's creation also mitigated heat to a decent degree. Neron simply felt a bit hot at the close proximity to something that should have burned his skin.

"Why not?"

"It isn't the type of thing a dragon should do. There's no drama, no grand turn around. Can't you come up with something else? Like you did with the mice?"

"We were facing rats then. These are not rats."

"Not the same one, but something... better. Grander. With more violence. This is... boring. How are we supposed to boast about this? There's no story here. Not for a dragon."

"You did not ask me to create a story for you. You want to be a dragon? Dragons are victorious. There is no right or wrong way to achieve victory."

"There are."

"No, there are not. All that changes are what counts as 'victory.' If you only consider 'victory' to be when you emerge from combat from face on, where you use violence to prove yourself superior without tricks, then this will not count as 'victory.' But I do not care about that. Neither do you. But if you consider 'victory' to be achieving your goals alone? Then there is no better plan."

"We went through all that, survived by the tip of our tongues, just for it to end like this!? It is so... unsatisfying! Anti-climatic!"

Neron almost smiled. Jorry might have a different reason than himself, but at least in this regard they were truly partners.

"Real life is not so kind as to shape itself to our satisfaction. There is no ending, the story keeps going no matter what happens to the actors, so there can be no climax."

Jorry hissed out a sigh of displeasure and Neron did smile.

"You would not be complaining so much if you believed it would not work."

"It'll work," Jorry said with reluctant certainty. "Because it's you. But I hope you don't mind if I hope it fails. It'll be painful, sure, but at least it'll be more interesting."

"The world does not care if it is interest-"

"Found one."

Neron cut himself off as Jack hopped over a root to land on his lap. Jorry tightened his coils in surprise before relaxing. His head poked out of Neron's shirt to get a good look at their newest companion.

"Good job," Neron praised as he sat up. He caught the hare before it fell as he rose to his feet, carefully balancing himself so he put his weight on his uninjured leg. The cold wet dirt oozed between his bare toes. He'd cast Scab a few times to stop the bleeding but nothing he had could fix the underlying damage. He reused his tourniquet as a splint and that was enough to get him mobile. The fish had definitely damaged the bone, even if he couldn't tell if it was broken or not. The swelling was rather concerning too. "How far away is it?"

"Not far. That way."

Neron nodded, grabbed his wrapped up cloak under one arm, carried the jackrabbit in his other hand, and headed upstream in the direction her ears had pointed in a hobbling walk. He was careful to keep her a distance from his torso so she wouldn't be burned by the lyndros bark.

"You killed the fox," Jorry began, a note of accusation in his voice. Jack met the snake's eyes without reaction or answer. "Well?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"She killed me."

...

"Fine," Jorry spat after a moment, unable to argue with the simple statement considering his own desires. "Just don't do it again. You might be able to kill a coward like her with a sneak attack but that won't work on a dragon. If you attack her again, I'll kill you."

The hare looked at the would-be dragon with round eyes without an expression.

"Dragons have limbs."

It was after Jorry descended into a sibilant tirade of curses against the waste of the hare keeping her limbs and his promise to use them better, a few minutes more to calm down, that Neron arrived at his destination.

The target was standing proudly near a small slope of less than a meter which led down to the flowing water. It was not the tallest tree in the forest, nor the thickest, but it was up there. Neron did not know the exact species, but believed it to be some sort of mallow. Like many of those in the area it had straight boles and its roots were buttressed instead of subterranean, hinting at at time in history where this area was much less nutrient rich leading to the need for sprawling roots near the surface.

Neron had read that the region used to be much more arid in the time before the Woe. More modern scholars had theorized that the change in regional climate was due to the Bone Wall diverting much of the rainfall that would have fallen further south northward. Combined with the closer proximity to of the seas and the storms it brought, and the waterfall levels were a world away from what they were a thousand years ago.

Which was exactly why Neron had needed his newest beast companion to find this tree.

The Mandory remained a barrier separating Neron from the wolf pack. It protected him, certainly, but it made completing his promise to Cuholy all the more difficult. He simply did not have time to travel days to the nearest crossing, or kilometers to where it narrowed enough that he could create a crossing. By then, Cuholy would have returned and the wolves would have moved on.

Here the river was even wider than where he'd swam across, measuring at least forty meters of dark flowing water. No hint of what horrors lay within as the surface rippled in the falling rain and the swell of water over rocks. Having gotten stupidly lucky in surviving his recent swim, Neron had no desire to push that luck further. Thus, he'd had Jack hunting for a location he could use to cross, if not safely then at least successfully.

What she'd found was a section of the river with a fallen tree on the opposite bank. Likely a casualty of one of the winter storms, the evergreen wasn't large but it had fallen at such an angle to reach toward their side of the river while still remaining anchored on the other. It wouldn't last, the spring floods would swell the river past its already swollen height and would sweep debris like it down stream, but it removed at least fifteen meters from the crossing. Neron needed to remove as much of the rest as he could. 

Setting Jack down, who hopped toward a patch of moss and immediately began to nibble, he got to work. Sculpt, the spell he'd used hundreds of times over the last few weeks to clear out the dungeon, formed quickly. 

If he were an idiot, he would have begun to carve into the tree itself, trying to use his spell to fell it in the direction of the river. But Neron was not an idiot. He knew that forestry was a historically dangerous profession, where injuries and fatalities were common. Even in the 'modern' world, with chainsaws and machinery, accidents happened when a tree fell in the wrong direction, or when the lumberjack was unprepared. Without any experience in the field himself, he needed to be thrice as careful and twice as prepared.

Thus, rather than try and Sculpt the tree itself, and fight its spirit in the process, Neron plunged his clawed hands into the ground around its roots near the bank. The moistness of the ground, combined with his newest adaptation, meant he did not need to exert much in the way of force as he crawled around the tree, hands shoveling dirt up and away. Like when collapsing the tunnel, the adhesion effect of the spell worked at cross purposes to his intent, but unlike then he did not, and could not, need to use quick violent motions.

It was the work of half an hour of constant effort, likely exacerbating the injury to his leg if the rising stinging sensation was anything to go by, before the half of the buttressed roots facing the river were surrounded by loose dirt and small trenches. Neron rose to his feet with an exhaled breath.

"Keep an eye on the river."

"Got it," Jorry withdrew from his collar to poke his head out from his jacket at Neron's waist, close to the source of heat but still able to watch Neron's back.

Sliding down the slope, careful to not step into the water, Neron began removing the dirt directly below the mallow. One fistful. Then another. After every movement, he looked up at the tree, searching for any movement that wasn't attributed to the drizzle. It took longer than he expected, a few dozen handfuls of dirt, for the tree to move. At the first slight shifting of weight, Neron backed up. Yet it did not fall. He went back in, scooping out more, and when tree shifted again he retreated once more.

The game of chicken between man and tree continued for a few minutes as the tree shifted to a new center of gravity with every loosening of its foundations. After the first minutes it was visibly tilted. After five, it was at an eighty degree angle. By ten, Neron was being incredibly careful with with every movement, throwing himself away after every small excavation, as the angle approached seventy five degrees.

Then, the tilt.

Neron scrambled away as the ground loosened, gravity taking over, and the tree slid. Its bulk pressed down on the loose bank, it tilted as Neron threw himself away, desperate to make some distance form the falling tree lest he and Jorry get caught up on its branches. A few hobbling leaps and he had distance to turn around and look.

The fall had stopped. The wide roots had caught the tree. It had achieved a new equilibrium at a sixty degree angle over the water, with a third of its roots pointing skywards.

Neron licked his lips and evaluated his options. The tree's position was still precarious, he could still destabilize it further, but the angle was bad. He'd either need to climb amidst the roots or get in the water. Either were incredibly dangerous and make it near impossible to escape when it collapsed without serious injury.

Neron made the disappointing, if necessary, judgement that his time on this tree had been wasted and looked around for another that would fit his purpose when- BAM!

Jerking his head violently toward the mallow, Neron only had time to raise an arm to cover his face as it crashed into the water with a loud crash of broken branches, sending up an enormous splashing wave that would have soaked him if he wasn't already. As it was, it just made him cold.

The lyndros bark continued to burn, thankfully, and continued to warm him as he looked up the bank to meet the blank eyes of Jack.

"Warn us next time!" Jorry complained toward the hare as Neron watched the tree settle in the water. Its roots acted as balances, keeping it in place even as broken branches began to float downstream.

"Why?"

"Because we could have been hurt, you idiot!"

"You weren't."

"Good job," Neron interrupted the budding argument with a nod toward the jackrabbit. He was genuinely impressed by the size of the indent her foot had left on the bark. If she'd attacked him instead of Cuholy, that amount of force on such a small area would have cracked his skull easily. Clearly there had been more to her evolution than just her hunting skill.

Jack did not acknowledge his words and simply hopped along the fallen trunk, around jutting branches, and through the foliage.

Neron wouldn't have so easy a time. The tree was large enough that he could walk across it and, as he'd hopped, it reached close to the fallen trunk on the other side. Yet close was not close enough. Not only was it doubtful if the peak of the tree would support his weight but there were still a few meters between the two.

Without any other real option, Neron gathered his bundled cloak under one arm, used the other to grasp any branches facing the sky for balance, and began to hobble his way out over the river. There was little in the way of issues, at least initially. The wood was wet but the bark provided a good grip for his clawed feet along the wide trunk and it supported his weight well. It was when he was half way across the river that the tree began to tilt downward at a further angle with every step. By the time the main trunk ended and Neron was move sideways along thicker branches, he was only a few dozen centimeters from the surface of the river and getting closer with every step.

It was there that he ran into Jack, standing on junction of two thick branches and staring down into the dark water. Branches and leaves obscured much of their vision, but not completely.

"Down there," the lagomorph gestured with her ears toward the flowing river. "In the water."

Neron paused, balancing on the bobbing branches, and watched the rippling water.

He caught sight of the tail as it splashed with its owner's dive.

The very large tail.

"The tree attracted them," Neron' sighed out. He'd hoped it would have scared them away, but that probably only worked for smaller fish. "If we want to cross, we are going to have to distract them."

Neron backed up slightly, until he had a more solid footing, then evaluated the distance to the other bank. It would be difficult, but possible. Taking the bundled cloak in both hands, making sure it was fastened in a roll properly, Neron spun and hurled it. 

A combination of his height, the supernatural advantage of his Body, even if only slightly, and the momentum carried the bundle the distance to clear the water. It landed on the other shore, passing the water's edge by a good hand-span and rolling to a stop at the base of a tree.

"Here," Neron held out his right hand to Jack. 

The hare did not speak, simply hopped into his palm and crouched. Rearing back, Neron hurled the large hare over his shoulder, her feet pushing off his palm at the apogee of his toss, and she easily sailed over the distance to the opposite bank in a delicate landing.

"Do you want me to throw you?" Neron asked Jorry. "If you curl into a ball I can do it. This will be cold. And dangerous."

"A dragon fears no temperature nor danger. I am prepared this time." The snake's pompous declaration was somewhat undercut by further tightening coils under Neron's jacket. The Player understood the snake's unspoken sentiment however and did not ask again.

Tucking the lyndros bark deeper into his pocket, both to mitigate the incoming cold and to ensure it would not fall out, Neron advanced further out across the bobbing branches. He went slow, ensuring each step was properly placed to not risk sliding off. Eventually, he reached a point where he could proceed no further, his bulk too much for the branches beyond. There, he broke off a branch as thick as his forearm, using the other hand to grasp at a willowy branch for stability.

"On me," Neron called out, winding his arm back and facing downstream. On the bank, Jack stood behind a rock half again larger than her body and faced upstream. "Three. Two. One. Go!"

Neron threw his branch as hard as he could. It tumbled end over end in an arc. Jack's stone hit the water first. He couldn't see it, facing the opposite direction, but the splash was loud and long enough that it was clear she'd kicked hard enough for it to bounce at least once. His branch, in contrast, barely made a sound as it plopped into the water.

Neron waited for a heartbeat, just one, and then threw himself off the tree with as much force as he could muster with one and a half working legs.

He didn't even clear the branches bobbing on the water's surface, their small size not lessening the scratches they carved on his face, hands, and feet as he plunged into the frigid river once more.

There was no time to orient himself, and Neron began swimming with all his might. The other tree was only two body-spans away, he wasn't carrying a water logged cloak, and he'd been much more prepared than the last time for the shock of the cold.

He still almost didn't make it.

Nine seconds. That was how long it took between Neron jumping in and getting his hands around the trunk of his target.

The fish reached him at ten.

"Behind-"

Neron did not need Jorry's lethargic voice to finish the warning before he kicked his feet viciously. Clawed toes brushed against scales, doing nothing more than scraping them, as he hoisted himself up onto the fallen tree, legs swinging up and over to wrap around the trunk. Well, one good leg. The injured one, held straight by his improvised splint, hung half submerged in the water, his toes appetizing bait for any hungry swimmers.

A different fish still considered this too vulnerable a position to pass on the chance at a free meal. Its powerful tail pushed the creature, one larger than the arapaima that had almost killed him a few hours ago, up and into the air above the water. Neron only caught a glimpse of a wide mouth and green scales before there was a loud THUD. Jack bounded off the thick scales of the fish she diverted, landed on Neron's back, and hopped back onto the shore.

Neron could not even begin to calculate how the hare had been able to do that, certainly not at the moment, as the enormous fish fell into the water. Its mass broke the tree trunk below the water, and it began to bounce. Neron could not stand up, forced to shimmy like a worm up the trunk as more fish swam below. They didn't test their luck, thankfully, and he was able to wetly flop onto the riverbank.

A hare poked her head in front of his face, looking down him with those round, blank eyes. She was chewing a clip of moss.

"Thank you," Neron grunted, sitting up with a tired sigh. It had been a long day. "Jorry?"

"I'm alright," the snake's voice was slow, clearly trying to stay awake from the sudden change in temperature. "Give me a minute."

"Take all the time you need." 

Neron dismissed his claws and called upon Cuholy's eyes. Once more, distance contracted, the world brightened from black to dim grey, and edges blurred.

Soaking wet, cold, weaponless, with a lame leg, outnumbered, and outgunned, Neron stood in a black forest and lamented the ease of it all.

The hard part was over now. From here, Neron needed only to play his last card and then sit back and observe the result. Whether they lived or died a gruesome death, it did not matter anymore. Neron had already won.

So he looked up at the dark sky, obsidian feathers concealed amongst black leaves in the night.

"Let them know we are coming."

Beady eyes met his and a beak opened in a loud croak.

"Caw caw!"

******

Belen was unrecognizable.

They'd eaten her eyes. Her ears. They'd pecked out her cheek to reach her tongue and eaten that too. Then something with large jaws and a bite force measurable in thousands of newtons had cracked the skull open and the ravens had gone to work on her brain.

Neron only knew it was her because of the few strands of bloody hair that clung desperately to the mangled scalp.

Not far from her decapitated head, her brother's torso had been hollowed out. Luca's belly had been rent open to get to the nutrient rich organs, rib cage cracked like dry noodles. Neron recognized the perpetrator, the one that had first landed in the dungeon. The only creature with light brown fur amidst a group of black, grey, and dark brown. Exact shading was hard to make out with a fox's eye in the gloom of the evening light yet the difference was clear and set the creature apart from the rest.

Two wolves, puppies compared to the rest yet still larger than any natural canine, played tug of war with Enzio's left leg, snarling and whimpering as they tugged it between jaws that could crush steel. The one with the foot gave another tug and the thigh gave way, a great chunk of meat left behind in the loser's maw as the victor fell back onto its butt, its bloody prize held firmly in place. It rose, tail wagging, and trotted over to a corner where it began to gnaw happily on the morsel, eyes flicking to the loser in smug pride or toward where Neron stood with a cautious vigilance.

The Players had been dead for hours and the forest smelled it. That smell of blood and raw meat, of offal left to the air for too long, that he'd become familiar with in his months playing God's Nature. It was how Neron had found the place in the dark forest, tracking the bloody scent/taste on the wind. The rain helped, as did the fact much of them had been consumed, but there was only so much that could be done to hide the stench of three dead humans and two dozen coati.

It was clear they'd left the humans for the younger members of the pack to consume, as five much larger wolves had made much shorter work of the monsters. Six of the large racoon like creatures were already little more than tatters of flesh on bone. In the few hours Neron had been separated from them, they'd completely cleared the dungeon, killed every coati, dragged their carcass to this place and feasted.

The sixth of the wolves, the one he couldn't see but could still taste on the wind, hid in the forest behind him, ready to pounce.

Ravens watched from tree branches that swayed in the cold rain and wind.

Neron hobbled into this grisly scene with a snake in his jacket and a hare on his shoulder. He looked upon the pile of monster corpses, foes he'd struggled against for the better part of a month and had been wiped out in an evening. He surveyed the carnage, gazed upon what remained of three people he'd spent weeks talking with, who'd he'd entrusted his back to, and led to their deaths.

Neron looked upon the work of wolves and felt nothing.

No grief. No rage. No envy. No shock. No fear. No excitement. Just the constant yawning void of emptiness.

The wolves, the adults, rose to their feet with the casual grace of a predator comfortable in its safety. They stretched and yawned, licking bloody lips clean as they began to circle him, half going clockwise, the other two going counter clockwise. Never were more than three of them in his field of view at any given time.

Neron remarked everything with the casual disinterest of a man who saw something mildly interesting yet utterly pointless. When he spoke to the circling wolves it was with exactly the tone of a man stating a banal fact, so ordinary and uncontroversial that there existed no possibility of denial.

"You are all going to die."

Not a threat. Not a promise. A fact.

Lips pealed back to reveal teeth larger than his fingers. Wordless growls deep enough to vibrate the earth. Ears pressed against heads. Claws raked the ground. The puppies ceased feasting to imitate their elders in a display that would have scared the most veteran of zookeeper.

Neron stood amidst this all without blinking. His pulse did spike, nor did shift his gaze from the largest of wolves, a titan of a creature a head larger than all the rest. 

It hadn't moved, simply observing Neron in turn with gaze as curious as it was evaluating. Wary, but not reckless. There was a confidence in those eyes, one that spoke of no need for threat displays, just swift, violent action. It rose, its bulk dwarfing the carcass of the coati boss it had been eating with the unhurried pace of someone guaranteed to not have their meal interfered with.

Their eyes were level.

"You are not scared." Its voice was male. Deep. Rumbling. It too spoke in a statement of fact.

"I was. Now I am not."

There was a flicker of surprise in the wolf, one mirrored by the brown puppy. The others did not react, still positioned to pounce.

"You hear us."

"I understand all Beasts."

"Hear. Understanding is different."

"I understand all Beasts."

"... So you do. That is why you have no fear?"

"I do not fear what I know. And I know you are going to die. All of you."

"You have said. Words are not truth."

"Death is the sole truth."

"Death comes in many forms at many times."

"Yours is imminent."

"You cannot kill us."

"I can not. Instead I shall do much worse. I shall save you."

"Save us? From what threat?"

"From yourselves. From your foolish hope."

"Now it is I who does not understand."

"I understand all Beasts. I understand the desire to grow, to evolve, to live, to Be."

"..."

"You came here to kill to eat to grow. You fed the Blessed to those of you without a Self to speak, hoping they would develop. You did the same with every beast within, hoping to steal it from their blood."

"..."

"The coati are of no consequence. They kill and are killed, hidden in their burrow. They impact nothing. It is the Players that will doom you."

"Players?"

"Those three. Blessed, but different than you know."

"You speak of the Limp. You are one."

"I am a Player. 'Limp'?"

"Blessed who die before they die. When claws meet flesh or teeth bone, they go limp. Frighted to death. You are not afraid because you know you will die without pain."

"I am not afraid because you are the walking dead and do not realize. One can not fear what they pity."

"So you say. When my jaws near your neck, you too will go limp."

"Ask the one behind me if that is the case."

"..."

"He speaks the truth. My jaw was to his throat. Claws to his chest. He remained."

"I understand all Beasts. You do not understand Players. You do not understand they go limp because these are not our original bodies, that we feel less pain, and the mind is what matters. It is protected and will move back to the original if something truly threatens it. You do not understand that what is considered a 'threat' is based on the Players themselves. You do not understand that some Players will live through the most torturous death you can inflict, and emerge unchanged. And you have just killed three of them. They will return. They will hunt you. You will die."

"We have killed the Limp before. They have hunted us. We are here. They are not."

"How many hunted you? Ten? Twenty? You believe that to be a lot. You are wrong. You do not understand Players. There are ten times your number in the town these three will resurrect at. Players. Not Blessed, just Players. Players who can communicate with each other in an instant. The only reason you are here and they are not is because you have not disturbed the grass enough to attract the rain. We are in a barren field. There are rivers of Players waiting to rush over you. Half a world away there are millions, each hungering for the same thing you do. To do to you what you did to these monsters. And in my world? There is an ocean of billions, held back by disinterest alone."

"You speak of death. Of its inevitability. Of numbers uncountable. Yet the moons are distant and the family needs to eat."

"Inevitability is the word. You will die. I can not save you from that. You will die to the Blessed, to Players, and to other Beasts. To age and hunger and time. From this inevitability I can not save you any more than I can save myself. It is not salvation from death that I offer. I offer you neither the moons nor food. I offer only the possibility of salvation of your Selves."

"...What is this salvation?"

"An agreement. One both sides may break at any moment but bound by our shared purpose and desire. Just as a Player's body is naught but a vessel and shall ever return to hunt you as long as the mind desires it, I offer to be the guardian of your minds. Of who and what you are. You shall die, I guarantee. You shall return, I guarantee as well. So long as you have life left to live, I will return you to this world undiminished."

"By what method? Will you turn against your own kind, offer up their bodies to our Being-less selves by the dozen in the hope we return. Even had you the will, you lack the means. Our pack is greater than yours."

Neron unraveled his bound cloak, and Cuholy's corpse rolled onto the dirt under every eye.

"This is Cuholy. She died three hours ago. She will return in three more. She will do so here, with me. She will do so whole."

The large wolf, the female one who'd chased him to the water's edge, walked forward and snuffled at the fox's corpse.

"He speaks the truth. This one cut me before they fled into the river. The serpent bit me... The rabbit is new."

"She joined once she understood the benefits doing so could bring."

"Yet we have only your word that they Are. Even should they return, they might not Be."

"I need only one of you to verify my words. Once you accept, you shall be able to speak with both Jorry and Jack, as well as Cuholy when she returns and any who join in the future."

"Yet the safety of this bargain remains solely based upon your words."

"You have the word of an injured man who walked into a killing field, surrounded by beasts who tried to kill him and could still do so. A single volunteer, one you know better than I, to judge."

"I can-" "No!" 

The largest wolf bit out a barking denial at the offer from the light brown wolf. It wasn't said with malice or anger, just a sharp rebuke and chastisement. 

"The Father leads. It is the way of things."

Neron observed. Catalogued. And let nothing show as the 'Father' turned back to him. 

What little he knew of wolf packs in the short amount of time he'd had to research told him that more than likely he and the female were a mated pair, the smaller wolves would be their children, and the rest of the pack would be made up by other pairs, some blood relatives and rogues folded into the family unit. Nine was about average as far as size went, but he couldn't say for certain if this were all of them. They looked a bit like super-sized grey wolves with darker fur, but making judgements on the basis of their real life equivalent would be folly.

That there would be an outlier amongst the children, one Neron was almost certain was responsible for these giant creatures' ability to navigate the tight confines of the dungeon, was the most unexpected part her. He hadn't expected them to be finished with the dungeon just yet.

"Caution is wise. Too much caution is unwise. I shall test the worth of your word Beastongue."

Neron wordlessly activated his skill. The wolf wordlessly accepted.

There was silence for a long moment. 

Into that silence, with words were as firm as the planet itself, Jorry spake.

"Whatever words spoken before were only growls to us so I will only say this: when a dragon's partner speaks, you would be wise to listen."

"Dragon? You have no claws. No wings. You are small and slither. You are a snake. Thus Beastongue spoke with the voice of a snake. As do you."

"I am what I will become. Thus am I a dragon and speak with a dragon' voice."

There was none of fragile ego or empty pride that sometimes colored the snake's voice present. Jorry was the third being to speak that night of fact that should not be yet was.

The Father acknowledged the point and turned to Jack.

"And you rabbit? What have you to say in Beastongue's favor?"

"Hare."

"..."

"I am a hare."

"...That is all?"

"That is all."

Done with the conversation, and likely judging it would no longer turn to violence, Jack lost interest. Under the eyes of nine wolves, the hare began to nibble on the grass and moss.

"Let me provide further testimony."

Neron sent off another request, and this time it was also responded to instantly and wordlessly. A raven alighted from a treetop and landed upon the large wolf's head with an ease that spoke of long familiarity.

"Caw! Caw!"

The wolf tilted his head in a picture of canine confusion and the bird hopped down from his skull to pick at a bloody piece of flesh with its beak.

"I did not understand the bird. I heard its 'croak', and a 'cawing' as if it were a crow. Its words were unintelligible."

"That is because its 'caws' are its words. I can not force it to speak, no more than you can your pack. It can understand you, however."

"If you can, old friend, then call down your pack to feast. There is too much food for us to eat before we must depart."

Neron had underestimated how easily the birds hid in the darkness, even from fox eyes, as no less than two dozen ravens descended from somewhere in the tree tops, beginning to feast on the piles of coati corpses.

"My word has proven worth a few hours of rest, has it not?"

"..."

"Or is the possibility of salvation I offer of no use to your family?"

"Very well. We will leave when the sun touches the horizon. If this 'Cuholy' has not returned whole by then, then I would know your words for falsehood, Beastongue."

What would happen if he was lying went unsaid, yet understood. So Neron took a seat amidst the wolves and corpses and waited. He did not speak, for further words were harmful at this time.

Jack continued to nibble on the nearby grass, uncaring for all that surrounded her. There was a brief moment of tension as the light furred wolf sniffled close to the hare and she kicked it away, but none of the other predators reacted aggressively, taking it as a playful chastisement, and the moment passed.

Jorry remained with him, ensconced in Neron's shirt and warmed by the lyndros bark's continual burning. For over three hours, the world moved around them and they let it.

The wolves kept an eye on them, no more so than the leader who remained vigilant as the rest returned to their meals or curled up to sleep. The other wolf with a Self came and went with the ravens, scouting the area for approaching enemies or ambushes but returning each time without any result.

Yet there was something in the way their gazes looked at him, or from him to Cuholy's corpse, that told him all he needed to know. They were suspicious, but more than that they were hopeful. Hopeful for a solution to a problem they never thought solvable.

Neron sat through it all as the rain slowed to a stop, the clouds thinned and parted, and the moons eventually shone their light down upon them.

Night had set and deepened, approaching its nadir, when Neron tasted the change in airflow. He could not feel it, there was no sensation from his skill, but he knew the instant there was something in the space where oxygen alone used to occupy.

There was no bright light, no flash, no indication of the resurrection beyond a light weight that fell upon Neron's lap.

Neron looked at the small fox in his lap and smiled.

"Welcome back."

Cuholy, returned from the void of non existence, looked around. She saw her killer, happily chewing grass. She saw the enormous wolves.

Cuholy met the gazes of her predators, each of whom looked upon her as proof that salvation was not only possible, but here.

Cuholy screamed in terror.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Even as the fox in his lap continued to scream, Neron felt familiar claws scrambling up his jacket to hide behind his back and his smile deepened.

"I kept my promise." Neron's voice was airy as the illusion continued to scream. "Nobody will try and kill you. You are safe."

After all, what was greater safety than to make your enemies' strength your own?

Amidst the screaming of an illusion, the trembling of a real fox, and the hopeful eyes dozens of beasts, there rang a sound only Neron could hear.

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You have taken your first steps towards a hidden peak. The infinite paths are long and arduous, fraught with unknown dangers. They dog your heels and loom as shadows. The only certainty is strife. You are not of this world and it has noticed. It will give nothing. It will take all it can. It demands compensation for your trespass. Its currency is blood and spirit. Flesh and dirt. It offers an exchange. Do you wish to sacrifice your potential to appease it?

Y/N

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