When I jolt awake at sunrise, there is a ticklish sensation on the tips of my finger. The squirmer startles and scurries away, using the next branch as a walkway to an adjacent tree. I inspect my fingers for bite marks. The runes on the paper are smudged, nearly returned to their former black, and the edges of the paper curled with the trademarks of a burn. Extracting the knife from the tree, the thin threads of the fraying spell pop and scatter.

Munching on some rations, I check the rest of my equipment and clean and sharpen the knives. Lured by the food, Ivans materializes at the tree next to me and slips a fruit and two pastries from the pile. He leans against the trunk from a somewhat lower branch, enthusiasm for the treats thoroughly salted.

“How did it go?”

“He docked my pay.”

“I'll make up for it.”

“Six dinners. AND three breakfasts.”

“In addition to my promise.”

“…Yeah.”

I listen to the waking of the forest. He slips another fruit from the pile.

“You have a strange method of asking favours.”

“A trade isn’t a favour.”

Snapping his fingers, he pilfers the rest of the exposed rations into his arms. Pinching his current roll of bread between his teeth, he nudges me ahead with his chin.

The snacks are finished before the edge of the forest is cleared. By the end of the walk to the cave mouth, Ivans has depleted his own reserve of rations and skipped ahead to set up a campsite. I hand him back the clipboard he offered to me on the walk over.

“Coming in?”

He shakes his head. He inscribed a circle at the entrance. Long as I don't get creative with making my own, he’ll know both my entrance and exit. A tempting provocation, but counterproductive to my agenda.

The entrance is equivalent to my hip in height. According to the reports, it widens and dips gradually after a ways, making it “an adequate size for an adequate girth” (the statement is accompanied by a note from the supervisor criticizing the record keeper’s competence and demanding a high priority rewrite, then countermanded by the district supervisor who chastises both Supervisor and record keeper for wasting government resources). I plop into a cross-legged sit to the side of the cave mouth and poke into the dirt with my knife. Prying up a decent pile, I get to work squishing and stretching and remoulding the dark soil. Tucking a rune into the centre of the body, tied by a sliver from my wand, I finish the creation with the deliberate placement of my cufflinks for the eyes. I admire the grassy lump of soil.

Perfect.

Sketching out a copy of the runes at the bottom of the pile, I stab my wand into its centre to complete the spell and feed my magic into the wand. The hedgehog’s eyes gleam, the entire clump of dirt animating at once.

I sweep the handle of the wand in a couple of lazy circles, observing as the cave and my knees blink in and out of focus through two quick spins.

A touch sensitive. Manageable.

Dipping the wand forward, I nudge the hedgehog into the cave. Per the report, a bioluminescent moss is scattered over the roof and walls in patches beginning from the first dip. The faint glow is enough to distinguish the stampede of prints exiting the cave that had been faded outside due to rain.

In line with the report, two dips before the tunnel becomes tunnels. I take the paths in turn, dipping my head into each of the living spaces before continuing on. The left path, which dips into a few different offshoots before tumbling into the centre path, becomes the path I commit to upon spying patches of blood and the bones of a handful of tearrorbols.

At the lower reaches of the joined paths, the tunnel opens up into a cavern with an underwater stream and plenty of herbs and grasses common to the tearrorbol diet. The streaks of blood, on the contrary, are not. The culprit, dozing on a particularly sizeable patch of luminescent moss on the opposite side of the underground pond, swishes a rotted tail languidly. There is an open gash in its chest, like someone stabbed and tore the flesh.

Bryant. Of course he’s to blame.

I break connection, returning my wand to its sheath. A few seconds to blink the abrupt splotches of sunlight from my eyelids, then I empty my coin pouch from the king. I check my magic. Half the bar has been greyed out, but the rest I can access is full. Preferably, I can end this without a fight.

Ivans looks at me, then obediently lifts his palm. I press a bundle of cord into it and flash him a smile.

“What is this?”

“I spun it myself. Return this to me later, will you?”

“Ryan.”

I duck into the cave, ignore the bones, and proceed directly into the heart of it. Creeping up behind the boulder split from the leftmost wall by a jagged crack, I peek through the crack. The undead beast remains peacefully oblivious, its exposed heart glistening through the white of its ribcage. Embedded within the heart is a thin crystal. It reflects the green illumination of the moss; a deep purple microchip embedded with black circuits.

My vision screws white from rage. Quenched swiftly, but much too late.

The creature stirs and lifts its head, turning two gaping black sockets upon me. It flares a shredded wing, priming its hind legs and taloned-less claws for a pounce.

Shit.

Vial, dodge, recover. The glass arcs through the air and shatters over the boulder in a goopy, blue mess. The creature yelps on an unstable grip and dives headfirst into the ground, wing flared vainly for balance.

A low growl replaces the yelp. A guttural, burbling, growl.

Definitely pissed now.

Sockets emblazoned with a white flame, the creature's body shivers and folds in upon itself. Tail snaps like the crack of a whip, shedding the rot and weaving into a red braided cord snaked with a silver, razor-thin edge. The scales shed to prickly fur, talons to vicious, bony fingers and hands, while the hind legs stretch and curve their claws like hooks. The white flames collapse into the sockets, pooling into silver-grey orbs that schlick into place and stare blankly upon me.

Stiffness creeps up my fingers. I jerk my eyes away, instinctively curling into a ball, and assess my hands. The tips of all ten fingers are grey to the knuckle. Stone.

I hear a growl, and then the flap of wings.

Dodge. Crack. Pain. My left leg numbs around the slash. Manageable. But barely. A scar lines the rock where my feet had been a second ago, clumps of moss and herbs scattered. The beast growls.

Another flap and I'm at the edge of the water. Right hand slips in. Left braces against the fall. A quiet voice hums a tune.

Talons scrape against the walls of the cavern. It remains put, a growl gurgling in its throat.

I pull out my hand, wiggle my fingers, then dip my leg into the water. The gurgle deepens to a burble and lightens to the screeching of a cacophony. It echoes in the cavern. I jump into the water, dulling the pain, and turn my eyes upon where the growl had originated. A swarm clusters the ceiling, like rats with ugly patches of scales and dragonfly wings. They whiffle into a spread across the ceiling, then clump together and back apart. Piranha rows of teeth.

The bones spring to mind.

Swirling my fingers quickly, I manage to form a bubble of air around myself. I poke a finger outside of the bubble, sending a jolt of electricity through the water in time to dissuade the cluster from diving in. They screech angrily, whiffle about, and attempt a second dive. Two more jolts dissuade the cluster from a fourth attempt. The cacophony rises, a chitter of frumious noises that burble and lower back into a singular growl. Striking its red corded tail against the stone, the creature spans its wings to vanish amidst the jagged shadows of the cavernous ceiling.

The edge of the bubble fringes from the electricity, then pushes my finger in and normalizes. An inch slighter than creation, but temporarily stable.

I exhale a short sigh, then turn my attention to the little intruder. She stops humming, flaps her butterfly wings, and dips her head in greeting. Hand on heart, the fairy opens her mouth in introduction.

“Muse, at your service.”

“Ryan.”

She shakes my finger with her hands.

“Any idea how to defeat it?”

“He took his vorpal sword in hand,” she sings, then shakes her head.

“But that was the Jabberwock, right? What about the Bandersnatch and the JubJub Bird?”

She shakes her head.

“How do you create a Vorpal sword?”

“All mimsy were the borogoves.”

Are the borogoves a people? The bubble shrinks, brushing my knuckles. Running out of time.

The Tulgey Woods. Brillig, so it gets cold. The Mome Raths outgrabe because of the Borogoves, which create the Vorpal sword. Bryant killed the Jabberwock without the sword, which means he either had access to the materials or an alternative strategy. But the JubJub Bird and the Bandersnatch appear fine. Those wouldn’t appear on the cut screen of an RPG unless the plot called for it.

“The vorpal blade went snicker-snack.”

The Muse nods. “He left it dead,– ”

“And with its head,–”

She falls silent.

The bubble shrinks again. One minute remaining. Survival games discuss harvesting. RPGs don’t. Bryant may have found an alternative to the Jabberwock, but he didn’t follow through. And his sloppy work has upset an entire group of Tearrorbols.

The Bandersnatch hates water, but the Jabberwock took refuge in a cave with plenty of it. The JubJubs seem agile enough as swimmers, but are wary of electricity.

I can work with that.

Selecting a few empty vials from my pouch, I offer a smaller one to the fairy. Muse accepts it, a determined set to her chin.

The bubble wobbles and pops. The water rushes in.

The cavern is eerily quiet the first few seconds after emerging from the water. Looping the vials into my belt, I take the time to stretch my limbs and extricate the drench from my clothes. One step forward.

A growl and the flap of wings.

I dodge to the right, skirting beneath the edge of its tail as its talons scrape the ground on my left. I scramble a fist-sized chunk of boulder into my palm and whip it at the creature. It yelps and growls, lashing its tail against the ground with frumious enthusiasm.

“Shun the frumious bandersnatch,” Muse warns, singing beneath her breath.

“Just focus on getting into position.”

She flaps towards the ceiling, hiding the glint of the vial within the shadows. The Bandersnatch lunges again. And again.

If the first drop doesn’t maim or kill, then the next will disable or grapple. That is the purpose of the Bandersnatch.

Snapping my cufflinks from the pile of dirt, I throw up my arm to block the red-corded tail from my skull. A significant crack and searing pain followed by numbness. The grey stone coats my forearm and paralyzes my wrist.

Its tail thunks to the ground, scattering clumps of herbs and grass. The cords are split and entwined around a clump of boulder.

Shun the Bandersnatch. It retaliates.

Warning: Item Damaged

Thanks, Tann.

Scraping back to my feet, I pluck a needle from my wrist guard and fuse it with the cufflink. My palm quivers furiously, and it nearly rolls from my grip. One more.

The delay costs my ankle. I draw my wand, sketch a shield, and scramble onto the cracked boulder. The Bandersnatch cackles at my vulnerability and leaps from the wall to the jagged pillars of the ceiling.

Closing my eyes, I recall the incantation and gestures intimately. A splash of water and a sizzle. The Bandersnatch screeches. I crack my eyes open a touch.

The Bandersnatch is wailing on the ground, bony hands clutched desperately over both eyes. The fur around his shoulders are matted with water. A cork bounces innocently, and Muse turns her eyes upon me.

I trade her the empty vial for the needles. My spell nuzzles against my ankle, eroding away the stone. I pet it on the head.

The wails fade to a burble. I leap from the rock into the belly of the spell. It swallows me, wrapping around my body like a blanket. The burble splits into a cacophony of screeches as the body of the Bandersnatch tears fragments of itself apart into the rat-like JubJub birds. The fire pools into the maw of two bodies that whiffle away from the others.

The spell, a mimic of the Bandersnatch itself, drags its body atop the boulder by its watery hands. Orienting its hold, it leaps to the wall and springs to latch onto the ceiling. The JubJubs whiffle about, then turn their focus upon me.

The mimic leaps between the jagged rocks and climbs.

Warning: Syphen Detected

Warning: Consumption Rate 30%

I needed that.

I thrust the wand into the ceiling and through it. Dirt is eaten away into a hole. The mimic drags from my body, melding into the river flooding the cavern. I force the staff through the hole, locking it on the other side. My right arm screams with agony.

Black spots blink into my vision.

Warning: Item Reaching Critical Capacity

Endure.

Just a little longer.

The screeching of the JubJubs cuts through the rush of water, significantly closer than anticipated. I force obedience of my right hand, peel a dagger from my belt, and drop it. I muster up a spark. It follows the blade of the water and dagger, nicks and scorches the scale of one unlucky JubJub, and explodes into a network across all of them.

The screeching triples in volume.

Warning: Item at Critical Capacity

Warning: Incapable of ShutDown

Emergency Measures Activated. Consciousness Restored.

I’m slipping.

The JubJubs are in a panic and scattered. The two bodies containing the eyes are burbling urgently about, hastily snapping up the other parts of its body and morphing into a familiar shape.

The Jabberwock.

Catching the flat edge of one of the jagged rocks, I spring from it directly at the creature. Snapping a dagger into my left hand, I prime the killing blow.

The empty sockets are alight with the fire, neck and torso only just formed. A brief register of genuine fear and panic.

The head rolls to the ground, fire extinguished.

My head smacks against something. The wall or the ground. I stumble to my feet in a daze, vision blurring and wobbling. A vague irritation pricks my stomach at the sight of one blob. I stumble towards it, kneel, and stab into it with the dagger. I fumble the chip into the king’s pouch by the fabric.

The string tugs shut.

Forced Shutdown Engaged.

No countdown. No warning.