???: “Despite how ya look, I know ya can understand me, ya damn beast.”

Standing in the shade of the crimson willows, an aging man with greying, purplish hair declared so, an old sword propped lazily over one shoulder. His free hand stroked the stubble of his chin as he continued,

???: “I’m givin’ ya one warning. Stay the hell away from my family.”

He narrowed his eyes, fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. Across the clearing, the monstrosity standing in his way offered little in the way of reply.

In the next moment, a bladed tentacle shot for his eyes.

The man simply cocked his head to the side, clicking his tongue in annoyance. A shower of sparks erupted beside him, accompanied by a metallic screech as his sword scraped across the monster’s blade.

This was far from Alistair’s first time dealing with a Feracule. Despite their horrific appearances—being little more than writhing masses of skin-toned tentacles ending in hands or jagged, blade-like nails—they were beings possessing a degree of sapience and intelligence.

Unfortunately, they also tended to be arrogant fools.

Taking his sword in both hands, Alistair began to sprint forward, his blade cutting into the flesh of the outstretched tentacle as if peeling the skin off a vegetable. Naturally the beast retaliated, several more tentacles stretching out from the coiled mass of its main body in different directions, each curving towards him as they sped through the air.

Alistair slid to a stop and twisted his wrist. With a flick, he drove his blade deeper into the Feracule’s flesh, dismembering the tentacle in a flash of silver.

In came the flurry of tentacles. The first shot right for his head once more, and Alistair batted its bladed end aside, a metallic clang echoing across the clearing. The second came from above, Alistair throwing himself to the side in a somersault to avoid the open-palmed hand. The third and final tentacle moved close to the ground, shooting for his hands.

“Too slow, bastard.” Alistair pushed off the ground before the blade could reach him, but rather than continuing in the same direaction, he pivoted, flipping towards the third tentacle. Its soft flesh was swiftly pinned beneath his boot, and he wasted no time in cutting the restrained tentacle in two.

He rose and turned just as the first tentacle was coming in for its second attack, having curved around the second. Once again he batted the blade aside with a well-practiced motion, and with a flick of his wrist he swiftly dismembered it just below the nail. With a grunt the old man lunged forward to the remaining tentacle, cutting it in two before its hand could rise from the ground.

Returning his gaze to the main body, Alistair held back a sigh as several more tentacles emerged from the wriggling mass. While Feracules didn’t seem to bother with manipulating tentacles that had been disarmed, they seemed to possess an almost infinite store of the things.

Readying his blade for the next wave, he muttered a quiet curse. A curse for the Feracule, a curse for Roy, and a curse for everything that led to this terrible situation.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

???: “We will be splitting up. Today.”

Alistair was leaning back against one of the walls of the overgrown ruin he and the others had called home for the past few days. His comrades were gathered in a rough circle in front of him, at their center the remains of the morning campfire, built just below a large hole in the flat stone roof.

Seated just in front of him was a purple-haired woman with a baby in her arms, and beside her a pale, lanky man with messy black hair. Directly across from them was the stern, muscular man who’d just spoken, a black-haired woman beside him; to that group’s left a dark-skinned woman sat, and behind her a red-haired man paced with low murmurs.

Altogether, an impressive seven Humans had gathered in this place—eight, if you counted Alistair’s infant grandchild.

???: “Of what little of our ancestors’ wisdom remains, one thing is made abundantly clear: we are not to remain in large groups, or in one place, for long.” The man spoke again, turning his fiery orange eyes and bushy, reddish eyebrows to the purple-haired woman, “We’ve broken both of those rules for the sake of you and your child, but we can’t remain an exception anymore.”

The man’s name was Roche. He was the second-oldest of the group after Alistair, and over the last year they’d accepted him as their de-facto leader. With his long reddish hair cut into a meticuously-maintained flat top and a large, jagged white scar over one half of his tan-skinned face, he was stern and hotheaded, but not unwise.

Alistair narrowed his eyes as he considered the words of his old friend. He could tell that behind his sternly-arched eyebrows was a genuine concern for Jacqueline and her child.

Sitting across from Roche, Jacqueline gently rocked the baby in her arms as she considered his words. Mixed emotions fluttered across her distinctive red eyes, her long hair falling in angular coils around her shoulders.

???: “Is it really true? We’re sure there’s a Carrion nearby?”

Placing an uncertain hand on her shoulder, the man beside her spoke up in her stead. His black hair cut short over his thin face and lanky limbs, he wore a button-up white shirt and a pensive expression, a pair of patchwork glasses resting lopsided over his nose.

At his question, all eyes turned to the side—past the dark-skinned girl, who sighed with her chin in her hands, not bothering to turn herself—and to the ginger-haired man pacing by the edge of the room, Roy.

Roy: “Hah!? You think I’m lyin’, Loid!? I saw it with my own eyes, damn it! A Carrion!”

Roy was thin and fidgety, his chin coated in thick, unkempt stubble. His old jerkin bore various stains, and he perpetually stank of alcohol. Alistair didn’t much like Roy—and as far as he could tell, the rest of the group only tolerated him. He had a hard time believing they’d have kept Roy around if he weren’t Roche’s brother.

Roche: “Roy! Calm down. He isn’t accusing you—“

Roy: “Well, I know what I saw!” Cutting off his brother, Roy threw his arms out to the side, his eyes wide and lips curled with exhasperation, “It was a Carrion! If we don’t get moving, we’re going to die!”

As Roy’s exclamation echoed around the room, the group was consumed by silenced, aside from Roche’s signature low, irritated growl. After a moment, the woman in front of Roy broke the silence with a sigh,

???: “I can understand why you’d doubt him, but it’s true. I saw the footprints myself. They’re unmistakably a Carrion’s. Wasn’t heading here—not yet, anyways—but it’s only a matter of time.”

With dark skin and hazel eyes, her coiled dreadlocs fell down one side against her shoulder. She wore a simple vest and baggy pants, a spear strapped to her back and a finely-carved bone bracer over her right forearm.

Roy: “See? Wren saw it, too! Why don’t you ever listen to me!?”

Roche: “Roy!” He shot a glare to his brother as he raised his voice, Roy jumping with a slight yelp. “Stop your instigating. You know that isn’t what Loid meant. Why don’t you think, just for a moment, what’s going through their minds right now? And stop your pacing!”

Jacqueline: “It’s fine. He’s right to be worried.”

The group’s gaze shifted as Jacqueline raised her head, finally speaking up,

Jacqueline: “I wouldn’t want any of you to face a Carrion… So, Roche.” Determination shone in her sharp red eyes as her lips curled into a grin, “Thanks for putting up with me.”

Roche’s eyes widened for a moment, and he lowered his gaze, clasping his hands together as he knit his thick eyebrows. Then he shot up from his seat, turning away and crossing his arms in a huff,

Roche: “Damn you, woman… You think I’ll entrust my son’s life to the likes of you!?” He growled, stamping his foot, “For that matter, you think I’ll just leave my grandkid in your hands!?”

Alistair smirked. Nobody present fell for Roche’s act.

Loid: “Dad—“

Roche spun around, clenching a fist, “I’ll go with you, and that’s that!”

Faced with that stern proclamation, Loid swallowed before continuing, standing up to match his father,

Loid: “You know you can’t come with us.”

Roche: “I can and I will.”

Loid: “You and Al are the best fighters we have. It wouldn’t make sense for you to both be in the same group.”

Roche: “Wren’s strong enough to protect them.”

Loid: “And you’ll just leave her and Mom behind?”

In the background, Roy rose a complaint for being excluded from that statement, but it was instantly drowned out by Roche’s reply,

Roche: “Damn it, boy!”

He swung an arm forward, and for a split-second it seemed as if he was about to punch Loid. Instead, he took the man by the shoulder and yanked him forward, pressing him against his chest.

Restrained like this, Loid was the only one unable to see the tear running down Roche’s cheek.

Roche: “You better stay safe out there, you hear me? Don’t you let anything happen to my grandkid, either.” He dug his storng fingers into Loid’s shoulder, causing the wiry man to wince, but he simply nodded.

Quickly wiping his eyes with his free hand, Roche finally pushed Loid back and clapped his shoulder. “That’s a promise, got it? I plan on seeing all of you again. If you go and die before me, I’ll kill you.”

Putting on a determined expression that didn’t suit him at all, Loid readjusted his crude glasses and nodded. “We’ll stay safe, no matter what. Besides, we have Al with us.”

With his name being thrown into the conversation, Alistair let out a low sneer and lifted his aging bones off the wall, stepping forward with a shit-eating grin. “That’s right, musclebrains. I’ll do a far better job protectin’ your son than ya’d ever do.”

Roche: “Oho? A bold claim, coming from the hag bastard with greying hair.” Raising one bushy eyebrow, he stepped past Loid to meet the approaching Alistair.

Both men came to a stop and swung an arm forward. Al’s fist swung above Roche’s; Roche’s swung below his. Swiping nothing but the air, both then reversed the movement and clapped the back of their hands together, striking knuckle against knuckle.

Roche: “Now then, howsabout you tell me where you hid that cask of good wine we found last month? I know you took it, you hag bastard, and I plan on drinking with my son before he leaves.”

Alistair: “I guess ya must be dumber than I thought, musclebrains, ‘cause I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about. If it’s missing alcohol, ya should go interrogate Roy.”

~ ⁂ ~