???: “Just make sure ya pay more attention to the forest than your drink.” With a wry, cocky smirk, the old man spoke, giving Roy a lazy wave as he turned to enter the ruin.

Roy had to make an effort not to grind his teeth at Alistair’s sardonic remark. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t patronize me, you old codger.” He nearly spat those words out, but the mauve-haired swordsman merely snorted as he stepped inside.

Roy absolutely despised Alistair. He was just an outsider—a stranger—but in the way he spoke, the way he acted, the way he treated Roy, he could tell that the old man thought he was better than him.

What a joke.

So what if Alistair was older? So what if he was a prodigal warrior? Roy had been part of the family for far longer. He should be the one who commanded respect; instead, everyone treated him like filth.

For that matter, calling Alistair and his irritating daughter “family” was a disgusting thought. It was something that Roy absolutely refused to accept. Loid, too—he was a traitor for siding with them.

This entire mess was their fault. If Jacqueline had just kept her hands to herself, she and Alistair would’ve been gone before long. Instead, the damned harlot went and got herself pregnant.

It was because of her that they’d violated the taboo all this time. Roche should’ve thrown her out to fend for herself, but he was too sentimental to make the right choice. He put all of their lives at risk for her sake, and now a Carrion was on their trail.

Didn’t anyone understand how serious this was? It wasn’t just any monster—a Carrion, for Eve’s sake! Didn’t they understand they would all die if it found them? They should’ve ditched the lot of them the moment Roy gave his report.

But of course they didn’t. None of them gave Roy the respect he deserved. None of them listened to him.

It was that whore’s fault the Carrion appeared in the first place, yet Roche was wasting time celebrating them rather than kicking them out. The fool was too sentimental to act as a good leader—they’d fooled him into supporting them with the prospect of a grandchild, as if that meant anything.

Roy raised his drink to his lips, then coughed and sputtered as he tried to take a drink, spitting off to the side. Without even realizing, he’d started grinding his teeth hard enough to make him bleed.

Roy: “Damn it.” He coughed again, then raised his glass to take a proper swig, stepping away from the ruin.

He needed to burn off some steam, so he might as well make a quick patrol around the building. He walked beside the front wall and then a ways past it before turning, carefully stepping between the roots of the bloodred willows.

Even if the others didn’t respect him, Roy was good at his job, and he knew that for a fact. He was often left in charge of scouting and patrols—he could move quietly, and he had a good knack for tracking and for catching sounds.

Even in his drunken, irritated state, he did not miss the faint shuffling sound to his left.

Immediately he turned, his senses sharpening and his body straightening into a proper stance. It’d been a light sound, like a small creature scrambling for cover—a Kritta, or perhaps even a Krimling?

If it were the former, he could deal with it himself. Even if it was alone, it likely belonged to a larger group. If he left to inform the others, it might escape only to return with a whole band of Kritta; if he shouted for them, its friends might find them either way.

If it were the latter… he’d kill Jacqueline himself to leave as bait for the damned things. Would serve her right for attracting something as dangerous as a pack of Krimling.

In either case, his plan of action was clear. He carefully stepped forward, placing a hand on the hilt of a dagger at his belt.

Whatever was hiding here among the trees, he’d quietly kill it himself.

Slowly he advanced forward, his footsteps perfectly silent, his sharp eyes glancing from side to side, carefully checking each tree as he approached. Whatever was hiding would certainly try to get the jump on him; as long as he saw it coming, he could easily overpower it.

He continued forward, but he saw nothing. Nothing leapt out at him.

Something was wrong.

He should’ve seen the creature by now. He trusted his ears, and he was certain the sound had come from about as far as he’d progressed. The monster should be right where he was standing.

Then, his eye caught it—movement between the roots off to his side. A long, skin-toned tendril slithered towards something a ways in front of him. The lumpy shape that served as its source rose slowly, its form wriggling as it moved.

This monster—the Feracule—had lured him out, tricking him into believing it was a small, manageable threat.

A bladed tentacle shot forward, and Roy threw himself to the side, tumbling over a jagged root as he rolled up to his feet.

Roy: “Wait, wait! Damn it, I know you understand me..!” He spoke in a shrill whisper-shout, ducking behind a tree as a hand-bearing tentacle surged forward, its palm slapping against his cover. “I said wait! There’s six more of us in that building, hear me!? If I shout loud enough, you’re dead..!”

The Feracule paused for a moment as if considering this, but its wriggling mass lurched forward, using a dozen nail-bearing tentacles in place of feet. It shot one tentacle out to the side, curving around the tree.

Roy cursed and crouched down as the tentacle thrust forward, its nail glancing against the tree bark where his head had been just a moment prior. He leapt out from behind the tree, hopping between roots and over another bladed tentacle before standing with his back to another tree.

Roy: “L-listen! I really will—“ He cut off, jumping to the side with a yelp as a fist pounded against his tree cover, “Damn it, you want easy food, don’t you!?”

At that, the Feracule paused again. Its tentacles retracted back to the main body slowly, which rose up on its “legs” as if looking down at Roy.

Glancing at the monster from around the egde of his cover, Roy gulped. “Th-that’s right! I can help you. L-let me go, and you’ll get a better meal nice and easy..!”

He let this offer stand for a moment, and the Feracule remained still—which is to say, it remained in one position; it was never truly still, with the coiled tentacles that made up its central mass wriggling about perpetually. Taking this as agreement, Roy continued,

Roy: “W-we’re actually splitting up today..! I’ll lead you to them—the other group, that is. I’ll even weaken them for you! Then you can, you can… c-can eat them nice and easy.” He forced out those final words. Just saying it made him want to puke.

Alistair: “Oi, Roy!” Alistair’s voice rang out from the ruin, echoing between the trees. Roy nearly jumped at the sudden sound. A moment later, it was followed by a second call, “Roy!?”

The Feracule carefully backed away, but it let one bladed tentacle creep forward, tracing its blade along the bark on the opposite side of Roy’s tree cover.

Sweat dripping down his brow, Roy swallowed his spit. “I-I get it. I’ll meet you outside at night. B-but..! After this, you won’t touch me or my family..!”

The Feracule silently retracted its tentacle and began to reverse its way through the willow trees, its large form moving with shocking dexterity. Roy slowly stepped out from his cover, staring out at it as it escaped, his throat hoarse.

Alistair: “Oi! Found him!”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

The outside world was well-lit by the pale glow of the moon and stars, the jagged, bloodred trees casting long tendrils of shadow across the muddy path, the moon hanging large in the sky behind them. This meant little to the Feracule; while it did possess the means to see, its eyesight was incredibly poor even when it wasn’t obscured behind its own tentacles. It was much more convenient to simply sense the shapes of its surroundings.

In doing so, it clearly made out the old man rushing outside, a sword in hand. He stopped in the center of the road, propping his sword lazily over his shoulder, his other hand stroking the stubble of his chin.

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

The man directed his voice at the Feracule. It wasn’t often that a mere Human attempted to converse with its kind, but this was the second member of this group that had done so. The Feracule honestly found them to be quite intriguing—not enough to forego eating them, mind you, but enough to make it ponder the nature of these interesting specimens.

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

The man continued, narrowing his eyes. His attempts to converse with the Feracule weren’t the only peculiar thing about him—he was also quite confident for a Human. Most would cower in fear, like the red-haired fellow that led it here; not only did this man stand his ground, he even deigned to issue a warning.

He was quite arrogant for a Human, that’s for sure.

The Feracule carefully extended one tentacle from its wriggling body, lining up its jagged nail with the man’s head. In the next moment, it sent it lurching forward, shooting through the air with incredible speed.

The man clicked his tongue in annoyance, cocking his head to the side. A metallic screech rang out as the nail scraped against its sword, hot sparks tickling the Feracule’s skin. Taking his sword in both hands, the man then broke into a sprint, his blade cutting cleanly into the tentacle as he ran alongside its outstretched length.

That hurt.

The Feracule retaliated, sending three more tentacles out in different directions—two bearing nails, one bearing a hand. Seeing this, the man slid to a stop, twisting his wrist with a flick and dismembering the original tentacle beside him.

The Feracule allowed what remained of that tentacle to flop down to the ground, cutting it off from its nervous system for now; it had plenty more to work with, so there was no need to bother with feeling pain inflicted by a mere Human.

The flurry of tentacles was upon him in an instant, the first shooting right for his head like the last. The man swung his sword out in front of him, batting the bladed edge of the tentacle aside. The second came from above, ready to crush him under its open-palmed hand, but the man threw himself to the side, dodging it with a somersault.

What a fool he was. For all its bravado, the Human had fallen right into the Feracule’s trap: the third tentacle of its assault was rushing towards him, close to the ground. It would strike his hands, leaving him defenseless. After that, the Feracule would take its time picking him apart—

As he rolled onto his hands, the man pushed against the ground, springing up before the tentacle could reach him. Not only did he avoid the attack, he sprang towards the Feracule, landing on the tentacle and swiftly cutting it in two.

Surely, the Feracule thought, the first tentacle, which had curved around the hand after being batted aside and was rushing for the man again, would strike him as he was distracted. Instead, the man whirled around and parried the blade of the tentacle once more, and with the same flicking motion as before he sliced it just below the nail. He then rushed forward with a mighty grunt, cutting the hand before it could rise up and make a second attack.

How infuriating.

A mere Human, besting the attacks of a Feracule? Surely, it was just a fluke.

The Feracule sent forth another flurry of tentacles, at which the man sighed. He rushed forward, ducking past the first tentacle, its blade just inches from piercing him, and sliced through it without even stopping. A fist swung at him, but with a horizontal slice he robbed it of its fingers, leaving it all but useless. The final tentacle shot up so as to strike at him from above, but he leapt forward and cut its base before it could rise out of reach.

How infuriating.

How was a mere Human able to so effortlessly best all of the Feracule’s efforts? The mere idea of it was absurd. It would not stand.

The Feracule refused to lose to a mere Human. It would show him its power.

With that, it sunk the bladed tentacles it was using as its “feet” firmly into the ground, and in the next moment, its wriggling body became a whirlwind of movement. Dozens upon dozens upon dozens of tentacles began to retract at incredible speed, untangling and unwinding, some of their bladed ends leaving gashes in the ground and trees nearby as they whipped about.

For the first time in a long time, the single eye embedded in the Feracule’s core had an unobstructed view as each and every one of its tentacles was straightened out.

Its eye strained against the moonlight, dilating as it focused in on its opponent. It paused for a moment, carefully stretching each of the limbs protruding from its central core. Then, all at once, all of its tentacles rushed forward, lengthening as they shot towards the man.

The Feracule would use the full extent of its power to show just how superior it was to a mere Human.