Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan

The underground caves of the Onyx Palace were a freezing, pitch-black labyrinth to most, but to Vex, they were simply a convenient back door.

Vex pulled himself up onto the stone floor of the lower dungeons, shaking the foul-smelling swamp muck from his three tails. He slipped back into his holding cell just moments before the gate at the end of the corridor opened.

He settled himself onto the ground, crossing his legs. He leaned his head back against the wall and arranged his handsome features into a mask of boredom.

He didn’t have to wait long.

"Fox," the lead guard hissed, unlocking the cell gate and hauling it open. "The King demands to see you. Move."

Vex offered a patronizing smile. He stood up voluntarily, offering his wrists to the guards. The snakes aggressively wrapped thick coils of thorned vines around his arms, pulling the bindings so tight that the sharp thorns bit into his flesh. Vex didn’t even flinch. He hummed a cheerful little tune as they roughly marched him out of the freezing dungeon and up the winding stone stairs.

Resting on a pile of plush, black furs was Ren.

Standing over her was Syris. The Snake King’s arms were crossed tightly, his chest heaving.

"Ah, Syris," Vex smiled, an unbothered grin spreading across his face as the guards forced him to his knees. "You look stressed. Is the crown finally causing your scales to peel?"

Syris’s jaw tightened. "You claimed you could heal her, Fox."

Vex let out a throaty chuckle, his three fluffy red tails swaying lazily behind him. "I claim many things. It is a terrible habit of mine."

Syris lunged forward, grabbing Vex by the neck and hauling the Fox Shaman halfway to his feet.

"Fix her," Syris snarled. "You said you could save her. Do it. Now."

Vex simply smiled, completely unfazed by the King’s grip. He glanced over Syris’s shoulder at the unconscious human on the furs.

"Oh, no," Vex tutted softly, shaking his head with an exaggerated display of mock sorrow. "She looks terrible. The coldness of your miserable swamp has sunk into her fragile bones. It is a tragedy. Truly."

"Save her!" Syris bellowed, his amethyst eyes flaring.

"I cannot," Vex lied smoothly, his voice dripping with false pity. "The cure needed the healing tears of the Golden Eagle. And since your incompetent guards returned empty-handed... I am afraid the Little Rose is out of time."

Syris actually stumbled backward, releasing his grip on the fox. The color drained from his already pale face. "What do you mean she is out of time?"

"I mean," Vex whispered darkly, milking the King’s despair for every single drop of entertainment, "she has perhaps... mere moments left. The fever is boiling her from the inside. She will die, Syris. And it will be your fault."

Syris looked frantically toward the pile of furs, despair flashing wildly in his eyes. He dropped to his knees beside Ren, his shaking hands hovering over her face, terrified to touch her.

Vex, however, possessed very sharp fox ears.

While Syris was busy having a mental breakdown, Vex’s ears swiveled toward the furs. He heard the subtle change in Ren’s breathing pattern. It shifted from the rapid, shallow pants of a feverish coma to a slow, even, controlled rhythm.

Vex squinted. Beneath her closed eyelids, he could clearly see her eyes darting back and forth.

’Ah,’ Vex thought with delight. ’She is pretending to be asleep. How devious.’

The fun opportunity this presented was simply too magnificent to pass up.

"However," Vex announced loudly, drawing Syris’s attention back to him. "Because the Little Rose is a very dear, close personal friend of mine, I am willing to attempt a rare alternative cure."

Syris paused, his brow furrowing in suspicion. He stared at the fox, desperately wanting to believe him, but baffled. "Your friend? Since when is she your friend?"

"We have formed a deep, spiritual bond," Vex lied with brazen confidence. "And because I cherish our friendship, I will administer this rare cure. But you must release my hands."

Syris hesitated. He didn’t trust the trickster fox at all. But looking at Ren’s pale, motionless body, the Snake King realized he had no other choice.

"Free his hands," Syris commanded his guards, his voice tight with anxiety. "But keep your spears pressed to his spine. If he tries a trick, impale him immediately."

The snake guards quickly sliced the thorned vines away from Vex’s wrists.

Vex rubbed his chafed skin, ignoring the obsidian spear tips resting mere inches from his back. He stepped confidently toward the pile of black furs, looking down at the very much awake, very stubbornly pretending-to-be-asleep female.

"What exactly are you going to do?" Syris demanded, stalking closely behind him.

"I am going to perform the ultimate, most ancient healing technique known to the world," Vex declared solemnly, his voice dripping with dramatic, theatrical reverence as he knelt beside the furs.

Syris frowned, his slit eyes narrowing in confusion. "What technique?"

"It is the true love’s kiss," Vex smiled, turning his head slightly to offer the King a sly, mocking wink.

Syris froze.

He stared at the fox, dumbfounded. ’What was a ’true love’s kiss’?’

Vex leaned down over Ren’s flushed face. Knowing with certainty that she was wide awake and simply listening, Vex smirked.

He lowered his head and gently captured Ren’s lips with his own.

Ren’s eyes snapped open. She shot up off the black furs like a tightly coiled spring, letting out a furious shriek.

Her hand flew through the air.

SMACK!

Vex’s head snapped to the side, a bright red handprint instantly blooming across his skin. He didn’t look angry. In fact, he chuckled.

Syris, snapping out of his shock, lunged toward Vex. "I will kill you!" he bellowed.

But Vex was too fast.

Before Syris could even take a second step, Vex moved. He grabbed Ren by the waist, hoisting her small body off the furs and off the floor.

In a fraction of a second, Vex had spun her around, pulling her back flush against his chest. His left arm wrapped tightly around her chest, pinning her arms to her sides, while his right hand shot up, placing a single, razor-sharp claw against the fragile skin of her throat.