Chapter 6: Jaws of Predation
The Royal Forest screamed.
Massive iron bells, forged from the melted weapons of fallen kings, began to toll from the unseen watchtowers of the Usurper. BONG. BONG. The sound was not merely heard; it was a physical concussive wave that vibrated the fillings in the Vagabond's teeth and shook the frost from the obsidian canopy.
He was running. It was not a tactical retreat. It was a desperate, panicked, ugly sprint for survival.
The heavy sapphire egg was locked against his chest like an iron anvil. His left arm wrapped securely around its leathery shell, while his right arm pumped wildly, fighting to keep his balance as his boots tore through the thick, damp moss. He had abandoned his sword belt at the crater. Steel was entirely meaningless against what was coming.
Behind him, the earth did not just shake; it ruptured.
The Mother of Shadows was not navigating the maze of the ancient trunks—she was obliterating them. Colossal petrified pines, thick as castle pillars, splintered into kindling as the giant wolf bulldozed a straight, terrifying line through the woods. Her cataclysmic roars tore the canopy apart, unleashing blasts of freezing mist that turned the falling rain into jagged hail.
Then came the light.
Pillars of blinding, magnesium-white fire erupted in the distance behind her. The Capital Knights were deploying, their Revealing Torches turning the pitch-black forest into a terrifying strobe-lit nightmare. Long, distorted shadows of the running mercenary were cast violently against the trees ahead of him.
The Vagabond’s lungs felt as though they were filled with crushed glass. The stamina bar in his mind was a sliver of burning, flashing red.
Muscle fatigue: Critical. Lactic acid build-up: Severe.
Every step was a brutal negotiation with total muscular failure. He was dragging sixty pounds of royal magic, his dark cloak tearing against thorns, his boots feeling like they were cast from lead. He didn't look back. Looking back would cost him a fraction of a second, and a fraction of a second was the difference between life and being bitten in half.
A massive, frost-covered root erupted from the ground right in front of him. He didn't have the energy to jump. He threw his body into a harsh slide, slipping beneath the jagged wood, the abrasive bark tearing the back of his leather jerkin to shreds.
He scrambled back to his feet, ignoring the burning scrape, and broke through the final dense thicket of the woods.
The sound of roaring water hit him before the mist did.
He had reached the edge of the Royal Forest. Before him was a sheer, vertical cliff face dropping hundreds of feet down into the suffocating, grey smog of the Great Land. A torrential river of black, freezing water violently cascaded over the edge, forming a massive, roaring waterfall.
He glanced over his shoulder.
The treeline exploded. The Mother of Shadows launched herself into the air, a terrifying silhouette of silver fur and molten gold eyes framed by the blinding white flares of the approaching knights. Her jaws, large enough to swallow a carriage whole, opened wide, exposing rows of teeth like iron broadswords.
He had zero stamina. He had no ground to fight on. He had nowhere left to run.
The Vagabond curled his body tightly around the pulsing sapphire egg, tucked his chin to his chest, and threw himself off the cliff.
The Mother's jaws snapped shut exactly where his head had been a millisecond prior. The concussive force of the bite sent a shockwave through the air, sending the Vagabond tumbling out of control into the void.
The fall was a blur of rushing wind and freezing spray. The grey smog of the plains rushed up to meet him.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
He hit the water.
It was like slamming into a wall of solid, unyielding ice. The impact instantly punched the air from his lungs. In the split second before entering the water, his mercenary instincts took over; he violently rotated his torso to ensure the egg was shielded by his own body, taking the absolute brunt of the collision on his right side against a submerged, jagged boulder.
CRACK.
Three ribs on his right side shattered simultaneously. One of the fractured bones snapped sharply inward, grating against the tissue of his right lung.
Agony, pure and blinding, short-circuited his brain.
He was drowning in the freezing black water, the violent current pulling him mercilessly downstream. His vision went entirely black, then flared with violent white spots. His right arm was utterly paralyzed by the trauma. His chest felt as if a hot iron spike had been driven straight through it and left to burn.
Hold the egg.
It was the single, primitive thought remaining in his fading consciousness. His left arm remained clamped around the leathery shell with a death grip.
The river dragged him for what felt like hours, thrashing his broken body against the rocky bed, until it finally, unceremoniously spat him out. He washed up onto a shallow, stony bank covered in the familiar, foul-smelling ash of the Great Land.
He didn't stand up. He couldn't.
Using only his left arm and his chin, the Vagabond dragged his shattered body out of the freezing surf. He couldn't draw a full breath. Every shallow gasp brought a wet, horrifying gurgle from deep within his chest, followed by a wave of paralyzing pain. He tasted blood—hot, thick, and metallic—pooling rapidly in the back of his throat.
He crawled through the mud and ash, dragging the heavy egg beneath him like a dying insect protecting its larva.
Through his fading, blurred vision, a jagged fissure in the cliff wall loomed ahead. Faint, bioluminescent blue moss pulsed weakly from within.
A Rest. A cave.
He pulled himself over the threshold into the dark, silent cavern, leaving a thick trail of blood and water on the stone. He collapsed onto his back in the center of the cave, his right side screaming in agony. The heavy egg rested securely in the crook of his left arm.
His right hand, trembling violently, reached inside his soaked, tattered cloak. He bypassed his scavenged Lira and pulled out the heavy, petrified leather of the Magic Book.
He coughed, splattering dark blood across the ancient cover. He didn't have the strength to open it properly; he just let it fall open on his chest. The dark ink rapidly bled onto the wet page, recording his imminent demise.
==================================================================== BIOLOGICAL STATUS OVERRIDE
Condition: Multiple Skeletal Fractures (Ribs 4, 5, 6 - Right). Complication: Pulmonary Puncture. Internal Hemorrhaging active. Estimated Time to Cardiac Arrest: 42 Seconds.
ESSENCE LEDGER
Available Assets: [1] Complete Energy. [4] Spiritual Energies.
CRITICAL TRAUMA DETECTED. IMMEDIATE EXPENDITURE REQUIRED. <<
====================================================================
The Vagabond didn't have the breath to curse. He didn't have the focus to think. He simply pressed his blood-soaked right palm against the rune for the [1 Complete Energy] he had saved from the executioner.
The ink vanished. A single, heavy droplet of liquid gold materialized on the page. Dragging his heavy hand upward, he smashed the golden droplet directly into his shattered chest.
The magic did not care about his pain threshold. It was a brutal, industrial repair.
The energy violently seized the fractured, jagged ends of his ribs and forced them back into alignment. The bones ground together with a sickening crunch that echoed loudly in the quiet cave. The torn, bleeding lung tissue was flash-cauterized, knitting together in a sudden burst of searing heat.
The Vagabond arched his back off the stone floor, a silent, agonizing scream tearing at his vocal cords. His vision faded completely to white.
When the white finally cleared, the paralyzing pain was gone.
It was replaced by a hollow, aching, marrow-deep exhaustion. He lay flat on the cold stone, taking deep, unobstructed, greedy breaths of the cavern air. His chest rose and fell perfectly. The physical damage was erased, leaving only thick, pale scars over his ribs.
He looked at the open book on his chest.
Remaining Assets: 0 Complete Energies. 4 Spiritual Energies.
He was bankrupt. He was exhausted. But he was alive. He had survived the wrath of a god, the plunge of a waterfall, and the shattering of his own bones.
He slowly turned his head. Resting beside him on the damp stone, glowing with a soft, pulsing sapphire light in the absolute darkness, was the royal egg. It vibrated warmly, completely unharmed.
The Vagabond let his head fall back against the stone floor. Slowly, a dark, bloodstained smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.