The Adventures of the "Four Muskytears"

☁️ Taking Risks [4/5] ☁️

69's POV:

Rendered speechless, all I could do was watch Polar dart off, making a beeline toward the horde of zombies in the distance.

Knowing if I interfered, Jester would continue to tease Polar for her so-called "dependence on us".

If I didn't, however, there would be no one for him to pick on anymore.

I was stuck between running in and stopping her, or letting fate come upon us.

"Jester, why?!" I abruptly barked out, still shocked at Polar's sudden decision to fight. "You know she might actually die, right?"

The masked man shrugged, still levitating in the air. "So? I can always just revive her. No big deal."

Frowning, I turned to face him. "Revival or not, she'll still be traumatized from having to experience death itself. I mean, look! She's basically the youngest of all of us!"

"I'm literally SEVEN MONTHS older than her!" Jester retorted, his eyes narrowing at me. "We're practically still the same age! Plus, age doesn't matter!"

"Experience does, though." Stick's calm voice wavered, laced with a hint of concern. "In her shapeshifting files, I collected some data about her fighting experiences. Most of it was performed in her bulkier forms, like her polar bear or hybrid form. But here, she's locked into her human form, and-"

"BLAH BLAH BLAH, I get it!" Jester interrupted, his drama mask contorted into a look of annoyance. "She's the LEAST experienced AND the youngest. So what's the matter with that?"

"We don't have to throw her in hot water like this, Jester!" Stick yelled, flailing his arms in front of him out of exasperation. "Think about it, you're throwing a defenseless little girl into a death trap! Worst part is, you don't seem to care!"

"You're wrong!" Jester snapped back. "One, she's not defenseless, she has a trident. Two, she's not little, she's got her hunting boots on and she's an independent sixteen year old. And three, I DO CARE! Polar's my friend, for sky's sake, I do worry for her! It's just- I know she can do this."

A spine chilling cry abruptly split through the quiet air of the forest, making us all go silent.

In the distance, I turned to see the sky being tainted red, splatters of blood going rogue as a tiny flash of cobalt swiftly weaved her way in and out of the undead mob.

"She's going ham on them," Stick commented, stepping out from behind his tree. "Should we get closer? I can't really tell how she's fighting."

Jester nodded. "Good idea, Canada. Let's go."

Before long, we had navigated the safest path toward the general location of the horde, with all of us ducked behind a thick, fallen tree.

We had front row seats of the brutal fight going on, shards of ice and scraps of rotting flesh flying through the air.

"Look at her, she's actually better than I thought." Jester murmured, staring into the horde with a pair of binoculars.

"Where did you even get those?" Stick asked, turning to the masked man.

Jester chuckled, his eyes still locked on the aggravated horde. "Remember how I said I was born here? I'm basically a god, Stick. I can do what I want, when I want, as I please. That includes summoning random things from mid-air."

He waved a hand toward the ongoing fight, and a large anvil came falling down from out of nowhere, crushing a stray zombie.

"Hey, what in the world?!" Polar squeaked out, darting into our line of sight. "Where'd that come from?!"