Her aura wavered on empty. Between the spell casting and the regeneration, the latter lost. Add her exhausted physical and mental state, and her future looked grim. Even if this mercenary group worked to assist, relying on their victories proved daunting. No, more like foolish.
With dusk approaching, they raced through the second ring. Their dramatic fight had drawn contestants for the ring's dominator. They exchanged the King's ultimate power for ferocity and tenacity. These creatures would hunt until they devoured their prey, not a morsel less.
Isla passed a thick tree, slamming her palm into the rough bark, her aura infusing. She paused the spell's release and continued.
Beyond the spot, she snapped her fingers, evoking the magic. The spell ruptured the tree and the upper half crashed upon their pursuers.
She repeated the action. Her palm throbbed with each pulse. The pale white changed to bloody red.
Her breathing quickened and the growls faded. The thumping of her heart overwhelmed her ears. Still, her sight scoured the forest nooks and the encroaching darkness camouflaging the darkened creatures.
One hidden dweller barreled into Slate. A navy-blue smog engulfed the creature. The force launched him, his body tumbling. Fumes funneled from the contact point.
Isla stopped and pooled aura into her hand, compressing the energy. She hurled the magic packet, providing both fuel and direction.
The projectile burst into flames, the pellet soaring and knocking into the creature. A crunch rang as the magic collided with the fur coating. The strength flung the foe backwards, smashing the cloud rendered beast into a tree.
"Hurry, idiot," Varnis shouted as he fended off pursuers.
Slate staggered to his feet, grasping his side. A grimace draped his face. His gaze entrapped hers and the scowl deepened.
"Idiot," she mocked before skirting him and joining Varnis. Only amateurs relinquished their senses in peril. He was hurt. And now a hindrance.
They resumed their retreat, the forest thickening. Isla remained attentive, listening to the fleeting footsteps.
Without delay, she struck the oncoming tree. Again, her aura delved deep. She compelled the magic, warping the energy to her desired shape—an earthen wall.
The creatures stalking their tail dashed headlong into the barrier. No screams or yelps shattered their chase. Their heads smashed the blockade, crushing their skulls and sniffing their life.
Their escape continued but a small respite was granted. Still, their pace slowed and death aggregated the scavengers. How much longer could they last?
Her muscles and bones creaked. One pause and she would collapse. What point did this pain bring? She could stop. She could surrender to calmness and darkness. So why? What purpose did this reckless survival achieve?
"A little right," Ham yelled between hacking coughs. They changed directions based on Ham's information. "There! The door to the third ring."
They rushed the haze. The pursing beasts growled and snapped their tail. Almost there, she had no choice. No other option. The end goal was visible.
The barrier beckoned mere feet away. Varnis sidestepped ahead and pivoted, facing their hunters. His lance guarded the front with determination imprinted upon his stance. His eyes manifested no hesitation and no tenseness. He would protect them.
Ham and Wolfe disappeared across the transition point. Slate followed after, his injured self a stride in front.
She clenched her hands. Forget the comfort she sought within death. Right here, right now, she would lose far more than a paltry respite.
"Move it," Varnis declared.
Isla dug deep, drawing her motivation into strength. The pounding behind her blared. Their hot-blooded bodies neared, their warmth close.
A sharp pain ripped her lower leg. The source sent her into a downward spiral towards the dirt. She rolled, her gaze on the beast gnawing her leg. The tan spiked monster shook and growled. Switching her sword to her dominant hand, she hacked the neck.
Each swing reared blood and the final drew a hideous shriek. The creature recoiled, jaws dripping with her life.
She scrambled to her feet, the wound throbbing, but distant. Varnis defended her flanks, the four other beasts went berserk, vying for her flesh.
"Go!" he roared withdrawing with her. He guarded the rear as she hobbled through the barrier.
The raucous beasts disappeared along with the ground. Air blasted her face and trounced her clothes. Isla clawed the cliff, her hand slipping on the clean-cut face. She thrust her sword, attempting to pierce the veil. But her weapon bounced off, her arm vibrating from the strike.
Fate sure enjoyed whacking her with a dose of karma. Her weak thoughts spawned this tragedy. Of course, what else could have caused this outcome?
Isla rotated, the wind twisting her body. Her eyes widened at the large pond she plummeted towards. She closed them, the water engulfing her being as she plunged beneath the surface.
She kicked, the water stinging her wounded leg. One burst and she broke the water seal, gasping for air, water streaming off her face.
A splash nearby announced Varnis, his weight creating a wave. She floated, swaying with the ripples he incited. Sweeping her drenched hair back, Isla probed the shoreline for the others.
She spotted and swam towards them, the lake bottom visible as she neared the coast. Her paddle morphed into a trudge, her wounded leg protesting from the contact. Isla winced but continued with both feet carrying the burden.
Varnis reached dry land alongside her. "Let's go. We're moving to find shelter."
Her steps squashed from her wet soles. The cloak and satchel turned restraining, their weight ten times heavier. Still, a passing and minimal trouble compared to what laid ahead—the third and final ring.
With light retreating, her gaze adjusted to twilight. Gray pine trees towered over them, their needle peaks melding to the sky. The smell of fresh sap wafted through the air. Lithe footsteps tapped as animals scurried, mingling with the low beat buzz of insects. This was a forest. The madness she assumed for herself dispersed. Yes, home to all and inviting, not a place which lived and died as one.
"Over there," Slate said, pointing then moving ahead.
They reached a rocky slope, devoid of trees marking an outlying part of the mountain. Everyone halted and watched Varnis shift boulders, kicking stray stones. The last large rock revealed a hidden cave.
Varnis uncovered the remaining section of the entrance. "Slate, light. Ham, bring him in."
Slate retrieved a short metallic tube encased with magic engravings. The simple structure of fire attribute imbuing light upon the cylinder. A quick but small addition of aura ignited the rod, burning bright orange.
He passed the light forward to Varnis while Ham shuffled with Wolfe inside. Wolfe's face scrunched as he settled, his color paler than her skin.
"Pass me some bandages," Slate said, joining them.
Isla paused outside, her eyes wandering the nightlife. The tree tips heightened, their shapes segmenting from the sky. Odd, did her sight improve?
Varnis coughed, drawing her focus. "Go in."
Their gazes aligned, his stern and forbidding. No reduction in hostility? What a surprise. One would think saving their group's lives would earn respect. Guess not.
She entered, ignoring the quip her thoughts mustered. Unbuckling the sheath, she plopped both soaked accessories down beside her weapon. Isla slide against the wall, dragging her wounded leg to the ground.
A tight fit for four grown men accompanied by one female, but better off than exposed. Their shoulders touched and knees were tucked. Still, they provided adequate room for the injured Wolfe.
Isla outstretched her wounded leg. The beast's teeth had chewed through her boot, saliva washed from the leather. She unlaced the boot, checking the damage. Coagulated blood covered the wound. Her recovery had started. Within another hour, the injury would be history.
She curled her toes and tugged her leg close. Her view shifted to Varnis, observing his back muscles tighten. He organized rocks to conceal their shelter. After placing the last rock, he sat, leaning against the wall. His attention remained on lookout through his pinhole vantage point.
She watched the mercenaries, her body stiff. Slate fetched a tiny black box from his bag. Fanciful symbols shimmered on the top surface. A vertical and horizontal line intersection mark defined heat. He tapped the side, and warmth circulated the cave.
So many magic tools, yet none to ward off creatures? Isla expected more from a veteran mercenary troupe. Why did they proceed unprepared?
Her gaze flickered to Ham, his hands shuffling through his sack. He pulled more bandages and a bottle of pills from wooden cases.
"How is he?" Varnis murmured while he faced the opening.
"Most problematic are the blood loss and poison. But dirt, grime, and that gross water got into his wound. We're lucky if his infection is mild," Ham responded.
"He's strong. He'll make it."
"Blame the God. They sure love to bring mayhem and destruction with them." Slate spit the ground before her, a snarl on his lips.
"Shut up, Slate. I warned you to be prepared," Varnis chastised.
His glare intensified from his boss' statement. "This is the hardest the forest has fought us. Each time, harder than the first, because of these Gods."
Isla tilted her chin, resting her head against the stone. This scene was laughable. Her mouth would have hung dry from his audacity. Yet, she knew how unwise a showcase of emotions could be. Let them manipulate her actions? No way.
"What? Nothing to say, God?"
She paused her inflaming retort and chose for mild instead. "Says the one saved by said God."
He growled. "If you're so capable, you should have gone alone. But no, you had to pull others into your Hell. Do you enjoy getting others killed for your sake?"
Isla clasped her thigh, her nails driving in. The emotional wound was too fresh. His words prodded deep, disrupting the realigned barriers time had yet cemented. Though grief should have consumed her, she could only laugh. "Sure." She glared, anger surging forth. "But capable or not, you were paid for a job. I guess Arcadians are no better than the Gods they condemn," she snapped
Slate's face turned rosy. "You-"
"Shut up, Slate. I won't say this again. And Princess," Varnis spoke, glancing at her, "I'd avoid antagonizing my men before your journey comes to an end."
She mended her mask, clenching her jaw and fixated her gaze on a crack opposite her. Ridiculous. She had weakened into a shallow fool. A death threat, who cares? She provided the perfect weapon to inflict greater harm than death. When would she learn?