The night air in the Mocambo of the Armadillo was cold, carrying the distant perfume of some night-blooming flower. At the top of a tower solidly built by Tassi, Kau? planted his feet on the dry mud, feeling the rough texture under his boots. He raised the vision spyglass to his eyes, and the world around him gained a new dimension. Every leaf, every branch, every shadow in the woods seemed to vibrate with a life of its own, while his ears picked up the incessant chorus of crickets and frogs.

  I need to find something… any glow that doesn't belong here, he thought, sweeping the treeline with a hunter's patience.

  His fingers were cold, and the metal of the spyglass stuck slightly to his skin. Then, high in the tree canopy, a golden flash cut through the gloom. It wasn't a timid reflection, but an explosion of amber light that seemed to pulse. The glow was so intense it burned Kau?'s eyes, making it impossible for him to discern the form carrying it. It wasn't on the ground, but in the air, flying with a sinister grace.

  Without losing a second, he raised the horn to his lips. The deep, urgent sound of the instrument echoed through the clearing, a primal roar that made the birds suddenly fall silent.

  Down below, guards patrolling the vicinity halted their march. Faces turned towards the tower, illuminated by torches.

  Following protocol, Kau? took a fire gem and loaded it into his slingshot. The stone came to life in his hands, releasing a heat that chased away the night's chill. He activated the gem and launched it in a perfect arc towards the flying creature. Midway, the gem not only caught fire but exploded into a shower of orange sparks. It was the signal. Several other flaming gems followed the same trajectory, painting streaks of fire across the dark sky. Immediately, the nearest guards ran, their weapons clattering, towards where the lights had faded.

  Kau? adjusted the spyglass, expecting to see the creature retreat, frightened. To his complete astonishment, it not only didn't hide but altered its course. With a fluid movement, it descended, flying under the tree canopy, and then emerged over the houses of the Mocambo. At this distance, the silhouette became clearer: broad wings, a compact body, the silent flight of an owl. But an owl that displayed an aura of golden light.

  He blew the horn once more, a sharper, repetitive call, signaling maximum alert. This time, he launched a gem in a direction almost opposite to the previous one. The guards, already moving, turned, disoriented for a moment, but recovered their direction. However, given the creature's speed, it seemed they wouldn't arrive in time.

  The so-called "owl" landed softly on a concrete sidewalk near Guaíra Mirim, who, with a notebook under his arm, was walking back from night school with his head down. The air around the monster seemed to vibrate, like air over asphalt on a hot day. Upon touching the ground, its form dissolved and reformed. It was no longer a bird, but an old woman of horrifying appearance. Her skin was a map of deep wrinkles, and a hooked nose, similar to a beak, dominated her face. Grizzled feathers covered parts of her arms and back, and where there should have been hands, sharp eagle claws glittered in the faint light. On her elbows, two large, sickly, opaque green gems pulsed with a silent energy. For some disturbing reason, Kau?'s magical spyglass refused to recognize them as gems; they emitted no aura.

  The bird-witch lunged towards the laborer, her claws raised for the fatal blow. The man, paralyzed by terror, barely managed to utter a sound. The smell of musk and damp earth emanated from the creature. At that moment, the end seemed inevitable.

  But then, an earthy brown light erupted from a spot near them. The ground trembled, and with a roar that made the man shudder, a wall of solid earth exploded upwards, destroying the concrete block sidewalk and rising like a shield between him and the monster. Fragments of concrete flew through the air.

  Almost at the same time, a red flash cut through the darkness. It was Quixotina, moving at superhuman speed. Her clenched fist, wreathed in scarlet energy, aimed for the center of the witch's back. The monster, however, with keen perception, beat its wings and threw itself backward, avoiding the punch by centimeters. The wind from the movement kicked up a cloud of dust.

  Tassi arrived beside Quixotina, her feet firm on the ground. She didn't take her eyes off the creature, but her voice was firm and calm as she addressed the laborer, who was trembling uncontrollably:

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  "Stay behind us. We will protect you."

  Guaíra, relieved and terrified at the same time, just nodded, scrambling behind the two women.

  Tassi then stomped hard on the ground. The earth seemed to whisper, and with a quick movement, a thick, resistant vine sprouted from the soil, growing and shaping itself in the air until it took the form of a long wooden sword with pulsing green veins.

  Quixotina looked at the organic weapon, then at Tassi, and a quick nod was enough as thanks. Her fingers closed around the hilt, surprised by the rough, yet living, texture of the wood.

  The bird-witch, now hovering in the air, watched the scene with its piercing yellow eyes. A sinister rustling came from its throat. It seemed to be weighing its options. Suddenly, it turned, decided to flee, and began to shrink, its body contracting to transform into a small bird.

  It was then that a dry crack broke the suspense. A revolver shot, precise and accurate, hit one of its wings. A sharp cry, more human than avian, escaped it. The transformation was abruptly interrupted, and it fell towards the ground. Before smashing into it, it managed to partially transform back into the witch, using its injured wing to generate a strong gust of wind that cushioned its fall. It landed on its knees, panting, holding the injured limb from which a dark, viscous liquid dripped.

  Not giving it time to recover, Quixotina charged once more. The wooden sword whistled through the air, seeking the creature's neck. The witch, with a quick gesture of its claw, conjured a localized gust of wind that pushed Quixotina back, causing her to miss the blow by a few centimeters.

  "You old fox!" Quixotina snarled, regaining her balance.

  Meanwhile, under the witch's feet, more vines emerged from the ground, entwining around her ankles like serpents. Tassi was already aiming her gun, but the monster was faster. Its body dissolved, shrank, and in its place, a sleek black cat twisted out of the tangle of plants and ran.

  Quixotina, tireless, ran after it. This time, a powerful kick aimed at the small feline. The cat, however, jumped at the last instant, and in the air, its body began to stretch, to grow, bones audibly cracking. What landed was no longer a cat, but a ferocious werewolf, with one arm bleeding profusely from the gunshot wound. Even injured, it attacked Quixotina with fury, trying to sink its sharp fangs into her leg.

  "Quixotina!" Tassi shouted.

  Once again, the ground answered Tassi's call. A second wall of earth emerged, separating Quixotina from the beast, which bit the solid clay in anger.

  The werewolf, now clearly desperate and weakened, retreated. It turned to attempt another escape, but Quixotina was relentless. Seizing the opening, she charged from behind and drove the reinforced wooden sword into the creature's back. The impact was followed by a dry crack—the sword, hitting something hard inside the monster, snapped in half.

  The werewolf let out a muffled grunt of pain, a sound that was both animal and human. It staggered, almost fell, but rolled on the ground in a fluid motion. During the roll, its form changed again, the fur receded, the posture straightened, and now a well-dressed white man with a hat was kneeling on the ground, holding the shoulder where the bullet wound still bled and stained the impeccable fabric.

  Guaíra, who was still watching the scene hidden behind a barrel, felt a new surge of hope. The Minister of Education and Agriculture and her companion had subdued the threat. But then, he noticed something strange. Quixotina wasn't moving. She stood paralyzed, halfway through another attack, her eyes glazed over. Tassi, similarly, was motionless, her expression frozen in a mask of empty concentration.

  "Miss Quixotina!" the man shouted, his trembling voice laden with panic. "Wake up!"

  His pleas seemed to get lost in the air. Neither of the two reacted. Courageously, he came out from behind the barrel and ran to Tassi, placing a hand on her arm and shaking her slightly.

  "Please, Minister!"

  She didn't respond, her eyes fixed on a distant point, as if trapped in a deep trance. The man with the hat, the metamorph, smiled a cold smile. With theatrical care, he got up and picked up the broken piece of the wooden sword that was still embedded in his back—or which now seemed to be just part of his torn coat. The wooden blade dripped a dark fluid. He approached Quixotina, who was defenseless, his intention clear in his calculating eyes.

  He raised the shard, ready to drive it into her neck.

  A second flintlock musket shot echoed, louder and more decisive than the first. The bullet hit the hat man's temple, making his head jerk. Immediately after, a crystalline, icy arrow, hissing through the air, struck his chest, and a layer of ice quickly began to spread across his torso.

  Pedro and another guard had finally arrived.

  The hat man fell to his knees, then face down on the ground. His final form dissolved once more, and when the dust settled, the figure lying inert on the ground was that of an indigenous man, his serious, marked features now eternally frozen by death.