Jay took half a step back—not out of fear, but to feel the ground under his heels. A shallow dip here, exposed roots there, smooth stone to the left. Map complete. He reached sideways, fingers closing around a hilt that materialized from thin air—Visingr, his ever-loyal blade, saying “hello” like it had been waiting in his pocket the whole time.
The mercenaries fanned out with the kind of precision that makes you want to punch the choreographer.
The trenti warrior planted himself dead center, built like a boulder that skipped leg day and went straight to murder. Curved horns, eyes glowing like coals in a forge, staring at Jay the way a butcher eyes prime rib.
The licanen archer flashed a razor grin and melted into the trees like a giggling shadow. A sharp whistle from the left—yep, she was already perched.
The human warlock, skinny as a broom handle with delusions of grandeur, raised his gnarled staff and started whispering creepy spell-syllables like he was sweet-talking the void.
The albino makari berserker growled, sucking the oxygen right out of the air just by existing.
And finally the wild shaman—hair like a bird’s nest after a hurricane, yellow teeth, bone necklace going clack-clack-clack—slammed her staff into the dirt and flung suspicious ashes into the breeze.
Jay didn’t even blink.
“Scatter! Broken Moon formation—just like we practiced yesterday!”
Instant chaos, but the good kind.
Layla spun right, vaulting into the brush. One hand already on an axe haft, ribs screaming bloody murder from the half-healed wound.
Don’t die again, Layla. Third time’s not the charm.
Su Mei laughed—bright, taunting, delicious.
“Broken Moon? Who comes up with these cringe names?” And poof—she vanished in a twirling leap, feet barely kissing the ground, gone with the soft shrrrip of silk slicing air.
Nessa, serene as sunrise, curved wide along the left flank, whispering prayers while leaves danced around her like the forest itself was clapping.
Jay slammed Visingr point-down into the dirt. A golden pulse rippled across the party—Guardian Focus. Reflexes sharpened, time stretching like taffy.
Then hell kicked the door down.
The makari roared—not warrior, full-on beast—and charged like a meat freight train, uprooting dirt and dignity alike.
Jay didn’t need to shout. Layla was already flanking low, axe ready.
But Su Mei dropped in first.
She fell from a branch like a silk-wrapped meteor, legs cracking across the makari’s shoulder with a thunderous WHAM!. Dude spun, fists swinging at air. She slid down his back like it was a playground slide, bangs swaying, and—CRACK—heel to temple, steel on bone.
“Big guy needs a nice herbal bath,” she quipped, then ghosted away.
An arrow screamed from the canopy—straight for Jay’s skull.
Three hand seals, spin, golden holy shield up—KLANG! Arrow ricocheted like it owed him money.
“Left high, Layla!”
She was already gone, darting through the underbrush despite the stab in her side. Next arrow sliced through empty air where she’d been a heartbeat earlier.
Jay backpedaled to cover Nessa—she was scribbling glowing healing circles on the ground like a priestess speed-running divinity—when the warlock flicked his staff.
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CLANK-CLANK-CLANK! Spectral chains shot out like hungry snakes, zeroing in on Layla leaping tree-to-tree.
Jay snarled, dissolved his shield into the dirt—holy lightning spider-webbed across the ground—and a prismatic barrier snapped up.
Chains shattered mid-air. One still clipped her boot.
“One more second…”
And there was Su Mei, materializing behind the warlock like a bad decision.
“Hi, string bean.”
He barely turned. She spun—one, two—chin kick, gut kick, shoulder kick. Snap of fingers.
A tiny fox spirit popped into existence, blue eyes blazing, grinning like a gremlin on payday.
“Bite him, Fuschia.”
Yip-yip-WHOOSH! The spirit lunged, sinking teeth into robes and sanity alike.
“Damn it! A free-roaming spirit?!”
“Nah. She’s just very well-paid. Top-tier treats, fruit, premium meat, and only the finest saké.”
The trenti charged like a living siege engine.
Jay met him head-on, blade raised.
Axe came down like a falling redwood—CLANG! Jay’s arms screamed, but he held.
“Nessa! Fall back!”
“I’m covered,” she answered calmly, tracing seven seals and dropping a crown of blue light over Jay—sudden warmth, muscles remembering they were supposed to work.
Layla vaulted from above, axe swinging like it weighed nothing, aiming for the trenti’s neck tendons.
The shaman screamed—a primal roar that rattled leaves.
Roots erupted from the soil, snaring Layla’s leg mid-air.
“What the hell, MEOW?!”
Jay dove, shield flaring just in time to catch her fall.
“I got you. Easy… Su Mei, status?”
“Currently bullying a coward wizard. Fuschia’s winning.”
Who the hell is Fuschia?
The makari staggered up, blood streaming from his nose.
“Mine,” Layla growled, eyes glowing feral.
Jay gave her space.
“No hero bullshit. Quick cuts, short bursts. Leave the rest to me.”
She nodded.
Jay’s hands blurred—twelve seals in half a heartbeat—Visingr raised to the sky.
“By the righteousness of Gram, descend upon their flesh! DASTAKRAECIA!!! [Fortress of Light!]”
A golden explosion detonated from the ground, blasting enemies back and raising a shimmering wall of energy for a precious few seconds.
Enough.
Nessa patched Layla’s reopened wounds, Su Mei melted back into the trees, and Jay reset—shield forward, loyal blade hungry.
“No turning back now. You chose to fall by our hands.”
The trenti stared, disbelief burning hotter than his eyes.
…
The trenti’s glare wasn’t coals anymore—it was a collapsing furnace.
Every earth-shattering swing, every bone-crushing charge that should’ve turned shields into confetti… parried. Countered. Mocked.
The paladin in front of him wasn’t some hulking berserker, didn’t have flaming weapons or glowing demon eyes. But that stare… cold as drawn steel before the bloodbath.
Calculated. Commanding. In total control.
It ate the trenti alive.
He roared—birds exploded from the canopy—and spun his massive axe in a whirlwind of dust and murder.
Nothing. Another golden shield flickered into existence. Another failure.
He staggered, taking in the carnage.
The makari—mountain of white-furred muscle—was on his knees, tongue lolling, instinctively chewing a fury-root. Didn’t help. Legs shook like wet noodles.
“Get up, Tundra Dog…!”
The makari just wheezed. Broken.
The shaman lay sprawled, eyes blank, body limp like a doll some brat got bored of. Nessa had danced around her, chanting words older than rivers, fingers painting seals in the air. Purification so thorough it left glowing afterimages in the bones.
“Cursed wench… cleansed like vermin,” the warlock muttered from his knees, skin smudged with spiritual soot.
Fuschia still circled him, giggling, nipping at his sanity like it was jerky.
“You should’ve seen this coming, Malvek!” the trenti bellowed, fists clenched. “What’s that dried eye for—predicting your own cowardice?”
Malvek clutched the stump of his necklace, trembling, naked without his talisman.
“It was supposed to be easy money…” he whispered. “The signs said victory.”
“Signs lied,” the makari grunted, hauling himself up. “Or you read them drunk.”
“Where’s Elahna?” the trenti snarled.
Silence. Just wind.
The licanen had bolted. Left them to rot. Not even a parting shot.
Su Mei would’ve seen her. Su Mei saw everything.
Deeper in the brush, Elahna crawled—graceful steps turned desperate. Blood soaked her thigh, arrogance bleeding out with it.
“One more step…”
A soft rustle.
Su Mei dropped from a branch like falling silk, eyes calm as the moment before punishment.
“No need to run. Same ending either way, meow,” Layla’s voice purred from behind.
Elahna spun, dagger half-drawn.
Too slow.
They danced—twin serpents.
Kick. Axe. Kick. Axe.
She crumpled, pride shattered long before bone.
…
Back on the trail, the mercenaries lay like broken chess pieces around a king who hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Jay walked among them. No gloating. Just duty.
He raised his holy tome, traced a gentle arc of pulsing glyphs.
Memory wipe. Clean. Kind. Merciful.
“You’ll never see us again… and you won’t remember enough to try.”
One by one, eyes closed.
Then—clack.
The dried eye slipped from Malvek’s necklace and rolled.
Kept rolling.
Guided.
Jay froze. A faint pulse. Twisted. Ancient.
He frowned. The light faded.
“Hmph…”
Not yet.
The eye stopped.
Glowed once.
And blinked.
?
Guild Poll: Who’s the real damage dealer when shit hits the fan? (Raw DPS, no cap)
