DG-Pat hovered in a dark crowded loft. A cluster of oversized bird cages, constructed of vine and branch, cast a dark pall on the scene. They held orc villagers, who clung together – shivering and terrified, utterly unaware of the flyer.

  Hecate worked behind them—dual axe swinging with ruthless efficiency, keeping any shamblers from ascending to their position.

  The lone beastkin, a frogkin, with yellow spots, reached out a hand. “Please help us – something is… wrong here.”

  Pat spoke up, as DG4 flared their jets, coming to a position before the frogkin “You're in a cage – something is definitely wrong.”

  An arm slit out from Pat’s neck, utilitarian in style, a single hinged bar, unfolding in three sections, before the fourth section, a sleek jade raptor’s claw snapped into place, its razor-sharp talons like glass arrowheads.

  As DG4 sank their talon into the mechanism, the magic bound in them resisted their crushing force. The flyer’s jets dimmed as they diverted mana into their arm.

  “I’m Camo – riib, thanks.” The frogkin reached out its other hand, supporting DG4, as its levitation wavered.

  The lock groaned and creaked. Camo’s arms wavered. Pat’s eyes and mouth flatlined. Hecate grunted, and his axe went thwack, thwack, thwack. The shaking of hundreds of shamblers threatened to bring down the barn. Everything hinged on a moment. One mistake, and they might join these sad souls.

  “I canna hold em much longer – hurry up ye sorra excuse fer a dragon!” Hecate hurled insults over his shoulder, never taking his eyes from the monsters below, their limbs stretching and spanning across the air gap – in a wild growth.

  DG4’s jets flared, and Pat’s visor dimmed until finally something gave – the lock snapped free, and the door swung wide. Camo hopped forward, extending to their full height and experimentally flexing their webbed feet, throwing their elbows side to side, before bouncing in place, performing a backflip, as easily as you please.

  Camo pulled a small pouch from his spatial storage, a necessary skill for a traveling apothecary. “Quickly, let us be away from here, someone is watching us…” he hopped to the nearest cage, throwing a pinch of powder from his bag onto the locking mechanism. Camo bounced from cage to cage, repeating the process. “Please, this should make them easier to break.”

  DG-Pat zoomed over to the next cage, where they made short work of opening the door – soon all were swung wide.

  With much corralling and prodding, and a few shrieks of terror – eighteen freed prisoners huddled together, like mice in a trap.

  Camo asked, “What now? What's the escape plan?” he took two steps, his feet making cute suctioning sounds, as he turned to face the flyer – DG-Pat matched them.

  Silence stretched between the two -- the sounds of chaos drowned out by the weight of responsibility. Frog and flyer turned back to the broken and battered orc villagers.

  Hecate smashed into the ground between them – sliding to a stop. Hecate snarled and threw an axe, and a monster's core was torn free. “You’ve an arm like my uncle Ricky’s tongue – could pick the wings off a fly, with his eyes closed, in a mist-storm.”

  Before anyone could laugh, a carpet of vine and branch spread towards them – the battle lost, the loft soon to be overrun.

  “Draven. Rescue now – we’re with Hecate, we have almost two dozen villagers!” Pat activated their comms, desperate for help.

  “All shambler attention is located on one barn. I assume that you're responsible.” Came Draven’s curt reply.

  “We are in a loft…I don’t think we can–”

  Mitzy had heard enough. She climbed over Draven and slid down atop their mount’s head. With a fistful of neck frills, she leaned forward, “Charge these sugarless shrubs – enough is enough.” Her mecha-arm cracked as her light knife came to life, the war lizard already charging – heading straight for the deadly mass of mobs.

  The barn was almost entirely wrapped in foliage – boards warped and splintered, shamblers ringed the structure, their bodies turning into fonts of wild growth – threatening to carpet the entire village if left unchecked.

  Draven looked down at the brave gnome, her pigtails flapping, and her head dish pointed straight ahead, like a fox on the hunt – he smiled at her, “Hey Mitzy – this is a trap!”

  She turned a wicked smile on her face, her eyes spiraling in and out, “We got this.” Facing back front, she experimentally cut her knife through the air. Draven leaned into their mount, and its speed redoubled.

  He pulled out a rune-stick, just in case it might be his last, snapping the case shut, focusing his attention on the mass of green bodies, like a living moss.

  Clasping the pommel with both hands, he squeezed his thighs tight -- before he and Mitzy both started screaming – their ride had reached the crest, and the drop was about to hit.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Garzha looked at the two younglings, grunting at best. In the background, a vatagand sailed through the air, the soft mana-rich soil here, like an ocean for the monster – bits of a fallen district scattered behind it as it arced towards the ground.

  Her daughter and this strange spiky-haired human, the first Garzha had seen in a hundred years, struggled like pollywogs – floundering in the muck, as they failed to help a stuck refugee. Chaos was erupting all around, their junk filled with terrified citizens, whose homes were gone and lives upturned.

  Tanuki, the junk’s captain, stepped up beside Garzha, a smile on their masked face, “Ahh, to be young and in love – nothing for romance like a little death and destruction.”

  Garzha chuckled beside him, as his tail swished back and forth encouragingly. “How are you going to stop that vatagand? I – have you seen one that size…”

  Garzha sighed, “That monstrosity is far beyond any one explorer – as soon as Kythan stops showing off – I swear male birdkin are the worst, always strutting their stuff, even in an emergency, no shame.

  Garzha shook her head as she stepped forward, placing her level [40] hands on the shoulders of the two grunts, and hauled the three of them onto the junk. Stepping back, she left them to a pile of slip and slop, careful not to muddy her toes.

  “Kythan will pick me up – soon. We’re gonna need a raid group.”

  Ren dramatically spat the muck from his mouth, the smell of rotting organic material heavy in his nostrils. He looked up at Garzha’s retreating form, still spotless despite their non-stop work.

  The landscape around them looked like a polar ice cap had melted, washing the city of Vegas and all its neon signs down a muddy drain. Beside him, Meen-Tra was muttering about her mom, while their rescuee shivered, probably in shock. He’d stopped levitating the two of them hours ago, apparently sharing his power like that, pushed his limits.

  “You’re mom’s a straight savage – what’s her class? [Hulk]?” Ren chuckled at his Marvel joke, while Meen-Tra looked up, wiping muck from her brow, her eyes narrowed, “My mom is not a savage, thank you – but she is titled rank, last I checked she was [35].”

  Ren raised an eyebrow, “That it? I’m already [13], I’ve only been here…erm, what month is it?” he scratched the back of his head, aware that was probably a stupid question.

  Meen-Tra spluttered, “You’re what level? What have you been doing? Murdering everything in sight!”

  “There was an incident with some relatives – I think, but I blame Sandy’s Candies, and my overzealous party member–”

  Ren’s comms activated, and his face pinched in confusion. He was struggling to make sense of the jumble of voice and sound.

  Meen-Tra, noticing Ren’s change of expression, “What is it? What’s happening – don’t keep me in the dark, say something, Ren, Ren – is DG4 alright, and Mitzy – Draven, Ren, Ren–”

  Ren’s eyes slid to connect with Meen-Tra’s, who promptly went silent, her cheeks going flush with heat.

  “They are charging into a horde of shamblers – DG4’s trapped inside a…with freed prisoners. There seems to be a blood thirsty…? With Draven, she’s eager for a fight, whatever the case.” Ren's eyebrow lifted as he stood up.

  Meen-Tra followed him up, leaving the poor struggling orc refugee on the deck behind them. Before Meen-Tra could speak up, Ren pressed his finger to her full pink lips. A look of surprise crossed her face as she went cross-eyed.

  Garzha and Tanuki clasped hands and came together, lifting their legs, as they fawned over the young couple, “Do you think they’ll make it?” Asked Tanuki, “He’ll need a firm hand, and thick skin if he’s going to survive my girl's wild heart – she’s destined for a life of exploration, like I couldn’t in my wildest dreams imagine, I’ve always known it.” Tanuki squeezed his dear friend's hand, Meen-Tra, like a daughter to him.

  “We’re coming to help, just as soon as we finish here–one District has already fallen – I just don’t die… we’re coming!

  Ren’s voice cracked as a rare hint of vulnerability.

  The comms went dead, and he fell silent, his finger forgotten. Until a sharp pain shot from it, up his arm. Ren moved his head to stare at the Meen-Tra fish, dangling from his finger.

  “Whas dey shay?” She asked around a mouthful.

  Ren attempted to pull his finger out, to no avail, “Right – hundreds of shamblers were converging on DG4…Draven was charging at them on horseback? Uhmm, something about a ranger, and suspicions of a greater controller behind the attacks? It was a bit chaotic; we’re still getting used to the group comms thing.”

  Meen-Tra spat out his finger, a defeated look on her face. Garzha stepped in to fill the void, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. Meen-Tra looked up, into her mother’s eyes, a hopeful look on her face, her lower lip quivering.

  The shared moment between the two was interrupted, as the vatagand let out another loud blast of sound, causing the junk's sails to ripple. The momentary hope drained from Meen-Tra’s face; her mother wouldn’t be able to save her friends.

  Garzha brushed aside a strand of hair from her daughter's sad features, “Take Ren and go, Tanuki will take these refugees away from here. There is little more we can do without more resources. I’ll join the Shamanic Council soon, and the other guilds, I’m sure, this threat will be dealt with soon enough.”

  Meen-Tra shifted her stance before quickly peeking in Ren’s direction. He wasn’t paying any attention; instead, he bounced a small sack off the side of his foot, something he called hacky-sack, much to her chagrin.

  Garzha gave her daughter's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, “You’ve trained your whole life for this daughter of mine – and finally, found some worthy companions. Go – save your friends, explore the world, and craft all the beautiful things you want.”

  Kythan hit the deck, his landing silent, but his presence immediately washed over the area – all but Garzha and Tanuki recoiling at the sudden appearance of a high-level council member. Kythan’s wings outstretched, drew in on themselves with a powerful grace. His sharp eyes missed nothing as his beak slowly moved across the deck, “Think fast.”

  A hacky-sack bounced off the side of his face before falling limp onto the deck. Ren sauntered up, hands in his pockets, flip-flops flopping, lips pursed as he shook his head, “My guy, what gives? I know you got the reflexes.”

  Garzha stepped in, before Kythan decapitated her daughter's boyfriend, “Ghostwing – you’ve come for me, let us be away.” She embraced her daughter, squeezing her tight, hoping it wouldn’t be the last, “I love you, Meen-Tra, remember your training, and trust in your party.”

  Meen-Tra returned the embrace, too scared to put up a fight, “I love you, Mom.”

  Ren backed up and gave a salute in Kythans' direction, “Nice to meet you, Mama Garzha, see you soon.”

  Kythan stepped up from behind Garzha, wrapping his arms around her, as she waved goodbye. His wings snapped out, “[Recon Team].” He activated a skill, causing the two of them to shift, their forms blurring slightly around the edge – making it hard to tell where one began and the other ended. He leaped into the sky -- his mighty wings descended, carrying the two off like a bolt of shadow on the wind.