“No time for ‘effing toe-stew!" Galateya summoned several ice-throwing-stars.

  The chicken legs bent and then the entire structure launched itself forward. The hut intercepted the stars Galateya threw with its thatched roof, shrugging off the attack like mild dandruff, magisteel plates becoming exposed under the dry reeds.

  “Who makes a steel-reinforced chicken leg house?!” Sage lamented. “This is all sorts of non-canon, dude!”

  "That is a tactical dwelling," I commented.

  “Why?” Sage yelped, dodging a pestle-swing that pulverized a boulder next to her head.

  "Greater immersion," I replied.

  “Immersion of what into what?” Sage hissed. “Why would you spend this much…”

  “Testing,” I explained. “You’re test subjects. Kawathra is going to use these test fights to hammer out the kinks on the gun units.”

  “That's not the kind of hammering I like,” Sage complained. “I don't wanna be pancaked by a chicken-legged house!”

  Baba Yaga cackled, spinning the mortar around for another pass. "Run, little chickens! The oven is preheating! 450 degrees of doom!"

  Galateya raised her paintball rifle, aiming for the Slavic witch, but Sage grabbed the barrel, pushing it down.

  "Wait," Sage panted, eyes fixed on the flying senior citizen. "She's… She's roleplaying. These are gun units masquerading as specific characters designed by a bird! Look at the apron. It says 'Kiss the Cook' in comic sans."

  "So?"

  "We’ve been going about this all wrong, T! We don't need to fight grandma," Sage grinned, a wicked idea forming. "We guilt-trip her."

  Galateya blinked. "What?"

  I raised an eyebrow.

  Sage stepped forward and threw her ice sword to the ground. She clasped her hands together, widened her eyes until they were shimmering, anime-style, blue pools of sadness, and let her lip wobble.

  "Babushka!" Sage wailed, dropping to her knees. "Oh, Babushka! We are so hungry!"

  Baba Yaga froze mid-swing. "Hungry?"

  "Starving!" Sage sobbed dramatically, replicating the Yaga's Slavic accent. "We have been hunting all day in this cruel forest! No food! No water! Just mean spiders and big robots tormenting us! Look at Teya! She is wasting away! She is practically scales and bone!"

  Galateya stood there, seven feet of muscular, healthy dragon-woman, looking confused. Sage stamped on her foot.

  "Ow—I mean... yes," Galateya slumped, trying to look frail. "So... weak. Need… Uhhh..."

  “Borscht!" Sage sniffed the hut. “She needs to be fed a bucket of hearty borscht for a healthy constitution!”

  Baba Yaga faltered. The cackle dropped an octave, shifting to concern. "You're hungry? Ah! You are too thin. Stick figures! Disgraceful!"

  "We wanted to visit," Sage lied through her teeth, fake tears streaming down her face. "But the big bad metal Doom-man kept us away! He didn't want us to taste your legendary cooking!"

  "He... denied you sustenance?" Baba Yaga lowered the weaponized pestle. The Hut settled down behind her, chicken legs folding neatly like a resting bird. "Unacceptable! A growing fox needs protein. A young dragon needs... whatever dragons eat. Coal? Ash? Cows?"

  “Whatever you can offer!” Sage stated, swatting Teya’s butt. “She’s an omnivore dwagon!”

  "Very well!" Baba Yaga shoved away the pestle. "Come on in!"

  Before Galateya could calculate the tactical viability of retreating, the gun unit babushka moved. One hand clamped onto the dragon’s wrist, the other snagged Sage by the scruff of her torn shirt.

  "Wait, we have a hunt to—" Galateya began.

  "Hunt later! Eat now! It's dinner time!"

  The crone possessed the hydraulic grip strength of a trash compactor. She hauled them up the chicken-leg house, which lowered the front all the way down obligingly. The thick magisteel door slammed shut behind them, locking with a series of heavy, mechanical thuds, mag-locks engaging.

  Inside, the hut was a confusing blend of Slavic folklore and high-tech weaponry. Bundles of drying herbs hung next to ammo belts. A black iron cauldron bubbled in the center heated by a glowing plasma coil. Doilies sat underneath heavy grenades on the mantle.

  “Smells of gunpowder, dill and cabbage. This isn't as immersive as I thought it would be,” Sage commented. “I’d like a refund.”

  “No refunds,” I stated. “She’s obviously a modern Yaga with all of the... amenities.”

  "Sit!" Baba Yaga pointed a large wooden spoon at a rough wooden table. "Do not make Baba get the iron spoon of discipline!"

  Sage scrambled into a wooden bench. "I love heavy-handed discipline, but I love food more. Hit me, Granny!"

  “You love discipline?” Galateya sat down hesitantly next to the fox.

  “You know the kind of discipline I’m talkin’ bout,” Sage wiggled her eyebrows.

  "Sage, we are burning daylight," the dragon stated, struggling to keep a violet-pink blush off her face. “What’s the plan?”

  "The plan is to enjoy dinner. It’s fine," Sage dismissed confidently, grabbing a fork. "We can catch him easy-peasy! I figured out how to beat his dum’ guns. ‘Sides, look at this spread!"

  The gun unit poured borscht into bowls the size of helmets. "Eat. Is good for scales. Makes fur shiny."

  Galateya looked down at the red liquid. A dollop of sour cream floated in the center like a white island delivered from the Yaga’s wooden spoon. "Is this… fabricated soup?"

  "EAT!" Baba Yaga slammed a loaf of black bread onto the table. It looked dense enough to be used as a blunt weapon. “Is not fabricated! I cooked it myself! What kind of Yaga would I be if I didn’t have dinner ready for potential guests?”

  Galateya cautiously took a sip. “Hrm. It’s... tasty. Warm."

  "See?" Sage commented after tipping the bowl into her fox-gullet. "Tactical dinner. Refueling the engine. Going to catch our prey right after!"

  "More!" The crone dumped a mountain of pierogies onto Sage’s plate before she had even finished the soup. "You are too skinny. A stiff wind would blow you into next week. Eat the cheese ones. They settle on the hips."

  The next forty minutes was a massacre. Of carbohydrates, instead of bullets. The two Omnids had chosen their yummy fate.

  Every time Galateya tried to put down her cutlery, the Gun-Yaga was there, ladling more stew, slicing more sausage, offering more pierogi, pushing more bread. The gun unit hovered like a combat drone programmed solely for caloric distribution.

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  "I... I cannot," Galateya breathed, pushing her plate away. Her Justice sense was clearly occupied with arbitrating a dispute between her stomach and her now far too tight pants. "No more."

  "Nonsense!" Baba Yaga cackled. "Dessert stomach is separate organ!"

  She produced a tray of honey cakes and a bowl of ice cream from the fridge.

  "Sage," Galateya hissed, kicking the Skinwalker under the table. "We need to leave. Now. I’m going to freaking explode."

  Sage groaned. The fox was slumped in her chair, one hand resting on a stomach that had expanded significantly. "But... honey cakes, T-bun. Dat crust looks divine."

  “Yes,” I chortled via the v-ring. “Don't forget dessert!”

  "You are supposed to be a hunter," Galateya whispered furiously. "Not a freaking garbage disposal."

  "I contain many hungry foxes," Sage burped. "And currently, way too many yummy dumplings."

  “Ughhhh,” Galateya let out, looking up at the skull filled with wildflowers centerpiece.

  “Defeated by dinner?” I asked with a grin, expanding the hologram to project my entire body onto the bench next to her.

  "You planned this," she accused, glaring at me. "You knew Sage could not resist free food!"

  "Not really,” I shrugged. “Yaga makes dinner on her own, she’s programmed to be a Yaga. And you aren't prisoners of war. You are prisoners of... care. You've picked the tasty path of least resistance."

  "Ugh. I regret not fighting her," Galateya grumbled, eyeing the honey cakes with fear. "Combat would have been cleaner. Less... filling."

  "Eat the cake!" Baba Yaga roared, slamming the tray down. "Or Baba turns you into newts!"

  "She can't actually do that," I commented, looking at the overfilled Omnids.

  "I don't want to risk it," Sage reached for a cake with a slightly trembling hand. "She has a very convincing aura.”

  Galateya gave Sage a ‘what’ look.

  “She’s like a grandmother I’ve never had!” Sage burped loudly. “There! Made some room! Hit me with the cakes n’ ice cream!”

  Another ten minutes passed. The table became a wasteland of empty platters.

  Galateya looked like she had swallowed a boulder. Even the workout fox drawing stretched to become rounder on her stomach.

  Sage slid out of her chair and landed on the floor with a heavy thump. She lay on her back, groaning, her torn shirt revealing a very round, very full belly.

  "Ugh," the Skinwalker moaned. "I have made a terrible tactical error."

  "You think?" Galateya struggled to stand. Gravity seemed to have increased twofold inside the hut for the pair. "We have lost another hour. And gained… more than ten pounds."

  "Worth it," Sage patted her distended stomach. "Mmmm... M' little food babies. I shall name them Potato and Cheese."

  I laughed. “Okay they're free to go now, Yaga.”

  "Out!" Baba Yaga declared, shooing them with a broom. "You eat too much! You eat Baba out of house and home! Go! Exercise! Make room for next dinner! Chase your husband prince!"

  The door locks unsealed. The chicken legs knelt again.

  Galateya stumbled out into the fresh forest air, feeling sluggish. She looked down at Sage, who rolled from the hut into a pile of leaves, looking for all the world like a pregnant fox who raided a bakery.

  "We are never catching him now," Galateya lamented, leaning against a tree. "I can barely walk, let alone run."

  "Don't look a gifted horse in the mouth," Sage wheezed from the leaves pile.

  "What?"

  "It's a saying," Sage grinned lazily, fighting a yawn. "Except in this case... don't look a gifted borscht in the mouth. Or the cauldron. I'm done lookin' at food for the rest of the day.” She burped. “Urrghhhh. My hunting days are over. Leave me here to digest."

  "Get up," Galateya ordered, sounding like she barely had the energy to enforce it. "We have... ugh... to catch him."

  "Ash wins," Sage declared, closing her eyes. "I accept defeat. Tell him I died doing what I loved. Eating dumplings."

  I laughed.

  Galateya facepalmed. She then glared at me, looking like she refused to lose. Refused not to get the answers she was promised.

  “Get on my back,” she snarled, sliding over to Sage.

  “But… m’ digesting.” Sage whined.

  “I’ll carry you, you can digest,” Galateya insisted.

  “How can you even move?” Sage opened a single blue eye.

  “I’ve compressed the food in my stomach using my control over water,” Galateya huffed. “And I’m accelerating internal digestion.”

  “Mmmmkay, fine,” Sage relocated from the leaf pile onto Galateya’s back. "We're coming for that ass, Ash,” she added sleepily.

  Galateya stubbornly plowed forward, directed by the half-asleep fox.

  The forest began to slope upward, the soft loam giving way to unforgiving scree. Rocky outcroppings emerged from the soil. Ahead, a granite cliff face rose a few hundred feet.

  “Fly us up!” Sage yawned.

  “Urm,” Galateya let out. “I can’t fly up. Only down.”

  “Too full?” I asked.

  “No,” she huffed at me. “I’m… not experienced enough. Living in a tiny time bubble isn't exactly conducive to flying practice or... digestion practice.”

  “You’ll have to climb then,” I said.

  Galateya gritted her teeth. “Fuck my life. Climbing. Climbing on a painfully full stomach with another Omnid on my back to boot. Slayer! You are really pushing my buttons, Ash!”

  “In a good way, I hope,” I said.

  “Totally,” Sage said sleepily, sniffing Teya's neck. “She’s way hot and bothered.”

  “Don’t make me drop you,” Galateya growled flashing pink-orange-gold and starting the climb.

  Thankfully, Taniwha physiology didn’t seem like it was designed to operate at peak efficiency while containing more than nine thousand calories of Baba Yaga’s aggressive hospitality.

  Omnid claws dug into stone. Digitigrade legs provided leverage. Galateya's tail helped with balance.

  She scaled rapidly up, gaining ground. Closed the distance to the top.

  They soon reached the halfway point. The view of the lake, Pacific Rim mountains and evergreen forest valley was lovely.

  "Hey!" I called from above them when they got closer to the top.

  Galateya risked looking up. I was leaning over the edge, looking fresh and un-traumatized by baked goods.

  "You guys look... dense," I commented, dangling a small glass vial between my fingers.

  Galateya let out a deep snarl.

  "We are going to catch you," Sage promised. "And then I am going to sit on your face until you understand the weight of being this stuffed!"

  "Kinky." I nodded. "Alas, I can't let you up here just yet. I have a lead to maintain. Also, Dax bought these at the prank shop and the label says 'Guaranteed to Clear a Room.' I want to see if it clears a cliff."

  Sage’s ears and tail twitched. "Don't you fucking dare!”

  "Fire in the hole!" I dropped the vial.

  It fell in slow motion, spiraling down. Galateya didn't have a free hand to catch it.

  The vial smashed against a rock outcrop three feet above her face.

  POOF.

  "OH GOD," Sage gagged, burying her face in Galateya’s flower-hair. "IT TASTES LIKE IT SMELLS! BLAWHHH."

  Galateya’s eyes watered. "Slayer's mercy!"

  "It's in my nose!" Sage wailed. "My fox nose is THOUSAND times more sensitive than yours! I can smell the individual atoms of poop! Why, Ash?! Why?!"

  "To motivate you!" I called down. "Climb faster or marinate in the 'Fart of the Void'!"

  "I am going to murder you!" Galateya choked out, squeezing her eyes shut against the stinging gas. "Sage. Hold your breath."

  "Way ahead of you," the fox sounded muffled. "I'm breathing through my ears. S' not working."

  Galateya surged upward. Rage, it turned out, was an excellent motivation. The desire to inflict violence on the man above overrode the carbohydrate lethargy. She clawed at the rock, practically tearing chunks of granite loose as she hauled herself upward to escape the cloud of smelly doom.

  "Another one!" I announced, holding a second vial.

  "NO!" Sage screamed.

  This time, Galateya didn't falter. As the second vial dropped, she released her right hand, summoned a whip of water from the moisture in the air, and lashed out. The water caught the vial mid-air.

  "Return to sender!" she roared.

  With a flick of her wrist, she flung the vial back up over the lip of the cliff. The vial detonated against some rocks behind me.

  "Ack!” I gagged as the smell hit me. Truly it was the worst kind of smell, an olfactory crime against humanity.

  "Ha!" Sage cheered weakly. "Take that!"

  They crested the top of the cliff like a swamp monster emerging from the deep: sweaty, panting, and emanating a faint aura of Slavic dinner and death.

  I ran back, hand in front of my face, coughing. "Dang, Dax really found the nuclear option."

  Galateya hauled herself fully over the ledge and collapsed onto her knees. Sage rolled to her back and lay flat on the grass, staring at the sky.

  "We... caught... you," Galateya panted, pointing a trembling finger at me.

  "Technically," I wheezed, wiping tears from my eyes, "you have to touch me. Tag rules."

  "I will tag you with a rock," Sage hissed from the ground.

  I grinned, backing away toward the tree line. "Sorry ladies. The hunt isn't over until the timer hits zero or till you strip me."

  “I’ll get you… just… you wait,” Galateya whined, heaving.

  I turned and sprinted into the woods, detonating more stink bombs behind me.