For a fraction of a second, everything seemed to slow down.
The Undergrowth Monitor burst from the brush in a spray of torn leaves and snapping branches, jaws wide as it lunged — not at him, but at the small bird beside him.
Something in Jeremiah shifted.
Like a switch flipping, his mind fractured into a dozen wholes. However, what should have been chaos was instead structured in a way that felt both alien and strangely familiar. Every fragment was both a piece of him and wholly himself, communicating in perfect overlap as Nerve Net and Distributed Instinct activated together.
The angle of the lunge. The bird, just beginning to spread its wings. His own position relative to both.
Faster than human thought, every part of Jeremiah reached the same conclusion.
Before the thought had even finished forming in his conscious mind, Jeremiah surged forward, his leg snapping up in a clean, brutal arc that caught the monitor mid-lunge.
His boot slammed into its midsection. The impact jolted up his spine, rattling his bones and straining his recently healed ribs.
The lizard’s trajectory broke. Its body twisted violently in the air, thrown off course.
A thick, whip-like tail lashed out.
It cracked across his arm and shoulder, the force driving through him and knocking his footing off balance. Pain flared, and his arm went half-numb as he stumbled sideways.
Time snapped back into place.
The nearby Candlewicks exploded into motion, white and red wings scattering in a chaotic burst. Panicked trills cut through the clearing as they fled. A heartbeat later, the distant flock reacted — branches shuddering as several Molotov females tore free of the canopy and streaked toward the disturbance.
Jeremiah’s gaze never left the monitor.
It crashed through the underbrush, crushing shrubs flat before rolling and snapping back onto its feet with disturbing speed. Dirt sprayed as it pivoted, scales flexing along its sides.
It turned on him, and they locked eyes.
A low, rumbling hiss rolled from its throat, its jaws parting just enough to reveal rows of jagged teeth.
Its body coiled low, muscles bunching beneath mottled green scales.
Jeremiah’s pulse hammered in his chest.
He flicked a glance toward the firebirds closing in, then toward the treeline.
Could he make it?
The moment his attention shifted, the monitor moved.
It surged forward in a blur, faster than it had any right to be.
Jeremiah threw himself sideways. The lizard’s jaws snapped shut where his thigh had been a heartbeat earlier, the rush of air from its passing brushing across his face.
Claws dug into the dirt. Its body twisted, swinging around in a tight, brutal arc as it came at him again without losing speed.
“Too fast!”
Jeremiah’s heart thundered as he scrambled back. His boots slipped in the loose ash, and he hit the ground hard.
The monitor closed the distance in an instant.
A streak of white cut low over the clearing.
The same Candlewick male he’d rescued from the monitor’s initial charge dived. Several small bursts of flame struck the lizard’s flank. They were ineffective against the armored scales, but the surprise attack was enough to break its focus.
The monitor’s head snapped toward the attacker, its charge faltering just enough for Jeremiah to roll clear of the charge.
The bird wheeled sharply, banking for another pass.
The monitor’s tail snapped upward like a cracking whip.
The Candlewick squawked, the sound sharp with pain as it was ripped from the air and sent tumbling into the brush.
Jeremiah’s stomach dropped.
The monitor didn’t hesitate.
It turned its back on him and lunged for the fallen bird.
“No—”
He sprinted after it, closing the distance in a heartbeat. The monitor was already lowering its head, jaws opening—
He jumped.
Jeremiah landed hard across its back, slamming down just behind the shoulders.
At the same time, his hands changed.
Fingers split and unraveled into writhing cords — slick, powerful tentacles forming as Kraken’s Grasp activated.
One hand shot forward, and tendrils wrapped tight around the monitor’s jaws, coiling and locking as they forced its mouth shut mid-snap. He wrenched its head upward, dragging it away from the downed bird.
The other wrapped around its throat.
He squeezed.
The monitor exploded into motion.
It bucked violently, its body twisting in a savage attempt to throw him free. Jeremiah clung tight, muscles locking as the creature thrashed beneath him. Its tail lashed upward again and again, hammering into his back, his sides, and his shoulders.
His uniform absorbed the worst of it, but not all of it. Each impact rattled through him, and several times the tip caught him on the side of his head, cutting bloody streaks into his cheeks.
Pain flared, but Jeremiah refused to let go.
The monitor thrashed harder.
Jeremiah’s grip tightened.
Its claws tore through the dirt, gouging deep furrows as it tried to twist free. Its body rolled and jerked side to side, trying to crush him against the ground.
Jeremiah shifted his weight, clinging tighter, refusing to give it the leverage it needed.
He held on for dear life, his muscles screaming as he fought to keep his grip.
Then the air ignited.
A fireball slammed into the ground beside them.
Unlike the male’s small burning darts, this one was the size of a melon, and it exploded with enough force to throw up a wave of dirt and sparks. Heat washed over Jeremiah’s face and bit into the fresh cuts along his cheek. He flinched as embers scattered across his shoulders.
More followed, each landing closer than the last.
Crimson streaks tore through the sky.
The Molotovs had arrived.
“I’m trying to help!” Jeremiah shouted, voice raw as he craned his head upward.
Either they couldn’t understand him, or they didn’t care. The circling Molotovs kept raining fire down on the struggling pair. The monitor’s wild thrashing made it difficult for the birds to land a direct hit, but they seemed content to make up for accuracy with volume.
Jeremiah gritted his teeth.
He could feel the beast fighting him every second, all stubborn muscle and thick-scaled resistance. It wasn’t going down fast enough.
If this kept up, they were both going to cook before the Undergrowth Monitor lost consciousness.
And he couldn’t just let go.
The moment he loosened his hold, the beast would turn on him. With how fast it was, Jeremiah suspected he wouldn’t make it very far if he turned his back on it. Or worse, lost sight of it in the brush.
His mind raced.
Think.
Think!
“KID! THE KNIFE!”
Mero’s voice cut through the chaos, and Jeremiah’s head snapped toward the forest edge.
The fairy hovered just above the brush, worry clear on his face. A short distance away, Hazel had both arms locked around Billy’s bubble, heels digging into the dirt as she struggled to keep the young kraken from throwing himself into the fight. Billy thrashed inside the sphere, tentacles lashing in frantic bursts, fury and panic spilling through their bond in sharp, jagged waves.
Part of Jeremiah was grateful that Hazel was holding him back from this mess.
The rest of him clung to Mero’s words.
The knife?
“The knife!”
His eyes widened.
For one sharp instant, memory rose clean through the panic. Jeremiah loosened the tentacles cinched around the monitor’s throat just enough to free one hand. The beast bucked under him at once, but he held on long enough to jam his hand into his pocket. His fingers closed around cool metal and drew out the plain switchblade he always carried and rarely remembered having.
Not because he was careless or forgetful, but because the strange fae weapon didn’t like being remembered.
Or, as the System had put it, because it was “shy.”
——————❇——————
The Blade Whose Name Was Freely Given
Rank: —
Quality: ERROR
Keywords: Bladed, Fae weapon, Faesilver, Artifact, Soulbound.
Description: An echo. A blade whose name was given to something that couldn’t exist. It might be but a shadow of its former self, but don’t let that fool you — as much as it might try to — it remains a masterfully crafted Faesilver blade, nonetheless. Like many things of the Wyrd, Faesilver is never quite what, or where, you expect, and many defenses — mysterious or mundane — find it difficult to fully protect from its sting.
Cut a target’s name to absorb a small part and learn more about it.
The weaker the name, the stronger the blow.
Shy.
//WARNING! - Excessive damage to a name may have unpredictable consequences.//
——————❇——————
For half a heartbeat, he hesitated, the reality of what he was about to do catching up with him.
Another fireball slammed into the ground nearby. Heat blasted across his face. Dirt and sparks showered his shoulders.
He didn’t have time. He didn’t have options.
With a raw shout, he drove the blade down into the side of the monitor’s neck.
The knife slid through hard scale and thick hide with terrifying ease, stopping only when it struck the guard.
The Undergrowth Monitor shrieked.
Its entire body convulsed beneath him, no longer thrashing with rage, but with pain. Jeremiah gritted his teeth, yanked the blade free, and stabbed again. Hot blood spilled over his hand at once — slick, thick, and shockingly warm.
The beast reared and twisted, claws gouging trenches in the ground. Jeremiah struck a third time. Then a fourth. Each blow landed harder than the last, because now that he had started, he couldn’t afford to stop.
The monitor’s struggles weakened.
Its tail lashed once more, weaker than before, then struck the ground instead of him. Jeremiah drove the blade in one final time, then tore it free as the creature sagged and collapsed into the ash-choked undergrowth.
He let go and threw himself sideways.
Not a second too soon.
A cluster of fireballs slammed into the beast an instant later. The impacts rocked its body in violent jerks, bursting dirt and flame across the clearing. One detonated close enough that heat rolled over Jeremiah, searing the back of his neck.
“Damn it!”
He hit the ground, rolled, and came up on one knee just in time to dodge another shot aimed at him this time.
The Molotovs still circled overhead, fast and furious.
Jeremiah risked a glance toward the trees.
The forest edge was close. If he ran now, he could probably make it.
He turned to bolt—
—and stopped.
His head snapped back toward the clearing.
Not toward the smoldering body of the monitor, but toward the small shape crumpled beneath the low shadow of a nearby bush.
The Candlewick male.
Jeremiah bit down hard enough to taste blood.
A raw, wordless shout tore from his throat as he turned back.
Fire rained down around him in quick, furious bursts. He ducked one blast, cut around another, and took the edge of a third across his sleeve. Heat punched through the fabric, biting into his skin and drawing a sharp hiss from between his teeth, but he didn’t slow.
Three long strides carried him to the bush.
He dropped to one knee and scooped the bird into his hands.
Up close, it looked even smaller than before. Its feathers were matted with ash and blood — most of it likely the monitor’s, but not all. Several primary feathers hung crooked or were simply gone. One wing sat wrong, half-spread and trembling faintly against his palm.
For one cold instant, Jeremiah thought he was too late.
Then his tentacles curled gently around its body, and he felt it.
A weak, fluttering heartbeat.
Relief hit him hard enough that it almost knocked the breath from his lungs.
“Got you,” he breathed.
He pulled the bird close against his chest, turned, and ran.
The Molotovs shrieked overhead and surged after him in a rush of red wings and sparks. Fireballs hammered into the ground behind his heels, one after another, each impact bursting dirt and heat into the air. He ducked low as he crossed the treeline, angling for cover to break their line of sight.
Branches and brush closed in around him. The open clearing vanished behind trunks, roots, and shadows. He lowered his stance, one arm shielding the bird as he pushed through the undergrowth. Hazel fell in beside him a moment later, both arms still wrapped around Billy’s bubble. The young kraken strained back toward the clearing, every line of his small body coiled with fury. Through their bond, Jeremiah felt that rage, hot and immediate, pressing against the edges of control.
Jeremiah didn’t slow.
Not until the sounds of the clearing began to fade.
Behind them, at the edge of the treeline, Mero lingered for a heartbeat longer.
His gaze slid past Jeremiah and the others, drifting toward the great oak at the far end of the glade. Something unreadable flickered across his face, and then he gave a small, knowing smirk before turning away and following.
Behind him, hidden deep within the thick foliage of the tree, a pair of eyes remained fixed on the place where Jeremiah had stood, and the birdhouse, gently swaying over the smoldering corpse of the monitor.