“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…”

  The words tumbled out of my mouth. The animals were coming.

  I didn't have time to think, to plan, to pray. My bag and clothes were in a pile next to the rock. No time.

  I just ran and cursed.

  My bare feet slapped against the little bit of grassy earth on the shore, the jagged edges of reeds and stones tearing at my skin as I sprinted toward the only place I could think of - the lake.

  Behind me, the clamor of snarls, grunts, and growls grew louder, a stampede of fur and fang all converging on one very unlucky jackass.

  I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I could feel every single murderous rabbit, squirrel, raccoon, and deer vibrating with rage like someone had spiked their forest with meth and malice. Tiny calls of attack radiated behind me, with the quieter calls of the herbivore animals making of the majority.

  The cold water hit me with a slap that jolted my whole body, but I kept going. I was knee-deep, then waist-deep, then swimming. I felt my boxers, my only piecing of clothing, become waterlogged and cling to me. My head went under in my panicked efforts to just run. The cold tore the breath from my lungs, but I forced myself forward until I reached the center of the lake. I paused, treading water, chest heaving. My feet found surface of a rock underwater and I stood, the water coming to just chest height

  A hopeful thought forced itself to the front of mind, maybe they couldn’t get into the lake? That maybe the shore had the same type of boundary rule as the tree line and they couldn’t cross it.

  I turned just in time and watched dozens of the smaller animals leap with no hesitation into the water.

  Fuck!

  Rabbits flopped in. Raccoons dove like tiny Olympians. Even a freaking deer jumped in, legs awkwardly flailing in the air. There were more squirrels than I could count that didn’t jump in; they just walked right in and transitioned into swimming like it was second nature. All were slowly dog-paddling towards me with just their heads above water, like they where locked on target like cruise missiles.

  "Oh come on!"

  I raised the reed flute still clutched in my hand to my mouth, my arm moving by itself unbidden. I realized I had nothing else. No weapon. No plan. Just one weird magical recorder. My body was reacting faster than my brain could process, somehow implementing a plan my brain did not know about yet.

  Oh.

  Oh!

  I blew.

  The sound that emerged was wet and slightly off-key, since the instrument was not dry due to my unplanned swim to the middle of the lake. But I felt it resonate—hard, like my panic had sharped my intent. As I began the only magic I knew, I felt it leave me faster with the majority of my body submerged.

  It was like a buzzsaw of harmony cutting through the chaos. A ripple pulsated outward through the water.

  The first wave of swimmers about 30 feet away immediately jerked.

  Squirrels, which were the majority of the swimmers, stalled in their paddling forward. All seemed to not know which direction they were going and as a result were just swimming in circles.

  A badger nearest me started swimming to the right, then vomited before bobbing under water.

  A raccoon twitched, went belly up for a moment, then righted itself unconfidently. I thought of drunk videos of co-eds struggling on the ground clearly regretting every life choice they had made.

  Focus.

  I kept playing, trying not to panic and keep the main pattern and tune. My lungs burned and my fingers cramped on the too-small holes, but I didn’t stop.

  The song vibrated the water, the animals, and me. Each note drew on something inside—something I now recognized.

  My magic juice. Mana. Essence. Soul fuel.

  Whatever it was, it was going away fast.

  I could feel it.

  The core of me, that humming center I hadn’t fully realized was even there until now, was unraveling like a frayed cord. Each note I played felt like another thread being pulled loose. The edges of my vision dimmed, but I kept blowing and repeating the pattern for the tune with my fingers. The flute felt heavier in my hand now, like it was absorbing the weight of everything I had left.

  I kept going anyway. What the fuck else was I going to do?

  More animals jumped in. They just kept coming, their eyes wild and movements jagged. At the edge of the lake it did not seem like the song affected them that far away. At about 100 feet away was when they seem to start to get unfocused, the sound had gotten to them but not stopped them.

  Animals, dead, started to float to surface.

  One squirrel made it within ten feet before it froze mid-paddle. It convulsed throwing itself to the left and just sank underwater like a puppet whose strings were cut. A rabbit right behind it tried to climb over the floating corpse pile, only to slip and fall face first into the mess before submerging. I played again. And again.

  The tune wasn’t really a tune anymore. It was a mess of notes. Spit-soaked desperation. I didn’t even know what I was playing anymore, I was more instinct than anything else. I only knew that if I stopped playing, I was dead.

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  The effect was strongest close to me. Maybe a twenty-five foot radius. That was the kill zone. Anything in it just... snapped. Spasmed. Died. Outside that? They just slowed. Twitched. Not drunk but buzzed, and not letting a little thing like that stop their murderous intent.

  Some of them were crawling over each other. Using the corpses like stepping stones. Standing on their dead and lurching forward like tiny undead commandos.

  A raccoon reached me. Its eyes were glassy but still filled with hate. It tried to bite my shoulder. I headbutted it. Hard.

  It didn’t even feel like a choice. My body just did it.

  It bounced off me and floated away like a fur balloon. I didn’t even stop playing.

  My breath was ragged now. Every time I exhaled into the flute it felt like something left me. Not just air. Something more.

  Then came the cold.

  A deep cold.

  From inside. Only a hint of warmth.

  Like my bones had forgotten how to be warm. My arms trembled. My hands cramped. The flute slipped once and I had to catch it before it sank.

  More animals came. More bodies floated. More bile. More blood. The lake was no longer water. It was soup. Horrible meat fur soup.

  Then everything stopped.

  Me. The music. My breath. My body was cramped and if I wasn’t standing on just the bit of the rock I would be going underwater.

  I was empty. Not tired. Not winded. Just… gone.

  Nothing left.

  This was it.

  I wasn’t going to die clean. I was going to die surrounded by floating squirrel carcasses in a lake of puke. Not how I pictured going out.

  I felt myself let go. I was okay with it. Weirdly okay.

  Then—

  [Ding!]

  Warmth.

  Like someone lit a fire in my lungs.

  I gasped. I blinked. I felt... charged.

  Like I just shot gunned three espresso shots while bathing in menthol. My whole body buzzed. My missing nipple didn’t even sting.

  In no time, the animals had taken my moment of pause to rally and start swimming at me again.

  I played again.

  The animals that had gotten closer immediately started to suffer again. A doe five feet away let out a cry of panic that became gargling as its head went under.

  I kept playing and I began to empty of magic juice again.

  Vomit. Death. Drained.

  Just as I was beginning to worry again…

  [Ding!]

  And just like that—refilled.

  It was a cycle now.

  Play. Kill. Drain. Refill.

  I didn’t know how it was working. I didn’t care. It was working.

  [Ding!]

  Another burst. Another surge of twisted harmony.

  The animals had stopped trying to swim. Most of them just flopped in and sank. Some floated before twitching like wind-up toys that had been twisted too tight.

  The water around me was filled with bubbles and hair. I could barely see the surface anymore. Just movement. Ripples. Then nothing.

  [Ding!]

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered what the lake looked like from above.

  [Ding!]

  Like a blender filled with woodland creatures at this point

  [Ding!]

  I kept going. Kept blowing.

  [Ding!]

  The notes were harsh now. The flute clogged with water and snot and whatever else was coming out of me. I was being restored physically, but mentally I was drained. I had to shake it out between breaths. Still, I played.

  [Ding!].

  [Ding!].

  A chipmunk clawed its way up a mound of bloated rabbit bodies, before collapsing to its death. I saw on it what appeared to be a large circler puncture wound that was a majority of its stomach. I must have been struck by a panicked drowning animal.

  [Ding!]

  [Ding!].

  [Ding!].

  More hits of soul espresso.

  [Ding!]

  [Ding!]

  [Ding!]

  [Ding!].

  Was I even casting a spell? I didn’t feel like I was. I wasn’t choosing anything. There was no menu. No spell name.

  Just instinct.

  Just raw, vibrating desperation.

  [Ding!]

  Then it happened.

  The last ripple.

  The last breath.

  The last note.

  It left me like a shout in a canyon. And the canyon echoed back in silence.

  Just silence.

  I blinked.

  No more growls. No more splashes. No more bubbling rage.

  The lake was still.

  Only then did I realize I had stopped playing.

  I lowered the flute. My hands were stiff. My mouth dry. My lips cracked and bleeding.

  The quiet was absolute.

  I turned in a slow circle, water sloshing around me, thick and syrupy with death.

  Nothing moved.

  The animals were gone. All of them. Dead. Floating.

  Stacked and bloated and still.

  I had done this.

  I stared at the flute. It looked so small. So dumb. Just a stick with holes.

  And I had used it as a weapon.

  No. Not a weapon.

  A purge.

  I started swimming back. Every stroke was harder than the last. The water was thicker, cloudier. It stuck to me. Clung like a thousand tiny hands didn’t want me to leave.

  Corpses bumped against me as I made my way.

  I didn’t scream, I didn’t flinch, I didn’t have the energy to react. I just pushed them away.

  At about halfway to shore I realized I had been crying.

  One rabbit had eyes that seemed seem look at me judging even in death. Its face twisted in a final snarl. I pushed it aside like a bad thought and kept swimming.

  When I finally reached the shore, I collapsed onto the muddy edge. The soft earth sucked at my body like it wanted to keep me.

  I didn’t resist.

  I just lay there.

  I realized I was still in my underwear. That I had gone through all that wearing only my boxers.

  My chest rose and fell. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears. My whole body throbbed like it had just run a marathon through a warzone.

  The notifications kept flashing in the corner of my vision. I ignored them.

  I don’t care.

  Not now. Not yet.

  I began to pass out, the blackness of unconsciousness at the edges of my vision.

  I had survived. Somehow.

  And the whole music thing that kept me alive…

  I let out a little laugh.

  And so ends the worst recorder solo in history.

  Somewhere a being watched as Lloyd passed out in the muddy grass.

  Next to him, a forgotten bowl of popcorn sat lopsided on a low floating tray. A drink leaned nearby, opened but abandoned.

  The being hadn't moved in a while. Reclined in a chair suspended in empty space, he sat with one elbow propped lazily against the armrest. His hood was drawn low. His foot tapped against nothing in particular. He had gone through several emotions over the last half hour; schadenfreude, surprise, something like a begrudging respect, to finally anxiety.

  “Huh, well didn’t expect that to happen”

  He scratched at his thin beard thinking of the next steps. There was still an error that had to be resolved, and based on the host's updated stat page the issue would be harder to correct. Options would have to be considered. If there was a confirmed violation, he didn’t even want to think what that would mean for the cohort. All their work would be for nothing.

  The being shifted once in his seat, eyes narrowing a fraction. He watched as Lloyd stirred slightly, just a twitch in the arm. Just enough. Killing him would be the easiest but would take time without violating the directives. Plus, that’s how the simplest minded of cohort prefers to act, which always left a bad taste in this body’s mouth.

  Maybe he could find another option.

  It would be a fun puzzle, even though he would be the only one to appreciate an alternative. Plus would be a shame to kill the [Bard] after he survived that.

  He rose to his feet and turned slowly away from the projected images with a grunt. Glance back he gave one last look, with a hint of a smile sent towards sleeping form.

  The being walked away. The popcorn sat forgotten. The drink began to go stale.

  On the screen the [Bard] started to loudly snore.