Pain was his world, a clinging heat that ate at his clothes and skin. Dalliance shrieked and beat at himself, stumbling blindly through the chaos. The magical fire didn’t just burn on the surface; it felt like it was sinking hooks into him. Through the haze of agony, he saw others flailing in the shallows, their panicked slaps doing nothing to quench the incandescent water clinging to them.

  His prediction was gone. The world was a flat, terrifying, unknowable present.

  “Form up!” Sterling was shouting, his voice cracking with panic, his stupid sword still on fire. “Form up, it’s coming back! Are you going to stay there being useless or try to hit it this time? FORM UP!”

  But it was no use. The serpent had vanished beneath the dark water. The world was a frantic mess of fire and steam. People flailed in the shallows, slapping at the strange, clinging flames that ate at their clothes.

  Through the chaos, Dalliance saw Rotter. The boy was a stumbling torch, beating at the fire consuming his tunic.

  "Not likely," Woebegone said from the edge of the group, one of the few who hadn’t been burnt. He was scanning for the serpent. And he would hit it, Dalliance remembered. Usually. It was just hard to say when.

  "Lackey, get ready," Dalliance yelled.

  The boy looked at him blankly. Dalliance cursed. Why did everyone have to be so stupid today?

  Across the clearing, Dalliance watched Immaculate, still swinging his axe, as Civility dropped his axe and fell to his knees at the water’s edge, clawing with his bare hands at the gnarled, serpent-shaped log that held his sister beneath the brackish water. The sound he was making wasn’t a scream anymore; it was a howl born of utter despair. Splinters tore at his fingers, but he didn't seem to notice.

  Dalliance didn’t want to watch her die, so he looked away.

  The fires on Dalliance’s clothes suddenly went out, as did the others. Not from their frantic efforts, but because the spell’s duration had ended. The momentary relief was shortlived—the serpent was still out there.

  He needed to see. He needed to know. He pushed his will outward, pouring the horror of Civility’s grief, the sting of his own burns, and the raw fear of his blindness into the void where his skill used to be. Show me.

  Dalliance re-engaged his [Prediction]. Something was different.

  Where before he would have seen a scattering of potential points for Charity’s crossbow bolt to hit, now he saw them, but it was as if the active looking was ripping through a deck of cards, briefly inspecting each one. It was different. There was a weight to it that hadn't been there before. If he looked at one thread, he could see her stance as she lifted the crossbow, aimed, and shot. That was new.

  Everything stung. The heat from the fires was immense, and the scratches from the thorns were agonizing if you accidentally stepped into them while beating out the clinging magical flames. The fire didn't just burn; it was a deep, intrusive feeling.

  “Lackey!” Dalliance yelled, his voice raw. “SERIOUSLY!”

  Earnest shot Woebegone a confused look, but gripped his sword determinedly.

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  The serpent erupted from the water, a vision of blue fire and gaping teeth. As predicted, Woebegone’s club smashed into its side. The creature barely flinched, but its thrashing tail whipped around and caught the tall lad in the hip, sending him to his knees with a scream of pain. Earnest’s follow-up lunge clanged harmlessly off the scales of its head.

  Ignoring them, the serpent’s head darted toward Effluvia.

  This was it. The tiny window.

  Dalliance ran, not at the serpent, but on a path to intercept it. The world slowed. He was alongside the monster's thrashing head, its fiery hide searing the air next to his face.

  Charity would fire. Effluvia would fire. He stepped past both projectiles as they flew, intercepting within the snake's throat, the first punching through cleanly, the second skidding off at an angle.

  He didn't try a slash or a heroic lunge. He did exactly what he had done to the hay bale.

  He turned his back to the creature. He gripped his sword in a two-handed, icepick grip, the blade held under his right underarm, pointed down and back. Then, with all his weight, he simply allowed himself to fall sideways into the monster.

  The short sword, aligned with the perfect angle of his falling body, found no purchase on the hard scales. Instead, it slid between them, punching through the softer flesh beneath with a wet, gristly tear. The blade sank nearly to the hilt into the creature’s neck.

  The serpent shrieked, a sound of pure agony and rage, and began to buck and thrash wildly. Dalliance was thrown around like a rag doll, his entire weight the only thing keeping the sword embedded. His arms screamed in their sockets. Before he could be thrown off, another body slammed onto the serpent’s back. Earnest. He’d grabbed the beast’s bony horns, throwing his weight alongside Dalliance’s, his face grim with determination.

  “HOLD IT STILL!” Dalliance screamed, the words torn from his lungs.

  They were a frantic anchor on a bucking nightmare of fire and scale, but they were holding it. For a few precious seconds, they were holding it.

  Sterling, who had been watching the madness unfold with a dumbfounded expression, suddenly moved. His panic was gone, replaced by the determined focus of a martial class. He saw the opening they had created. He stepped forward, planting his feet firmly in the mud, raised his own shortsword, and with a grunt of exertion, executed a perfect, powerful thrust straight into the creature’s remaining good eye.

  The thrashing stopped. The serpent gave one final, violent shudder and went limp, its immense weight slumping into the water. The malevolent blue flames sputtered and died, leaving behind only the smell of ozone and cooked meat.

  Sterling yanked his blade free and staggered back, his face a mask of disbelief. The three of them stood in silence for a moment.

  Huh. 80% Prediction, Dalliance realized. He’d have expected to feel happy, but it just felt empty.

  The system message was too much for him to take in, and he dismissed it without trying to. He'd figure it out later.

  "I wish I could say that was impressive," Sterling said, looking dumbfounded. "I truly do."

  Earnest just clapped Dalliance on the shoulder. "We did it," he said simply.

  The weeping of Civility Matters filtered over to him from the water's edge. The victory felt hollow.

  The less said about three untrained boys butchering a giant serpent for its heart, the better. It was a grim, slippery affair that left them covered in gore and smelling of burnt fish.

  The reclamation of Prudence Matters was worse. Effluvia was beside herself, her quiet weeping a constant, mournful sound that Dalliance hadn't expected; he hadn't realized the two were so close. Or perhaps she was just empathetic. Circe offered silent support, an arm over her shoulders.

  Immaculate had finally hacked his way through the serpent-log, but their true task had just begun. The woody fangs, swollen with blood and water, were sunk deep into her skull and refused to be removed from the bone. In the end, they lifted her solemnly from the water with the serpent's effigy head still gruesomely attached.

  When they finally reached the creature's heart, they tore it free without pausing to appreciate their accomplishment. Ignoring its scintillating facets and the crystals protruding from its surface, they wrapped the still-warm organ in Earnest’s shirt, with his blessing, and began the long, silent trip home.