“Don’t worry, they’re your cells—nose, ears, every opening on your body,” Joe said, looking down at the crawling orga, its body sweating green blood.

  --------

  “It’s not that I hate you. No, it’s just that you...” He paused, picking up the boy. Standing tall at 6’5”, the man looked up with crimson eyes. “I can smell my dad around you... and I heard he was killed.” He stared up at the boy, who was elevated by sheer strength.

  'Seems like I was never fully fit,' the boy thought, watching the scene from the back ends of his mind. 'I can feel myself suffocating.' His face was beaten and swollen from the struggle, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

  “Ry...” the girl with black hair whispered, crawling across the floor.

  “I wouldn’t do that. It won’t end well for you,” another voice intervened. A woman stood there, looking at a man possessing a build that would shame Dreezy and a height just taller than his. “You’re strikingly different. You look like you're from Myrrvale, but... different,” she continued, noticing his clean-cut grey hair and black attire.

  “And who might this...” he started, turning around with a smile while still holding the body high. “Azeya, in the flesh.”

  “Seems like someone knows me. I wonder,” Azeya replied.

  “Too much money on your head. Anyone serious enough would know you—and Leon,” he said, glancing around.

  “Sorry to disappoint, but he’s not here. I wanted to watch this fight when I saw you falling through the sky, but it seems the other one is still out of order,” Azeya said. She began to draw closer. “I think it’s time to drop him.” Her eyes locked onto his, her hand moving to the man’s wrist.

  “I don’t—” the man began, but Azeya gripped his hand with immense strength.

  “I wasn’t asking,” she snapped. The man’s arm was forced down, and Ryke hit the ground, gasping for air.

  Suddenly, there was a rush of movement. The air struck the trees with enough pressure to make them bend, sounding like a localized whirlwind. The roar was enough to make Ryke try to open his eyes.

  “RUTI. That’s my name,” the man said, his hand coiled into a punch, veins bulging.

  “RUTI,” Azeya repeated, smiling back.

  Ruti threw a right hook which Azeya deflected, the sheer force of the blow shattering the corner of the house. Azeya kicked at his leg , the impact making a pop sound, and released her trapped hand. She deflected two more punches and lunged to the side, aiming for his ribs. But before she could strike, Ruti was swallowed whole by a gate.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  In less than a minute, it was over.

  “I need you back at the mansion, both of you,” Azeya said, looking at Sherlyn and Ryke on the floor with a smile.

  --------

  “Hey, can you see her?” one man whispered to the others. He was staring at a 5’9” girl with white hair and a pale complexion, wrapped in a long brown cloth.

  “I need to get my hands on her,” the other replied, hiding behind the trees, whispering just loud enough to be heard.

  “Those pointy ears, and...”

  “The long hair, yeah. First come, first served,” the other intervened, drawing his sword.

  This was one of the largest groups formed, venturing the furthest into Veilwood. There were nine members: two archers, four swordsmen, and two magicians whose staffs gave them away.

  “I need such a beautiful elf,” one said. She stood in the middle of a clearing, the trees a short distance away and the grass low in the dim light. She stood still until one of them began to stalk forward. She turned, fear washing over her face as she saw him.

  “It’s fine, I don’t want to hurt you,” the first man said. He watched her shiver in terror as the others emerged. Soon, nine men stood over her, weapons drawn.

  She turned to run toward the trees, but her leg gave out. Blood ran down her skin; an arrow had pierced her leg. She screamed, clutching the wound.

  “You had no reason to do that,” one man said, looking at his companion.

  “She was about to run. I just stopped her in the safest way,” the other replied, smiling.

  The elf was still screaming when a fresh arrow hissed out of the forest. The man who had shot her dodged a bolt aimed at his head, but a second one caught him in the foot. Nearby, one of their mages dropped to the ground, an arrow buried in his eye.

  “Mage, take the back! Archer next! Me and the swordsmen at the front! We’re burning this part down!” the leader shouted. His hands ignited with fire, as did the two blades he held.

  It became a rapid-fire exchange. Arrows flew from every direction except the rear. The swordsmen cut through the air, parrying the projectiles. “Too slow,” one boasted to the other, his blade trailing flames.

  From the rear, incantations rose. The mages began their own barrage. One sent balls of fire screaming into the woods, while the other, positioned further back, conjured five fireballs that looked even denser than the first.

  “About to kill these, I see,” a man said, appearing suddenly. He was of average height, Asian in appearance, with short hair and black eyes. “I command you to stop.”

  “It’s our duty to do this!” one of the group shouted.

  “The spirits here are not very pleased. You have me or them to fight,” the man replied, smiling at the group.

  Moments later, the group was coughing and gasping for air. “Please... let us live... we beg you,” the leader wheezed. Terror beyond his worst nightmares chilled him to the bone.

  “Goodbye then,” the Asian man said, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared. The group scrambled to their feet and fled, desperately carrying their wounded friends.

  “So, what happened? You look...” a man started as the various groups began to regroup.

  “...Wait for Cross,” his friend replied, tapping his shoulder and breathing heavily.

  Two men passed by, their expressions so shocked they looked like masks of fear. “Those two, too? What have those guys seen?” the man asked, pushing his friend aside, “I need the Guild Master,” he continued, walking away.

  They waited in the crowd as more than half of the adventurers made it back. Some were heavily damaged, their stories of the Veilwood spreading through the huddle.

  “That’s how I got the drop—teamwork, sure, but the last swing takes the glory!” a man boasted.

  “I took out three!” another shouted.

  “And I survived a full swing" a third man said, though his own legs were visibly trembling.

  “The same can’t be said for your armor,” another voice teased. A black man began laughing the moment the words were out.

  Despite the loss of friends, the mood was high. They were brothers in arms, but the pay was paramount.

  The Guild Master arrived, limping with the aid of a staff as he climbed to the highest point. “It’s great to see more than half of you here. I understand some have lost dear ones; may they rest in peace. Thank you for participating. I hope the gold is worth it,” he said. “But let’s wait a moment. I believe some are running behind. Blow the horns!”

  The loud blast filled the air. Minutes later, five more arrived. That marked the end of the day’s work; few would dare the Veilwood at night.