Silverleaf

Taiga stumbled forward a few steps, focusing his energy through his sword. Magic trickled through its vines, crawling and tightening into a seamless embrace at the sword’s point. The grasses swayed around, reaching to the vines and lending any magic they mustered. They whispered across themselves, beckoning their help towards Taiga.

One of his legs caved, and he caught his hand on Mouse’s shoulder to keep himself steady. Mouse swung around, catching him. His fingers curled around Taiga’s tunic. “You’re okay? How is it?”

Mouse’s soft tone betrayed any strength he kept himself propped with. His fingers trembled, blood caked between his nails. His breaths uneven, halted, then gasped. Taiga pulled Mouse behind himself, leaning off him only to shift weight to his sword before his strength fled him.

“The wound is fine,” he touched a hand to the bark etched over his stomach. He blinked, and the blood and flames of the illusion clawed at him. “This Guardian was one of dreams?”

“I think so. I don’t know. I’ve never—” he cut himself off. Then, he breathed again, and continued, “I’ve never been twisted this way by a Guardian Spirit.”

Taiga’s eyes lingered on his friend. Mouse’s nails dug deep into his own arm, his eyes darting around them, fear veiling scraped together courage and calm. When his eyes met Taiga’s, his brow furrowed together, almost a plea, “I keep drowning.”

“Stay in the grasses.” Taiga waited for a nod from Mouse, then lifted off his sword. His stomach jolted, and his strength melted. He stuck the tip cone of vines ahead of him, into the ground, and pulled himself further forward.

A rumble drew from the beast. Its mask swiveled back and forth, the slits of its eyes spinning from side to side, watching him take every slow step toward it. From behind its great, bellowed body of feathers, the tail of the beast arched back. The quills were a blur in purples, oranges, and greens as it flung towards him.

Taiga pulled magic from beneath him, feeling it slip between the stitches of his leather boots, through his muscles and tightened his legs unto bark. Though the corruption numbed much of him, the magic gave him bearing and control again.

When the tail whipped towards him, he let it come at him before swerving to the left. He stumbled a bit, but the tail slammed against the ground beside him. Before the beast yanked it back, Taiga drew his sword up, and in an instant, drove the thorned tip through the tail. Its quills shivered before the beast cried out. A split pushed away from his sword, the quills and feathers dividing themselves.

“No, we’re done with the splitting.” At his command, the grasses grew, throwing themselves along the length of the tail, holding it in place. The beast roared again, screaming and swinging a great claw at it. The grasses held steady, for even a Guardian held no sway over them.

The beast arched up, pink ooze dripping beneath the mask as it swiveled towards him. An arm rose from within its feathered body, claws of oranges, blues, and yellows stood out from its black body. It lashed towards him, grappling with the ground as he jumped out of the way and atop the grounded tail.

It growled, watching him a moment. He pulled his sword free of the tail, pink burning the vines. But the tip held intact. As the beast launched towards him again, he whirled away from it. The claws dug into its own tail, bursting with pink blood. The mask didn’t notice, its empty eye slits locked on Taiga.

Again, it launched at him, a third arm extending from its body. But as Taiga leapt away, another arm shot towards him, out of the side of the one embedded in its own tail. Then another, and another weaving towards him and pushing him further back. His stomach twisted in pain with each movement, but he couldn’t afford it even a thought. The speed of the arms picked up, overlapping each other, fighting amongst themselves for his capture.

He spun away from them, skidding the tip of his sword across the soil and grasses, plucking even the slightest of magic from them. He honed the edge of the blade, trying to run back towards the body of the beast. Between the arms, one caught a claw on a newly emerged one, slowing its speed.

He took the opportunity, darting for the body, using the last of his strength to pull at much magic from the soil as he could, before leaping onto its back. He clutched at the quills and feathers, yanking himself up. An arm reached at him from where he climbed. It snatched at his legs, and he pulled back, kicking a pink claw away. Another arm from below him slid from the beast’s back, and lunged at him.

Taiga let go of the quills, dropping within the clutches of the arm, stabbed his sword through the center of its disfigured hand, and once freed, jumped onto the other arm just above him, hanging onto its claw. Before the claw could react, he swung off it, grabbing the quills near the top ridge of its back, and digging his feet in. He scrambled up it as another arm appeared.

As his feet hit solid ground atop its back, he turned his attention forward. Standing less than a meter ahead, the mask faced him, bleeding pink, hovered from its twisted elongated neck. The base of the neck should have been on the other side of its body, yet it extended from its body farther than Taiga anticipated.

The white of the mask watched him, the slits unmoving as much as the instilled grin. He froze, his breath catching within him. A hum buzzed his ears. Echoes of children’s scream and the blazes of fire surged over him and his vision blurred.

Alika stood ahead of him, fire roaring ahead of them. He called her name, and she stumbled around, revealing an arrow through her heart. A child screamed, and he trembled as mercenaries lined the trees. He grabbed a child’s hand, and squeezed it. The fire choked him, burning his throat.

How could they escape? Where could they go? Something. Anything. His grip on the child tightened. The other children huddled around him. A branch crackled to the left. They could escape that way, run to the corrupted zones.

It wouldn't work. He’d tried this before.

A mercenary stepped forward, and though his mouth moved, his words fell silent to him. He’d seen this before. He looked down to the child he squeezed the hand of; no expression. He gripped tighter, but still her face remained lifeless.

Because it wasn’t a child at all.

He held in his left hand; a sword.

He stepped beyond Alika’s fallen body, towards the mercenary. He yelled something at Taiga, though Taiga didn’t listen. The man swung a sword at him, and Taiga stepped to the right, letting the man fall forward. Taiga raised his own sword, and swung down. When it made contact with the mercenary, he drew upon the magics he’d pulled from the earth.

Bark crawled over his skin, melding with his flesh and the hilt of his wooden sword. He pushed all magic within him into his blade, swinging down and slicing through the mercenary like a hot knife to butter.

His vision cleared as a thump woke him. His hands stung, his breath heavy, his body weighed that of a horse. He looked down, the neck of the great beast still hanging in the air, despite its decapitated head rolling off its back.

“Living through it once was quite enough,” Taiga spat. The body dropped, the neck plopping down and sliding off. He steadied himself as the great beast stilled onto the ground.

He took a deep breath, feeling his stomach with his hands. As peace fell over his shoulders, a shattering scream howled from below. Taiga whirled around, spotting Mouse on the ground, hands pounding against his head. Taiga slid off the back of the beast, landing roughly on his feet.

“Mouse!” He ran to him huddled on the ground. Mouse gritted his teeth, but whimpers still escaped him. His fisted hands pounded against the sides of his head. Taiga pulled his hands back. Mouse yanked them away, but Taiga held steady. “Mouse, what’s wrong?”

Taiga whirled around, checking the body behind him, but white speckles of snow began appearing over the slain Guardian. If it wasn’t a trick of the mind from the Guardian Spirit, what was it then? Mouse screamed again. His bloodied throat trembled in anguish, and his hands clasped around chunks of his hair, pulling it as much as Taiga’s grip allowed.

“What’s wr—” From behind Taiga, a fast-paced clicking froze him. He turned slowly, facing a creature standing near two meters tall, black fur trailing over a face twice the width of his own, and four times the length. Its mouth sagged to the ground, drool spilling between teeth as long as Taiga’s fingers. To each side of the mouth, long arms dragged along the ground. Beady green eyes shined at him from above its mouth.

“A Howler.” His breath caught as he spoke. The creature breathed in, held it a moment, before belching a roar that shook Taiga purely with force. It reverberated through the air, slamming against Taiga and Mouse. The air blasted past them, flinging acidic saliva across Taiga’s face, and imploding his ears. It dazed him, corruption pouring through him with each vibration of the roar.

Taiga gripped Mouse’s arms, yanked him up, and pulled onward as he pounded his feet into the ground. They ran. Mouse’s eyes squeezed shut and one fist still clutched his hair. He seethed agony, even as Taiga dragged him through the grass and back towards the town wall.