Chapter 30: Cheep!? 29

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Cheep!? 

Chapter 29

‘No, no, no, no! I’m going to rip your pecking neck out!’ Charles’ rage sang over the pain in his side, made cold the flowing blood from his wound. For the first time in his life, he not only wanted to murder someone, but he wanted to make it bloody. 

He took a step forward and slashed out with his clawed fingers, drawing attention to them. The man was quick in spite of his size, darting backwards but only just enough to avoid the strike. Charles’ beak snapped open with another enraged, violent shriek. 

“I just wanted my family!” Essence colored the air, and unbeknownst to Charles, the man flinched, eyes widening at the feeling that washed over him. “I just- Ugh! I could-” he stopped his attack momentarily, unconsciously shifting his feet towards the direction where the cart had escaped to.

Instantly, the man’s expression tightened and he stepped close, threatening Charles. He kept moving, ignoring the motions before Charles felt essence beat outside of his body. With a decidedly unbirdlike snarl of rage, Charles twisted his torso and body back towards the man, sensing the essence in his body shifting in his arms. Yet, the moment he did so, the poacher let the essence recede back and resumed a more defensive posture, rather than preparing to lunge into the bird.

Charles felt apoplectic at the sight, knowing that if he let the man strike him, he might be able to get a telling blow back on him. Certainly, Charles couldn’t feel that he had much left in the tank, but he didn’t know how much that amount actually meant in combat. Because what little essence Charles did detect in the poacher was concentrated. How much would he have in him, a single, desperate strike? Or was the efficiency better? Just one, maybe Charles could ignore it, but he’d seen the man strike at range with his essence spear strikes before.

Tanking one, maybe. What about three or four? 

“I hate you. Genuinely.” Charles’ heart pounded fury into something cold, the taste of hope ashen and gray on his tongue. “Fine, if Alterra needs a killer, then I guess that’s what I’ll be.” 

Honestly, in some corner of his mind Charles realized he didn’t want to be human at all anymore. What was the point? People were just like this guy, selfish, taking and taking from things they didn’t understand. Perhaps this was inevitable, to eventually run aground of the worst that humanity could offer. Were there good ones out there? Of course, but Charles realized he didn’t need to spare the ones that weren’t. 

Essence circulated through his body rapidly, pressing against channels that he could feel expanding with the activity. The bloodrush surged through his veins, but no heat rose with it, instead all Charles felt was an ice cold focus. 

Without hesitation, Charles’ dash took him forward, straight into the man. The human cursed in shock, barely managing to turn Charles’ beak with the shaft of his spear. Impact tremors quaked through Charles’ head, but he was built for it. Grimacing, the man swept forward, spear tip soaring upwards to try to catch the bird in the face. 

Charles shifted his head to the side slightly, emulating the glancing blow he’d seen the man do with startling ease, before driving his beak downwards and towards the poachers' hands around the shaft of the spear. The man let loose a loud shout and short burst of essence that burned through his arms and sent the spear shaft back into Charles head, this time bashing him sideways. Charles’ vision swam, and on instinct he kicked outwards, feeling a satisfying slam as his talons gained purchase on the man. 

As his vision cleared Charles felt another burst of essence soar, and could somehow feel the bloodthirst of his opponent. Even without seeing him, the aura of his essence almost screamed at him what he was doing. Decisively, Charles threw himself to the ground and the side, feeling the spike of that sensation driving towards his chest and avoided it. Quickly, he braced, ready to dodge to the side once more in case a second strike was oncoming.

Yet, for just that vital second, Charles felt his mind hitch in confusion. No strike had come in the first place; he’d dodged thin air. ‘I-What? How?’ 

His gaze turned towards where he’d knocked the man, only to realize that he was gone, only rustling bushes marking his path of retreat. Dumbly, Charles stared after him, only to feel the cold in his body give way, like a glacier transforming into flood basalt.

“You tricked me? You- I-” Charles sputtered, reason and logic buried beneath the sheer outrage he felt. “I’m going to muderfy your everything!”

All at once it was like his brain was strapped to the top of a runaway sled packed with stone while it soared down the sides of an erupting volcano. It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying, knowing that control was out of his hands and, frankly, there was no stopping, so cluck it! Forward, at speed!

Essence thundered from Charles legs, the stealth portion completely inactive, lending even more explosive power to every kick. He screamed like a banshee, beak open, heedless of the branches and vines in the way. He exploded through the undergrowth on the trail of the man, who visibly pulsed with essence in Charles’ vision. Somehow, he was far faster than a person should be, but Charles didn’t care. He wasn’t faster than a Phorus, and Charles eagerly drove himself forward for retribution.

Another spike of bloodlust erupted from his quarry, but this time Charles was determined not to be fooled. He plowed onwards through the underbrush and-

-Caught an essence formed spear strike straight to the chest.

Air blasted out of his lungs as he went down, the spear shadow vanishing a moment after contact, but blood gushed from the deep wound it left behind. He stumbled slightly, only keeping himself from crashing to the ground by virtue of a combination of momentum and explosive power. Still, he staggered to the side, slowing rapidly as he tried to correct his path and figure out how much damage he’d taken.

White hot pain lanced outwards through the wound, but instead of fear only more wrath surged from the depths of his being. Charles’ attention turned forward, running at a sprint and catching a glimpse of the man's face as he glanced back at him. 

Disbelief was clear on the poacher’s face, and semi-woozily Charles declared ‘That’s right, you plucked with the wrong bird!’ 

The chase resumed, and moments later the man let loose another spike of bloodlust. This time Charles didn’t risk it being fake, as frustrating as it was, and dodged to the side.

Nothing happened, forcing him to lose ground for a feint. Gritting his beak, Charles thought, ‘There’s got to be some way to tell the real from the fake! Pecking hell!’ He let loose another essence painted shriek of rage and frustration, pouring even more essence into his leg patterns to try to regain ground. 

He did regain some of it, but once more the surge of bloodlust forced Charles to dodge, this time running through a thicket of thorns that even managed to pierce his skin in several places, adding to the bloodied birds hide. 

‘Come on! Are they all real?’ A surge of mindless screaming followed that up, only stacking another brick on the tower that was Charles’ Murder-Spire of Violence and Revengicide.

‘Peck, how much blood did I lose? Am I delirious?’ Charles frowned, feeling lightheaded, but also like he wasn’t strictly in life threatening danger. ‘How is that possible? Did that somehow not hit organs? Are big birds walking tanks or something?’ 

He shunted the question to the back of his mind with a flex of determination. The man was slowing, that much was certain, and whatever method he was using to trick Charles, he could sense that his essence was decreasing. Not nearly as much as he’d liked, though, which made him even warier. Could he win even if he turned and fought now?

His instincts screamed at him that regardless of the outcome, violence was the answer.

‘Heard and understood,’ he acknowledged that the only way he would be satisfied was if this man was torn to pieces. Nothing else would even begin to suffice.

Their breakneck pace had taken them almost clear to the mountains by this point. Endurance was, surprisingly, not a problem for Charles, but he had to admit he had no idea when the human was going to run out of gas. 

Even through the call for violence, though, Charles couldn’t help to slow his steps as something rang alarm bells deep in his subconscious mind even now.

That bell rang louder and louder as he tried to ignore it, until even the wrath he felt couldn’t keep him from noticing it after several minutes.

“What!? What the hell is the-’ Charles’ thoughts ground to a halt as he really looked at the woodlands around him. It was eerie, silent and somehow almost void of essence, giving an almost dull overtone in his essence vision. A sense of disquiet surged through Charles at the sight of it, like he was looking at something that was terrifying, but he didn’t know why. In the same way that, he imagined, it would be like looking straight at an unshielded, burning nuclear reactor. 

The man ahead of Charles didn’t seem to notice anything, though, and continued to run onwards. Charles’ instincts warred with themself, the prideful and wronged part of him screaming that they should pursue the man to the ends of the earth, regardless of the consequences. 

But a part of him that he hadn’t really felt until now said that this was dangerous. It surprised him to realize that this was something that was a part of him and not his body. Alterra’s gift, whatever it was, was warning him in no uncertain terms that this was no place for him, not now.

Caught in indecision, Charles couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as they began to exit the area before he had to abandon his chase. 

‘The pecking heck was that?’ He shook his head, eyes narrowing instead on the trailing figure that was gradually losing ground to him, ‘Whatever. This is more important right now.’ 

 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

August felt his body sweating profusely as he pushed himself to keep sprinting. He was no stranger to marathon sprints, having had more than his fair share of manhunts in his day. Usually, they were hunting for him, which provided plenty of experience for what he was dealing with now.

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However, his tank was damn near empty. If it weren’t for the fact that he was stuffing essence capsules - each one expended making his wallet cry - into his mouth, he wouldn’t even have this much left to go on. Granted they were basic tier one capsules, since he wanted to wait on taking anything heavier for if there was an actual fight. 

It looked like that was becoming more of a given at this point. 

‘This fuckin’ bird is waaay too pissed off. Probably an aberrant, too.’ August tried not to feel despair at his luck most days, but this was simply too much. The next time he came to Samut’s Altar, he’d have to give a pretty big donation, maybe then the wry bastard would stop trying to get him murdered. 

He flared another surge of bloodlust, a practice that was regarded by petty royals as a means to show off. A true combatant used it as another kind of weapon, though regrettably it did have a small essence cost. The true benefit of it was in the ability to fake an opponent out, and if you were good enough, you could launch your true attack in tandem with it. 

He was not one of those savants who could do so, it was hard enough to do it while running away. Sure, if his opponent showed no signs of dodging, he’d be just as well to actually unleash an attack instead. It wasn’t really sleight of hand, but a big dumb bird would be fooled by it.

Or, at the least, most beasts would. This one in particular clearly didn’t know what was going on, but wasn’t taking chances, either. It would actually be easier for August if the bird just blindly rushed forth, considering there was a limit on how many essence tablets August could consume. If he could end the fight before pill poisoning occurred, then he’d be home free, but the damned thing wasn’t–

August took a deep breath as he jumped over a fallen log, only to have to vault over another, and another in rapid succession. Annoyance built within him as he realized that several trees in the area were felled. He’d have to take extra time going over them, but that damn bird could probably vault right over them with ease. 

“Gods damnit, can I get a break? Venris, stuff your thrice damned beast up your arse!” August snarled as he glanced back at the bird, noting once more that it was closing even more rapidly. 

Fatigue kept him from noting the lack of major vegetation in the area, or the fact that for every tree that was felled, there was one left standing, leaving the fallen log leaning against it. Shafts of light bunched through the many gaps in the canopy, and mulch and earthen scents seemed even more prevalent than before. August’s foot falls sank minisculely deeper as he went through the area, only when it finally began fouling his gait did he really take a look around.

“Oh no.” August’s guts felt like someone had just doused them in ice. To the right, not more than thirty meters past fallen logs and branches that still had plentiful leaves on them, was what looked to be a wall of logs, three and a half meters high. 

August was a mercenary, he was vice captain of the Thorned Gauntlets, and a veteran of many battles and tough jobs. He was open to more nefarious tasks than perhaps an adventurer might be, leading to much natural-born friction between the two paths of employment, but there were a few things that would unanimously see any differences and animosities set aside to handle together. 

This was one of those things. 

He didn’t realize that his feet had nearly frozen on him, and almost instinctively he’d crouched down, all sound stopped. Even his breathing, in spite of the burning in his lungs, had ceased. Obviously he hadn’t been detected yet, but he couldn’t know how long that might last. He was no expert on these things, but every adventurer, mercenary, soldier, or knight worth a damn knew what these things could become.

August felt the vibration and stomps behind him stop, but terror suffused his form unlike anything he’d felt. The man swallowed hard, turning his gaze on the bird. Its expression was stupefied, unsure of what August was doing, surely. 

When its gaze hardened into a death glare, August knew quite well that they were probably fucked.

“Balls.”

 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Charles’ instincts were unified once more in aggression and violence, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t very confused by the man who had suddenly stopped running for his life only to crouch down.

‘Are you… uh… trying to hide?’ He blinked at the man as he slowed on the approach, trying hard to consider the behavior as anything other than insane. He was between trees, no greenery covering him, and he had a giant killer bird looking to murder him on his heels.

A more mentally sound Charles might have questioned deeper, but at that moment, just knowing that he didn’t have to run the man down any further was a pleasant surprise.

Charles inhaled deeply, essence suffusing his lungs. To his shock, the man’s shoulders only slacked and a tired, almost accusing look settled on his face. Charles’ anger spurred again at the sight, and he packed that into the essence as he let loose another deafening shriek according to the demands of his instincts. 

The sound reverberated through the forest, louder and carrying faster with the lesser vegetation in the area. Charles thought nothing of it, only winding up to strike down the bastard before him. 

But quickly felt his frenzy cool while he himself practically puckered up at the resounding, answering cacophony to his own call. August slipped something into his own mouth as the two of them turned fearful gazes to what Charles only now realized was a distinctly non-natural formation of felled logs. 

“Oh, peck me…” He swallowed hard as the light buzzing he hadn’t paid any attention to until that moment suddenly roared into a maddened chitinous roar.

Cat-sized white hornets with tufts of red fluff that decorated them surged from over the barrier, many of them flying. They did not fly upwards in a straight line however, nor did the ones crawling over the parapets - as indeed he couldn’t think of another way to describe the decidedly fort-like construction of the nest - seem to crawl in a straight line. Almost drunkenly, and in some cases with wings limp, did they try to rise to the occasion. 

Charles numbly realized that August had already begun fleeing, essence levels restored far higher than what he’d seen of the man previously. Unlike before, his instincts couldn’t marshall themselves past the overriding need to get the actual cluck out of there.

Which worked out, because Charles was running away from the nest and past the man with even more haste than before. His legs positively stung with the essence he slammed through them. He felt the essence pattern flex and shake, just a hair's-breadth from being agonizing, but he didn’t dare let up. 

“What in the feathering peck! They’re the damn hornets! Why are they so big now!?” Charles couldn’t contain the exhilaratingly, terrified squeal that erupted from his throat. Almost against his better judgement, he turned his gaze back, noting that he was rapidly putting the nest far, far from his view.

But the bulk of them weren’t coming after him.

‘Well, rest in pieces, guy.’ Charles nodded viciously, ‘Better you than me.’ 

 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

August heard the bird loud and clear even as he sprinted away, and couldn’t help but half laugh and  half shout in terror in kind. ‘Yup, that’s about right! Fuckin’ hornets!’ 

Then he redoubled his own efforts, doing his best to put his feet on things that wouldn’t shift and make him trip, thereby undoubtedly killing him when the bugs got to him. 

“I’m,” he dodged under a branch, hands empty of the spear that he abandoned when his true flight of survival began, “going,” a long jump over a ravine carried him a meter further than he’d expected, forcing him to roll with momentum before springing up once more, “to piss on,” he ducked his head instinctively to the sounds of manic buzzing coming from the forest behind him, “EVERY FUCKIN’ SAMUT ALTAR I FIND!!!” 

He knew the moment he ate the tier two essence pill that he’d attract more attention than the bird. But what he hadn’t expected was the sheer Venris’ damned speed the bird suddenly put on as it beat a retreat. Honestly, if it could have gone that fast before, he was pretty sure he’d have been screwed already. Terror was quite a motivator, though, something he could attest to greatly right now.  

But, on that same note, he was the much juicier piece of meat, as far as the Massacre Hornets were concerned. A string of expletives erupted from his mouth as he risked a glance backwards, feeling glad that he was faster than the hornets were at the moment. They must have either freshly molted, or were about to go into molt. Even so, they were far too dangerous to try to tackle right now.

Yet, for every disaster, perhaps there was a fortune waiting to be dug up.

August put that thought away; running for his life was going to take eminent priority over everything else at this point. Getting through the damned mountains would be work, especially without a real weapon, but at least he’d be able to get some better essence returns in the area. He’d make his way to the Republic to the east, meet up with his leader, and then see what they could do for Oscar, if he was alive. 

‘And see how we can turn this disaster into gold,’ he couldn’t help but dangle that prospect in front of himself one more time before managing to put in just that little bit more energy into his retreat. 

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