My body moved before I understood why.
The smell hit—no, it had been there already, sitting in the air unnoticed until something in me finally caught up to it. Thick. Metallic. Rotting. It slid into the back of my throat the moment I inhaled, sharp enough to sting, heavy enough to stay.
My hand went for my gun.
It didn't make it.
Halfway there, it broke—fingers losing shape, grip dissolving before it formed. The motion collapsed into something else as my arm jerked upward, covering my nose instead. Like that would help. Like the air would stop being what it was if I refused to breathe it properly.
It didn't.
I stepped back.
The ground shifted under me immediately. Leaves slid where I expected resistance. My heel struck something hard—stone, root, I couldn't tell—and my balance gave way before I could correct it.
Weight tipped.
Forward.
Then—
A hand caught me.
Firm. Immediate. Unwavering.
My body flinched anyway.
The reaction came first, sharp and instinctive, panic spiking through my chest before recognition followed a second too late.
Miss Alvie.
"Calm down."
Her voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
Her grip held—not tightening, not pulling—just anchoring me in place, stopping the motion from finishing. My shoulder steadied under her hand, my footing corrected without her forcing it.
"A logical viewpoint and a personal reason for action would help you act."
Her hand moved.
Not away.
Guiding.
My arm followed the motion, redirected back toward my gun. Not forced into it. Just… placed there, like the option had been reset.
I tried to breathe.
The inhale caught halfway.
Air didn't move right. It dragged in shallow, resisted like something was narrowing the space it needed to pass through. My chest tightened in response, muscles locking without permission.
My throat followed.
It felt like hands were there.
Not visible.
Not real.
But present enough to matter.
I swallowed.
Nothing changed.
"Ah."
The sound came from her.
Light.
Not alarmed.
Recognition.
I forced my eyes upward.
They were already there.
Shinkage.
They hadn't arrived.
They had formed.
No sound marked it. No signal. One moment the clearing had been empty, the next it wasn't. Figures stood at the edges of my vision—front, sides, behind—closing into a loose circle that didn't need precision to hold intent.
I counted without meaning to.
Four ahead.
More to the sides.
Enough behind to complete it.
They looked—
Wrong in how normal they were.
Random clothing. No uniform. Nothing that marked them as anything but civilians who had stepped too far into the wrong place. If not for what they held, they would have dissolved into any crowd without friction.
Each carried a naginata.
The weapons broke the illusion.
Long shafts held steady. Blades angled forward. Not aggressive. Not relaxed.
Waiting.
"Interesting, how are you feeling."
Miss Alvie didn't turn to them.
Didn't acknowledge them beyond what her awareness already accounted for.
The situation hadn't changed for her.
"Better."
The word came out sharper than I intended.
Not calm.
Not stable.
Functional.
The panic didn't fade.
It shifted.
Condensed into something tighter—annoyance settling in its place, less chaotic but no less present.
Something flickered at the edge of my mind.
A shape.
Familiar.
Heavy.
A pudao.
The image arrived fully formed—weight in my hands, balance I hadn't tested but somehow knew. Alongside it came something else. A presence. Thin. Artificial.
A smile.
Not mine.
It pressed at the edge of my awareness, too deliberate in how it tried to soothe.
I ignored it.
My fingers had already begun to move.
Adjusting.
Reaching for something that wasn't there.
"Gun first."
Her hand lowered my arm slightly.
The motion interrupted mine without force. My grip shifted back to reality before I completed the wrong one.
"Why,"
The question slipped out.
Not thought through.
Just reaction.
"Even violence has etiquette."
Her tone didn't change.
"You understand this or learn it outside of education."
No expansion.
No explanation.
Just the rule, placed and left.
I inhaled again.
This time, it went further.
Not smooth.
But enough.
"Doctrine for your side arm."
She paused.
Her eyes moved—not to me, but past me. Across the clearing. Measuring something I couldn't see yet.
Then her gun was in her hand.
"If it takes more than three shots, escalate."
Simple.
Placed.
Final.
We moved.
The clearing stretched ahead, wider than it had seemed at the edge. Grass thinned into uneven patches, exposing dark soil beneath—disturbed, pressed, shifted in ways that didn't follow natural patterns.
"Do you think we can mount a surprise attack."
The words left me before I filtered them.
They felt unnecessary the moment they existed.
"No."
Flat.
No space for interpretation.
I saw it then.
Blood.
Not fresh.
Not clean.
It soaked into the ground in uneven patches, darkening the soil where grass hadn't already given way. Some areas were burned—blackened earth where heat had lingered long enough to erase texture entirely.
A hoe lay to the side.
Discarded.
Or placed.
The difference didn't resolve.
The smell deepened.
Rotten eggs now. Sulfur cutting through the air, sharper than before. It mixed with the metallic edge of blood and something beneath it—something that used to be whole.
"Barbaric."
Miss Alvie's voice carried weight this time.
Not emotion.
Judgment.
My eyes moved.
Then stopped.
He was there.
Off to the side.
Seated like the space had been arranged for him.
Tall.
Red-skinned.
Horns curved upward from his forehead, uneven and thick, like they had grown without guidance. His frame wasn't just large—it was dense, presence carrying weight beyond what size alone should account for.
"Ah, visitors."
His voice dragged through the air.
Deep.
Rough.
Textured like stone grinding against itself.
He lifted something in his hands.
A container.
I didn't look closely.
I didn't need to.
There were no bodies.
But there were parts.
Enough.
My gun was already raised.
No decision attached to it.
My arms lifted, aligned, aimed without waiting for permission.
He was taller than both of us.
By enough to matter.
We might need to skip step one.
The thought came clean.
Immediate.
Metal struck metal.
The sound cracked through the clearing.
Miss Alvie had already fired.
One shot.
A beat.
Second.
A third.
Each bullet met something.
A club.
I hadn't seen him take it.
It existed in his hand now, intercepting each shot with precise, brutal timing. The impacts rang sharp, deflected off at angles—into ground, into trees, anywhere but him.
No wasted movement.
Shinkage moved.
No signal.
No command.
They surged forward together.
A sudden break in stillness—naginatas thrusting from multiple angles, their motion coordinated without needing coordination. For a moment, the force of it looked overwhelming.
Too many vectors.
Too much speed.
Then—
It ended.
I didn't see the exact transitions.
They blurred.
Those who reached him—
Stopped.
Those he reached—
Fell.
The distinction didn't matter.
Bodies hit the ground in uneven impacts. Some collapsed mid-motion, structure failing before gravity finished the work.
Silence followed.
Short.
Heavy.
He licked his lip.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"I was thinking of moving soon."
His voice carried something thicker now.
Amusement.
"But it seems the gods have made an offering."
He laughed.
The sound rolled outward, filling the clearing without resistance. The forest didn't interrupt it. Didn't absorb it.
It let it pass.
I fired.
The recoil snapped into my arms, sharp and immediate. The sound followed, louder than expected in the enclosed space.
He blocked it.
The club moved faster than it should have.
Up close, I saw it clearly.
Spikes.
Irregular.
Embedded without pattern.
And strips of meat.
Not placed.
Left.
Remnants of something that hadn't survived contact.
The air shifted.
Temperature dropped.
Fast.
Not gradual.
Cut.
Like something had passed through it and taken the warmth with it.
Miss Alvie stood beside me.
Something new in her hands.
A spear.
All metal.
No breaks. No decoration. A single continuous surface that caught what little light filtered through the canopy.
"Let's pop his ego."
The ground didn't move.
But the space did.
Snow began to fall.
At first, it didn't register.
Small flakes drifting downward through filtered light. They touched the ground—
And disappeared.
Steam rose faintly where they landed, vanishing before it could gather.
The temperature stayed low.
Consistent.
Real.
"Interesting."
He stood.
The motion was slow.
Deliberate.
Unconcerned.
"A mage."
His eyes settled on Miss Alvie.
Then shifted.
To me.
"Give me your friend."
The words landed heavily.
"I will let you leave."
The offer stayed there.
Rot in the air.
Blood in the ground.
Cold that didn't belong.
My grip tightened around the gun.
Not from fear.
From clarity.
Nothing here was leaving unchanged.