An hour later, the four of us who were still whole regrouped. The mood was different now; the immediate crisis was over, but the mission was still a failure. "We still need that food," Finn stated, the pragmatism of survival overriding his worry. "We can't go back empty-handed." Lyra nodded in agreement, her jaw set.
"Where to?" Sasrir asked, his voice its usual low monotone. He seemed utterly unaffected by the morning's events. Finn pulled out a rough map. "Different sector. Further west. Should be safer." He didn't sound entirely convinced, but we all knew we had no other choice. We had to recoup our losses.
We set out again, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken thoughts. This time, our journey was even more cautious. Every shadow seemed to hold a new threat, and we moved like ghosts through the skeletal remains of the city. The confidence from the start of the first trip was completely gone, replaced by a weary vigilance.
The new area was less collapsed, the buildings standing more intact. It felt eerily quiet. Lyra took point, her Farsight constantly scanning the upper floors and side alleys. "Anything?" Finn whispered. She shook her head slowly. "Nothing moving. It's... too quiet." That was often a worse sign than seeing monsters.
The new area was less collapsed, the buildings standing more intact. It felt eerily quiet. Lyra took point, her Farsight constantly scanning the upper floors and side alleys.
We turned a corner and found our obstacle. It wasn't a Spire Messenger, thank God, but it was disgusting. A massive, pulsating blob of flesh, like a giant meatball, blocked the entire street. Its surface was studded with dozens of punctured, milky eyes that oozed a thick, clear mucus. It had no discernible limbs, just a slow, rolling form that squelched as it moved.
"Ugh, a Glutton," Finn groaned, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "Just our luck." The creature seemed to sense us, its many eyes swivelling in our direction. It began to slowly, inexorably, roll toward us, leaving a trail of slime in its wake. It wasn't fast, but it was big enough to be a serious roadblock.
"Are we fighting this thing?" I asked, eyeing the oozing mucus with revulsion. Lyra nodded, notching an arrow. "We have to. It's blocking the only clear path to the site Finn marked." She let her arrow fly, and it sank deep into the creature's spongy flesh with a wet thwomp. The Glutton didn't even seem to notice.
Sasrir and I exchanged a look. This was going to be messy. He darted in, his dagger slashing a deep gash across its side. Thick, foul-smelling fluid welled up from the cut, but the wound began to close almost immediately. My own stabs with a sword were even less effective; the weapon just sank into its body and was hard to pull free.
The fight was less a battle and more a tedious, gruesome chore. We hacked and slashed, dodging its slow, crushing rolls and the occasional spurt of acidic mucus. It was like trying to fight a giant, angry pudding. Finn's arrows stuck out of it like pins in a pincushion, and only Sasrir's degenerative shadow weapons made the flesh roll and convulse with each attack.
After what felt like an eternity of this, the creature finally stopped moving. Its many eyes clouded over, and it deflated with a long, wet sigh, collapsing into a stinking puddle of goo and semi-digested matter. We all stood back, panting and covered in flecks of slime. The smell was unimaginable.
"Why even bother?" I asked, wiping my face with a relatively clean part of my sleeve. "These things aren't tough, but they taste absolutely terrible," Finn explained, retrieving his less-damaged arrows. "Most Hunters avoid them unless they're truly desperate. The meat's practically useless, and the smell gets into everything. They're one of the few Dormant species in the Dark City, and they only survive because all the other monsters dislike eating them as much as we do." He looked mournfully at one arrow that was too coated in gunk to save.
After giving the dissolving Glutton a wide berth, its stench still clinging to our clothes, we pressed on. Finn led us to a low, mottled stone building that seemed to have sunk partially into the ground. An odd, chittering sound emanated from within, a dry rustle that set my teeth on edge. Lyra held up a hand, her eyes glowing faintly as she peered inside.
"Feathered serpents," she confirmed, her voice a low whisper. "A whole nest of them. Dozens." Finn let out a low groan, rubbing the back of his neck. "Right. Nasty little things. Their gaze is a soul attack—look them directly in the eyes, and it feels like your mind is being shredded. We usually just avoid them." He looked at the building with clear distaste.
Sasrir, who had been a silent observer until now, finally spoke. "I can glide in as a shadow. Kill them without being detected." He stated it as a simple fact, not a boast. "They won't know I'm there until it's too late." Lyra and Finn turned to him, their expressions a mix of scepticism and hope. "You're sure?" Lyra asked. "One wrong move, and their collective screech will bring every predator in a five-block radius down on us."
Sasrir gave a single, slow nod. "There will be no screech." The confidence in his tone was absolute. After a brief, silent exchange, Finn and Lyra agreed. "Alright, shadow-man," Finn said. "Show us what you've got. We'll be right here, ready to slam this door shut if it goes sideways."
Without another word, Sasrir seemed to dissolve. The shadows at his feet flowed upward, consuming his form until he was nothing more than a darker patch in the dim light. This patch then slid silently under the gap in the crumbling doorway, disappearing into the chittering darkness within. I stood with the others, trying to look as anxious as they did.
The wait was tense. The only sound was the incessant, rustling chitter from inside the building. Finn had an arrow nocked, pointed at the door. Lyra's knuckles were white where she gripped her knife. I just listened, stretching my senses, but I couldn't detect anything from Sasrir—no sound, no shift in the air, nothing. It was as if he had truly ceased to exist.
After exactly five minutes, the shadow flowed back out from under the door, coalescing into Sasrir's form. He was pristine, not a drop of blood or a speck of dust on him. "It is done," he said, his voice flat. The chittering from inside the building had stopped. The silence was now absolute.
Finn stared, his mouth slightly agape. "You're kidding me. All of them?" Sasrir just looked at him. Lyra cautiously pushed the door open a little wider. The interior was dim, but we could see the twisted, feathered forms of the serpents littering the floor. Each one had a single, precise puncture wound at the base of its skull. There was no blood, no sign of a struggle. It was a masterclass in silent, efficient butchery.
"Well, I'll be damned," Finn breathed out, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Remind me never to get on your bad side." He clapped Sasrir on the shoulder, a gesture the shadowy figure endured without reaction. "Alright, let's move! This is a goldmine. Their feathers are valuable, and the venom sacs are worth a small fortune if they're intact."