One week later.
Rebecca drove her sickle deep into the alpha black wolf's throat. The beast gave one final shudder, then collapsed in a heap of dark fur and blood. She yanked the blade free, wiped it on the creature's hide, and stood breathing hard in the quiet forest clearing, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air, her muscles burning from the exertion.
"These monsters keep showing up closer and closer to the village," she muttered to herself, glancing at the scattered bodies of the small pack. "Almost like something's herding them in."
She shrugged, rolled her shoulders to ease the tension, and turned toward home.
When she passed through the gates of Eldige the villagers' eyes followed her. Suspicion hung thick in the air, their gazes lingering on her blood-streaked clothes and the confident sway of her hips. Two women near the well lowered their voices as she walked by, but not low enough.
"…another one gone missing yesterday. Old Marta. Just vanished from her field. And there she comes, covered in blood again…"
Rebecca ignored them, her expression unchanging. She kept her stride even, the whispers fading behind her like distant wind, and headed straight for her hut, the dirt path crunching under her boots.
Inside, she stripped off the soiled tunic, the fabric peeling away from her sweat-damp skin with a soft rip. She poured water into the basin, the cool liquid splashing as she scrubbed the grime and gore from her arms, her chest, her thighs—rinsing until the water ran clear. Droplets trailed down her curves, raising goosebumps in the dim light.
Naked, she lay back on the bed, legs parted slightly, skin still flushed from the hunt. She didn't speak. She simply waited—for what was sure to come.
Ora stirred.
Tendrils unfurled slowly from her spine, slick and warm, gliding over her skin with deliberate intent. The room filled with the soft sound of her quickening breath and needy moans through the night.
Next morning she rose, stretched her limbs with a satisfied groan, and prepared herself for the day to come. Once finished she picked up her sickle from the table. The blade was chipped in several places, the edge dull and notched from constant use, faint cracks spidering along the metal.
"Won't last much longer," she murmured, running a thumb over the worn surface. "I will need something better."
She stepped outside, the morning sun warm on her face.
The moment the door closed behind her,
Past the gates, through the tree line, the feeling didn't fade. It grew sharper, footsteps echoing faintly in her heightened awareness.
Ora's voice brushed her mind.
*…followed… two…*
She gave a small nod. "Hmmm."
Instead of confronting them or heading home, she veered deeper into the forest, the trees thickening around her, leaves crunching underfoot. After a good distance the presence was still there—persistent, clumsy, their breaths quicker now from the pace.
Ahead, three goblins burst from the underbrush, crude spears raised, snarling with jagged teeth.
Rebecca's lips curved.
"Time to put on a show," she murmured.
She charged—blindly, recklessly, sickle swinging in wide, amateurish arcs that barely clipped the first goblin's arm. The fight dragged on longer than it should have, her movements deliberate but sloppy: a feigned stumble here, letting a spear graze her side there, blood welling in a shallow line. She panted heavily, drawing it out, until the last goblin finally fell, gurgling at her feet.
She bent forward, hands braced on her knees, chest heaving, sweat soaking her tunic until it clung transparently to her skin, the damp fabric molding to her full breasts, nipples peaking against the cloth in the cool air.
From the bushes, two figures stepped out.
Kart—her late husband's apprentice—and Chief Edgar.
"Kart. Chief Edgar," she said calmly, still catching her breath. "Why are you here?"
Kart stepped forward, his eyes flicking over her sweat-drenched form. "We came to check on your well-being."
She straightened slowly. "As you can see, I'm fine."
Kart's gaze lingered. "Yes… you are." He cleared his throat. "You were Master's wife. I have a duty—a responsibility—to take care of you."
Kart smiled thinly. "What would you say to being my concubine?"
Rebecca tilted her head. "And what is Chief Edgar here for if that's your request?"
Edgar stepped forward with a crooked grin. "Serve me once a week and I won't collect taxes from you."
She let out a light chuckle, the sound soft and mocking in the quiet woods.
Kart's expression hardened. "Why are you laughing?"
He took another step. "There's been an increase in missing people. We could just have our way with you… and discard the body."
In the link Ora's voice, low and impatient.
*…why… listen… this… buffoonery…?*
Rebecca answered silently. *I knew Edgar when he was younger. He took me fishing. Kart proposed to me constantly—always ignoring my daughter. I was hoping I wouldn't have to kill anyone else from the village.*
Kart frowned. "Who are you talking to?"
Rebecca's smile turned sharp, letting out a soft sigh.
"Let me introduce you," she said, voice dropping low and venomous, "to the one that tore my husband apart… piece by piece… and now owns every inch of me."
Tentacles slowly unfurled from her back—thick, glistening, deliberate, coiling in the air like living shadows, the tips dripping with faint luminescent slime.
Kart's face drained of color. A dark stain spread down his leg as he pissed himself and collapsed to the ground, whimpering incoherently. "Please—don't—gods, spare me, I'll do anything, just don't kill me, Rebecca, please—"
Chief Edgar staggered back, eyes wide with horror. "Witch!" he spat, voice shaking with fear and accusation. "You're a cursed witch—consorting with demons! The village was right—you brought this evil on us all!"
He spun and sprinted, boots slipping on leaves.
A single tentacle lashed out, faster than thought, and impaled him through the chest. He dropped without a sound, body twitching once before going still.
Rebecca then walked toward Kart. He stared up at her, trembling, tears mixing with snot, still babbling incoherently. "No—no, wait, I didn't mean—please, mercy, I'll leave you alone, I swear—don't do this—"
Her sickle arced through the air once.
His head rolled free, eyes wide in frozen terror.
She wiped the blade on his tunic, the metal gleaming red in the dappled light.
"It's time we leave this village."
Ora's reply came immediately.
*…no…*
*…I have… plans… for it…*