"Just stay behind…" Alarion began only to trail off as a glance caught no sign of Sierra lingering at his back, where she'd been only a moment before. "… me."

He narrowed his eyes, focusing on likely hiding spots, deep shadows, or nearby obstacles. She was there; he knew. No doubt quite close, possibly in plain sight. None of his training over the previous weeks had focused on his [Detection] skill, while Alarion knew full well that Sierra trained her [Shadowdance] skill at every opportunity. Her ability to hide had long outstripped his ability to seek. He didn't like it.

Snap.

He didn't much like that noise either, truth be told.

With Sierra safely hidden and the presumed fiend steadily approaching, Alarion returned to the more pressing matter of picking his battlefield.

Fighting in a forest with a weapon the size of an Imperial Greatsword was less than ideal, a flaw ZEKE had noted. At length. Enclosed spaces were such a critical weakness that two of the seven forms that made up the Eleventh Rite were dedicated to patterns that mitigated that flaw, mostly by focusing on thrusting attacks or purely vertical strikes. Even so, the best tactic that ZEKE had drilled into him was not to fight in those circumstances at all.

Retreating to the beach was out of the question, judging by the increasing speed and volume of the foliage cracking ahead of him, but withdrawing to a more open position was not. Alarion fell back, trusting Sierra to follow along with him as he zigzagged backward through the neatly packed trees until he found an area that would accommodate his needs. Wide enough that he could comfortably swing on a diagonal, or even a horizontal, if careful with his footwork.

Satisfied with his positioning, Alarion put aside the small pack of water, food, bedding supplies, and other essentials he'd received. He plucked a thin crimson vial from an inner pouch and stored it in a buttoned sheath on the back of the bracer that covered his left arm, next to two throwing daggers and his Shifting Imperial Greatsword. Easy enough to access in a pinch, and less likely to break or be lost in a scuffle.

He stretched as the noise intensified, rolling his shoulders, whirling the blade in a lazy arc to let his arms remember its weight. Then he waited.

And waited.

"Come on," Alarion murmured. His fingers tapped a steady drumbeat to match the scratching steps of a creature he could only see glimpses of between the gaps in the trees.

It wouldn't be long now.

An odd snuffling sound reverberated off the greenery as the thing finally caught sight of him. Its haphazard search, driven by scent and sound, drew instantly into focus as it weaved through and between the plant life in a mad dash to reach Alarion. Wood splintered, and Alarion could see long gashes open where the fiend single-mindedly tore its flesh along the cracked wood in its expediency to get him.

He'd not known what to expect. But somehow this was not it.

The creature was tall and thin, nearly two feet taller than Alarion while remaining roughly as wide. Its arms and legs were bone thin, its ribs individually protruding from flesh so taut over bone that it appeared as though they were ready to tear. A long, segmented tail, tipped with a wicked barb, whipped back and forth behind the terror as it charged on all fours despite its humanlike physique.

Most uncomfortable was the skin. Wet and glistening, its coloration varied between the pink of a newly formed scar, the deep red of an open wound, and the white of exposed bone. As though it were a creature composed of nothing but damaged or half-healed tissue, one where it was difficult to tell which was which.

That moment of shock and deep, visceral disgust was enough to give the fiend the advantage. At ten feet, it pounced, lashing out with a front claw in a blow only narrowly parried by the sheer bulk of Alarion's weapon. Its leap carried it past him and to the side, where it skidded to a stop.

The fiend's eyes were fire, two pinpricks of glowing orange amid a haze of dark red. They marked the horror as not entirely biological in substance. Its form was a mockery of nature, while a supernatural heart beat within it. A hinged jaw overtop a smaller inner mouth on an otherwise humanoid face added the ultimate insult to its existence, with two massive hooked teeth visible at the corners of its screaming maw.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Alarion slammed his sword down atop it the moment his wits returned to him.

Or he tried to, anyway. The fiend was no rumbling beast like the dragon Alarion had cut his teeth against. It would not sit and wait for a blow it could not endure. Not when it could slip so neatly to the side and rush into his open guard.

But Alarion had improved since those early battles. He had drilled night after night. He had sparred hour after hour. He knew the weaknesses of his weapon, how those weaknesses could be exploited, how to counter those exploits, and how, in turn, his counters might be abused.

This half-bestial thing did not.

The pommel of Alarion's sword slammed into the fiend's roaring face as it rushed him. Teeth shattered, its head whipped back, and its attack was arrested before it had begun. The follow-up knee to its exposed midsection blew the air out of the fiend's lungs and sent it staggering back into the final blow of the simple combination.

A severed arm and six inches of the fiend's abdomen splattered a nearby tree with foul gore as the creature narrowly avoided full bisection by dint of sheer reflexes. It cocked its head, its outer jaw spread wide in a way that might have been intimidating were it not clearly on its last legs. Were Alarion not so distracted.

How is it so weak?

It had earned its one meaningful attack off the back of its horrific appearance, not its speed, strength, or skill. It could hurt him if it reached him; the three shallow gouges in the flat of his greatsword could attest to the danger that steely claws and iron fangs possessed. But it was just so… basic.

His understanding of it grew as the creature scrambled back from Alarion's thrusts and sweeps. As did his worry. Not at the thing, or the risk it posed. Quite the contrary. It fought without skill or technique, relying on pure instinct, on speed, strength, and reaction time. It was ferocious, yet sloppy. Inelegant. Rudimentary.

Alarion's horror grew as he realized the truth. ZEKE was right.

He used to fight like a fiend!

New revulsion welled up within Alarion as he stepped up his attack. An overhand slash to put the fiend on its back foot, a simple feint to give it the chance to change its fortune, a wicked bludgeoning with the flat of the blade, and then…

The fiend's body slumped onto the lush undergrowth with a muted thump, followed shortly thereafter by the dull thud of its head landing some distance away. And then there was silence; no chirping birds, no skittering animals. Even what wind reached the island was inevitably caught and dispersed closer to shore. Alarion was alone with his thoughts and the corpse of a thing that he had killed.

"Playing with your food is a bad habit." Sierra's voice couldn't disguise her smile, any more than Alarion had hidden the sudden jump in his shoulders the moment she'd broken the silence. "Even if I can understand the desire to feel strong after weeks of ZEKE manhandling you."

"He wasn't the only one," Alarion remarked dryly.

If anything, ZEKE was the kinder of his two tutors. The gap between the Steelborn and the Ashadi boy was so vast that ZEKE could have fought him blindfolded without risk. Sierra outclassed him, but it was a difference of levels, not ranks. If he hit her, she'd feel it. So she didn't let him hit her.

"All in the service of your education." Sierra smiled in a way that suggested it was anything but. "Speaking of, I have a fact about fiends you might find interesting."

"Oh?"

"Mhmm! A practical lesson, even." She pointed at the fiend's carcass. "That one isn't dead."

At her last syllable, the woods erupted.

The body sprang from the ground with tremendous speed as Alarion did his best to intercept the headless monstrosity with a vertical block. The two collided, and Vitrian steel crushed bone and cut flesh as the body forced its way further into Alarion's guard. It pushed the sword through its flesh to get to him and used the jagged stump of its severed spine as an impromptu horn to gouge into his midsection.

The last-ditch attack did not get far. It pierced fabric and skin, but barely for a second. Injured as it was, Alarion used his now superior strength to force the monster back a step. With the added distance came leverage, which allowed the greatsword to finish its cleave through the left side of the creature's body, splitting it in two from shoulder to groin.

The two halves struck the ground with an unsettling, meaty noise. There was silence. Then the one on the right, the largest part, began to squirm in an effort to renew the attack.

It took three more swings until Alarion hit something solid in its abdomen. Only then did the nightmare end.

You have slain a Malnourished Lesser Fiend – UCL 20 – Bonus experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL.

"Not the cleanest kill I have ever-" Sierra cut her words short as Alarion abruptly leveled the edge of his viscera-stained greatsword just below her neck.

"Don't do that again," Alarion said coldly.

"Or what?" Sierra replied. She tipped her chin up, exposing more of her neck for emphasis as her eyes burned into his. "Manage your temper, or I will manage it for you."

The two held their stare for only a few breaths before Alarion set his jaw and lowered the weapon. "Fine."

"Thank you," Sierra said without sarcasm. Despite her confident tone, her left hand was almost white-knuckled around the knife at her hip.

Alarion didn't respond. Instead, he moved toward his nearby pack, keeping a cautious eye on the maimed body and Sierra as he collected a small pad of sterile dressings from within. For half a minute, he held them to the wound in his abdomen, soaking up the worst of the blood as he applied an impromptu wrapping.

Satisfied, he gave her a look, picked a direction, and set off into the woods once again.

Sierra watched him and sighed quietly as she added, on his behalf, "You are welcome."

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