While Weylan still reeled from the realization that he hadn't even noticed Selvara's disappearance, the creature was starting to move closer, slowly pulling itself along on its tentacles, but already getting faster.

Weylan's eyes scanned the battlefield, heart pounding. He couldn't see Selvara anywhere… until a something near a rock caught his attention. Not movement, feathers.

A small, dark shape lay crumpled beside the stone, her dark wings motionless, surrounded by loose feathers. She must've taken flight when the ambush began. Must've tried to scout, or draw fire. And she'd been struck for it.

"Selvara," he whispered.

She was too close. The monster loomed between them, tentacles striking in every direction, coiling, dragging soil and stone as it lurched forward. One wrong step and it would find her. Or crush her. He pushed in the grip of his sword staff, turning it back into a short sword again. He'd need speed more than reach.

Then Weylan sprinted.

Not toward her, but away.

He darted toward the opposite ridge, kicking up dust and shouting insults as he ran. He sliced a tentacle that came too close, leaving a thin gash in its slick skin. The mass in the center shifted. Several of the viper-heads twitched, then whipped after him, drawn by the motion.

Good.

He could draw it off and buy his friends a little more time.

* * *

Back near the wounded flower stems, Faya worked feverishly over Darken, hands still glowing, face pale with exertion and fury.

"I can't fix this," she muttered. "I can slow it, but I'm out of mana."

Darken's lips curled into a tired, crooked smile. "Faya," he rasped, "you need to run. You're not like me. I'll just respawn tomorrow, back at the academy. You won't."

She gritted her teeth, shook her head violently. "Shut up."

He coughed out a dry laugh. "I mean it."

"I don't care!" Her voice cracked. "You don't abandon people."

She ripped open his satchel and started rummaging. "Anything in here that can help?"

He hesitated, then nodded weakly. "Small vials. Venom. I coat my crossbow bolts with them. The ones with purple stoppers."

She found them and yanked them free, three small vials clinking in her palm.

Then she ran.

Straight at the monster.

"Die, you vile defiler of the healing arts!" she screamed, and hurled the first vial. It shattered against the central mass, hissing as liquid splashed across its armored hide. She threw the second, then the third. Each vial burst in a spray of venom.

The creature reared back, several tentacles curling in surprise.

"Faya…" Darken's voice came too late, hoarse and urgent. "Venom doesn't work that way! It needs to get into the bloodstream!"

The monster turned.

Weylan heard her outraged cry and glanced back. The viper-mouths slowed, twisted, and redirected. The lure had failed. Faya had drawn its attention with her assault.

The tentacles whipped around.

Coming for her.

Weylan turned on a heel, sword reversed in hand.

The tentacles were closing on Faya. He dashed back in, faster than thought, cutting in hard with a cross-swing. Only to feel the blade slide harmlessly along the slick flesh. It was like swinging at a hanging rope.

He cursed. Another lash came for him, and he ducked low, rolled, then sprang up near a tentacle that still lay flat against the rocky ground. Nicely braced to be cut.

He struck, his blade biting deep into the blubbery flesh. A wet, shuddering crack echoed as he cut it half through. The thing screamed, the entire canyon trembling with a guttural cry that felt more vibration than sound.

Weylan straightened… and froze.

The monster turned… and jumped. All tentacles pressing down at once, hurling the mass five steps in his direction. Weylan jumped back just in time.

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The bloated central mass began dragging itself his way, stone grinding beneath its weight. Tentacles raised high, coiled like whips, then lashed.

The first strike came from above. He backflipped, feeling the wind slice past his nose. The monster followed.

When he parried the next, it bent around his blade, the gleaming fangs whipping past his face a mere fingers width away.

He noted he had to parry each strike right below the viper-headed end, otherwise the strike could hit him anyways.

Two more tentacles struck from left and right. He spun, blade flashing, parrying one and narrowly ducking the other. The last curled in from behind. He felt it coming and dove forward, hitting the ground hard, rolling back onto his feet with blood dripping from his arm.

He moved like water, dodging, weaving, flipping sideways over low sweeps and under high ones, but the thing wouldn't let up. Now that it was focused on him, it refused to relent.

Selvara was still too near for him to run around and reach her.

And Faya…. She wasn't far enough away. She couldn't escape. Not unless she abandoned Darken. And that wasn't going to happen.

Weylan's lungs burned. He couldn't keep this up. He wouldn't make it five more seconds. He retreated with a few quick steps to get enough distance to act, but still kept the monsters attention.

He reached into his coat, found the flare stick, and snapped it.

The flare burst upward in a silent scream of silver light, arcing high over the canyon. The spell etched a ring in the air before exploding into a spiral of brightness. He'd been told the enchanted silver light would only be visible to students and other members of the academy, so as not to attract more monsters.

For those that could see it, it was an unmistakable signal: Hunt failed. Emergency extraction requested.

He'd be brought back in shame. Without any of the precious points he'd need to get the semester reward he craved. The cloak that was part of his Assassin's set. There would hardly be time to get enough points after this. But he would find a way. Somehow. He'd break some kind of record, challenge every single student to a duel in the arena or do… whatever it would take.

The land-kraken paused, irritated by his prey running away and then stopping again.

For a breathless moment... nothing happened.

Then bright green flashes answered from above. A shimmer of light through the mist, far up where the canyon walls met the sky.

He sighed in relief, then frowned. Silvea hadn't mentioned a countersign. The kraken reacted to the flashes, so they were visible to everyone. Had the people up there cast a flashy spell to get to them faster?

A tiny shadow appeared against the far up light as someone flew over the edge. A rescuer, using powerful artefacts or spells to get down fast enough to save the poor students that had messed up their hunt. He'd never hear the end of it.

A blur… then the body hit the stone with a sickening splash, rolling once before it stopped just in front of Weylan.

He looked down dumbfounded. Leather clothing, wooden accessories and a cape of still living woven ivy. A druid. One of the huntsmasters. His robes were half-dissolved, his face already gone. The air around his corpse sparkled with tiny arcs of green lightning that still ate at flesh and leather.

He had clearly been dead, even before he hit the ground.

Weylan stared.

No sound but the monster cautiously dragging itself closer again, the wet slap of its bulk, the hiss of its tentacles whipping the air.

More green light flashed up at the edge of the canyon. Golden and red light answered, more numerous, but clearly weaker.

His knuckles whitened on the hilt of his sword. There wouldn't be any help coming. At least not from above.

The other teams should have seen his signal. From the west, there was only silence. That was where team Grey had descended. He didn't expect to see Lyriel's team, at least not until they were ready to strike. But the silence was still ominous.

From the east he heard a distant horn signal. Team Orange's bard had answered the call. He just didn't know if they'd arrive fast enough. And how much firepower a team consisting of a bard, a stage magician and a spellsinger would really bring to bear.

Back to plan A. Hit the monster, draw its attention and run.

As his magic tried to pull at the shadows around him, he realized they felt slippery and vague. The fluorescent blue light did not cast clearly demarked shadows, which seemed to weaken his abilities. This canyon didn't like him.

He still found a tentative connection from the rock's shadow next to him to the one cast by the monster itself. He cast Shadow Gate and struck as soon as the connection formed. His mana drained like water carried with a sieve as the indistinct shadows leaked shadow mana.

His blade went deep into the gate and he felt his strike connect to the rubbery flesh of the kraken's main body. Blue ichor sprayed up through the gate connection. The monster reared up, but made no noise.

From the corner of his eyes, he noticed a blue-white light flaring up. His head whipped around and his eyes went wide as he saw a giant rune glowing up at head-height on the canyon's wall. Jagged curves and sharp angles painted in thick strokes. Unlike the clean sharp lines of glyphs he'd seen in the academy, this one was irregular, with lines showing clear signs brushstrokes. Interlocking triangles forming a ring around a glyph.

More runes blazed into view, one after another, a glowing chain of symbols stretching out into the hazy distance.

Flashes of light drew his attention back to his still open gate, that now emitted sparks in the same blue-white color.

His shadow gate closed with a snap and a final flash of blue-white light. He stared at the spot. If he hadn't immediately pulled back his blade to ready it for a second strike, he'd probably have lost it. That hadn't been him closing the connection or his mana running out. Something had cancelled his spell.

The runes pulsed once with cold, blue-white light, then began to fade, one by one.

For a heartbeat, the canyon held its breath.

Then came a sound: Thump!

A drumbeat, deep and loud. First one, then another. Then a rhythm. Reverberating. Driving. His heartbeat sped up involuntarily.

An alarm, and it came from the direction of the hive.

Weylan's stomach sank. Were-bees. Would they swarm the canyon? Would they see him and the other students as threats?

He stared at the fading runes and wondered: Was this divine judgment? Did the gods hate him? Or was it just him, living in interesting times?

The land-kraken hesitated, tentacles twitching in confusion... then it moved.

A coordinated wave of motion rippled through its limbs, and it resumed its slow crawl.

Right toward Faya and Darken.

They had tried to retreat. He saw it now. Faya half-dragging Darken, her head low, her movements cautious. They'd been trying to sneak away.

But the kraken had noticed.

Its tentacles hissed and cracked, lashing at the air around it like whips clearing a path.

And its path would lead straight past Selvara.

Too close. Far too close.

She wouldn't survive even a glancing blow.

Weylan's hand clenched around his sword.

There was no choice.

He downed a stamina potion and felt energy returning. It would be a fleeting feeling, but it would have to be enough.

He drew his assassin's knife with his left and stepped forward.

No tricks. No magic. Just him and his blade.

And the meat grinder of tentacles waiting ahead.

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