Vixey's ears twitched at the sound of crunching dirt.

Cruch, crunch, crunch, clomp, clomp, clomp.

The steps changed to heavy footfalls on the wooden slats above her head. She curled tighter, sniffing at the musky earthen air of her little hovel and caught the now familiar notes of grass, sweet flowers, salt and pine that accompanied the noises from above.

Vixey crouched, tail whipping to and fro, until she heard the slam and click of the door above.

Her claws sank into the soil and she launched herself into the night air. The distance from the porch to the sprawling green field was short, and like a fury red blur she zipped across open space into the comfort of rows of protective plants.

With nimble ease Vixey bound down her favorite row, ears twitching.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Vixey froze, lowering her head, panting lightly.

All other sounds faded to the back of her mind, and she focused intently on the light pitter patter of feet dragging a pink little tail behind it.

Without skills or technology of any kind, Vixey honed in on the field mouse scurrying some fifty yards away. With uncanny precision she began to move, all the while keeping the sound of the unfortunate little creature at the front of her mind.

The hunt was on.

Meanwhile, somewhere deeper in the night, an owl hooted.

***

"What do you think it means? Corrupted?" I stooped over the dead body of a moose, or at least most of a moose. Like the rest of the "corrupted" mana spawn it was disfigured. This moose had porcupine needles. Needles that seemed to explode from within the moose's frame rather than growing on top of it.

It only took a single glance to see what killed the creature, and gore spilled from its exposed midsection steam rising from the deep marron. But that wasn't what gave me pause.

Blood trailed from hundreds of tiny openings where the needles ripped through its heavy brown fur, some needles even protruded in awkward angles from its muzzle and eyelids.

"I mean, aside from the glaringly obvious." I said, reaching down, running a hand down one of the bloodied spines.

"The monsters here aren't natural."

I looked back at Mischief, pricking my thumb on a needle as I turned, hissing at the sharp pain.

"Oh and you are?" I joked, then pointed to Bracken and some of the other cat people going about looting. "Don't even get me started on your furry friends."

"Layton, just look at that thing. It just feels…off."

Mischief was right of course. I felt it right when I saw the wolf owl abomination. To me, it felt as though the very bodies of the mana spawns seemed to fight against themselves. It was evident on the faces of every creature killed. They were in pain.

But how had they become corrupted? My thoughts immediately went to resonance bias. The way it seemed to work was that mana would enter, be processed and then re-expelled, changed from its natural form, to be introduced back into the world.

Was it really possible that there was a being of such incredible power that his influence extended all the way to a completely different world?

A shiver ran up my spine. More importantly, what kind of person would it have to be to create monsters like this, just from his mana's influence? I felt my imagination starting to spiral into strange paths of worlds filled with godlike beings with resonances that clashed like forces of nature. The concepts eluded my understanding so completely that I started feeling a sense of cosmic vertigo.

"Yeah, you make a good point." I agreed, trying to shake off the weirdness. "But I mean why isn't all mana corrupted though? Ya know?"

"Who really cares? Let's just kill them all and move on." Mischief stood, tapped the prickly moose causing it to vanish into storage, and sniffed the air.

As usual, Mischief's casual nature grounded me. However, my curiosity didn't completely abate, but he raised a fair point. Did it really matter? I mean, it stood to reason that there had to be all kinds of strange and powerful things out in the cosmos. But the word "corrupted" lingered in the back of my mind.

It just seemed to imply something that I couldn't wrap my mind around, so instead I just changed the subject.

"So, we should really name these cats of yours right?"

"I told you the system already gave them a name."

"Oh, I remember." Recalling the purely scientific name the system assigned. "But Bipedal Felines just sounds so…sterile."

I followed Mischief as he sauntered lazily to a patch of grass unmarred by the filth of battle, and flopped onto his side, before rolling onto his back. The behaviour was so cat-like I almost expected him to begin purring. As menacing as my friend had become, It was sometimes easy to forget he was barely an adolescent. It didn't help that he was easily bigger than my old corolla and could move like lightning, all covered jet black fur that glistened in the night and was more matte black in the daytime.

Even now as he lounged in the fading sun, his fur seemed to somehow ignore the light.

"How do you feel about calling them Catkin?"

Mischief wriggled and twisted on his back, seeming more concerned with finding the exact right position to rest, than to regard my suggestion.

Still, he didn't ignore me.

"Sure, Catkin is fine." He said, coming to a rest facing toward the heavens.

"Fine? It's at least twice as good as 'bipedal feline'."

I crossed my arms indignant at his flippant agreement.

"Do you think we'll be able to fly?"

The question stumped me. Especially coming from him.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

I craned my neck, and peered upward. The blue above was speckled with fluffy cumulus clouds drifting lazily over the mountain peaks.

"I don't see why not." I said, joining him, laying flat arms folded behind my head.

"I think I'd like that."

"Yeah. Me too." From the corner of my eye, the wind tousled the branches of a tree, carrying the scent of pine.

"Flying catkin, and a porcupine moose…" In my head the sarcasm was obvious, but through it I sensed a hint of actual wonder.

Enjoying the peace and quiet, I spared a sideways glance at my friend. Was I the recipient of one of the rare moments where Mischief actually showed emotion?

"Nothing really seems impossible anymore does it?"

He scoffed. "That much was obvious when you somehow kept me from eating you alive."

I laughed. "If only you knew then how dangerous I really was."

"You were about as dangerous as a sneeze."

"You better hope no one sneezes around you then, because as memory serves that sneeze kicked your ass."

Mischief snorted, and we both let the silence linger, just watching the clouds drift by. My imagination carried me over the peaks and valleys to where my parents were waiting. I wondered how they might react to my best friend being an actual mountain lion. They'd love it.

Although to be fair my mom probably wouldn't love how he hunted me and nearly killed me, and my dad would probably pretend it wasn't right but secretly think it was the coolest thing ever.

"What do you think of Bracken?" I asked absentmindedly.

"He's like you."

My eyes narrowed, and I rolled over to look at the black wall of fur.

"Like me?"

"He's lucky."

"What do you mean, lucky?"

"That's right."

"How are we lucky?"

"You both have me as a brother."

I grinned and laid back in the matted grass.

"Yeah, I guess we are pretty lucky."

***

Norso held his dark black leather boot in both hands. With a scowl, he ran his right hand along the soft well worn leather, stopping when his fingers brushed another hard protrusion.

All day, hordes of the disgusting creatures harassed him and the rest of the dark elves. With a wince, Norso recalled how he foolishly decided that the flimsy little beasts weren't worthy of his spear, and hoping to earn a few laughs from his comrades, used only his feet to dispatch the child sized fiends. Although he was in no danger of the monsters, what he didn't anticipate was just how sharp those teeth would be.

"Filthy demon spawn." He grumbled, prying another of the chaos spawns razor-like teeth free of his boot. Fortunately they were sturdy and any damage to the boots were purely aesthetic.

"Hardly worth killing, if you ask me." came a deep, silky voice.

Norso regarded the tall dark elf. "Everything is worth killing Tavion. Experience is experience."

Sunlight was fading, and Tavion's sharp facial features were partly obscured by the hood of a light traveler's cloak. But after growing up with Tavion his whole life he didn't need the reminder of the handsome elves' strong chin, intelligent green eyes and sleek shoulder length black hair that highlighted perfectly his ashen skin.

Fate had not been quite so kind to Norso.

Short for a dark elf and not much to look at, he'd often found himself resenting his foster brother for the attention he'd received from the fair dark elf woman in their village. In spite of his jealousy Norso couldn't help but feel grateful to have such a friend as Tavion, and the benefits it afforded, not the least of which was the raid on this earth.

Their former leader, Teklen was always fond of Tavion, considering him the son he never had.

Norso scoffed at that, if anyone was that ugly fools son it was more likely to be Norso then Tavion. Still, Teklen, as the leader of the militia in their meagre village, was an elf of some renown. And what he had, he shared with Tavion, and by association, Norso also gained.

"Of course you'd feel that way. You need to stop wasting time on table scraps, Norso."

Norso, flinched. Someone like Tavion would never understand what it was like for Norso, because of course Tavion was the one at the table.

Ignoring the jab, Norso leaned his arm against one of the many green pine trees and shoved his foot back into his boot.

"Is Enora still being dogged by those two dullards?"

"Day and night, unfortunately." He chuckled. "But she does have that effect on men."

Norso knew his friend well enough to see through his bravado. Enora might be the one target Tavion had yet to hit. And it hadn't been from lack of effort.

Tavion's hand brushed back his traveler's cloak, resting his hand naturally on the hilt of a well crafted uncommon grade short sword that had been gifted him by a wealthy widow he'd wooed shortly before they departed.

His voice dipped into barely a whisper. "What a mess we've stumbled into here, eh?"

Norso looked over his shoulder, and glanced about the forest.

The sudden shift in tone wasn't jarring for Norso, that was just how Tavion was. Still, he had no intention of having others eavesdrop when it did.

"Should we really be talking here? Maybe we should move further from the camp? Layton might still have people around."

Tavion waved a hand dismissively but his voice dropped a pitch lower.

"Venturing further would just be more suspicious, we're fine here." His voice was calm, but Norso still caught his bright eyes scanning through the trees.

"What is there to discuss?" Norso asked, genuinely confused. "Teklen is already dead."

He hadn't actually seen their faction leader fall, but he was only two people away from the poor elf that felt the weight of the antlered man's hammer, and the concussive shockwave of force that followed, before the barrier gave way.

Later while he was alone, he had to wash the splattered gore of the poor elf from his chest plate.

This wasn't the way things were supposed to go. Teklen had assured the entire army that they would be more than enough for any fledgling faction on a new planet. They would arrive, defeat the defenders and build a kingdom.

Tavion had his own plans.

And they weren't all that different from Teklen's. The only difference? Teklen wouldn't be alive to see it.

But then Layton came along and everything changed, or at least that's what Norso had thought.

"Teklen was only ever the beginning!" Tavion whispered conspiratorially. "We knew there would be others who we'd have to cut through." He waved a hand. "The boy, he's a healer, Norso. If we are to have this world he's the least we'd have to face."

Norso wasn't sold.

"I think you're underestimating him."

Tavion shook his head. "Teklen didn't know what we know now. He was caught off guard by that spirit weapon and his barriers. But we can get past those easily enough."

Norso frowned. If that were true he truly didn't know how. Sure, Tavion was a capable fighter, and Norso also, but even together it would be a tall order for them to have bested Teklen.

Layton killed him in seconds.

"What about his other faction members? Alex, Durkil, the lightning wizard? Hells! We haven't even seen the shadowcat!"

He hadn't forgotten Enora's warnings of a powerful shadow creature that obeyed Layton's every word. Apparently it had stalked Enora, tormenting her for its own enjoyment.

"We won't be stupid. We'll find the right moment and once it's done we can handle the rest. If we play it right, we might even turn them." He paused. "And I've thought about the cat…I think it's a bluff they forced Enora to spread to keep us in check."

Norso pursed his lips.

"Think about it, a shadow creature that lurks just out of sight? Why not parade such a creature for all to see if you have such a weapon?" Tavion pointed at his temple. "Because they don't have it."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Norso's breath caught in his throat and Tavion froze still as a statue, a blade glinted in the moonlight sliding snug across his exposed neck.

"In fact, you are very lucky, it was me and not Mischief that found you two little sneaks."

A head appeared from behind the back of Tavion, white glinting from a toothy smile.

"I'd also like to point out how hurt I am that you didn't even think to include me in your list of people to be worried about. For future reference, I'm Nick."

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