Alchimia Rex

Rick didn’t “run” as much as “waddled and wrangled”.

Moving through the swamp was not an easy feat under normal circumstances, and doing so while having to keep very tight focus on every single twitch and shiver of a dozen maidens was not easy. Every little thing, every little annoyance, threat, or feeling could lead them to pay attention to something else… mainly, each other.

It wasn’t anything personal, it was merely a whole lifetime of extreme survival. Each feralborn maiden in the group would’ve pounced upon one another at the slightest opportunity for either a meal or provocation. Some would’ve done so a bit more cautiously than others, but there wasn’t so much as a shred of doubt that under any other circumstances they’d see each other as competition, threats, or food.

Though the fresh bond was useful to keep them in line, it was also a source for frustration. Its presence was new to these maidens, a source for comfort, influence, and under Rick’s concentration: guidance. It made it easier for them to lean into the bond, to trust him, and it in turn. The problem was that, despite this, it was a rather shallow bond. He could only get glimpses, and would need to practically mentally shout to get a semblance of a notion of a message to the other side. Seeing how the bond could only truly convey feelings and emotions, Rick’s repertoire of options were reduced to a simple “Affirmative” (food/feels-good/safety/certainty) and “Negative” (pain/hunger/loneliness).

Otherwise, he would’ve started off by ordering them to carry him through the swamp. Shame he hadn’t encountered any ferals that might have a proclivity towards “take you on a ride”.

The Neigix had been a close option, but Rick didn’t trust the maiden wouldn’t just drop him off at the first “Negative”. As much as the bond coerced a maiden to prevent the death of their human, that only really worked if said maiden was aware of the danger in the first place. The feralborn flying Neigix could just as easily drop Rick thinking he’d be mostly safe, but said certainty coming from having only ever dropped maidens from such a height.

Still, even with all the issues that came from keeping a constant vigilant eye on the feralborn maidens traversing with him, it was still faster than being on his own. Their sense of danger was extremely acute, allowing him to circumvent areas that “felt” like they had threats waiting within. Similarly, whenever he’d stumble or encounter particularly hard terrain, they would reach out to help.

The Salalexis girl was the most responsive of the group. She’d typically remain within tail’s reach, and whenever he was stuck or trying to climb something, she’d glue her hands to the nearest tree and use that massive prehensile tail of hers to yank him over.

“Aohuhuie?” The reptile made an inquisitive noise at him, staring with wide yellowed eyes devoid of irises, there were only two black dagger-like pupils. The short maiden was truly more tail than person, the scaly prehensile limb being practically one and a half times her height.

“No, we need to keep going this way.” He replied, aware she didn’t understand any word he said, only the tone of certainty. Monica and the others were in that direction. “If we get out of this alive, I’ll make sure to give you a name.” He promised the group.

“Are you certain this is the right way, my Lord?” One of the rescued human captives asked.

Right.

The other reason why they weren’t moving as quickly as he would’ve hoped were the human prisoners he couldn’t leave behind. The ferals response to them all was… expected. They didn’t feel threatened by their presence insomuch they were tempted precisely because there was no threat, making them potential easy prey.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Rick answered, trying to keep himself focused on the wider picture, on receiving and getting as much information as he could out of the fresh bonds beyond those of the group immediately surrounding him. All he’d managed to do with those was to turn them into agitators, to stir them into a frenzy of anxiousness and violence.

Rick wasn’t entirely certain whether to think it would be good or bad luck if this fake feral rush turned into a real one. Sinco was far enough he doubted they’d get to experience much if any of it, but at the same time there were undoubtedly wildlings in the area that had nothing to do with him (nor had they tried anything).

Something to ponder on after he was safe and sound.

A jolt of primal pain and fear shot through his chest, and for a fraction of a second he felt as fangs tore out his throat. His mind spun as it fought to block off the dying bond from the dying maiden. All around him growls and hisses broke out, every individual maiden staring at each other, ready to fight.

“STOP!” He declared as he fought to control his breath, forcing his panicking heart to calm down just so he could shove that sense of calm through the bond out to those around him.

It was a fight against an oncoming tide, fingers slipping and threatening to drown out in the untargeted general aggression. Sweating, heaving, and barely able to move, he regained his focus and stumbled ahead.

A lizard tail wrapped around his shoulder, forcing him to stay on his feet.

“Yeah, thanks.” He muttered, drying the sweat off of his brow as he hobbled forward.

“My Lord?” The thing asked.

No, thing, not. Thing-Not.

Rick tightened his brows. Person. Human.

“Just… keep going.” He pressed, forcing his thoughts back to normal, to thinking like Rick rather than the feralborn maidens surrounding him. “There’s a rescue team on its way. We’ll make it through the chaos.”

Maybe he should’ve found a way to break bonds. Was that even possible when he couldn’t even wield magic? As it were, he needed to stay on guard in case anyone else died. Without any backup, he had to rely on his own emotions to stay calm and steady.

Just stay the course.

Keep going towards Monica and the others. They were too far for him to sense anything specific, but his gut told him they were on their way.

“Everyone, it’s time to remove shirts, or pants, or socks, or any item on you that might have your scent.” He declared, slowing down enough to take off one aforementioned sock and putting his foot back into the wet leather boot. Gathering up the items, he turned his attention to the maiden whose bond felt weakest of the group, handing her the pile of clothes. “Run.”

His words were empowered with as much fear as he could summon.

She did.

He could only hope it would buy them time, and lead the clan astray. As it were, they didn’t have much room to do anything fancy. Nothing but marching forward.

The deadlands were in absolute chaos, so much so Throag very nearly suspected a feral rush had begun. But it quickly became apparent there was something else going on. Here and there she’d encounter ferals that would act… oddly. Aggressive one moment, unleashing random attacks as if driven mad, and then they would cower and run away at the slightest provocation. They were few and far between, but their actions disrupted all other ferals in the deadlands, a frantic anxiousness permeated the air.

The only reason why Throag was so bothered by these events was not for the risk on herself, but because it was making her job harder. The clan had splintered every which way, and in doing so had made Throag’s job harder. Tracking her prize by scent was proving ridiculously hard, the human had clearly exchanged clothing items with other humans, and his scent was all over the damn place. Over and over she’d stumble onto a group, expecting the annoying human to be there, but she’d only find a sister and some other humans instead.

She rushed through, one by one, ignoring the ferals as she leapt through the shadows, desperately looking for any sign of her prey. Every passing moment her annoyance grew, becoming increasingly certain that sooner or later she’d rather find him dead than not at all.

It was as she stumbled across a small pack of Doggirls she was certain she’d encountered earlier that she noticed something off. Namely, that the moment they’d felt the presence of danger, they’d run towards the exact same direction they’d taken the previous time. Following a hunch, she immediately pounced into their path, ending one of the ferals and driving the rest to run away. Melding into the shadows, she followed them, noticing how their path arched around the area she’d revealed herself in and curving back towards the same direction from earlier.

Throag set off, uncertain whether her gut instincts would prove true, but keeping her eyes and nose sharply focused on her surroundings. And as she moved, the chaos in the deadlands appeared to increase, more and more she’d stumble onto scenes of ferals fighting one another, and others running away. The stench of blood and violence was becoming thicker.

Yet hidden in the aromas, she caught it: a fresh trace of her prey.

“I knew it.” She hissed through her fangs, anger flaring, the certainty of it making her mangled claw ache and pulse in anger. Of course, out of all the causes for the weirdness in the deadlands, it had to be HIM. Was he also responsible for the Watcher, somehow? She doubted it, but at this point she did not care.

Enough was enough.

With an indignant roar, she no longer bothered to hide, and yet she did not slow down as she carved up and slaughtered every feral in her wake. Her good claw would tear throats and rip chests, and her shadows would pierce through any of them that got too far from her immediate reach.

And she promised herself, the moment she found him, she would make sure to cripple him.

They did not need his arms or legs to make the clan’s next generation stronger after all.

He had to be close.

Dia’s bone wings held her high over the forest as her eyes desperately scanned the swamp underneath. There was too much activity, and though the bond guided her, she lacked the senses necessary to pierce through the foliage. So while she might know Rick’s exact location, she could no more ascertain his safety or the threats within his immediate surroundings.

Somewhere underneath Monica was also racing to find their human, while the rest of the strike-team trailed behind, unable to move as quickly as either of them. The situation had become far too dire, urgency was key.

The shorter the distance, the clearer her bond became. At first all she could sense from him was exhaustion and fear, followed by odd pulses of jumbled emotions. Waves of aggression, fear, calm, and control, all of it coming out at intervals. Dia did not know what it might mean, but she beat her wings faster and harder.

Rick’s lungs burned, mind locked down and fighting against waves of pain and death. The Sabertooth was catching up, the visage of her snarling face slamming straight into his brain with every victim. Fear, helplessness, and panic were rushing through the bond, each and every one of her victims trying to grasp at anything. They were dying, and in their death-throes, their minds were trying to find some final measure of safety within the bond… dragging him down.

With legs feeling like they were full of lead, he dragged himself another step, yanked forward by the Salalexis. So many of the bonds were ringing now, deafening loud bells desperately trying to yank his attention in every direction at once. It was impossible to keep track of his own thoughts, and he could barely manage to send out commands in between cutting off from everything as tightly as possible.

But one thing became clear, she was almost upon them.

“Run!” He told the others, unsure if he was even speaking entirely through words or thoughts. Everything was overwhelming, he was screaming out, a storm of noise and emotions whipping wild hurricane winds around him. He could just not make his thoughts loud enough to hear them, let alone his voice.

And yet, two words broke through, sending a cold chill down his spine.

“Found you.”

The world froze and Rick heard the words out of the ears of a maiden who’d just hit the floor, nearly dead, the last remaining feelings sweltering past. He could see the Sabertooth charging at him from the eyes of everyone but his own. Rick could feel the bloodlust in the air as something hard hit him in the chest.

Four of the feralborn maidens had jumped to shove him out of the way, bond screaming out and forcing them to protect him at all costs. Their bodies being immediately torn by Throag’s claws a second after, the feline savoring the kill as she approached.

Their eyes met.

And in that moment, Rick’s mind threw itself at the Sabertooth, at the frustrated angry feline that sought to vent her frustration upon him. The maiden who’d hunted him down three times now, unable to comprehend why he defied all of her expectations time and again. “I know your frustration!” He screamed at her, throwing everything he had into grasping at even the tiniest shred of empathy.

The bond formed like a powerline, tying them together.

Her shock was brief, Rick took everything coursing through him, pulling upon the pain, death, and agony pouring into him through the bonds, and channeled straight towards the Sabertooth.

The feline moved faster than thought.

Her paw struck his chest with non-lethal intent, instantly knocking him out cold with a burst of controlled elemental darkness.

Throag collapsed to her knees, clutching her head and suppressing the urge to scream, feeling as if someone had just used her brain to sharpen their claws. Cold fear ran down her back in droplets, body trembling as she sought to regain her bearings.

That had been close.

If her concentration had wavered even the slightest amount, she could’ve ended up either killing him… or perhaps even incapacitated in some way. But unlike the human, she’d spent a lifetime fighting at that razor edge.

Throag barely noticed the descending shrieking voice coming from above in time to jump out of the way. A needle-sharp blade nicking her shoulder and drawing a single drop of blood.

With her head still spinning, Throag turned to look at the gray-haired winged healer, the only one worth remembering. “Dia.” The feline snarled, focus slowly returning to her now that there was a target, though her limbs still felt jittery as if she were some newborn kit.

The healer stepped between the very dangerous prey and her needle point blade poised and ready. “You will never touch him again.”

The Sabertooth’s brows furrowed, ears flattening and pointing back as she bared her fangs, aware Monica was nearby though not exactly sure where.