Witch of Fear [Mild horror, Isekai High Fantasy]

Watabe Eme, Felis beastkin bard.

Eme struggled fiercely within the monster’s iron grip, her bones creaking as the air was driven from her lungs. Back and forth, the massive beast jostled her as it crashed a path through the tangled undergrowth, making its way deeper into the twisting jungle. Old ruins zipped by the bard as she frantically struggled for her weapon at her waist. Right now, she was glad she’d had the foresight to fasten it to herself upon waking rather than let it sit beside her on the boat as she did while sleeping and resting.

Legs thicker than tree trunks pounded the earth as the monster ran, propelling all twelve feet of its colossal mass forwards. The arm not squeezing Eme’s waist like a vise broke the stones of ruins and gouged considerable chucks out of the trees it grasped onto.

Eme caught glimpses of the beast’s lone eye — a beady thing inflamed by hate. It sat above a thick puggish nose and a maw of jagged teeth and broken tusks framed by a beard of wiry orange hair matted with mud, bones, and the leftovers of whatever had befallen its hunger. The stench that poured off of it watered her eyes, smelling like rotten meat and decaying plant matter.

Behind her, the calls and shouts of her pursuing party grew distant. While she didn’t doubt they’d chase after the monster to rescue her, Eme could plainly see she’d be on her own for a while, as the beast was surprisingly fast for its size.

The wind zipped by as it rushed inland. 

As the monster ducked into a set of severely dilapidated ruins of some old temple long since forgotten, Eme finally got her prosthetic hand around the hilt of her sword. In a rush encapsulated by her frantic heartbeats, the bard unsheathed her blade.

A roar of pain erupted from the giant as bared dragonsteel cut deeply into its fingers. 

Eme’s feet hit the uneven stones of the ruins. She sprung swiftly backwards as soon as she did, falling into a ready stance with her blade held between her and the one-eyed beast glaring at her. Hatefully. Hungrily.

She swallowed her nerves. 

The cyclops roared.

It charged towards her, headless of the bones it crushed to powder underfoot. Those of adventurers and travelers who’d fallen afoul of the beast itself or earned the ire of its master. Its fascination. 

Eme yelped as she leapt to the side, moving just in time to avoid the cyclops’ thunderous path. In a maddened fury fueled by pain, the monster lashed out at the bard as it stormed past her, clipping her hip and sending her spinning down onto the rough floor with a painful crash. 

Gasping for air, Eme hurriedly rolled away from the monster’s furious stomping. 

Into the stones and bones, Eme planted her sword. Rising quickly to her feet, she winced as her hip ached. Her gaze locked onto the cyclops just in time to see it thundering towards her again, arms outstretched and murder burning in its eyes.

And again, the bard conducted her desperate dance. 

Eme winced as she dodged the cyclops’ blow once more, this time scoring it back with a lucky blow — a line of red ran up the beast’s arm. Yet while the monstrous skin yielded to the Snow Demon’s Fang with ease, the bard hadn’t struck deep enough to cripple it.

A roar of pain and rage rang clear through the ruined temple.

Music to the catgirl’s ears. Even if it hurt. 

Enraged, the murderous cyclops grabbed onto broken stones and dirt with its bleeding hand before hurling them all with a roar at the nimble bard. 

Eme’s eyes widened as the shower of deadly projectiles whistled towards her. In a rush, she dived beneath them back into the dirt, shielding her head with her arms. A cascade of stones cracked off the dragon-bone prosthetic. Only a bare few slammed into the rest of the bard’s body and a bleeding opened up upon her forehead by the lucky skim of a pebble. 

For a moment, she was stunned. 

Her eyes had trouble seeing and the pulse in her ears masked the sound of quaking footsteps. 

Dizzy, Eme shook her head as she crawled to her knees. Glancing up, she saw a thick fingered hand descending upon her. Fright coursed through the catgirl’s body. In a panicked flailing, she struck out at the beast and was rewarded with another pained roar. A chunk of flesh she carved out of its bulky fingers.

The dragonsteel blade shook in Eme’s hands. 

Who would have thought the first time she’d use this blade, any blade, in combat, it’d be up against the lineage of giants, and alone at that? 

Not her, that’s for damn sure.

It didn’t help matters that the world itself was screaming at her in discordant harmony. 

Eme sucked in a stuttering breath as the cyclops’ eye burned into her. A halting, turbulent hum escaped her as she sang a song of swiftness into her limbs. Just in time too, as it gave her the agility to dodge the fresh volley of rocks hurtling towards her.

Yet, the music of the world disagreed with her tune, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was tone deaf.

And while it was no surprise to the bard, it wasn’t really something she wanted to hear while dodging furiously for her life.

However, it wasn’t all bad news, as the music of reality guided her in how to do it right. Eme obliged, picking up the pace of her tune to match what her newfound gifts were showing her. And as she did, an alacrity flowed through her limbs like she’d never felt before.

Eme danced. 

Danced like she’d never danced before. 

Which wasn’t far from the truth. 

She wasn’t perfect — far from it. Oh, how she wished she’d taken up more of Delight’s lessons now. She tripped and stumbled upon the uneven ground more than not, but ultimately avoided a grisly fate at the end of a thrown stone. A smile of exhilaration graced her face. 

Although, maybe she shouldn’t have celebrated so early as a frustrated cyclops let out a roar of wind that sent the poor bard tumbling. Head over heels, she flew. And with a mighty thud, Eme’s tumble was halted — her back crashing into a wall of fallen rubble, driving the air from her lungs in a spray of spittle.

A thunderous march heralded the cyclops’ approach. 

With her back flaring in pain and lungs burning for air, Eme defiantly rose on swaying legs. She glared at the approaching giant-kin even as her hands rattled her naked blade loudly. A rattle like the warning of a rattlesnake — a sharp fang to bite.

Eme wondered how Autumn managed to make fearlessness seem so effortless.

The cyclops slowed minutely, but still came on. 

As it drew closer and closer, Eme’s shaking grew and grew until she dug her blade into the dirt with a cry. 

She waited. 

Waited. 

And waited until the monster towered over her. With it so close, it was impossible for the bard to miss. 

She flicked her katana up. 

A clod of dirt and dust sprayed into the cyclop’s eye eliciting a furious roar of pain louder than ever. The walls of the ruined temple rumbled with the sound. It struck out wildly in its blindness. 

Eme’s ears flattened to her skull at the tremendous sound. Dodging backwards away from the wild strikes, she rolled over the broken wall, slumping down on the other side to catch her breath. Behind her, a mighty blow pulverized the rocks upon which she’d sat not a moment before. 

Fear thudded Eme’s heart as she sucked in great gouts of air. Her eyes flickered to the entrances of the ruin. Where were her friends? She anxiously thought. Surely they weren’t that far behind.

Yet she was all alone. 

Eme wheezed behind the cover of the rubble, trying desperately to quell the cough tickling her throat as she steadied her breathing. The drumbeat of her heart thudded loudly in the chorus of combat, curiously loud in a sudden lull — she could not hear the thunder of heavy footsteps. Only the great sucking of wind accompanied her frightened melody. 

Frightened curiosity got the better of her and she peeked over the cover of rubble and rock. 

The cyclops stood still in the middle of the ruins, its head swaying to and fro as it sniffed the air in great sucking breaths. Silence reigned as it listened for the hiding bard. 

A cough burned Eme’s throat. She tried her hardest to hold it in, but it came out of her in choking splutters, louder than thunderclaps in the deathly pall.

The cyclops’ head swung in her direction — it roared once more.

“Shit.”

Eme scrambled to her feet.

The cyclops angrily and blindly fumbled around beside it, searching for something to hurl at the quivering catgirl. Eventually, its meaty hand curled around the trunk of a tree that, over the untold eons, had pushed its way through a gap in the temple’s floor. With a series of great snapping cracks, it tore the tree free, brandishing it like a club. The wind whistled as the oversized weapon cut through the space between the pair of combatants, sweeping rocks and bones aside.

Eme backpedaled in the wake of its rage.

But as she distanced herself, she heard the discordant rhythm of its mighty footfalls, the grave verses carved by its might, and the dreadful ballad of its fury. Her panic quelled as she listened. As she heard. By the virtue of the monster’s song, the bard found she could predict its every step. She could see the trajectory of its frenzy.

So she waited once more. 

Nervous and afraid, but she waited. 

The sword rattled before her. Eme clasped it tight with both hands to quell the noise, the dragonsteel fang biting into her dragonbone finger where it slipped beyond the unguarded grip.

On the one-eyed beast came like the thunder of the gods. 

Trusting in her newfound senses, Eme stayed put as the swing of the club grew closer and closer. One beat. Two beats. Three beats. Four. And the mighty club swung blindly for her head.

She did not move...

…and it missed her by a bare inch. No — it was less than that. Her ears flickered hurriedly backwards as the club clipped them. A shudder ran down the catgirl’s spine.

With a viper’s strike, Eme slashed upwards, the razor-edged blade in her hand twisting as it went. A splash of blood wetted the stones swiftly followed by the dull crash of a severed finger. The cyclops’ bellow of pain shook the earth. 

Eme blinked, eyes wild in disbelief. “Did I…do that?”

The song screamed. 

Kicking off from the ground, the beast-kin bard hurled herself to the side just before the mighty tree splintered where she had once stood. A whirlwind of booming strikes dogged Eme’s footsteps as she hastily danced backwards. Blinded by both dust and fury, the murderous cyclops sought to end her beneath a pounding club. Her blade was not idle as she backpedaled, striking out at the beast to score a dozen lines of red upon it. Giant’s blood wetted the stones. But the cyclops seemed not to care, only looking to squish her.

As soon as the next strike crashed down onto the stone floor, Eme stepped upon it as simply as if she was ascending a set of stairs. A manic grin stretched her lips. She ran up the great club with light steps, racing towards its lone eye while striking ungainly and randomly down at the cyclops’ arm.

Coming face to face with the tightly shut eye of the roaring and recoiling monster, she poised her sword.

The evil eye snapped open.

Her sword clattered to the ground.

Eme’s mind froze as it stared into her. The sight paralyzed her — all thoughts, bar those of fear, fled her. It was of a fathomless black hole surrounded by a burning world of flame. There was nothing the bard could do to resist the hand that captured her. Pain erupted in her waist as it squeezed.

Broken, rotted teeth exposed themselves in a victorious grin.

Screams echoed soundlessly, trapped in the confines of the bard’s mind. No matter how much she willed herself to move, she found she could not. Like leaden weights, her arms and legs dangled limply as the thick, bloodied hand drew her up to the monster’s disgusting mouth. Feet first, it sought to eat her alive — death rimmed with gnashing teeth yawned below her.

Please! She screamed in her mind. Someone help me! I don’t want to die! Autumn, Nethlia, help me!!!

Tears dripped from terrified eyes as her feet disappeared into the cyclops’ maw. A rancid heat washed over her. She could not even close her eyes to the violence to come.

So it was with wide eyes she watched a splash of violet color wash over the side of the cyclops’ face. Where color touched, the flesh bubbled and blackened from necrotizing magics. The cyclops roared in agony, flinching away from the wound and freeing Eme’s feet from its maw.

However, it was not the only roar the trapped bard heard.

Nethlia swung her pole-hammer with the fury of a descending comet. The thick iron-head crashed down onto the forearm that held Eme aloft, sending an almighty crack reverberating throughout the broken temple. The arm went limp.

Eme yelped as she fell. Yet before her back could slam into the rubble and bones, Nethlia caught her in a powerful and comfortable hold.

“I got you,” Nethlia reassured the quivering catgirl.

Tears of relief dripped from Eme’s eyes — never before had she seen such a beautiful sight. The pair watched on as a witch’s wrath descended upon the howling cyclops. Splashes of violet magic hammered into the monster, rotting chunks out of its thick hide or rocking it backwards. It tried to turn its eye of fear upon her, but Autumn was undeterred by the red light washing over her.

Not far behind came the other members of the party, in various states of exhaustion from their hectic run. The gleam of a white-gold blade shone in the bioluminescence as Liddie grinned.

The cyclops, seeing itself now outnumbered and heavily injured, turned tail and ran. 

A bombardment of magic dogged its flight. Rocks exploded upon the force of a witch’s pounding jinxes and the crash of thrown runes. Autumn chased it into the jungle. 

“Can you stand?” Nethlia asked, jolting Eme from her thoughts. 

“Yeah. I think so.” 

Nethlia gently placed Eme down onto her feet, but kept a firm hold on the shaking catgirl. Before too long, Autumn and the others returned. 

“It got away,” Autumn said, looking disgruntled.

Nethlia nodded. “Pity, but we can’t go chasing after it; we’ll get lost in these wilds quickly. Best we head back to the boat.”

Reluctantly, Autumn nodded at her words before her eyes swiftly found Eme’s. She rushed over to the crying catgirl and pulled her into a tight hug. Eme sobbed into the warmth. Behind the pair, Nethlia wrapped her arms around both.

“There, there,” Autumn comforted Eme, stroking her back. “You’re alright now. We’re here. You did good, didn’t she, Net?”

Nethlia ruffled Eme’s ears. “The best. We’ll make a gold-rank outta you yet.”

Eme hiccuped a laugh. 

When her tears finally abated, Eme slowly separated herself from the pair’s embrace and picked her fallen sword back up to sheathe it. The undamaged blade slid home with a satisfying click. There was not much else in the ruins of the ancient temple aside from the scattering of bones. Whatever gear and trinkets they might’ve carried were long since gone. Only a few crude murals scattered the walls, dabbed by blood with a thick finger. 

Eme glanced over at them with a morbid curiosity.

“Hey, don’t they look like that nymph you were talking to?” Eme questioned Autumn.

Autumn glared up at the murals. “Yeah. Yeah, they do.”

A shiver ran down Eme’s spine. She did not want to be on the other end of the witch’s ire. Perhaps more cuddles were required? Yeah, definitely, she thought.

“Come on, let’s get back to the boats,” Nethlia called out, before turning to Eme. “I’ll carry you back. Autumn and Pyre can look over your injuries back at the boat.”

Eme winced at the reminder — her waist ached something terrible. 

“Umm, can I have a word with Autumn first?”

Autumn blinked at Eme. “Sure? What’s up?”

Eme started at the odd turn of phrase. She shook her head — human princesses were weird. 

“Umm, can you do your thing…the cleaning spell? I…peed myself a little.” She blushed. 

“Oh, right! There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Autumn hastily reassured her. It helped very little to ease her mortification.

With a few causal flicks of her wand, Autumn cleansed her of the dirt and grime that’d coated her alongside her shameful accident. When she was all fresh and dry, Nethlia carefully scooped her up like she was a princess herself, allowing the tired catgirl to loop her arms around the Inferni berserker’s neck and snuggle into her.

Eme let out a soft “thank you.”

Nethlia hummed quietly in reply as she made her way out of the temple ruins. The soft sway of her march slowly lulled the exhausted catgirl bard into a gentle slumber as she made her way back down the devastated path towards their boat and the journey they still had to undertake. 

In the near distance, a soft knocking resounded.