CHAPTER 76: THE BEAST OF THE GOLDEN SPORES (2)

Lyra sensed the attack at the last moment, twisting away so that Nik’s blade merely sliced through her cloak rather than her flesh. She didn’t counterattack, some part of her still recognizing her confused companion despite the hallucinatory fog that surrounded them all.

The creature moved through the golden cloud with perfect ease, clearly unaffected by the spores that had incapacitated the humans.

It approached Thorin, who was struggling to rise from where he’d been thrown, his movements sluggish and disoriented from both the impact and the spores.

Apollo felt the weight of exhaustion dragging at him, the sleepless night combined with the hallucinogenic spores threatening to pull him under completely. The gold in his veins responded sluggishly to his desperate call, as fatigued as the rest of him.

’Focus,’ he commanded himself, fighting against the spore-induced visions that danced at the edges of his perception. ’They need you. Focus!’

With monumental effort, Apollo forced the gold in his veins to flare brighter, pushing back against the spores’ influence. The light spread beneath his skin, following familiar pathways that had once channeled divine power without effort. It wasn’t the full glory of his former abilities, but it was enough to cut through the worst of the hallucinations, giving him a moment of clarity in the golden chaos.

"Nik!" he shouted, his voice stronger now as the gold burned away the spores in his lungs. "That’s Lyra! Not your mother!"

The young man froze, his dagger still raised. Apollo saw confusion war with recognition on his face before clarity finally won out.

"Lyra?" Nik lowered his weapon, horror dawning as he realized what he’d nearly done. "I thought... I saw..."

"The spores," Apollo called to all of them, his voice carrying with newfound strength. "They’re making us see things that aren’t there. Trust nothing but each other’s voices!"

He turned toward Renna, who was still kneeling, paralyzed by whatever vision held her captive. "Renna! The creature is real, but it’s on your left, not your right! Strike now!"

His words penetrated her spore-induced trance. With a visible effort, she tore her gaze away from the phantom that had entranced her and turned to her left.

The creature was indeed there, reaching for her with those terrible claws. Renna’s training took over. She rolled beneath the grasping hand and came up with her knife slashing across the back of the creature’s leg.

More golden fluid spilled from the wound, and another cloud of spores erupted from the injury. But this time Renna was prepared. She held her breath and ducked away, avoiding the worst of the cloud.

Across the clearing, Thorin had finally regained his feet. His armor was dented where he had impacted the mushroom stalk, but it had saved him from being crushed. He retrieved his fallen axe, the blue glow somehow cutting through the golden haze of spores.

"I’m going to split that thing from gullet to groin," he growled, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the way he swayed on his feet.

"Wait," Apollo called, an idea forming through his exhaustion-fogged mind. "The spores, they’re not just a defense. They’re part of it. Look how it breathes them in and out. They’re its strength, but they could also be its weakness."

Lyra had regained her composure, her green eyes narrowed in thought as she processed Apollo’s words. "A distraction," she said, nodding. "Draw its attention while someone gets behind it."

She darted forward suddenly, feinting toward the creature’s right side before dancing away from its retaliatory swipe. The movement was calculated to draw its focus, and it worked, the beast’s eyeless face tracked her movements with predatory intensity.

Renna seized the opportunity, circling to the creature’s left flank. She struck again, this time aiming higher, her knife finding the juncture where arm met torso. More golden fluid spilled, more spores erupted, but the wound was telling, the creature’s arm hung slightly lower afterward, its movements less fluid.

Nik, recovering from his hallucination-induced confusion, seemed to grasp the strategy intuitively. He began making as much noise as possible, banging his dagger hilt against a mushroom stalk and shouting nonsense phrases that echoed through the clearing.

"Hey! Over here, you overgrown toadstool! Your mother was a common field mushroom and your father smelled of truffles!"

The absurdity of it might have made Apollo laugh in other circumstances. Now, he watched as the creature’s head swiveled between threats, its perfect predatory focus disrupted by the coordinated attack.

Thorin rejoined the fray, his axe swinging in controlled arcs that forced the creature to divide its attention further. The blue glow of the weapon seemed to disturb it more than the physical threat, it recoiled from the light, golden spores swirling in agitation around its massive form.

’The spores,’

Apollo thought again, watching how they responded to the axe’s glow. ’Fire and light, they might be the key.’

He summoned what remained of his strength, forcing the gold in his veins to brighten despite his exhaustion. His skin began to glow faintly from within, casting weak golden light that pushed back against the swirling spore clouds.

"Thorin!" Apollo called, his voice strained but clear. "The spores in the air, they’ll burn! Use your axe!"

Understanding dawned on the dwarf’s face. He swung his weapon in a wide arc, the blue-lit edge cutting through the golden haze. Where the glowing metal contacted the densest clusters of spores, tiny sparks ignited, brief flashes that confirmed Apollo’s theory.

The creature noticed too. It drew back, those eyeless sockets fixed on Thorin’s axe with newfound wariness. A rattling hiss escaped its too-wide mouth, the first sound they’d heard it make.

"It’s afraid of fire," Apollo called to the others, the revelation giving him a second wind. "The spores are flammable!"

Lyra darted forward, staying low to the ground, her movements precise despite the disorienting spore cloud. "Nik! Your flint! Now!"

Nik fumbled at his belt, producing a small fire-starting kit with shaking hands. "I can’t—my hands won’t—"