CHAPTER 141: LONG, LONG CREATURE

The trio pressed forward into the bloated woods, where the mountain seemed to erode into a diseased jungle. Here, the trees held no nobility—they twisted as if seized by spasms, their trunks oozing black, viscous sap, their uprooted tendrils slithering like famished beasts.

They had barely taken a few steps when a wet rattle erupted from the moss, when a chitinous mass lunged from a hollow trunk, claws outstretched.

Maggie moved first. A pivoting step, a rotation of her hips, and her flail-halberd came down with a muffled crack, like a contained storm. The metal seemed to sing as it split the creature in two. Yet her breathing hadn’t even changed rhythm.

Her body responded. Better than before. Each movement no longer required the same effort—it was already second nature. The weapon wasn’t an extension anymore: it was her.

"Another one, right!" Élisa called, her finger pointing through the tainted foliage.

She hadn’t raised her voice, but the world around them seemed to hear. The branches trembled, the ground wrinkled... and the essence bent to her will.

She extended her hand. Her spear erupted from the earth beneath her feet. But instead of gripping it, she sent it spinning in a rapid circle, tracing a whirling barrier of spikes and psychic lightning. A creature leapt—only to crash against an invisible shockwave. The air vibrated around her as if space itself were contracting, manipulated by a hand too sure to be human.

She was no longer just awake. She was active. Aware. She wove, she altered angles, inertia, densities around her.

And Dylan...

He advanced, sword in hand, without seeking heroics. But his movements—they had become beautiful. Not refined—beautiful like a clean line, like a calligraphic stroke mid-battle. With each assault, he cut, clean, without hesitation. His Jian no longer rebounded. It pierced flesh as it was meant to.

As if he had finally understood. Not the weapon.

He was still as clumsy as ever. But he understood himself—and what needed to be severed.

A monster lunged at him—the shadow of a mutated mantis, blind and shrieking. He didn’t retreat. He pivoted, planted a knee on the ground, and the blade split the air with a sharp, surgical sound. The head dropped, rolling. He rose without a word, his eyes already locked ahead.

The assaults didn’t stop. They came from the ground, the foliage, sometimes the air. Small, frantic, countless. They advanced like a diseased thought, as if the forest itself was thinking of devouring them.

But the trio—amid this feast where they were the main course—danced.

A flash of steel here. A mental cry there. A perfectly synchronized strike.

They had no formal training. No titles. But they had something rarer: a shared instinct. Their bodies knew what the others would do. Openings were filled, angles covered, mistakes corrected before they were even made.

For a moment, they stood back-to-back—Maggie spinning, sweeping; Dylan a frontal blade; Élisa controlling the air. And around them, the monsters faltered. Not defeated. But... intimidated.

The world was alive. Diseased. Deafeningly violent. But now, they too vibrated at its frequency. And it wouldn’t digest them so easily.

They moved forward, all three.

They had no time to count the corpses. No time to harvest the anima gems from the fallen beasts—no time to do anything but breathe just enough to survive. The path didn’t exist: they carved it with blades, halberds, and raw will.

In a green flash, Élisa bent a trunk downward with a sharp gesture. A shriek pierced the air—then silence. The impaled monster convulsed, twitched, stilled. Yet two more were already emerging.

Maggie turned, dodged, struck. Half a second. The flail crushed the first. Then she leapt. A moment later, an insectoid arm thudded into the ferns. She didn’t even look.

Dylan covered the rear. He cut in silence, wasting no motion. A slash to the gut. One to the throat. One to the leg. The beast fell before realizing it was already dead.

Then—a noise rustled in the branches. They all looked up. Three shapes dove at them. Élisa snapped her fingers. Her spear shot like a projectile, spiraling through the air, spearing one mid-flight. A second, too fast, crashed into Dylan. They tumbled, the creature’s weight carrying him, but Dylan was ready—even as he was hit, his sword impaled the beast in the same motion.

Maggie caught the last one mid-leap, pinning it to the ground with a downward strike. Her halberd quivered, bloodied.

Still, they didn’t speak.

The forest thickened. The gaps between trees narrowed. Less room. Less margin for error.

A corridor of roots appeared—a trap too obvious. Maggie raised a fist in warning. Élisa stretched out her hand, sensing the flow. "Yes, it’s alive. There’s an entity coiled beneath. A nest, maybe," she said, her expression darkening.

But it was already too late.

Suddenly—the ground exploded... and a beast, massive, elongated, erupted from a gaping hole. Ebony hide, ivory fangs, a spiraling maw. It shrieked, and the earth trembled.

Dylan charged. Élisa shouted. Maggie ran too.

They had no choice. Fight—or die.

The maw opened.

Élisa activated her psychic barrier. It absorbed the first blow. Just enough to give her companions an opening.

Maggie leapt. Swinging her weapon skyward. She drove it into the creature’s flesh. And as expected, it held. A red line split open along the beast.

But Maggie wasn’t done. She was too greedy to settle for just that. She clung to the shaft of her weapon and pulled downward like a rope, and the blade embedded in the creature’s flesh began to move.

Dylan slid beneath the beast, intentionally losing footing to gain momentum, and struck twice—his blade bit, but not deep enough.

The beast howled. A sound so deep it was impossible, like a mountain scraping the sky. The air vibrated. The ground shook. The leaves stood on end.

But the trio didn’t retreat—and besides, they had no choice.

Maggie still dangled from her weapon lodged in the creature’s back. She let out a rough grunt and twisted her body, using her own weight to drag the halberd in a wide arc. The blade carved through black flesh, splitting a red, glistening trench. The beast’s cry twisted into a furious rasp.

From below, Élisa raised her hand, her sigil burning harsher. A ripple of energy spread from her palms, snaking up the trunk of a dead tree. She stretched her other arm—roots animated like serpents, surging from the earth to coil around the creature’s legs.

They weren’t strong enough to hold it—but just enough to slow it.

"Dylan, now!" she yelled—but he was already moving.

He lunged, his Jian held in reverse, slipped between the roots, and leapt mid-height, using a slick rock as a springboard. His blade split the air—a clean, sharp diagonal—and plunged into the beast’s flank. Not the heart. But a nerve, maybe. Something vital.

The creature reared, hurling Maggie to the ground. She rolled, rose, weapon in hand, without a sound.

The next instant, the spiral of teeth lunged for Dylan.

A breath. Then Élisa’s cry. An invisible shield intercepted—just in time. It buckled, but slowed the jaws enough for Dylan to dive aside. He rolled, bloodied, his sleeve torn away—but alive.

The beast thrashed now, twisting, biting, fleeing, killing all at once.

Maggie struck again. She drove the halberd into the back of its monstrous knee, between chitinous plates. A bone cracked. The leg buckled.

It fell to its knees.

Élisa stood, arms outstretched, making the air hum. The spear orbited her once—then, with a sharp motion, she hurled it like a javelot propelled by thought.

The tip pierced the creature’s maw—entering through the palate, exiting through an eye.

The beast shuddered.

And collapsed.

A long silence followed its fall, broken only by the pounding of their hearts, still too fast.

Then, slowly, Maggie wiped her blade on a broad, sticky leaf, and muttered:

"Starting to get used to this."

Dylan sat unceremoniously on a split stump, breath short, his Jian resting across his knees.

"You mean, we’re not dead yet. That it?"

Élisa closed her eyes for a moment. The forest seemed to hold its breath. But she—she seemed to have grown accustomed to these sudden shifts.

"The next one," she said, voice low, "will be worse."

Dylan grimaced, not lifting his head.

"Don’t jinx us, please."

His tone wasn’t mocking, nor truly worried—just weary, drained, like a man who’d have preferred ten more hours of marching over this poisoned respite. He studied his Jian’s edge, stained with a viscous black that refused to dry.

Maggie, though, remained standing, gaze fixed where the creature had fallen.

"It dropped... weird."

Élisa opened her eyes, softly.

"Nothing surprising. It’s not the first to act without logic."

The silence didn’t last.

A faint crackle rolled between the trunks. Not a footstep. Not a cry. A slither. As if something enormous, heavy, and wet were crawling against the bark—from within the trees themselves.

Élisa lifted her chin, pupils wide.

"Shit. It’s... starting again!"