Alam began rousing from his unconscious state after taking the boot to his face. His skull throbbed, a dull ache pulsing behind his eyes. Distorted voices swam through the fog in his head, chanting in a rhythm that seemed to vibrate through his bones.
He slowly opened his eyes. His vision blurred, blinded by the harsh glow of surrounding candles and torches. The flames hissed and sputtered, their smoke curling into the night air, stinging his nostrils with acrid sweetness.
Once his vision cleared, he realized he was in a clearing deep in the woods near the academy. The air smelled of damp earth and rotting leaves. Fourteen figures encircled him, cloaked in crimson fabric that shimmered faintly in the firelight. Black hyena masks with crimson teeth gleamed, their hollow eyes fixed on him. Black gloves and boots shifted against the soil, crunching twigs beneath them.
His eyes widened in horror. He tried to run, but the sharp bite of rope dug into his wrists and ankles. He was strapped to a stone table, its surface rough and cold against his back.
He finally heard what the group was chanting.
"Dhiiga Mootii… Dhiiga Mootii… (dhee‑gah moh‑tee)" they said, over and over again.
Alam kicked and screamed, "Help, someone! Cindy?!" He continued thrashing about, but there was no escape.
The chanting continued, echoing like a drumbeat through the clearing.
"Let me go!" Alam exclaimed, struggling to break free of his bindings.
One of the masked figures reached for him. Alam flinched, closing his eyes. A gloved hand touched his head, stroking gently. The muffled voice behind the mask spoke in a language he didn't recognize:
"Calmi, urjii xiqqoo. Yeroo hunda ni xumurama dhufaa (cal‑mee, ur‑jii qiq‑ko. ye‑roo hun‑daa ni khu‑mu‑ra‑ma dhu‑faa.)."
"What are you saying?! I don't understand you!" Alam screamed.
"Please just let me go…" he said, voice cracking, followed by tears running down his face.
"Yeroo dhiyoo keessatti ni bilisoomta (ye-roo dhi-yoo kees-tee ni bi-li-soom-ta)," the cloaked figure said with a hint of joy, continuing to stroke his head.
Another cloaked figure approached him, a curved, decorated dagger in hand. It was black with crimson accents. A crimson hyena was embedded on the hilt, its teeth glinting in the firelight.
"Dhiiga Mootii… Dhiiga Mootii… (dhee‑gah moh‑tee)" the cloaked figures continued chanting.
The one with the dagger raised it, centering it above Alam's heart. Alam's chest pounded with dread, each heartbeat like a drum against stone.
"Imalli kee xumurame (ee‑mal‑lee keh khu‑mu‑ra‑meh)," they said, thrusting the dagger downward.
The earth began rumbling violently. Stones rattled beneath the table, dust falling from the trees above.
They all paused.
"Another tremor?" one of the robed figures questioned.
"They've been so frequent of late," another added.
Everyone felt a cold chill rapidly sweep into the area. All the candles and torches sputtered, then went out, smothered in frost. The air turned frigid, biting into skin. Alam's breath fogged in front of him, his tears crystallizing into frost on his cheeks.
"It's her," Alam said, chuckling with relief, tears turning to frost on his cheeks.
The rumbling stopped. Alam turned his head and froze. Three figures stood at the edge of the clearing, cloaked in black trimmed with gold, cat‑ear patterns stitched into the fabric. Gold masks shaped like servals hid their faces, the central figure's palm glowing with a soft blue frost that spilled into the air. Another had tiny holes in their mask near the mouth, breath hissing faintly through them. Their heads were bowed, then lifted in perfect unison, like sentinels locking onto prey.
They glanced at Alam strapped to the stone table, then shifted their gaze to the crimson cloaks. The serval masks flared, gold flames erupting from their eyes.
The crimson cloaks recoiled instantly.
"Serval's Paw?" one whispered, voice trembling.
"W‑What are they doing here?" another stammered.
"There were no reports of Impressors in this area," a third muttered in disbelief.
The central serval figure stepped forward, frost crunching beneath their boots.
"I'm out of here!" one crimson cloak shouted, panic breaking their voice. Several fled with him.
"Fools. I knew you were too weak to join us," snarled the dagger‑bearer, stepping forward to challenge the figures in black.
Before the deserters could vanish, frost erupted from the ground, locking their legs in jagged ice.
"Where do you think you're going?" the central black cloak asked, voice cold as steel.
The crimson leader waved a hand over their dagger. Metal groaned as it stretched into a curved sword. "Is your little ice show supposed to impress me?" they sneered.
Venom seeped from their wrist, coating the blade in green ooze. Drops hissed as they struck the soil, burning holes into the earth, the stench of scorched dirt filling the clearing.
Frost radiated from the serval leader's hand, solidifying into an ice sword. The hilt bloomed into a floral design, glowing faintly in the chill.
"Hmmp… come at me then," the crimson cloak said.
The serval leader motioned to their allies. "Beyond the Skies!" They shouted in unison.
The mask with holes unleashed a sonic wave, the sound rattling bones and disabling several crimson cloaks. The other blurred forward at impossible speed, dispatching the rest until only the leader remained.
The crimson leader chuckled softly. "You're all worthless. I'll handle this myself."
They launched a volley of acidic strikes. Each glob hissed as it struck, eating through bark and soil, acrid smoke curling upward.
The serval leader parried, redirecting the acid, but a splash struck their mask near the mouth. Metal sizzled, and they coughed violently, breath ragged.
"It's in your lungs now," the crimson cloak taunted.
The fast serval stepped forward, but their ally held them back, shaking their head.
With labored breathing, the leader raised their sword again. The clash resumed, frost against venom. The crimson cloak's movements slowed, limbs stiffening.
"What's happening to me?" they asked, breath slowed and raspy.
"You feel it, don't you?" the serval leader said.
"What?"
"That's the frost setting in. Soon you won't be able to move. Then your organs will start shutting down."
The crimson cloak laughed again. "You think you've won?"
"The power I possess is greater than yours," the serval leader replied.
"You're a fledgling. You don't know what true power is! Let me show you."
They pulled a horn from beneath their cloak. The blast was guttural, and fog surged into the clearing, swallowing everything.
A chorus of laughter echoed from all directions, distorted and chilling.
"We have to go," the fast serval said.
"We can't go yet," the sonic one replied.
"We have to get what we came here for," the leader pressed, eyes flicking to Alam.
"Fine! But if we get eaten, I'm haunting you," the fast one muttered.
From the fog, massive shapes emerged. Hyenas the size of rhinos lumbered forward, fur dark, eyes glowing red, saliva dripping in thick ropes from their jaws. The stench of rot and blood filled the clearing.
"Hyndie…" the serval leader whispered.
"I thought they went extinct," the sonic ally said.
"We need to leave," the fast one insisted.
The serval leader's gaze lingered on Alam. The Hyndie snarled, their growls vibrating through the stone table. One leapt onto it, claws scraping against the stone, saliva splattering across Alam's face and chest. The stench was overwhelming.
Alam's stomach twisted violently, bile rising in his throat. The weight of the beast's paw pressed down on him, its hot breath washing over his skin like a furnace. His heart hammered so hard it hurt, each beat echoing in his ears. Terror flooded every nerve — he felt small, powerless, like prey pinned beneath a predator's paw. His vision blurred, panic choking him as the world tilted.
Then, darkness.
"What just happened?" a distorted voice asked.
"I think he fainted," another replied.