The morning sunlight pierced through the high, arched windows of the Gilded Rest, cutting through the lingering dust of the room in sharp, golden beams. Blop was the first to stir. His eyes snapped open with the predatory precision of a creature that never truly sleeps, only waits. Beside him, June was still a silent silhouette buried under the heavy quilts, her breathing rhythmic and deep, exhausted from the days of survival.
Blop sat up, his mind churning with the new "consciousness" he had gained. He felt a strange, restless urge to test the limits of his physical vessel. He slid off the bed, his feet silent on the wooden floorboards. Then, he let go. He willed his solid form to dissolve. His skin shimmered, and his muscular frame began to lose its structural integrity, melting toward the floor like wax under an intense flame. It was a bizarre, alien sensation—moving without the leverage of bones, a fluid mass of green-translucent matter sliding across the floorboards like spilt oil.
But he didn't stay liquid for long. He began to rebuild himself from the ground up, cell by cell, connecting tissues and knitting muscle fibers with newfound intent. He willed the pale pigment of the humans he had seen to coat his exterior, masking the monstrous green glow. This time, the transformation was smoother, more natural. His skin took on a realistic, pale ivory tone; his features sharpened into a face that felt balanced and unremarkable. He reached up, his fingers trembling slightly as he touched his new nose, his jawline, and the smooth skin where his ears sat. He was becoming a perfect mimic, a ghost in a human shell.
A soft groan came from the bed. June blinked her eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning glare. Her gaze landed on the figure standing by the window, and her eyes widened for a split second before her face flushed with irritation.
"Cover your damn... body,"
she rasped, her voice thick with sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut again, pulling the blanket over her head.
Blop looked down. In his intense focus on perfecting his skin and muscles, he had forgotten the basic human rule of modesty. His clothes were a crumpled heap on the floor, left behind when he had melted his form. He stood there, perfectly human and perfectly naked. He quickly scooped up the linen shirt and belted trousers, pulling them on with clumsy haste.
June jumped out of bed, the last traces of grogginess vanishing as she grabbed her bow. "Get your gear. We don't have time to lurk around. This city is a gilded cage, and I can hear the lock turning." She grabbed a handful of gold coins from their sack. "First, we get supplies. Better weapons, preserved food. Then, we vanish before the Baron realizes he sold our safety too cheap."
The Hounds at the Gate
At the main gates of Narier, the atmosphere shifted from bored routine to paralyzing dread. Four riders pulled their horses to a halt, the beasts snorting steam into the cool morning air. These weren't ordinary horses; they were black-blooded chargers, bred for war and stamina.
"Who goes there?" a guard barked, though his voice wavered.
The lead rider reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing a face like scarred granite. It was Lijom. Beside him, Nyadar sat tall, his massive frame radiating a violent energy. The guard's axe nearly slipped from his hands as he recognized the high-ranking insignia of the Capital's elite.
"Take me to the Baron," Lijom commanded.
They moved through the city like a dark omen. The usual bustle of the mansion's maids stopped as if the air itself had frozen.
When they reached the Baron's study, the guard knocked with a hand that rattled against the wood. "Sir... Mr. Lijom is here. He demands an audience."
Inside, Baron Vane froze. He was a man who lived on bribes and comfort, and the arrival of C+++ rankers meant his comfort was at an end.
"Come... come in," he whispered.
The door swung open. Lijom and Nyadar stepped inside, followed by two C++ rankers who stood like gargoyles by the door, blocking the only exit.
The Baron was sweating profusely now, every drop of moisture a testament to his fear.
"Inspection," Lijom said, sitting in the Baron's chair without being asked. "Give me the files for every new arrival in the last fifteen days.
Don't omit a single soul, or I'll assume you're hiding something the King wouldn't like."
The Baron's hands shook as he handed over the ledger.
Lijom's eyes scanned the pages with terrifying speed. He stopped at two incomplete files. One was an Elf named June. The other was a "blank" registration with a name that sounded like a joke: Blop.
"You know the Arorien Kingdom has restricted Elven travel," Lijom said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "And yet, here they are. Registered by your own hand."
"I... they looked pitiful, sir! My heart—"
CRACK.
Nyadar slammed his fist onto the mahogany desk, splintering the wood. "Where are they?" he roared, his voice shaking the paintings on the walls.
The Baron broke instantly. "The Gilded Rest! South alley of the market district! Please, they left only an hour ago!"
As the hunters stormed out, the Baron collapsed into his chair, gasping for air.
He was safe for now, but he knew the city was about to become a slaughterhouse.
The Forge and the Chase
Meanwhile, June and Blop stood in the sweltering heat of a blacksmith's forge.
The rhythmic thud-clink of the hammer was driving Blop into a sensory frenzy. To his heightened ears, the sound was like a physical hammer hitting his own skull, making his skin ripple uncontrollably beneath his clothes.
Finally, the blacksmith emerged, wiping soot from his brow with a greasy rag. He laid out a bow of black iron, its limbs sleek and powerful, along with a quiver of obsidian-tipped arrows that hummed with a dark promise.
For Blop, he produced a sword—thin as paper but forged from tempered steel that shimmered with an oily, obsidian light.
"Twenty-four silver, thirty-four gold," the smith grunted.
June didn't have silver, so she dropped extra gold on the counter. "Keep it." She had already donned a wide-brimmed hat to hide her pointed ears, hoping to blend into the sea of humanity outside.
"Let's buy some meat and veggies," June whispered as they stepped into the market. "Then we head for the next city."
But the universe had other plans. In the thick of the crowd, a man shouldered past June with a force that nearly knocked her down. She spun around, her hand reaching for her knife. Her heart stopped.
Walking past her, cold and indifferent, was Lijom. He didn't even look back, merely muttering, "Urgent business, ma'am," as he led his team through the throng.
June froze. Her blood turned to ice. Lijom. An Elite from the capital of Arorien. She grabbed Blop's hand, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white. "Walk. Fast. Don't look back."
Blop was confused and angry. He had just spent an eternity waiting in line for a cup of sweet fruit juice.
As June dragged him away, the cup fell, splashing his boots and staining the cobblestones. He opened his mouth to growl, but June pulled him into a dark, narrow alleyway, her face pale with a terror he had never seen before.
"Blop, listen," she whispered, her eyes darting to the alley's mouth. "The Capital's hounds. C+++ rankers. We are hunted. We have to disappear."
Before she could finish, the sound of heavy boots echoed from both ends of the alley. They were trapped.
From the front, Lijom stepped into the gray light, drawing a long, curved blade.
From the back, Nyadar blocked the light, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed them whole.
"Blop!" June screamed.
The two C++ rankers lunged. One swung a heavy mace at June's head. Blop reacted with the speed of a glitching shadow, thrusting his arm out to shield her. The heavy blade of the second ranker came down with a sickening crunch, chopping Blop's arm clean off at the elbow.
June gasped, but there was no blood—only a thick spray of glowing Blue ichor that sizzled against the stone. Blop didn't scream; he didn't have the capacity for pain, only for mission.
"Blop! The wolf! Now!"
Blop's body exploded into a horrific transformation. His skin split as dark fur erupted from his pores.
His jaw elongated into a snarling, bone-crushing maw, and his spine cracked as it reformed into the shape of a massive, black-furred forest wolf. June vaulted onto his back, digging her fingers into his thick mane.
"Run!"
Blop charged at Nyadar, the weaker of the two exits. The giant man laughed and delivered a devastating kick to Blop's snout. The power was immense—a C+++ ranker's strength—but Nyadar made a critical error.
The force of the kick didn't pin them to the wall; it launched them out of the alley and into the main railey of the market.
Blop tumbled, the impact forcing him back into his "human" form. They scrambled up, crashing through a wooden vendor's stall and sprinting toward the lower levels of the city where the crowds were thickest.
"Go go!" Nyadar yelled, his hand on his hilt.
Lijom held up a hand, his eyes calm as he watched them vanish into the lower district. "No. Not here."
"But they're escaping!" Nyadar hissed, his face red with fury.
"Look at the people," Lijom said, nodding toward the hundreds of terrified citizens watching them.
"If we slaughter them here, word reaches the King. Our pay is docked, our names tarnished. Let them run. The gates are barred, and the city is a fortress. They have no where to go."
Lijom looked toward the dark tunnels of the slums, a predatory smile touching his lips. "They can run, but they are just rats in a bigger box now. And I am very patient."