Alchimia Rex (017 & 018)(Monsters and Maidens Book 2)

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AN: 8.1K, on a roll!

[017] [Awake]

Rick woke up with a certainty that he’d been unconscious for several days. There wasn’t any one specific thing that made him certain of this fact, but rather it was a series of little details. It was how well rested he felt, with a warm, fuzzy looseness to his body. It was how everything inside him had that distant ache of something that had was bruised weeks ago. It was how he could feel his beard tickling his throat.

His brain was in a post-sleep fog, taking him a full minute of staring at the unfamiliar roof before he noticed the figure leaning over and staring down at him with a pale, round face and solid black eyes.

Rick blinked, then startled, pulling the fur blanket up to cover his chest.

The gesture made the maiden leap back and let out a tiny “eep”. It gave him the chance to get a good look at her. She was a maiden, no doubt about it. She had to be amongst the shortest maiden he’d seen, barely a head over a meter in height. From the top of her head sprouted two long antennae that waved around the air erratically, her face showing a certain age to it that made it hard to believe she was a child.

But the most striking thing about her was the large slab of sectioned pieces of black carapace that covered her head and ran its way down her back. At a glance, it looked like she was wearing a chitin hoodie that was open on the front and was ten times too large.

“Wait!”

He called out right as she’d turned to bolt. Rather than stop, the maiden let out an even louder “eep” and curled into a ball, rolling away with incredible speed.

There was a moment of stunned silence as Rick wondered whether he’d just imagined the whole interaction.

Trying to move caused him to wince, his body reminding him of nearly becoming a not-too-happy meal of a severely starved Eva. He was sure there had been something else going on that night, something about Monica and chaos? A quick mental check confirmed the four bonds were still there.

Which either meant the girls had won, or that things had gone horribly bad.

Considering he wasn’t chained, Rick had high hopes.

Where was he, anyway? Looking around, he could recognize the yurt building configuration, but this was far fancier than his former cell by several orders of magnitude.

The walls and floor were covered in furs and rugs, the air had a faint smell of smoke mixed with well-cooked meat and something… sweet. Thick leafy curtains hung from the ceiling, dividing the room into sections and leaving everything with heavy shadows. The light streaming in through the holes at the top of the yurt told Rick it was somewhere nearing noon, and he wasn’t chained to anything, so that was a good sign.

But then again, he was naked and sleeping on a large fur rug, covered with several furs as well. Which raised a distinct set of questions.

Following on the teachings of Dia, he checked himself a second time to make sure nothing was actually broken, bleeding, or bandaged. What he found was that everything from his thighs up to his collarbone and shoulders was littered in scars as thick as his pinky. Jagged and erratic, scattered with no rhyme or reason, they made his torso the road map of an European city.

Rick wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Some part of him made him think of Monica and her own scars. It pushed his thoughts towards that singular moment in time right before collapsing, that rush of something… imposing.

With a shake of his head, he put those images aside and took the moment of calmness to examine the events that had led him here. There had been an underlying set of problems that he’d refused to acknowledge or tackle, and it had nearly gotten them killed. He wasn’t sure exactly what he could’ve done to avoid the current situation without needing hindsight, but things couldn’t keep going as they had been.

Rick’s fingers lingered on the bumps on his chest. Things had to change.

So it was with some regret that he left the warm confines of the bed, fully aware that laying back down to sleep would only end up risking things getting out of control in the future… if they hadn’t already.

Before he found his clothes, he discovered a large mug of hazel colored liquid sitting right next to his bed. Giving it a sniff, there was a flowery scent to it, with a hint of… mead? The liquid had the same consistency of warm honey, and a quick sip confirmed it had a similar taste, albeit earthier. His stomach rumbled in complaint, demanding more. So he took a longer sip. The liquid flowed smoothly down his throat, and a soft tingling warmth spread from his gut all the way to the tips of his toes.

The pain and aches within him eased, and by the time he’d finished the mug, they’d vanished altogether. Rick was left energized and sharp, reinvigorated all over. It made it easier to move about the yurt in search of clothes to wear. He found his spare set neatly folded on top of a chair. The only other objects in the yurt were rudimentary bandages and flasks that contained ointments, oils, and herbs. It left him with the impression the hut was meant for healing, and he’d been its exclusive occupant.

Certain there was nothing else for him there other than a return to the bed, Rick was only left with going to the outside world.

He was immediately smacked by the mid-noon sun, causing him to wince and use his hand to protect his eyes from the glare.

His way was barred by a blade. The owner of said blade was an Orc with a scarred face, a claw-mark that dragged itself down the left side and had nearly missed the eye. Her face was familiar. The woman looked at him, eyes trailing down to his shirt and squinting.

“Are you going to tackle me again?” Rick asked when he remembered where he’d seen her before.

The maiden let out a grunt, raising the blade. With a cock of her head, she pointed at one of the nearby yurts. It differed from the rest, longer, with a taller roof.  “You are expected at the talking hut, Spike’s orders.”

“Who is Spikes?”

The tall green maiden cocked a smirk. “The warleader’s… pet.”

It was clear that was as far as the conversation would go, the maiden turned to leave, apparently her job as door-guard now over since Rick had left the hut.

Left to his own devices, Rick took a moment to glance around, trying to get a feel of the camp as he began making his way through to the “talking hut”.

Things had changed.

For one, there were a great deal of maidens walking around in chains, wearing wooden clamps on their ankles, tied together by thick hemp ropes, forcing them to shuffle about as they did chores for the tribe. The racial divide was slightly jarring to see. Goblins, Hobgoblins, and Orcs made up almost the totality of the jailors, while “everyone else” that wasn’t a human were chained and begrudgingly complying. Humans were nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps the humans were being used as hostages for the “compliance” part of the equation. Rick was pretty sure the hemp rope would not stop a maiden’s escape attempt soon.

Still, it all felt just so… relaxed.

As if everyone was doing a stage-play, with some having to put up with being the ones with the shittier roles. Business as usual, it seemed.

The “meet hut” was about twice the length of the others, and just as wide. There was nothing else about its construction that made it stand out from the rest of the buildings in the tribe other than the guards surrounding the place. It all had the same off-handed minimalism about it, as if it’d been made with the sole purpose of being quick and easy to cobble together or break down.

Rick didn’t bother to ask for permission, walking straight through the reed curtain and into the pavilion. The guards paid him no mind; either they knew he was supposed to be there or just didn’t consider he was someone worth stopping.

The inside felt much more dangerous, though.

It was a large undivided space, unlit torches and braziers littered the edges, wooden posts were placed every four meters, stripped of any decoration. In the center of the large hut stood two maidens. The first was the massive Orc that had lost her arm to Kiara in the meet-and-greet with the Vampire. The arm was no longer missing. Opposite to the tall green giant was a maiden, relatively short compared to Rick, dressed from head to toe in glossy black metal armor covered in spikes. It was as if someone had tried blending some variation of a medieval knight and a porcupine. The maiden’s face was hidden under a sleek helmet, exposing only her soft jawline and mouth.

There was something familiar about her.

But it was the third occupant that detected his presence first.

“Rick?”

The voice had come from the very back of the hut. It was there that he spotted… Monica. The feline was seated on a throne of leather and bones. Her back was straight, her head held high. Flanking her shoulders were the skulls of two boars that were so large they could have only come out of a radioactive swamp. Her arms rested on her legs, her gaze had locked on to him with laser precision, ears perked, the smile was manic.

“Wai-”

“Rick!”

The throne exploded in a rain of bone fragments and strips of leather. The Sabretooth had neither walked nor run but exploded forward with everything she offered. Monica did not touch the ground, passing cleanly between the two startled maidens and reaching him within a split second. Rick resisted the urge to move away, knowing too well it could cause her to think he wanted to play tag.

Within the blink of an eye she was upon him, hovering millimeters over him but not touching. Her face was a mixture of joy and concern. Self-restraint fighting against elation in equal measure. Her eyes poring over him, carefully looking him over, sniffing him, poking him so softly he barely felt her touch. “Rick… ok? Hurt? Good?”

He stood still, feeling like he was some museum piece a child was excitedly dancing around, trying to observe it while making sure not to break it. “Yeah, I’m feeling better. Just… slow, careful.”

Monica looked into his eyes and gave a solemn nod. “Careful.” She proclaimed, leaning down and wrapping him into her large fuzzy paws. The maiden pulled him closer against her with an inexorable but gentle hug, head leaning into his shoulder and licking the base of his neck, inhaling him as if she’d forgotten his scent.

Rick returned the hug, wrapping his arms over her shoulders and nuzzling against her powerful neck and mimicking her gesture against the bed of snowy hair. She had that scent of dirt and wild berries that washed through him like a spring breeze. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her until just now.

The week spent locked up with a half-deranged Eva rushed through him like a gut-punch. But she held him, keeping her hug tight but fair, not letting go until he’d loosened first.

“Are you done?” The Orc grunted, clearly annoyed.

“No.” Monica replied, wrapping Rick slightly tighter. “Urtha no have Rick, mine.”

The newly named Urtha growled in annoyance, crossing her arms. “As the warleader, you are to decide the direction the tribe takes.”

“It is very important. Not just for where the tribe will move, but with what is to be done with the captured ferals.” The maiden in the dark armor spoke with a forced gruff tone.

Rick recognized the voice. “Dia?”

The clanking of metal that was the spike-covered maiden twitched, hesitating. “My name is Spikes.”

He glanced at Urtha and the smirk on her face, then at the tense armored maiden that could be no one but Dia, and then at the feline still hugging him. “Monica?”

“Dumb talk.” She replied, making a gesture at the door. “Come?”

“It is not dumb.We have to head to Sinco and aid the city!”

“The warleader doesn’t want to get involved, and she is wise. The humans would just hunt us down as soon as the opportunity presents itself.” Urtha shook her head, eyeing Rick suspiciously.

Monica rolled her eyes and sighed. “Come?” She repeated, nuzzling Rick’s neck as she nudged towards the entrance.

“One moment.” He kissed her cheek, noting how the not-Dia maiden twitched as he turned to look her way. “Could someone explain what’s going on?” If Dia was pretending to be Spike, he’d ask about it in private. Now wasn’t the time.

“Sinco is in danger. The…” Dia hesitated, glancing at Urtha. “Under the command of the Ghoul, the warband had aggressively recruited outsiders through attacks on smaller villages. They used them to blockade Sinco. The city supposedly had magical means of communications, but it seems the Vampires had sabotaged them. Their situation is dire.” She gestured wildly at the Orc. “The tribe also forced many citizens from Sinco to go feral, the-”

“We did no such thing.” The taller maiden replied with a steady growl. “The bloodsuckers were the ones who attacked. And it was that damn baron that left them for dead in the first place.”

“Baron bad.” Monica nodded emphatically.

Rick hid the grimace, remembering how the first noble they’d had the misfortune to encounter, a baron, had tried to take Monica away from him. He probably should’ve clarified that the guy’s name hadn’t actually been “baron”. But that was for some other time. Right now, he was more concerned over what was going on.

He wasn’t entirely certain of the direction Dia seemed to be pushing things.

Rick nodded. “And-”

“This is not something a male like you should involve himself in.” Urtha’s tone was harsh, like gravel running down a mountain. She gestured at the door. “Humans hold no voice here.”

He suppressed the first thing that came to his mind, taking the moment to glance at Monica and then at Dia. The feline was not happy, but remained quiet. Dia was equally silent.

“What would happen if the warleader were to leave the tribe?” He articulated the question, looking around the room for a long, quiet second. The shift in Dia and Monica raised a sense of concern within him.

“It is her choice to leave, not yours, male.” Urtha rolled her eyes. “Though if she leaves, there is no guarantee the next in line won’t decide to chase her down with the help of the full tribe.”

There was a wide smirk on her lips as she said that last part, and it was pretty damn clear she was trying to goad him into some kind of reaction. Once more, his eyes roamed from Monica to Dia. The feline looked entirely unflappable, while Dia squirmed, shifting to look away.

Rick’s jaw set. There were several choice words he wanted to say, and the fact he felt like he was being rushed into deciding set off more alarms than the silence of his maidens.

His.

Where had that come from? It seemed there were several things he had to think through.

He glanced at Monica, then Dia, then at the green maiden that wasn’t even half as intimidating as Monica. “I think I’ll take a walk. You big girls can keep arguing.”

Ignoring Dia’s hesitation, he stepped outside. Monica was right behind him, not missing a beat and tucking him closer against her. Considering the height difference, it ended up with her bellybutton at the same level as his shoulders.

“Hat tit.” The feline declared, shifting slightly and pressing the bottom of her cloth-covered mounds against the top of his head.

Rick chuckled, shaking loose from her loose grip and giving her a rueful smirk. “I should’ve never let Kiara teach you that.” Monica stuck her tongue out at him in response. “Speaking of the horniest member of the team, we need to talk to Kiara for a bit.” He declared, patting her hips. “And then-WHOA.”

Monica picked him up by the hips and sat him on her shoulder. His attempt to jump off was immediately impeded by her iron grip, keeping him solidly in place. Her feline ears flicked against his ribs as she adjusted him into something harder for him to wriggle out of. Which was the priority in his mind, considering more and more eyes were turning to look their way.

The moment she was certain he’d been secured in place, she turned towards the Orcs.

“Monica help Rick.” She stated, rubbing her cheek against his outer thigh. Then she raised her voice to a mild roar. “Rick! Strong!”

His face burned as the “crowd” was clearly divided, with Orcs and their ilk cheering and hollering, while the “captives” either rolled their eyes or quietly glared. And Monica was not subtle about it either. Every new group they encountered she would reiterate the proclamation, point, and proudly parade him around like he was her most precious possession.

It took him a bit before he just resigned himself rather than continuously wish for a quick way off. Another minute before he started getting used to being that far up and being walked around so smoothly. But it wasn’t until he saw an Orc walking around carrying some sort of wooden chair strapped to her back like a backpack, with a human on it, that he noticed Monica perk up and start swaggering something fierce.

“So that’s where you got the idea?”

“Urtha say strong help humans. Rick human, Monica help.”

“Hm?” He quirked a brow. “Do you like Urtha?”

“Urtha say Rick weak.” The feline huffed. “Urtha wrong.”

The proclamation made him hesitate, but he held his tongue, thoughts dancing to the kingdom. Maidens were considered property there, but as far as this tribe was concerned, it was clear this tribe wasn’t of the same mind.

“Do you like it here?” The question was simple, direct, and his tone serious.

Monica stopped, glancing at Rick for a second and then looking around. “Monica not know.” She declared with a few seconds of consideration. “Better than city.”

Rick’s hand idly scratched her behind her ears. “And why is that?”

Rather than answer, the feline walked up to an Orc, tapping her shoulder. The maiden turned around, looked at Monica, and smiled. “Lucky catch?”

“Yes.” She nodded vigorously, pointing at her passenger. “Rick strong.”

The green-skinned maiden gave Rick one long look and chuckled. “He must be if he’s caught your eye!” With a wave, the maiden turned and continued off.

“That why.”

Rick nodded, understanding.

For the first time in her life, she was being part of a group of people that weren’t either scared shitless or actively trying to get rid of her or both. It made for a bittersweet feeling, as it left him wondering whether Sinco might be even a fraction as welcoming.

“And what don’t you like?”

She stuck her tongue out and grimaced. “Food bad.”

He laughed. “Trust me, I am quite aware of that.” His gaze lingered on the maidens as they walked, his mind running through the options. Monica was allegedly in charge, wasn’t she? Would it even make sense to find a way to settle in? He’d have to get around Urtha to get anything done, it wouldn’t be like Monica or Dia wouldn’t want to help… but then again, something had happened while he’d been out, something had shifted.

And it wasn’t like he could trust the Orc tribe or Urtha. He’d been their prisoner, how much of the experience had been the tribe, and how much the vampire’s cronies?

His thoughts ground to a halt when he saw a familiar dark-skinned man walking next to a red-headed hobgoblin carrying one of the larger cooking pots. “Yasir!” Rick called out, waving from Monica’s shoulder.

“Who?” the feline asked, tilting her head to glance up at him.

“Friend, good friend.” Rick proclaimed.

Monica nodded, gently putting him back down on firm ground and walking up to the Hobgoblin. “Friend.”

The maiden in question grimaced, then sighed. “I understand.” She proclaimed, reaching out to the piece of hemp rope tying Yasir’s wrists loosely together. With a hand that glowed red hot, she needed merely to caress the rope before it burned away.

The man stood, immobile, looking at Monica with eyes wide as plates and a gaping mouth and loose jaw.

“Are you alright?”

“I-” He glanced at Rick, then at Monica, and then at Rick again. “You are close to the warchief!?”

“I told you I had a big cat.” He chuckled. “I think I need-”

“Richard.” The man reached out, grasping his hand and staring at Monica with hesitation before bowing deeply. “I beg for your help.” His grip tightened. “The feral pens.” His eyes were wild, gripping him like a man holding on for dear life. “They have my wife in the feral pens.”

[018] [Subjugation]

The “feral pens” pens were separated from the rest of the bandit camp by wooden walls that did not bother to make themselves discreet, unlike the perimeter walls of the tribe camp. These were thick and reinforced, looking very much intended to actually stop a maiden from getting through.

The sight of them gave Rick pause to consider what was on the other side, even with Yasir’s pleading insistence. The guards weren’t Orcs, but chained bandits. It was the kind of set-up that screamed of a disposable first line of defense. And the maidens appeared quite aware of the nature of their role, remaining rather reluctant to open up the place even when Monica was right behind Rick.

The inside was far more unnerving than the walls surrounding it.

At first, it looked like nothing more than an open coffin warehouse. Rows upon rows of human sized simple wooden boxes, each one with fist-sized holes poked through the front, with thick sliding wooden bolts keeping each box locked tight. It didn’t quite click that these coffins were occupied until he saw a hand poking through one of the holes, scratching away at the lid.

The stench was unmistakable, blood, shit, and rancid sweat. A mix between a sewer and a slaughterhouse. It clawed at Rick’s throat with rusty nails.

The moment the doors shut behind them, the screams began.

Most every box rattled and shook, arms thrust out through holes that were either made or clawed into existence. Some were furred, others were scaled or covered in feathers, some looked human entirely. All of them were bloody, dirty, stained, emaciated, skin stretched over bones. It was impossible these boxes were made of normal wood, Rick was certain these must have been made out of that iron-like Orc-wood.

////

Rick stood in a stone dungeon, feet glued to the floor, breath caught in a gasp. In front of him was Monica, kneeling, head hung low, arms bound to the ceiling in heavy chains. Her body was battered black and blue, her face partially swollen, breaths labored. He’d done the only thing he could. He ran to her side, holding her tight. Even as the baron took her away in a flash of light.

The world spun out of focus.

Rick was in the forest. Darkness surrounded him. Monica was bleeding out, the wound in her gut too severe. At his side lay the noble, a bloody smile carved upon his throat. Dia stood next to them, hands shaking, dropping the knife, eyes wide in horror at what she’d done.

////

“No need to be so emotional, little male. They are all just ferals.” The guard laughed, canine ears twitching in annoyance.

“Rick?” Monica’s question held a singular tone of finality. Her thick hand held his with a reassuring iron grip.

It broke the spell. He was back in reality, though the memory lingered in the back of his mind as he looked around once more. “Just ferals?” He asked with a furrowed brow.

“And former heel kissers at that.” The guard added with a smirk, ignoring .

“Monica.” He asked. “What have the others said about these… ferals?”

“Dia want to put to kill. Urtha want to fight humans.” She declared with a tone of frustration.

With a slight nod, Rick turned to the one companion who’d remained deathly quiet throughout the exchange. “Yasir, do you know where your wife might be?”

The man hesitated. He looked pale and squeamish, glancing at the boxes and quickly turning away at the sight of it. It did not appear like he could stomach the sight of it, and yet he kept glancing between them, searching. “I… she’s a Spinner.”

Rick turned to the canine guard. “Spinner. Know of any?”

“Yeah, there’s one. This way.”

They walked, keeping their distance from the boxes. The ferals didn’t relent in their attempt to get out, whining, barking, screaming. It made Rick’s skin crawl, though it was Yasir that looked worse off out of everyone there, his typical jovial tone and smile gone. The man was wringing his hands, looking left and right, lost, but unwilling to stop searching.

The pain was palpable in his desperation, twitching out to some boxes and then freezing as he appeared to realize some detail that did not match what he sought.

It reminded Rick that though he might have been a prisoner of the Ghoul for barely a week, Yasir had been trapped here for several months.

Slowly, Rick looked around once more. Then at Monica. He realized both of them were frowning, yet hers was a thoughtful look, clearly considering something. It left him to his own musings on the matter, ideas forming in the back of his head. A singular question kept popping up every time.

Did he want to take control? To allow this situation to carry on?

“This is the only Spinner here.” The guard spoke hastily, pointing at one of the few boxes that appeared calm. “I’ll be going now.” She declared, turning to leave.

An idea solidified in Rick’s mind. His gaze moved from Yasir to the box, and then to the guard. His brows furrowed, a path forward became clear.

First came Yasir.

“Monica, pin her down.”

It took the guard a second to realize what Rick had just said, and the next, she was lunging at him. Monica was faster. The maiden didn’t make it half-way to him before she’d been slammed into the ground so hard the air had been driven out of her lungs.

“Good?” Monica confirmed, one enormous claw pressed against the Doggirl’s back.

“Sleepy time.”

With a nod, Monica clenched her fist. “Wait!” The Doggirl barked out, right until the fist came down on to her head with enough force to dent the hard ground. “No.” Another punch cut her words short. “I-”

Third time proved to be the charm. The maiden went limp. Monica listened carefully.

“Alive.” She proclaimed with a nod, dusting off her knuckles.

With a nod, Rick turned to their human companion. “Anyway, we might as well… Yasir?”

The man had been looking at Rick as if he’d grown a second head. “She… you… how?”

“She likes me, so she helps me out.” He explained with a shrug.

“He cute.” Monica nodded emphatically at his explanation, patting Rick’s head.

Grumbling, Rick turned his attention to the box. “The maiden in there may or may not be your wife, but she is definitely going to be under the feral curse.”

The man immediately sobered, his gaze hardening as he regarded Monica, then Rick. His lips thinned. “If she can’t be saved…”

“What?” Rick shook his head. “No, I meant to step back. It wouldn’t do if she accidentally killed you or something.” At his suggestion, the dark man stepped back, gazing the box.

Crouching down, he fumbled with the Doggirl’s collar until it clicked free and tossed it at Yasir. The man’s eyes fell on the maiden and then on Rick.

“Death would be a mercy.”

“I don’t want to have anyone raise alarms.” He frowned at the Doggirl for a moment. “It takes about a week for the feral curse to take hold of a maiden, right? She’ll be dead or bonded by then.”

Rick reached out to the door, grabbing a firm hold of the wooden pole that kept it shut. Slowly, he moved out of the way, preparing himself.

“Monica, no hurting, no killing. Just pin,” he said, giving her a meaningful nod as he dragged the chunk out. The sound made the nearby trapped ferals holler again, slamming and fighting against their boxes weakly. The door swung open.

And…

Nothing.

There was a thud.

“Ahina!”

Yasir cried out, taking a step forward, but Monica shoved him away with a nudge as she moved to pin down the apparently unconscious woman. Though it didn’t look like there was a need for it, the feral hadn’t even stirred.

Rick took a moment to look at the maiden, not having seen this breed before. Human by nearly all standards like most other maidens, the thing that set her apart were the four spider-like limbs that emerged from her back, each one being twice the length of her arms and covered in black chitin with yellow coloring the joints. The woman appeared to be nearing her forties, hair was a mass of dreadlocks, her skin just as dark as Yasir’s.

She was covered in filth, scratches, caked blood covering her fingers.

The inside of the box was scratched all over.

“Put the collar on her.” Rick instructed Yasir while Monica kept the maiden against the ground. She might have been unconscious, but Rick wasn’t about to take risks. “The people of this kingdom use starvation and food to force submission on them. I’m guessing the Vampire had similar plans.”

Yasir hesitated, biting his lip. “It is the knot that is tied twice. Our ways are of kindness.” He said, hands moving quickly, clasping the strip of enchanted leather with practiced ease. “Once to break the curse, the second to break the fear.” His hands were shaking as he pulled away.

Rick nodded slightly. “I mean no disrespect, but how quickly do you think it could take you to form the bond? We might not have days.”

The man scoffed. “The men of this kingdom seek to chain the maiden’s heart to them.” With a deep, shuddering breath, he nodded. “I am practiced in the gentle touch. It should be done within the hour if I can gain the aid of your companion?”

Rick was startled at the proclamation, glancing at Monica and then at him. “In what way?”

“A man opens their heart to welcome any who seeks comfort or shelter.” Yasir’s smile trembled slightly, eyes never looking away from Ahina, kindness and pain glimmering in his eyes. “Monica need only scare my beloved, so that she might run into my arms… metaphorically, of course. Please do not let her run free, or we might truly never see her again.”

“Let’s see if a little scare wakes her up, then.” Rick nodded slightly. “She might need some healing and food, though.”

“My Ahina would not allow something as mundane as a need for food to slow her down.” Yasir’s laugh was strained, but it brought a sparkle to his eye.

With a slight nod at Monica, the feline shrugged and leaned down, letting out a vicious snarl right next to Ahina’s face. The Spinner snapped out of her unconsciousness in a panic, thrashing against Monica’s grasp, legs flinging around wildly as she tried to escape at all costs. But the feline was experienced with handling prey, and the spider maiden would not get to move an inch from under her.

It was then that Yasir approached. The man crouched directly in front of the Spinner, putting himself directly in her line of sight. His gaze strained as he kept a gentle smile, waiting until the feral maiden looked his way. It was only then that he approached further, though remaining outside her reach.

“Be calm, my beautiful Ahina.” He whispered, bowing his head. “Do you remember? I am here. Be calm. You are safe.” Gently he reached towards her, a movement that was steady and unthreatening. “I am here, my Ahina.”

At first the feral didn’t react, remaining tense as Monica’s growl lingered in the background like a rumbling chainsaw. Her thrashing continued for nearly a minute, breathing hard, eyes wild and unfocused, hissing and scratching at the ground. It was not until she became still that Yasir got close enough to be within her reach.

Rick’s throat tightened, ready to call it off. It was impossible to miss the sharpened teeth on the Spinner, or how the arachnid limbs were sharp enough they could puncture through a human. But she remained still, snapping her attention back to Yasir as he cupped her cheeks in his palms.

“I am here, my love.” The man whispered, gently stroking her hair, rubbing off some of the muck from her face.

The tension on the feral began to slowly fade, maiden and human apparently trapped within their own little world. It was like watching someone waking up. Her eyes slowly focused on Yasir, as if looking at him for the first time.

The first attempts to speak failed, coming out as a garbled wheeze. Then came a raspy cough. “Bael?” She spoke, blinking away misty eyes. “Is it really you?”

“It is, my Ahina.” Yasir was far less restrained, tears running down his cheeks, dampening his beard as he pulled her into his embrace the instant Monica had loosened her grip. “It is.”

It had taken less than half an hour.

Rick could only watch in silence, turning to Monica and noticing she was looking at him with a sly grin. “Monica like how Rick do better.” She emphasized the point by wiggling her hips and using her tail to caress his thigh.

“Not the time,” he whispered in a glower, thankful that the couple were entirely oblivious of all else. Besides, there was a list of things that needed to be done, and not exactly a lot of time to do them. “I need to visit Kiara and Eva.”

The feline snapped, her expression instantly turning into a glare. “No.”

“What?” He frowned up at her.

“Eva bad,” she proclaimed, crossing her furry paws under her cleavage and staring down at him like she was some kind of some angry war-goddess. “Monica not forgive Eva. Maybe kill Eva later.”

“WHAT!?” This time he snapped. His hands lashed out, grasping her shirt and pulling her down so they would be eye to eye. The move startled her enough not to fight back, and her azure gaze was locked on his. “Tell me what happened. Exactly.”

The anger in his voice startled her, but Monica reacted, batting his grip away, flashing her fangs at him. “Eva almost kill Rick. Hurt bad.” Her finger poked at his chest, at the scars hidden underneath.

“She lost control.” He replied, regaining his anger in quick order.

“No.” She poked his chest more insistently this time, causing him to stumble a step back. “Eva fault and Rick fault. Eva dangerous, Rick no protect Rick. Eva dangerous. Rick dumb.”

Taking a moment to parse through the words, he tried to digest them. She was blaming him for losing control too, for… fighting her the wrong way? He held Monica’s gaze firmly. “You almost killed me once, too.”

“Different. Past Rick dumb. Past Monica not want to hurt Rick. It accident.” She tapped her nose. “I smell Eva. Eva want eat Rick.”

“I meant before that.” He replied, hands on his hip.

“Monica feral. Dia say feral not respo-” she grimaced. “Res-pon-sis-blah feral Monica.” Frustration flashed across her face at having to slow down, but she held firm. “Eva no feral, want eat Rick.”

“So you’re insisting she’s at fault for losing control?” He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Why is it my fault, though? I fought her the only way I could. I tried to protect myself.”

Monica rolled her eyes. “Rick dumb. Bad fight, very very very bad fight.” Her claw poked at his chest again, this time sharply. “Rick try fight. Use hands? Bad!” Her hand grasped his wrist. “No claw! Soft! Bad for fight.”

“Agreed there.” He yanked his wrist from her grasp and crossed his arms. “It’s not like I had an option. I’m the weak one, remember?”

“Lie!” Monica poked him harder this time, slamming him against the box. “Rick strong.”

He quickly recoiled from the wooden wall as the occupant within the coffin snarled and hammered against the door, reaching out through the hole. The pole kept it shut, but it rattled ominously as the maiden within fought to break free.

“Look, I don’t know what you mean, I’m-”

“No.” She cut him, reaching out to the box and removing the bar that kept it blocked with surprising deftness. “Monica show.”

Yanking the door open, the feral within froze as soon as she came face to face with the Sabretooth’s snarling face. But Monica didn’t bother to wait, reaching inside and pulling the maiden out by the rags of a shirt that had been torn and barely held on any longer.

It was a Hound, no doubt about it. Black hair and sharp ears, the canine was frothing at the mouth, eyes wild, scared, angry, hungry, all in equal measure. A wave of apprehension washed over Rick at the clearly emboldened Monica, unsure what she was planning to do.

Monica gripped the back of the Hound’s head and shoved it against her biceps as she locked gazes with Rick. The feral whined, complained, and bit down after a second of hesitation, clearly trying to startle the larger one into letting her go. But the grip did not falter. Monica grit her teeth.

“What are you doing!?”

“Show,” she replied, wincing as the feral’s fangs tore at her tanned skin. The feral was using her free hands to claw at Monica’s chest, arm, and neck. But the angle was awkward, and the grip was unrelenting.

Pain flashed across the Sabretooth’s blue eyes, but it was quelled under the determination. The Hound’s claws were finding purchase, digging into her flesh and tearing off strips at a time.

“Monica stop this!” He did not step closer else risk being within range of the feral. His mind was racing.

What was her angle here!?

“No.” Her jaw tightened, ignoring the attempts to break free from the feral as she thrashed and clawed and bit. Monica was not moving an inch, staring him down. “Rick stop it. Roar.”

Roar? Roar!?

“You’re hurting yourself just to get me to shout at that feral!?”

“No shout. Roar.” Monica replied, gritting her teeth. “Monica know Rick strong.”

She wanted… He glared from her to the feral, and then back. Fine, whatever. His shoulders straightened, and he turned his attention to the feral. “Stop.”

Monica snorted as the Hound hadn’t even twitched. “Again.” She chided him, apparently entirely unconcerned about the blood dripping down her arm and chest, or how the feral was becoming emboldened and gaining some room to maneuver.

It was clear her arm could get seriously damaged if she kept this up.

Was she seriously willing to get herself maimed just to prove a point!?

He grit his teeth, breathing in sharply. “Stop!”

Nothing.

“Again.”

Her left arm was becoming slack even as the right one kept the pressure. The bites were pushing through, and the Hound was making way against the Sabretooth’s body. Rick’s marvel at how tough Monica could make herself was superseded by the knowledge that there was an artery not that far off from where the canine was gnashing.

The ferals all around them were growing agitated, emboldened by the scent of blood.

Monica’s stupid stunt was going too far.

“Stop!”

“Again! Roar Rick! Strong!”

Snarling, he reached into himself, as deep as he could go, laying the fight with Eva against his thoughts like a red hot poker against his chest. He held onto it, gritting his teeth as his ribs felt ready to burst.

“Enough!”

It wasn’t louder, not even a scream. But there was something else to it, a feeling of… something that coursed through him and out. It felt as if he’d just slapped a metal ruler against a chalkboard, aware the classroom would shut up.

The Hound froze in place.

Monica sighed. “Good, but Rick do better. Monica knows.” She used the same tone he threw at her when teaching her unfamiliar words. With no shortage of smugness about it either.

“You’re a very dumb teacher.” He glared at her. “Take that damn dog off of you this instant.”

“Rick say if dumb but work. Not dumb.” Monica reproached, pulling the Hound away from her now limp and bleeding left arm, holding the canine by the throat up in the air. The canine’s efforts to break free became more frantic, face and claws drenched in blood as she thrashed. “Kill?”

“NO!”

It had been Yasir who’d spoken, reminding the couple that they’d brought company. Rick turned to glance at them as the duo appeared entirely uncertain on whether to be focused on him or the Hound or Monica.

Yasir was the first to speak up. “Her name is Paula, she was a…” He grimaced. “Fortune doesn’t smile on my memory. I do not remember the word. Her profession was of catching ferals in Sinco.”

“A Hunter?” Rick glanced at the Hound that was currently pinned against the wall of wood.

“Exactly!” He nodded.

Rick glanced at Yasir, then at Ahina, who was nodding slowly while observing them. Hers was the body-language of someone too exhausted to move, but willing to throw herself in harm’s way to protect the man currently holding her against his chest. Her dark gaze kept bouncing between Monica and the feral Hound.

The thought occurred to him to bond the maiden, to learn the method Yasir had used. Rick was familiar with the kingdom’s way of awakening ferals from having watched them work their trade, but he himself had very little experience. Monica had been the first feral he’d “awakened”, and the local Succubus had been quite eager to test the method out when breaking Eva from the curse.

He had doubts it would be useful for using on a large group of maidens, however.

But it was not the right time. As much as he respected the Hunters for their work, awakening the Hound now might prove more of a complication than an advantage, what with him needing to reveal, he could bond without the collar. To say nothing that he still needed to find and get an update from Kiara and Eva’s situation.

Still, better be sure.

“Did either of you know her well?”

Yasir and Ahina shared a look, then shook their heads.

“And about the local Lord?”

This time, Yasir grimaced. “The less it is said of that man, the better.”

“I have many things I would say of that wicked piece of excrement.” Ahina snarled. “Not even the gold-hoarding Mimicas are as greedy as he.”

“Ahani!” Yasir chided.

“I think I’ve heard enough.” Rick nodded, now sure he couldn’t take the risk. For all he knew, the Hunter might be aligned with the noble. “Monica, put her back in the box.”

If, when, and how these ferals were to be awakened, it would be when things were more firmly under control. But best stick to one thing at a time.

“Yasir, and miss Ahani, as much as it pains me to say, the camp isn’t a place I’d call safe right now.” He gestured at Monica.

Yasir and the Spinner shared a look.

“I want to help Sinco.” Rick continued. “I’m aware your children are still in the city?” That caught their attention. The two tensed and nodded with grim determination. “To do that, I need to take away power from Urtha. I suspect she is merely allowing Monica to hold her position out of convenience.”

Monica shrugged at the claim. “Monica not like dumb talks.”

And the Orc was taking advantage of the Sabretooth’s nature of not caring about the bigger picture.

“What must be done?” Ahina asked, trying to pry herself from Yasir’s arms but failing.

“Monica? Could you find me some food and medicine?” He glanced at his partner. “But with no one seeing you. Sneak.”

The feline looked at Ahina narrowed eyes. “Hurt Rick, Monica hurt you.” She proclaimed, turning to leave and vanishing into the shadows.

With a shrug, he looked back at them. “The one whose help I need is Yasir’s.”

The spider woman glared, wrapping her arms around the man. “I will not let you put him in danger.”

“My Ahina…”

“No,” the maiden declared. “We lost each other once. I cannot let it happen again.”

“He does not need to do anything he hasn’t already been doing since his capture.” Rick glanced at Asir. “You need to make the potato tea we’ve been preparing for.”

The man stiffened at that, then nodded slowly. “Are you certain? Once they realize the nature of the threat…”

“I am sure.” He replied, glancing at Ahina again. “You, in the meantime, need to hide somewhere. I cannot guarantee Urtha won’t attempt something.”

“And my husband is to stand next to the raging fire, then?” She asked, poison in her eyes.

Yasir put a hand on her head, pulling her into his shoulder. He spoke in a tongue that Rick couldn’t recognize, full of words that sizzled and shimmered, a sound not much unlike sand. Ahina responded in kind, the concern in her tone turning to surrender after a minute.

“It must be done, for Zuzu and Nabil.”

And just like that, it was over. Ahina looked at him once more, curling her lips, but bowing her head. “I will assist in whatever way might be needed.”

“I don’t want a fight to break out, but I’d say your best bet would be to remain on the outskirts of the camp until things are under control. You need to recover your strength.” Rick spoke, watching Monica emerge from the shadows, holding a series of items against her chest. Most of them were pieces of dried meat, bread, and a waterskin. “Thank you.”

“This Monica stash.” She declared, handing most of it over, save some of the boar meat which she snacked on. “Ahina owe Monica.”

“Stash?”

Rick’s question made the Sabretooth tense and look away, eating the boar meat faster, gobbling the whole thing up in three bites, nearly choking on it.

“We… we owe a great deal to you.” Ahina declared, bowing her head lower. “Excuse my earlier outburst.”

Her gaze moved from Rick to Monica, then down at the food. The arachnid maiden did not hesitate to dig in. The good was gone in quick order, but Ahina took pause when opening the waterskin.

“Polita nectar?” Yasir and Ahina’s noses wrinkled.

“It sweet!” Monica declared with a grin. “Good for health.”

“Yes, but…”

“Is there something wrong with it?” Rick asked, catching a whiff of the beverage. It was the same drink that’d been in his room.

“No! Nothing.” Ahina quickly gulped it all down, making a face before turning away, slightly paler. “I… will hide, then.”

“Dear.” Yasir patted the maiden’s shoulder gently. “You will not go around naked.”

Ahina sighed, giving him a tired look. “I will make myself something once I have cleaned the filth. My stench is too strong. Doggirls are sure to know of me from the other side of the golden sands.”

“I think that’s that.” Rick glanced at Yasir. “I expect things will start getting rowdy come nightfall. Be sure to find somewhere to hide when it does.” He turned to Monica. Time for the next item on the list. “Go get yourself healed. And no hurting Eva.”

The feline shrugged, completely ignoring her still bleeding arm.

“If Rick fight Eva and win, Monica no kill Eva.”

“I’m going to need some coffee.” Rick just shook his head. “Gonna go meet Kiara, I feel she might have some answers about Urtha and her faction.”

“The Succubus?” Yasir frowned. “She is kept at the edge of the camp along with the other prisoners deemed too dangerous to be allowed free movement.”

That did not bode well, Rick glanced at Monica again. “You let Dia lock Kiara up?”

The feline nodded. “Kiara no share Rick, bad Kiara. Monica and Dia punish.”

“Shit.”

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