Fairy Short Story Part 2

More or less the final draft of this second chapter. I didn't intend the battle to be so big and long, but I think it sets up Coye's character and his personality fairly well.

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Cransmere was a village that sat on the mouth of the Gnarled Woods. There was a time in history long since past where its people paid the price for the settlement’s unfortunate location, and this sleepy little hollow has never been the same.

Although he had only been a resident for two years, Coye knew the forest’s danger as well as any native. Rather than heading into the woods and heading west, it was far safer to travel the outer rim until he came upon the area that the woodsmen entered.

It took Coye a good three hours of walking, but he eventually came upon the spot that matched where the lumberjacks claim to have entered the forest.

Wild pumpkins grew in abundance, ignoring the natural flow of seasons. As the rest of the realm enjoyed the beginning of a warm summer, this swathe of forest stubbornly clung to autumn. It would have been a beautiful sight if not for the darkness lingering in the distance where the trees began to blur together.

A foreboding wind blew, and the adventurer stopped. He took the quest flier from one of his pouches, unfolding it in his hands. Coye re-read the passage on the flier three times to ensure he didn’t misread, skim, or forget.

Far as he could tell, this was the place. Coye nodded to no one in particular, folded the parchment back up, and set forth into the unknown.

Not long after he did, an all too familiar sensation crept over every inch of his body. Coye understood that he was being watched, which by itself wouldn’t be cause for alarm. Not out here in these woods, at least.

This was an accursed place forever strained by the slain Demon Lord of Arrark’s past, Thalrad. Not only did his nightmarish abattoirs and his servants, the pitiable Pig Men, still remain hidden somewhere in the Gnarled Woods, but Thalrad’s evil energies circulated throughout it.

Therefore, it would have been stranger if a mysterious pair of eyes weren’t trained on Coye at all times.

What unsettled him so much was that Coye could not pick up on any malice from the creeping gaze, and this specific entity had been following him for roughly the last three months. Whatever observed him while he worked wasn’t a beast waiting to strike him for its next, and it wasn’t a bandit scoping out an easy mark.

The eyes which watched him were curious, dutiful, almost like they were studying his every move with the utmost care.

Coye would’ve preferred if his onlooker really was just another hungry monster. Ignorance is not bliss when it comes to being an adventurer. Being unaware of the threats surrounding you could get you killed, or worse, out in the wild.

Whatever it was, Coye was starting to figure that it probably didn’t mean him any harm. He traversed these woods at least once or twice a week on account of his job, meaning that whatever it was that was watching him had dozens of chances to take him by surprise by now. Yet, it never did.

Since Coye had precious few mental resources to spare, he put all concern out of his mind. He wouldn’t forget the pair of eyes on him, but he wouldn’t give it more attention than warranted. For now, he put his concerns out of mind and focused on following the ongoing trail of increasingly evil-looking pumpkins.

A sharp, stinging chill ran through the air, growing thicker by the second. From far off in the distance yet behind him at the same time, laughter echoed throughout the dark woods.

“Turn back, fool,” An echoing voice both whispered and yelled. “Or face the consequences of your own actions...”

Coye gave it a moment, standing idly by while waiting to see if the enemy had anything else to add or not. When it became clear that the monster was done taunting him, Coye became unimpressed. He understood why peasants would’ve been terrified of this spirit’s theatrics, but if its strength could be measured by its chattiness, he saw no cause for concern.

Still, Jack’s taunting did serve as a nice reminder.

Before Coye forgot, he opened up another one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out distinctive glass bottles. He narrowed his eyes, then pulled out a second one. Each was filled with special oil. The problem was that he hadn’t remembered to label them. One was for fighting spirits, and the other was for fighting the undead.

He sighed and coated his sword with the contents of both.

It was a waste of resources, but Coye didn’t trust his faulty memory. It annoyed him even though he had long since accepted his simple nature. He refused to stress over what couldn’t be changed, but he sometimes felt like he would be better off if he had a partner who could help guide him and stop him from making stupid mistakes.

Since that would require making friends back at the Guild, though, that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon. What was he going to do, march on up to Britni and ask if she and her Baddest Bitches wanted to go on some quests together? Yeah, right.

Coye knew he would become a spellsword sooner than he would a social butterfly, so he ignored this fleeting thought and pressed onward.

Coye began traversing deeper into the woods with his oiled sword and his shield at the ready. He still felt a chill in the air, a common occurrence when dealing with spirits, which he took as a sign that he was going in the right direction. The wild jack-o-lanterns were somewhat of a dead giveaway, too. Their watchful eyes glared at Coye, witnessing the young hunter on the way to the slaughter.

They led him to a clearing where the landscape before him was steeped in a dismal fog. Dense, thorned vines circled the perimeter to suggest there would be no way out once he entered, save for the way he came in. Of course, experience told him that the entrance would close behind him inexplicably.

Coye’s instinct proved correct after taking several steps into this closed-off area. The vines shifted, blocking the path behind him. He wouldn’t be able to escape so easily, now, not without hacking through all that bramble.

Coye was confused. He never understood why some monsters would purposefully choose a showdown in an isolated arena like this, but it didn’t matter to him how his enemy wanted to do this. If the spirit knew it was being hunted and desired a straightforward battle, then far be it from Coye to pass up a chance to make his job easier.

He was just glad the monster wasn’t putting him through a gauntlet of inexplicable puzzles to reach its lair.

The menacing voice which taunted Coye appeared again. It asked, “You’re here to kill me, aren’t you...? I've seen your kind in this forest before, hunting monsters.”

Coye kept his eyes peeled, looking for the first sign of Jack’s appearance. He ignored whatever small-talk his enemy wanted to get into.

“I knew it was a mistake to go after those men, but there was just so much power to be gained that I couldn’t help myself...” There was tension in the spirit's voice and an air of madness.

“Ah, well. What's done is done. You’ll make a fine challenge to test my powers against, I suppose..."

Coye's vigilance was rewarded when he witnessed the shimmering metal of Jack's scythe blinking into existence to his left. It was wreathed in cool, wispy flames that gave off no heat but burned with a biting chill. Thinking he was about to get ahead of Coye, the monster reared its blade and attacked.

In a single heartbeat, Coye measured the situation and took in the sight of his enemy. He found himself impressed once again and whoever drew the picture on Jack's bounty poster, for despite not seeing the monster themselves, its likeness was uncanny.

Jack o' the Pumpkins was a malicious spirit brimming with malevolence. Although his head was a carved jack-o'-lantern, magic allowed it to change expressions, giving way to a terrifying visage. Bright orange flames flickered behind both of the monsters carved out eyes, burning strong with hatred.

A wide-brimmed, pointed hat sat on his head, which, when combined with the monster’s lanky proportions and the ragged, flowing cloak it wore, reminded Coye of a scarecrow. That, or one of his father’s training dummies. He would’ve found it amusing if not for the scythe rushing toward him.

There were precious few seconds for Coye to retaliate.

He gripped his blade tight and filled it with enough energy to perform an Art. Coye knew a large pool of techniques, both offensive and defensive, to draw from, but there was one he tended to gravitate towards when trying to deal significant damage.

Spinning Slice.

Coye raised his sword behind him, his energy building up an explosive burst of sideways momentum. It was ready before the scythe was near him, so he jumped toward the spirit and unleashed his power.

Manifested energy spun him rapidly like a top, launching his body forward and increasing his strength several times over from the rotational force it added to his sword arm. Sheer, overpowering strength wasn’t a trait that a half-elf like Coye had been blessed with, so he relied on Arts to give him the edge he needed.

Spinning Slice always served him well, and this time was no exception.

Instead of Jack getting the jump on Coye, it was the other way around. The whirling adventurer ripped through the air, giving the spirit no time to deflect the blow. It relied on a last-second dodge to avoid the brunt of Coye’s attack.

His training ensured that he wouldn’t grow sick no matter how much he spun about, so as the Art stopped, Coye landed on his feet like a cat. He looked upon his work, pleased to discover that the spirit didn’t completely escape. The cut was shallow, but the front of Jack’s robes were torn, and blue fire drizzled out of the wound.

Jack clutched himself with a gloved hand, shocked to discover he was vulnerable to this boy’s sword. The lumberjacks attempted to attack him with their axes, but every one of their swings phased through the spirit as he laughed at their misfortune. It now understood the situation it found itself in was much more severe than it thought.

“So, it’s going to be like that, is it...?” The cut shined, Jack’s robe reforming as the damage was seemingly healed. “Fine! So be it, I-”

Coye never understood why so many enemies babbled on about this or that after combat had begun. The quiet boy had little to contribute in return, so all it ever amounted to was a chance for his blade to do the talking.

His enchanted sword shined as he struck the air, shooting a light beam at the spirit as it tried to speak. This took Jack by surprise for a second time, and this time, it didn’t dodge or deflect the blow at all. Although the light was weak, it had a serious effect on the wicked phantom of the woods.

It wailed in pain, shouting obscenities about Coye’s lack of respect which fell on deaf, pointy ears.

If Coye landed enough light beams like this, he might’ve been able to lay Jack to rest, but given how finicky the enchantment was, he couldn’t count on it. All it would take is a single scratch to render it useless for a full day, and as confident as Coye was, he knew he couldn’t rely on it.

Jack’s spectral power surged through the surrounding area, warping the fog. It raised its scythe and flew like an arrow at the boy, who responded by charging another Art in the span of a second.

Coye struck the scythe with the power of Double Strike, an art that did exactly as it sounded by making him strike twice in the time it would’ve taken to hit once. All of the arts in his arsenal matched this level of complexity. It was easier for someone like him to wrap his mind around techniques that did a thing and did it well, rather than more advanced nonsense.

The clash of steel on ghostly steel echoed like a child’s sharp, stinging cry of pain. Jack’s flames wrapped around his weapon and exploded on impact. The cold fire of his wrath spread, an ember catching on Coye’s sleeve.

It ate through it and lapped at his flesh, rendering his sword’s enchantment useless. It fizzled out shortly after, but the damage had been done. Coye once again reminded himself that he needed to get a better sword.

Still, the force of Coye’s Double Strike created both a crack in the scythe and a glimmer of hesitation in Jack’s eye flames. The spirit had been content to rely on its trickery to mess with its prey until now. Its recent growth in power made it believe that a head-on confrontation like this would work out in its favor, but that proved to be a foolish assumption.

Already, the trickster was running escape plans repeatedly in its mind in case it needed them. However, one minor crack in his weapon wasn’t enough to entirely break its fighting spirit, and Jack still believed in its chances to come out on top.

Jack floated ten feet away to the left of Coye, raising one of its gloved hands, which pulsed with magic. A handful of jack-o-lanterns manifested floating in the air, and at its master’s command, one flew at the boy. Coye wasn’t naive enough to believe this projectile was an ordinary pumpkin, but it was coming toward him so fast that it was all he could do to raise his shield in response.

It exploded as it hit the metal barrier, the force sending Coye feet away from tumbling into the sharp bramble. Deflecting the rest of the pumpkins was no longer an option. He had to dodge.

Jack unleashed his remaining salvo in a barrage as the boy lept back on his feet. The first shot missed as he weaved out of its path. So did the second, and then the third. Coye was in his element as he ducked, dodged, and danced ever nearer to his prey.

He was in his element.

In battle, his simple mind shined. His reflexes and body had been sharpened through intensive training since he was young. Here, it didn’t matter if he was meek, timid, or struggled to talk to others. All he needed to do was trust his instincts, act on them, and prevail.

By the time he dodged the last of the explosive jack-o-lanterns, Coye was within striking distance once more.

The boy let out a shout as he unleashed the wrath of his sword upon his foe. His attack broke through Jack’s defenses and cut across the spirit’s chest.

“Shit, shit, shit...!” The monster howled once again, its power lessening as a result of every strike. It took a slash of its own at Coye, but he parried with expertise and got another quick stab in.

The adventurer saw his chance as Jack started to stumble backward in an over-exaggerated manner. As good at combat as he was, Coye’s weakness lied in his straightforward nature. Rushing in and giving no quarter was the only way he knew how to end fights, and this gave him trouble when facing tricky opponents like the one he found himself up against now.

Jack’s pain was a ploy meant to draw Coye further in and drop his guard. More magical force swirled in the spirit’s hand as it prepared a phantom trick. Before Coye could perform another attack, two copies of Jack materialized on his left and right sides.

Both of them screeched as they raised their scythes and struck downwards.

There wasn’t enough time to ready an evasive art, and he couldn’t block each of the copies while keeping his eye on the real one, either. Coye ducked, intending to lessen the blows and soaking up the rest by hardening his skin with Steel Soul.

Coye’s quick thinking ensured that both slashes only grazed the back of his padded tunic. His defensive aura had worked. The two attacks were prevented from rending his shoulders, instead only drawing the faintest bit of blood.

The adventurer shrugged off the pain. A quick slash to the left and right dispelled the spirit’s weak echoes, leaving him alone with his prey once more. Gritting his teeth and building up energy in the sole of his left foot, Coye created a small impact crater on the grassy ground as he advanced on Jack with Quick Step.

He positioned his shield in front of his face, his sword arm ready for a piercing thrust.

Jack stared down the oncoming threat, cursing repeatedly. Coye wasn’t afraid of the spirit, which meant many of its fear-based abilities would have no effect. Drawing deep from its power reserves, Jack expelled a roaring blast of its pale blue flames at its oncoming adversary.

At the speed Coye was approaching, he knew he would be swallowed by the cold embrace of the ghastly fire. He’d need to course correct somehow or speed up even further so that the flames would disperse around his body.

Coye chose to barrel through the blaze.

He focused energy in his shield, then expelled it back toward his own body as he performed Shield Bash. This kinetic explosion was typically meant for shield users who wanted to attack with their weight, but it also had great utility for positioning.

Coye’s increased momentum sent him hurtling through almost unscathed. A smolder here and there licked at him, burning a few holes in his trousers and singing his flesh, but beyond that, Jack’s latest threat was in vain.

The boy landed, his feet skidding to a halt along the grass beneath him. He looked up, staring into the monster’s flaming eyes. They weren’t even a foot apart as Coye readied his signature art a second time.

He unleashed Spinning Slice.

Around and around, Coye spun, his sword gaining more power with every rotation. Although it seemed a futile endeavor, Jack refused to give up and die. The monster performed a series of elaborate parries with its scythe one after the other. Metal sang like a wailing dirge as the pressure of Coye’s sword hammered into the opposition.

As he made the final rotation, Coye’s amplified strength snapped the enemy blade into shimmering pieces like it was made of ice, and that was that. With the distance closed and no defense between them, Coye slashed at the spirit with his oiled sword until it could no longer reform.

Jack o’ the Pumpkin’s head fell to the ground, its wide-brimmed hat withering away into flickering particles of spirit energy along with the rest of its clothing. No longer sensing any power from his bounty, Coye looked down at the sorry state of his fallen foe.

“Fool,” it spoke, its voice no longer terrifying and now much higher pitched. “You can’t actually finish me off, can you?” Jack laughed as the fire behind its eye sockets dimmed to nothing.

“This isn’t the last you’ll see of me. Mark my words!” Coye watched as a thin orange mist wafted out of the carved pumpkin’s holes. No longer a specter of fear, the monster had been reduced to a glowing, airy-looking pumpkin-shaped sprite roughly the size of Coye’s fist.

Coye almost felt grateful he didn’t actually have to kill the spirit. It was too cute, now, and he wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to do it. A part of him was upset about having to leave a job undone, but that part of him was easy to silence.

He sheathed his sword, knowing that his alchemical oil wasn’t strong enough to kill Jack at this point anyway. As he did, Jack began drifting away toward the dark forest. “Just you wait...” it grumbled as it disappeared from sight.

The spirit offered one last threat before fading away entirely, promising, “I’ll remember this, you wretched little girl!”

Coye frowned as his cheeks grew hot as his brow twitched, his lips pouting. He had changed his mind; Jack wasn’t cute. Not at all.

The boy kicked a nearby rock into the dense bramble, which dissipated without Jack’s magic to sustain it. He couldn’t believe that even his enemies were starting to mistake him for a girl. As humiliating as it was, Coye sucked it up and refocused on his work.

All kill quests required proof of kill to be submitted to the Guild, and although it was tricky to verify a killed spirit, he was lucky enough for Jack to have dropped a few things which could be presented as a trophy. Coye was glad to not have to engage in the uphill battle of proving he had defeated Jack as he gathered up the cold pieces of Jack’s scythe and the physical pumpkin head it left behind.

As he tied up his trophy bag and fastened it to his belt, he smiled at the thought of Miss Whittle’s relieved face when he returned with Jack’s remains. He hoped it would help her stress, even if only a little.

Then, as was his tradition, Coye took a moment to take a sharp breath of air and reflect on the battle. It was a habit he taught by his father, a way for someone as simple as himself to learn from their mistakes and grow. While replaying the battle in his mind, Coye couldn’t stop himself from growing annoyed.

Like always, he was a victim of his own routine. He rushed forward like a fool at every chance during the battle. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have had to deal with Jack’s clones or the barrage of fire.

Coye knew he did as good as he could have, but that’s what bothered him. He wanted to do better than he was capable of doing, and his inability to do so saddened the boy. If he could have come up with more impressive strategies, or maybe if he had access to more complex arts, he wouldn’t have gotten his favorite pair of trousers riddled with burn holes.

The adventurer slapped himself on both cheeks using all of his strength. He hated when his negativity got in the way of appreciating his success, and fighting it off was its own battle. There would be time to dwell on his mistakes once he was safely home in Cransmere.

Now that everything had been tied up nicely, Coye needed to get the hell out of the Gnarled Woods. The hunger was starting to set in.

Many strange and curious things are liable to happen when wandering through these queer forests, but only one thing was an absolute certainty. The longer someone stayed, the more a creeping sensation would crawl up their gut. It would inch itself from the pit into the confines of a man’s throat, clawing at their psyche and driving them mad with appetite.

It would be easy for a trained adventurer like Coye to ignore his own hunger, but this wasn’t an ordinary phenomenon. The painful desperation in his throat was yet another remnant of the slain Demon Lord’s hold over these lands. This peculiar side-effect of the woods made adventuring and logging nigh impossible for those without resistance to the psychological ailment.

Over time, most adventurers and woodsmen would develop this immunity, but Coye had only been taking on quests in the woods for over a year now. His resistance was growing, but it was essential to keep his time wandering the dense and dark depths of this accursed timberland to a minimum.

Whispers among the townsfolk spoke of what the hunger could do to a man, or rather, what it could make a man become.

In Coye’s case, the worst it had ever affected him thus far in his career was when he found himself stuck in a looping path around the time he first started exploring the woods. The hunger grew within him, driving him to scarf down his rations like a gluttonous pig. When he ran out, he turned to fill his gullet with questionable things straight off the forest floor until he had devoured enough to regain his sanity.

Since then, he’d never taken any chances lingering too long, and he wasn’t about to start now. It was time for Coye to be on his way.