They were crouched in the bushes, and Shilloh had been forced to admit Wade’s point. As they stepped deeper and deeper into he forest, the number of Scotty’s puns had decreased. They didn’t truly stop until she pointed out signs indicating that they were closing in on the Wingins. Still, by the time they had eyes on the targets, Scotty had turned completely silent.
About an hour ago, they had made visual contact with the flock, which was feeding off the body of a snake the size of a septicentenarian redwood. They took breaks from feeding their hosts to supervise a variety of small Wingins still learning how to steer the host bodies they wore.
The second she saw them, her eyes were drawn to a clump of young Wingins. They wore a variety of bodies; a five foot tall, one-toothed meat ball creatures, a small velociraptor, a small green dragon that had a mane of rosemary thyme and other herbs, a slime whose ooze was slowly killing all the grass near it, an ash grey fox as big as a medium sized dog, a giant tortoise with a snake for a tail, and a large dog that simultaneously was and was not wearing a suit of metal armor. The last one was confusing. Each shift of shadow or tiny movement made her feel like she had seen the armor, even though she couldn’t recall what it looked like, just the feeling she had seen it. Of course, all of them had a pair of wings on their back. Wings that were slowly changing from the base up to look like more of a match for their host bodies.
All also had potent magic. The collection of so many unique and powerful creatures in one clearing was having ripple effects through the local ecosystem. And that was not even including the bigger Wingins and their hosts.
Those mature adults should have taken her breath away. It should have filled her with wonder and fear. But every part of her saw that cluster of smaller wingins and knew one of them was her familiar. There was room for nothing else, because this was her soul mate. This was fate made manifest, and every moment spent trying to find her familiar had been worth it.
This was not like Papa or Fraulein. They were her friends. They were connected, sure, but it was a connection of affection and exasperation. There was no esoteric mingling of self to a degree any greater than what happened when you spent time with someone you cared about.
Even now, Fraulein had excused herself from his event. Possibly sensing the solemnity of the bond Shilloh was trying to form and respecting it. Or, a more cat-friendly reason: she felt like sleeping more than participating. Shilloh’s familiar wouldn’t do that. They were separate, but one. Even if it wasn’t present, it would always be involved. Always be there.
Time passed in a blur. Every part of her wanted to run out and see which pair of wings would be her new other half. But she resisted.
Eventually, though, the signal came. Wade and Jasque were in position. Scotty had a set of tools laid out on the ground, and she had whispered answers to his pop-quiz questions about their operation and backup plans.
As he quizzed her, his hands traced over a variety of weapons strapped to his body, each preloaded with different enchanted rounds. He had magazine upon magazine as well as a big canvas fanny pack to drop empties in. His backpack sported a coronet of different shoulder stocks rising from behind his back like the rays of an apocalyptic sun.
How he navigated all them was beyond her. Then again, not running headlong into a hostile flock of cryptos was almost beyond her in that moment. Her capabilities were probably not he most meaningful comparison.
In the distance, there was the sound of gunfire, a flash of arcane energy, and the sounds of a small motor revving. The entire flock stirred and swirled in anger. The fastest hosts raced forward. Wings flapped on blue men whose lower bodies were clouds, and galloping horses who sparked with mauve electricity.
Then came the loud hissing as canisters were thrown into the flock. Though the term ‘thrown’ was a misnomer for what happened when an enhanced Were launched metal tubes through the air. Being shot from a cannon would have been only slightly more violent. They released an aerosolized magical fog. It was not super rare, but it did require some strange ingredients to make, according to Scotty. When put into canisters he had enchanted, the mist would lower the focus and increase the aggression of a targeted species. It was like getting them drunk and boosting testosterone, mixed in with magical mating calls that encouraged displays of martial capability.
The result was that all the sexually mature Wingins went from circling the juveniles to following the ones chasing Wade and Jasque as they high-tailed it to the Septozars.
Their mist would not last long, but Shilloh predicted that a flock creature like Wingins would be susceptible to following a mass movement and would give her more time to meet her familiar.
As the mass moved, Shilloh and Scotty engaged their part of the plan.
The fussy bane, who had been reflexively poking at his weapons until they were perfectly parallel, went dead still and then sprang into action.
With perfect fluidity, he came to his feet and threw a javelin that had been resting against the trees.
It arced through the air, trailing a length of wire with small disks attached.
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By the time it had pierced the earth, Shilloh had a strange air rifle in her hands and two more preloaded with different tranquilizers at her feet.
She sighted, breathed out, and slowly squeezed the trigger, not sure when exactly it would fire, and waiting for the moment when—
Magic surged next to her. Scotty was white knuckling a disk in his hand. It matched those dangling off the line the javelin had left stretched across the ground.
His power was rigid, metallic, and perfectly calibrated like gears in a watch. But, also, hollow and filled with opportunity. It was unshaped potential, flecked with sparkling motes that were the magical equivalent of sawdust cast off from his past works. His magic had the feeling of sheet metal and perfectly straight two-by-fours next to a well-used workshop.
None of it was anywhere close to the spectrum where her power resided, but the arcane wash was still noticeable. It was particularly noticeable to all, as the adolescents they had been targeting. Power fell into places like a shifting transmission, and they bounced off an invisible screen of force rising up from the trailing line of enchanted disks.
Scotty hissed out a breath of effort. His reservoir of power was deep and shockingly flexible. But the magic itself was slow, deliberate, and layered with impossible precision. He almost wasn’t able to release his magic fast enough to keep the restrictive barrier up.
Almost was enough. The hosts bounced. Their wings fluttering with disquiet.
Clack!
The first not-quite-dart, not-quite-enchanted pellet hit the herbaceous drake.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
Small enchanted projectiles smacked against her targets. Each one let out an electrical pulse and a magical signature. On the surface, it was nothing impressive. But, to her arcane perceptions, there was a small lightning strike, pain, and then the feeling of closing that signaled the impending end of life.
In combination, it triggered the Wingins' survival instincts, telling them to bail from their host as quickly as possible.
A baby Wingin ripped free of the velociraptor with a flapping, cacophonous call for help as it fled. The meatball creature caught her shot in its mouth. It barely shuddered, but the Wingin spasmed with the small amount that got to it through the host.
Another round bounced off the dog's liminal armor, and the fox whirled around in a sudden pall of smoke that obscured its form.
She fired more.
The dog’s armor held firm, but it didn’t do the smart thing. Instead, it yelped and ran along the barrier, crying for an adult.
The Slime ate everything she shot at it, all three types of rounds proving completely ineffectual. The herb dragon didn’t appear to have a mammalian nervous system for the electricity to impact. Worse, its host’s instincts combined perfectly. With flawless reflexive speed, they took to the air, trying to go over Scotty’s barrier.
She left it, and other fleeing, hostless Wingins, to flee. They were not her familiar. Though they moved, and might even pose a threat, it was incredibly hard to take her eyes away from the be-winged fox, dog, turtle-snake, and slime.
Staying focused, she walked her rounds after the fleeing fox. It thrashed and spun, evading everything with frenetic capability.
Until a hopping flap of wings sent it crashing into the invisible barrier.
Scotty hissed in discomfort.
The fox opened its mouth, the wings that had matched its grey fur everywhere but the purple tips thrashed. Even unhurt, the call of its brothers brutally ejected from their hosts panicked the wingin. The stress infected the host's body, and a small cloud of smoke rose from its gray fur.
“Fuck!” she yelled, even as Scotty dropped the disk in his hand and reached for a weapon. They couldn’t see any of the animals, and even through her supernaturally obsessive focus, she could tell that it was dangerous.
There was a flapping of wings, and the smoke started to be pushed back by a hard-to-feel breeze.
She remained riveted on the cloud as it thinned and pushed away, partially revealing the turtle-snake, dog, and slime. None was happy with the smoke, and their panic was visibly growing. She could not look away.
She was so close. Her heart told her to run forward.
At the same time, Scotty told her to “Retreat. Fucking run, Shilloh! Not all the adults had to breathe!”
Then a massive stegosaurus tail made of overlapping fibers—some hair, some wire, some plant— slammed down between their position and the juveniles.
In a moment of near schizophrenic bifurcation, she felt her heart move towards the smoke-shrouded creatures. Three bodies, six creatures, and one meant for her. Her eyes moved away and took in the insane beast barreling towards her and Scotty.
Soul-deep longing and her survival instincts warred.
Hands twitched towards the weapons laid out for her and Scotty.
Her memory flashed back to the briefing even as her body leaned towards her waiting familiar. They expected one, maybe three adults, to linger despite the gas.
And, to add even more to the competing drives stretching her like a witch on a rack, her bladder also chimed in.
Run to our soul companion, fuck everything else, said her heart.
Run away or fight, said her head and adrenal gland.
Run warmth down your leg and let it puddle on the forest floor ‘cause that's, like, really scary, added her bladder.
Annoying though it was, her bladder did have a point. The things coming at them were not the one or two adult wingins they had prepared for. There were nine. Two were rare, powerful, and somewhat strange cryptos with massive wings. The other seven cryptos had wings, but their bodies were unlike anything she had ever seen or felt.
They were demonic, unnatural, and every part of her knew they did not belong in this world and had not come to be by any natural means.
Worse, they were moving towards Scotty and blocking her from her familiar to-be. And, while Shilloh could outpace them, Scotty could not, and she could only run in one direction.
Her friend raised a weapon, a juvenile wingin who might be meant for her cried out for help, and nine lethal monsters barreled towards Shilloh.
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