Alchimia Rex

Dia jolted awake with a scream that died before it reached her lips. Every bit of her screamed at danger from every direction. The Rapha's head immediately snapped to look around, trained instincts kicking in to seek the first source of cover to protect herself from danger. She was alone, in the wilderness.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

It was dark; the sun had set, and she didn't know how long ago. The soil underneath her was damp. She could vaguely make out burnt grass and a tree that was little more than blackened charcoal. She saw no one, nothing, no movement, no sounds other than the rustling of the wind, no scents other than old fires and wet earth, no light other than the stars and the moon.

Rick was not there.

It took her a heartbeat to realize something worse. Her hand reached up to her throat, the collar was gone too.

“Oh, no.”

Had Rick left her? Was the feral curse about to claim her? Her breath came out in a strangled gasp. Dia felt the panic, the air suddenly thin and chilling.

Training kicked in. Panic meant the death of a healer, or worse, their patient. Dia recognized the emotion for what it was and the threat it posed to her life. She wasted no time in taking in a singular sharp breath, pushing her aura outwards so that it would cover her like a warm mantle. Slowly, she let her breath out and contracted her aura, condensing it tightly against her body. Inhale, expand her aura, exhale, contract. The panic became little more than mild concern.

Carefully, she caressed her throat. The enchanted collar was gone.

But she couldn't feel the feral curse. Her thoughts were too sharp, her mind too clear. Every maiden was taught to spot the signs, and she had none. The bond was still in place. Rick was alive.

Step two was assessing immediate threats to her wellbeing. None were spotted, so step three was a self-assessment. She wasn't hungry or thirsty. She must have been unconscious for hours at the most. Her calves stung though, tender from the intensive healing she had to use on herself after the ferals attacked.

The wounds would scar. Dia's lips curled, but she pushed that out of her mind. With no immediate threats, she needed to figure out what had happened.

She focused on the damp soil, the way it was constrained only to the patches of grass that had been burning. It hadn't been rain, so a maiden must have done this. But why was Rick not there?

“They’ll go feral and won’t be our problem anymore.”

The memory came to her unbidden, jolting her, the image clear in her mind.

Kiara, holding Rick, surrounded by dozens of bandits and a gigantic Orc. The Succubus yanking the collar off of Dia’s neck and laughing as she pinned the Rapha to the ground, destroying her defenses before casting a sleep spell. The world going dark all around her.

"That traitorous cunt-munching whore!"

Dia kicked at the charcoaled tree. It broke from the impact and she fell over with a scream. The Rapha smacked her hands against the half-dried mud and moved to stand up again. Another scream followed when she caught sight of the wide-eyed face of a maiden looking straight at her. She jumped, raising both hands up into fists, instantly summoning her scalpel into her grip and taking the basic self-protection stance.

She might have been a healer, but she would not go down without a fight!

But nothing happened. The face hadn't moved, unblinking, eyes still and unfocused. Dia hesitated, checking her surroundings once more, then pooled her power, shaping it into the form of an illumination spell. With the dim red glow of light, the corpse came into view. It was one of the Angels that had attacked them.

There was a gaping hole in the center of the feral's chest. Either a spear or some powerful ability had made the kill. It had been precise, annihilating the feral's heart as it punctured through the body. Dia inspected the corpse. The feral's skin had some odd discolorations, but nothing she could make sense out of. But what she noticed was how anemic the feral had been, clearly malnourished and starving. A survivor of the later stages of the feral rush?

Then why hadn't they attacked the bandit group? Had the bandits avoided catching their gaze through the smoke?

As Dia turned to continue her inspection of the area, something caught her eye. A hint of green. A leaf sprouting out from between the feathers. “What’s this?” She leaned closer and tugged the bit of foliage. The entire wing immediately twitched. She leapt away, breath caught in a half-formed scream.

But the corpse remained dead, unmoving.

"Postmortem spasm?" She muttered, then sighed. “I’m wasting time.”

She shifted her attention to their surroundings, looking for anything that might be of use. A clue, a tool, anything.

Amongst the charred grass and drenched soil, she spotted six other corpses, all feral Angels. Some had met their fate less cleanly than others, but all signs pointed this had not been a fight, it'd been a massacre. Dia was sure she'd find more of the ferals further out if she bothered to look. She steered clear of the bodies while mentally reminding herself she should not stick around for long. The scent of death would draw in other ferals soon if it hadn't already.

She also found what was left of their luggage, salvaging some supplies and, thankfully, Rick's special sample box. Dia stared at the wooden thing, the singular item her owner had ever shown any actual concern for. With a heavy sigh, she opened it and confirmed the tiny glass flasks within were unbroken and safe.

She'd failed him.

The thought gripped at her heart and clenched so tightly it hurt.

Dia dried the tear, chiding herself. She was a maiden, she couldn't show weakness. She was supposed to be the unflinching support, the strong wall for her man to lean on. Crying wasn’t any of those things, but she couldn’t stop the sob that almost turned into a wail. They'd taken Rick and she'd been powerless to do anything about it.

“Dia loud.”

With a shriek, Dia clutched the box close to her chest while swinging with the very first thing her free hand could get a grip of. The half-burnt stick turned to splinters against the white furred arm stained in blood. It was impossible to mistake the three meter tall unmovable maiden for anyone else. Monica.

“Rick good?” The Sabertooth hadn’t even flinched at the attack. The stick might as well have been a feather.

Dia struggled between shock and rage at the sight of Monica. The feralborn maiden that was a foot shy of being twice her own height bit into a boar leg, blood dripping down her chin and all over the half-torn shirt. The feline looked down at her with amused blue eyes, loudly chewing through the bone of the boar leg.

The murderous feral born maiden that owed her life and sanity to Rick and was just standing there doing... nothing!

“You!” Dia shot to her feet, pointing at Monica. "Why didn't you come back!?"

“Rick say three days. Monica fast, two days.” Monica scowled, batting away Dia’s hand and nearly throwing her to the ground. “Rick need food. Monica hunt food. Monica do good.” To prove her point, she dropped the three boars she’d been carrying, each easily twice Dia’s weight. “Rick good?”

"They took Rick! Did you not see the smoke!?" She punched the blood-stained shirt, feeling like she'd hit a stone wall. “They took Rick!” She punched harder, digging her heels into the ground. “Kiara took Rick.” This time she got the other maiden to wobble ever so slightly.

Monica snorted loudly. "Your fault." She declared with a slow growl that made the ground shake under Dia's feet. "Bad Kiara wait for Monica go hunt. Dia weak." Each letter was a dagger that sent the pink-haired healer reeling.

“No.” She spoke, but hesitated.

“Kiara not share Rick. Bad Kiara.” Monica spoke dismissively, sniffing around the area and no longer paying attention to Dia. “Monica share Rick. Share with Dia, share with Kiara. Eva? Eva… not want Rick.” She sniffed again, then glared at some spot near the tree that had not been burnt. “Or do want?”

“What are you talking about?” Dia demanded, finding a trickle of determination now that she was not the focus of the stronger maiden.

“Smells.” Monica shook her head. “Eva hurt Rick, blood. But Rick alive. Eva scared and happy? Very happy? Rick... weak, safe.” She pointed at the ground as if it were obvious. “Kiara bring others. Others kill birds.” She pointed at the angels. "Kiara afraid, angry." She added as an afterthought. She held her hands out, counting with her fingers. “Eight, nine, ten, many, many five, many… eight? Bit strong, not very strong. One big strong? Two?”

“Nineteen. The word is ‘nineteen’.”

“Nineteen eight?”

“No, just… you should practise your numbers more.” She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts in order. “We need to find Rick.”

Monica stuck her tongue out. "Monica like words, not like numbers." With a frown, she pointed at the Rapha. “Dia stay, Monica find Rick.” She limbered her shoulders, taking another bite of the boar. “No sharing, mistake. Monica and Rick alone, best.” The declaration came through a mouthful of meat.

The Rapha found that shred of determination. “No.” She glared up at the maiden. “I will come with you. We will save Rick. Together. You can't do it alone.”

Monica snorted, pointing a claw at her and rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. “Weak.” She poked Dia’s chest. “Slow.” She continued, forcing her a step back. “Dumb.” Another poke. “Monica not share. Rick not want Dia.”

There were many things Dia could tolerate. This was not one of them. "LIAR!" With a snarl, she leapt forward, summoning her scalpel and throwing a slash at the feline.

Monica was faster. Her free hand reached out and snatched the wooden box out of Dia's grasp at the same time her tail swept the Rapha's legs from under her. Dia didn't even land the hit, falling face first to the ground, splattered with mud and ash. The Sabertooth took another bite of her boar-leg, the crunch of bones the only sound louder than Dia's breathing.

"Give that back!" She stood back up, glaring.

"Dia weak, lose Rick to Kiara." The Rapha charged, and Monica threw a forward kick that connected squarely with her chest. The pink-haired maiden was thrown across the ground. “Monica tell Rick. Weak Dia danger. Bad for pack. Dia slow Rick down.”

“I kept him alive!” She stood back up, only for her legs to get kicked out from under her again. Her face smacked against the blackened mud. “I saved him! I saved him because you put him in danger! You nearly got him killed!” She pressed against the ground to stand, the tail swept her arms from under her.

“Weak Rick.” Monica shrugged. “Monica protect Rick, but Rick mistake, Monica mistake. Rick get hurt, Rick learn, Monica learn. Rick grow strong. Stronger. Dia not learn. Dia weak. Always weak.”

The healer seethed, struggling to get back up, but every attempt got her arms and legs knocked right from under her. Monica barely needed to move. A kick or a simple flick of her tail carried enough force to topple her over. There was just nothing she could do that would let her get the upper hand, not when her face spent more time against the dirt than upright.

Their difference in power and experience fighting was just too great.

The truth burned into her chest like a red-hot iron. Feralborn maidens spent their every waking moment fighting to survive. What did she have to contend with that raw power? Nothing. A handful of months of training between classes on how to be a better healer. “Rick will never be strong!” Dia cried out, clenching her fists. “He is human! Don’t you get it!? No matter what he-.”

“RICK STRONG!” Monica roared down at her.

The ground shook, and Dia suddenly felt herself pinned under the aura of the Sabertooth, the air was knocked out of her lungs. The red light was snuffed out. Fear spread through her system in a rush of adrenaline. This time the Sabertooth was not holding back. Her body shimmered with dark power, and the surrounding shadows reacted, the blackness of the night turning into sharp knives, the sky snuffed in a veil of absolute blackness.

Two blue eyes shone with unrelenting, unstoppable power, flickering flames.

Dia heaved lungfuls of air, slowly rising to her feet on shaking legs.

“Rick grow. Here.” Monica slapped the center of her chest. “Rick smartest, teach Monica. Rick toughest, take Monica pain, take anger.” She kicked Dia, sending her back to the ground. “Rick leave good-food place for Monica! Rick strong!” The Sabertooth was breathing hard, her face contorted into a grimace of pain, her muscular frame shaking from the raw emotion. "Rick leave good-food. For Monica."

The darkness relented. The stars and the moon shone high above.

“I…” Dia swallowed, looking up at the feralborn maiden from the ground. “I never thought… you…” She bit her lip. “He said it was because he… wanted to get away from the politics of the nobles…”

“Complicated.” The tall woman snorted the word bitterly, rolling her eyes. “But Monica smart, learn, know.” Throwing away the rest of the boar leg, still holding the box in her other hand, Monica crouched over Dia and pinned her down with her bloodied claw. "Dia tell where Rick. Now." She whispered the words, growling, the massive fangs gleaming.

Monica's aura flared out like a thrown dagger, piercing through Dia's defences and filling her with dread. There was nothing and no one that could stop the feralborn maiden if she wished to bring an end to the healer. It brought back the memories of what Monica had once been. White Claw, the terror that haunted the tiny village of Astunes. The creature responsible for the death of dozens of Hunters, guards, and knights. That singular feral horror that would leave any that entered her territory as mangled corpses. Warnings for whoever tried next.

And she'd only become more dangerous since Rick had dispelled the feral curse.

Dia might as well have been human in the face of this monster.

"I don't know!" She replied, clenching the wrist that was as thick as her thigh.

“Dia not know? Dia hate Rick?”

Desperation gripped her. “I can’t hunt or see in the dark or track like you! I am a he-.”

“NO!” Monica’s drove the air out of her with a downwards shove. She pulled her clawed hand and poked at Dia's chest, exactly above her heart, drawing a drop of blood. "Feel. Focus. Rick where!?" Her other hand held the wooden box almost within reach.

Dia hesitated, swallowing. It didn’t make sense, it wasn’t as if she could just magically… she stopped, blinking rapidly.

The pain had abruptly vanished; the paralysis relenting just enough to let her scramble forward and under the cover of the trees. Her legs had been severely burned, yet there was not even an iota of pain. A warm embrace clenched at her thoughts like a tourniquet. The pain was there, but it was being held back, blocked out by-

“No think! Feel!” The feline poked harder, piercing deeper and pulling a sharp cry from Dia. “Not head. Heart! Rick. Where?”

There was the barest tug, a twitch, something inside her that… tinkled, like a tiny bell. A sound that was so distant she had to strain to hear it. “That way.” Her hand pointed to the horizon. She wasn’t sure why this was, or how far, just… that it was that way. Exactly that way.

Monica pulled away, and Dia gasped. “Dia learn, good. But still dumb.” She proclaimed, shaking her head, dropping the wooden box on her stomach. “Monica take Dia, hunt Rick, protect Rick.”

Just like that? Just like that.

Dia lay there, looking at Monica as the Sabertooth picked up a pile of dead animals she'd brought over. The feline started walking in the direction the healer had pointed in without another word. The Rapha rushed to stand up and cobble together what she'd scavenged, trotting to catch-up with the taller maiden.

"We should hurry."

Monica rolled her eyes, ripping a boar leg and tossing it over at the nurse. “Rick far. No rushing or Monica get tired. Many strong scents, big fight, need strength.”

“If we don’t hurry, he might get hurt. We might not make it in time.”

“Rick strong. Trust Rick.”

Jealousy washed down Dia’s throat like a bitter pill. She’d known the bond with Rick was not normal. She’d known it was far more than it seemed. And looking at Monica, at how the feralborn maiden had somehow deepened the bond to the point she'd been aware of Rick's exact location. How long had they shared that? Was Rick able to tell where Monica was as well? With a grimace, the Rapha remembered every time Rick had felt… different. How he’d moved differently, intensely predatorial. It had been unnerving, as if he were almost someone else entirely.

She'd thought it had only been Monica rubbing off on him. But what if it wasn't? What if the bond had something to do with it too?

“Does he…” Dia swallowed, lowering her gaze, tightening her fists and trying to look at Monica but suddenly not finding the strength. “Does he hate me? Is that how he really feels?”

The Sabertooth paused, slowing down and turned to look at her, their gazes meeting for only a moment. The feline’s eyes were a piercing deep blue, predatorial and intense. Unflinching. Powerful. Dia’s were a pale magenta, soft, hesitant, uncertain. After only a second, Monica huffed and continued walking through the grassy field, her steps not making a sound. “Monica lie." There was an edge of amusement in her words. "If Rick no like Dia, Dia not know where Rick is."

That stung. “Rick taught you that? To lie?”

“No, Monica watch Dia. Learn.”

The Rapha blanched. “I do not lie.”

The large feline shook her head, feline ears flopping back and forth. “Dia always say happy. Always. Says thing that not feels. Lie. Lots.”

Dia’s mouth snapped shut. Flushing, she looked the other way, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m-” She tucked a loose strand of hair over her ear. "It's necessary. Rick has too much on his plate, burdening him further would be wrong."

"Rick strong."

"Yeah, I just..." She lowered her gaze. "I want to help him."

"Then help."

"I'm not strong, I can't fight."

"Rick bad fight too." Monica chuckled.

With a little smile of her own, Dia nodded. "I guess you're right." She sighed, looking ahead. Then frowning. "It's a wildling tribe." She glanced at Monica, and then down at the ground. "I... we're not enough."

"Explain."

“It’s… uh… compl-.” She stopped herself before she could finish the word. Right, Monica wasn't dumb. "I don't doubt you could fight the tribe, even win and escape. But Rick... if just one of them gets to Rick, then it's over. We lose him for good." She reached up, pulling her hair back, tugging it slightly. "I have an idea."