Every step squelched; the marsh had long since forgotten subtlety. Miri had managed to level up Cleanse once more by clearing enough rot and parasitic muck from everyone’s boots (and paws) to keep them mobile.

  She thought it might be toxic. Or sentient. Possibly both.

  Fen yanked his boot free with a wet, obscene sound and kept walking like that hadn’t just happened.

  The noise was unfortunately familiar. Miri glanced at his shield.

  “You didn’t have to hit it that many times,” she said.

  Fen looked over his shoulder. “I absolutely did.”

  “It was already down.”

  “It was mostly down.”

  Tony chuffed softly, which Miri had begun to recognize as disagreement.

  Tamsin did not look back. “It stopped moving after the third strike.”

  Fen frowned thoughtfully. “That’s when it stopped resisting. That’s different.”

  Miri snorted and the memory replayed vividly whether she wanted it to or not.

  The crab thing had burst from the muck in a spray of black water and reeking algae — too many legs, armored shell, mouth snapping sideways instead of forward, like something that had been assembled incorrectly.

  She’d raised Warden Veil on instinct. Tamsin had stepped wide. And Fen—

  Fen had stepped forward. Stone Skin had flared over him in a dull earthen sheen as the creature slammed into his shield. The impact had sounded like cracking crab legs.

  He didn’t yield an inch. “Got it,” he’d said, cheerful as if accepting a package delivery.

  Tremor Pulse had cracked outward from his stance, rippling through mud and water, destabilizing the creature’s footing just long enough—

  Just long enough for him to plant his feet and start hitting it.

  Not slicing. Not stabbing.

  Hitting. Shield first.

  Once.

  Twice.

  The third blow had made a sound Miri still wasn’t sure she could legally describe.

  Shell fractured. Legs spasmed. It collapsed sideways into the muck.

  Fen had continued for two more strikes. “For certainty,” he’d explained afterward.

  Back in the present, Miri shook her head. “You beat it to death with a dinner plate.”

  “It’s a shield.”

  “It’s a dinner plate you’re emotionally attached to.”

  “It’s structurally superior,” Fen corrected.

  Tony bumped his hip as they walked.

  Fen looked down at him. “You would have done the same.”

  Tony blinked.

  “He would not have,” Tamsin said calmly.

  Fen paused. “…He might have.”

  Miri laughed. The tension that had lived in her ribs since the bandit fight had loosened over the last day. Watching Fen handle that crawler had done something to her.

  He held the center. He absorbed. He didn’t panic when hit.

  She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed to see that until she did.

  Tamsin slowed slightly, letting Fen drift naturally to the middle of their loose formation.

  It wasn’t spoken. It didn’t need to be.

  Tony padded along the outer edge.

  Miri adjusted her grip on her sword, feeling lighter than she had in days.

  “Next time,” she said, “warn me before you commit to bludgeoning something into paste.”

  Fen grinned over his shoulder. “No.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hero complex.”

  “Efficient problem solving.”

  Tamsin’s mouth twitched.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Ahead of them, the marsh grew denser. The air shifted. Miri felt Threat Perception rise from background hum to something sharper. She slowed her pace and scanned the area.

  Tony’s ears angled forward.

  Fen’s grin faded — not fear, just focus.

  And just like that, the warmth of yesterday thinned into something else.

  “Alright,” Fen said quietly, settling his shield more firmly into his grip.

  “Round two?” Miri asked.

  He smiled. “Hopefully not another dinner plate situation.”

  The reeds ahead of them shuddered. This was bigger. Much bigger.

  * * *

  The marsh went still in a way that was quite unnatural. Frogs stopped. Insects thinned. Even the wet sucking sound of their own boots seemed to fade. The silence was overwhelming.

  Fen shifted his shield into position without a word.

  Miri felt it a second later — Threat Perception tightening behind her right ear. “Contact to the right,” she murmured.

  All four of them turned as the water to the right bulged.

  Then it exploded.

  A giant alligator-like monster tore upward from the shallows in a spray of black water and uprooted reeds — bark-armored ridges glistening, moss trailing from its spine like rotting banners. It hit the mud hard and lunged straight for the largest target.

  Fen. He didn’t run. Stone Skin flared across his shoulders and forearms in a dull earthen sheen just as the creature slammed into him. The impact boomed through the clearing. Mud erupted. Fen’s boots slid a full foot backward—

  —but he held.

  The monster’s jaws snapped inches from his face.

  “Good,” Miri breathed. Anchor set.

  Tamsin was already moving. Wind gathered along her bow in a tight spiral.

  “Eye,” she said. Wind Lance cracked through the air—

  —and glanced off a ridge of bark plating with a sharp whine.

  “Thicker than expected,” she adjusted calmly.

  The monster quickly twisted, tail whipping in a violent arc.

  “Down!” Fen barked. Miri reacted before she thought. Sidestep.

  The world shifted half a body-length to the left — clean, efficient — and the tail sliced through the space she’d just occupied, spraying muck instead of breaking her ribs.

  Okay. That worked.

  Tony lunged at the rear leg, teeth clamping down hard. The creature bellowed, thrashing, and Tony dug in, claws tearing channels through mud.

  Miri surged forward, blade already humming with mana. She cut along a seam in the bark armor.

  Sparks. Too shallow. Not enough. Underside, she registered. Shell’s too dense.

  The monster dropped suddenly. Gone. Water swallowed it whole and the clearing stilled.

  Fen rotated slowly, shield high. “I hate water fights,” he muttered.

  “Count,” Miri said. “Three—”

  “Four—”

  “Five—”

  Tamsin closed her eyes briefly, feeling the wind drag across the marsh’s surface.

  “Left,” she said. “Three meters.”

  The water burst again. Fen pivoted just in time as the beast erupted upward behind him. It caught his shield full-force. He absorbed it — barely — boots carving trenches.

  “Pulse,” he grunted. He slammed his shield into the ground. Tremor Pulse rippled outward, a localized shockwave turning stable muck into unstable slurry.

  The monster’s footing slipped. Not much, but enough.

  Tony hit its flank like a thrown boulder. Miri saw the opening.

  “We need control!” she snapped. “Paralysis?”

  “Too much plate!” Tamsin called back.

  “Belly!” Fen barked.

  Right.

  Fen deliberately overcommitted his shield angle, baiting the creature’s jaws. It lunged and bit down. Stone Skin cracked visibly. Fen dropped his weight and twisted just enough to drag the gator’s head sideways.

  Tony drove into its rear quarter again. The creature rolled half a turn in the churned mud.

  Soft underside exposed. Miri lunged. She ripped the Cheap Paralysis Talisman from her belt mid-stride and slapped it against wet, scaled flesh.

  One use. Make it count.

  The charm discharged in a violent crackle of pale light. The monster convulsed. Not frozen but slowed, its limbs stuttering.

  “Now!” she shouted.

  Tamsin vanished in a blur — Gale Step snapping her sideways across unstable ground. She reappeared at the creature’s blind side and loosed Wind Lance at point-blank range.

  This time it punched straight through the eye. The monster shrieked.

  Fen abandoned defense and brought his shield down like a hammer against a crack Miri had carved earlier. The bark plating split.

  Miri reinforced her blade fully — mana flaring bright along the edge — and drove it into the fracture. Arc Bolt detonated from her palm into the wound. The bark shattered inward.

  Tony surged forward and clamped onto the creature’s throat. It thrashed violently, tail smashing reeds flat—

  Fen stepped in and pinned it against a cypress root with everything he had.

  For a heartbeat, nothing moved but mud and breath. Then the thrashing slowed. Stopped.

  Silence returned in layers. Water resumed its lazy movement. Insects dared to hum again.

  Fen staggered back a step, breathing hard.

  Tony released his grip and shook himself, spraying black water everywhere.

  Miri lowered her blade slowly. Her heart was hammering. But not from panic. From exertion. From control.

  Tamsin wiped her blade clean against moss and surveyed the clearing. “We baited longer than necessary,” she said calmly.

  Fen rolled his shoulder. “Second Pulse was early.”

  “I misjudged plate density,” Tamsin added.

  Miri looked at the split armor, the collapsed mass of swamp and muscle. “We adapted,” she said.

  Tony bumped her hip once, pleased with himself. She scratched his ear absently.

  That hadn’t been luck or desperation.

  That had been deliberate. Messy, but deliberate.

  No one spoke. They didn’t need to.