Silence settled once more over the forest. What lingered was the acrid bite of ozone left by the lightning strike, entwined with the heavy, metallic scent of Magibeast blood, slowly seeping into the damp air.

  Mobius leapt down from Gru’s back and crouched beside the corpse, examining it with measured care.

  Gru lingered nearby, both heads lowering to test the scent. Almost at once, the two heads showed utterly different reactions.

  From the right head came a low, uncertain rumble, hunger threaded through its reluctance.

  “Hr-r-r-unh…” (It reeks… but… I’m hungry…)

  The left head turned away at once, revulsion plain in the sharp snap of the motion.

  “Gr-r-r-u-h!” (Is there nothing in your skull but food? This flesh is unfit to eat!)

  Gru had always been thus—the right head gluttonous, the left fastidious. Yet this time, even the usually most ravenous head did not lunge forward. It hesitated, lingering in place.

  “Eh? You are not hungry?” Shadowling sprang down from the tree and squatted atop Gru’s head, his tail swaying as he asked.

  Mobius gave Gru a mildly surprised glance. Since when did he grow picky? Have I somehow spoiled him?

  Chelorra retrieved her shamshir from the ground, then drew the short blade lodged in the Magibeast’s throat. With a quick flick of her wrist, she shook off the blood and slid it back into its sheath. She crouched beside Mobius, examining the body with him.

  “Do you recognize it?”

  “A Grimface Ape,” Mobius said, nodding. “Without a doubt.”

  He then reached into his belt pouch and took out a pair of finely made sheepskin gloves—tools he had once used in the dissection chamber. Pulling them on, he began a careful inspection of the corpse.

  Across the Magibeast’s torso, besides the scorched marks left by the lightning strike and the fatal blade wound dealt by Chelorra, there were numerous older injuries—some long since scabbed over, others not yet fully healed. Most bore the rough edges of cuts and spear thrusts, the unmistakable traces of repeated skirmishes.

  “These,” Mobius said quietly, “were likely left from clashes with villagers.”

  He frowned slightly. “Yet the Grimface Ape’s native range lies farther south, in the warmer lands of the Sunlit Kingdom. It has no reason to appear here, in the southwestern reaches of the Black Tulip Kingdom.”

  He paused mid-motion, a faint lift to his brow, then reached out to part the fur along the Magibeast’s abdomen.

  “And look here.”

  Near the ribs, beneath dark purple fur, lay a wound already suppurating. He carefully drew back the decayed flesh, revealing a broken iron arrowhead lodged within. The surrounding tissue had blackened and died away, clear signs that the injury was not recent.

  Mobius removed one glove, reached out to rub Gru beneath the chin, and said with smile, “No wonder you disliked this meat. It truly isn’t fit to eat.”

  Gru’s right head let out a smug, rumbling sound.

  “But,” Mobius continued, turning back to Chelorra with a puzzled look, “by a Grimface Ape’s nature, such an injury should have driven it back to its lair to hide and recover. It would never stray into human territory. Yet not only did it appear near the village—it even attacked us outright. That is… abnormal.”

  “Perhaps Gru’s running made too much noise,” Chelorra offered her own assessment. “The Magibeast may have been startled.”

  Mobius lowered his gaze to the Magibeast’s doleful, almost mournful face. “For now, that is the only explanation that fits.”

  Chelorra did not press the matter further. “At least our commission is complete.”

  Mobius considered this for a moment, then straightened and brushed the dust from his cloak. “True enough. There’s little sense in fretting over it. I only hope the village fare is not too dreadful.”

  After that, Chelorra took out a length of rope and bound the Grimface Ape’s body securely, fastening the other end around Gru’s waist. One after the other, the two mounted Gru and set off at a run, heading toward Graypine Village.

  At this hour, Graypine Village was only just emerging from the night. The pale light of dawn had begun to drive back the darkness, revealing a scene of ruin in soft, indistinct outlines.

  Several homes had been damaged. Dark, mottled stains of blood still marked the ground, and the air remained steeped in the iron-rust tang and the rank stench of beasts—plain signs that the village had suffered a brutal night raid not long ago.

  The villagers were already up, setting the place to rights. Some carried away shattered planks; others bent over whetstones, sharpening old iron swords, their movements still tight with lingering strain.

  Near the village entrance, in a comparatively quiet corner, a young villager was helping Orin Evan—the old hunter and father of Karu Evan and Bain Evan—to rebind the wound on his arm. The attack in the dead of night had kept the whole village awake; now, with daylight barely breaking, everyone was already on their feet and at work.

  “That damned thing…” the young man muttered under his breath, his fingers trembling. “I haven’t had a single peaceful sleep in days.”

  Orin let out a wry, weary laugh. “None of us have. Gods keep us—may it crawl back to its lair and never come out of it again.”

  Before his words could even settle, the village dogs burst into a frantic chorus of barking.

  In the next heartbeat, a massive shadow fell over them, swallowing the thin wash of morning light.

  Orin and the young man looked up as one.

  Looming in the dim dawn was a great beast, white as snow—two heads, and four eyes that glinted yellow as they fixed on them, cold and unblinking.

  Orin froze for a breath. Then cold sweat drenched his back. He lunged to his feet, seized the youth—still too stunned to move—and dragged him back, while his warning tore out of him, near-hoarse:

  “Magibeast! A Magibeast! Into the cellar—now!”

  His shout ripped the morning’s fragile silence to shreds.

  The villagers nearby turned at once. The instant they beheld that hulking presence, faces blanched all around. Screams and pounding footsteps tangled together, and in a blink the scene spun out of control.

  “Wait!” Mobius shouted sharply.

  But his voice was swiftly swallowed by the uproar.

  “Magibeast—!”

  “Run! To the cellar!”

  “The children—take the children!”

  People surged toward the granary in a frantic crush.

  “Hold—!”

  An aged yet commanding cry cut clean through the chaos.

  An old man stepped forward, his beard white as frost, his stride still sure. One hand rested upon his sword hilt. As though an unseen weight had pressed down upon them, the commotion faltered—stilled for a single beat.

  From a distance, the old man had already made out the two figures astride the beast’s back. He came to a wary halt at a safe distance, his gaze sweeping over the snow-white, two-headed hound before settling on the figure cloaked in black.

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  Mounted upon Gru’s back, Mobius was measuring the elder in silence.

  Though the man’s beard had turned entirely white, his frame remained robust. The joints of his fingers were thick and knotted, his arms a map of old, faded scars.

  A man who went to war and found his way home, Mobius thought. It was little wonder this remote hamlet had managed to endure the terror of a Grimface Ape for so long.

  “I am Ruka Matus,” the old man said at last, a guarded flicker of hope in his eyes. “Chief of Graypine Village. Are you, perhaps, the Wizard of the Stargazer Tower?”

  Mobius pulled back his hood and gave a small nod, a smile touching his lips.

  “I am Mobius of the Stargazer Tower,” he replied. “I have come in answer to your commission.”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than Chelorra leapt down from Gru’s back. She undid the rope and pointed to the corpse behind them. “The Magibeast has been slain. The commission is complete.”

  The villagers stared for a heartbeat—then, with disbelief and mounting curiosity, they slowly gathered closer, eyes fixed on the monster that had so recently been the source of their endless terror.

  At first there were only scattered murmurs, hushed exchanges of doubt and wonder. Gradually, the sounds swelled, merging into an outpouring of joy that could no longer be contained.

  “It’s it… that’s the one!”

  “It’s dead—truly dead!”

  “Thank the gods! Thank the gods!”

  “At last… we’re free of it…!”

  Cheers broke out in waves. Some villagers embraced and wept openly; others clenched their fists and shouted skyward.

  Chief Matus stepped forward and bowed to Mobius with solemn respect. “You have our deepest gratitude, Wizard of the Stargazer Tower. Please, come with me to the hall and rest awhile. Allow us to offer you proper hospitality.”

  Mobius hopped down from Gru’s back and walked to the chief’s side, breaking into a bright, utterly shameless smile.

  “Do you happen to have beef and black rye ale?” he asked. “Oh—and,” he added, giving Gru’s neck an affectionate pat, “—and a raw lamb leg for my dog, if you please.”

  The chief blinked, then burst into hearty laughter.

  Chelorra stood off to the side and cast Mobius a cool, sidelong glance. As expected, she thought. He never missed a chance to see himself well provided for.

  The people of Graypine Village soon grew busy.

  Chickens were slaughtered, sheep led to the knife, dough kneaded, seasonings mixed, fires kindled—Thin trails of woodsmoke drifted up between the low rooftops, lingering like a veil that refused to disperse. The weight of fear and unease that had pressed upon the village through the long night seemed to lift, carried away bit by bit by the warmth of hearth fires and the clamor of ordinary work returning to its place. Before long, the air was filled once more with the long-missed sounds of life.

  Outside the hall, at a long wooden table, Mobius and Chelorra were enjoying a simple breakfast. Freshly baked bread still gave off steam, releasing a faint crackle as it was torn apart; warm milk sat in wooden cups, carrying a gentle, milky scent.

  Shadowling perched at the edge of the table with an apple clutched in his hands, legs swinging as he gnawed at it, eyes following the villagers as they moved back and forth.

  Gru had already returned to his usual size. Both of its heads were tearing into a freshly cut leg of lamb. After a night of relentless running, its appetite was formidable.

  Orin approached with a mug of ale in hand.

  A faint flush colored his face, his posture loose, the smile at the corners of his mouth impossible to suppress. It was plain that the old hunter—who had only just clawed his way back from the brink of death—had not waited for the midday feast before beginning his celebration.

  He took a seat across from Mobius, raised his cup in greeting, and said with an easy grin, “Master Wizard, I am Orin Evan. I imagine you’ve already met my two boys.”

  Mobius returned the gesture with a small nod and a polite smile.

  “That Karu and Bain managed to find you so quickly must be the gods’ own mercy,” Orin went on. He tipped back the mug and swallowed a mouthful of the strong ale, then let out a satisfied breath. “I’ve lived in these woods for forty years, and I’ve never crossed paths with a Magibeast this hard to put down.”

  He lifted the arm wrapped in linen, his voice carrying the relief of a man who had escaped death. “Last night, I nearly died at that thing’s hands. If Matus hadn’t acted in time—his blade was fast and vicious, cut straight into its belly—it never would have pulled back.”

  Mobius had been about to reply, but he paused at once.

  “That blade,” he asked, looking up at Orin, his tone even, “was the wound severe?”

  “Of course,” Orin said without hesitation. “The blood burst out right then—splashed all over Matus. If not for that…” He shook his head, a weary smile crossing his face. “If you’d arrived any later today, you wouldn’t have found a living soul here.”

  Mobius slowly set the bread down. His pupils tightened a fraction.

  That isn’t right.

  I examined the body myself.

  There was no wound to the waist or belly deep enough to cause that much bleeding.

  Mobius rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping the surroundings in a single. It did not take long before his eyes fixed on the outer wall of a wooden hut beside the hall.

  There—four deep gouges were clearly carved into the timber.

  “Those were left by the Magibeast last night?” he asked, pointing toward the wall.

  Orin followed his line of sight, narrowing his eyes as he searched his memory. “Aye. I remember that—my first arrow was loosed right there, but that monster slipped away. The arrow hole’s still there.”

  Mobius strode over to the wall. From his belt pouch, he drew a length of cord marked with measured notches and carefully gauged the spacing, width, and depth of the claw marks.

  Then he turned and headed toward the woodpile at the center of the village. The body of the Grimface Ape lay there, set aside for burning after the midday feast, just as the villagers had planned.

  Mobius crouched down, pressing the marked cord against the Magibeast’s forepaw, measuring it inch by inch.

  In the next instant, his pupils snapped tight.

  The shape—almost identical.

  But the size—wrong.

  The claw marks on the wall were a full span larger than those of the corpse before him.

  He lowered his voice at once and spoke to the Shadowling perched on his shoulder. “Shadowling. Take to the sky. Keep watch.”

  Shadowling did not ask a single question. His form blurred—and in a blink, he had already taken wing as a black crow, beating upward into the air.

  Mobius’s expression darkened. Damn it… there’s another Grimface Ape.

  Just then, Orin came over as well. He crouched beside the body, frowning as he muttered,

  “Strange… Matus cut it so deep. Why’s the wound gone?”

  At the same time, Gru began to sniff the air uneasily. Both of his heads turned from side to side, a low warning rumble rising in his throat—as if he were searching for something, or as if the scent itself had been disturbed, slipping just out of reach.

  The moment Mobius saw Gru’s reaction, alarm flared through him. He spun toward Orin.

  “There’s another Grimface Ape,” Mobius said, his face hardening. “Quick—get everyone to scatter, back to the—”

  He never finished the sentence.

  “Grimface Ape!”

  From the sky above, Shadowling’s cry cut down—sharp, urgent, and filled with warning.

  Gru spun around in an instant, a warning roar bursting from his throats.

  Behind them, atop the roof of a nearby house, a massive black shape slowly rose into view. Two gleaming eyes locked onto the crowd below.

  A gigantic hand, matted with coarse, bristling hair, hooked over the ridge of the roof as the hulking body hauled itself forward—A Grimface Ape, unmistakably larger and more powerfully built than the one they had slain.

  Mobius and Chelorra turned at almost the same moment.

  No words were exchanged.

  Mobius raised a hand and began chanting at once, the incantation spilling from his lips in a rapid cadence. Lightning flared around his fingers, crackling through the air with a low, thunderous growl.

  Chelorra pushed off the ground, her body leaping upward like a living shadow. She drew a throwing knife from her belt and snapped her wrist.

  Lightning and steel struck toward the rooftop at the same moment.

  The Grimface Ape was startled and twisted aside.

  Lightning raked past its body and slammed into the roof. Tiles exploded outward in a spray of shards.

  The throwing knife skimmed its shoulder, tearing away a strip of coarse fur.

  Thrown off balance, the Grimface Ape plunged from the rooftop and crashed into the ground, dust erupting around it.

  Almost the instant it hit the earth, it rolled and surged back to its feet.

  But Gru was already upon it.

  Both massive jaws lunged as one, snapping shut around the ape’s arm and locking in place.

  The Grimface Ape bellowed in agony and wrenched its body, hurling Gru aside.

  Two ragged chunks of flesh were torn free, blood spraying across the ground.

  In the next heartbeat—

  Another bolt of lightning came screaming straight at it.

  The ape twisted hard to evade, but the strike still grazed its shoulder.

  The stench of scorched flesh burst into the air as its fur ignited, black smoke curling upward.

  The momentum sent it reeling, and it slammed bodily into the wooden house behind it.

  The wall caved in.

  Then, before the structure could fully collapse, a throwing knife tore through the air and drove deep into the ape’s body.

  Beams, tiles, and thatch gave way all at once, collapsing in a thunderous cascade and burying the Magibeast beneath the wreckage as a plume of dust roared skyward.

  Chelorra already had her shamshir drawn, her body pitched forward as she prepared to close in.

  “Chelorra—back!” Mobius barked at once.

  Everything had happened far too fast. Orin was still crouched where he was, staring in shock, as if his mind had yet to catch up with the sudden turn of events.

  “Everyone, fall back! Now!” Mobius’s voice cut through the chaos.

  Snapped back to himself, Orin sprang to his feet and shouted, “With me! Move!”

  Chief Matus, hurrying over at the noise, took command at once. “To the cellar! Everyone—move, quickly!”

  The villagers dropped their tools and fled in panic, but this time their movement was swift and purposeful, all of them racing toward the cellar beneath the granary.

  Within moments, the square was emptied. Only four figures remained—Mobius, Chelorra, Gru, and Shadowling.

  And the Grimface Ape, buried beneath the shattered wreckage.

  With the bellow of rage, roof beams were flung aside and tiles burst outward. The Grimface Ape rose slowly from the wreckage.

  It was taller than the one in the forest. Coarse purple fur bristled across its body, every strand standing on end. Its muscles quivered—not with fear, but with fury.

  Mobius fixed his gaze on it, his expression dark.

  Killing intent rolled off the ape in waves as it unleashed a terrifying roar at him. Rage twisted its face into a grotesque mask, exposing a mouthful of crooked, yellowed teeth.

  Equally provoked, Gru sprinted forward and planted himself before his master, interposing his massive frame between them and the ape. He answered with a roar just as savage.

  Sparks burst from his jaws. White vapor engulfed his body as heat surged outward—He was growing.

  Chelorra had already leapt onto a nearby rooftop. Her body was taut, one hand locked around the hilt of her blade, crimson pupils pinned unblinking on the target.

  Above, Shadowling wheeled through the sky, letting out sharp, urgent crow-cries.

  Only now did Mobius truly grasp the situation.

  This commission was not nearly as “cheap” as it had seemed.

  Follow or Rating—it helps more than you’d think.

  — Janus Twelve