After letting out its earth-shattering shriek, the griffon snorted, pacing pack and forth, inspecting the ranks of undead as if trying to find something. Its frontmost legs—the eagle appendages of the monster—were longer than the backmost feline limbs, and they moved different than the other legs did, striding powerfully where the back legs padded gracefully. When a taloned foot trod on a stone, it reflexively clenched, crushing rock into shards.

muttered Orimo, bowstring taut in his hands. His eyes kept flickering to the six other monsters still circling above.

Rellika said something to him in Yaranese, and the two began exchanging whispers.

The beast seemed mainly focused on the necromancer, though it spared the rest of them a few looks. Particularly, Vanalath noticed it glancing at him several times. The creature’s golden eyes bore an eerie resemblance to those of the ghouls. It wasn’t attacking, but everything about its body language made its agitation clear. The dead fledgling lay between the griffon and the ghouls like an accusation.

Vanalath’s fingers twitched, brushing his sword hilt, and he interrupted the hushed conversation.

Orimo replied,

asked Vanalath.

said the hunter.

So the monster before him wanted the dead man in the home behind them, if Orimo were to be believed. That didn’t satisfy Vanalath, as it didn’t explain why it was so focused on Rellika.

A thought occurred to him, and he sniffed the air. Then again. Carefully, he took a step forward, watching the griffon to gauge its reaction. It didn’t suddenly change its behavior, so he took a few more, lowering his nose to the ground like a bloodhound.

warned Orimo.

Vanalath believed it. He fell to all fours and began investigating the scents of the plateau, keeping a careful eye out. He ignored the easily identifiable smells: dung, dead plant matter, decay, even the offensive musk of the griffon. He was searching for something else. When he found it, his eyes widened. It was something familiar, a scent he’d detected before, but hadn’t given much mind. He hadn’t realized what it was because he had constantly detected it since his birth, and hadn’t been given a reason to attribute it much significance. It went hand-in-hand with the normal decomposition of living organisms, but it wasn’t decay… it was something else.

He stood back up, keeping an eye on the griffon as he retreated to his companion’s sides. He answered their unspoken question in a low growl.

“What are you saying? What smell?” she asked.

he replied.

Miasma. One of the two deathly energies. It had taken some time, but Vanalath was becoming somewhat familiar with it. According to Orimo, miasma was the undead equivalent to the energy humans called mist. Miasma powered spells and certain skills, such as Vanalath’s Howl. He just hadn’t realized before now that it had a scent, one that clung in minute quantities to every ghoul. It was faint, but if he could pick it up, he imagined the griffons could as well.

A breeze swept over the plateau, causing a few dirty feathers to kick up and swirl past them.

Orimo clicked his tongue.

Rellika hummed. “A scent. Miasma has a scent. How can a Shape smell?”

For now, the griffons weren’t making the connection between the scent of the energy that had killed their offspring and assigning blame, but if they lingered here, that might change.

Vanalath asked.

The monsters weren’t going to get what they wanted, one way or another. The undertaker was dead.

Orimo lifted his bow, aiming down the sights.

Vanalath asked.

Over fourteen of the monsters. The ghouls might be monsters themselves, but Vanalath didn’t like their chances. Most of the undead would be nothing but hindrances. Perhaps they could serve as distractions for the main fighters, but they wouldn’t be good for much else.

The griffon that had descended bent down, nosing the corpse of the fledgling. It looked up again, gnashing its beak while its gaze flickered between Rellika and Vanalath. It was growing impatient. Perhaps, if they could communicate…

he asked.

Nobody replied to Vanalath’s question for a moment.

“I don’t think that would work,” said the woman in question. “I could perform a simple raising, but he would come back as a lesser ghoul. A longer ritual is needed for him to be of any use to us.”

They didn’t have that kind of time. It was beginning to look like a fight was inevitable. If they broke formation to march away, they would be more susceptible to an attack. The stalemate had to end somehow.

But why avoid a fight? The massive creature before him made his senses hum with excitement, nearly fooling him into thinking he had a heart beating in his chest. Along with the thrill came anger. This griffon, a mere oversized bird, looked down on him like he was prey. It wasn’t scared of him, not in the slightest. He could change that.

Stay in control. Remember Orimo’s story.

he continued, in an effort to wrench himself away from his more destructive thoughts.

Orimo snorted.

Vanalath asked,

he said.

The hunter was referring to his former skill. Orimo liked to act as if he never lost his abilities after dying, and perhaps he didn’t. He couldn’t summon his status, but certain aspects of the man’s power seemed to remain. At any rate, Brands weren’t the only way to gain power in this world.

“Orimo is right,” interjected Rellika. “We will have to—”

A shriek pierced the sky, cutting her words short. The sound was like the grinding of an executioner’s axe, and Vanalath couldn’t help the hint of apprehension that came over him, though he quickly shook it off.

muttered Orimo.

A speck appeared in the distance, a golden comet hurtling towards them from some distant height. The effect this had on the other griffons was immediate. The six monsters that had been circling them suddenly moved, but not to flee. Rather, they were descending rapidly, as if they feared to still be flying when the object reached the plateau.

The necromancer was already acting. She fired off commands in rapid-fire Yaranese, and the ghouls reacted, three squads of ten surging towards the grounded griffon while the others closed ranks around Iokina and Orimo. This would have included Vanalath, his Peons, and Rellika, but even as the formation tightened, Rellika was striding forward through a gap the ghouls left. Shortly, she broke out into a run. Vanalath hesitated, then followed after her. He knew he wouldn’t be of much use in the center. At some point he had drawn his blade, though he didn’t know when.

What changed so suddenly? Why did the appearance of this “Gold” trigger a fight? A glimpse at the monsters showed him that they were steering their dives directly towards their forces, indicating hostile intent. Judging by the angle and speed of their descent, the first griffons would be upon them in ten or so seconds. The Gold was further out than that, but its speed also seemed greater than the others.

He turned to face the nearest griffon. It was shrieking and flapping its wings in response to the thirty undead that approached. Only a few had spears, the rest were armed with farming implements or the knives that the hunters had used. The monster refused to back away, however, remaining near its dead fledgling. While he was inspecting the brewing battlefield, something flew over his head, a slight blur on the periphery of his vision, completely silent. The object was out of range before Vanalath could tell what it was. Then it happened once more, and he glanced back.

Orimo, rather than launching arrows at the grounded beast near them, was trying to take down one of the airborne griffons. Silent shafts flew from his bow at lightning speeds as they sought out their target. Shortly afterward, Vanalath saw the targeted griffon break out of its dive. A wing jutted out to its side, then another, and the aerodynamic form of the monster turned into a mass of feathers, spinning haphazardly as it tumbled to the earth. The hunter smoothly switched sights, targeting another griffon that had almost completed its dive. He clenched his jaw as he knocked an arrow and gave the bowstring a half-turn, twisted his hand. When he released this arrow, it wasn’t quiet like his others. It flew forth like a hornet, buzzing with hate. The effect of this arrow was immediate. A hole opened up on the body of the griffon from head to tail, slaying the creature before it knew what happened. Like the first, it went tumbling down. Vanalath remembered his first meeting with Orimo, when the hunter had used that skill to bore through a tree and strike him down. He had been very lucky to survive that.

The two of them broke through the undead formation, running out onto the plateau. Anamu and Kalaki followed along shortly. Vanalath sensed their presence through their Brands, along with a dim picture of their emotions. Anamu’s presence felt jittery, anticipation and fear mixing into an excited hunger that propelled him onward. He was like an animal, all instinct and motion and drive.

Kalaki was different—muted, at least compared to Anamu. There were less distractions, less things tugging on his attention than the mess that filled the thoughts of the younger ghoul. Still, there was something within him, a depth that Anamu lacked. What lay at the core of the spear-wielder?

Rellika stopped suddenly, prompting Vanalath to do the same. He saw why, after a moment.

Before them was the golden comet. Now that it had gotten nearer, two smaller forms revealed themselves. Two griffons were accompanying the Gold, brown specks accompanying the meteor. The other two were positioned lower, but all three were headed straight at them.

Rellika had come in the direction that placed her directly in the path of the Gold. She lifted her sword. The blade in her hand was slimmer than Vanalath’s own, but slightly longer. Its silver blade shone, but paradoxically reflected no images on its surface. Somehow, this made it seem almost two-dimensional, as thin as a piece of paper, though Vanalath knew this couldn’t be the case. Rellika appeared every inch the warrior in that moment. She was dead—a lich—yet more alive now than ever.

She gestured with the blade. “Vanalath. You and your Peons deal with the other two. I’ll handle the deviant.”

The instant she finished speaking, a series of collisions sounded out from behind. The first griffons had met with their forces. While remaining focused on the approaching threat, his Conceptualization began to paint an image of the chaos. Griffons were slamming into the undead ranks, crushing the soldiers, rending them with their talons, then leaping back into the air again, only to come down and repeat the process. They didn’t stay in one place long enough to become surrounded.

He didn’t look back, trusting Orimo to deal with it. He might not have been fully confident in Iokina, but Vanalath knew that Orimo, at least, was still more powerful than him.

The air trembled. The atmospheric pressure suddenly doubled, causing his ears to pop. Rellika exhaled audibly, and he realized that the pressure was coming from her. She held her blade straight up, in front of her face. She stared past it, up at the incoming griffons.

Vanalath sent a pulse of intent to Anamu and Kalaki, ordering them to take the griffon on the left. He would handle the griffon on the right. The two Peons obeyed, moving into position by the warrior-necromancer. Giving them sophisticated commands was still difficult, but Vanalath was learning more about the connection between the three of them by the day, making this degree of complexity possible.

As the three targets drew nearer, he began to wonder just how Rellika was planning to provoke them into attacking their small group rather than the small army behind them. Fortunately, that turned out not to be an issue, because the griffons diverted their course at the last moment. Instead of joining the fierce battle going on behind, they veered sharply down towards Vanalath and the others. Perhaps they had gotten a whiff of miasma, or perhaps it was something Rellika did. It didn’t matter.

Three seconds out.

The rightmost griffon locked onto him as he positioned himself directly in its path. The beast was large, the same size of the one that had landed earlier, but far deadlier right now than the other was on the ground. With its size and current speed, it would pulverize him, high strength stat or no. But for some reason, the position of the dive seemed to aim the griffon at the ground in front of him, rather than at him directly.

Two seconds.

The griffon spread all four of its wings at the last second, breaking out of its dive. It caught the air and leveled out so that—rather than slam into the ground—it now hurtled just above it at a speed that defied reason… directly at Vanalath. Everything else became strangely muted as his perception narrowed, becoming a tunnel that included only him and this mass of feathers and death. He tensed his legs.

One second.

He sprang away, tucking into a roll. A moment later, a blast of wind cut across his back as the griffon made its pass. He landed less gracefully than he planned, but stumbled up in time to see the monster gliding away, angling up to regain height. Doubtless, it was going to try a second dive.

An earsplitting cry broke through the cacophony of the battlefield. The sound of it was like a trumpet announcing the arrival of a king, and it forced Vanalath to whirl around, blade at the ready.

He was met with the sight of a creature more massive than any he’d seen before. It was a griffon, but nothing like the others. It was huge, perhaps five times the bulk of the one he’d just dodged. He saw now how the Gold earned its name… its feathers were nearly pure gold all over, save for a few traces of brown around its feet, beak, and tail. It seemed ridiculous—frivolous, even—for a creature of the wild to have such a coloration. Everything within ten miles would see it coming. Still, something told Vanalath that it didn’t much matter. At the speed it appeared to move, its prey wouldn’t be able to escape anyway. At that moment, the curious sense of pressure released, and Rellika moved.

The monster hadn’t reached her yet, but she brought her blade down with an overhead sweep, and the griffon’s velocity shifted unnaturally. It plummeted to the ground, letting out an undignified squawk as a force appeared to grab ahold of it and smash it to the earth. When it collided, the ground practically shook. Rellika shot forward as the Noble struggled to its feet amidst cracked stone. Amazingly, rather than being squashed into jelly, it only appeared stunned.

He forced his gaze away, returning to his own griffon. It had reached the apex of its path and was turning for another dive onto Vanalath. Judging by its height, it wouldn’t be possible for it to reach the same speed as before, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous. If it went slower, it would be more precise.

The griffon tilted down, and he once more lowered himself into a crouch. Should he swipe at it as it passed? Duck under it and drive up with his sword into the beast’s belly? Should he—

The monster plunged forward, and time appeared to slow to a crawl as his instincts took over. This time, he didn’t dive out of the way, which would have made it impossible for him to strike back, but dashed to the side, bringing up his sword and clipping the beast’s wing. A beak snapped at him as it passed, but the griffon only caught the sleeve of his tunic. The collision of the wing against his blade knocked him to the ground and nearly sent his weapon flying from his hands, but the result was worth it. The griffon crashed onto the plateau, sliding some distance as it struggled to keep itself upright. Its talons and claws left white scratches along the rocky surface, and it eventually arrested its momentum, climbing to its feet. Vanalath charged forward, noting as he did a few things about his foe.

There were two distinct sizes for most of the normal griffons. The first type was smaller, roughly the size of a horse, and was distinguishable by its dark brown coloration. The two griffons Orimo shot out of the sky were this type, and they seemed to be the griffon’s equivalent of a lesser ghoul: smaller and weaker. The second type was a size larger, though nowhere near the size of the Gold. Half again the length of the first type with half again the temper, these griffons were incredibly sturdy for flying creatures. Their feathers were a lighter brown, though on their necks their feathery manes sported streaks of white. Something told him these were the evolved types, while the darker colored griffons were the normal adults. The griffon that had landed with the dead fledgling in tow was one of these evolved ones, and the monster before him now was another. Anamu and Kalaki were fighting a third.

The griffon had mostly recovered before Vanalath reached it. It held its broken wing awkwardly to its side, gnashing its beak in a show of intimidation. He hadn’t managed to sever the wing, but the griffon wouldn’t be flying with it any time soon. A slight grin crept across his face. This monster was used to hunting goats, not warriors with blades. It didn’t seem to know how to react to a creature that fought back. As Vanalath neared, the creature reared back on its feline hindquarters, screeching its defiance.

The challenge sparked an immediate antagonistic response in him. Again, his instincts took charge, and he Howled back at it, feeling as he did a wisp of miasma extend from him. The griffon shook its head, successfully fighting off whatever it was Vanalath had done. He snorted and began to circle the monster cautiously. It hopped forward, striking out with talons nearly the size of his forearm. He dodged, and the griffon followed up with a vicious snap which caught him off balance. He darted backwards, ducking into a roll to recover his momentum, springing back to his feet. Another strike from its talons gave him no time to retaliate.

Vanalath’s mind raced. All he could do was dodge, as the creature’s size gave it an overwhelming advantage in strength. A swordfighting stance was next to useless in this situation, as all the stances his body remembered were those meant to fight and parry human enemies, not huge monsters. The griffon continued to press the attack, prowling forward and striking at him with its talons and beak. Its six legs made it simple for the creature to maneuver and attack at the same time, and it appeared to be quite the methodical hunter. It might have preferred diving down on its enemies, but it was perfectly capable on the ground as well.

Vanalath dashed around, rolling to avoid the blows as he thought up a strategy. The combination of his high agility, along with his Poise and Conceptualization, made these acrobatic maneuvers relatively easy to perform. As long as he kept the creature at range, he could keep this up until his stamina ran out. Or so he thought, but when the griffon’s tail—which he had thought harmless—whipped around after he dodged a particularly nasty peck and grabbed him by the leg, hoisting him upwards, Vanalath realized that he miscalculated.

He immediately heaved himself upright, slashing the tail with his sword, severing it. Though he’d freed himself, it was too late, and the griffon’s follow-up attack connected a moment later, sending him crashing to the stone, the griffon’s beak pinning him. The upper mandible pierced him through his left shoulder, though he had gotten lucky with the lower mandible, which had only sliced his side. As the haze cleared and Vanalath realized his position, the griffon pulled back so it could strike again.

Its cruel beak was painted black with his blood. He wouldn’t get off with just a wounded shoulder this time.

His left arm wasn’t responding properly, but there was still one functioning appendage—and it was the one that held his sword. Despite the blow just now being strong enough to stun him, a deeply ingrained reflex prevented him from dropping his weapon. He glanced up at the griffon, mere feet away and readying another strike.

He spat a gob of black ichor into the thing’s face. When it reflexively shut its eyes, he swung up, cutting into the monster with his blade.

The griffon screamed, rearing back and shaking its head, spraying blood in a crimson arc. Several droplets landed on Vanalath’s cheek, and without thinking, he licked them off with his tongue.