Humanity? A weak word for a weak race.

~Caorthannach, Mother of Daemons

Crow didn’t immediately start learning the Beast Aspect spell. Nymphs were tricksters and playful, so he first explored to ensure there wasn’t a way out. After spending half a day running the perimeter, he spotted the door they mentioned. He didn’t see any other secret caves or hidden ways using mana sense and his vision abilities. Most of the pit was sheer rock walls that rose into the clouds with little to no way of climbing out.

It really was like a prison. It was hard to tell from the collapsing cliffs, scree, and tree-covered landscape, but the perimeter was a near-perfect circle. Other than that, Crow found nothing of interest. Other than the perfectly round and flat area, there were no landmarks or points of interest except the log cabin. Crow even used Ghost Eyes hoping to see something supernatural, but even that failed.

It was the most mundane trap and jail he’d ever seen but somehow effective. The only upside was that there wasn’t really anything dangerous. There were a few beasts and critters, but they were all skittish. It was odd because they behaved as if frightened of something, but Crow went through the entire valley, and there was nothing hidden here. Unless it could phase through walls, but Crow knew that an ability like that was extremely rare.

Around the cabin, he found a well and plots of land that might have once been gardens. The more he explored, the more confused he became. He didn’t even see any corpses, despite how many people they tossed in over the years. Crow couldn’t sense any Death Mana at all, which should be impossible unless nothing died here.

Putting those thoughts aside, he gathered wood scattered about the forest with the remaining daylight hours. There was firewood in his Vortex Pin, and he could easily pull wood from his Soulscape, but he preferred not using his reserves. He made an effort because he believed in the nymphs. Something in this place was worrying him, and the valley gave off an ominous sense of danger.

Wood nymphs were typically nocturnal, and based on the books he read, they loved dancing under the moonlight. It was for this reason alone that he was sure those innocent fae were terrified of the night. It was unusual to see simple creatures like them adapting to survive. A sad truth was that many fae were victims of violence and evil because they were too innocent and trusting.

After his experience with the Cursed Grove, he really didn’t want to meddle too much. The nymphs have adapted and survived, so he trusted they devised their own way to combat whatever was coming. Tonight, he needed to look after himself and find out what was happening here. Strangely, his mind wandered to the theories and principles he’d read about ecology. A general truth about ecology was that an environment would gain equilibrium, and sometimes that balance was precarious. Those precarious environments could come crashing down with the influence of an outside factor. In this scenario, he knew his existence was that external factor.

It was a polite way of reminding himself to mind his own business. Crow wasn’t disillusioned and didn’t believe he was some mighty cultivator that disrupts everything he touches. However, his status was beyond abnormal, so people flocked to him. The unfated status ruined the status quo wherever he went. It was daunting feeling like he was a walking catastrophe.

Starting a fire in the stone chimney, he pulled out a sleeping mat and put it close to the fire before pulling out the box that Mugna gave him long ago. Inside was a beast core and a vestige that held all the information related to the spell.

Placing the vestige to his forehead, he sat in a trance-like state for almost an hour before his Sage’s Mind could memorize the contents. Night had settled, and he suddenly felt uneasy. Turning toward the only window in the cabin, a strange shadowy humanoid was staring at him. Its pair of baleful green eyes bore through him as if Crow was nothing more than mist.

Chills spread across Crow’s body as he stared back. His heart pounded as if it was a hammer, and he felt short of breath. Crow was afraid to move at all. In the recesses of his mind, he knew what this thing was but never expected them to exist on this early in the tower.

“Scath,” he muttered on his breath with both disgust and awe. The Draoidh fought fiercely against the Scath more than the other four armies of Caorthannach, the Mother of Daemons. A general led each army, and these four made up her core strength.

The Bodach Glas took orders from the Ginearál de Far Liath, named Marfach. Marfach is the general of the gray men and King of the Death Goblins. The books claimed he was Caorthannach’s most loyal follower. His armies were most suited for direct combat and were the bulk of their military force.

None of the books described his appearance, and all they could confirm was that he wasn’t a Bodach Glas despite his general’s title. All they said was that even the weakest cultivator could sense him coming. The book literally called him a ‘tsunami of Death Mana.’

Besides Marfach there was Far Gorta, Far Darrig, and Far Dorcha.

Ginearál de Far Gorta was the general of the hungry men. Far Gorta translated into hunger-man, and their general’s name was Ocras. The general took on the appearance of a beggar and had a network of homeless. Those who suffered hunger pangs often sought him out, willing to become his loyal soldiers. Hunger would force even the devout to sell their souls for a hunk of bread and rat stew. His soldiers were the emaciated people on the streets. They were indistinguishable from other people except for one thing—their insatiable hunger. No matter how much they ate, it never satiated them. Books claimed a cultivator would feel gnawing hunger if he was around, and it was not uncommon for weaker minds to eat their own flesh. This army specialized in information gathering, espionage, and spying.

Ginearál de Far Darrig was the red-man known as Dochtuir. The Far Darrig were the Ratmen that General Dochtuir commanded, but he was once human. The Ratmen were natural-born thieves, but under Dochtuir’s guidance, they learned how to harvest human organs. The madman specialized in Daemon rituals which is why he harvested organs. Behind his back, the Ratmen called him the Mad Dochtuir. These diminutive creatures might be evil, but they were terrified of the abominations Dochtuir created. It was strange to think the Ratmen had a bottom line. Essentially, Dochtuir specialized in procurement.

Ginearál de Far Dorcha was the army of Shadowmen known as Scath. This was the general that Crow’s people feared the most. The leader was known as Scath-Draoi, or the Shadow Druid, and his army only contained the Shadowmen. The other armies had varied races among their ranks, but the Scath were special. The books claimed the Shadow Druid could convert anyone, including fae, into Shadowmen.

Other than his title and rumored ability, nothing was known about Shadow Druid other than it was suspected that the man was once one of the Draoidh. These rumors have persisted for so long that they could no longer be discounted.

The four generals led the four major armies that supported Caorthannach and the enemy of all races of man. The malevolent being staring at Crow was the Shadow Druid’s soldiers. They were the Scath, the most despised type of Daemon in existence. These hunters were assassins and abductors that preyed on the weak. They had a refined sense of danger and would not take on an opponent they couldn’t defeat. It made sense that they were after wood nymphs because they were definitely not their opponent. While mischievous and playful, they were innocent fae and their personalities were more like that of children.

Crow wasn’t sure he was their match either, and the more it stared at him, the uneasier he felt. If he had to mention one peculiarity, it didn’t attempt to enter the cabin. It seemed to fear wood which was definitely something that wasn’t mentioned in the books. However, that was only speculation, and Crow wasn’t about to start testing it now.

The Scath had two theoretical origins, but Crow eliminated the idea that they were dark spirits. The man-like thing in the window wasn’t a spirit, so that left the remaining theory. The Shadow Druid used the beasts, people, and fae his army abducted and converted them into the Scath. So these were still living creatures.

Ruling out spirits didn’t give him a clue about what they were. It was easy to call them Daemons or Rootless, but that was also a dangerous assumption he didn’t want to make. Under those shadows, the thing it once was might still exist. Regardless, they were Scath, and Crow wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.

“Open the door,” the Shadowman’s face moved, but his words were created with sound. Crow had only ever read about psychic attacks, and this was one of them. Each word pounded against his Mind, trying to take control of his actions.

“OPEN. THE. DOOR.”

Crow’s eyes glazed over, but only because of the overbearing nature of the command. The compulsion didn’t even make him twitch, but he sensed that was because of his Sage’s Mind, so his bloodline powers resisted it. No low-level creatures like this one could force him.

Still, he stood and played along. The window was alongside the door, and its small size was precisely to see who was at the door. Crow wasn’t sure if there had ever been glass in framed inside, but having it opened was for the best. The hand furthest from the Scath wiggled as he summoned his Star Arrow. Ideally, he’d rather have Mor-Rioghain but feared accessing his Vortex Pin would alert the creature. Even with the arrow in hand, the Scath kept staring with its creepy, unblinking eyes.

Crow surged forward, his Wood Shield glowing in the dimly lit room. The arrow in his hand stabbed into the Scath’s body, and it stumbled back away from the tiny window. Amazingly, the bone-white arrow started to turn black. The Petrified Wormwood absorbed the Shadow Mana that surrounded the dying Scath. Crow wasn’t sure what was happening and summoned his Star Arrow back to his Soulscape.

There was a sickening sensation as if he swallowed tar, and he realized it was the taint from the Scath that was still on his arrow. His Souscape absorbed the Shadow Mana from the Star Arrow, but Crow wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. At the very least, his nausea went away. After some observation, he didn’t feel anything was wrong, and he could sense a lot more Dark and Shadow Mana within his world. He just had to remember to gain more Light Mana when he gained the opportunity as it was Dark Mana’s balance.

In its final death throes, the Scath opened its shadowy mouth and screeched. The sound could pierce the Heavens, and more of them arrived at the cabin, but unlike their predecessor, they didn’t approach the window. They might be cunning and evil, but that didn’t mean they weren’t cautious. These creatures rarely fought against people that could kill them. Crow didn’t dare go out there to inspect, but now he understood why they avoided the wooden walls.

If the Shadow Druid did create these Shadowmen, then Crow had to wonder why he gave them such a huge weakness. And a daring thought he would never speak out loud came to mind. If this general was once a Draoidh, this weakness would only benefit the Druids or people with high Wood Affinity. It was a thought he stopped entertaining because he might hesitate at the wrong time if he doubted the wisdom of the Druid Order.

No matter, he wasn’t going out there. Crow stoked up the fire and then covered the window.