Not having a weapon didn’t hinder the trog in the slightest. Its entire body was like one big armored weapon. The flint axe chipped, when Mark slammed it into the scaled hide only scoring a light hit. His own clothes and skin in contrast offered almost no resistance to the blunted claws that dug their way into his sides. And none what so ever when the crocodile maw snapped closed around his already injured shoulder.

Mark thought he heard his collarbone break under the pressure, but he couldn’t be sure over the sounds of his own screams. The pair were in full contact now, from a distance their stance might have been mistaken for an embrace.

The razor like teeth bit deeper into his body. Mark didn’t have the room or leverage to swing the axe again, so instead he hooked the bottom edge on the beast’s back and pulled. The bottom edge of the belt axe found the gap between two scales, slipping in deep. He had no idea how trog physiology worked, but the weapon was now buried where a human kidney would be.

The pain caused the trog’s mouth to spasm and it released its bite pulling away. In the process, Mark’s left hand came into contact with one of its arms. Clamping his hand into a fist with willpower more than muscle he managed to lock onto the trogs wrist. The fact his forearm and hand were prosthetic made the feat possible. He doubted his fleshly muscles could have managed it, not with the way his shoulder was crushed on that side.

Once the wrist was firmly in his grasp, he triggered the Taser and the lizard writhed. As it flailed, Mark’s badly damaged arm moved with it. The pain was nearly enough to make him black out.

The hand ran out of power quickly, most of its charge already spent on the shots he’d fired. The trog was scorched but still on its feet and with a jerk, tore itself free of both Mark’s grip and the axe buried in its back. It stumbled back before falling, where it started to crawl away. Blood pumped from the wound and Mark could tell the fight was over.

With a sigh he triggered his parasitic regeneration. He dug into his pack looking for the meat Bernard had given him at their parting. Doing his best to ignore the feeling of wriggling worms moving beneath his flesh. He wolfed down the meat to curb the hunger pangs as he watched the last trog. It didn’t last long, bleeding out in less than a minute.

“Geez mister, can’t you fight one battle without ending up half dead?” The voice spoke right behind Mark and he whirled around, axe raised. Lucy stood there, literally dripping with muddy water as she looked around at the carnage.

“Lucy! Damn it girl, what are you doing here?” He said with a shout, but the pain in his chest forced him to lower his volume. “How did you even get here?” He looked around, finding a large rock not too far away trudged over to sit down.

“I followed you mister,” she said followed by an “obviously” added in a stage whisper. Mark didn’t respond, he just sat there and stared at her until she finally broke and continued. “Oh, alright. You weren’t exactly hard to find, you waited around for us to find the bad guys for you. Then, you just walked right towards them. All I had to do mister, was sneak over behind you and crouch down until I was nearly covered in mud… you’d be surprised how often grownups overlook me when I do that.” She finished with an impish smile.

“Whatever kid,” he said continuing to shovel food into his mouth. “Damn, these injuries are bad. I don’t think I’m going to have enough food…” he hadn’t thought it was going to be so hard now that he knew what to expect from them.

“Lilly thought you were going to get yourself hurt again.” Lucy moved over and pulled a bag out of the mud where she had been hiding. “Here you go mister. It’s all organ meat that she added a bunch of plants too. Said that they would help you feel better if you got in trouble.”

Mark looked at the bag. He didn’t fancy eating something that was soaked in a swamp, but he was starving and didn’t want to suffer permanent attribute loss. That was likely to happen this time too, if the parasite had to start eating him from the inside out to heal his wounds.

Taking the bag with a muttered thank you to the kid, and a much more heartfelt one to the absent Lilly, he opened it. The top was twisted around and folded over, sealed with a draw string. The contents were just as she said, a bunch of barely cooked organ meat stuffed with herbs. Not only that but they were completely dry.

“Is this bag made out of swamp rat hide?” he asked Lucy, ripping into the first piece of meat. A heart that looked suspiciously large to have come from a dog sized rat, but in his current state he didn’t quibble.

“Obviously, swamp rats make the best everything. Didn’t I tell you that already?” she moved over to the closest trog and kicked it. “Well, I dropped off the food for Lilly. I’m going back to tell grandpa to get the sleds out here. You have a map, right? I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t find another patrol at the rat dam over…that way.”

Mark watched her spin around and point in a seemingly random direction. Before heading back to the village. He looked in the indicated direction, there wasn’t anything to see from here. He figured he didn’t have any better ideas anyway so when he’d eaten and healed, he might as well go that way.

He sat there for over an hour eating everything he had and resting on the big rock while he recovered. During that time, he replaced the power cell in his hand and thought about this ‘quest’. It took him two fights and two near death experiences to come to this realization but once he did it seemed obvious. There really was no way this was an easy quest. When Terra had directed him to this pad, she’d told him it would be a good one to get him accustomed too questing. To his mind that meant, ‘easy quest.’

The bloody hive had been listed as a hard quest, according to Terra. Beating that place felt impossible, there were thousands of soldiers in there. Thinking back on his fight with the two soldiers really got him thinking. They had been strong, way stronger than him, but that was before he had added five points to each of his attributes. Now, well now he didn’t know. Best guess however, these trogs were on the same level of power as the soldiers.

If that was true, then was this a medium quest? A hard quest but on the easier side? He just didn’t know. It was his own fault either way, he had the ability to research how things worked before he just waltzed in here but he had taken Terra at her word. On her suggestion, he didn’t even bring his rifle. If he’d had that, killing five trogs would have been as simple as pulling the trigger five times.

“Likely why she didn’t want me to bring it.” he sighed, finding he was running the fingers of his prosthetic around the rim of his artificial eye again. “Damn it,” he forcibly stopped himself from touching his face and carefully rolled up the swamp rat bag and slipped it into his pack. He was keeping it, and if anyone asked, he gave it back to Lucy. Losing a bag seemed like something she would do anyway.

Speaking of Lucy, he could see her in the distance moving toward him with a group of men pulling sleds. Not wanting to deal with the villagers right now, he looked in the direction she had indicated before. After insuring he had all of his gear, plus one of the trog belt axes, he headed off. Following the kids pointed finger.

An hour of slogging later, he reached the rat dam. Taking another page from Lucy’s book he settled into the mud as far as he could and tried his best to conceal himself in the swamp grass. He didn’t have any food to hand so getting badly injured wasn’t an option this time. Having settled in, he watched the dam.

Time passed, and he waited. Occasionally he would get bored and read from his interface. He’d been unprepared for this mission, mainly due to his own ignorance. He gave up the effort though, he was too afraid of being caught unaware to focus on the screen. So, he closed it and watched the rats.

They were interesting creatures, closer to a beaver than a rat. He watched them going in and out of their dam with food or sticks, until all of a sudden, they dropped what they were doing and rushed deep into the dam. Something had spooked them, and Mark grew excited, thinking that his wait might be over at last.

Less than five minutes later, a five trog patrol group entered the area. This group was different than the last two he had encountered; it had a leader. The trogs Mark had fought so far had been bright green with red or yellow strips, and stood between five and six feet tall. They had also been uniformly armed with a primitive spear and belt weapon.

The group’s leader was different. It walked in the front of the party, the four regular trogs flanking it. It stood six and a half or seven feet tall and was a lot bulkier than its counter parts. It was also bright green and red, but the red covered a lot more of its body. It looked like the strips had spilled over and were slowly staining the rest of the trog’s green scales red. Lastly; it carried a long, thick bow. A standard green trog to its left carried a quiver filled with similarly large arrows. The group approached the dam, but were stopped by a gurgled bark.

A second patrol group entered the area surrounding the dam, coming from the opposite direction as the first group. It also had a bigger, beefier trog in the lead. This one had yellow strips spreading out to cover its body instead of red and had a quiver of javelins slung over one shoulder. Without pause it moved toward the red patrol leader and pointed at the dam then itself, making gurgling grunts the whole time.

Mark watched as the pair started arguing. This was bad. He was able to go toe-to-toe with a green trog, but could tell just from looking, these new ones completely outclassed him in physical might. Where these a different breed from the green ones? He looked closely at them, then to the green ones. After watching them for a few minutes he thought he had a theory.

The smallest green trog also had the thinnest strips, whereas the largest green trog had the thickest strips. So, until he came up with a better idea, he was going to assume that the trogs worked similarly to the frog kin. They started off small and grew bigger and stronger with age. These must be trog elites then, if that was true then there shouldn’t be many of them.

While he was pondering on trog physiology, the red elite gave a bellow of rage. The noise startled a swamp rat from hiding, sending it bolting back toward the dam. In unison, almost like they had expected it, the elites launched attacks at the rat. An arrow impacting the poor creature just seconds before the javelin. The red laughed, taking another arrow from his caddy and made a motion with its head.

One of its followers moved over to collect the rat, only to be stopped by a bark from the yellow elite. Who also made a motion, sending one of its followers over. The greens entered an impromptu tug of war match over the swamp rat corpse. Mark might have laughed at how absurd it was to fight over a single rat when there were dozens only feet away. He didn’t though, he had seen how fast the pair had reacted to the rat’s movement. He knew he wouldn’t fare any better if he was discovered.

Eventually, one of the greens came out victorious. Kicking the competition aside and claiming the prize. The yellow elite chuckled wetly, apparently it was his green who had won the contest. The chuckle cut off abruptly, when an arrow buried itself into the green’s throat. The trog’s tough scales only slowed the arrow slightly as it passed right though. Flying out the back of its neck, the arrow disappeared from view.

Everything went silent as the trogs of both groups looked at the dying green. It was like the calm before the storm, as the body slumped into the mud the verbal battle became a physical one. Mark couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They weren’t holding back either, each of the trogs was doing its level best to murder the members of the opposing patrol.

In a matter of moments, the only trogs standing were the red and yellow elites. They started the encounter with ranged weapons but were now fighting bare handed. They clawed and bit each other wildly, someone walking up on them now would never believe these vicious beasts were capable of speech and rational thought.

As the battle continued, their movements began to slow. Due to injury or exhaustion the elites were quickly running out of steam. Not wanting to miss out on this opportunity, Mark slowly crept forward. Doing his best to avoid ripples, meant that he did little more than crawl, but even so, he was drawing nearer with every moment that passed.

He flexed his mechanical fingers under the mud. He would be relying on his energy pistol for this encounter, at least as the opener. When he was within ten paces of the struggling pair, the red trog gained the upper hand. Forcing the yellow elite down into the mud it held it there while it thrashed about wildly. Looked like the trogs couldn’t breathe under water, or at least not water this clogged with mud. Mark had his hand raised and waiting just below the surface, when the struggling yellow finally stopped moving, he acted.

Snapping his arm forward he fired off a shot at the red elite. The shot connected, scorching a hole into its torso and blackening the surrounding scales. The lizard must have reflexes faster than lightening though, because no sooner did his arm break the surface of the swamp it lunged at him. Ten paces separated Mark from the trog, but it covered them with that leap. He managed a second shot while it was in flight but then it was on him. He found himself in the same position the yellow had been in, held under the mud and struggling for air. Except his body wasn’t as sturdy as the trog’s, and he could already feel his bones creaking from the pressure the red exerted. It felt like those clawed hands would force him through the solid rock of the valley floor.

Gripping the red’s wrists, Mark tried to pry it off him. It quickly became clear that wasn’t going to happen. The beast was far stronger than he currently was. Having failed at that, he pushed his mechanical hand upwards and started firing off shots. He couldn’t see to aim, but if he didn’t at least try to hit it, he would be dead for sure.

All too soon the power cell ran dry, but the trog’s grip had started to loosen. He fumbled around reaching for his Broken blade, the belt axe, anything he could use to get out of this situation. His scrambling fingers found a fist size chunk of stone and he clutched it desperately. Bringing it up he slammed it upward with all his might.

That first hit didn’t free him, neither did the second or the fifth. He could feel the red’s grip growing weaker and weaker. He even managed to get his head above water once, long enough to get a quick breath of air before he was forced back under. He hadn’t been able to look at the trog, but he was positive it was seriously wounded. The only question now was, would it bleed out before or after Mark drowned in the swamp.

The next time he smashed the rock into the trog, its hands came a way slightly. Taking the opportunity for everything it was worth, Mark pushed forward with his whole body. Coming up as the trog fell back, he rode his momentum all the way around until it was him forcing the now weakly struggling red’s face under the swamp.

He gasped in deep breaths of air while the trog struggled to do the same. It took longer than a minute before the struggling finally stopped, even then Mark didn’t let up. He held the trog down for another five minutes before finally laboring himself back to his feet. Having regained his breath he felt himself over, looking for wounds he might have missed in the scuffle.

Apart from a few places the trog’s claws had dug in and some abrasions from the stone, he had come out of this one ok. A good thing, because he didn’t want to push the parasite too far. It was a technological marvel, assuming it was artificially created anyway, but it was a living entity. It would have its limits as sure as Mark had his own.

Taking in the carnage he couldn’t help but be pleased. He had already killed ten greens before coming here, now, thanks to the in fight between these two elites, another ten had died. He bent down and levered the two elites out of the mud. He could tell the elite scales were a step above the green’s and had a feeling the old man at the village would want to find them.

That done, he moved over to the red’s bow. He was sorely lacking in the ranged weapon department and could really use any advantage he could get. He wasn’t familiar with bows, but how hard could it be. Bringing it up level with his shoulder he pulled back on the string. The weight of the bow was insane. He pulled it less than half way back before the string started to cut into his fingers. Not wanting to be outdone by a piece of string, Mark kept pulling. He was able to achieve a full draw, at which point the string slipped from his trembling fingers.

It whipped forward so hard the whole bow started to reverberate from it. The string actually snapped from the force, giving Mark a nice welt on his forearm. He stared at the bow, not understanding what happened. A vague memory eventually surfaced about not dry firing bows, but he couldn’t remember why. He shrugged tossing the bow aside, he couldn’t have used this anyway, at least not with any accuracy to speak of.

Next, he moved over to the quiver filled with javelins. Pulling one out he hefted it to get a feel for the weight and balance. Looking around for a target, he finally took aim at one of the greens slumped over a rock. After another moment of checking the heft of the javelin he hurled it at the dead green.

He missed the green trog he had been aiming at, and the rock it was leaning on. He hadn’t missed by much though, and on a fluke the javelin buried itself in another green that wasn’t too much further away.

“Well at least I know it will hurt them…if I can hit them.” he went over and pulled the javelin from the dead trog, checking to see if it had been damaged at all he wiped it clean and stowed it away in the quiver. It held four projectiles, moving over to another green he pulled the fifth from its corpse and stowed it as well. The yellow had thrown this one, and it had gone all the way though the green and a few inches had protruded out the other side.

Having had enough fighting for one day, he started the long slog back to swamp rat village. At some point along the way, he met a villager Bernard had sent out to watch for him. After telling the man where the bodies lay, he continued on back to town. Where he ate another a huge meal, mostly consisting of meat but that also contained a few greens he identified as swamp grass.

After dinner he practiced throwing javelins until he felt confidant, he could hit a trog, if it was close enough, and standing still. By that time the villagers sent out to gather the trogs were returning and the village was sent into a bustle again. The laundry boy came by to let him know his bath was ready. Surprised, Mark asked for clarification. Lilly told him that wood was hard to come by, and after trudging around the swamp all day, he had to agree.

“Bernard said we are going to make enough money selling the trog hides that we can afford to import some wood.” The boy said before leaving. He chuckled at that; the wily old fox was really trying to keep him happy.

Mark had looked for Lilly during the time he had been back at the village. He hadn’t been able to find her, he checked around again as he moved to the bath house. He went down disappointed that he didn’t see her, which is until he arrived at the pool to find her already waiting inside. His spirits lifted instantly, only dimming a little when he saw her basket filled with torture devices.

“Hi hero,” she said with a wicked grin. “Why don’t you come over here?” she said, trailing her hand down her side suggestively until it disappeared into the water. Mark’s heart skipped a beat in its hurry to pump faster. That is, until her hand reappeared, holding the metal brush she used to clean his wounds.

“Really?” he couldn’t help but ask, letting out a soft sigh. It didn’t keep him out of the water though. He pulled off his jumpsuit, kicked off his boots, and climbed in. “I looked for you earlier.” He said as she inspected his body for injuries.

“I know.” She said, but didn’t elaborate. Her tone was playful though, so Mark let it be.

After his wounds were treated, they settled down. The pair enjoyed the hot water and each other’s company until falling asleep in the pool again.

Sadly, before too much time had passed, Mark was roused by a frantic Lucy.

“Wake up, mister.” She said, shaking his arm. “Grandpa sent me to get you. Hurry up and get dressed.” He was still tired from all the activity he had done that day, but at the urgency in her voice he got up and started dressing immediately.

“What is it Lucy, what happened?” he asked over his shoulder as he dressed. No matter how urgent, he still turned his back on the kid while he pulled his filthy clothes back on. Lilly had roused herself too, she was also putting her clothes back on. It was clear from her look that she wanted to know what was going on as well.

“It’s trogs mister.” Lucy said, bouncing up and down with impatience. “Two of em, but they’re the big ones. Like the two we just brought back. That’s not all ether, they’re busting up our sleds.”

Mark fumbled the straps on his weapon harness when he heard that. Two elites? He had almost died finishing off a sorely wounded one. How was he supposed to deal with two of them? There was no way, he just couldn’t deal with two of those big bastards. Not with the gear he currently had anyway.

Having finished getting dressed, Mark turned his worried gaze on Lilly, she looked like she wanted to say something but eventually just shook her head. Mark didn’t know what she wanted to say, but the other villagers were in danger. So, he looked her in the eyes trying to convey that it was going to be ok then dashed from the bathhouse.