A Monster Afraid of Herself

The Whispering Swamps lived up to their name, though the sound was not the simple sighing of wind. It was something more sinister, more sentient. Air slithered through the forest of ink-black reeds, which resembled bamboo only in shape, carrying with it a susurrus that felt unnervingly like a shared secret. The spore sacs on the heads of colossal, pallid mushrooms would occasionally rupture with a faint, rhythmic pulse, releasing shimmering clouds of dust into the humid air. Everything here was alive, everything was in motion, and everything felt like a potential threat.

“I’ve decided I hate this place,” Bruno grumbled, his voice a low rumble of disgust as he stared down at the murky, knee-deep water he was trudging through. “It’s damp, it stinks, and I’m quite certain there’s a complete absence of soup.”

“Stop whining,” Katrina hissed from her position at the front of the line, her voice sharp enough to cut through the thick air. “Or I’ll feed you to the first carnivorous plant we find.”

“At least then I might get some peace and quiet,” Bruno muttered under his breath, just loud enough for himself to hear.

Hector, moving with a hunter’s deliberate grace, ignored the tension simmering between the two. His gaze was analytical, constantly scanning their surroundings. “There’s something fundamentally wrong here. Nature isn’t behaving as it should.”

As if on cue, one of the enormous, pillow-like mushrooms directly at Katrina’s feet erupted with a soft but resonant puff. In an instant, a dense, golden cloud of spores enveloped them, thick with a cloyingly sweet fragrance that clung to the back of the throat.

“Hold your breath!” Hector yelled, but the warning came an instant too late.

The foresight Nicolas possessed was for physical threats; this was an assault on the mind. The swamp dissolved before Hector’s eyes. He was standing in the sun-drenched garden of the home he had been forced to leave two years ago. The air smelled of freshly cut grass, and there, on the swing set, was his little girl, waving at him. “Daddy!” she called out, her voice a melody of pure joy. “Daddy, what took you so long?” Hector’s rugged features softened, his eyes welling with moisture. “I’m coming, sweetie,” he whispered, taking a half-step toward the beautiful phantom.

Katrina’s vision was a landscape of a different sort. Flames. The percussive crackle of burning timber, the sound of screams, and the searing memory of a hand reaching for hers, a hand she couldn’t grasp… The helplessness of that moment crashed down on her, a weight that felt as real as a mountain on her shoulders. “No,” she breathed, her knuckles white as she gripped the hilt of her dagger. “Not this time.” Her eyes blazed with fury, every shadow around her twisting into a monstrous figure from her past.

Bruno, meanwhile, was simply screaming. The trees around him had morphed into giant, steaming bowls of broth, and the reeds were now writhing noodles, reaching out to ensnare him. “Get away from me! I don’t want any sauce!”

“SNAP OUT OF IT!”

Hector’s roar was like a physical blow, shattering the spell. His hunter’s instincts had proven stronger than the illusion. He recognized the lie for what it was and tore it apart with sheer force of will. He lunged, grabbing Katrina’s arm. “It’s not real, Katrina! It’s just a trick of the system!”

Katrina flinched violently, her wild eyes focusing on him for a brief second. “Let me go!” she snarled, but Hector’s grip was iron. “THE FIGHT ISN’T WITH THEM, IT’S WITH YOURSELF!”

The words found a crack in her armor. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, the inferno was gone, replaced by the accursed, whispering swamp. Working together, they hauled the still-flailing Bruno from the mud, dragging him clear of the spore cloud’s influence as he battled his soupy demons.

They stood panting, looking at one another. No words were needed. For a few terrifying seconds, they had each witnessed the deepest wounds of the others. The ice between them hadn’t melted entirely, but it had most certainly cracked.

“Up ahead,” Hector said, his voice a low growl as he changed the subject. “Look.”

The vegetation before them was more orderly. Vines had been pushed back, opening a path as if tended by a gardener. This was Maris’s trail. Soon, they reached a clearing in the heart of the swamp, surrounded by a living wall of thorns, a massive, interwoven fortress that rose higher than their heads. From within the wall, they could hear a soft, melodic humming.

“Maris,” Hector called out, his voice as calm and non-threatening as he could make it.

The woman inside jumped. When she turned, her face was a portrait of raw fear. The moment she saw them, the thorn wall around them tightened, its barbs turning outward in a clear, menacing gesture.

“Stay away!” Maris cried, her voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“We don’t want to hurt you, either,” Hector said slowly, taking a careful step forward. “We’re like you, Maris. We’re Zinox.”

Just then, the air split with a high-pitched whistle. An arrow sliced down from the treetops, embedding itself in the mud just inches from Hector’s boot.

“What a touching family reunion,” Lucas’s mocking voice dripped from the canopy as he and his men descended from the trees, surrounding them. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to break up the party. The King wants all three of your heads.”

The battle began without preamble. Hector’s arrows sought their targets while Katrina became a phantom in the mist. But Lucas had come prepared. His men were trained for this, moving in practiced formations to encircle and overwhelm the Zinox. The fight devolved into a grueling battle of attrition.

In the midst of the chaos, all the whispers of the swamp abruptly ceased. The air grew unnaturally cold. Instinctively, both the Zinox and Lucas’s men paused.

From the deepest, darkest mire of the swamp, the surface of the water began to churn. First one hand, then another, broke the surface. With slow, methodical movements, two figures clad in pitch-black armor rose from the water, mud and algae clinging to them like funereal cloaks. From the empty voids within their helms, a sinister crimson light glowed like embers in the swamp’s gloom. Gein’s Black Knights.

The sneer on Lucas’s face froze, then melted into disbelief. “This… This wasn’t part of the deal,” he stammered.

The Knights answered to no one. They were here only to hunt. And the brightest sources of energy in the swamp were the Zinox. But to reach them, anything in their path was merely an obstacle.

One of the Black Knights began to walk toward the nearest target—one of Lucas’s mercenaries. The man raised his sword with a cry of terror, but the Knight swatted him aside with a casual backhand, sending him flying like a broken doll.

“RETREAT!” Lucas roared, his voice cracking with panic. “FALL BACK! THIS ISN’T OUR FIGHT!” His men scattered, breaking in terror before this new, unstoppable threat. After casting one last, hateful glare at the Zinox, Lucas vanished back into the shadows.

The battlefield was clear. All that remained were the Zinox and the two Black Knights, advancing upon them with slow, inexorable steps.

“There are two of them?!” Bruno shrieked in horror.

Hector and Katrina moved back-to-back. Hector’s arrows glanced harmlessly off the Knights’ armor, and Katrina’s daggers produced nothing but ugly, grating sparks. The Knights were slow, but every swing of their colossal greatswords was a killing blow, cleaving through ancient trees as if they were made of butter.

From behind her wall of thorns, Maris watched the nightmare unfold. When she saw the two monstrosities advancing directly toward her—the most potent source of energy in the clearing—the last vestiges of reason in her mind shattered. Her eyes flew wide, and all the fear, power, and helplessness inside her coalesced into a single point.

And then, she screamed.

It was not a scream from the throat. It was a primal cry that tore itself from the earth, from the very soul of the swamp. The ground beneath their feet trembled. Giant, ancient roots, dormant for centuries, erupted from the soil like massive serpents, wrapping around the two Black Knights. The Knights were forced to their knees with a groan of protesting metal, the roots constricting and crushing their armor with agonizing slowness.

“This is our chance! Go!” Hector yelled.

Katrina grabbed the still-trembling Maris by the arm. Hector hauled a now-normal-sized Bruno to his feet. Behind them, the sinister silhouettes of the two Black Knights were already beginning to tear themselves free from the massive roots. The four Zinox fled, running deeper into the swamp, deeper into the unknown.