Chapter 8: Into The Woods (And Out Of My Fing Mind)

The royal gardens had officially jumped the shark. What was once a chill spot to decompress was now a freaking petting zoo for nobles. They'd sidle up, stare at her like she was a painting that might talk back, and whisper crap like, "Behold the divine patience of the Immortal Fowl."

Divine patience my ass.

The "Immortal Scam" title was the only thing keeping her sane. Every time she had to nod solemnly at some drooling lord, she could feel the lie getting stronger, wrapping around her like armor. The system was basically giving her a high-five for being a con artist.

But the tiny, stinging cut on her leg was a constant reality check. The Chancellor's goons were probably watching the reliquary with a magnifying glass, waiting for her "immortal" flesh to sprout a single spot of mold.

Screw this. I'm out.

Getting past the guards was a joke. She just puffed out her chest, gave them the "I'm on a divine mission, don't bother me" look, and strutted right through the main gate. Her peahen posse fell in line behind her, clucking with purpose. They probably thought they were going to a fancy worm festival.

The Whispering Woods didn't wait to be creepy. A mile from the tree line, the pressure started. Not a sound, but a feeling, like static electricity crawling over her brain.

WARNING: PSYCHIC INTERFERENCE DETECTED. MENTAL SHIELDS... NON-EXISTENT.

Mental shields? Buddy, my brain is a 24/7 swear jar that's about to burst. Is that a shield?

Crossing into the woods was like stepping into a freezer. The light died. The normal forest sounds just cut out. And then the whispering started.

At first, it was just background noise. ...outsider... fraud... they'll figure you out...

Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don't know. My credit score is probably a disaster too.

But it got personal. Fast. The voices started pulling from her greatest hits.

The orphanage matron's shrill tone: "Such an unpleasant child. No one will ever want you."

A past manager's dismissive sigh: "You're just not a team player, Su. We're letting you go."

The 'team' was a bunch of brain-dead sheep, Kevin! And I'm pretty sure you're embezzling!

Then, Resplendent Feather's voice, dripping with new, psychic nastiness: "Look at you. A dull, pathetic mockery of what you should be. A speckless mistake."

OH, YOU DID NOT JUST GO THERE, YOU COLORFUL PRICK! I'LL PLUCK YOU AND USE YOU AS A DUSTER—

The world swam. One second she was in the spooky woods, the next she was back in the zoo enclosure, the smell of hay and bird crap filling her nostrils, that same helpless fury boiling in her gut. The rake felt heavy in her hands.

STATUS: ILLUSION IN PROGRESS. HOST REALITY CHECK FAILED.

She blinked, and the woods snapped back. She was panting, her heart hammering against her feathered chest.

Okay, you sneaky bastard. You want to play? Let's play.

She didn't try to meditate or find her happy place. She leaned into the noise. Every insult the whispers threw, she caught and fired right back with twice the venom.

I'm a fraud? I conned a whole city! I'm a Level 12 legend!

No one wants me? I've got a whole harem! Unwilling, but it counts!

And Kevin WAS embezzling! I saw the spreadsheets!

It was a mental bar fight. The psychic static would surge with a painful memory, and Su would meet it with a tidal wave of pure, uncut sass.

SYSTEM NOTICE: UNCONVENTIONAL MENTAL DEFENSE DETECTED. ‘PSYCHIC PROFANITY FILTER BYPASS’ IS FORMING A UNIQUE BARRIER.

HA! My foul mouth is a feature, not a bug! Suck on that!

The deeper they went, the weirder it got. The trees looked like they were screaming. Roots seemed to twitch as they passed. Hennifer Lopez suddenly freaked out, squawking and flapping at nothing.

Su marched over and pecked her firmly on the head. Snap out of it, you featherbrain! It's all in your head!

The thought hit her a second later. Since when was she the voice of reason for a bunch of birds?

Finally, they reached the heart of the woods. The clearing was wrong. The trees were bone-white and twisted into agony. In the center was a swirling vortex of shadow and sickly light, with eyeballs blinking in and out of existence like a messed-up lava lamp. The Lord of the Wood.

Its voice didn't hit her ears; it unfolded inside her skull. "PRETENDER. YOU WEAR A CROWN OF LIES. YOU ARE NOT A HERO. YOU ARE A LOST, ANGRY CHILD. SEE YOURSELF."

The world dissolved into light.

And then, she was... home. Her studio apartment. The lumpy couch. The faint smell of takeout from that night. She was human. She looked down at her hands. Ten fingers. No feathers. She was wearing her favorite soft hoodie.

No... this is the trick. This is the... oh god, it feels so real.

She stumbled to the bathroom mirror, her heart pounding with a desperate, impossible hope.

And she screamed.

Staring back from the glass wasn't her face. It was the face of Lord Crestfall. The dumb, beady-eyed peacock. It blinked at her.

The disconnect was so total, so violently wrong, it felt like her soul was being shredded.

The entity's voice was a soothing, toxic syrup. "STAY. THIS CAN BE YOURS. FORGET THE BIRD. FORGET THE LIES. JUST BE THE GIRL YOU WERE. IT IS ALL YOU WANT."

The pull was immense. To let go. To just be Su again. To stop fighting.

She looked at the peacock in the mirror. The speckless idiot. The fake general. The "immortal" piece of poultry.

And a switch flipped.

That peacock? That was the guy who stared down a panther and won. The guy who turned a monkey's junk collection into a strategic advantage. The guy who told an entire royal court to get bent by taking a dump on a fancy shoe.

That peacock wasn't her prison. He was her goddamn battle tank.

She locked eyes with the thousand swirling pupils of the psychic freakshow and thought, with every fiber of her being:

Listen here, you sentient migraine. I am Su Ian Hoo. And I am also Lord Crestfall. And I didn't fight my way through mongooses, monkeys, and morons just to quit now. You picked a fight with the wrong bitch.

She took a step forward—in the illusion, a human step. In reality, a peacock's step that crushed a twig.

"THE HUMBLE HEART," the entity shrieked, its form flickering. "YOU MUST SURRENDER! YOU MUST—"

Humble this, you cheap special effect.

She didn't send it peace or love. She gathered up every ounce of her defiance, her cunning, her sheer, unkillable stubbornness, and she blasted it back at the entity in one concentrated thought-laser of "GO F*** YOURSELF."

The illusion didn't fade. It shattered. Like a pane of glass hit by a brick.

The clearing was back. The entity recoiled, its form writhing and screeching in a frequency that hurt her teeth. She'd hurt it. For real.

It wasn't dead. But it was done. With a final, psychic wail of frustration, its presence vanished from the woods, the pressure in her head gone.

Silence. Real, normal, forest silence. Then, a bird chirped. It was the best sound she'd ever heard.

Su stood there, legs shaking, but feeling more powerful than ever.

TRIAL THE SECOND: THE HUMBLE HEART - COMPLETE!

BY FULLY INTEGRATING YOUR DUAL NATURE (SASSY HUMAN & SAVAGE BIRD) YOU HAVE PASSED THE TRIAL.

REWARD: +3000 EXP!

LEVEL UP! SPECKLESS PEACOCK IS NOW LEVEL 15!

NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: ‘Reality Anchor’ (Passive)

‘Reality Anchor’: Your sense of self is now a solid-gold boulder in a river of crap. Illusions and mind-tricks basically bounce off.

She'd done it. Level 15. Halfway home. She'd faced a soul-eating nightmare and told it to get lost.

Her peahens crowded around, nuzzling her with their beaks. She didn't shoo them away.

As she led her feathered crew out of the now-quiet woods, a new goal crystalized. She wasn't just trying to escape this body anymore. She was going to own it. Master it.

And then, she was going to find that bastard Resplendent Feather and have a conversation that would involve a lot of yelling and probably some light stabbing.

The silence of the Whispering Woods didn't last. By the time Su and her feathered entourage strutted back into view of Eldermount, the city was in an uproar. News of the "cleansing of the woods" had arrived via a very spooked, but now coherent, scout who'd been found babbling about a "feathered angel of wrath." The fact that the woods were now just... normal woods... was all the proof anyone needed.

Angel of wrath? I like it. Better than 'The Everlasting Cock,' that's for damn sure.

Her return was a triumph that made the last one look like a quiet Tuesday. The streets were packed, the cheers were deafening, and the flower petals raining down were so thick it looked like a botanical blizzard. King Alistair himself was at the gates, a real, genuine smile on his tired face.

"Lord Crestfall," the King boomed, his voice carrying over the crowd. "You have done it. You have silenced the whispers and secured our borders. The kingdom owes you a debt that can never be repaid."

But the King's next words were a bucket of cold water. "Such a victory cannot be contained to one kingdom. Our allies and even our... rivals... have heard the legend. Emissaries have arrived. They wish to see the Immortal Savior for themselves."

He wasn't kidding. The castle courtyard was a menagerie of foreign dignitaries. A stern-faced dwarven thane from the Ironroot Mountains, his beard braided with gems. A sleek elven envoy from the Sun-dappled Groves, who looked at Su like she was a fascinating insect. And most worrying, a hulking, scarred ambassador from the neighboring, expansionist kingdom of Stonehold, who looked at her like she was a strategic asset to be acquired.

The Chancellor, looking like he'd swallowed a live hornet, was forced to officiate. "Behold," he announced through gritted teeth, "the flesh of the Immortal, unchanged and pure!" He held up the reliquary. The tiny piece of cooked peacock meat sat there, not a spot of mold on it.

Okay, that's actually a little weird. It should be a shriveled nugget by now. Did those alchemists shellac it or something?

The Stonehold ambassador, a man named Gorrik, grunted. "A pretty trick. But can it fight?" He gestured to a massive, armored war-wolf his handlers had brought. The beast snarled, drool dripping from its fangs. "My king wishes to know the mettle of this 'immortal' beast. A simple test. Face my wolf."

The crowd gasped. King Alistair's face darkened. "This is an outrage—"

But Su was already moving. She wasn't going to be baited into a stupid fight. Brute force was for chumps.

She ignored the snarling wolf completely. She strutted right up to Ambassador Gorrik, stopping so close her beak was almost touching his thigh. She looked him dead in the eye, then slowly, deliberately, she looked past him at the King. She gave a single, sharp shake of her head. No.

Then, she turned her back on the ambassador and his wolf, a gesture of such profound, feathery disrespect the entire courtyard fell silent.

Gorrik turned purple with rage. "You dare turn your back on me, bird?"

Damn right I do. My backside is a weapon of mass disrespect.

But Su wasn't done. She had an idea. She focused on the "Immortal Scam" title, pouring all her will into it. She wasn't just a bird refusing to fight. She was a divine entity refusing to stoop to the level of a mere mortal's beast.

She let the silence hang for a long, tense moment. Then, she let out a single, soft, almost pitying cluck. It was the most condescending sound ever produced by a living creature.

The effect was electric. The crowd, which had been tense, now murmured in awe. They didn't see a coward. They saw a god refusing to entertain the foolish challenge of a mortal. The dwarven thane chuckled into his beard. The elven envoy raised a delicate eyebrow, impressed.

Gorrik was utterly deflated. His big, scary demonstration had been dismissed as trivial by a cluck. His credibility shattered.

Checkmate, you over-muscled meathead.

That night, a sealed scroll was delivered to her in the gardens by one of Aksen's most trusted men. It was from the King.

Lord Crestfall,

Your performance today was masterful. You have neutralized the Stonehold threat without shedding a drop of blood. But it has revealed a deeper problem. The legend of your 'immortality' is spreading too fast, too far. It has become a weapon I cannot fully control. Factions within my own court, and now other kingdoms, see you as a key to power. You are no longer just a hero; you are a prize. The Chancellor's allies grow bolder. They do not just want you dead; they want to understand the source of your power. They believe it can be replicated.

You are not safe here anymore. There is a place, an ancient monastery built into the Starfall Spires. It is a place of learning, guarded by an order that owes me a favor. They will offer you sanctuary and, perhaps, answers. Go there. Learn what you truly are. Aksen will provide a guide.

Do not trust anyone.

The message dissolved into ash moments after she read it.

Sanctuary? A monastery? Great. I trade one gilded cage for a stone one. And what does he mean, 'learn what I truly am'? I'm a woman stuck in a bird, what's there to learn?!

But the King was right. The looks she was getting now were different. Less awe, more avarice. She was a talking point in a political game she didn't understand.

The next morning, as a light rain fell, a hooded figure met her at a small, secluded postern gate. It was Aksen, out of his armor, looking grim.

"The guide is waiting down the mountain path. He's unconventional. But he knows the route to the Starfall Spires better than any living soul. It's a three-day journey. Stay off the main roads." He handed her a small, heavy pouch. "For the guide. And for emergencies."

She nudged it open with her beak. It was full of gold coins and a few small, faintly glowing gems.

Huh... Walking-around money. For a peacock. My life is so weird.

With a final nod to Aksen, Su led her peahens out of the gate and into the misty foothills. The "guide" was indeed unconventional.

He was a goat.

A grizzled, old mountain goat with one broken horn and eyes that held a disturbingly intelligent gleam. A small, handwritten note was tied to his other horn.

His name is Gruff. He knows the way. Do not attempt to ride him. He bites.

-A

Gruff gave her a sideways look, chewed his cud slowly, and then turned and started picking his way up a steep, rocky path without a backward glance.

So now... My royal guide is a grumpy old goat. Literally.

And so, the party set off.