Scythe and Arrows

Theon recited the latest events back to Soren while thumb‑scrolling his notebook, updating the timeline.

He watched Theon speak, eyes widening as each fact landed with uncanny precision.

“Tim, take us back to the manor.”

Soren caught Tim’s nod reflected in the rear‑view mirror.

Theon’s fingers tangled in his wolf‑cut, the motion betraying his frustration.

“All of this happened in less than 24 hours?” Theon asked.

“Yeah. The one time you decide to rain-check…” a grin tugged at Soren’s lips.

“Yeah. If we did meet, you wouldn’t be on an unknown entity’s radar,” Theon said, hand on his chin.

“Mr. Sable,” Tim said, giving him a sharp look.

Theon responded with a slight nod.

“For now, I think you should let Hendrix know you’ve gotten your name back,” Theon suggested.

“On it,” Soren said, following Theon’s lead.

Theon tapped the seat‑rest; it clicked open, revealing a medium‑sized jar with a spider.

“I present the net-casting ogre-faced spider, Deinopidae,” Theon said with a haughty grin.

“Efficient as always,” Soren smirked.

“I’m the only heir to one of the oldest arms‑tech families in the country,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“You make your fortune on conflict and wars,” Soren added.

“Says the man whose grandfather burned down an entire village looking for something,” Theon retorted.

Soren dead-panned.

“Rat titties,” Soren quipped.

“Snail for brains,” Theon jabbed.

Soren fought back a laugh. Theon held his dead-pan masterfully.

“Anyway, did you manage to get the rest of the items I asked for?” Soren asked, his tone turning more serious.

Theon nodded. “Your message this morning caught my attention. I dug back into the mugging case and the organ‑trafficking ring, just in case the threads were tangled.”

“You’ve hidden one of your prototypes, haven’t you?” Soren accused.

“Our gear isn’t cheap. At minimum you’ll contribute with experiments and data collection,” Theon said, dignified.

The vehicle lurched, tires screaming on the dry pavement.

“Mr. Sable, it’s more than one.”

Soren looked at Theon.

“We’re being followed,” Theon warned.

Soren closed his eyes. He scowled.

His attention shifted to a metallic tang and a low‑frequency hum from his pocket.

Theon glanced at his pockets.

Ting-ting

Hendrix:

[Enter the trials to lose your pursuer. And remember the language when investigating your name. Good luck!]

“Well?” Theon urged.

“Hendrix says I need to enter the trials to ditch whoever’s following us.”

He closed his eyes, but the speed of the pursuers blurred his scent sense.

“Did he mention how long it’ll take to enter the trials?”

Soren held up a finger.

“Shit!” Soren whispered, his hand darting for the coin.

The car swerved again.

“It’s the Woodlands Entity,” Soren said, urgency in his voice.

“Tim, find a spot with few by‑standers and at least one escape route.”

“Yes, Mr. Sable,” Tim responded.

Soren produced the coin, thumb poised to flip.

“Wait!” Theon shouted.

He handed Soren an ampule. “Break it, drop it in the jar. Quick death, no pain.”

Theon tapped the front seat; a compartment opened, exposing a gun and a magazine of green‑glowing rounds.

“We’re here,” Tim said, pulling behind a rundown gas station.

Soren snapped the ampules and slipped them into the jars.

The spider twitched, then curled up.

“We’ll hold them off. Accept the trials inside the car in case you have a debilitating reaction; there’s another gun in the back,” Theon said, cocking his weapon and opening the door.

The car doors slammed shut.

Soren held the coin to eye‑level. It pulsed blue.

He flipped it and caught it.

The blue pulse steadied his hand just as the first shots cracked.

He slammed the back seat, loaded the gun, flung the door open and rolled out.

Warm, humid air hit his face; his breathing quickened.

He could barely see beyond his outstretched hand; thick mist swallowed everything.

One hand on the car, the other raised his gun, he duck‑walked to the SUV’s opposite side for cover.

“Theon? Theon!” he hissed.

He waited, laboured breathing echoing through the mist.

He tugged at his olfactory sense.

No feedback.

No visual shift.

A scream echoed in the distance.

Soren shifted, a squeak echoing as his sneakers gripped the asphalt.

The mist swirled around him silently.

He steeled himself, stepped from behind the SUV and flicked the safety, raising the gun.

Low to the ground, he pushed forward in slow, rolling steps, each foot listening before it bore weight.

A light series of patters sounded behind him.

He whipped around; the SUV had vanished.

He swept his gun around, covering as many sides as possible.

“Theon! Tim!” he hissed again.

A red bar appeared in the top‑left corner of his vision, accompanied by two digital clocks on the right: 31:11:31

The mist halted.

Soren heard footsteps rapidly approaching.

Distant chaos rolled in.

Screams, screeches and cries for help filled the air.

Some sounds echoed, others trailed off, a few lingered for seconds.

Laboured breathing drew nearer; Soren pulled the trigger, but the gun stalled.

A hand materialised and knocked Soren over.

He toppled backwards; a grey blur flashed across his vision.

He landed on his back, dropping the gun, wind knocked out of him.

“Stay down and be quiet.”

Gasping, Soren clutched his chest, confused.

“We need to get to the truck.”

Tim crouched beside him; Soren rose, placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder and they moved low.

To Soren’s surprise, Tim moved like he was traversing rugged terrain, carving arcs and dashing between cover.

It felt like they were playing make‑believe.

“The truck was just behind me.”

The mist curled, warping air; seconds stretched, directions shifted.

Tim stopped and lowered his stance; Soren mirrored him.

“What’s going on? What was that thing back there?”

“Mr. Sable and I fought for about an hour before we got separated.”

“An hour? I was right behind you when the gunfire started.”

“The mist…” he scowled. “We’re being hunted and the creatures are using the mist as cover.”

Soren looked around. “That grey blur back there?”

Tim nodded.

“How are you able to find your way back to the SUV? I can’t see shit!”

They began moving faster.

“We need to get back to the van -”

The pattering of four feet echoed.

Tim, moving too fast for Soren to follow, shoved him.

A blur of yellow sliced an arc where Soren had stood.

A split second later, something slammed into them, sending them flying.

Tim slammed into the truck, followed by Soren.

Tim remained jammed inside the truck; Soren bounced off him and landed, his momentum reduced.

The red bar blinked, its charge drained by four-fifths.

The sound of Tim pulling himself off the SUV roused Soren.

He saw Tim’s feet hit the ground, walk past, and pry open the trunk.

A few moments later, Soren felt himself lifted and propped upright against the SUV, his body reluctant to obey.

His vision cleared.

Tim knelt beside him; Soren felt a needle prick his neck.

“Soren, you won’t last long if you don’t kill. The more you kill, the farther your sight will cut through the mist. I’ve given you something for your health.”

He then placed a pole‑arm in Soren’s lap.

The mist stilled once more.

Tim rose, 5’9” and athletic. His loose, sweaty hair pushed back just enough to show his eyes; the sides were tight and clean, giving the impression of a quick thinker who never pretends.

He lowered his head, focusing on hearing and his peripheral vision.

The pattering of feet surrounded them.

Tim slid a leg back, rotated 180°, and delivered a vicious backhand; the mist swirled as it connected with a crunch.

The pattering stopped, replaced by distant thuds of a body hitting concrete.

Soren tried to rise but fell back down. He knew he was in danger, yet his body wouldn’t respond; limited vision deepened his confusion.

The mist stilled once more.

Tim broke the silence, leaping over Soren.

He landed on the side of the truck, then kicked off, launching himself vertically and clamping his hand around the grey attacker’s neck, disrupting its strike.

He spun three full revolutions in the descent before slamming the lanky body, skull‑first, into the ground.

Two attackers, each a head taller than Tim, leapt toward him; elongated arms were poised to slash.

Tim met the charge head‑on, colliding with one attacker and being flung away from the SUV. The second attacker missed, skidded along the ground trying to pivot, then launched itself toward the fight.

Soren gripped his pole‑arm; feedback returned to his body as the sounds of a man struggling echoed.

He used the war scythe to pull himself upright.

Tim screamed.

Soren stumbled backward; the van caught his fall and the scythe tilted forward.

The scythe’s blade vibrated as its tip sank into flesh, parting cartilage. With a wet slurp, it pierced bone.

Soren saw the top of a grey scalp split down the middle, a maw of rows of tongues flexing and twitching.

Its body hung limp on the pole that pierced its chest; the mouth parting with each weakening breath.

One arm clutched the scythe; the other outstretched on the pole, blood dripping from sharp, honey‑colored talons.

Soren’s jaw slackened as the mist cleared, expanding visibility to a radius about three SUVs long.

The ground gave way to sparse shrubs, leaves, and tangled roots. The mist swirled, its edges fading to grey instead of forming a solid wall.

Soren pushed the scythe away, heaving the corpse to the side; his hands recoiled as it hit the ground with a thud.

A familiar grey overlay flashed, and scent‑trail hues flickered.

Soren detected a yellow scent trail in a sea of red.

He winced, realizing the creatures were everywhere.

He clasped his mouth, looked away from the corpse and steeled himself.

He pulled the scythe from the corpse, gripped it firmly, and set out to find Tim.

Visibility was locked to the van. Soren pressed forward, cutting through mist and trusting the scent flashes for direction.

Tim looked up as Soren approached; he was down on one knee, hand clutching his shoulder, breathing deeply and steadily.

“Let’s get back to the truck,” he said, standing and clutching his arm.

They reached the van; Tim opened the trunk while Soren eyed the corpse.

Tim sliced the injured arm’s sleeve with a knife, exposing raw flesh and a dangling sliver of skin.

He then dressed the wound with a blue‑gel‑like substance.

“We’ve got to find Mr. Sable,” Tim advised, as the gel spread over the wound.

He opened his backpack, filled it, and held it out to Soren.

Soren leaned his scythe against the van and took it.

“Basic supplies: rations, a flashlight, flares, a med‑kit, and synth water. We’ll limit our gear for mobility,” Tim explained, preparing a third pack.

“Prioritise killing at least nine more creatures. That will restore your visibility and let you explore the mist,” Tim said, flexing his hand and rotating his healed arm.

“If I don’t kill nine?” Soren asked, side-eying the corpse.

“You’ll get swarmed. These creatures spread to locate prey, emit a signal to larger groups when they find prey or are killed, ambush when few, and swarm when many.”

“You learned all of this in under an hour and survived?” Soren asked, trying to remain calm.

“The creatures had us surrounded until a group that had been surviving here for a week came to our aid. They gave us a crash course.”

His olfactory sense flickered.

Now that his life was no longer in immediate danger, Soren noticed a glowing icon of a man and a notebook in the top‑right corner of his vision, next to two digital clocks.

The icon of the man pulsed and a window appeared.

Soren Xxxxx

Strength: 0

Agility: 0

Endurance: 0

Toughness: 1*

Resilience: 0

Cognition: 0

Abilities

Sense Steal Lvl 1*

Sensory Gating n/a

Skills

Unarmed Combat Lvl 0

Weapon Mastery Lvl 0

Body Control Lvl 0

Soren’s heart sank. He’d never seen a character sheet dominated by so many zeros in his gaming life.

“Gear up. They’ll be here soon,” Tim said, tossing four quivers of arrows onto the van.

Soren opened the trunk and saw a small cache of weapons.

“Put on the standard harness first. Add extra attachments if your gear needs them,” Tim instructed, adjusting his high‑tech compound bow.

Soren looked at the panels displaying classes of weapons.

He glanced over the daggers and recalled a memory of him and Theon sprawled on a padded floor, drenched in sweat from their sparring.

“You’ve improved. Sylvia thinks you have talent,” Theon said between breaths.

“Yeah, right. We both know I’m prone to occasional hesitation,” Soren said, breathing heavily.

“She thinks you should start practicing with daggers and short swords,” Theon replied, already recovered.

“All I wanted was to mess with fight choreography for social media, but the heir to a weapons‑tech company pulled me into real training,” he chuckled.

“You’re gaining real‑world skills while still escaping that world. It’s a win‑win,” Theon reasoned.

“Yeah…”

Soren felt a tug in his chest. He dragged his friend into escapist fantasies that materialised and are now slow burning them into a twisted nightmare.

He grabbed two flash‑bangs, smoke grenades, two fantasy‑inspired curved daggers and a short sword.

Sable Industries cornered the market with two flagship products: Quick‑Mend serum and Living‑Steel alloy.

The serum, available in liquid and gel forms, contains cells that toggle between a stem‑cell state and any demanded cell type. Once in the bloodstream, it aggressively repairs damage over time.

Living‑Steel splices the growth patterns of wood, bone, and graphene lattices. The forging technique “grows” the steel, yielding a material that is both lightweight and exceptionally durable.

He attached under‑arm scabbards for the daggers and a back‑mounted scabbard that permits a downward draw for the short sword.

“How much of our tech works in this world?” Soren asked, fastening wrist harnesses for throwing knives.

“Guns, vehicles, phones and any form of electronics don’t work,” he said, inspecting an arrow’s tip.

Our tech may not hold up. I’ll still wager that it can be enchanted… he thought remembering the coin and Hendrix’s talismans.

The notebook icon pulsed; Soren focused on it and a window appeared:

Quests

Enchantments or Enhancements?

Save Elora

Sketi’s Game (1/2)

Soren’s olfactory sense stirred, pulling him from the torrent of questions in his mind.

“Tim, they’re coming fast,” Soren warned, sliding the daggers and short sword into their scabbards.

“ETA?” Tim asked after leaping onto the truck.

“Three minutes!”

“I’ll maim and wound; you finish them off. Watch out for their leap attacks,” Tim instructed.

Soren seized his scythe, crouched and closed his eyes, sinking into his olfactory sense.

The ability had been muted, limiting Soren to trace scents only within a short distance; the mist world was replaced by darkness.

He sensed he could pry more information from the scents.

He focused, shutting out all other senses and delving into the very makeup of a single scent.

Blood

A vague image of five creatures flickered in his mind.

Aggression

The scent linked him to the sensations he felt when the creature impaled itself on his scythe.

Devour

The scent guided him to the force and physicality of the creature that slammed him and Tim into the van.

He could almost predict the creatures’ distance and speed.

The mist stilled.

The first creature surged into his field of vision.

Soren opened his eyes to a lanky humanoid bounding toward him. On all fours, its honey‑coloured talons gripped the earth, transferring tension to its elongated arms; each stride closed the distance between Soren and mutilation.

Its vertical mouth’s tongues alternated between lapping imaginary blood and interlocking in tight clasps, a vibrant pink against its ashen body.

Tim nocked an arrow and loosed it.

The creature shifted from a preparatory stride into a leap, its elongated arms coiling back mid‑air, a violent slash poised to tear into Soren.

The arrow sliced silently through the air, striking the creature with a bass‑y shockwave that rolled outward.

The kinetic force staggered Soren backward.

The creature was yanked backward, half‑flipping in the air before crashing to the ground, stunned.

Without thinking, Soren dashed forward, drove the scythe into the creature’s neck and swiped to the right; the blade hummed as it parted flesh.

The wound’s edges immediately crumpled, and golden flakes floated up from the incision.

The ambient sound of the misty plane muffled as Soren stared at the shimmering wound. Thoughts of consciously ending a life distracted him.

“Snail for brains,” he recalled Theon’s tease, just as another concussive low boom staggered him from his trance.

Soren’s face hardened as he jerked forward to his left but slid to a stop as two more creatures burst into view from the rolling mist.

The downed one was a distraction!

His olfactory sense flashed; a thick stream of scent bled into view from behind.

“Tim, behind you!” Soren yelled, spinning around and bolting toward the SUV.

Tim spun 180°, nocked an arrow and took aim in one smooth motion.

A quarter‑beat later, a tongue‑lined vertical mouth darted in and out of the mist, revealing more of its body with each stride.

Tim loosed.

A normal arrow sank into its arm before it could complete a stride and it stumbled.

Tim’s arm rotated like a gear as he retrieved an arrow, nocked and loosed another, peppering the creature with bolts.

The ashen attacker used its injured arm to tank the follow‑up arrows, picking up speed with each stride.

Soren approached the SUV and vaulted onto the bonnet, the ashen pair hot on his heels.

He tore his panicked gaze from the approaching, arrow‑riddled creature to see Tim spin around and loosed an arrow at the pursuing pair.

What followed was a cinematic series of events.

A kinetic blast shattered one creature’s head, knocking it back and altering the other’s trajectory with a forceful jerk.

The sensory details Soren gleaned through his olfactory sense coalesced into an understanding of the creatures’ movements.

This understanding turned perception into action as Soren leaped toward the peppered creature; the kinetic blast propelled him forward, and his scythe thrust, locking onto the creature’s chest.

The creature met Soren’s charge with a screech as it leaped; a double slash coiled.

The collision began with Soren’s scythe entering the creature’s stomach.

Soren’s eyes widened as he saw its honey‑coloured talons extend while the creature released the slashes.

He watched the scythe sink deeper, bringing him closer to the talons.

The bulbous tip of an arrow entered his vision.

The arrow detonated instantly upon contact with the creature’s shoulder.

It wrenched the creature backward in a chaotic recoil.

Soren was yanked backward; his scythe hummed as it tore through the torso and exited the creature’s cheek.

Soren landed and rolled toward the SUV; his scythe whirled a short distance away, HP down to 1/5.

Tim hopped off the SUV and dashed toward the unconscious Soren.

He flipped Soren onto his back, produced a silver cylinder, twisted it, and pressed the tip to Soren’s neck. His focus split between his charge and the still‑unconscious creature.

Soren’s eyes shot open; he involuntarily sat up, taking deep, humid breaths as his HP pulsed back toward full.

“You need to keep moving! There’s one more left,” Tim said urgently, eyeing the remaining creature as it began to rouse.

“You mean two more left-,” Soren said in between breaths when a creature shot out from the mist and tackled him.

They tussled and rolled until they crashed into the SUV.

“Fuck!” Tim hissed as he nocked and loosed an arrow that landed near the rousing creature, knocking it to the side and sending it back into unconsciousness.

“Soren!” Tim shouted as he approached the face‑down, unmoving grey lump, arrow ready.

No response.

Tim loosed an arrow into the creature’s leg joint.

No response.

Tim unsheathed a dagger and slowly approached.

The corpse moved.

He froze.

The corpse turned onto its back, revealing two daggers protruding from its chest while a wincing Soren clutched his sides.