Chapter 40 — The Lagomorphs Tribe

A group of bandits comes into view—at least twenty-six in total, closing in an unmistakable clatter of hooves and weaponry echoing through the trees as they march toward the village. Their leader rides at the front, a towering figure whose presence alone seems to cast a shadow over everything around him.

Black spikes jut from his hair like jagged blades, framing sharp features that look more like something carved from stone than flesh. His armor is heavy—dented but well-maintained and his sword rests easily on his hip as if it's an extension of himself rather than just another weapon.

"Halt," he barks suddenly to those behind him without even turning, "Weapons ready." 

A few soldiers fumble with their own blades while others simply tense up under orders. The carriages they drag along are reinforced for prisoners; iron bars gleam coldly in daylight where demi-humans might soon be crammed inside.

The rustling bush suddenly parts—revealing nothing more than a lone rabbit, its twitching nose poking out curiously before it scurries away. The leader's face darkens with immediate frustration as he watches the small creature vanish. 

"This is Mystshire?" he growls to one of his men—a lanky bandit who flinches under the scrutiny. "No traps? No ambushes? Just... rabbits?" 

The man swallows hard and gestures vaguely at their surroundings like that'll somehow explain anything better than words would have done already: "B-but sir! We were told this was where they hid!"  

A muscle in the leader’s jaw jumps violently before he exhales through clenched teeth in sheer irritation.

The bandit who spoke up quickly straightens his spine, trying to sound authoritative despite the sweat now beading on his forehead. "Sir—the Rabbit Tribe isn’t just some forest dwellers! They’re ferocious when cornered. They don’t fight like other tribes—"

"—They vanish," another soldier cuts in nervously, "One second they're there, the next? Nothing but shadows and traps."  

The leader's eyes narrow as he processes this. His grip tightens around the hilt of his sword. "Tch. So what you're telling me is we walked into a damn ambush without even knowing it?" 

A third bandit swallows hard before adding: "Their shamans read fate in roots and leaves... If they knew we were coming..."  

Silence stretches for a beat too long as every man present realizes exactly how badly they might have screwed up.

The leader’s grip on his sword turns bone-white, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest. His eyes burn with something dangerous—part fury, part reluctant respect. 

"So that's how my men disappeared without a trace," he snarls, "No blood. No bodies. Just... gone."  

He jerks the blade free of its sheath in one sharp motion—the metallic hiss cutting through the tension like another threat entirely. "Listen up, you spineless bastards! If I find out any of you are hiding here too..." His voice drops to something lethally quiet, "...I'll make sure whatever takes you down does it slow."  

A few bandits visibly pale behind him while others exchange nervous glances, since none are brave enough to speak. 

The leader's free hand balls into a fist, the veins standing out on the back of it from his grip.

"No one..." he begins coldly, "Messes with Reulog."

As the bandits murmur amongst themselves, a figure detaches itself from the shadows, dressed in a white kimono that seems to merge almost seamlessly with the surrounding terrain. Silver hair and pointed ears reveal her as a kitsune—and one fully prepared for battle at that. Her gaze flicks over the gathered troops with a cool, almost haunting kind of detachment.

The leader stiffens at the sight of her—the muscles in his jaw jumping violently before his gaze hardens into something like thinly veiled menace. "Who the hell are you?"

Ace stops in her tracks, her cold gaze sweeping over the gathered group with a kind of effortless authority. The air around her seems to turn several degrees colder even as her voice remains coolly polite—a thin veneer over something far more dangerous beneath. 

"This area is off limits to strangers... Especially Dhaangøs." Her words sound almost like a warning—a challenge just as much as it is a statement. "I suggest you turn back now. This path does not lead to anything you're looking for."

"What are you blabbing about, fox?" Reulog's lip curls into a sneer at the kitsune’s audacity, his grip on his sword tightening until the leather of his gauntlet creaks in protest. The bandits around him tense—some with weapons half-drawn, others frozen under her unflinching stare.  

"You think you can just waltz out here and tell me what paths I take?" he snarls, "I don’t care if this is your damn forest or not. We’re taking what we want—and you?"

Ace doesn’t so much as blink when he steps closer; she merely tilts her head slightly like she's studying prey deciding whether to let them flee or fight. "...And me," she finishes for him flatly, "what? Try finishing that sentence, a mere turtle might as well be faster than it."

Reulog’s sneer widens into a predatory grin, his eyes raking over her with a crude, possessive heat. He takes another step, deliberately invading her space, the stench of sweat and stale ale preceding him. The bandits behind him chuckle, a low, ugly sound that ripples through the clearing.

"And you," he repeats, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly murmur meant only for her. He leans in, his breath hot against her ear. "You're the prize. The pretty little fox that's been hiding out in these woods. A man gets tired of just coin and supplies, and having to be told to do everything for those nobles and kings, you see? A man needs... entertainment."

He straightens up slightly, his gaze flicking down to her body and back up to her face, making no attempt to hide his intentions. The air grows thick with the unspoken threat.

Ace scoffs before replying: "Your life gotta be devastating that you resorted to harassing women. Why don't you entertain yourself instead?"

"You've got a smart mouth on you," he continues, his tone mockingly appreciative. "I bet that's not the only clever part of you. My boys and I have been on the road for weeks. We're bored. We're lonely. And a pretty thing like you... well, you're meant to be shared. To be put in her place. We'll see how defiant you are when you're on your back, begging for it to stop. Or maybe," he pauses, a cruel glint in his eyes, "begging for more."

He gestures with his sword, not at her throat, but in a lazy, sweeping motion towards the carriages.

"So go on, you're coming with us. You're going to be our camp whore. You're going to warm our beds and serve every last one of us. And when we're finally tired of you, maybe we'll let you go. Maybe."

Ace's smirk widens a fraction as she smoothly draws her katana, backing up a few paces while her gaze remains locked onto Reulog, showing she didn't even flinch at his vile words. 

"Look at you all. A gaggle of starved, fleabitten dogs who think barking loud enough makes you wolves. You talk of putting me in my place?" She lets out a short, humorless laugh. "You can't even find your own place in the world without stealing and threatening women. The only thing you'll be putting on your backs tonight is your own guts, if you're lucky." 

Maya, hidden in the bushes nearby, makes eye contact with her—the slightest nod is the only warning before she casts a fire spell, sending sparks flying toward the horses. Panic erupts in the ranks as the horses rear up—a high-pitched, terrified whinny echoing through the air while the men riding them are flung to the ground.

"AMBUSH!" someone screams, scrambling for weapons that aren't there anymore, left behind in their fallen comrades' hands, some still half dazed from the fall, and others shouting curses as they try to regain footing.

As Ace's red auroral energy flows on her body, she doesn't hesitate—she darts forward like lightning made flesh and drives her blade clean through the nearest man’s gut before he can even raise his arms in defense. Blood sprays across her face but she just wipes it away absently with her sleeve, "Told you this path was off limits."

Reulog snarls and wrenches himself upright, his face twisted with rage.

"FIRE!" he roars at one of his men, "Burn her out of those bushes!"

A bandit fumbles with a matchstick before hurling it toward Maya’s hiding spot—but Ace moves faster than thought itself. Her blade flashes in an arc that sends the flaming projectile flying wildly off-course into dry grass instead. "Missed," she drawls flatly while stepping between them and Maya without so much as blinking.

Maya glances up at Ace with obvious awe as they stand side by side, the height difference accentuated by Maya’s comparatively short stature. She grips her staff tighter, shoulders straightening like she's trying to look every inch the fierce fighter.

Ace looks down in return, giving the rabbit beastwoman a sidelong glance. The corner of her lip quirks up in a half-smirk, eyes glittering with something close to dark humor. "...You ready?"

Maya nods firmly, her grip tightening on her staff as she matches Ace’s glare with a sharp one of her own. Her bunny ears flick back in irritation at the bandits still scrambling to regroup.

"More than ready," she mutters, "Let's show them why they should've stayed out of our woods."

Ace exhales through her nose—almost amused—before raising an eyebrow at Maya like she's questioning whether this is bravado or actual confidence. "...You sure you can keep up?"

Maya's eyes narrow—her grip on the staff tightening as she plants it firmly into the ground like a challenge. "Oh, please. I’ve been training with you for years. You really think I’m just gonna slow you down now?"

Her tail flicks behind her in agitation before she adds, "Besides... if we wait any longer, they’ll regroup. And then this gets messy."

Ace studies her for a beat longer—then huffs out something between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. "...Tch. Fine," she mutters, but don't blame me when your ass gets thrown through three trees."

A slow, almost devious grin lights up Maya's expression at that last comment. "Don't worry," she teases, "I'm a fast learner—fastest actually." 

Ace lets out another huff of something between a laugh and a sigh, rolling her shoulders in a preparatory gesture. "Let’s just hurry it up. I'm tired of waiting around anyway." She glances at Maya before she charges forward—a dark, almost predatory kind of grace in every movement.

The clearing erupts into chaos—Maya’s fire spells crackling through the air as she weaves between bandits, forcing them to stumble back with pained yelps. Ace moves like a shadow beside her, her katana slicing through poorly aimed strikes with brutal efficiency.

Reulog watches from his horse—face twisted in fury as he witnesses his men fall one by one. He slams a fist against the trunk of a nearby tree in an effort to control the rage. "What the hell?!" He roars, "What good are any of you if you can't take down a pair of women?! Useless! He snarls, "All of you! You're supposed to be strong, not dying like pigs at slaughter!"

A few bandits glance toward him guiltily before another burst of flames sends them scrambling for cover, none are brave enough to meet their leader's glare. Maya flicks an ear smugly while adjusting her glasses mid-spell-cast: "...Oops."

Ace huffs out another chuckle—a faint, almost feral kind of laugh that echoes in the clearing. "You have a cruel streak," she calls toward Maya over the sound of a distant bandit cry, "but I approve."

Maya grins, ears perking up a bit at the praise. "Thanks. I take inspiration from you" she quips back, dodging away from a sloppy strike. Her blond hair slowly darkens as she glances at Ace. "Also, I might run out of fire soon... any ideas?"

Ace’s smirk turns razor-sharp as she flicks her katana free of blood with a single, practiced motion. "Distraction," she says simply—then whistles sharply through her teeth in a sound that cuts through the chaos like an arrow. 

Reulog's head snaps toward them at the noise—just in time to see Ace feint left while Maya darts right. The leader bellows another order, "FOCUS ON THEM!"

The remaining bandits waver between obeying and fleeing outright, but most opt for the latter. Maya grins behind her glasses as their enemy’s formation crumbles further: "...Works every time."

Ace’s eyes narrow as she tracks Reulog’s movements—the way his grip on the reins tightens, the murderous glint in his gaze. She doesn’t hesitate.

"Maya," she snaps, Fire spell—now." 

Without missing a beat, Maya whips her staff around and unleashes another burst of flames directly at Reulog's horse. The beast rears with a panicked scream before bolting sideways—sending its rider crashing to the ground in an undignified heap.

Reulog hits dirt hard enough to knock some air from his lungs; for one glorious second he just lies there stunned... until fury overrides pain and he scrambles back up onto unsteady feet, blade still drawn. His voice is raw when it comes out: "YOU LITTLE RABBIT-FOX-BRAINED BRATS!"

"You really shouldn't have made me use these." The bandits who hear this flinch instinctively.

With pure rage, Reulog grabs the Aurora Lance from the carriage. The weapon looks almost like a deadly work of art—the gleam of metal in sunlight, a subtle glow along the weapon's curves and edges that seems to echo the very aurora itself. 

His breath comes out in a short, harsh huff as he turns back toward Ace and Maya, the latter of whom looks almost apprehensive. The bandit leader flicks his gaze from one to the other before his lips stretch into a sharp, cruel kind of grin. "Let’s see YOU fight this."

Maya stiffens at the sight, her ears going straight up as she stares at the weapon in the bandit leader’s hands. "Is...is that...?"