Magma Dragon's Heir

Chapter 126 - Danger

56th of Season of Fire, 57th year of the 32nd cycleObsidian was a lot more nervous than he revealed to Rose and Jas. Newt was strong, true, there was no doubt about that, but he was still merely at the third realm; he needed to sleep every couple of days, at least once a week.

And when it happened, he would have to sleep alone, with nobody keeping watch. Alone inside the Valley of the Lost. And while overhunting the danger zone would eventually force the order’s champions to kick him out, what were the odds of that happening?

Newt would have to cross the entire length of the danger zone to find the monsters, but it was much more likely for him to run in circles within a single square mile. No, Obsidian had no confidence at all that Newt would manage to leave anytime soon. Despair might even force him to gather mana and increase his realm, and without manuals, without instructors, without guardians… Calamity.

Obsidian was unsure, but he personally had little say in the matter. In truth, he had no authority at all to move any of the order’s forces, but he hoped the two champions held some sway. The one thing he and his friends could do was abandon the next geysers and head straight for the exit. He doubted the day’s difference would matter, but it was all they could do.

Suddenly, a red blot appeared in the distance, and Obsidian immediately retreated.

“Another fatsnout,” he warned the girls.

“Jas, you and I will advance towards it slowly. Rose, keep your eyes open for any other signs of danger and make sure we don’t leave your line of sight.”

Right before his first battle without Newt, Obsidian could only hope that his young friend would prove capable of coping with his problem. Obsidian focused on handling his own share. He had a sister and a friend to escort safely out of the befuddling mists.

***

Newt stared at the footprint before him, boiling with fury. Slight tremors induced by rage shook his hands, and he was so angry that his stomach began hurting to the point of retching. He had started leaving marks of passage after every two dozen steps hours ago. The marks were nothing fancy, merely a stomped, extra deep footprint in the hard ground, and yet they served their purpose. Newt had come across one.

He was certain it was his. After all, how many awakened wandered around the valley, periodically stomping their right foot into the ground, just to leave a mark? Just in case, he placed his boot into the print.

It matched.

He clenched his teeth and tried to calm down.

Suddenly, the path straight ahead of Newt had also become attractive, and he muttered a silent curse. For a moment, he questioned his reasoning. Was it possible for random changes of direction, which were meant to draw him in deeper, to make him return to a spot he had previously visited?

The answer was obviously no.

The veins in Newt’s head pulsed again; he closed his eyes and pressed his temples with his clenched fists. The Valley of the Lost was not assaulting his mind, not directly, but defying its nature with nothing but sheer will was exacting its toll.

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It had been an hour since he had cleared the third geyser, and he was exhausted, mentally and physically. Newt’s shoulders were stooped from the pain. The feeling of safety straight ahead disappeared.

He sat, then went down on his back, staring at the endless expanse of fog above, his eyes closing from fatigue, but he forced himself to keep them open. At first, he thought about nothing, then, one after another, thoughts trickled through his mind.

He kept massaging his temples, staring at nothing.

Newt screamed in pain and frustration. It was an incoherent, bestial sound, but it captured his feelings perfectly.

Suddenly, the previously dangerous area to the right became more attractive. It was safe, whispering and calling to Newt. He focused on the unnatural sensation. The zone widened and moved, then grew narrower.

Newt shot to his feet, stumbling, but gritted his teeth and pursued the feeling. He had felt it a hundred times, and never bothered to explore it. He had better ideas to test, but all those tests ended in failure. Desperate, he went to see what was happening. What was making the shifts?

The attractive zone’s shrinking slowed, then Newt sped up, and it started expanding. Finally, the safe area disappeared, becoming unattractive once again, and the mist in front of Newt thinned to reveal an azure spiketail.

The saurian’s back was turned towards Newt, its spined tail swaying left and right with each slow step not fifty feet away. Newt remained still, doing nothing, and the spiketail disappeared from his view.

With its disappearance, the neutral area before him once more grew attractive.

Newt realized he could use his budding sense of danger to find potential threats or prey. The manabeast’s scales were tinged with blue tones, its attribute likely one of water, meaning it probably had better-than-average regeneration. The ability provided a minor advantage in quick fights, but could turn the tide in battles of attrition.

The bestiary entry for third realm spiketails mentioned launching projectiles with the flicks of its mighty tail, but the fourth realm descriptions were something Newt had only skimmed through, noting what was there, but not the page-long descriptions of potential abilities.

He recalled the fourth realm macetail fending off raptors. Aside from self-healing, there were no offensive maneuvers it used to attack or defend, but that particular manabeast was exhausted. The spiketail should have similar abilities in theory, but he doubted whoever brought it into the valley had done so just to fill up numbers. There had to be a catch.

Newt hurried after the saurian, and the spiketail once more appeared fifty feet away. Newt could run the distance almost instantly, but a fourth realm opponent could use that same fraction of time to react to his sudden burst of motion and energy. So, Newt took the slow approach.

He stalked the spiketail, walking slightly faster than his prey. He shortened the distance to thirty feet when the saurian froze. The crests adorning the beast’s back swayed left and right, and it flicked its tail, twisting it to point the spines at the incoming enemy.

But the problem was, the enemy was coming from the rear, and yet the spiketail was preparing for a frontal assault, fully exposing its back and flank in its defensive stance.

Newt’s curiosity was piqued. Was the spiketail reacting to him, or was there an unknown enemy in the mist ahead? Newt burned with the desire to test his idea, but a fourth realm manabeast was not something to be trifled with.

Newt lightened his body with warm air, sneaking forward without a sound. Three steps later, the spiketail flicked its tail too hard, digging at the dirt with its tail spines and spraying earth. The beast was growing even more agitated, huffing in a breath of air, inflating its body to appear more intimidating.

The approaching opponent seemed powerful enough that the saurian would prefer to intimidate it with a show of force, rather than risk a head-on clash.

Newt stalked closer still, and the spiketail let out a deep, throaty bellow, warning the still invisible opponent.