A Drink to a World Doomed - Chapter 7 - Swordpulp Studios

Chapter 7

Felix Versus Furball

 

The smell of fresh blood and guts. The mild burn of his muscles. The screams of fury and the dying.

And the salty taste of sweat mingled with splattered blood.

The gory reality of battle.

With Penny at Felix's side, the narrow streets and the tall stone buildings corralled the darklings toward their deaths. In the bright light of the lampposts, any moderately skilled Champion could make out the packs of lycan the moment they appeared.

The noise of their claws scratching the cobble. Their grunt and growls echoed and amplified. Their snarls and howls. All a clear warning another pack was coming.

And the stink of wolf and tiger drenching the still air.

Another obvious sign.

Most of the citizens had already rushed inside the buildings. Whether they belonged there or not. The generosity of strangers in dire times wasn't exactly uncommon in this land. The bangs and grating of heavy furniture shoved over to barricade the otherwise flimsy pine doors. Stacked against the shuttered windows on the first floor.

A good strategy to reduce casualties from a small darkling raid. A solid delay if this was a full invasion.

But the hordes of spidora that the vixen Snow slaughtered on the rooftops …

Felix seriously doubted this was a mere raid. Penny and him had already swept down a few blocks. With stands overturned. Shattered. Scattering the fruity or meaty snacks everywhere. Wagons broken. The horses cut down. Dying when not dead.

And more than the occasional human too.

Especially in the darker areas between the bright lampposts. Where the wild lycan felt most comfortable. Most powerful. Most intimidating.

Savoring the quick deaths of their helpless human prey.

Not in itself unusual for a night raid. The wild lycan were as brutal toward humans as the human pelt farmers were to the lycan's domesticated brethren. The beasts' irrational hatred of mankind driving them to ugly feats. None caring the damage it eventually inflicted on their domesticated brethren.

So slicing their throats, breaking them like twigs, crushing them like roaches – Felix only wished he could wear a wild lycan's pelt as he did so. These beasts wiped out his entire village for no reason. His homely mother in her gray moo-moo and perfectly tart peach pies. Dead. His father in slacks brawn drenched in sweat from working his field of corn and cotton. Determined to earn enough to send his youngest son of a few years to an academy. Dead.

But ignorance of humanity was also the lycan's greatest weakness.

Having survived the lycan raid that destroy his village, retained his senses from a strict diligent upbringing, Felix gathered all the money and wealth from the ruins he could carry – the dead didn't need it. And the lycan didn't take it.

And it paid his way into the academy, into the life of a Paladin.

Paid for his family's, his village's revenge.

Many times over.

Screams came from the next block. Growls and snarls.

The taste of salt and blood clung to his mouth.

Felix tightened the grip on his saber. Its blade hexed to cut anything except the black leather sheaths that were magicked to hold it.

“Penny,” he said, “Hurry.”

And dashed down the winding street.

Ears perked for any other sounds. The taps of the girl's boots faded behind him.

Her speed not quite up to Champion levels.

Yet.

His eyes kept peeled for any misplaced shadow. Whether among the ruins in the street. Or as shadows against the sky. Distortions by the rooftops.

Nose sniffing for the stench of beast. Whether spider, lycan, or rat – or together.

Because it meant a full invasion.

A full invasion met ratlings. Giant brutal ratmen that made wild lycan seem gentle and civilized. Many wore black plate armor. Wielded huge wicked blades skillfully made. All highly trained in battle – many as formally as informally.

And none ever deterred by hatred to study their enemies.

A ratling likely led the invasion. A skilled general. One comparable, if not better, in intellect and power than most human generals.

More than one, maybe.

But crush the ratling leaders in front of their men …

The first lycan corpse popped into sight. A blue-grey tigress curled awkward on top of two humans. Blood pool underneath them. Congealing.

Civilians successfully killing a lycan warrior?

Unlikely.

He dashed over.

Spotted the first thing wrong. Her fur was far too silky. Her build – too soft, slim, and femininely curvy compared to its wild brethren. Even her black stripes seemed placed too carefully. A sexual intent rather than the usual more random natural way.

A domesticated lycan. Bred for the whorehouses. Escaped to a hidden lycan village – and then enslaved as a purren.

And a victim as much as those humans.

Felix clenched his teeth. Baring them unseen at those wild monsters responsible.

But kept running. The living needed saving. Not the dead. The dead could wait.

Forever if necessary.

When the tigress hacked out an explosive cough. Shuddered and twitched.

He jumped to a halt.

Turned.

Crept closer. Blade ready to end her suffering.

Because only the domesticated lycan deserved mercy. Unlike their wild brethren, they were mentally and emotionally somewhere between pet cats and dogs, loyal and friendly with the right upbringing, and genuine humans, with a human's intelligence and more.

The tigress even had a familiar exquisitely sexual built – ignoring the blue-grey fur and cat parts. Even her movements as she moaned, tried to pulled herself up, belied how thoroughly her line was bred for the whorehouses.

Likely she was one of the highest priced breeds for it.

Like poor Rose.

Now the Paladin nicknamed her Bloody Rose. Who still hid the fact she was in truth a red vixen escaped from a pelt farm – a new exotic breed meant for the whorehouses. Hid as a human redheaded urchin kid for years. Stealing not only for herself but for plenty of other worse-off orphans.

Till she grew old enough. Matured into a gorgeous beauty.

And ran away from that past.

Started anew as a songstress. Would of gone far.

Except her secret was discovered by the wrong person. That she was one of the few lycan who escaped the pelt farms, escaped the whorehouses, or escaped whatever enslaved horror they were forced to live under – and who hadn't fled the human world.

Because a street kid knew better than to assume those hidden lycan villages were any safer.

A hunch that was right.

And those street smarts were reason she located the Earth Wizard. Convinced him to support her, rescue her. To hid her lycan identity throughout her training and career.

Why she was sent safely to a distant land rather than stationed here.

Yet her blade and nose today would of saved many people. Locating the ratling generals would of been far simpler with her guiding him.

A monstrous screech broke his line of thought. Echoing everywhere. From all directions.

Joined by three other roars.

Then cut off.

Felix froze. Listened hard.

The sources – definitely some kind of incredible danger.

Screams of the dying drenched the air. Howls and snarls of mundane darklings. The crack and scratch of numerous claws against cobble and stone. The same stink of blood and guts.

Of the dead and dying.

But he had to find the newest danger. The greatest danger. The troops stationed in this city, given time, stood some chance to trimming down the darkling numbers, not the more extreme monsters.

Not just slow the ratlings hordes.

That was his job.

Felix, as the only Champion remaining in the land, was the only soldier capable of ending the threat no ordinary soldier could stop. His duty demanded it. The wizard already insisted he avoid the giant ratling's final challenge at Storm Killer.

No time for this tigress now –

“Hey, Paladin Guy,” said a sultry kitty voice, “I'll tell you the invasion plan for the right price.”

* * *

Felix snapped his attention toward the voice.

The blue-grey tigress sat comfortably, suggestively, on her heels, on top of the human bodies, as if they were merely a carpet on top of the bloody cobble. Her fur still crisp and clean against the humid heat drenched with the stench of battle.

Not a drop on it.

The rainbow painted wall close behind her clearly contrasted it too. The light from the lampposts here bright rather than dim. Bright enough to give her coat a gentle sheen.

As if she intended to be found by human soldiers. Try to seduce them. By the coin offered for her pelt if not more sexual ones.

A common ploy to ambush human troops.

Yet she held her palms up facing him in surrender. Trim claws out but clearly a third the size of wild lycan. Her breasts clearly larger than the typical beauty – tigress or human. Those crisp blue eyes large yet closed just enough to look lazy on her round friendly face. Her small smile coming off smug.

Just like Rose's when she was nervous. It came with the breed.

He also kept his blade pointed at her.

Even Rose knew how to deceive a human that grew too trusting too soon, by pure instinct.

“Purren or free?” asked Felix. Listening for Penny to catch up.

But the tap of her boots – not a single sound.

“It's … complicated,” she said. Adding a cutesy cringe shrug.

“Are you oath-bound or not?” he asked.

“Technically no,” she said, “But my three masters think so.”

Felix could only raise his eyebrow at that. According to Rose, purren oaths went to one master only.

But she did have limited experience with her own kind.

“Three?” he asked, “And they know about each other?”

“Yes and no,” she said, “Respectfully.”

A quiet purr came from her too. Another sign of nervousness here. Not, as many naive people thought, happiness. Not always.

Not in this situation.

He fell silent. Resisted speaking immediately.

A domesticated tigress that dared risk tricking its wild brethren?

Azure Snow herself risked severe punishment disobeying whatever orders her master gave her in order to destroy that spidora hive. Risk saving humans rather than dying with them.

That fact that Felix could of slaughtered the darkling bugs by himself easily … it still spoke of her great bravery. So he gave her a coded message that Ash should understand no matter how drunk he got. A message her lousy tigress master would never catch until it was too late.

But would guarantee Snow freedom – and a future among the Paladins – if she wished it.

This tigress on the other hand … she could very easily be a trap. Seductive deception was bred in the whore breeds. All in order to better please the whorehouse's clientele. It was practically instinct. Poor Rose couldn't even help resorting to it no matter how often her friends called her on it.

One of the reasons her and Ash never went from romantically crazy drinking buddies to full-fledged relationship.

“What do you want in exchange?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head, “I'm quite the well-traveled girl. Name a city and I've been there. Smelled the sights. Heard the histories. Cuddled the riches. Borrowed a thing or two. Lots to see and do. Including here. Like see the Tavern of Vasery.”

“Borrow a vase or two,” Felix said. Each a priceless treasure that could somehow bottle and preserve liquors for countless centuries. Many currently filled with priceless wines from plants no one's seen in countless generations. Only the wizards themselves could identify them.

Only some of them.

“Exactly,” she said, “Traveling is kinda expensive. And a girl like me can't stay anywhere too long, take just any job. Can't risk anyone seeing my ears and tail and all. Lots of prejudice toward us kitties because of our nasty wild cousins.”

The very implication forced Felix to steady his pounding heart.

It couldn't be.

Was this tigress the apparent solution to the most perplexing mystery and vast conspiracy of grand darkling thefts this age? One that befuddled and defied the active investigations of five whole teams of the best Paladins sleuthing away for the last four years without uncovering a single lead.

Felix couldn't help but laugh.

Then lowered his blade. Pointed it away from her.

Kept it ready if she lunged.

Couldn't be too careful.

“Tell me the plans,” he said, “And I'll give you something better.”

That perked up her ears. She definitely scented his honest intention.

“Better than the Vases of Honeyed Gold?” she asked.

The most valuable vases of the whole priceless collection? None were even stashed in the Earth Wizard's home. Let alone the Tavern.

Because the wizard hid them somewhere deep in the catacombs underground this city. Guarded by powerful magics and monsters. Some more ancient and powerful than the Earth Wizard himself, supposedly. All because each liquor granted a power too dangerous even for the best Champions to try.

Felix sighed.

A very healthy but dishonest ambition. Normally, he'd offer a different solution but one that nailed her underlying problem directly.

“Not quite,” he said, “How about the first key to it instead?”

Nailing two serious problems in one … it was a huge gamble.

A necessary gamble now.

Her slow blink. Deepening purr.

“I'm in,” she said, “The key then the plan, okay?”

“Ash La Pushka,” Felix said, “The wizard's only son.”

“I see,” she said. Lowered her hands below her shoulders. Palms still facing him.

Then curled her tail around her waist.

A scream louder than the rest. A human scream. Among all the other screams of battle.

The sound clawed his back. Demanded he return to the fight. Leave the tigress rather than waste any more time here. She clearly wasn't an outright enemy of humans. To her sort, mankind free and prosperous created too much wealth simply to exterminate. Not that she was a friend either. Just not an enemy.

No.

He locked his legs in place for a moment. Refused to leave.

“Some bloodline keylock thing. Good,” she said. Her pose remained relaxed despite the stenches around them. Despite his obvious urge to return to battle.

“So here's the invasion plan,” she said, “The first stage is lycan and spidora raids. Then … vandread.”

“Vandread?” Felix said. Ice goosebumped his skin. An undead monster of incredible strength, speed, and agility. With one to three innate, deadly powers.

And the ability to regenerate from any damage.

An invincible foe that despised the living. Its only weakness a secret specific to each individual. A weakness that had to be kept somewhat close to its body. It’s will bound to a living master. A master whose death didn't end the vandread's existence.

No.

It merely freed it.

One of the few enemies any sensible Champion feared to face. Bound or unbound.

A single vandread could easily massacre this entire city. Even if it needed to hunt down the few who escaped its clutches.

“The vandread,” he said, “Tell me everything you know about it. Now. Before –”

Suddenly a strong whiff of cherry hit him. Slimed his skin in the direction he had been running toward.

“Don't worry,” said a new sultry voice, “I'll tell you plenty – if you live long enough.”

And something hard slammed into his back.

 

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