Bandits
Sabo moved before thought. Instinct, sharpened by suffering and tempered in blood, took hold.
Twelve of them. He could feel them—like pressure points against his senses, as if the world itself whispered their presence into his mind. The two by the rickshaw, their deception barely a mask. Three in the brush to the left, four on the right, three more above, perched in the trees like carrion birds. The three in the trees each had their bows drawn and pointed towards the path.
Aether surged in his veins as he continued to channel more and more of the energy. This is what it was like to truly see!
The maul bloomed from his shoulder in an instant, growing from nothing, expanding into reality like a piece of the world being rewritten in flesh and steel. The haft slammed into his palm, the weight settling like an extension of his will. Sabo couldn’t explain what he was feeling. It was like he and Eater were now mor compatible. Before, they were two dancers, stumbling through the steps, making their way through the music but only barely avoiding each other’s toes. Now, the entity’s will spun and moved in perfect synchronization with his own.
The arrows came, flying from the treetops in response to the maul’s appearance.
A sharp hiss. Streaks of black, cutting through the air, aimed for his chest, his throat, his head.
Sabo breathed in—aether roaring through his body like fire through dry leaves. His aura flared, snapping outward in a pulse of raw energy.
[Passive Skill Activated: Hydra Shell]
Something within him shifted, an unseen force rippling out. The first arrow reached him—and stopped. The air around him buckled as an invisible tendril lashed out, striking the arrow mid-flight, sending it spinning harmlessly to the ground. Another. Then another. His aura moved, lashing out like unseen serpents, snapping shafts in half, sending them careening wildly off course. He activated his [Aura Vision] and indeed, the shroud of aura surrounding his body reminded him of the bear-shaped Maldrath he had fought. Dozens of serpentine-like heads extended from his body, writhing through the air, alive and ready to attack anything that dared to pose him harm.
A bandit screamed, clutching his own arrow as it buried itself in his thigh.
The bandits from the brush charged the road, blades drawn, snarls on their tongues.
Sabo grinned.
He charged to meet them. Hiwot sprung forward like a cat.
Gagan looked around. Confused.
The first bandit barely had time to widen his eyes before Sabo leapt—his improved muscles coiling like steel, propelling him high. He twisted midair, bringing the maul overhead in a two-handed arc.
The rickshaw exploded.
Wood, cloth, and dust blasted outward as the hammer struck home, shattering the cart like it was made of twigs. The man and woman standing near it dove aside, barely escaping the impact, their act of feigned innocence disintegrating along with the rickshaw. The ‘baby’—a sack of potatoes—went sprawling, spilling across the forested path.
Then the real fight began.
Hiwot whispered a word, her voice a razor through the din.
Bones erupted from the earth.
Fiery skeletal hands clawed up from the dirt, grasping at ankles, seizing legs, dragging bandits down. One shrieked as he fell, his sword clattering away as skeletal fingers gripped his arms and wrenched them apart with a sickening pop.
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Gagan moved like water, slipping between attacks, flowing through the chaos with effortless grace. A sword lunged for him—he twisted, let the strike slide past, then nudged the attacker just so, sending him sprawling straight into a dagger meant for someone else. “Pardon me,” he said apologetically, as though inconveniencing the bandits.
“Manners, really?” Sabo called to the man as he blocked swipes from two bandits with the large head of his maul. The bandits were unfortunately surprised by the maw that tore open from the hammer’s head, a tongue lashing out to grab one of them by the arm. The arm was torn off with a sickening crunch. Jebati, Sabo silently swore. Despite his efforts, Eater’s hunger and bloodshed was impossible to entirely avoid.
“Oh, I love when they do all the work for me,” Gagan said, laughing. “But a battle’s no excuse to be rude, my friend!”
Sabo had no more time for banter. He moved, every new fiber of his enhanced body working in tandem—his muscles coiling, his reflexes sharpening, his mind processing every movement before it even happened. He swung the maul, clearing the two bandits from his path. The now one-armed bandit fell to the side, body limp and quickly bleeding out.
A man charged him, blade raised.
Sabo saw the mistake before he made it.
He pivoted, hammer spinning, slammed the weapon into the man’s midsection. The impact was like a thunderclap. The bandit folded in half midair, sent flying twenty feet before landing in a crumpled heap.
Another came at him. Sabo ducked under a wild swing, grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted—and snapped his forearm like a dried twig. The bandit howled, dropping his sword. Sabo finished it with a casual backhand from the maul’s haft, sending him sprawling.
Too easy.
Eater stirred in his mind.
Sabo believed it.
Sabo turned, his enhanced senses stretching outward. The three archers, the ones who had loosed those first, futile arrows, were scrambling down from the trees. One had already hit the ground running, boots kicking up dust as he sprinted toward the underbrush. One—the one with an arrow in his thigh—was struggling to even get down the tree.
Cowards.
Eater stirred, coiling around his thoughts like a great serpent.
A window of Yggdrasil’s interface flickered into view, silver letters forming in the air before his eyes.
[Improved Aura of Fear]
Sabo exhaled. Mana surged through his core, draining away like liquid fire, feeding into something unseen.
The world shuddered.
A pulse of power rippled from him in all directions, unseen but felt—something ancient, something instinctual. The bandits froze mid-step. The first archer tripped, collapsing onto his knees. The others halted where they stood, muscles rigid, breath caught in their throats. Their hands trembled. Their eyes darted in panic, but their bodies refused to obey them.
Sabo strode forward, his maul resting against his shoulder.
“Come here,” he commanded, voice low, steady. “You will not be harmed.”
The archers obeyed without hesitation, stumbling forward like marionettes caught in invisible strings. They emerged onto the road, dropped to their knees before him, their faces drained of color. One was shaking so violently he could barely hold himself upright.
The other bandits—the ones who were alive and uninjured enough to obey—dropped beside their companions.
Hiwot stepped forward, arms crossed. “How many of you are there?”
No one spoke at first, until Sabo let his aura pulse again. The lead archer shuddered and blurted, “Twelve! It was just twelve of us!”
“No others nearby?” Hiwot pressed.
“No, I swear it! We—we were desperate! The roads are empty these days, barely anyone comes this way. We thought we’d get lucky.”
“Terrible luck.” Gagan clicked his tongue. “Also, terrible marks. I mean, really, what were you hoping to find? We don’t even have saddlebags. We’re walking! Were you gonna steal my boots? . . . I do love these boots.”
The lead archer hesitated. “You—you looked like you had coin. Possibly.”
Gagan scoffed. “Clearly, you need better eyes.”
Sabo ignored the banter, tilting his head. “Did you come by foot?”
One of the archers hesitated. Then, finally, “No. We bunker down in a cave, not too far from here.”
“Answer his question,” Hiwot said.
“Garuda… We have garuda.”
Sabo narrowed his eyes. That changed things.
“Where?”
The man swallowed, then pointed toward a thick copse of trees just beyond the road. “There. Tethered just beyond the ridge.”
Sabo let his aura wash over them again, sending another shiver of terror through their spines. “Stay put.”
He, Hiwot, and Gagan moved into the trees, stepping carefully over roots and low brush. Then, past the ridge, they saw them—six garuda, saddled and restless, their large, feathered bodies shifting against their tethers. Their sharp beaks clicked in agitation, but they were trained mounts, accustomed to riders.
Gagan let out a low whistle. “Now that is a proper prize.”
Sabo ran a hand along the feathers of the closest garuda, feeling the creature shudder beneath his touch. “We can reach the Tower far more quickly with these.”
Hiwot nodded. “Then let’s go before those bandits find their spines again.”
Within minutes, they had mounted three of the garuda, and with a sharp kick, the creatures took off, talons clawing into the dirt before launching into a smooth, bounding sprint. The forest blurred past them, and soon the road stretched ahead, winding toward the distant Tower.
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