The horde of halfling Myrmurs with crude spears and blades circled around them like some nightmarish circus act that'd wandered out of a fairy tale. Maeve's fingers tightened on Mistrender's handle, the cold metal biting back into her palms. Her heart was pounding—rightfully so—and she wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline, the weight of the situation, or everything else in between.

They were fully surrounded. No question. The sight of those small, twisted creatures with their filthy, skin-clad bodies—disgusting, vile—made her stomach churn. But more pressing was the real problem at hand: just how the hell were they going to get out of this one?

She was good at fighting. She knew she was. Having kept up with her training with Fergal for one hour every day for the past month, she felt she could even take on a Myrmur two ranks above her with ease, but this many F-Rank Wretch-Class Myrmurs was not a joke. She'd need more blood than she had in her body right now just to manage a hairstrand's escape, let alone actually defeating them in battle.

But Gael, as usual, had other ideas. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder, breaking her focus for a moment.

"I got this."

Before anyone could say anything he was already marching forward, grinning that devilish grin of his.

Then his voice rang out, hands clapping over his ears.

"Cover your ears!" he yelled. "In five, four, three, two, one—"

Everyone braced and raised their hands to their ears as Gael clicked his heels together, and Maeve's world exploded in a discordant whirlwind of raw, shrieking, soul-ripping sound.

Her hands were pressed to her ears, but the screeching noise tore through her flesh and bones anyway. Her head started to spin and she instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sound that was loud enough to make the leaves above them quiver and the grass beneath their feet flutter like it was caught in a storm. The Myrmurs—those wretched bastards—weren't so lucky. They clutched their heads, shrieking in pain, as the sound rattled every nerve in their tiny bodies. They collapsed to their knees, their spears falling uselessly to the ground.

It was over in a few seconds, but Gael didn't waste any time. As the Myrmurs staggered around them, breaking formation, he looked over his shoulder and grinned at Maeve.

Maeve grinned back, if only because she was glad the 'scream' glyph she'd carved half of on each side of his heels was functioning properly.

[Appraisal Complete]

[Bioarcanic Equipment Name: Shrill Cicada Heel Attachments]

[Penetration: 1, Sturdiness: 5, Resilience, 9]

[Bioarcanic Effect: Killing Screech]

[Brief Description: When the glyphs are completed, the throat chitin plates absorb air and immediately swirls it within their corrugated folds, increasing their amplitude. Then, the air is immediately expelled as a loud screech]

The bioarcanic equipment was so simple she could easily produce several of them in a single afternoon. All she had to do was carve a 'scream' glyph on a giant cicada plate, split it down in half, and have someone wrap the plates around their heels. Whenever they clicked their heels to momentarily complete the glyph, a screech of glass-breaking magnitude would explode outwards, breaking everyone's eardrums along with it.

"... Unfortunately, these plates have a recharge time of a drunkard trying to sober up after a fine night out at Miss Sadam's Gulch Winery!" Gael shouted, already sprinting through the horde of disoriented Myrmurs and heading not in the direction of the opening in the wall of vines, but towards the giant, rotten black pine off to the side. "Follow, you fucks! Don't just stand around!"

Maeve, Cara, and Fergal's crew followed him without question, slashing their way through the Myrmurs and cutting a bloody path behind them. Most of their eyes had popped and their eardrums had shattered, so they couldn't fight back.

Not for a while, at least.

Instead of running from the clearing straight away, they reached the base of the giant rotten Mournspire Pine, where a massive, circular wall of thorny vines blocked the entrance into the hollow as usual. Everyone immediately snapped their heads to Gael, wondering why they were here instead of running as far away as they could with the time he'd bought, but then he started hacking away at the vines with his blade.

At the same time, Maeve noticed the dozens of umbilical cords squeezing through the gaps in the vines around her feet, as if the Hosts of the Myrmurs behind them were all…

Inside.

The Hosts… are inside this tree?

"Cut through this thing!" he snapped. "We need to get inside now!"

Fergal's goons were the first to react. They hacked at the vines with their morph saws and axes and blades, while Fergal plunged all eight of his arms into the vines and started ripping them aside. Maeve, beside them, didn't waste a moment either. She jammed Mistrender into the center of the wall and thumbed a button, making her umbrella swirl like a drill.

"Why are we doing this?" Cara shouted, sweat dripping down her face as she ripped at a thick vine with her bare hands. "Why not just get out of the clearing and leave these things behind?"

"Because we can't outrun them!" Gael snapped back, barely sparing her a glance. "Out there in the mist, we'd be easy prey! They'll pick us off one by one, so this is the only way!"

The vines were thick, though, and they weren't coming down fast enough. The Myrmurs behind them were recovering—their eerie screeches growing louder as they shook off the effects of Gael's screech—and they started lurching drunkenly forward, pushing through the fog with their spears raised.

Maeve glanced over her shoulder, swallowing hard. "We need to hold them off while we get this open," she mumbled. "Maybe I have to—"

Just as she was about to propose standing their ground and fighting where they stood, the circular wall of vines suddenly shifted. Changed colors. Strange metallic sheens flickered across the vines, and the entire wall shimmered and bended in a way that defied logic.

Then the vines parted quickly as if the forest itself had decided to open the way.

Gael's eyes widened, and Maeve's breath caught. The path was open.

"Inside, now!" Gael shouted! "Go!"

Liorin, ever the eager guide, already stood behind the entrance, waving all of them forward. As they all rushed inside, the Myrmurs regained their stride. Maeve heard the pound of their footsteps and their horrible cries as they charged full speed ahead—but they were too late. The moment Cara staggered into the tunnel, Liorin slapped his palms against the ground, and the vines shifted and tightened with an unnatural speed.

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The entrance slammed shut with a resounding thud as the vines closed in on themselves, squeezing tighter and tighter. The Myrmurs on the other side immediately banged and battered at the vines in a frenzy, but they couldn't get through. Not easily. The vines were too tight and too resilient, constricting even their umbilical cords and stopping them from slithering through that way.

Without a second thought, Maeve sprinted forward, not caring that the ground was wet with dew, and grabbed the little boy's shoulders just as he was about to fall over backwards.

"Hey," she said softly. "Easy now."

Liorin turned his head up to her, and somehow, she felt that same, eager energy even through his wooden mask. He wagged his fist as though he was completely fine, but Maeve could feel his halfling body trembling beneath her grip. His legs gave out. He managed to move the wall of vines quickly enough, but between the several walls of vines he'd already moved earlier this morning and now this, he'd already overused his Art far too much. She could tell by the scent of exhaustion leaking off his body.

"I'm fine!" Liorin chirped. "Thank... thank!"

Maeve smiled back, but it was strained. She wiped the sweat off the side of his face with her sleeve. His skin was burning with exhaustion. "You've done enough," she said softly, squeezing his shoulder. "Thanks for saving us again, but… how did you get here?"

"Fogspire Forest!" he said happily again, though with a more fatigue in his voice this time. "Forest… home! Lots of tunnels! Secret tunnels!"

Before Maeve could say more, Fergal's gravelly voice broke through the tension.

"The wall really won't hold," he said, eyes locked onto the wall of vines. He was tense, shoulders squared, and his six spider arms were reared back like they were ready to stab out at any time. "If the boy doesn't reinforce the vines continuously, we'll be in trouble."

Maeve grimaced. He was right. The wall of vines was a fragile barrier at best. There were only so many ways this could go, and none of them included the wall holding for the next three minutes, maybe even less. Her fingers tightened around Liorin's shoulders.

But then Gael ambled over and stepped up onto Maeve's shoulders with an easy grin.

"Not to worry, bitches," he said, slurring the words as he tried to elevate himself over everyone else. "I've got a pl—"

Maeve scowled and jerked around to shake him off. Fergal, his five goons, and Cara all slid to the side to avoid catching him, so he landed hard on his back with a groan and a half-hearted laugh.

"You're no fun as ever," he grumbled, giving her an upside-down grin.

She glared back at him. "Stop standing on my shoulders. Why do you keep doing that?"

"I like being on top of the world, and you're a pretty funny perch—"

"What's the fucking plan, Plagueplain Doctor?" Fergal snapped.

Gael's laughter only grew louder as he pulled a bottle from his coat and took a swig, swirling the alcohol into his mouth. "So—" he burped "—we're gonna look for the heart of this tree."

Maeve raised a brow. "What?"

Gael nodded with drunken confidence, plucking off his top hat and gesturing wildly around with it. "This rotten bastard's the Host, and I bet it's packed full of Myrmur hearts. All forty, fifty of them. The whole tree's a damned nest of parasites."

Cara immediately tilted her head. "But I thought Myrmur Hosts have to be humans. How is it possible that—"

"Not all the time, actually," Maeve murmured, her eyes falling onto the umbilical cords strewn across the ground around them. Something clicked in her head as she recalled what she'd learned during formal Exorcist training. "Myrmurs can use any organic lifeform as a Host provided it can offer enough energy and nutrients for them to feed off of. A streetside flower won't do, and a regular tree wouldn't suffice—because they're too simple—but a century-old colossal pine that is part of the 'will of the forest' could function as a Host."

Gael jabbed his cane at her, snapping his fingers. "That's it, then. It's just like with Evelyn. This is a superparasitism case where forty, fifty Myrmurs have taken this entire pine as their Host. It's plenty obvious when you see all of their umbilical cords leading into this tree, but now we know for sure—so all you, Fergal, and the goons gotta do is follow the cords to the Myrmur hearts and destroy them. Honestly, I don't think the retaliation curse from destroying the Myrmur hearts will do anything to this big old thing that's been alive for centuries, but just in case, because we're good boys and girls who'd rather not destroy the ecosystem wherever we go…"

He grabbed his satchel that he'd dropped to the side and flung it straight at Cara, who caught it out of the air and immediately looked inside, frowning. "What's this?"

"New batch of symbiote elixir. I made it while you guys were out looking for shrooms," Gael said, rolling his shoulders. "But not just any old symbiote elixir. This batch is prototype two, improved after our first three shitty encounters with Myrmurs." His grin went wider as he wiggled his finger at Cara, watching as she plucked out one of the pouches filled with glowing green powder. "I've powderized the elixir so it can be stored in pouches instead of brittle glass vials. You don't even gotta administer it via syringes or putting it in direct contact with the Host's bloodstream anymore, either. All you gotta do is sprinkle the powder on a Host, make sure you aim somewhat close to the Myrmur's hearts, and—in theory—the curse interception should work just fine. Sprinkle a pouch's worth of powder onto a single heart, and then crush the heart like I always do. The tree shouldn't suffer if you do that."

Maeve blinked, still processing the strange new powder Gael had come up with, but before she could ask for more details, Cara grabbed the satchel and strapped it tight around her back, jerking her head at Fergal's goons.

"You guys follow me," she said, firm and confident. "And one of you carry Liorin on your backs. We're not leaving him here."

The big, round man with the full leather patchwork mask scooped Liorin onto his back— 'Tongueless', if Maeve remembered his name correctly—and then Cara start sprinting deeper into the darkness of the pine, their hip lanterns casting soft, flickering lights against the walls.

Maeve hesitated for a moment, watching them go, but she had to admit it was probably safer deep inside.

Fergal, however, still stood a few paces behind her, his brows furrowed as he stared down at Gael.

"And what the hell are you and the Exorcist going to do now?" he asked.

Gael didn't answer. He took another long swig from his bottle, and when he finally met Fergal's gaze, it was with an utterly unphased grin that made Fergal's expression twist into a scowl.

"Man, I'm sick of this damned forest already." Gael chuckled, shaking his head in dismay. "Four days and still not a single aero-resonating stone. I've got a bit of steam to blow off, and the Exorcist's gonna help me with that."

"And I've told you two to only pick fights you can win," Fergal grunted, looking sternly at Maeve now. "There's no point fighting if you can't win."

"Who says we can't win?" Gael countered, raising his bottle as though toasting the direness of it all. "The two of us will worry about distracting and holding back the Myrmurs, and you'll worry about keeping Cara safe while she looks for the hearts. If anything happens to her, I swear on the Saint and every old god we Bharnish have slain, Fergal, I am going to skin you alive."

Fergal didn't respond to that. His scowl deepened, but he turned away afterwards, sprinting after Cara and his goons before they could disappear too deep into the dark.

And then the two of them were alone.

Everyone else had taken off. It was just the two of them, trapped in the mouth of this dark, oppressive hole, facing the inevitable storm on the other side.

A glance at Gael's face told her he didn't seem nearly as concerned as he should be, though. He stretched his arms out as he sat up straight, slowly and deliberately, as though he had all the time in the world. His grin, crooked and smug, widened when he noticed her staring at him.

"You're looking all tense, Exorcist," he teased. "Losing your grip?"

She could feel her breath quicken slightly. She hated feeling this vulnerable.

"Are we… really going to fight so many at once?" she finally asked, her voice steady but betraying a hint of the tension in her body. "F-Rank Wretch-Class or not, they are still Myrmurs."

"Afraid of a few Myrmurs?"

Maeve's grip tightened on the umbrella.

Afraid?

She smiled, though it was subtle—more of a challenge than reassurance.

"No," she said. "But maybe we should be."

As sunlight from the forest started pouring in through gaps in the wall of vines—the Myrmurs' spears and claws and blades were ripping through the final layer now—both of them brought their weapons up in a defensive stance.

She couldn't help but glance at her partner once more.

… And where did you learn all this?

It was a question she hadn't asked yet, but it was there, lingering in her mind right alongside the chaos of the moment. A slum-born orphan with a knack for bioarcanic solutions, who talked about concoctions and medicines as easily as he breathed… What had happened between his leaving the Sallow Hearth and her arrival in the clinic?

The thought lingered, and to her surprise, it sent a flush to her face. It was an odd warmth she hadn't expected. She blinked, caught off guard by the realization that she was… interested.

She quickly turned her thoughts back to the situation at hand.

Focus, she scolded herself. This isn't the time to get distracted.

But, as if sensing the shift in her thoughts, Gael grinned mischievously beside her, reaching into his coat for a second bottle of alcohol and offering it to her with a flourish.

He winked. "For courage."

Maeve scowled at him, but she wasn't really annoyed this time.

How strange.

She'd like to know why she felt tempted to even grab the bottle from him for a single moment, but then the wall of vines finally gave way with a violent crash, and the horde of halflings charged in.

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