《Bathilda the Bat》


 Mother Nature

    The rain hammered down on the windscreen as Bathilda pulled out of the hospital car park. With a 16-hour shift behind her, the only thing on her mind was the bottle of red she had waiting at home. That, followed by a long hot bath to scrub the days woes away, sounded like heaven in her mind. The young nurse loved her job. The opportunity to help many different people on a daily basis meant everything to her, but she''d be damned if she didn''t acknowledge it was a hard slog.


    The road ahead was gradually getting harder and harder to see due to the torrential downpour that had started an hour prior to her leaving, forcing her to drive more cautiously than she usually would. Meaning her bottle of red would have to endure being not drunk for at least another half hour at minimum.


    Just my luck.


    The traffic was slower than usual, another thing to blame on the weather, as Bathilda brought her bright, yellow Beetle to a stop at the lights. Sparing a second to stare at the zombie in the mirror, the sleep-deprived nurse''s hair looked affray in the ponytail she''d put up that morning and bloodshot eyes showed clear signs of her exhaustion.


    I''m not winning miss USA anytime soon. That''s for sure.


    The Beetle''s engine ticked over steadily as the rain continued to pour. A minute passed. Then another.


    Why isn''t the light changing?


    Another few minutes passed and she became impatient. Checking her rear view, which didn''t help her in the slightest, Bathilda rolled her window down and exposed herself to the elements as she leaned out of the car. There were no other vehicles waiting to go, so why hadn''t the light changing?


    Against her better judgement, Bathilda ran the red and made a right towards the freeway. Her usual route. Surely the light had broken and at that point it was left to a driver''s discretion to make a call until they were fixed. She knew that wasn''t accurate, but she was too tired to argue with herself.


    Having worked at St Mary''s for the last three years, Bathilda had taken the same route to work and home every day. Even with the poor-weather conditions, she managed to merge into the steady stream of traffic safely. It always amazed her how certain areas could seem empty and devoid of life, but right next to them a whole world of activty was thriving. Roads were the veins of the world and transport was the blood that kept it it going. Keeping everyone alive by making sure a copious amounts of goods flowed from one place to another.


    Switching lane, Bathilda had a good thirty-two minutes worth of travel to endure as she let out a sigh of relief. Even after having owned a licence for eight years and making the same journey everyday, she still hated merging onto the freeway. With her eyes glued on the road in front, as much as the wipers permitted, Bathilda carefully took a cigarette from her pack beside her. Lighting it up, she turned on the radio.


    The weather report was on, but the announcer, John''s Johnston, was hard to hear through the inconsistent static of a bad reception. The small sections that managed to make it through were as she would have expected. It sounded like they were advising against all non-essential travel due to visibility being extremely poor and that accident reports were flooding in to no end.


    "No shit," she said, taking a drag. At the same time, the car behind Bathilda sped past with reckless abandon and sprayed her windscreen with a fresh coat of water, causing her to swerve in panic.


    "Asshole!" she shouted as loud as she could, knowing full well her voice would go unheard and remembering the last patient she had sedated before leaving work. A man that had been rushed in after a traffic collision with three quarters of his arm hanging off. The same arm had also been run over and both of his legs had been crushed.


    Apparently, he had been the driver that caused the whole ordeal. The nurses and doctors were baffled as to how he ended up with such injuries. The best one they come up with was that he had been run over, after he had crashed and was thrown through his own windscreen.


    With her shift over, Bathilda didn''t hang around to find out the real reason why his injuries had been so grievous. There was no doubt that she would hear all about it tomorrow. The nurses staff room was the den of gossip in any hospital after all.


    She took another drag and almost dropped her cigarette when the weather man, Johns Johnson, began shouting over the radio. His signal coming through loud and clear. Very loud. "We''re receiving reports that a small Tornado has just torn straight through St Mary''s hospital in downtown Freemont. Anyone living in or around the vicinity needs to get somewhere safe right now. Anyone heading that way, stop and turn around."


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    What!?


    Unable to believe her regular weather reporter, Bathilda checked the rearview mirror. The rain was still battering down, but it had subsided enough that she could just about see through the freakish weather. A pale look washed across her face as Bathilda could just about make out the natural disaster and it was not at all what the weather man described. Not at all.


    Almost five-times the size of the six-story hospital, the hellish force of nature had already torn its way through half of the building. If that was the worst thing Bathilda had seen, then she would have turned around there and then. Earnestly going back to throw in a few more hours. God knows they would need her again now and worse case scenario, she could find somewhere to close her eyes for a few hours before jumping back into the fray.


    Sadly though, that wasn''t the worse of it. The source of the hospital''s destruction had decided to take the same damn freeway that the young nurse herself had taken. The same one Bathilda used everyday and worst part, it was travelling in the same direction she was.


    "Shit!" She cursed as another daredevil driver went speeding past, scraping the side of her beetle on his way passed and beeping his horn the entire time.


    "What the... Asshole!" She shouted out again, knowing full well no one could hear her over the storm. Realising that she should be following the other driver''s examples, however, Bathilda put her foot down and increased her speed. She most certainly didn''t want to get caught by the Tornado that seemed to be closing the gap with an unnatural ease.


    Why is it so fast?


    "Again, anyone in the area needs to get down to their basements and hunker down, anyone on the freeway... You need leave... as soon as you can and..."


    "I''m trying, John''s," she screamed, keeping her foot pressed hard on the accelerator until she hit 170.


    It took all her focus and concentration to hold the car steady. With her attention focused entirely on the road ahead, Bathilda''s chest was pounding. She had never driven that fast before.


    Even when the weather conditions were excellent, she never exceeded the speed limit. Now though, even with the poor visibility in front of her and the slippery surface beneath, Bathinda floored the pedal as hard as she could.


    The wipers flapped back and forth as the free-falling rain beat down like the drum of her heart. Bathilda leant closer to the wheel, trying to improve her view as she entered a trance-like state. Ignoring the growing noise of the gale and focusing solely on the road infront, Bathilda heart almost jumped a beat when the rain temporarily subsided.


    Still scared shitless by the roaring winds of death creeping up from behind, however, Bathilda forgot about the cigarette burning away between her fingers.


    It had reached the end of its life and had momentarily captured her attention as it burnt the skin between her fingers. The pain was enough to snap Bathilda from her trance, breaking her concentration, and at the same time causing her to lose grip on the steering wheel.


    The result was the small, yellow beetle took a sharp-right turn at breakneck speed.


    Bitch!


    Less than a second was all it had taken for shit to hit the pan.


    After regaining her grip on the steering wheel, Bathilda tried to right the car, but it was already too late. The yellow beetle had begun to spin out of control and was now in the middle of crossing lanes. In the driver''s seat, Bathilda could do little to help herself and screamed as she and her car span furiously.


    Still screaming, still spinning, Bathilda''s beetle slowly started to lose momentum before it hit the barrier. Miraculously, she hadn''t come into contact with any of the other fleeing vehicles that had passed her.


    Her head ricocheted of the window and she almost lost consciousness. A quick feel of the injured area showed it was worse than it felt as blood was already flowing from the wound. After half her vision turned red, that confirmed it for her.


    It was bad bad.


    With her Beetle facing the wrong way, the wipers still battled against the rain and Bathilda watched as the last of the oncoming traffic sped past her. With them gone and the rain lessened now she was closer, Bathilda could see the terrible magnificence of mother nature in her full glory.


    Destroying everything in her path, she was on her way to greet the broken-down wreck of a nurse who was wishing she was anywhere other than where she was. Bathilda turned the key to no success. She tried over and over again, but the engine wouldn''t start. Lady luck did not appear to be on her side today.


    Why am I just sitting here? Why aren''t I running? Or trying to escape?


    "Then again, can you really outrun a tornado?" She chuckled bitterly in resignation. "I''ve never actually seen a tornado first-hand before. Look at the fucking size of that thing!" Staring at the approaching monster of death, Bathilda took another cigarette from her packet. "I suppose I shouldn''t be worried about these cancer sticks killing me anymore, should I?"


    If only someone was around to hear that one. That would have had some of the doctors in stitches.


    Lighting up, Bathilda started laughing at her poor attempt of a joke before the cancer sticks had her lungs in stitches and a coughing fit was brought on.


    Ha, might be better that there wasn''t anyone around to see that.


    "Who''s side are you on?"


    There are no sides. Only death.


    Her Beetle finally began to move, but unfortunately, it was not due to the engine staring. Instead the hounding winds began to pull her forward as the windscreen was ripped free from off the car. Flying off into the sky, it revealed Bathilda to Mother Nature at her worst.


    Bathilda fling the handbrake on and pressed hard on the brakes, but the Beetle was still slowly being dragged closer towards the oncoming storm.


    Taking one more anxious pull before her cigarette was ripped from her hand, the tornado almost right on top of her now, Bathilda tried her best to shield her face from the blaring torrent of wind and rain.


    Why do I have to die this way?

 The Rules of Reincarnation

    Closing her eyes and shielding her face with her arms, Bathilda felt the strain on her body as it was forcefully pulled against the seat belt. Tears streamed from her eyes but failed to fall down her face as they were sucked free from the vehicle along with everything else not strapped in.


    The Beetle groaned its own painful cry as the roof tore away, exposing the terrified nurse to the full force of nature''s brutal assault. The oxygen was sucked from her lungs and Bathilda felt the cold touch of death slowly embrace her before everything ceased to be.


    What only moments ago had felt like hell disappeared to be replaced by its polar opposite. The light of heaven. Soothing rays of warm sunshine shone down on Bathilda''s shielded form.


    Tears that were no longer being ripped away began to fall freely as she cradled herself. Too afraid to remove her arms. Eventually, after more tears had fell than she thought she could store, Bathilda eventually lowered her arms and took in her surroundings.


    A bright sun was present against a beautiful, blue sky, but it was wrong. Everything was wrong.


    Instead of being seated in the driver''s seat of her old fashioned beetle, Bathilda found herself sitting in a cosy, pink armchair. The same armchair she sat in every night at her apartment after a long day''s work. Stranger than that was the fact that her armchair was resting on top of a strange, cloud-like, material and was currently floating through the sky.


    Bathilda had always been quick to arrive at conclusions for most circumstances, but the strange assortment and clothing style of the strangers that were across from her was enough to put the brakes on her brain.


    It was even more confusing than the specifics of her currents whereabouts and Bathildaf felt as though time had stopped as she sat in stunned silence.


    On a separate cloud, floating in front of Bathilda''s comfy, pink chair, was an exquisitely-sculpted, white and gold jacuzzi. Sitting in the center, wearing nothing but a cloud to hide his modesty, was the the most handsome man Bathilda had ever seen.


    Impeccable hair, impeccable looks and a body that made her weak at the knees even though she was seated.


    If he had been alone, Bathilda would have believed she was dreaming her best dream right there. Unfortunately, he was not alone. Surrounding Bathilda''s ideal man was a small harem of women. All nestled up cosily together inside the tub.


    After her moment of stunned silence the brakes were released and Bathilda''s brain began to turn over. It pumped like the engine of her Beetle running from the storm as she took in everything around her.


    If her memory served her correctly, which it usually did seeing how Bathilda got top scores in history class during school, then the four women beside him were all dead and had died a long, long time ago.


    From left to right, the four women in the tub were Amelia Earhart, Florence Nightingale, Rosa Parks and Agatha Christie.


    With her mouth agape and her brain sprinting to catch up, Bathilda didn''t know what to be more shocked about. The dead gorgeous women in the jacuzzi? That they were literally floating through the sky? Maybe the fact that she had probably just died a moment ago?


    "Did I... die?" Bathilda finally managed to ask, after overcoming her shock somewhat.


    Leaning over the front of the Jacuzzi and resting her elbows on it, Florence was the first to respond. "I''m sorry sweetie, you had a heart attack," her voice was soothing and had an understanding tone. "God here, is going to fix you right up though because you most certainly did not deserve to die in that freaky storm."


    "A heart attack? I died of a heart attack after all that? The tornado didn''t get me? Wait a minute. God?" Bathilda looked towards the unclothed man.


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    Still basking in the company of the other three women, Bathilda''s mind finally caught up. "He''s God?" Bathilda asked with a hint of disbelief, pointing a finger at the man openly committing adultery below the water''s surface.


    "How can that guy be God?" She blurted out her own confusion.


    "Yep, it''s true, hon. He''s the almighty, the all seeing, the all powerful." Amelia chimed in, moving to the front of the large jacuzzi next to Florence.


    "We know. It''s all a little shocking at first. Especially when almost everyone pictures him to be some senile, old, white man in a robe." Rosa added, following Amelia to get nearer to Bathilda.


    "That''s probably cause of all the old paintings and what not."


    "Yea, and those religious texts."


    "Don''t forget the priests and imbecile zealots!"


    "You are getting off track, ladies. Bathilda, you should not have been working that shift should you?" It was Agatha''s turn to join the trio as she sat moved next to her friends.


    "No. It was actually meant to be my day off, but I ended covering two different shifts because the hospital is under staffed." Bathilda replied bitterly, slightly wishing she had never agreed to the overtime.


    "Yea, we know. She just wanted to make ya aware that ya were doing something good. God here really does know everything," Amelia beamed a smile at Bathilda as she pointed to the ridiculously-hunky deity behind them. Now all alone and looking slightly irritated.


    "Ahem. As I was saying," Florence jumped back in, "God here is going to give you a second chance at life, if you want one that is. You could also choose to stay here in paradise with us if you want. It''s much bigger than just these two cloud, let me assure you, and it also has everything you could ever want or need. So, what do you think?"


    Bathilda''s face went red as she pictured herself in the hot tub with God and his harem, but she quickly slapped her cheeks and shook off her delusions. Being posed a question of significant importance like that, Bathilda needed to take a moment before coming to a decision.


    "I''ll choose a second life, thank you. I can''t do any good in a place called paradise and honestly, all I ever wanted to do was help people. Plus, I died quite young, didn''t I? Because of that I feel like I''m missing out in some way."


    After giving her answer, all four women smile at each other.


    "We knew you would choose that option also. Truthfully, God explained to us how this whole conversation would play out." Agatha explained.


    "That''s... a little depressing. I feel like I don''t have much of a say in the matter now." Bathilda grumbled and was about to complain, but she was cut off by Florence who went on to explain the rules of reincarnation.


    "Unfortunately for your second life, you can''t reincarnate on Earth and the world that you''re going to is slightly different from the one you have left behind. Their medicine and the techniques practiced there would be described as primitive, more accurately they''re closer to my era than yours. In this regard, you should be the most-knowledgeable medicine women around and you should have no problems in your goal of helping others." Smiling at Bathilda, Florence continued on with her speech.


    "Humans are not the dominant race on the planet you''re going to. Just like the fantasy trope your era is so familiar with, elf, dwarves and other various human-like species are present there. I would say ''please don''t discriminate'', but we all know that you won''t so don''t worry about it. Now, for the not so great part. Unfortunately, during the reincarnation process, you will get no say over what you will be reincarnated as. Normally you would lose all of your memories too, but seeing how you have noble and honorable intentions, God here has decided to let you keep them this time."


    I''m I supposed to be grateful? Geez, thanks, God. I have to reincarnate on a world I don''t know, that''s hundreds of years behind in terms of medicine and I''m not allowed to choose what I reincarnate as? Yeah, thanks for the memories.


    With a lot of information to process, Bathilda still wanted to try her best to help others. Even if she ended up as a dwarf, or an elf, or even a... man, it wouldn''t make a difference as her objective would remain the same regardless of gender or species.


    "Knowing this extra information, do you still wish to go through the reincarnation process? You can still choose to stay here if you want too?" Offering one final get out of life free card, Florence drifted back over to her place at God''s side. The rest of the almighty''s entourage followed suit and returned to their place to wait for the response they knew that Bathilda would give.


    They didn''t have to wait for long though as Bathilda had already made her decision. "Let''s do it. You already know what I''m going to choose anyway, right?" God smiled at her response. His long, golden locks gave way to a gorgeous face. His eyes were the same colour as his hair and his irises were reminiscent of halos. His eyes seemed irresistible as they stared into Bathilda''s soul.


    Bathilda shuddered as God raised his hand from the pool and snapped his fingers. With that one simple act, an actual halo made of gold enveloped Bathilda''s whole body. A cotton-soft feeling began breaking her body down, atom by atom, ready to transport her soul to its new plane without any pain whatsoever.


    "Good luck, child." Bathilda heard an almost-musical voice from behind as her molecules were propelled forward. The universe and space became the backdrop for an amazing journey through the stars, onward towards her new home.

 Echo

    Bathilda''s view of the cosmos speeding passed her was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. A sight to behold in its own right. Never before had she witnessed something so breathtaking in all her life. Unfortunately, the dazzling spectacle was short lived as the journey took less time than it would to put on a pair of socks.


    Damn. I wish I could have looked at that starscape for a little longer.


    Before she could even begin to complain about the start of her second life, Bathilda''s soul arrived at its destination full of anticipation. She could feel her new body growing at an atomic level, but just like before there was no pain.


    Her body formed much faster than she had expected it to and a discomforting nausea spread over the nurse from another world. Panic and fear had also managed to creep there way in to her thoughts.


    A new world! I''m actually quite scared. It''s not as terrifying as facing down a Tornado, but I can''t really compare one and the other.


    With anxious thoughts flooding her mind, Bathilda opened her new eyes for the first time. The small sense of panic that had nested inside her suddenly jumped in size by epic proportions as she was unable to see anything. In fact, the only thing that greeted Bathilda was a surreal, pitch-black darkness.


    Why is it so dark? Did something go wrong with my reincarnation? What if I''m blind?


    Stumbling forward before falling face first on to the floor, Bathilda began to rationalise her situation.


    No. He wouldn''t do that, right? After all, he did let me keep my memories. I must be somewhere with no light. Like a cave or something like that. I''m OK. It''s alright. First, let''s see if I can work out what I''ve reincarnated as and then find the way out.


    Bathilda tried to pick herself up, testing the reflexes of the new body she had been given at the same time. She had already anticipated having some minor mobility problems, based on possible discrepancies in height and weight, but that wasn''t the case at all.


    Instead, the problem she was having was that her new body clearly did not fall under the human-type umbrella, casting serious regret on the young nurse''s choice to reincarnate.


    Her hands, which could now only be described as sharp points, couldn''t hold her weight as she struggled to get up. Bathilda fell over a few more times and even cut herself with her hands before finally managing to get to her feet. Even then her body swayed oddly as though her proportions were all wrong.


    Not wanting to succumb so easily after only one failure, even though she was on the verge of tears, Bathilda tried to vent her frustration with another test.


    Too afraid to touch herself, she would use sound to determine her gender. Sadly, her hypothesis of being a non-human reincarnation had been accurate and she failed to produce any tangible noise whatsoever. A grating,  static-like sound emerged from what should have been her mouth, followed by a short set of angry clicks.


    Why can''t I speak? From most fantasy literature I''ve seen most creatures can talk to some extent, so why can''t I? Even Goblins and Orcs can speak. Why is it so damn dark here!?


    Worried that there might have been a problem with her reincarnation, Bathilda took the risk and began trying to feel out the rest of her body. If she could still call it that. The bountiful curves that were once featured on her chest were no longer present. Instead, she was covered in some type of soft, fur-like material from head to toe... or claw, as it would seem. The shape of her face had elongated and her mouth had more teeth than she knew what to do with. Each one small, but sharp.


    Whatever she had become, she knew that they must have adapted to tearing food apart with their teeth. The two, little clawed fingers she possessed instead of hands wouldn''t be much help in any context. She had never used them before, but Bathilda could tell they couldnt bare much strain.


    Every proportion of what used to be her body was wrong. Altered in the reincarnation process to become something else.


    Okay, there''s got to be a good reason for why I feel like I''m wearing a onesie. The problem is, I can''t see anything down here to figure out what it is. This is so frustrating!


    After debating with herself for a moment longer, Bathilda tried to shout out as loud as she could. Even though she knew she couldn''t communicate properly, she believed the attempt was better than doing nothing.


    Amazingly, her idea paid off. Not in the form of spoken words, but in the shape of an X-ray. Somehow, her current location was being broadcast directly to her mind.


    Bathilda was actually able to see quite a lot in a strange sort of holographic way. She was able to see each individual creature skittering around on the dirt floor. She could even see through the ground beneath her to a slight extent, the walls around her and even down the two adjacent tunnels heading away from her current location.


    Oddly enough, Bathilda was able to see herself, but she put off looking at that sight temporarily. After feeling herself out, she was more than a little grossed out with how she felt and needed some time to adjust.


    If worrying about her own appearance was the height of Bathilda''s new problems, then the reincarnation process would be classed as ''not too bad''. Sadly, however, Bathilda''s new X-ray vision also managed to show the outline of a much, much larger creature than herself in her all too close vicinity. Not far enough away to be missed, but just close enough to the fringes of where her sight reached, down the passage to her right-hand side and around the corner was what could only be called a monster.


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    Much larger than herself, Bathilda guessed that the beast was easily twenty times her own height. Coincidentally, she had only just realised how high the ceiling was in her own room as she couldn''t see it on her X-ray.


    Why the hell is it so high? And what the hell is that big thing down there? This is a far cry from what was explained to me.


    Bathilda questioned her decision once again before she began stumbling, crawling and jumping towards the passageway on the left. Her small body''s even smaller heart pounded away at the sight of the enormous unknown monster.


    That thing is huge. Huge! Way bigger than little old me so it''s unlikely to need my help. Yep, that thing can easily take care of itself. I''ll just go this way.


    Deciding that her only course of action was to flee in the opposite direction of the tower-sized monster, Bathilda began moving, learning how to get her new body moving the way she wanted it to.


    This doesn''t seem right, does it? Did I get tricked by those guys back there? Is this really how a second life is supposed to start?


    More questions filled her mind as she fled in panic, scrambling her way along the dirt floor.


    "Where the hell am I?" Bahilda tried to shout out once again, but only received an updated X-ray for her troubles. The picture had moved with her but this time, however, it was followed by something even more unexpected.


    Skill (Echolocation) has reached Level 2


    Bathilda has reached Level 2


    Skill (Chomp) has been acquired


    (Chomp)? Level 2? They didn''t mention that either. What the hell did they turn me into? Am I a computer game character now? Am I supposed to go round helping people by chomping them to death!? What sort of sick joke is this?


    Feeling overwhelmed due to the ridiculous amount of questions that were piling up, Bathilda pressed on through the dirt path. The strange notification about a level up had brought with it a sudden burst of strength and adrenaline. Using that, Bathilda managed to keep moving, getting further and further away from the large creature. She wanted to distance herself from that monstrosity as fast as she could.


    So this world is more game-like than what they told me. I actually have a level and skills too. Not that I didn''t have skills before, I was fantastic at my job. This strange variation on life was not what I expected when they sent me here though.


    Swerving the now-visible rocks and foliage thanks to help of her game-like skill, Bathilda made good time scampering down the tunnel. After using (Echolocation) for a third time, she could no longer see the monster down the other path. Feeling her tiny heart finally calm itself at the prospect of escaping the unknown, Bathilda continued down the only available path.


    Durimg that time, she managed to somewhat regain her composure. Now that fear wasn''t the driving factor behind her motivation, the reincarnated nurse could make out where her vision ended and realised she had no need to use her mapping skill again until she got closer to the previous one.


    Not long after she reached the boundary, the next use of her skill showed another split in the path further ahead. The route that led left had a large hole in the floor but a tunnel was visible to her senses on the opposite side. It was a jump she had no hope of making, once again forcing her to head in one direction.


    If anything were to appear before her, Bathilda would be trapped between it and the other extremely large it behind her.


    Stupid, scary tunnels. Why? Why was I reincarnated down here? Why can''t I see without (Echolocation)? Why?


    Bathilda steadied her nerves and headed further down the rabbit hole. Another scan granted a second upgrade for the (Echolocation) skill, which seemed to improve its radius, but that wasnt all it did.


    Oh Shit!


    With the range of her perceptive field of view broadened, Bathilda caught sight of her worst nightmare.


    You''re joking, right? Is God really that offended I didn''t stay and join his harem? Why is this happening to me?


    Slowly, Bathilda tried to edge back the way she came. However, the act of moving forwards in a still-unfamiliar body was proving to be a difficult feat on its own so when she tried to reverse direction the difficulty increased.


    Praying she wouldn''t stumble also did her no favors as moments later Bathilda tripped over her own claws and landed with a loud thud. Loud enough to set off her skill (Echolocation) once more and reminding her of the fact that something bigger than herself was in the tunnel before she was.


    With full blown panic setting in and without attempting to even look behind her, Bathilda scampered back the way she came with as much gusto as her little body could afford without tripping over itself.


    In her mind, Bathilda was praying that the large, snake-like creature that had been travelling in the opposite direction hadn''t notice her approach. After a few seconds of crawling she afforded herself another look using (Echolocation).


    "Shit. I shouldn''t have looked. I shouldn''t have looked!" she screamed, refreshing the image of the tunnel at the same time.


    Attempting little jumps as she ran, stumbled and crawled with all the speed afforded to a tiny, fluffy, clawed demon, her arms, or wing-like appenditures that they were, gathered wind with each leap. With each one, Bathilda attempted to propel herself slightly further forward than the last.


    Now I learn how to move properly? What the hell is up with this place? Why is it just full of monsters?


    With the split tunnel just up ahead of her, Bathilda took the opening that didn''t lead towards this planet''s Godzilla and rounded the corner to the right just as the large snake lunged at her. It missed by inches, crashing into the wall and landing just passed the turning she had taken.


    With precious seconds earned, Bathilda''s heart was beating like a drum as she jump flapped her way towards the large hole she had seen earlier. Hoping against fate, her intention was to jump over the gap and use her wing-like appenditures to reach safety.


    Skill (Fly) has been Acquired


    Bathilda has reached Level 3


    Skill (Chomp) has reached Level 2


    How did (Chomp) get to Level 2? I haven''t even used it? Is it because my teeth are chattering? And what the hell? (Fly)? Is that what I''m actually doing right now? Flying? Are these things really wings? I wish I wasn''t in a dark cave being chased by a large snake, but fuck it. That skill is exactly what I need. Here I go!''


    With those thoughts in mind, Bathilda leapt over the hole the best she could with her new body. As soon as she reached the apex of her jump she spread her arms wide. A strange weight pushed up against her and Bathilda''s body began to glide.


    The other side was insight as Bathilda fumbled through the air, struggling to keep her posture and losing momentum. The pain of muscles she had never used before coupled with a lack of knowledge on how to fly caused her to struggle immensely until she couldn''t continue and then Bathilda began fall.


    Bathilda was a nurse, who had become something else, and was now falling down an extremely-large hole due to not knowing how to fly. It couldn''t be considered her fault. Odder than that, however, was the fact that the predator who had been giving chase to Bathilda was right beside her. The snake had foolishly decided to dive down the hole behind what it had deemed to be its dinner, after she failed her jump.


    What a strange new life.

 A Quick Chat

    Opening her eyes for a second time, Bathilda was once more greeted by darkness. But that was no longer a pressing concern. The nurse could only feel pain.


    Her entire body was in agony. She couldn''t move either of her feet and both her recently-discovered-to-be wings were also broken. She was having trouble just breathing.


    Fortunately, (Echolocation) must have activated when she landed. A picture of where she was and what must have happened slowly started to form in Bathilda''s mind.


    Luckily, if you could name such a situation by that definition, Bathilda had managed to land on top of the larger and dangerous persuer. The snake that had chased her down the passage.


    The cushion her foe had provided hadn''t been enough to prevent a fatal injury, but it was enough to avoid instant death. If they were to find their roles reversed, Bathilda would have provided little-to-no cushion at all for her opponent and it would have squashed her on the spot.


    Shitty second life. The tornado wasn''t even as bad as this. Seriously!


    Cursing her second chance to help people, the only person in need right now was her. Unable to move, Bathilda spotted a sight she had yet to notice. It was a small red blip in the bottom corner of her view, hardly even visible. Next to it were a few letters and numbers.


    HP 1/14


    Is this how my new life ends? She thought to no one in particular. With math? When I hit 0, it''s all over.


    Just as Bathilda had all but given up, a large, blue portal opened in the air above her and the familiar sound of Florence''s voiced popped out from within. Bathilda''s (Echolocation) couldn''t see inside it, however.


    "Terribly sorry Bat, we may have failed to mention a few things before God sent you off like that," the blonde bombshell bowed her head through the mirror-sized tear in reality and Bathilda was finally able to see her.


    You think!


    Bathilda wanted to shout back, but she couldn''t. Even knowing that, she still tried. Resulting in a new round of horrendous pain being inflicted upon her for her efforts.


    "It damages reality for God to do this for long so just listen. I know things seem bleak for you right now but all you have to do is level up and get stronger. Earn yourself some new skills and level up the ones that you already have. As you get stronger, you should also get bigger. Remember that every big fish starts small. Oh, and monsters. On this world, there are real monsters, not like Earth. Monsters like dragons, griffins and all other manner of creatures you could think of exist here. Not all monsters are inclined toward death and destruction though, nor do they live by the rule ''survival of the fittest''. You will just have to use your own judgement to make the decision over right and wrong, good and bad."


    How the hell am I supposed to do that when I''m literally almost dead, Florence!


    A further session of pain therapy ensued as Bathilda slipped off the top of the somehow-still-alive snake pile, landing face down on the creature''s head.


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    Another bout of screaming and shouting could be heard through the muffled sounds below.


    When it was over, Florence revealed the solution to Bathilda''s problem. "To regain your lost life force, you will have to finish off the opponent beneath you. If you do not, then when it manages to recuperate, it will likely eat you instead."


    Those words sent a shiver up Bathilda''s spine. Still in agony, she managed to face the portal which had moved beside her.


    So kill the snake? How? I can''t move if you haven''t noticed, Florence!


    The portal began to close as the nurse from an era gone by smiled at Bathilda. "You have teeth, do you not? If you cannot figure a way out of this situation, then... That would be unfortunate for you. This is also the last time our paths will cross like this. Farewell and goodluck, Bathilda."


    With that, Florence and the interdimensional space call disappeared.


    I have teeth? What. The. Hell. Florence!? I''ll show you teeth!


    In a fit of anger, Bathilda sunk her teeth into the snake''s head, chomping right through an eye in the process. She bit through the pain brought on by forcing her body to move. She kept on biting, even after her limbs went numb and the pain receeded. She bit down hard enough to make sure the stupid snake would receive the same fate as she did.


    Instead of death, however, a notification appeared before Bathilda, followed by a sudden surge of strength, healing her small body. The pain of her broken bones and all the internal damages she was unaware of were washed away. Coincidentally, the notification Bathilda had recieved confirmed exactly what Florence had just told her. It also came with a bunch of other information.


    Millisnake has been slain


    Bathilda has reached Level 10(MAX)


    Skill (Chomp) has reached Level 5


    Skill (Fly) has reached Level 2


    Skill (Poison Fang) has been acquired


    Skill (Wing Slash) has been acquired


    Skill Points have been acquired


    Evolution Available


    Wow. That''s a lot to take in. Max level? I like the sound of those new skills, especially (Wing Slash). That sounds like a super move. Maybe when I manage to get a better handle on my body, I''ll be able to use it. Maybe I (Fly) keeps leveling up ill be able to use that too.


    Looking back at the part where her level was shown, Bathilda judged that in any situation other than this exact scenario, she would have been snake food.


    The level increase is probably the reason I''m able to evolve, but how do I go about doing that? And what exactly is going to happen to me when it does? I wonder how I spend skill points too? Stupid Florence, she barely even told me anything useful whilst she was here. Honestly, what was the point in her even showing up at all?


    Angry and confused, Bathilda lifted herself up off the snakes head and eventually managed to glide her way down to the floor. With (Fly) now level 2, she did a somewhat better job of using her new appendages than she had on prior attempts. Either that, or she was slowly acclimating to the physical changes of her body.


    Landing on the ground, her recently refreshed body felt fantastic. Or as good as it could do considering the circumstances of her reincarnation. Other than the psychological trauma of almost dieing, she had recovered all her physical injuries from leveling up.


    Keeping her eyes on the new notification that seems to linger in her field of view wherever she looked, Bathilda thought about the word ''evolution'', the last item on her notification. As if it had been waiting for her, a separate screen appeared beside the first. This one was different to all others so far, however, as it seemed to want Bathilda to make a choice.


    Evolution available:


    Current Species: Baby Wingtail Bat


    Possible Choices for Evolution:


    Mature Wingtail Bat:


    Poisonous Bat:


    In her mind, which was still trying keep up with flow of new information, Bathilda filled away one more dilemma to the ever growing list of problems that had been piling up. The list had began the moment a tornado had burst into life on the way home from work on should have been just another rainy day in Freemont.


    Ah, when life use to be simple.

 Evolution

    At the bottom of the pit, Bathilda had managed to scale a small section of the wall after much trial and effort. It was there that she hung, her tail wrapped around a loose root branching out from the wall, contemplating her current situation.


    So, I''m a bat... that has a tail? Stupid Florence. She actually called me Bat as well. Although seeing it written out in front of me puts it in a different perspective.


    The notifications that appeared after Bathilda had managed to (Chomp) the giant snake to death had not yet disappeared yet. She looked over to the corpse of the predator which had followed her down the pit to its own death.


    Idiot.


    Bathilda couldn''t bring herself to feel sorry for the creature. She had always hated creepy crawlies and anything that wriggled. Now that they were apparently bigger than she was, her fear had also found itself multiplied.


    What was the point in telling me about elves and dwarves if I wasn''t actually going to reincarnate as one of those species. If they would have said "You will either be a dung beetle or a bat," then the choice I would have made might have been different. Wouldn''t it?


    Silence was the answer at the bottom of the pit.


    Probably not. I''d still want to help people if I can. But, did they really have to dangle a carrot with pointy ears in front of my face to influence my decision? I doubt it, but I do prefer the elven characters.


    Maybe they just wanted me to die again?


    No, Florence wouldn''t have bothered coming to talk me a second time if that was the case. Even though she was less helpful than the first time we met.


    Still, why am I a bat? I could have been anything! Why aren''t I a giant snake?


    Bathilda shivered at the thought.


    Why am I now the same species that children made nicknames about and teased me over when I was younger? Plus, how am I supposed to help people looking like this?


    With more questions than answers, Bathilda finally brought her attention back to the two options waiting for her decision.


    Wingtail Bat: The adult form and final evolution of the Baby Wingtail


    These bats are usually found in colonies and hunt together in large groups. Together they can become a formidable presence, but alone they are considered weak. Wingtail Bats are able to eat more than their body weight in food and general survive on a diet of insects and small rodents. Because of their size, they hunt on a daily basis. Wingtail Bats gather in dark places and have an extremely-short life span.


    Well that was poor.


    Poisonous Bat: An off-branch mutation of the Baby Wingtail that has its own evolution path


    Not much bigger than a Baby Wingtail, these small predators can deliver a swift dose of concentrated venom with each bite. However, due to characteristics of the geneology, they are not immune to their own poison. Stealthy by nature, these bats hunt, live and survive alone.


    Are you serious? Those are my choices?


    With no options apart from a limited life span and the ability to poison herself, Bathilda let out a long sigh. She then steeled herself as she chose the evolution that was least likely to be her end in the very near future.


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    It wasn''t that she didn''t take the time to consider everything she had read. It was just that her choice was obvious.


    The Wingtail Bag would make her taller, but it had an extremely-short life span. Therefore the choice wasn''t really a choice at all.


    Evolution Confirmed: You will be unable to move for five minutes. Do you wish to proceed...


    Oh. Was that an actual question? It gives off a pre-programmed feeling, but it also feels nice to not be alone for a second. Hmm, immobile while evolving? I''m probably safer up here than down there. Not that I know what will happen when I evolve, but I should be fine here. Hopefully.


    Strengthening her grip on the root she was hanging from, Bathilda made her decision and closed her eyes. Imagining the cutest bat that she could think up, Bathilda took a deep breath and waited for the mysticsl transformation to begin.


    Awkwardly, the reincarnated nurse failed to take into consideration that she only possessed a tail due to the race of her species. With her biology changing from Wingtail to Poison, the extra appendage that she was currently suspended from began to shrink as it receded back inside her body with a quick thump.


    Feeling as though she had just been slapped from behind, Bathilda somehow cast (Echolocation). Even though she was supposed to be unable to move due to her evolution, that didn''t seem to apply to her skills.


    What the hell happened to my tail? Oh.


    Thanks to (Echolocation), Bathilda was able to discern what had happened, right as she lost her grip and began to free fall. Unable to move due to her evolution, she was unable to react and crashed down in to the floor for a second time that day.


    Temporarily stunned at her own stupidity, Bathilda was left with a mouthful of dirt and mentally cursed the tail that had disappeared until her evolution finally ended.


    Regaining control of her body, Bathilda spat out the mouthful of dirt and shook herself off. Faceplanting the floor was best forgotten.


    At least nobody saw that. And I didn''t die.


    Having grown slightly accustomed to viewing life through an Xray, Bathilda was able to take a good look at the changes to her body now that she wasn''t cascading to the ground. She was also able to feel the differences too.


    Bathilda''s body had become lighter and was now less plump on the lower half as she was prior to her evolution. Her mouth had an odd tingling sensation to it. She guessed that was due to either the new self-poisoning teeth she now possessed or the fact that her face was still stinging from her little mishap. Either could have been the case, but time would tell.


    Although she was pretty sure it was her teeth.


    Better not bite my tongue.


    Other than the fact that she was missing a tail, there were no other major differences to her previous form. Her height hadn''t changed much and her body had lost a few pounds, but that was it. If the colour of her fur had changed, Bathilda had no way to tell. (Echolocation) only worked in black and white.


    What a load of crap. What really changed other than the fact that I can now poison myself?


    Letting out a sigh, Bathilda wondered how many evolutions the millisnake had gone through to reach such a gigantic size. Once more she realised just how lucky she was.


    OK. If that snake can do it, then so can I. I''ll get bigger and stronger, just like that monster did.


    Psyching herself up, Bathilda was still determined to help people at any cost. To do that, however, she was going to have to work out how to escape the pit that she had fell in.


    Another quick scan with (Echolocation) placed Bathilda in a room similar to the first one she had first arrived in. Two tunnels lead out of the slightly larger room in different directions. The only difference between her new location and the first room were the dead millisnake and the third exit above her.


    Although the first room might have been the same. I couldn''t see the roof back then either.


    With thoughts of much larger bugs being hidden away further underground, Bathilda decided to test a new skill.


    (Fly).


    Bats were known to be excellent flyers. With a bit of practice, Bathilda was hoping to achieve the same feat. Not to mention that everyone wished they could fly at some point in their life. Now, Bathilda actually had a chance to live the dream.


    With that in mind, Bathilda spread her wings -which she still thought of as arms, before pushing down with as much force as she could muster. At the same time, using her feet to catapult herself up into the air, Bathilda furiously began flapping her wings trying her best to garner stability.


    Slowly, she began to manoeuvre herself to the left, before shakily moving back to the right. After a minute of unsteady -but successful, flight, Bathilda landed back on the ground next to the monster''s corpse to let her shaking body rest.


    The shakes weren''t due to the fear she felt before as she fled for her life, instead they were a product of pure adrenaline rushing through her system. Jubilation swept over her as she had just literally been flying.


    I can fly!


    Bathilda beamed before jumping back into the air, flapping her wings she headed up the pit she had fallen down and levelled up her (Fly) skill on the way.

 Brats

    Skill (Fly) has reached Level 3


    After reaching the top of the pit, Bathilda recast (Echolocation) to try shed some light on the path yet to travel. She knows what one side holds. An enormous monster lays in one direction, and the millisnake came from the other, so neither of those two routes seemed feasible to her.


    The tunnel yet travelled seemed to be occupied by half a dozen mice. They appeared to have made their nest in the space not too far away from the pit. Knowing full well that she must now kill other monsters to increase her level and evolve again, Bathilda was carefully playing the situation out in her head.


    I should fly in there first. Yep, that''s happening. But then what? If I try using (Poison Fang) or (Chomp), the others could possibly swarm me. Although, I''m pretty sure that mice are preyed upon by bats, which would mean that I''m their natural predator.


    Although, that might just be by Earth''s standards. What if it''s different here? They could be bat-eating mice for all I know.


    The best case scenario is that they scatter when they see me flying majestically. That way I should be able to pick them off one by one. That would be perfect.


    What if they''re at a higher level than me though? Screw it. They''re smaller than I am, so I''m doing this.


    I''ve gotta grow somehow and worse case scenario... I can just fly away. I''ll run if shit hits the fan.


    Even with a solid escape plan, it didn''t stop panic seeping in. Bathilda had never been in a fight before. The pain she had endured today was worse than everything she had been through combined throughout her previous life.


    Bathilda''s little heart thumped erratically as she began her ascent toward the the top of the tunnel. She didn''t make much progress, however, realising that moving forward was completely different than going upwards.


    With a new manoeuvre to master, it took Bathilda another few minutes of practice. Going forwards and backwards down a short section of tunnel earned her another level for (Fly), before she was ready to take on her first true challenge.


    The Mice.


    Now confident in her ability to move through the air, Bathilda once again began her ascent toward the roof. Intending to be as quiet as possible, she stopped flapping and began moving forward. Silently and stealthily she glided down the tunnel, adjusting her altitude when needed.


    What was I even complaining about before?


    Entering the the larger section of tunnel, Bathilda approached the first mouse. It was laid behind a rock, away from the rest of the group. Now that she was closer, the creatutes looked more like monsterous rats than they did your average field mouse. The rodent didn''t miss her stealthy approach either and cried out as it stood up on its back legs.


    What the fuck? Since when do rats stand up?


    Still gliding, the distance between them was decreasing faster and Bathilda was having a sudden change of mind.


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    Yeah, maybe this was a bad idea.


    Unfortunately, it was already too late to abort so Bathilda commited fully to the assault. Hoping speed would be her crowning advantage, she tucked in her wings and barrelled towards the dirty-looking rat-mouse-man-thing as fast as she could. Fully intent on taking a chunk out of whatever it was with her poison-laced fangs.


    As Bathilda moved within striking distance, she readied herself to (Chomp) down on her target. Not wanting to fail, she was going to use two skills at once. It wasn''t until a large paw smashed in to her face, sending her tumbling across the floor, that she found out why they called it striking distance.


    After numerously bouncing off the ground, Bathilda finally came to stop as she crashed into one of the many large rocks scattered through out the tunnel. Pain was present everywhere and the sound of a heartbeat monitor flatlining was all she could hear.


    Fear drive her in to regaining her senses and Bathilda looked out at a familiar notification. One that showed how much damage she has taken.


    HP: 9/30


    That horrible rat had just bitch slapped 70% of her health away in one quick swipe. Worse yet it was just stood there, glaring at Bathilda as drool dripped leaked from it''s jaw.


    It dropped back down to all four legs and let''s out another horrible shriek. In the back of Bathilda''s mind alarm bells were ringing as her pain urged her to flee.


    It was then Bathilda heard a second shriek, shortly followed by a third, then a forth and before she realised it, all six mice had gathered around her. Strategically positioned to take down their opponent together.


    Knowing that death was now more of a certainty than a possibility in her current situation, Bathilda didn''t hang around to see what her prey turned predator would do next. One more strike like that and she was out.


    Quickly flying away before anything had a chance to even get near her. Pain, piled on top of more pain was all Bathilda felt, thought and knew as she turned tail and flew back the way she came.


    What the hell was that? Was that fucking rat on steroids or something? Why was it so strong? And what was that stupid war-cry about? Is it just me? Am I just that weak? Why?


    Feeling dejected over her thought-up scenario failing miserably, Bathilda was angry with herself for being so foolish. She crossed the hole that represented the pit, the impassable gap that seperated the two tunnels, before landing in a pained heap on the ground.


    Even the escape plan, the one that she had decided would be easy, actually turned out to be excruciating in its own way. Bathilda didn''t factor in the rats being so tough or causing her so much pain into the equation.


    There wasn''t as much pain as when she had fallen down the very hole she just crossed, but it was almost at that stage. Now that she was safe, or as safe as she could be, everywhere hurt. Both her wings and her body were in agony from their battering against the rock and floor. Sitting motionless, Bathilda kept a wary eye on her surroundings with (Echolocation).


    I wish I could just call Florence. I don''t see how I''ll be able help people in my current situation. I mean seriously, I can''t even beat a rat half my size. Well, I suppose it was bigger than me when it stood up. But still, what the hell was that about anyway? Why is everything so strong here!? Arghh, I already hate this stupid world!


    The moment Bathilda cursed the new planet she had been struggling to survive on since her reincarnation, she was hit with the much needed feeling of sweet-sweet healing and a new notification to go with it.


    Brat has been slain


    Bathilda has reached Level 4


    Skill (Poison Fang) has reached Level 3


    Skill (Echolocation) has reached Level 5


    Skill (Echolocation) has become (Echolocation+)


    (Echolocation+) The range of this skill is doubled


    Ha... Haha... Hahahaha.


    Feeling as fresh as she had at the moment of her arrival, Bathilda began to form a new strategy to defeat the Brats. A tried and tested strategy  that had won many battles and wars back where she was originally from.


    I''m definitely not going to be sticking around for a fair fight, that''s for sure. Especially not now I know how tough they are. It''s time for a good old hit and run.

 Whos Got Skill?

    Before setting off, Bathilda quickly checked on the Brats once again and was sickened to her stomach by what she saw. The five remaining monsters were feasting on the corpse of the fallen Brat. The monster that died to her poison.


    Why are they eating it? Food can''t be that scarce, right?


    After her rhetorical question was posed, Bathilda suddenly realised she hadn''t eaten anything herself since before her reincarnation. She also hadn''t seen anything she would be comfortable taste testing.


    Wondering how long it would be before the hunger pains kicked in, her next goal after beating the Brats would be find a source of sustenance for when she needed it.


    She didn''t want to add starvation to the growing list of problems that kept rising.


    Oh, those skill points! I should spend them. But, how do I do that? Let''s see.


    Skill Shop!


    Nope.


    Skill Tree!


    Nope.


    Skill Points!


    After calling out a few words she knew to be associated with the action she wanted to perform, Bathilda''s managed to open a new window she hadn''t seen yet. As she thought about scrolling down through the many different categories, the operation performed itself automatically and moved according to her will.


    That is pretty awesome.


    Feeling like a kid in a candy store, Bathilda spent some time scrolling through the different sections without purchasing anything. She was already broadening her knowledge of her new world just by reading some the skills that could apparently be performed here.


    After scrolling through hundreds of skills and techniques, many of which would be extremely beneficial to Bathilda, she finally stopped when she hit a category that appeared to benefit her primary objective.


    Healing.


    The majority of skills and spells inside the healing category would be invaluable to her. They would all help in Bathilda''s goal to helping people. Magic spells. Actual magic spells. Even those that could prevent and even reverse death were written out before her. Although the price tags were exorbitant.


    Bathilda''s mind was racing.


    Is that how I''ll help people here, with magic? That... Is... Awesome! Pa-chew. Pa-chew. I know that isn'' t the right sound, but who here is going to tell me any different? The Brats? I doubt it. They are going to become the fuel for my evolution, right after I spend these points.


    Spending a further ten minutes going over the whole section carefully, Bathilda was unable to purchase a single healing skill. In the top right corner of the list she was lusting over, the number 4 was present in its own separate box. It wasn''t clear if that was how many skill points she had, but that was the only number that didn''t change across all the categories.


    Bathilda cursed her lack of information. She also cursed the healing spell she attempted to purchase before she was met with failure.


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    Skill (Lesser Healing): 5 Skill Points


    Heals minor wounds and stops bleeding. This spell is not effective on large wounds or infections. Costs 4 mana per use.


    The fact that she couldn''t purchase (Lesser Healing), even though it only cost 5 points, made Bathilda more certain that she only had 4 points to spend.


    Thrilled at the thought of being able to use magic in the future, Bathilda stored the knowledge of the currently-unattainable spell in her mind for future purchase. She would have liked to have saved the points, but she needed every advantage she could get for her hit and run strategy against the Brats.


    Sorrowfully moving past the healing section of her list, Bathilda kept on until she found a section labelled Passive Skills. Inside this category, she found a few skills that only cost a single skill point. After much deliberation with herself, Bathilda spent all four points on three new passive skills. All of them should offer some aid in what was to come.


    Skill (Iron Body): Each level of this skill raises the user''s defence by 5%.


    Skill (Swift Wing): Each level of this skill raises the user''s movement speed by 5%.


    Skill (Identify): Each level of this skill adds more information to the user''s field of view.


    (Identify) was the only skill that cost two points, but Bathilda saw it as a valuable tool in her fight for survival. The ability to see how much HP someone had would surely be invaluable, or so she believed. With her purchases complete, Bathilda''s (Echolocation+) streamed new information to her brain as it decided to combine itself with (Identify) and name everything in her skill''s range.


    Cave wall, cave floor, cave wall, cave floor, roof, root, root, stone, Grickit, Brat, Brat, Brat... On and on it went, listing everything in its available range to with the barest of descriptions. At least Bathilda had discovered she was actually in a cave from the influx of information she had just received.


    What''s a Grickit? I can see anything over there.


    She wondered, rising from where she had sat. Her joints a little stiff from her prolonged inactivity.


    Bathilda turned to the pit only to stop in panic. She hadn''t been monitoring her surroundings as well as she thought she had because across the way, five silhouettes stood waiting. Ten sets of eyes -shining crimson through the darkness, were all staring at the small bat.


    If she didn''t have (Echolocation+), Bathlinda would have had no idea what they were. Fortunately for her, the skill she had been using since her arrival on this world happily showed her the carnivorous faces of her would-be murders. Having already finished their meal, they decided to follow the one that fed them.


    With luck being on her side, this time in heaps and bundles, not a single Brat was able to exit the tunnel they had traversed down due to the lack of flooring between them and their prey.


    Ha! What are you going to do now, shitheads?


    Taunting her already aggravated opponents, Bathilda danced away on her side of the pit. Gleefully basking in her own safety and much to the dissatisfaction at the irritated Brats.


    Her joyous mood was cut short as Bathilda saw a fast-moving label flying towards her. It was moving through the air on its own and took her a second to read, momentarily catching her off guard. The labelled object, a (stone), hit her clean in the wing.


    Bathilda''s mood once more turned to panic as she stopped taunting her opponents and made a hasty retreat back down her original tunnel. More stones continued to fly through the air, declaring their arrival by name, as Bathilda dodged the best she could.


    Scurrying round the corner, she stopped to rest by the split in the passage. Not wanting to go closer to the giant monster, nor wanting to go near where the Millisnake had come from, Bathilda decided to stay where she was.


    Even though she was out of sight, the Brat''s didn''t give up in their quest to stone their enemy and continued to hurl whatever objects they could find over to Bathilda''s side.


    The fact that they couldn''t see the creature who had killed one of their pack, forcing them to feast on its flesh before anything else down here did, did not mean that they couldn''t sense her. The Brat''s had very sensitive noses and even an accompanying skill boosting their senses. They didn''t need to guess, they knew she hadn''t left yet.


    So they waited.


    With a constant bombardment raining down, Bathilda had found another of her plan in tatters. The horrible rodent things were now guarding the entrance to their nest. Reluctantly, she decided to investigate the direction the Millisnake came from.


    Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

 Brat

    With her hit and run plan in ruins, Bathilda silently made her way towards the location where she had first come across the Milisnake. The only noise in the tunnel was the small sound of her own wings flapping each time she adjusted her altitude.


    So far, so good!


    With (Echolocation) upgraded to (Echolocation+), the range of Bathilda''s skill had doubled. That meant she could now see twice as much of her surroundings with each use than she could before. That also meant she would need to use the skill less, which would result in slower level ups, but the ability to notice approaching threats from a greater distance was a trade off she was happy to make.


    Just beyond the area where Bathilda had first encountered the Milisnake, there was another short tunnel leading into a larger section of the cave. It was smaller than the cavern she had just fled from and inside it, all of things, was a single Brat. It appeared to be searching for something that was hidden beneath a pile of rubble.


    Moving closer to the open area, Bathilda cast (Echolocation+) once again. Safety was her number one priority and she wanted to be able to see as far as possible to make sure her target was alone. She also wanted as much time as possible to escape if needed.


    Yes! This time I''m not going to let myself get sucker punched. With my speed and defence boost, I can do this.


    I''ve got this.


    Psyching herself up once more, Bathilda sped up with renewed vigor and dashed into the room. Assuming her target would notice her from a certain distance, just as the others had done, there was no time to waste.


    Bathilda shot across the ceiling like a bullet before she began her descend, increasing her speed even further as she headed straight towards the back of the rummaging Brat.


    Just as she thought her enemy was too preoccupied to notice her arrival, the monster turned around and screeched loudly. A horrible sound escaped it mouth, exactly like the others had, before it began to charge at her. Expecting this outcome, Bathilda let out a chuckle. She hadn''t gone mad, it was a foolhardy confidence in her plan.


    Just before she entered the monster''s striking distance, Bathilda retracted her wings mid-flight just before the Brat''s heavy claw passed over head. Gravity, being a factor in this world just as any other, helped Bathilda narrowly escape potential decapitation. The last enemy that hit her didn''t have its claws out thankfully. If it had she might not be here to try risky manoeuvres like these.


    Working in tandem with gravity, Bathilda rolled her body in the air. Hitting the ground hard, she wasted no time and continued to roll beneath the disgusting monster.


    With the death blow successfully evaded and a sly, poison-laced (Chomp) applied on her way under its midsection, Bathilda rolled out the opposite end of the Brat and took flight.


    The jaw-dropping manoeuvre which she had just performed didn''t come without its own injuries. Both of her wings hurt and a small tear was visible on one of her leathery appendages. Not enough to hinder her escape, but enough to cause worry and put her into retreat mode.


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    I can''t believe that worked. I''m Evel ''Fucking'' Kneivel! Now it''s time to run, my poison should be enough to kill that rat. Plus, it worked on the last one and I wasn''t even expecting that.


    Bathilda was struggling with her wing, but was slowly increasing her altitude when a thick, pink rope wrapped itself around her. It restricted her good wing and began coiling around her neck.


    Realising that it wasn''t a rope that had inhibited her movement, but the tail of the creature she had just taken a bite out of, Bathilda was flooded with despair. She flailed the best she could and continuously tried to use her damaged wing to break free, but it was futile. The Brat''s grip was too strong.


    The monster''s tail turned her around until she was face to face with the creature. Out of all the senses Bathilda could have lost during her reincarnation, she was pretty annoyed it hadn''t been her sense of smell. The Brat stunk and as soon as it opened its mouth, the intensity of the odor increased tenfold. The rodent''s disgusting teeth were the last thing Bathilda was going see.


    No! Get off. Shit. Help. Fuck. Help! I dont want to die!


    Bathilda could only watch in abject horror. The monster constricting her clamped it''s disgusting teeth down on what she still considered to be her shoulder, and left wing.


    Unable to bite clean through, the Brat shook its grip on her body. The monser was trying it''s best to remove the wing from her body. Crying on the inside and screaming all hell, Bathilda was about to give up when she realised she still had a chance.


    The stupid creature had made a mistake. The same foolish mistake she had once made herself earlier.


    It had entered her striking distance.


    Not letting the opportunity go to waste, Bathilda used (Poison Fang) and (Chomp) as she bit deep into the creature that was still shaking her about. Once. Twice. She bit down again and again. Not relenting. Just as she had done with the Milisnake, right after her unhelpful chat with Florence.


    Fucking, Florence!


    She screamed inwardly as she used her skills over and over again. Before she has realised it, both Bathilda and the Brat had found themselves on the floor. The only difference was that she was still biting down deep into its neck.


    Unnoticed went the notifications about her level ups. The same could be said for any thoughts she had prior to her bite off. Strategies regarding the Brat. Her irritation at Florence. All gone.


    Now, there was only the zone.


    Eventually, Bathilda''s final bite removed the head of the monster beneath her. With the battle for supremacy over, so too did her trance like state finish and her senses returned to normal.


    Looking at the gruesome mess of the monster that was about to kill her, Bathilda felt a little repulsed over the way she had ended its life. Although, for someone who dedicated their whole life to helping other people, such an act was not something that came easy for her.


    Only when she was about to lose it all did she throw caution to wind and unleash her animalistic instincts. Not that she was comfortable with that, but her survival dictated that the Brat had to die.


    The Brat was probably thinking the same thing.


    Still, I felt as though I went a bit crazy at the end there? I''m pretty sure it died after my third or fourth bite, so why did I keep going? It felt... raw, maybe? No, it was probably my frustration towards Florence''s crappy idea of help. Whatever it was, it doesn''t even matter. What did I get from that one?


    Checking the notifications that she missed whilst chowing down, a ray of light is shed on Bathilda''s recent actions.


    Bathilda has reached Level 7


    Skill (Chomp) has reached Level 5


    Skill (Chomp) has become (Chomp+)


    (Chomp+) now deals double damage and has a high chance to add a bleeding effect to its target.


    Skill (Iron Body) has reached Level 3


    Skill (Swift Wing) has reached Level 2


    Skill (Identify) has reached Level 2


    Skill points have been acquired


    A bleeding effect? I bit its fucking head off!

 Wing Slash

    After composing herself from the aftermath of her most recent tale of woe, Bathilda decided she wasn''t going to go any further until she had a good handle on her new life.


    Tired of losing and narrowly escaping death, Bathilda decided to perch herself on the roof. She needed safety to be able to read through all the notification and information screens she was able to access. Each one held different pieces of information and by the time she had finished them all, Bathilda was certain that her new life was extremely game-like.


    Skills:


    (Chomp+) Level 5


    (Echolocation+) Level 5


    (Fly) Level 4


    (Poison Fang) Level 3


    (Iron Body) Level 3


    (Swift Wing) Level 2


    (Identify) Level 2


    (Wing Slash) Level 1


    I''ve got eight skills? I completely forgot about (Wing Slash), I''ll have to test that out on the dead brat in a minute. First, let''s have another look at my status.


    As soon as she thought of the word, the skill list dropped away and was replaced by a new display.


    Name: Bathilda


    Race: Poisonous Bat


    Class: None


    Title: None


    Level: 7


    XP needed for next Level: 228


    HP: 58/58


    MP: 58/58


    My HP is looking a lot better than the 10 it started on and I''ve lost enough of it now to know how important it is. I''m assuming MP is for my magic. Not that I know how to use any spells yet or how I''d go about actually casting them. It''s a strange sight to see the figures of my life displayed in numerical format, but at least I can gage at my health. 228 XP until my next level? No idea if that''s good or bad, but I''ve been doing relatively well on the levelling up front so it can''t be that much. It''s the fighting side I''m struggling to grasp. If I was a little faster, I could have gotten away from that Brat and let the poison work its magic, but it wasn''t meant to be. Anyway, time to test (Wing Slash) and see what it can do.


    Wanting to know everything she possibly could about her new self, Bathilda turned to bisected corpse of the Brat and began to practice.


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    With a single swing of her wing, a blade made of wind tore through the air. It cut straight into the dead monster''s flesh, removing its arm in the process.


    Whoa!


    After a dozen more uses, and 2 extra levels, the remains of the monster once known as a Brat had been diced up into chunks of dirty meat.


    Undeniably happy and overwhelmingly shocked at the same time, Bathilda''s mouth curved into a big smile. The ridiculous power of (Wing Slash) would have helped her out tremendously in her last few battles. If only she had thought to test her capabilities back then. It would also have helped if she hadn''t forgotten about the skill entirely until now, not that (Chomp) and (Poison Fang) hadn''t being pulling their weight so far.


    (Chomp) had become (Chomp+) at level 5, just like (Echolocation) had, proving its place in her skill list.


    So far, the mouth she was unable to speak with was responsible for the death of three monsters. The first victim that felt her bite was literally on its deathbed, as was she at the time, but the other two were healthy monsters.


    One had succumbed to a poison-infected (Chomp) that Bathilda had used unknowingly before fleeing and the second didn''t manage to keep its head long enough for the poison to work it''s magic. Either way she looked at it, her teeth delivered a justice of their own.


    Now I''ve got a new skill, do I try my wing against the Brat horde? Or, do I keep on this path, which seems safer for now. I know, I''ll fight the horde. Not!


    Releasing herself form her perch, Bathilda explored the rest of the tunnel before she reached a larger section of cave. Her sight reached partially in to the room beyond, but not much could be seen with her limited range. Always a cautious cactuar, Bathilda cast (Echolocation+), coupled with the passive skill (Identify), to increase the range of her sight now that she had gotten closer.


    At the opposite end of the room, two monsters were engaged in a death match of their own. After Identify earned itself a level up during her last battle, the skill now showed Bathilda slightly more information. Health bars were present below the names of the creatures.


    Although helpful, (Identify)''s new feature caused Bathilda a shock. It turned out that Brats have around 300HP. Worse than that, the Alto it was fighting had just over 400HP.


    Why the hell do they have so much health compared to me? Is it a species thing? Am I being discriminated against without even knowing it?


    "Shut up, Bathilda! Concentrate. You don''t want to squander this perfect opportunity that you''ve been handed, do you?"


    I suppose not, but I swear this is getting weirder by the moment.


    "Bathilda!"


    Am I really shouting at myself? It doesn''t matter. This time, I''ll try using (Wing Slash) on the Brat. I just hope it''s as effective on living monsters. The last one hadn''t been deceased for too long before it was... carved up. At least, I don''t think it was. I did zone out for a while back there when I was chowing down, so I may have lost track of time. That shouldn''t matter though, it can''t have been that long. Rigor mortis hadn''t even kicked in yet. Either way, it''s getting a slash. The Alto on the other hand... I haven''t seen one those before.


    The creature she was looking at resembled a rabbit in every way other than its size. It was taller than its rodent opponent and had the same monstrous expression as the Brat. Long claws extended from its fluffy paws and Bathilda wanted to be nowhere near those instruments of death.


    The Alto kicked, bit and scratched it''s enemy, never relenting and sending a shiver down Bathilda''s back. The Brat didn''t seem to be fairing well against a larger, more agile creature as it was caught in its onslaught. The Alto was clearly the dominant species in their fight as every attack the Brat threw was dodged or evaded with a nimble speed.


    If I can, I''m just going to bite that thing in the ass and run away. It should die after a while due to my skill and I''ll get to see how effective my (Poison Fang) (Chomp+) combo is now that I can see their HP.


    Two enemies though. Am I ready for this? What if they team up on me when I join in? Or what if the Alto is faster?


    "Oh shut up you gigantic pussy! The rat is nearly dead. Damn well get in there, right now!"


    After a moment of stunned silence, Bathilda did as she was told and set off to join the fight, wondering all the while what was going on inside her head.

 The Voice Within

    Bathilda was stifled at the harshness of her own words, but didn''t waste the opportunity and set her plan into motion. She dove towards the Alto, the dominating bunny, who was about to finish off its opponent.


    Even on the verge of death, the Brat managed to pick up a new scent and locked eyes with the hastily approaching Bathilda. The Alto, however, was either too enthralled in its almost victory, or didn''t have the same level of sensory skills as the Brat did, to notice the small, fast target shooting down at it from above.


    Raising one of its large feet, ready to stomp the last vestiges of life out of its dinner, the Alto was caught off guard as something sharp pierced its neck.


    Suddenly racked with a burning pain, the large rabbit began hopping furiously on the spot. Forgetting all about the rodent, the monster''s eyes targeted the newcomer.


    Hovering in the air was a small, pink bat with dark purple wings. Taking too long to gage its new opponent, the creature suddenly shot three, white blades of wind towards the Alto.


    The monster didn''t hesitate, however, and fortunately for it as a stroke or good luck, or pure coincidence, between itself and Bathilda was the Brat. Already on the verge of death, the Alto kicked the Brat into the path of the blades. The rabbit could only watch in dismay as its food and experience were bisected right before it.


    Worst of all, its dinner didn''t manage to stop the blades of air and they continued straight on to their next target. The Alto had to quickly evade the weakened attacks instead of immediately attacking its new enemy.


    Angrier now than it had been after the bat''s sneak attack, the Alto let out the cutest screech Bathilda had ever heard. That didn''t stop her from turning tail and dashing back the way she came from.


    Furious that it didn''t receive the notification for finishing off its enemy, plus losing the opportunity to have a peaceful meal, the overgrown rabbit began hopping down the same tunnel its aggressor fled through.


    Bathilda, on the other hand, was ecstatic. Her hit and run tactic was a major success. Not only did she manage to slice the Brat into pieces, boosting her confidence towards taking on the group of rodents that chased her across the pit, but she also managed to land a poison-laced (Chomp+) on the Alto.


    Stupid rabbit. It doesn''t know it''s dead already.


    Not wanting to stop anywhere that the monstrous bunny would be able to reach, she could see it following her through (Echolocation+), Bathilda made her way back to the pit.


    Turning at the intersection, she pressed on round the corner and was surprised when a stone almost hit her head on. It seemed that Brats were the type of monsters that held grudges.


    Still on their side of the pit, a hail of stones bombarded Bathilda as she did her best to dodge the incoming projectiles. With the Alto closing in fast there wasn''t any time to waste and Bathilda dove down the hole that separated them the instant she reached it.


    So far, I haven''t seen anything other than myself that''s able to fly in this cave. That means I should be safe to wait it out down here. OK, that''s not 100%, but it''s the best I''ve got for now.


    With nothing better to go on, Bathilda continued her descent down the pit. A few stones rained down beside her but thanks to gravity they weren''t very threatening, giving her time to take in the pit.


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    It was only her third time here. The first time she had been falling too fast to notice anything and Bathilda had been too captured in the joy of flying on her second trip through to take in anything.


    Now, she had time and a purpose. She needed to find a safe location. Somewhere she could ride out her prolonged kills from (Poison Fang) safely.


    The outer edges of the pit looked strange. It was as though the pit was more shaft than cave. The wall was fairly smooth in comparison to the cave-like tunnels running above. Bathilda wasn''t certain, but she had a hunch that someone -or something, had created the deathly drop intentionally.


    As she neared the bottom, Bathilda managed to find a crack in the wall''s surface. Inside was a small alcove, just big enough for her to fit inside.


    I''ll be fine here. It''s dangerous to hang around in the open anyway. Even if I do sort of feel sad for not doing so. For now this will be my base of operations.


    "Really?"


    Yes! Really. It''s my body and if I want to sit in a cave instead of hanging from the roof, then that''s what I''m damn well going to do!


    As it did every so often when her frustration built up enough, Bathilda failed at shouting and a new Xray was imprinted across her sight thanks to (Echolocation+). Thanks to that her sight extended towards the bottom of the pit.


    Bathilda stared down in horror at what would have been certain death if she had decided to land on the floor instead of seeking safety elsewhere. She was also more grateful than ever that she had been reincarnated with wings.


    At the bottom of the pit, the remains of the Millisnake had all but been devoured. Surrounding its corpse, chewing through flesh and bone alike, were hundreds of monsters called Barts. Thanks to her (Identify) skill leveling up, Bathilda could see that each one had over 500HP. They were also twice the size of their obviously-unevolved counterparts, the Brats.


    See that! We''re staying here... I mean, I! I''m staying here. Now, be quiet and let me check myself out, please.


    Talking to herself was becoming an oddly-pleasant commodity since there was no one else the nurse could converse with. Feeling blue at her loneliness, Bathilda looked at the last notification she had received before fleeing.


    Brat has been slain


    715XP has been awarded


    Skill (Wing Slash) has reached Level 4


    Bathilda has reached Level 9


    Skill (Fly) has reached Level 5


    Skill (Fly) has become (Fly+)


    (Fly+) Speed and Stamina have been increased for more agile movements and extended flights.


    Nice. Once the Alto dies, I should be able to confirm my evolution in here. No falling. No enemies. It''s one hundred percent safe.


    "What if you''re too big after the evolution has finished?"


    Shit! What if I do get too big?


    Bathilda immediately began digging into the wall of her small base. It wasn''t an easy task for her, bats are not exact known to be the burrowing type. Nonetheless, Bathilda dug at the pace of a nurse that''s mid-shift with multiple cases and all hell going down on the ward.


    The Alto eventually died, somewhere in the tunnels, and at some point not long after Bathilda had started digging. The notification was lost to her and so too was the screaming voice inside her head. All she knew was soil and rocks. Soil was thrown, or swept out, creating a brown rain that almost went unnoticed by the creature''s that had almost finished their feast.


    Once they had eaten everything in sight, the Barts began to gather beneath the waterfall of dirt, curious as to what was causing the odd phenomena. As with the dirt, every rock that came free or was prized out by claw or wing, so too were they thrown from the entrance. Falling mercilessly towards the Bart pile below.


    When she had finally finished, Bathilda stood at the entrance. She took a moment to appreciate the hard work that she had just put in. What had once been a small alcove was now much more and had almost become the size of a small room. Satisfied with her work, Bathilda''s senses returned to her, bringing the annoying voice of her mind back with it.


    "Why the hell haven''t you been listening to me?"


    I was in the zone.


    "The zone? The zone!? I said it would have been sufficient half a room ago!"


    Yeah well, you never know. I just wanted to be sure.


    "Well because you wanted to make sure, you missed out on more XP that would have helped you grow!"


    What!? How? Wait a minute, how the hell do you know that? You''re just me, right? I''m just talking to myself, aren''t I?


    "Well, sort of, but not really. In a way, I''m you, because I''m in your mind. But my name is actually, Hiro. Hiro? Yes. That was my name."


    OK then. Umm, Hiro.


    "Yes?"


    Get the hell out of my head!

 The Leech

    "What do you mean?"


    You know what I mean. Out. Now!


    Bathilda demanded, not quite sure herself whether the stranger''s voice could be removed from her head or not.


    "How do you expect me to leave?"


    I don''t know? The same way you got in perhaps? I thought I was talking to myself, which isn''t the best thing to do I''ll admit, but now that I know you''re someone else, I don''t want you in my head. It''s just... Wierd. Now out!?


    "I don''t know what to tell you, Bat. You''re sort of... Stuck with me."


    What do you mean? And don''t call me Bat either. Goddamn, Florence.


    Bathilda couldn''t help but ask as a new source of panic was beginning to sink in.


    "Well, to cut a long story short, I was one of the first men to join God''s Utopia. Believe it or not, it''s a lot harder for men to get in to Paradise than it is for women."


    Really? Then why did you leave? As far I could see, it was a straight up fantasy land. Especially for men.


    Unable to accept his answer, Bathilda questioned the motives of the mind invader calling himself Hiro.


    "Yeah, I thought that too, but you saw how good looking God was right? And I mean, he is God. Omnipotent. Omnipresent. Omnieverythingelse. He''s just It. The creator of everything. Women fawn over him all day long, or for eternity if you want to be specific. How was I supposed to compete with that?"


    I don''t think it''s supposed to be a competition, but then again, what would I know? I got suckered into reincarnating as a bat.


    "Right. The time I spent there was more of a solitary existence than anything and after a while, I just couldn''t take it anymore. Nothing ever changed in Paradise either. Nothing. Everyday, which was all the time by the way, was always the same. The same clouds. The same waterfall. The same stupid jacuzzi and women."


    Bathilda heard herself sigh. Which wasn''t really her, but the one inside her.


    "I''m telling you now, no one knows how monotonous the afterlife is going to be until you die. You''re lucky that you decided to go down the reincarnation route, rather than eternal servitude on The Cloud. When I saw you make your decision without any hesitatation, I just sort of hitched my soul onto yours and... Well, here we are. I thought that I might have been of some use to you, especially if we managed to reincarnate on my world, but that didn''t happen. If it had, I didn''t think you would mind a little help.  I couldn''t ask infront of God either, I didn''t want to seem discourteous by throwing his offer back in his face."


    Are you fucking joking me!? I''m grateful for you pushing me into the fight earlier, but how dare you assume that I would be okay with this. If you would have asked God, he might have even let you go through the reincarnation process yourself. Without me! Did you even ask him?!


    "I was going to and I thought about it, I did. It just... wasn''t the right time. I had to sharpen my sword and then there was my training..."


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    Oh my God. You''re more full of shit than Gemma at work. She was never going to last at the hospital, before it was destroyed that is. But still, that bitch had an excuse for everything. I can''t make it in today, my car has broken down. I can''t push trollies today, my back is playing up. My grandma has just died, I need some more time off work. I don''t know how many Grandmothers Gemma has, but after the fifth one, it became almost comical. Especially when she took a holiday each time to cope with the ''tragic'' loss. There''s only so many times you can help a person. Never mind her though. Out. Now!


    "I... can not."


    Why?


    Still annoyed, but ever the understanding nurse, Bathilda asked the question even though she already knew the answer.


    "I don''t have a physical form anymore and, as such, I am now a part of you."


    I don''t think so, mister. You are most definitely not a part of me. There are skills and other crazy things in this world. First chance I get, you''re outta here.


    Bathilda placed the clawed tip of her wing against her skull.


    "I see. Well I will not begrudge you that offer. I would very much like to possess my own body again."


    Good. Now that we''re agreed that you will be leaving my mind at some point in the near future, what did you mean earlier when you said I could have earned more XP?


    "Some of the rocks, those with a fair amount of weight that you rolled over the edge, managed to land on a few Barts. With gravity adding more speed and force to the already hefty blocks of stone, I dare say a good dozen or so were crushed."


    Really? I didn''t see those notifications.


    Bathilda brought up her status to see if what the mind invader said was true.


    Name: Bathilda


    Race: Poisonous Bat


    Class: None


    Title: Rodent Slayer


    Level: 15 (MAX)


    XP needed until next Level: MAX


    HP: 94/94


    MP: 94/94


    Skill Points Available


    Evolution Available


    Holy shit. When did that happen?


    Excited and confused over the opportunity to perform her second evolution, Bathilda couldn''t help but ask the obvious.


    "As I just said, it happened when you were dropping large stones out of the entrance."


    Yeah, I know. I''m just psyched up about getting stronger. Hopefully, I won''t have to worry about dying to these stupid rats anymore. But that still doesn''t answer my question completely.


    "You killed several Barts after you reached max level. The XP that would have normally gained from that was wasted due to you not being able to exceed the limit."


    Bathilda face palmed with her wing. That had been common knowledge on some of the games she had played in her youth. Why had she not realised?


    How do you know that if you were in God''s paradise for so long?


    "I picked up a variety of knowledge over the course of my time there. What I know will be invaluable to you, until you help me acquire a body that is. Also this world is not that much different from my own."


    I think you mentioned that before, but you''re not from Earth?


    Curiosity got the better of Bathilda and she couldn''t help but ask.


    "Earth?"


    Yeah. That''s the planet I come from. What about yours?


    Almost forgetting that Hiro was hitchhiking mind leech, the fact that he was from another world intrigued her and Bathilda wanted to know more.


    "My planet was called Tiar and I couldn''t possibly tell you how long it has been since I was there. I have knowledge on skills, classes, and rank ups. Your evolution and the rank up system I am familiar with are remarkably similar. Imagine a tree. Its branches are the routes that allow us to rank up, or evolve in your case, growing stronger in the process. Each one follows a different path and there are many unknown outcomes of what a rank up may entail."


    On he went, explaining a great variety of subjects that Bathilda was clueless too. After she had listened to Hiro explain numerous systems, she had many questions. However, the question she asked wasn''t related to any of the subjects he had broached.


    Instead, once he was finished, Bathilda asked the question at the forefront of her mind.


    Why did you wait so long to speak to me?

 Choices For The Future

    "I was... Waiting for the right moment."


    You called me a gigantic pussy!


    Still annoyed over his choice of words, Bathilda blurted out the same phrase herself.


    "It got you moving though, didn''t it? Anyway don''t you think you should choose your evolution now and stop wasting precious daylight?"


    There is no daylight down here and that''s beside the point. I didn''t like what you called me, so you need to apologise.


    Bathilda cleaned a few scattered rocks from a small section of the floor, before sitting down and waiting.


    "Seriously?"


    Seriously! It''s my body for a start so there no way in hell I''ll let you call me names.


    A few seconds passed before Bathilda heard the words she was waiting for. Free from sarcasm, she recieved a sincere apology and it eased her considerably. Not only for the name calling, but also for the mind hijacking too. The animosity she was harboring towards her new, unwanted traveling companion faded a little and her attention shifted back to the evolution options available.


    Wingtail Bat: The adult form and final evolution of the Baby Wingtail


    These bats are usually found in colonies and hunt together in large groups. Together they are a formidable presence, but alone they are generally weak. Wingtail Bats are able to eat more than their body weight in food and general survive on a diet of insects and small rodents. Because of their size, they hunt on a daily basis. Wingtail Bats gather in dark places and have an extremely-short life span.


    Large Poisonous Bat: The adult form and final evolution of the Poisonous Bat


    With a potent venom encased in their fangs, Large Poisonous Bats are know to be dangerous predators. Capable of paralysing a Three-Toed Thumper, they are not short on skills that can incapacitate their enemy and the poison they can deliver begins to take effect almost immedialty.


    Blood Sucking Bat: An off-branch mutation of the Poisonous Bat that has its own evolution options


    Scarcely seen due to the rarity of their evolution, the Blood Sucking Bat is a lost breed. With the ability to restore lost health by drinking blood of their enemies, these monsters are an undeniable threat. Prolonged battles are their speciality, wearing their opponents down while keeping themselves topped up. Blood Sucking Bats are only slightly bigger than their off-branch cousins, the Poisonous Bat, but make up for that with their heightened agility.


    Creeper Bat: An off-branch mutation of the Poisonous Bat that has its own evolution options


    Masters of stealth, the Creeper Bats make no sound as they slip through the shadows. Any noise that is created by these small creatures is muted by magic. No bigger than a Poisonous Bat, the Creeper Bats prey on the unsuspecting. Preferring to attack from behind rather than a frontal assault, its rare for this type of monster to be seen by anyone that falls prey to it.


    Wow. There are twice as many options this time. Although, the Adult Wingtail is a repeater. Their''s an upgrade to my current form and two branching paths this time. I wonder. What do you think, Hiro?


    Actually having someone to talk too, Bathilda could finally get a second opinion on topics she wasn''t sure of. Even if that opinion happened to come from within her mind.


    "I do not know the biology or physiology of bats."


    Yeah, neither do I. The Wingtail is definitely a no go though. I don''t want to devolve into a creature whose defining characteristics are a tail and a short life span. The Poisonous Bat, however, has served me well so far. But, I feel like I should be doing so much more.


    "Like what?"


    Like magic and helping people. So far, I''ve done diddlysquat for anyone other than myself since reincarnating on this planet. Nevermind, I''m getting off topic. With what I''ve learned so far, I don''t want to be left unable to evolve if I choose the Wingtail or the Large Poisonous Bat. Going by that logic, both of those choices are eliminated. With what I learned from Florence''s crappy explanation, I need to keep evolving as much as possible to get stronger. That way, I might actually be able to do something here.


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    "Fair point."


    The Creeper is also off the list. I need to grow. I''m tired of been the smallest creature in here. Plus, I''m not down for that name at all. Not one bit. I don''t want to be a creeper, thank you very much. I feel like that''s much more your style, Hiro. Mind jacking and shit.


    "Hey!"


    Well, if the shoe fits.


    "Still. That was low."


    With three out of her four options for evolution rejected, Bathilda was left with a single choice.


    I''m actually starting to feel hungry now. I''ve probably been here for a least several hours and the energy I spent digging out the cave needs to be replenished from somewhere. Hiro, do you think I would be able to eat the monsters that die from poison? Not that I really want to, but do you reckon I could?


    "Again, I''m sorry to say I don''t know the answer to that question either. I can''t see it going well though. Even if it is your own poison."


    Yeah that''s what I thought too. More so when you consider the fact that I''m able to poison myself if I''m not careful. I suppose it makes sense not to eat anything that''s died from poison. Damn. Also, I only know of one species that suck blood, but...


    Bathilda trailed as she began thinking about the possibility of humanity transformation happening in the future. Even if it didn''t occur in the way she was musing over, it would still be better than her current situation.


    After arriving at a somewhat hasty conclusion, Bathilda confirmed her choice. Upon doing so, she was granted a notification from her helpful system.


    Confirming this evolution will render you immobile for one hour. Are you sure you wish to proceed?


    An hour? Last time it was five minutes. Although now I have a base, I''m a lot safer than I was before. There''s definitely more protection up here than when I was on the Milisnake''s back.


    Choosing to confirm her choice, Bathilda rested against the wall of her base. Her eyes closed and her body stillled as the evolution process began. There was no pain and no embarrassing incidents either as a calm state of mind washed over her.


    Time passed uneventfully as her body underwent changes. Bathilda''s fur changed from purple to black and her body almost doubled in size. Her fangs extended and the claws a the end of her wings grew longer


    When she awoke, Bathilda could feel a newfound strength flowing through her body. Her much taller body. She was still small in comparison to the Milisnake, but was now just slightly taller than the Brats she had fled from earlier. Knowledge flowed into her and Bathilda called up her skill list to check the latest additions.


    Skill (Blood Sucking) Level 1


    Restore 5% of the user''s health every second for each level of skill on an individual target


    Spell (Paralysing Stare) Level 1


    Cost: 10MP


    Incapacite a single enemy for upto 30 seconds. Each level of this skill increases the chance of successfully paralysing the target.


    Oh my word, I am absolutely starving right now! I''m still reluctant to try (Blood Sucking) out, but I chose it for a reason so that''s what happening.


    Bathilda declared with some reluctance.


    "If you chose it for a reason, then why do you not sound more enthused by the idea?"


    Have you ever drank rodent blood, Hiro?


    Bathilda had to ask. Not knowing much about Hiro''s culture or specific dietary needs, she thought it best to enquire before putting her foot in it.


    "I can''t say that I have. In that case why did you choose blood sucking over poison? Was it because you thought that anything you might bite may accidentally poison you?"


    Curious to know the reason behind her choice, Hiro, the hitchhiking soul leech, questioned the logic that led her to that decision. However, the answer that Bathilda gave left him with more questions. He had no idea what manner of species she was referring too when she explained herself.


    After talking with Hiro, Bathilda checked the area below her base to find it empty. Even the skeletal remains of the Millisnake had been devoured by the Barts.


    On the other hand, sucking blood sounds alot better than eating raw, unprocessed meat. Especially when said meat would be coming from the Brats and Barts. I''ve only seen five different monsters and two of them I didn''t really get a good look at. One was huge and the other was called a Gricket, I think? As a guess, I''m going to assume it''s like a cricket, but probably monsterfied. Until I actually spot one again, who knows.


    No longer talking to herself, but her new piggybacking companion, Bathilda squeezed through the now-tight gap that was the entrance of her base. She peered up the shaft, thinking back to the Brat pack that had tried to stone her not too long ago and the Alto that had given chase.


    The five remaining Brats were the first enemies she wanted to test herself on. Eager to try her new body out, Bathilda wasted no time reaching the top of the cave. With her wing span increases alongside her body, she could cover more distance with ease.


    At the top of the pit, Bathilda carefully assessed her surroundings. On one side of the room, the dead body of the rabbit that had valiantly given chase was laid at the edge. The rodents side was empty. Yet even without using (Echolocation+), Bathilda could sense the foul creatures down the tunnel in their nest.


    With less hesitation than before, she set off for what she hoped would be her final showdown with the carnivorous Brats.

 Whos Getting Stoned?

    Soaring down the tunnel towards the Brats, Bathilda was feeling confident after her evolution. Now that she had become a Blood Sucking Bat, she was twice the size of previous self.


    Are you ready, Hiro?


    She asked the voice in her head.


    "Yes. Although I doubt that I will be of any assistance. There isn''t much I can do without a body."


    Of course there is. You can be a second pair of eyes. All you have to do is watch my back. Easy enough, right?


    Bathilda was determined as she neared the nest.


    "In that case, I will do my best."


    Happy for the help, but hoping she wouldn''t need it, Bathilda shot into the open section of tunnel the Brats had claimed as their nest. The closest monster wasn''t far from the entrance and hadn''t noticed her yet. Surprised, but grateful for their senses taking the day off, the distance between Bathilda and her enemy shrunk to almost nothing before she was finally sniffed out.


    Unfortunately for the Brat, it was already too late. The monster could only shriek in fear before a (Wing Slash) cut it off mid cry.


    The once silent tunnel became full of sound as almost half a dozen shrieking vermin voiced their outrage. The bone chilling cacophony echoed out, but Bathilda paid it no mind. She barely even heard it. Her eyes were glued to the luscious liquid pooling from the headless Brat as all sane thoughts left her.


    Unnoticed went the level up notification and so did Hiro, screaming and shouting inside her mind. An instinctive compulsion had taken hold of Bathilda''s body and she was no longer in the driver''s seat.


    All she could focus on was the Brat''s blood. Warm and fresh, its scent heavenly and intoxicating. Even as Bathilda attempted to resist, her body moved of its own volition. Before she knew it, she was next to the headless corse.


    Like a savage, Bathilda dove on top of the lifeless husk of her enemy and sunk her fangs deep into its still-warm flesh. Without conscience, she drank the sweet nectar of life, draining the body dry.


    All she could hear was white noise.


    All she could see was the next mouthful.


    And all of her senses were filled with the taste of heaven.


    Bathilda''s mind only had one goal and that was to drink its fill.


    Without warning, the delightful nectar turned from blissful delight to bitter ash and Bathilda gagged at the disgusting taste being syphoned through her mouth.


    "Bathilda!"


    ...W-What?


    Choking on her meal, Bathilda managed a reply. Feeling as though she had woken up with the worst hangover had ever had, her mind shook as her senses slowly returned.


    "Fly now! Fly!"


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    Don''t shout. What do you...


    She tried to reply but was abruptly cut off by the hitchhiking leech shouting even louder than before.


    "Fly now, Bathilda. Fly or we''re both going die again! Fly!!"


    Hearing the word death was enough to shake off the rest of Bathilda''s intoxicated stupor. Without looking for the source of Hiro''s fear, she was pretty confident she knew what it was, Bathilda launched herself high into the air. As she leapt, Bathilda worked hard with her wings to put distance between herself and the incoming threat.


    As she reached the roof, Bathilda was recipient once again to some harsh words.


    "What in the fucking hell was that?"


    Unfortunately, Bathilda knew full well what Hiro was talking about as she remembered every painstaking detail. She was, however l, reluctant to admit what happened and tried dodging the question instead.


    What was what?


    "Don''t you dare ''What was what'' me! You know damn well what I mean. I understand you need to drink blood now because to your evolution, but I didn''t expect you to turn feral.


    I didn''t turn feral!


    She couldn''t help but snap back. Insulted at the insinuation.


    "If that''s true, then why didn''t you answer me when I called you?"


    I was...


    "Feral?"


    No. I was...


    "Obsessed?"


    No! I was...


    "Zoned in?"


    Y-Yes. That''s right. I was zoned in.


    "Nope. I''m calling BS on that. The need for blood had a hold over you and you know it did. What''s going to happen when you kill another Brat and lose it while there are still others alive?"


    ...


    Unable to give Hiro an answer, Bathilda worried over what would happen if his words came true. She played the scenario over inside her head before looking down on the four rodents gathered beneath her.


    Just in time too as an oversized boulder was barreling through the air directly at her, but a quick dodge to the left and it crashed straight into the roof. On impact the projectile caused a miniture hailstorm to rain down from above and Bathilda had to quickly performing evasive manoeuvres. Dodging out of the way of the incoming debris the best she could.


    Not only did she have to avoid the storm from above, but the Brats were launching more projectiles as fast as they could.


    "Little bastards!"


    The hitchhiker voiced the thought on Bathilda''s mind almost perfectly.


    Horrible, little bastards is more like it.


    Bathilds corrected her position, rolling out of the way of another boulder. Plotting her next course of action, she began desending to the floor while edging back toward the tunnel she entered from. Creating a much-needed gap between herself and the Brat pack in the process.


    The moment she landed, the remaining rodents began to charge at her. Closing the distance she had created as fast as they could.


    Bathilda tried to calm her nerves. The roof raining down dirt and stone was not what she had expected. Once more she committed to her plan. With speed able to evade falling rocks and thrown projectiles alike, Bathilda was ready.


    The Brats spread out as they approached, just like they did the first time she encountered them. Even though they''re monsters, they show intelligence by using coordinated tactics to surround her. It was unfortunate for Bathilda. If they were lined up straight, a single (Wing Slash) might be all it would take.


    The instant the first monster got within range, Bathilda swung her wings through the air. She watched as blades of air became physical manifestations and shot forward with terrifying speed, tearing through the Brat one after the other.


    Caught mid-leap, the monster''s limbs were severed. A weak whimper was the only sound made as its body hit the ground. Below it, red liquid began to pool.


    With a break in their formation, the Brats continued to show signs of intelligence. They spread out to cover the gap made by the deceased and started to circle the bat. Ever so slowly closing the distance between them.


    Thankfully, that was exactly what Bathilda needed at that moment. A slight reprieve. Struggling to maintain sanity, her thought process had broken down as she stared at the pool of blood. The vibrant liquid had a sweet aroma to it and Bathilda''s claws scraped against the floor as she tried to resist.


    As the Brats circle slowly continued to shrink, Bathilda was lost to the world and down the the rabbit hole she went.


    "Bathilda!"


    "Bathilda!"


    It''s... just... so... beautiful.


    Losing to her cravings, Bathilda didn''t even manage to check her enemies before darting towards the limbless Brat. Slamming hard into her new meal, she sunk her fangs in and for the second time that day, Bathilda reveled in the sweet nectar of life.

 Life and Death

    Rainbows and unicorns skipped merrily down the sunny lane beside a blissful bat. The cloudless sky above was as beautiful as a rose that bloomed during winter. Woodland creatures sang to her in harmony while wind sprites danced a heartfelt jig wherever she looked.


    Caught in her own dreamlike Paradise, Bathilda was oblivious to what was going on as she sipped her cocktail through a straw, enjoying her own personal version of heaven. She felt as though she was God herself, with a great physique and a harem of pretty creatures.


    Life was perfect.


    But in the blink of an eye, all of her new wonderful friends vanished. The sprites, critters and unicorns were abruptly erased from Bathilda''s fantasy world. With their disappearance, her mood turned sour and the liquid in her glass tasted bitter. Left feeling empty and alone, the rainbows melted away and the skies above darkened to black.


    Thunder rang out and lightning illuminated the withering area, right as Bathilda spotted an unknown object speeding towards her.


    Back in reality, Bathilda had drained the Brat dry. It only took her a matter of seconds. Unbeknownst to her fantasy self, the large barrelling object was actually one of the three remaining Brats.


    As the monster reached the motionless human-turned-bat, it attempted to disable one of the dangerous appendages that had felled its kin. Slashing down through her wing with its claw, the Brat managed to tear multiple sections into the leathery membrane.


    Bathilda didn''t even have time to flinch as her mind snapped back to reality and pain cried out from the left side of her body. It didn''t stop there though and the Brat''s claw sliced into her flesh with enough force to send her hurtling through the air. To add insult to injury, the creature''s filthy tail whipped her across the face just before Bathilda left the monster''s striking distance.


    "Are you fucking kidding me!?"


    Crashing to the floor and rolling to a stop, Bathilda knew she had just taken some serious damage.


    "I don''t want to die, Bathilda!"


    We''re not going to die, Hiro.


    Coughing up blood and bleeding from her stomach, Bathilda managed to right herself before standing up and reevaluating her situation. None of the Brats had closed the distance between them yet. Instead they had opted to guard the corpse of the fallen monster. Making sure the insane bat wasn''t able to feast on it again.


    Thanks to that little respite, Bathilda was quickly able to check the notification about the damage she had received and her heart dropped.


    Unable to believe the notification, Bathilda brought up her status, but that only helped to confirm what she didn''t want to believe. She had been brought down to single digits in HP and her second life was likely to not last much longer. The fact that she was only Level 3 also showed that her growth had slowly considerably since her last evolution.


    Still, even though she was bleeding out and torn up on one half, Bathilda refused to go down without a fight.


    I''m not running away this time!


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    She declared, even though every movement caused more pain to shoot through her body. Not that she could have run away. Even if she wanted too, her left wing was in tatters. There was no chance.


    "If you''re going to go bat shit crazy every time that you see blood, we''re fucked!"


    I can control it.


    Weakly, Bathilda tried to reassure not only her companion, but herself too.


    "Bullshit! We''re fucked. Fucked! That''s twice you''ve done it now. We''re going to die here and I''m going to have to see that stupid God and his stupid smug-looking face again all to soon."


    If you''re not going to contribute anything helpful, then shut up!


    Annoyed at herself, Bathilda snapped at Hiro as she checked herself over one last time. All of her body hurt from being thrown across the room. She was bleeding from a few different places and one of her wings was out of commission.


    Still, Bathilda had one wing left and her fangs. Although, if an enemy got close enough to bite, it would probably be game over for her and the miniscule remains of her health bar. She couldn''t afford that.


    With that in mind, Bathilda watched as the Brats carefully began advancing towards her. Spread out to avoid being attacked at the same time, the remaining rodents surrounded her in a trianglular formation.


    With a bleak-looking future ahead of her, Bathilda was ready to give everything she had left to win the fight. There were only two outcomes.


    Life or death.


    Sensing her resolve, the Brats moved faster to close the distance and leapt at Bathilda the moment they got within range. She barely dodged the first rodent''s claws and instead took another slap to the face by it''s tail. The second brat missed completely thanks to that and Bathilda managed to jump out of the way of the third.


    She didn''t forget to release a (Wing Slash) on the way with her good wing either.


    Fortunately for Bathilda, and the still panicking Hiro inside her mind, the force of her attack was enough to push her out of harms way. Two Brats stared at her, the third had been sliced in half from the attack and was no longer in the fight.


    "Yes, Bathilda!"


    Not creating the most distance and not receiving a Level up either, Bathilda landed unsteadily while trying to shoot off two more attacks in quick succession. One managed to connect, but it only served to sever a tail. Worse yet, it left Bathilda off balanced.


    The tailless enemy was rolling on the floor in pain, shrieking loudly while the last remaining Brat rushed at Bathilda in outrage.


    With her mangled wing held close to her bleeding chest, Bathilda steadied herself the best she could from her poor landing before the Brat leapt at her once more. The monster, full of hate and foaming at the mouth, shot through the air with rage in its eyes.


    Out of reflex more than anything, Bathilda raised her wing to shield herself and a fine blade of wind was shot at the defenceless Brat. The rodent''s body split into two separate halves that continued through air, passing the bat hiding her face and landing behind her with a splat.


    The Brat''s death granted her a brief recovery in the form of a level up. It also soaked her in blood from head to toe. Unlike the last few times, Bathilda''s level up was not enough to completely heal her wounds. It did manage to stop the bleeding somewhat aswell as sewing the tear in her wing.


    Bathilda has reached Level 4


    Skill (Identify) has reached Level 3


    Skill (Blood Sucking) has reached Level 3


    Skill (Wing Slash) has reached Level 5


    Skill (Wing Slash) has become (Wing Slash+)


    Cost: 5MP


    Twice as effective as before, tearing through enemies has never been so easy now that mana is infused into every strike


    "Yes! Fucking Yes, Bathilda! Hahaha! That''s what I''m talking about."


    Twitching and shaking, Bathilda''s eyes widened in delight. She was once again lost to the world of notifications as she licked the luscious nectar from her lips.


    Hahaha.


    Laughing maniacally, Bathilda stared at the tailless Brat. The only monster still alive. The rodent wasn''t moving and appeared to be terrified of the monster that had just slaughtered its kin. She didn''t even recognise it as the one who had caused her so much pain earlier.


    All she saw was dinner.


    "Bathilda?"


    Dashing foward, Bathilda dove on top of the Brat as it attempted to flee. Wrapping it up in her wings, she gave it no opportunity and sunk her fangs deep into the back of its neck. With her victory assured, Bathilda began absorbing the sweet nectar of life from the victims of her small massacre.

 The Rocky Road Ahead

    Bathilda slurped her way through the delicious liquid from the three corpses. The process filled her health and earned her another level up for the efforts. With her own life force restored to full, the wing that was partially sewn together had magically healed to its original state and Bathilda was once again able to fly.


    That was way too close. I still can''t believe I actually pulled it off. I even managed to resist the pull of blood. Well... I killed the other two at least before I lost myself that time, but still.


    Trying to remember what had happened after she fell victim to the insatiable urge, Bathilda was stumped. She only had a slight recollection of the moments in between swapping bodies each time her supply ran dry.


    "You''re telling me. I thought we were going to die. You kicked ass, Bathilda!"


    See. That''s motivational. Why couldn''t you say something like that before?


    Still annoyed over the leech''s lack of morale support, Bathilda called Hiro out on his phrasing during the battle.


    "Honestly? I don''t know what to tell you. With how you looked and the state of your wing... I really thought that was the end for us. I was deciding what I should say to that hench asshole when I saw him."


    Yeah, I heard that bit. Why do you think that we''ll get to see God again if we die?


    "Haha. Everyone who lives an honest life and tries their best to help others will find their way to Paradise."


    That''s my point, Hiro. What have you, or I for that matter, done in this new life that is worthy enough to get us another audience in heaven?


    With her question hanging in the air and hitting home hard, Hiro finally realised the disadvantageous situation he was in. He''s never going to be able to help anyone if he''s stuck inside Bathilda''s mind.


    "We should find me a body as soon as possible. Then we can go on to do great things and help many people together. Do not mistake my intentions though, Bathilda. I generally just want to help people for no other reason than self satisfaction. I have no desire to go back to Paradise, unless it is but a pitstop on the path to reincarnation that is. I will never make the mistake of wishing to remain there again."


    Yeah, I don''t think we can just find you a body. Also, don''t you want to see God again? If not then why were you talking about him during the fight?


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "I''m worried that he''s going to be pissed at me for hijacking your reincarnation and leaving without permission."


    Fair enough. I might be a bit worried if I was on his bad side too. But never mind God or heaven for that matter, all I want is to get out of this damn cave. I don''t particularly feel as though I''ve made much progress on that front though. I''ve definitely accomplished a couple of things, but also not much of anything else at the same time. Does that make sense?


    "Not in the slightest, but again I just want to say that you did well in that last battle."


    Thank you, Hiro. On that note, I feel as though we should head back to the base I made earlier, but I''m not quite sure why? I''m certainly not tired. Maybe it''s the human in me? I don''t know, but either way we''re not doing that. I still need to get stronger. Stronger than I am now. Strong enough so I don''t have to worry about stupid Brats or their stupid tails. Strong enough to fly out of here and not have to worry about where I rest my head.


    Determination began to well up in Bathilda as she stated her goals.


    "I like it!"


    Good because it doesn''t end there.


    "What do you mean?"


    Look at me, Hiro. I''m a Bat. Well actually, if you want to get technical, I''m a Blood Sucking Bat. Everytime I use (Echolocation+), I try not to look at myself because it''s weird, awkward and frankly a little scary. Now, imagine how other people are going to feel when I rock up and say, "Hey, I can heal you, don''t worry!'' They''re going to freak the hell out, right?


    "I see your point now. Damn. That sucks for you."


    Don''t say it like that, asshole! If I can''t help anyone out how are you supposed too?


    "I don''t know? I thought we might just find a body for me."


    A body? Like a dead body? One that has been left out to rot and decompose?


    "I also thought that you might be able to make one?"


    How the hell am I supposed to make you a body?


    "I don''t know? You shoot magical blades of wind out from your wings. I thought it might be something like that. I did tell you there was no magic in my world, didn''t I? I''m not sure how it all works to be honest."


    Then why the hell would you expect me to know? Weren''t you supposed to be offering me aid in exchange for this free ride you''re getting?


    "Well... You''ve been doing OK so far. You knew to evolve and level up, right?"


    That''s only because Florence appeared as I was literally about to die just so that she could... Advise me. Bitch.


    "Oh! That''s some change in attitude. What''s up with you?"


    I''m angry, Hiro. Seriously, I can''t help anyone like this and it''s starting to get to me. I didn''t want to die in a Tornado. I didn''t want to be a bat. And I definitely don''t want to be stuck inside this stupid cave forever! Stupid Florence and her stupid lack of information. I''m not even sure she was a nurse in her past life at this point. Her willingness to help is just not there. Or is it just me?


    Letting out a sigh, Bathilda gave her honest thoughts to her hitchhiking companion.


    Plus, if my evolutionary choices don''t go the way I want them too, then I reckon we''re both screwed, Hiro.


    "So... Leveling up time?"


    Lost in Bathilda''s ramblings, Hiro offered the only suggestion he could think of that matched her goals.


    Yes, Hiro. That''s exactly what time it is.


    Confirming his suggestion, Bathilda spread her fully healed wings and set off in the direction of the unknown.

 What A Difference

    A full day had passed, since Bathilda''s well fought victory. Not that she or her companion were able to tell. Yet to escape from the everlasting tunnels, the Blood Sucking Bat had sliced her way through dozens of Brats and a stray Alto in search of an exit.


    Following the path that continued on from the Brats nest, Bathilda encountered a second nest. This was followed by a third, then a forth and so on. Each nest contained more of the vermin than the last and with each victory, Bathilda grew stronger. So too did her skills.


    That''s not to say her battles were easy. Many of them were life threatening, but with each win Bathilda became more and more empowered. Each victory brought clarity to the nurse, who in turn used that knowledge to reflect and grow.


    Alongside the many skill and level ups she recieved, Bathilda also picked up a new skill. A well needed one at that and it''s level rose quickly. She also managed to bank a few skill points for her hard fought efforts, bringing her total to ten.


    Skill (Blood Control+) Level 6


    Further increases the control you have over the power of blood.


    Continuous use will drain MP.


    After acquiring the (Blood Control) skill and raising it to plus status, Bathilda finally managed to get a grip on her animaliatic instincts when in front of the tempting scarlet liquid.


    Bathilda encountered a dead end after destroying the final nest at the end of the tunnel. The cavern had been long and arduous, but the ever vigilant nurse hadn''t notice any other paths worth exploring. Those she had seen could all be mapped through a single use of (Echolocation+).


    With no other options, Bathilda was forced to travel back the way she came. She didn''t have to fight any monsters on the return trip as they had already died by her hand, making the journey much faster.


    During the flight back, Bathilda passed the time by reviewing the skill list. She mused over the recovery section for a while before eventually deciding against the purchase. Having the (Heal) skill would serve to be no use at all while she was still isolated from humanity.


    During her perusal, Bathilda came across a good number of fight-ending skills as she browsed each category carefully. However, each one was priced well over her 10-point budget.


    As she reached the nest of the first Brat pack she had slain, Bathilda made a startling, if-not welcome, discovery. She was in the shadow magic section when her eyes landed on a skill that seemed too good to be true. Its value to the world and its value to Bathilda appeared to be worlds apart as she read the description and giggled gleefully.


    Spell (Clone): 5 Skill Points


    Cost: Half of current MP


    Create an identical copy of the user. The duration of this spell is dependent on the amount of mana supplied during casting. The Clone will begin with half the user''s original stats and has a slight capacity for growth. Some skills and magic are restricted and will be unusable by the Clone.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Only one Clone can be summoned at any time.


    Another fighter. A scout. A lookout maybe? A clone could fit any one of those roles.


    Confirming her purchase, Bathilda couldn''t believe her luck. As knowledge about magic entered her mind, she giddily stopped to test out her new spell. Using half of her mana, Bathilda felt the mystical energy drain out of her. It was completely different to (Wing Slash+), which only required 5MP per blade of air.


    Even though Bathilda felt the loss, it wasn''t enough to cause her to panic. Plus, the excitement of watching a clone being created before her very eyes was not a second place spectacle. Her heart was pounding as she watched magic give birth to life.


    From the ground upwards, and from out of thin air, a set of clawed feet formed into existence. A pair of thin, black legs grew from the stumps and was quickly followed by a plump body. Spider-like appendages extended out from the top half and a pink membrane connected the wings to the body. The head appeared last, but looked more gargoyle than it was a bat. Bathilda was slightly mortified once the mirror image had finished forming.


    Well, almost finished.


    For some reason, Bathilda''s clone only came up to her waist. Standing at half her height, it was identical to her in every aspect except proportion. The small bat looked up at its taller counterpart blankly, tilting its head in a cute and somewhat frightening gesture.


    Awww, aren''t you just... sort of... adorable?


    Almost lost for words, Bathilda''s amazement doubled as the half-sized bat nodded along to her thoughts.


    Holy Shit! You understand me?


    Questioning the strange phenomena that she has no place questioning, especially since recent events showed that reality was longer confined to the cage she once knew, Bathilda smiled at the clone who was still nodding in agreement.


    Oh my god, this is so cool! Can you believe this, Hiro?


    No response came from the usually chatty Hiro, causing Bathilda to wonder if something went wrong.


    Hiro?


    Until she remembered that the hitchhiking leech would do just about anything for a body.


    Are you kidding me? Hiro!?


    The smaller bat no longer looked oddly adorable, instead it gave off a suspiciously, shady vibe as it twiddled its wings together.


    Out! Now!


    Bathilda screamed in outrage as Hiro had jumped ship the first chance he got.


    "Well, it''s not what I expected. I''ll give you that, but... Where do you expect me to go? Do you want me back inside your head?" Hiro words didn''t reach Bathilda. Instead, she was too caught up in the fact that he had actually spoken to pay attention to small details like what he was acually saying. His voice was also much deeper than his small size would imply.


    How are you doing that?


    Bathilda couldn''t believe it.


    Shocked at the novelty of hearing actually words opposed to the regular screeching that she was subjected to, Bathilda was already over the body-jumping incident. He could stay there for all she cared if he could help her vocalise herself.


    Until the smart ass opened his mouth that was.


    "First, I opened my mouth. Then, I prepared my throat. Ahem. Me, me, me, me, me. And then..."


    If you''re going to be a dick about it, then don''t bother. Out, now!


    From 0 to 100, Bathilda was instantly annoyed. With that, she returned to her previous statement and repeated her demand.


    "Okay. Okay. I was only joking. It''s easy. When I speak, I just... Do it? No, that''s not right. I just... Talk?" Hiro answers with about as much insight as a closed door.


    Really? Just do it? Talk. Is that seriously all you''ve got? If it is, I should just dispel you or whatever it''s called.


    Reaching the limit of her frustration over trivial matters turned gigantic, Bathilda threatened her partner with the only thing she could.


    "Honestly. Have you even tried it since evolving again? Just try it." not wanting to be dispelled, Hiro began panicking.


    Shut up, Hiro. I tried it when I got here, remember? There were clicks and other noises, but no actual words. I mean, I suppose you''re right about the evolution. My body might have changed in ways I don''t even know about. That might be why you find it so easy without even realising.


    Putting Hiro''s success down to her own achievements, Bathilda once again tried to use her own vocal chords to produce tangible sounds.


    "Heee... Rooo..." Bathilda croaked in a deep, zombified slur as the tiny bat beside her burst into a fit of laughter on the tunnel floor.

 The Clone

    Hmph.


    Frustrated after only a few attempts, Bathilda gave up her pursuit of speech. Instead, she flew down the pit in annoyance towards the base. The only safe location she knew.


    Attempting to join his partner, but failing miserably, Bathilda watched from her perch as Hiro flailed his way down passed the entrance. Without having the same physical practice that Bathilda had, Hiro barely managed to slow his descent before he crashed hard into the bottom of the pit below.


    Haha. You should have practiced before jumping down here, Hiro.


    With her bad mood lessened thanks to Karma''s assisstance, Bathilda giggled down to the unmoving bat. When she didn''t receive a reply, however, Bathilda dropped from her perch and glid gracefully down to her partner. Worried that it might be more than his pride that was hurt.


    Hey. Are you OK?


    "... I''m fine," he grumbled, holding his wing close.


    You don''t look fine. Are you sure you''re not hurt?


    She asked again, trying to get a better look at his wing.


    "What''s that?" Hiro brushed her off with a question of his own. He was staring in the direction of the two tunnels at the bottom of the pit.


    Don''t try and change the subject, Hiro...


    Bathilda began, still trying to ascertain whether or not her leech was as well as he claimed to be. She''d made the fall herself and knows how bad it was. Before she could continue though, it turned out Hiro wasn''t trying to skirt the subject.


    "Barts!" As he called out, two Barts dashed out from the tunnel Hiro was watching with scary speed.


    Come on.


    Bathilda urged her companion while taking to the air. She launched a (Wing Slash+) in the process, decapitating the closest monster, but Hiro had yet to make any attempt at flying.


    After watching its kin being split into two, the second Bart cried out with a hideous noise. Much worse than the Brats shrieks, its call alerted the rest of the brood to the two intruders presence.


    In the darkness, red eyes flash out as echoes of a responding cry ring out through the pit. Aware that a meal has entered their lair, the docile monsters spring to life and charge hungrily out of the tunnel in droves.


    Bathilda knew this. She could see it happening real time thanks to (Echolocation+), but what she didn''t now was that the monsters knew her. They remembered her. The creature that has crushed and ended the life of their kin had returned, the Barts call announced and every one of them wanting the killing blow for themselves.


    Revenge.


    They were willing to go so far that they were even snapping at each other as the stampede close the distance rapidly.


    As the ground began to shake due to the sheer volume of monsters gathering on their position, the sound of thunder and clawed feet became all Bathilda and Hiro could hear.


    Wasting no time, Bathilda decapitated the Brat that was still wailing. It didn''t make a dent in the noise that was still echoing out, but instead made it even louder as the incoming monsters roared.


    Fly now, Hiro!


    From the air above, Bathilda was aghast at the numbers the Barts had come armed with. She couldn''t even count them they were that numerous.


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    "I''m trying! It''s not easy," Hiro tried to call out over the noise, fear lacing each word as he flapped his wings the best he could. Unfortunately, the untrue statements he had cast earlier were coming back to haunt him.


    "I lied. My wing hurts like hell and it''s hard to even move it. Just go without me. I should return to you if this body disappears, or... Dies, right?"


    I don''t know! How the hell would I know that? I didn''t even know you would be able to hijack my clone in the first place! Nevermind that. If you can''t fly, at least use your good wing to try and climb out or something. Go, I''ll try and buy you some time!


    Bathilda sped towards the incoming horde, leaving Hiro alone to scale the wall of the pit. With little time to act and everything to strive for, Bathilda came to a stop in above the rabid monsters.


    Riskyly lowering herself down to the ground, Bathilda took aim at the tunnel the majority of monsters were streaming out from. With Barts as far as the eye could see, there was little chance the Blood Sucking Bat would miss her targets. Just hitting her enemies wasn''t what she was aiming for, however. Bathilda was going for maximum efficiency.


    Seconds turned to minutes as Bathilda managed to hold the tide. Her attacks felling more and more of the creatures before they could reach her. She released blade after blade of mana-compressed air, cutting down more Barts than she could count with each attack. Her already halved MP was began to run lower and lower, but the stampede of monsters showed no sign of stopping.


    More and more Barts charged over the decimated corpses of their fallen kin as her wings began to ache. A hateful rage carrying them towards their prize. Towards Bathilda, the murderous bat still decimating their numbers even now.


    Stood infront of a river of blood that was full of severed pieces of Bart and that low on MP that a headache was wafing its own war in her, Bathilda turned to Hiro. Hoping to see that he was a better climber than a flyer, her hopes were dashed when she saw he had barely made any progress towards the base.


    With no other options and no time left, Bathilda took to the air as the Barts dived at her. Evading nimbly now that she was becoming a pro at flying, Bathilda flew towards Hiro and did the only thing she could think of. She grabbed the half-sized version of herself with her clawed feet as soon as she for near and ascended as fast as she could.


    "Ow! What the hell, Bathilda?" Hiro couldn''t help but cry out in pain. Bathilda''s claws had dug into him unintentionally. He didn''t mean to, but his body flinched in agony. He jerked his head and saw the approaching tide before the roaring sound behind them shut him up.


    The Barts were froffing at the mouth, ready to devour the murderer in front of them. Not only once had she harmed their kin, but twice. The notion of her death was a shared ideal spread throughout the pack.


    "Fly. Fly. Fly. Fly. Fly." No longer concerned about the grip being used to pull him through the air like a ragdoll, Hiro screamed in panic as Bathilda pushed up with all her might.


    Fortunately, little Hiro wasn''t too big and Bathilda manages to fly them safely back up to the entrance of their base. Releasing Hiro on the ledge due to his constant complaints, Bathilda landed next to him. She had to turn sideways to fit through the entrance. The decision to not increase the size of the cave before leaving to level up now weighed on her.


    Would Hiro even fit?


    Even though it wasn''t, the entrance seemed much smaller than when she left. Maybe her size had increased along with her levels? Batnhilda wasn''t sure. What she was sure of was healing Hiro. Acquiring the skill and mending her companion would come right after she managed to squeeze herself through the undersized entrance.


    Why. Can''t. I. Get. In.


    Wiggling around and sucking it in, Bathilda extended her wings out to get her gut in some more. Unfortunately, she didn''t see Hiro at her side and her wing pushed him straight over the edge. Leaving him to plummet to the Bart pack below.


    "Bathilda!" Hiro tried to right himself as he fell, but it was too late. Even with the injury from his prior fall, Hiro tried his best to glide with only one wing. Which worked momentarily as he finally managed to figure out how to work the awkward appendages.


    His joyous experience was short lived, however. Seconds later Hiro was snatched out of the air by the disgusting teeth of one of the vermin below. Unable to offer aid of any sort as she was stuck inside her entrance, Bathilda could only watch in horror as her life partner the leech was brutally ripped to death a few 100 feet below her.


    Closing her eyes, Bathilda forced herself through the entrance of her base where she immediately collapsed to the floor. Her heart broken at her own stupid mistake


    Oh, Hiro. I''m sorry. I didn''t mean to knock you off. It was an accident. Hiro? Hiro!?


    With no response, Bathilda''s heart sank at the loss of her companion.


    Did he really die with my clone? Shit! I don''t want to be alone here. I''m sick of this shitty cave and these shitty rats. It was a novelty before, but... I don''t want to be here now... Not now that... T-That Hiro has...


    Breaking down, inside and out, Bathilda let it all out. "Heee... Roooo...." she cried.


    "Argh! No. Stop! Get the fuck off me."


    Still trembling from being ripped apart, the familiar voice of the person inside her head made his presence known.


    Hiro! You''re alive!

 Hope

    "What the hell, Bathilda?"


    I am so sorry, Hiro. I didn''t mean too. I was just... Trying to get through the entrance.


    Weakly defending herself after knocking her companion to his death, Bathilda felt terrible.


    "That was the worst feeling I have ever experienced. It feels like it''s still going on."


    They''re probably still at it to be honest.


    Bathilda didn''t think about what she was saying until the words were out, but by then it was too late to take back the sentence Hiro wished he hadn''t heard.


    "Not helping, Bathilda!"


    Sorry. It was just crazy how it happened. They''re quite easy to take down from some distance, but when they swarm you in a large group like that. They''re much more dangerous, huh?


    "Dangerous? That''s an understatement if I''ve ever heard one. Murderous, little bastards is what I would have gone with. But let''s stop talking about it please. I... I need some time to reflect on what just happened."


    Now that Bathilda knew her hitchhiker was back from grave, she was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Leaving Hiro to his own devices as requested, she snuggled into the cave wall and brought up her status.


    Name: Bathilda


    Race: Blood Sucking Bat


    Class: None


    Title: Rodent Slaughterer


    Level: 25


    XP needed until next Level: MAX


    HP: 254/254


    MP: 214/214


    Skill Points Available


    Evolution Available


    Well, damn. I wasn''t exactly aiming to level up off the Bart stampede, especially after my leveling had slowed. Not that I''m going to complain. I wonder how many of them I killed?


    Not that it''s important in any way. Stupid rats. Whatever, I''ll deal with my skill points later, first up are my evolutions.


    Bringing up her evolution list, Bathilda saw that the same three options as last time were still available to choose. At the bottom of her list, however, was a new addition. One that made Bathilda''s heart jump and it was all thanks to the Blood Sucking Bat species reaching max level.


    Vampire Bat: A specialised path that branches off from the Blood Sucking Bat. Evolution options are limited.


    Has limited evolution options.


    A rare monster that can replenish not only its health and mana from the blood of its victims, but is capable of stealing XP and skills too. As long as these predators are not inflicted with a life threatening injury or killed on sight, they are able to make a full recovery from the blood of a single victim.


    Limited options? Still, it sounds pretty good and I suppose limited evolutions are better than final evolutions and The Creeper. I still can''t believe that option is a thing. Anyway, here we go.


    Please work out the way I want you too. Please work out the way I want you too. Please work out the way I want you too.


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    Chanting away and crossing her claws, Bathilda confirmed her choice. As the evolution began, she relaxed her body and dropped into an comatosed sleep against the wall of her base. As her eyes shut, she could still hear Hiro mumbling in complaint about her not making the entrance wider before she confirmed her choice, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Nothing but to enjoy the well deserved rest that evolution was providing.


    That and hope like hell she wouldn''t be too big for her base once she was finished.


    Stupid Hiro, making me worry.


    Bathilda thought that being a nurse had been a strenuous job. Had it been rewarding? Without a doubt. Every night she went home drained, but happy. Was it hard as hell? Without a doubt. The mental fortitude needed to endure such a career choice was dwindling with every passing generation.


    She would have never compared her employment to something so different as gaining levels and evolving as a monster. It wasn''t as though the two shared any similarities at all. Yet as she laid there, in her unconscious changing state, Bathilda thought about how her new life could very well be considered more strenuous than her past.


    She had almost starved to death before feasting on Brat juice, refusing to feast from the repulsive creatures she had encountered. Not that the idea of such held any appeal to her until after she had evolved in to a blood sucker.


    She had almost become dinner to the ridiculously-large Milisnake, not to mention the fall they had both partaken, and had fought one to many losing battles before running away.


    Fortunately, Bathilda wasn''t dead yet. She held on to the hope that one day she would be able to help the people living in this world. Once she found them that was. And after she had escaped the stupid labyrinth, of course.


    With those thoughts in mind, Bathilda enjoyed the peace until she eventually regained control of her body. The period of down time between evolutions was increasing, not that she minded. It was the only time Bathilda got to relax and self reflect.


    Hiro, how do I look?


    Still holding hope tight in her core, Bathilda asked her hitchhiking travel buddy to break the news about her appearance. Praying her choices had led her down the right path, Bathilda was hesitant to cast (Echolocation+).


    "Still like a Bat. Except this time, you''re even scarier."


    Not receiving the news she wanted, Bathilda sat up to check herself out.


    Shit. Shit. Shitty. Shit. Shit. Shit. I thought for sure that I would be closer to the ones you see in the movies. Then again, I look like a straight up horror story.


    Dejected that life was unwilling to let her change, Bathilda sighed before laying back down.


    "What are... Moveys?"


    Without much enthusiasm, Bathilda explained to Hiro how motion pictures worked. She explained television, streaming services and even explained how they had managed to change society.


    "You had moving pictures in your world! That sounds amazing!"


    I suppose they were entertaining. The problem was that they could implant ideas in to your mind to make you more suggestive. Take my evolution for example, I was half expecting to come out like a dazzling vampire. I was always on team Edward after all. But because I thought like that, I was foolish. Instead, this world has shit on me once again. It really seems to hate me. I mean, my appearance makes me look like I''m on team Jacob for God''s sake.


    "That sounds... What?"


    I''ve had it, Hiro. With this shitty place. The horrible rats. This stupid Bat thing and these crappy evolutions. I''m done.


    Rolling over, Bathilda gave up on her hope and refused to move again until she eventually fell asleep. As dreams carried her away, clouds became her companions and Bathilda flew through the open sky. A far cry from the cramped cave tunnels she was used to traversing.


    Bathilda could see a great amount of sights from the open sky. As she flew forward on the breeze, she took in the wonders her new world had to offer her in awe. It wasn''t until she tried to alter her direction and a human hand rose up in front of her, did Bathilda''s heart skip a beat.


    She was no longer a bat.


    The hand was attached to an arm, that was attached to a body, and as Bathilda gazed down at the legs dangling below her. She didn''t register the distance between herself and the ground, nor did she question how she was flting without wings.


    Instead, a smile spread across her lips. She felt the muscles contract and smiled harder after noticing the little, button nose on the front of her face. She was beaming as a single tear rolled down her cheek, tickling her skin with its soft touch.


    As an instant reaction, Bathilda brought her hand up to wipe the tear away, but she stopped short. Staring at the hand once again, more tears begin to fall as she wiggled her fingers and giggled to herself. She hugged her body and felt blessed by the soft caressing touch of her own skin as she cried joyously.


    Her fingers drifted through the clouds as they led Bathilda to a city she had never seen before. It was encased in a large, circular wall and the entire city was still and calm. Almost every building was built from the same grey-stone and they all had magnificent carvings engraved on them.


    As she reveled in delight, Bathilda heard screams coming from the city below. Her core values would never let anyone in need go unaided and she set off with incredible speed. Flying past the beautifully-engraved, grey buildings, Bathilda managed to reach the source of the noise.


    To her surprise, an Ogre was part way there to throwing a screaming child into its exceptionally large mouth.


    Knowing what was about to happen, Bathilda shot forward without hesitation.


    "No!"

 Trying Times

    "No!"


    The screams of the little girl rang in Bathilda''s ears as she opened her eyes and leapt off the floor.


    Surrounded by the walls of her base, they had once again grown smaller. Bathilda''s head hit the ceiling as she stood up and the low roof forced her to hunch over. She had become too large to fit inside the once perfectly-sized hideout she used for evolution.


    Fucking, shitty, stupidly-sized, useless body of a bastard bat. This is bullshit!


    Turning to the extremely small entrance, Bathilda stopped to take note of her size.


    I''m a lot bigger now. The entrance being tiny proves that fact. My evolution didn''t mention anything about size though.


    Reaching out to start excavating the small entrance, Bathilda stops when a arm moves forward instead of wing. Covered in hair, she baffled that she didn''t notice it before as it''s a separate appendage to her wing completely.


    Well that''s disturbing! I look like I''m Mrs Big Foot, but...


    She jests while casting (Echolocation+), not really noticing the significance of what had happened until her skill provided her with a clearer picture. For the first time in while, Bathilda took a good look at herself.


    Holy shit! I''ve got arms and wings now!? Yes, fucking yes! Go, Vampire Bat for the win.


    Banging her head on the ceiling once again, Bathilda jumped in joy before remembering that she didn''t fit in her own base anymore. She was ecstatic as hairy legs supported her upper body with actual feet on the bottom of them. Her toenails were still claw like, as were fingernails, but beggars can''t be choosers.


    Yes. Fucking yes. I knew it! Well I didn''t know it, but I was definitely hoping for it!


    Laughing at the almost-triumph-outcome of her evolution, Bathilda was more happy with her appearance than she originally been after Hiro said she looked worse.


    Hey!? Why did you say I looked scarier now?


    Suddenly offended by the description she was referred as before going to sleep, Bathilda scolded her hitchhiker at his poor choice of words. Bathilda was over the moon with her newly-acquired appendages, even if they did contain more hair and nail than was necessary.


    "Have you looked at your face? It''s horrifying!"


    She had infact not looked at her face. Bathilda had been too caught up on the fact that she had human-like appendages more than anything.


    In her over her human-like he had completely overlooked her head.


    After she took a second look, Bathilda was horrified at what she saw and couldn''t believe that she didn''t notice it the first time.


    Well shit! I guess I''m back to not looking at myself again then now.


    Human eyes were positioned where you would expect to find them, slightly above the nose of her elongated face. That was about the most normal thing about Bathilda''s appearance.


    Above those eyes were another pair meaning she had four in total. The top two were not human and were blood red. No pupil, no isis, just red. Below the crooked nose was a ridiculously nonhuman mouth that had rows of teeth leading back. That was only made apparent due to Bathilda''s grin when she first cast (Echolocation+).


    Her entire body was covered in short, gristly hair, but on the top of her head, Bathilda had actual hair. Not much of it, and it made her look worse for having it, but the novelty of brushing it out her face wasn''t lost on her. Finishing off her already-weird appearance were the strangest pair of ears she had ever seen. It was as though they couldn''t make their mind up over what they were supposed to be and eventually decided on being both bat and human at the same time. It gave them an almost elfvish appearance.


    No one is approaching this face. Not without wanting to slice it up, that is, but I quite like the ears.


    "It could be worse."


    Hiro attempts to cheer up the dejected and horrific-looking Bathilda.


    How, Hiro? How could I look any worse? I might have a few human aspects now... Well, damn. I can actually see and I hadn''t even realised. It shows how good I''ve become at seeing through skills I suppose, but I still can''t believe I missed that too. Anyway, back to the subject, how could I look than this? Maybe my next evolution might humanise me some more, but right now I''m the picture that represents scary monsters in children stories. How could it be worse than that?


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    Unable to picture anything worse than herself, Bathilda wondered what universe Hiro was living in if he thougt he''d seen anything uglier than her.


    "You could be a Brat."


    ...


    Well... I stand corrected. That would actually be worse than this... Vampire-type-himan-thingy, if that''s even what it is. Is this what vampires look like on your world?


    Hung up over the differences between her current appearance, and what she deemed be vampiresque, Bathilda looked for aid from her leeching stowaway...


    "I''m sorry to say that I don''t actually know what a vampire is."


    And found nothing.


    They''re supposed to be beautiful and shiny and gorgeous and radiant... And sexy as hell too.


    Revealing her large-pointed fangs, Bathilda smiled at the thought of her ideal Vampire before immediately clamping her mouth shut and pouting right after. Or the closest thing to a pout she could pull off with a face like that.


    "You still have more evolutions to go through, right? It should be fine." Trying to help his own chances of survival as much as his ride''s, Hiro attempted to encourage Bathilda into action again.


    Yeah, I do...


    She answered with a lethargic demeanour before slowly building up energy as she went on.


    The problem though, is the level requirements keeps rising. This time, I probably need to get to level fifty to reach my evolution and what if I still don''t become what I really-really-really want to become? Huh? The level cap after that will probably be a hundred. A hundred! One hundred is a huge number! Especially when I already feel like I''ve been in this place forever! How much time would I have to put in to reach that number? A fuck load. That''s how much! But...


    Bathilda sighed before beginning a spell.


    What else am I going to do? I''m not going to sit here and starve am I? I''m not stupid. I''m just really, really, really annoyed right now.


    Summoning a fresh clone, Hiro found himself forcefully ejected from Bathilda''s mind and placed into the smaller body.


    "How did you do that?" Worried that he wouldn''t be able to return because of force that had kicked him out of his safe zone inside Bathilda''s mind, the panic was evident in Hiro''s voice. Which had risen a few decibels since her evolution.


    Don''t worry, you can come back later. For now, four arms are better than two, so get digging.


    Bathilda pointed to the small hole that had once been thought of as an entrance to the base.


    "So you''re not giving up? Yes! I really don''t want to die down down here in this place." Happy with the outcome, Hiro horrified Bathilda with a small smile of his own as he moved toward the entrance and began to dig.


    Hiro. Please don''t smile. Our face is already bad enough as it is without having to see all those teeth.


    She winced knowing her own teeth were twice as large as the sets she was looking at.


    "I know right. This is a lot of teeth." Hiro smiles again, knowing that he was helping Bathilda by making her want to progress past this evolution as quickly as possible. Not that she needed his help in that department and all his smile earned him was a clap round the head.


    More digging, less smiling. Unless you want another one?


    Bathilda frowned at the talkative bat with all four of her eyes and Hiro felt a chill run down his spine.


    "Yes, mam." With that, Bathilda and Hiro pulled, pushed and forced their way through the hard-packed earth until they finally broke through the entrance of their base. Much bigger than before, both Bathilda and Hiro would be able to come and go as they pleased. That also stood the same for intruders, however.


    Finally. At least that''s one problem solved. Now, on to the next.


    Bathilda stepped out onto the ledge and looked down to the bottom of the pit. The floor was stained red, but there wasn''t a single corpse in sight. Not that she had expected to see any. She knew full well that Brats and Barts weren''t opposed to eating each other after growing to know the carnivorous monsters over the time spent here.


    There was still a ridiculous amount of live Barts, however. Shrieking in outrage at Bathilda''s appearance, a hail of stones caused her to step back from the ledge before retreating inside to safety. Eventually the storm subsided and Bathilda peeked out.


    "Is that the next problem?" Hiro whispered, following Bathilda''s example and staying low by the edge.


    No. I thought of it while we were excavating the doorway and I was looking at you. The problem is seeing if these wings fly as well as the last set did. The others were all attached in a different place, but it''s too small in there to test.


    Bathilda thought about the location of their wings as she looked at Hiro''s back. They are at he top of his shoulders, his arms had claimed their original spot.


    "Alright! How do we do..." before he could finish his sentence, Bathilda shuffled back and pushed Hiro off the ledge. She was hoping that flying was just like riding a bike. Once you learned how to do it, you never forgot.


    It was a good plan, until Bathilda remembered Hiro hadn''t had much luck in the flying department recently. His fall down the pit and his injuries afterwards had stunted his growth. Luckily for Hiro, he barely dropped a few feet before righting himself and rising back up to face Bathilda.


    "You pushed me!" Sounding more upset than shocked, Hiro tried his best to pout the same way Bathilda had done earlier.


    It didn''t work.


    You''ll get over it. Plus, you can''t die. Right, if it''s that easy, let''s go.


    Taking off like a bullet, Bathilda wondered to herself why she pushed Hiro over the ledge.


    Maybe I''m goin crazy? Meh, that''s a problem for tomorrow''s Bathilda. Right now, I just need to kill a lot of monsters and luckily, I know just where to find them.


    Flying through the air like a bat out of hell, Bathilda released a torrent of (Wing Slash+) at the riled up Barts below. The flightless creatures had stupidly awaited the return of their nemesis and she didn''t disappoint. The blades of air tore through the crowded pit and a cacophony of screams rang out in the darkness.


    Haha, let the Bartpocolypse begin.


    Bathilda thought as a second Bat appeared next to her, releases its own rain of deathly blades on the enemies below. The XP was severely needed as was the revenge.

 Frustration

    Large, red eyes scowled at Bathilda as they watched in contempt and frustration from inside the tunnel. She was hovering above an ocean of blood, a stupid smile plastered across her face. Her black fur was matted with the blood and guts of its kin as she shot back and forth finishing off the remaining Barts. To the creature that held dominance in the bottom of the pit, Bathilda was the harbinger of death.


    King Tarb, the ruler of the Brats and Barts, was unable to move. Its entire body had turned stiff, except for the teeth that chattered away in fear.


    Arriving at the scene of the one-sided slaughter, the King of Rodents was ready to buff his underlings and join the fray to put a swift end to the menace attacking them. Thanks to the ability to buff its kin through skills, the oversized rat thought that no one was able to get the better of the ruler of the lower world.


    Unfortunately for Tarb, King of the Rodents, as soon as he met eyes with Bathilda, his legs turned to stone and his heart began to beat at an unhealthy pace. His whole body washed cold as a feeling unlike any other swept over him. All he could do was stand there, watching his kin die, and that''s exactly what he did.


    He watched as blades of air, created from the wings of the harbringer, bisected all his underlings and the floor of their hunting grounds was dyed red with blood. He watched as a second menace, also throwing around blades of air as though they were nothing, added to growing count of dead.


    The Bats moved at supersonic speeds and easily overpowered their weaker opponents, despite being outnumbered. King Tarb couldn''t help but wonder about their remarkable strength and what they might have gone through to acquire it.


    He himself had fought non stop for his entire left. Starting as a Brat, the runt of the nest too, he chewed and clawed his way to evolution. Fighting many a hair raising battle, the Brat became a Bart and continued to grow. After killing countless monsters without keeping track, the Bart evolved and chose a magnificent option.


    King Tarb.


    Since then, none of the others looked down on him. He was no longer the runt anymore. Instead, he was now the leader of the pack. The head vermin. All others bowed in reverence and followed whatever instruction they were given.


    King Tarb had a singular command for his followers, which was easy enough for even the dimmest of creatures to comprehend. His directive was to become stronger by any means necessary. He was tired of being at the bottom of the pit, and as his species was one of the weakest, he was determined to alter the course of fate.


    King Tarb had decreed that his army should grow stronger and stronger for almost a decade in a location far away from civilization. His army had fought against many enemies, including bats. However, none of the bats they had encountered were as ferocious as the two they faced now.


    Bats were tricky opponents for the vermin, due to their ablilty to fly. The were not the Barts forte, but the rodents could usually manage to bring one down using rocks when they were in large groups. Today was not their day, however. All of their attack patterns and the tactics they usually employed against airborne enemies that had been successful in the past, failed miserably


    King Tarb watched in resigned contempt as Bathilda and Hiro cleaned up the remaining stragglers that refused to give up. It was a valiant effort, but as the cries of the last Bart went silent, the monarch shuddered at what was to come next.


    He was immobilized, unable to move, and surrounded by a ghastly and overpowering smell. The death of hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of his kin was heavy in the air. Their blood had coated him as he stood still, glued to his position. He hoped that the bats would leave now that they were finished.


    The mighty leader was absolutely terrified, so much so that he couldn''t even move. All he wanted was to curl up into a ball and pretend that what he had just witnessed had never happened. He had watched as two bats had brought an end to his entire species.


    King Tarb attempted to shrink himself as much as possible. However, the particular Bats he encountered possessed a unique ability to locate their opponents through radar, and they instantly detected his presence as soon as he arrived.


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    Not that he knew that critical price of information and even if he had, King Tarb didn''t possess the abilities needed to escape the insanely-fast bats anyway.


    The demons that had descended from above had no more subjects to hold their attention. As a result, the King of Brats and Barts, who was the ruler of the underworld, found himself being attacked with numerous blades that he could not dodge. His legs felt as if they had turned to stone and were the only appendages left standing after his body had been reduced to mincemeat.


    Well, that was... Anticlimactic.


    Bathilda let out a sigh as the largest rodent she had ever seen was turned into a cloud of blood. She surveyed the destruction that she and Hiro had wrought in their pursuit of XP. That wasn''t how Bathilda wanted to live her life, but down here, there was no other choice.


    How many do you think we killed? Including that big one trying to hide in the tunnel.


    "I counted more than three hundred, but I stopped keeping track after that. They were moving around so much that I just gave up. I mean, they were fast, but not fast enough." Hiro thought about some of the near misses he had during the fight, dropping down to low and not noticing the projectiles fast enough.


    Aerual combat was a bit of a bitch. There were a lot of variables to consider.


    They weren''t that fast. Maybe you''re just slower than me.


    Bathilda confidently pulled up her stats while giving her companion clone a knowing smile.


    Name: Bathilda


    Race: Vampire Bat


    Class: None


    Title: Rodent Exterminator


    Level: 18


    XP needed until next Level: 2769


    HP: 868/868


    MP: 352/757


    Skill Points Available


    What a load of shit. We killed that many of what I used to consider overpowered Brats, I feel like the XP we recieved should have been higher. I know I need more per level now, but still. That was ridiculous.


    Kicking the torso next to her and sending it flying, Bathilda''s frustration was clearly on show.


    "Shall we see where this tunnel leads?" Trying to view the tunnel from which the largest rodent had arrived, Hiro''s use of (Echolocation+) brought his attention back to an irate Bathilda. He watched as she spread her wings before taking off. A cloud of red dust blew passed him as she flew up the pit.


    "Bathilda!" he called out, as he took to the air himself. He didn''t have far to travel however as she had went straight back to the base and was already in the process of throwing large mounds of earth out of the entrance.


    "What are you doing now?"


    Preparing.


    Was the only word Bathilda said as she continued to dig. Dislodging large boulders before ejecting them to the pit below.


    "Preparing for what?" Still a little confused, Hiro thought he knew what she was upto. He had learned it was better to ask than assume with Bathilda, however. Plus he would have liked more information than a one-word answer.


    "I''m renovating now for whatever the next evolution brings. Plus, I need to wait for a whole so my MP can replenish and...


    Stopping mid-sentence, Bathilda had just realised that she didn''t take the time to test out any of her new vampiric abilities, during their assault.


    Nevermind. If I''m not fully regenerated by the time we''re finished, I''ll snack on something on the way."


    "I''m probably going to regret this, but on the way to what?" Hiro looked at Bathilda ominously. The original body to his clone, his transport out of Paradise, the person he had started to think of as a friend.


    Whatever I have to kill next of course!


    Bathilda turned to look at Hiro as if the answer had been obvious. She tilted her head as she continued digging.


    "Why do you have to say it in such a creepy way? You''re starting to sound like you''re slipping off the deep end," worrying about her sanity, Hiro let his thoughts slip off his tongue.


    Why?


    Removing herself from the excavation area, Bathilda moved to face Hiro.


    Is it because I''m embracing what I have to do to survive? Is it because I''m pre planning my evolution so that we''re not trapped in this cave the next time I get bigger? Or is it because I''ve finally accepted that killing is a more of a pre-established fact of life on this crazy-ass world than it was on my own? Hmm? Which one, Hiro? I''d love to hear what you think.


    All four of Bathilda''s eyes were trained on the now-silent leech. Bathilda crossed her arms, a novelty she was over the moon with, and waited patiently for his answer.


    Eventually losing the staring contest, Hiro conceded to Bathilda''s well planned thoughts. Even if she was raising voice with each sentence, he couldn''t deny she was adapting well for someone unused to taking the lives of others.


    "Well when your head turned to the side and you didn''t stop digging, it looked... Kind of... Scary."


    Hiro?


    Bathilda calmly addresses the smaller, srill-shaken bat across from her.


    "Y-yes, Bathilda?" Heart pounding in his chest, Hiro''s eyes widen as Bathilda grew closer and closer with each step until she was right next to him. Staring down at his small body.


    Get digging, or so help me God, I''ll show you what scary is.


    Scampering around her to the closest wall, Hiro began working as instructed too as fast as he could. Over the space of a few hours, they proceeded to expand their base of operations for the next time Bathilda evolved.

 Back to the Beginning

    Wide, spacious, and ready for two potential evolutions, Bathilda''s base of operations was now a large cave in its own right. Especially when compared to the small crevice it had been when she originally found it.


    Bathilda and Hiro had ended up putting more work in than she expected them to, but she wasn''t complaining. Instead, she stood at the entrance with her companion and admired the finished product.


    Good job, Hiro. Now we can move on to the next step. Maxing my level.


    Congratulating them on a job well done, Bathilda stretched her muscles, limbering up, before walking out of the entrance and toward the ledge overlooking the pit.


    Silence was all that could be heard as Bathilda, looked down on the battlefield below. The corpses of the King Tarb and his Brats were beginning to rot and the smell had turned pungent.


    No live Brats or Barts were present in the vicinity, the carnivorous rodents ate their own after all, leading Bathilda to think they had exterminated them all. She hoped some other monster would finish off the remains below before the smell became unbearable.


    It was already close.


    "It''s amazing how hard someone can work when threatened by a confident BatWoman," Hiro joked, hoping Bathilda''s mood had lightened since earlier. All his efforts got him however, were an eye roll and a sigh.


    Don''t call me that, please. Not only does it remind me of some of the scary films I watched in my grad days, but I''m sure there''s a copyright infringement somewhere laden in that statement. Plus, I''m pretty sure that Lady Bat rolls off the tongue much smoother than BatWoman does. It sounds more refined too.


    The confused jokester caught her sarcasm, but there were elements in there he didn''t understand.


    "What are grad days?" After a moment of confusion, Hiro followed Bathilda out of the entrance while asking about her past.


    Better left in the past. That''s what they are. This a new world where tearing things a new one is apparently the norm. This couldn''t be any further from my days of studying, drinking and one-night stands. On that note, let''s get to it before I dredge up something better left forgotten.


    Without waiting for a response, Bathilda took to the air and flew up the pit. Ignoring the Bart King''s tunnel, the nurse understood that if she wasn''t able to reach Max level by slaughtering so many small monster the she had to set her sights higher. A lot higher. That and she''d had about as much as she could take with being underground.


    She definitely didn''t want to keep going down.


    At the top of the pit, Bathilda retraced her first steps towards the forked path she had seen time and time again. This time was different, however. With a firm determination, she flew towards the location where she had originally reincarnated. It was also where she though her tiny heart almost exploded from her chest.


    Now that she was bigger, Bathilda had returned to put an end to the fear which had driven her further inside once and for all.


    As she neared the overwhelming-large, but-still-unidentified creature, Bathilda rounded the corner before coming face to face with what she could only describe as dessert.


    What the hell is that thing?


    Using (Identify), which had risen to level 4 during Bathilda''s annihilation of the Barts, each level offered more information on the world and life around her.


    Name: None


    Race: King Slime


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    Level: 24


    HP:650/650


    Undisturbed by what she saw, Bathilda''s mind was set in stone and she launchesld (Wing Slash+) after (Wing Slash+) at the large-gelatinous monster.


    Unfortunately, not a lot of anything happened as the blades of air entered the Slime''s large body before disappearing. The areas they cut through sealed back together as though they had never been there.


    Name: None


    Race: King Slime


    Level: 24


    HP:646/650


    Well that''s not fair.


    Bathilda grumbled as she watched the monsters HP slowly tick back up. The slime on the other hand made no effort to attack her, nor did it attempt to move for that matter


    With her limited options of attack, Bathilda was worried about using (Poison Fang). Biting the creature meant she would have to get in close to the beast. Cursing her own idea to save skill points for when she was free, her fangs, combined with the poison, was the only other offensive move she had after her upgrade.


    Still not wanting to spend her skill points, even against such a large opponent, Bathilda flew around its gelatinous body looking for somewhere to attack. With every inch looking exactly the same as the rest, it was hard to tell where the best location to launch an attack was though.


    Eventually, Bathilda gave in and just sank her teeth into the closest spot before pumping the King Slime full of her poison. From the pertrusion, a purple ooze could be seen spreading through the monster''s body. The moment she removed mouth, Bathilda watches in amazement as the wounded knitted together before her eyes.


    Amazing.


    As Bathilda watched the wound magically heal, her poison spread throughout the Slime''s body. Unfortunately for the Nurse, her poison was about as effective as her (Wing Slash) had been. The further the toxin spread, the less potent it became. When first injected it had been a dark purple liquid, but as it swirled inside the monster''s transparent body, it faded to pink before eventually disappearing completely.


    Hiro finally caught up with Bathilda only to stop in shock himself.


    "What the hell is that!?" he called from behind.


    It''s called a King Slime. (Wing Slash) doesn''t work on it, apparently it can heal as fast as it takes damage and my poison was just dissipated inside its body. It wasn''t potent enough to take it down. Maybe if we both use (Poison Fang) together and in different locations, it''ll be strong enough to do some damage.


    Thinking up a plan on the spot like that, Bathilda was quite impressed with herself, but Hiro seemed less enthusiastic about the idea.


    "I don''t wanna put my mouth on that thing!" He repeated the same thought Bathilda had prior to her attempt.


    Unless you wanna be stuck inside this cave with me for eternity, you''re going to have to. We have to kill this thing and I think two strong doses of poison should do it.


    Bathilda hoped.


    Reluctantly, Hiro agreed and they both took positions on opposite sides of the Slime. Hiro grumbled one last time before sinking his teeth. Bathilda watches her leech''s poison entering the monster''s body before she bit down herself. This time she applied as much of the venom as she could and combined with Hiro''s, the toxic substance did a much better job than her first attempt.


    The Slimes turned a pink/purple colour as the poison swirled inside. Hiro immediately removed himself from the Slime and its vicinity once he was finished, but Bathilda continued to inject more and more of the liquid into her victim.


    It was hard to call it an opponent when it hadn''t moved a single muscle. Not that it had any muscles to move.


    Becoming complacent and not realising her mistake until it was too late, Bathilda was pulled into gelatinous monster''s body. It was then she realised why the Slime didn''t have to move. Anyone that attacked it would quickly find themselves swallowed up and trapped inside the creature''s body.


    Barely able to move, Bathilda tried to use her wings to turn herself in the direction she had been sucked in until she spotted a small purple object at the center of the beast. The tiny gem was no bigger than a pebble and it wasn''t noticeable from outside the creature either or else ahe would have noticed it.


    Taking a risk, Bathilda uses what strength she could muster inside the Slime and pushed herself toward the small purple stone.


    Swim like a pro. It doesn''t matter about Oxygen, you''re a crazy-ass bat-monster now. You''ve got this.


    Bathilda psyched herself up while pushing with every limb she had to reach the core. After managing to reach it, another problem arose. Her body was to slow and heavy to perform (Wing Slash+). Due to the heavy set innards of the King Slime  resistricting her movements, Bathilda did the only thing she could think of.


    She chewed down hard on the core like it was candy. Luckily, it turned out to be quite soft and after chewing it for a few seconds, Bathilda swallowed the remains. At that point she was swallowed herself by a flood of notifications regarding level ups and a rush of power surged through her. Notifications about new skills appeared at seemingly random intervals whilst her current set upgraded due to use. Through out all of that, there was only one thing on Bathilda''s mind as the slime dissolved around her.


    Why were my last two opponents Kings? Am I going to be a Queen? Queen Bathilda. I like the sound of that.

 Dejected Triumph

    Both happy and sad in equal amounts, Bathilda was sat in her lair frowning. Constantly examining her new body, she smiled one moment then frowned then next. Repeating the actions over and over, she was stuck in a continuous circle of resignation.


    "Why can''t I just have what I want for once?" her childlike voice asked rhetorically. She wasn''t expecting an answer, her question more for those in paradise, but an answer came nonetheless.


    "I thought this was what you wanted?" Responding with a question of his own, Hiro''s words only served to infuriate Bathilda more.


    "Are you joking? Look at me, Hiro!" Bathilda squeaked in the cutest sound she had ever heard before getting up. Casting (Echolocation+) to look at the areas of herself she couldn''t see physically, Bathilda was annoyed at herself for being so hasty.


    Standing less than 3 feet tall, Bathilda was barely bigger than Poisonous Bat and she was disappointed at the choice she had made after defeating the King Slime. Even though the monster had only been level 23, his high ranking form had been enough to catapult the Vampire Bat to Max level.


    Bathilda''s choice for evolution were limited, as the Vampire Bat had explained they would be, and Bathilda only had two options. Out of those, the first option was another Bat-type monster, the Night Terror Bat. The second was a Lesser Vampire. Finally earning the chance to ditch the Bat title once and for all, Bathilda had hastily chosen the second option without reading any descriptions.


    As she looked at her new body from a different perspective, she still wasn''t pleased as she wanted to be. Bathilda reminded herself of an anemic child that she had treated back when she was still at the hospital. Frail and malnourished, the young girl''s body was the only thing Bathilda could compare her current self with.


    There was hardly any muscle or fat on her frame and Bathilda shed a tear at the sorry sight of herself. She was a bag of bones and looked weaker than she had done even as a bat. At the same time, golden locks slipped over her shoulder and the colourful sight brougt a smile to her face.


    "At least I''ve got silky-smooth hair and I can talk properly now. Even though I sound like I''m a 5 year old. When I saw the ''Lesser Vampire'' option in the evolution list, I was honestly expecting something more than... this."


    Bathilda was sad. As a vampire, she played the gloomy, foreboding character rather well. Even if she didn''t realise she was doing it.


    "It could be worse, remember? You could be a Brat."


    Hiro added, trying to give Bathilda a hand to pull her out of her misery.


    "I suppose you''re right. It could be worse. At least this is a step in the right direction. Even if I am a little girl again."


    Bathilda looked completely human. No deformities, no claws, no extra eyes, and a single row of teeth lined her mouth. Mrs Bigfoot was no more as the hair had shed from her body, revealing beautiful white skin beneath. Bathilda was finally able to join society and should have been overjoyed. Ecstatic even. Yet sorrow has its clutches deep in her heart as she stood on the ledge of her base and looked up at the next problem of her own making.


    "Why did I decide to come back down the pit to evolve? I should have evolved in that Slime''s room!" Bathilda stomped around like the child she was as she gazed upward.


    With her childlike body, escaping the pit didn''t look like it would be an easy feat. Especially since there were no appendages on her back anymore. One of the the most saddening features of moving away from the bat lineage was the loss of the wings Bathilda had grown accustomed to using.


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    "There''s nothing you can do about it now. Looks like you''re going to have to climb out of here."


    "Urgh. Why does everything have to be so hard?" Slumping down to the floor, Bathilda wrapped her arms around her legs and began to rock backwards and forwards while cursing the pit, the monsters and her own hasty choices. She wasn''t to know that her wings would disappear after she had evolved.


    Well, maybe if she''d read the descriptions she would have. But luckily, wings weren''t Bathilda''s only option for escaping her base in the pit.


    As she thought the word (Clone), a second child appeared next to her, giving Bathilda an even better chance to get a look at herself. X rays were fine and all, but using a pair of good, old-fashioned eyes was even better.


    The same as before, Bathilda''s clone came out at half her size and looked even cuter than she did. Her hair was gold and softer than silk. Eyes that were the colour of flames stared back at her and baby fangs could be felt inside the mouth after Bathilda suck her fingers in to check.


    "I don''t like this, Bathilda," Hiro complained adorably. "It''s not right. I was a guy in my last life, you know? And an adult! Switching genders and age like this is really throwing me off."


    "You didn''t complain when you were in control of the bat."


    "Yes... Well... That was because I didn''t think of it as a female bat!"


    "Well, that''s exactly what it was. A female bat. Plus, someone''s got to test this body. If I die whilst testing, then so do you. Whereas if you die, your spirit will return to me and we can try again. It makes sense for you to be the guinea pig, Leech." Bathilda was beamin an incredibly evil grin as she delivered her thought out explanation without hesitation.


    "Don''t call me that please. It''s demeaning," he frowned. "You don''t like it when I call you Bat."


    "I suppose you''re right. I''m sorry, Hiro. I''m just a little vexed out at the moment. I don''t want to have to climb all the way up there to get out of this pit, but I know the damn exit is up there!" Grumbling about life, Bathilda brought up her status.


    Name: Bathilda


    Race: Lesser Vampire


    Class: None


    Title: Rodent Exterminator


    Level: 1


    XP needed until next Level: 4800


    HP: 1488/1488


    MP: 1044/1044


    Skill Points Available


    Bathilda smiled at the growth her numbers portrayed before sighing as her mind flickered back to her current predicament.


    "Well, I suppose there''s no time like the present. Go, Hiro! You can do it!" Bathilda stood up and pointed towards the vertical climb as she called out full of confidence.


    "I''m literally sitting right next to you and I''m not a dog, you know? What are you even expecting me to do? I like... Half your size." He repliesld in the same adorable voice as before, unnerving Bathilda slightly as he moved to the cliff.


    "You need to climb the pit. Just like you said." Giving Hiro a thumbs up, Bathilda also threw him her best smile. Which unnerved the man from another world.


    "OK, but just so we''re clear, I''m not happy always being the scapegoat... Or the tester... Or the bait!" Hiro was still voicing his complaints as his small body began scaling the wall.


    To his shock, it was actually a lot easier than he had anticipated after hearing Bathilda''s ridiculous plan. Having small hands and feet made it extremely easier to climb, nimbly fitting into the nooks and crevices of the wall better than an adults would.


    "To be honest Bathilda, this is actually quite easy! You may as well set off now because I doubt you''ll lose grip whilst climbing up he..." Speaking too soon, Hiro lost his footing while reaching for the next hand hole and went plummeting down the pit.


    Unable to alter his course, he locked eyes with a satisfied-looking Bathilda as he passes by on his way to the bottom of the pit. With each passing second the ground got closer and closer. The only thought that ran through Hiro''s mind was ''Why did I open my mouth?'' before he crashed into the bottom of the pit.


    Opening his eyes after he fall, Hiro was shocked at the damage he hadn''t taken. Through some miraculous circumstances or divine intervention, he wasn''t dead. Though it wasn''t the first time he had crashed into the bottom of the pit, it was his first time without wings and he picked himself up from the floor in a daze.


    After refainin his senses and checking his stats, Hiro found that he had only lost 10HP from the fall he had involuntarily taken.


    "Well, shit!" He chuckled in satisfaction at the resilience of his petite body before contemplating how strong Bathilda''s main body was.


    "Hiro?" Bathilda called down from above. "You don''t need to worry about climbing now. I''ve found out that we can still use (Fly+) without wings! How cool is that?"


    "Of course we can," Hiro sighed, wondering why he had to try and climb the pit in the first place. "Why didn''t we try that in the beginning then!"

 Leaving Home

    After leaving the pit, Bathilda returned to the room where she had valiantly eaten the King Slime''s core. She had recieved a myriad of skills and multiple level ups for her efforts, but it was the passageway opposing her own that had the little Lesser Vampire antsy.


    There in front of them, at the end of the tunnel, was light. Not a light fabricated by anything inside the cave, but natural sunlight. Bathilda and Hiro stopped right before exiting the cave. A lush forest full of greenery was waiting just a few steps away, but Bathilda had encountered a new problem.


    I can''t go out there. I''ve got no clothes on. Granted, I might look like a small child, but I''m definitely not one. Plus, I still have my dignity.


    Trying to convince herself as opposed to Hiro with her last statement, Bathilda winced at the thought of still being stuck in the now cave. Even though she had finally found her way out, she couldn''t walk around in her birthday suit. It was a fluke that the Lesser Vampire remembed a skill she had seen from the varying categories whilst browsing her catalogue.


    Back when Bathilda had to backtrack or during her evolutions, she would spend copious amounts of time browsing through the skill list. Bringing up the list, most of them were still unobtainable due to their cost, but they weren''t what she was looking for this time.


    "Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please." She begged while scrolling down the large list. "Where the hell was it?" Her eyes shoot from one section to the next as she sped her way through until she finally found the one she was looking for.


    "There are thousands of skills on this list and I hardly make enough points to buy what I need. Nevermind what I want. Still, this will have to do for now. There''s no way I''m walking around with out anything covering my modesty." Sitting on 50 skill points after defeating the King Slime and evolving, Bathilda felt as though she deserved more for her hard fought efforts. Regardless, she went ahead and spent 20 of her points on a spell she didn''t necessarily need.


    It was a spell she most definitely wanted though and sometimes wants out trump needs.


    Knowledge about the spell entered Bathilda''s mind as she gained immediate understanding about its capabilities. It was more than enough for what she needed and she casts the basic spell as soon as she had finished learning. A small, white summer dress appeared from thin air and sat beautifully on top of her skin.


    Spell: Minor Illusion


    Create mild illusions to trick and deceive people. Cannot conjure spells more than 20 feet away from the caster. Cannot add substance to created manifestations.


    "It''s not amazing, but at the same time, it is." Bathilda beamed with a twirl. The frills of her dress rose up with the motion and she finished with a smile.


    "OK, Hiro," Bathilda announced with an inflated courage now that she was modestly covered, "Let''s go!"


    Marching out of the cave''s only entrance, Bathilda couldn''t tell if it was just her size as a Lesser Vampire, or it it was the overgrown trees, that drained her confidence and made her feel small. Regardless, the nature inhabiting the area directly in front of her ex-base was absolutely enormous.


    "It feels as though I''ve been shipped off to the Land of the Giants," she joked to Hiro who failed to respond. Not recieving a reply, Bathilda turned around to face the cave and saw that Hiro was still standing there... Naked.


    "Jeez, Hiro. Put some clothes on or something would you? Damn pervert. You don''t want to make this place known as ''The Forest of Loli''s'' do you?" Finally in a good mood, Bathilda laughed while Hiro flushed red. The irritation was clear as day on his face.


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    Damn it''s good to be wearing clothes. Or at least having clothes covering me.


    "I cant!" Hiro called back after a minute.


    "Why not?" Bathilda was confused. Surely Hiro should be able I do everything she could, right?


    "I don''t know? You''re the main body, shouldn''t you know?" He angrily snapped.


    Tracing a finger along her mouth, Bathilda played with her fangs while she tried to figure out why Hiro wasn''t able to cast (Minor Illusion).


    Is this one of the skills that clones are restricted from using? It could be, but I can''t see it. It''s not as though the spell takes a lot to use. It reduces my available MP by 10, but that''s all there is to it really. Is it because I had a clone summoned before I purchased Illusion magic? Oh, that could be it. As far as theoretical guesses go, that sounds like it could be a winner.


    "I''ve got an idea, Hiro. Although, I''m not sure how it will work without wings." Smiling mischievously to the mortified eyes of her smaller, summoned self, Bathilda let off a (Wing Blade+) with all the power she could. Her aim was to obliterate Hiro''s body, painlessly and efficiently, in one quick move. It would also let her test her newly acquired strength.


    Without fully comprehending the rise in value of her status numbers though, Bathilda ended up doing much more damage than she had originally anticipated. Granted, Hiro''s cloned-body was ripped apart by the ferocious blast of wind created by her arm, just as she had hoped for, but so too had the entire mountain where her base was located.


    Bathilda''s mouth dropped open. By some minor miracle, the remaining top half of the mountain stayed suspended in the air for a second before falling down. By another minor miracle, the top half managed to land without breaking apart anymore and left the mountain to looking like someone had stolen the middle section. The awkward-looking mound no longer featured the entrance Bathilda had left from and where Hiro was last standing.


    After recovering from her self-caused PTSD by almost dropping a mountain on herself, Bathilda recreated her hitchhiker to test the theory. Unfortunately though, cooperation and helpfulness were not the thoughts on Hiro''s mind as he was immediately ousted into another clone.


    "God, damn it, Bathilda! I''m pretty sure you''re doing that on purpose now!" He screamed adorably once more.


    "Well, I suppose that was my intention this time. In my defence though, the clones aren''t really real and it seemed like the quickest theory to test," she smiled.


    "I''m real though! I''m fucking real, Bathilda! There are only so many deaths a man can take before they destroy his soul, you know?" Playing the pity card, Hiro dropped to his knees and looked at Bathilda through a perfect replica of her own scarlett eyes.


    "You can always go back to the Oasis if you want?" Bathilda replied casually. Hiro was not someone who needed help in her opinion. He had hijacked her reincarnation for his own selfish gain and he had been far from helpful.


    Grumbling to himself in a childish manner, Hiro frowned and admitted defeat. The Oasis, or heaven, was far worse than the new planet that they had come to. Even if he had already died here by the hands, or wings, of his ride.


    "Fine. What now then?" Hiro finally conceded.


    "I want you to see if you can use (Minor Illusion) now. If you can create a simple dress, or something like that, you can stop showing my bits off to the world." Laying down the law, Bathilda explained her expectations to Hiro.


    "Again? Fine, hang on... Wait a minute. Hey I can use it now. How did that happen?"


    "I think you were restricted before because you had already been summoned. If that makes sense. You were created before I learned how to cast Illusions. That meant you''re not able to learn the new skills I acquire once you''ve been created. Not unless you''re destroyed and then resummoned, that is." Summing up her theory in an easy to understand few sentences, Bathilda smiled a very human smile and threw Hiro s hearty thumbs up as he cast his spell.


    Hiro on the other hand created a sunflower-themed dress, but he was still frowning at Bathilda. "You could have cancelled the clone spell and recreated me after. You didn''t need to go all out on me."


    "To be honest, I wanted to test how strong I''ve become. After seeing you not take much damage from that fall, I was pretty curious. Sorry, Hiro. Either way, it''s finally time to go." Her feet left the ground and Bathilda rose up through the air.


    "Really? I can''t wait to see other people." Hiro finally perked up and smiled himself as he too rose from the floor to join Bathilda in the air.


    "I know. It''s been forever since I''ve seen someone other than me and I wasn''t even a person in the beginning. Before that though, we need to get a good look at where we are." Bathilda instructed as they began to rise above the canopy. Unsure of what they would find in this brave new world.

 A Small Fish

    High up in the sky, the shouts and laughter of a giddy Vampire were heard only by her hitchhiking companion wearing the same, if only smaller, body.


    Hiro, however, was trying his best to be one the breeze and was enjoying the blissful reprieve they had earned from the fighting.


    "Look, Hiro. This is what they do. I swear to god!" Bursting into another fit of laughter, the newly-evolved Bathilda had been doing her best impression of a dolphin swimming. Instead of water though, she was using the clouds around them to leap in and out of.


    Bathilda claimed that she was trying to educate Hiro, but in reality she was having way too much fun in the open skies to care about anything else.


    "Hey! Why aren''t you watching me, Hiro?" she callsed out from below.


    "Because I''ve been watching you for the last half an hour. Now that we''re finally in the sun and don''t have to worry about a cramped, confined death, I just want to relax a little."


    "I''m really glad that we''re able to go in the sun. Vampires from my world are notorious for setting on fire and burning to ash when daylight''s involved," Bathilda informed Hiro, whose face turned paler than it already was at the new information.


    "Wait, what? Is that why you stopped ascending before we broke throug the clouds? I thought I was winning, but now... Did you make me go through the clouds first on purpose? Just in case I burst into flames?" Bathilda''s all-to-brief history lesson on her knowledge of Vampires shattered the remains of Hiro''s relaxing vibe.


    "I can''t come back to life like you can though. It only makes sense for you to be the guinea pig and in all fairness, this was my reincarnation." Reminding Hiro of how their journey together started, Bathilda''s words hit home and Hiro bit his tongue in reluctance.


    "What''s a guinea pig? Is it like bait?"


    "Well... Sort of. Guinea pigs are actually these little, adorable creatures," Bathilda refrained from using the word pet. She didn''t want to annoy him anymore than he already was. "People use their name as a reference for someone who... Participates in activities first."


    "Adorable?" Was the only word he repeated from her sentence. Not that he looked happy as the word left his mouth.


    "Yeah! I even bought the (Clone) skill specifically for you, just so you could have a body. Now, you look like a natural beauty," she grinned. Unfortunately, Hiro wasn''t as happy as Bathilda''s thought he would be.


    "I don''t want to be a girl!" He shouted.


    "Sorry, Hiro. There''s nothing I can do about that yet," Bathilda said as she began browsing het skill list. She hadn''t checked them since before her battle with the King Slime, but some of her skills were even ready to be upgraded. Three of them had reached Level 10, maxing them out for their first upgraded.


    Bathilda worked her way through the skills that had the plus symbol next to them first. They all appeared to have stopped growing at level 5 unlike her others. These skill improved through a multiple choice system that she had to choose herself. Which she did. Afterwards, Bathilda felt confident she had made the right decisions.


    Spell (Clone+) Level 5


    Create an identical copy of the user. The duration of this spell is dependent on the mana supplied during casting. The Clone will be created with 60% of the user''s stats and has the capacity for growth. Certain skills and magic are restricted and unusable by the Clone. Limit: Two Clones


    Skill (Iron Body+) Level 5


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    Each level of this skill raises the user''s physical defence by 10%.


    Skill (Swift Wing+) Level 5


    Each level of this skill raises the user''s movement speed by 10%.


    Skill (Identify+) Level 5


    Each additional level of this skill adds more-detailed information to the user''s database.


    Skill (Paralysing Stare+) Level 5


    Incapacite multiple enemies for 60 seconds. Each additional level of this skill increases the chance of paralysis taking effect on the target.


    "When did I use Paralysing Stare? Maybe it works on its own whenever I look at a monster? I don''t know. I''m not going to complain about a free upgrade though." With her midpoint skills finished, Bathilda moved on to her first set of max-level skills.


    Skill (Wing Slash+) has evolved into (Reality Tear) Level 1


    Skill (Fly+) has evolved (Gravity Manipulation) Level 1


    Skill (Chomp+) has evolved into (Obliterate)


    "I don''t know how I got so lucky with (Chomp+), but I''ll take that upgrade!"


    (Obliterate)


    Using your own strength, you can destroy anything you lay your hands upon.


    "That sounds like a seriously messed-up skill. It was leagues above the other option though, Crushing Fang. Anyway, now that I''m done, my skills are looking good. Real good!"


    Feeling positive, Bathilda closed her skill list and descended below the clouds. In her mind, it was obvious what her next step should be.


    Finding people!


    Rejoining society, or at least whatever constituted society in a world full of monsters. The only problem was that she had no idea where to look.


    Trees covered the earth in every direction and as far as Bathilda could see. The mountain in which she had first reincarnated was nowhere to be seen and it seemed the vampires had travelled much further than they thought while they were leisurely floating above the clouds.


    She decided to keep heading in the same direction they were on and as she travelled above the forest, she eventually encountered life.


    It was not the type of life she wanted to see, however, as two gigantic monsters faced off in a fight to the death. As she neared, the trees swayed and rocked due to the pressure they gave off. It was not a normal occurrence, yet Bathilda was drawing closer.


    Taller than the largest-trees in this part of the forest, were two beasts engaged in a fierce battle. They were still a fair distance from the two child-sized Vampires but both could see the damage they created. Their blows ripped the very earth from the ground and with each attack, large sections of nature were extinguished as they clashed repeatedly. Each attack rang through the air like the sound of thunder.


    As she watched the fight play out, one of the titan-sized monsters fired a laser from its mouth towards its opponent. The gorilla-like creature managed to evade the deathly beam and even landed a strong, right cross of its own. Incidentally, that attack was right on the side of the turtle monster''s face. This caused the still-firing laser beam to be redirected directly into the path of the spectating Bathilda.


    The positive confidence that Bathilda was exuding moments ago completely vanished in the face of total and complete annihilation. Dropping at an increased speed thanks to the recently acquired (Gravity Manipulation), she just managed to avoid the attack.


    Bathilda then decided that her best option would be to quickly vacate the extremely-dangerous vicinity and far remove herself from the raging beasts. Unfortunately, life had a different idea and as she turned around to flee, the Lesser Vampire came face-to-face with a third, even-deadlier monster that had managed to approach her unnoticed.


    "Oh Shit!"


    Fear coursed through Bathilda''s entire body as the ridiculously-sized monster opened its even more ridiculously-sized mouth, ready to swallow her whole. Hundreds of teeth lined the inside of its mouth, signalling death for anything that ended up inside. Out of instinct, Bathilda threw her arm up to shield herself from the incoming maw instead of trying to escape.


    Thanks to luck, or more so to (Wing Slash+) for upgrading, a slice out of reality was desecrated in the direction Bathilda''s arm took. Fortunately, the trajectory traced a line through the crocodile monster''s mouth and everything along it was shredded from existence.


    (Wing Slash+), or (Reality Tear) as it was now named after its upgrade, hadn''t even entered her mind due to how close the monster was to closing its jaws on her. Fortunately enough, it was the only skill needed. In that brief movement, the large-reptilian''s head was severed horizontally and only the bottom half of its jaw remained attached to the body.


    "Woah!"


    "Insta-kill."


    "Hiro? How did you die?" Hearing her companion inside her head, Bathilda quickly scanned the area for his remains. The only sights she could see were the gorilla and turtle, still engaged in their battle, and the remains of the reptile slowly falling toward the ground behind her.


    "I got caught in that yellow flash of light and was dead before I realised what it was.


    "Don''t worry about it. All of a sudden I''m feeling kind of powerful. Seeing how that last monster went down like a sack of potatoes, let''s see what kind of revenge we can dish out on those two." Bathilda smiled confidently before re-summoning her clone.

 In A Big Pond

    Most people would naturally assume small creatures to be generally weaker to their respective, larger counterparts and more often than not they would be correct in their assumptions. Bathilda''s new world, however, was anything but average, as Bathilda was still coming to terms with.


    After she had ended the life of the extremely-sneaky reptilian that had stealthily crept up behind her, a confidence like that of her old-employed self swept over Bathilda. The too-hairy gorilla and the hospital-sized turtle, suddenly found their own battle cut short at the hands of what they mistook to be a fly.


    A fly with an OP (Reality Tear) that was.


    After dishing up a swift and immediate death for the three, oversized monsters, Bathilda flew back above the clouds to plan her next course of action. Finding people was definitely still the goal, but floating around on the wind was not the way to go about it.


    Bathilda''s hair shone radiantly under the sun''s rays and her heart warmed as it fluttered in to view. Taking a second to appreciate it, but not letting herself get distracted, she quickly brought up her status.


    Amazingly, after only three swings of her arm, Bathilda was almost halfway towards her next evolution. It was unprecedented, especially when compared to how long it took her to arrive at her current self.


    "Everything is so big. Luckily, bigger doesn''t mean better on this planet. Or stronger. Well... I suppose it could, but I''ve yet to see any evidence of that. I do know that bigger mean lots of XP though," Bathilda giggled. As she looked over her numbers once more.


    "I thought we were going to find people? It sounds more like you want to go monster hunting."


    "Don''t be silly. People are absolutely the number one goal! But if I happen to slice up a few monsters on the way and evolve before we find them, there''s no problem with that, right?" Bathilda''s eyes glint at the prospect of more XP.


    The idea of evolution was becoming intoxicating. More so now that experience had become ridiculously easy to earn. Especially when she believed that her next evolution would bring her closer to what she desired. A taller, maturer version of the body she currently possessed was almost guaranteed in her mind.


    Happy about the direction of her future, Bathilda used her newly-upgraded skill to summon two clones.


    "Hey! Why am I still in here?" A dejected Hiro complained from inside Bathilda''s head. He had not been placed in either of the the two newcomers.


    As with all her other summonings so far, both clones were identical to Bathilda in every aspect bar height. Scarlett eyes and long-golden hair were their only defining features. Unless they happened to smile, even Lesser Vampires have fangs that are quite easily noticeable.


    Not that Bathilda''s clones were smiling. The two pale-skinned children hovered above the clouds next to the original and held no expression at all. They appeared lifeless and empty, unlike the times they had been operated by Hiro.


    "There''s a reason for that. They''re not staying!" Bathilda gave Hiro another thumbs up, expecting him to know exactly what it meant.


    "Right? And? What does that mean? That doesn''t tell me anything? Hiro obviously had no idea what Bathilda was saying. Although, in his defence, most of the words she had spoken were lost of him as he didn''t originate from Earth like she did.


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    "Create clothing," Bathilda instructed her clones. They did as commanded and Illusion magic casts a cloud over their bodies. As it faded away, both of her clones were wearing the same short, white dress that Bathilda had on.


    "This is part experiment and part hope," she informed her travel buddy. "For the experimental side of things, I need to find out how far away the clones can travel before they die... Or... Whatever it is that will happen to them when they reach that point. Maybe they''ll fizzle out. That sounds better." She looked at her mini-me''s and grimaced. Knowing she was sending them to their deaths and still carrying out made Bathilda feel awful. Even if they weren''t real people, they still looked like they be part of society.


    "Ah. That''s what you meant by not staying." Hiro finally understood Bathilda''s poor choice of words and was suddenly rather grateful he hadn''t been chosen for the task. Being summoned into one of those clones, just to die again, would have sucked so bad.


    "Yep and hopefully, they might actually find people while they''re at it. I''m going to send them in different directions while we keep heading north." Bathilda was proud of her plan. She couldn''t help but smile as she waited for Hiro to complement her plan.


    Unfortunately for Bathilda, Hiro was too busy metaphorically fist-pumping the air in Bathilda''s mind to congratulate her. Feeling a bit sorry for herself that she didn''t get the praise she was expecting, Bathilda sent her clones off and brought her attention back to her status for a third time.


    Mainly, to boost her ego a little.


    Name: Bathilda


    Race: Lesser Vampire


    Class: None


    Title: Rodent Exterminator


    Level: 39


    XP needed until next Level: 48,000


    HP: 24,670/24,670


    MP: 18,514/18,514


    Skill Points Available


    I wonder when I get a class? Maybe I have to join an alliance or a guild or something like that? Damn. I bet doing that would make me stronger too. I feel like I''m still missing out on so much.


    Bathilda closed her status page and continued her journey. To make sure she didn''t stray from her chosen direction, Bathilda dropped below the clouds to use the landscape to her advantage.


    The world below was not lacking in nature and the forest continued on as far as she can see. Which was extremely far from her her position in the sky. Other than the monsterous-monstrosities barging their way through the nature''s backyard, there was nothing else to use as a guide. So trying her best to use the sea of trees and its inhabitants as markers, Bathilda pushed on.


    She released (Reality Tear) after (Reality Tear) at anything that moved, as she cruised through the sky.


    "This is fucking amazing! Flying was cool before, but now that we''re in the open sky it''s even better." Bathilda spun, twirled, ascended and descended in wavy movements, enjoying her time thoroughly as she shot through the sky.


    "I''m a fucking superhero!" She screamed at the top of her lungs.


    A few miles away, Bathilda could see large patch of land that wasn''t swamped in trees. Inside was a wall that reached almost as high into the sky as she was herself. As she got closer, she noticed that the sturdy feature had been built to keep the forest at bay.


    Arriving above it, not a single tree, shrub or mushroom, was visible inside. Neither were there people, unfortunately, but a single, dome-shaped building kept Bathilda''s hope alive as she descended to the floor. A large set of doors that would open the way to the forest were built into the wall and was the only other indicator that people had been here at some point. Who else built doors?


    "Why have we stopped here? This place is obviously desserted. As well as being eerily quiet, even though the forest outside is full of sound."


    Feeling more than a little curious, Bathilda made her way towards the dome. It had a single door that was partially hanging on by a remaining hinge, which broke off as she pushed it open.


    The room inside may have well been a replica of the land outside as it was bare of everything except a single, stone feature. This time, however, it was a stone pillar that stood in the center of the room. With no other doors, no furnishing features and nothing else of note, the eerie silence that Hiro had spoken off seemed worse inside the dome.


    "I don''t think you should go near that."


    Stating the obvious, Hiro wasn''t expecting Bathilda''s next response.


    "I know. The thing is though, Hiro. I really, really want too." Bathilda made her way toward the time-worn pillar. Almost pulled in by its featureless lure. As she placed her hand on the cold, smooth surface, Bathilda prayed that her clones would live up to her expectations as the world turned white.

 To Class Or Not To Class

    After the light had vanished, the stone pillar that Bathilda had placed her hand on was covered in words. It took her a moment to realise what they meant, but after she had finished reading, nothing that was offered seemed to line up with her life goals.


    Yet Bathilda was unable to remove her hand. It was as though she had been glued to the inanimate feature by magic. Magic not of her doing.


    Using her newfound strength, Bathilda struggled to free herself. Due to her efforts, the entire pillar managed to dislodged itself enough from the ground that it came with her.


    Bathilda was more confused over the fact that she couldn''t remove the object from her palm than she was over the writting still being present. She had hoped it would have faded away after its removal, but the pillar still continued to broadcast its options even after she left the dome.


    "For fuck sake. I knew I shouldn''t have touched that stone. I knew it!" Bathilda berated herself.


    "I told you not to do that."


    "Alright, Captain Hindsight. It was just... I don''t know. It felt like it was drawing me to it and I just had to touch it." Bathilda couldn''t explain what she had just felt, but she tried nonetheless. Eventually, she gave up before looking over the options her unwanted attachment was offering once more.


    "It''s funny. The information on this thing is exactly what I actually wanted. The problem is, I don''t want any of the classes it''s offering me. Definitely not the last one. What am I going to do, Hiro?"


    "Can''t you just reject them?" Hiro asked the obvious question.


    "I... Don''t know? It''s not as though there''s a yes-no function on this thing. I''m also worried about touching anything else I shouldn''t and choosing one of these classes by accident. Wierd shit happening in that exact way seems to be the norm around here." Bathilda and Hiro stayed silent as they thought what to do about her glued on class selector.


    "What are the classes?" Hiro eventually asked, curious about the choices she was offered.


    "Apprentice Exterminator, Apprentice Beast Tamer or Lesser-Demon.


    "They don''t sound so bad. Except for the Demon one obviously."


    "Obviously! The problem is that the other two also have ''Evil'' stamped next to them for some reason."


    "Evil?"


    "Yes, fucking Evil! Stop asking unhelpful questions." Bathilda was annoyed. She didn''t want to be evil. All she wanted to do was help people, but the forces of the universe seemed to be set against her.


    As annoyance turned to anger, Bathilda began to bash the pillar against the floor. Wanting it gone, but to no avail, she turned to the dome instead.


    Working her way through her frustration, Bathilda used the unbreakable object attached to her hand to destroy the building it has been housed in during her rage. The pillar was resilient, however, and only showed slight damaged after Bathilda has destroyed the entire dome with it.


    Unhappy that the object is still attached to her hand, but feeling slightly better that it has been damaged, Bathilda continues her assault and moves on to the much-larger outside wall. Not as weak as the building inside, it withstands many hits as the pillar fractures and cracks under Bathilda''s relentless attacks.


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    When she stops, Bathilda is heaving for breath. She''s covered in sweat and her entire body hurts from the relentless assault. The pillar is a tenth of what it once was and barely any words remain on what''s left of the stone. Once she''s caught her breath, she looks at the object still attached to her hand in amazement.


    "That was a strong piece of cement. I don''t even know how many times I hit the wall with it. Speaking of, that''s a fucking strong wall as well. Not even a chip?" Bathilda thoroughly inspect the outer wall. With no signs of damage whatsoever, it certainly shows how it has kept the large monsters out. The wall itself being only slightly-larger than the tallest trees.


    Bathilda slightly regrets her actions. The exterminator class, although marked as evil, she had though it sounded pretty cool, even if it did branch away from her original goal.


    (Evil) Apprentice Exterminator


    Requirements: Kill 1,000 Monsters


    Special Skill: Strength Boost (Doubles Strength for 10 minutes)


    - Through hard work and effort you have unlocked a rare class. Strength and power are the primary factors of this class as killing many enemies demands it to be so


    ''That class would have worked well with obliterate I reckon, but it''s not what I want.'' Bathilda thinks as she begins her assault on the stone again. With the first hit, what remains of the pillar crumbles to dust and a new notification appears making Bathilda''s heart jump.


    (Holy) Apprentice Maiden


    Requirements: Refuse three-separate classes with the (evil) distinction


    Special Skill: Magic Power Boost (Doubles magical proficiency for 10 minutes)


    - Through unrelenting determination you have unlocked a legendary class. The maiden is a symbol of hope actoss the entire world. Though there hasn''t been one recorded in the past 500 years, records of their deeds still remain. Guided by a strong sense of justice and the courage to do what''s right, the magic you now possess is enough to rival even the Demon King itself.


    ''Holy Shit! Literally! It''s a class that isn''t evil,'' Bathilda is psyched she made the right choice. Not that smashing the stone pillar to pieces was one of her options. She does a little dance, out of joy, and accepts the class.


    New Skills have been unlocked:


    Heal: 5MP


    Area Heal 20MP


    Defliction 10MP


    ''I''ve got heal! That''s the skill I saw before in the skill-shop thingy.'' Bathilda continues her victory dance, feeling rather good about herself in the process. ''It''s about time I got a class. I''ve evolved quite a few times since I ended up here. What are my other skills. Area Heal and... Defliction? It''s obvious what area heal does, but defliction.


    Defliction


    Cures status afflictions.


    10 MP


    "That''s not a lot of information, but I suppose it is helpful. Plus, they''re bound to improve as well." Bathilda is overjoyed at recieving such a good class and the moment only gets better. A telepathic communication is sent from the clone in the East. "People?"


    People?


    "People! Fuck Yeah! Just after I got a class and a legendary one at that. I honestly can''t believe my luck." Bathilda grins from ear to ear.


    Don''t do that, Hiro warns her.


    "What?" She asks, not understanding what he means.


    If you say shit like that, then something is bound to happen!


    "Dont be so superstitious. This isn''t a movie, you kno..." Before Bathilda can finish her sentence, the outer wall that protects the now-destroyed pillar building, begins to crack in front of her eyes. The large stone structure starts to fall inwards, threatening to crush Bathilda.


    I fucking told you that would happen! Hiro screams as Bathilda uses her Gravity Manipulations to dodge large segments before floating upwards. Less than ten seconds later and the entire wall is down. A large, stone arena has been created below as Bathilda floats down to the ground.


    What did I tell you? Hmm! Hiro is still in panic mode, even though they avoided any damage whatsoever. His fear is still justified, however, as monsters have replace the stone wall with one made of fur and flesh. No longer fighting each other, they have banded together to assault the unreachable area.


    "I don''t see the problem, Hiro? I needed to level up anyway. I wasn''t going to hit-up my first city in a child''s body afterall." Bathilda slams her knuckles together, fully intending to kick ass and level up her skills on the way.

 The Vampires Arrival

    The sun, a molten gold eye in the sky, beat down upon Bathilda, its warmth a stark contrast to the chilling stillness of the carnage around her. She reclined amidst a macabre throne of mangled corpses, their blood a dark, viscous stain against the pristine, snow-white canvas of her skin.


    The crimson liquid, thick and cloying, glistened like spilled rubies, catching the light as it trickled down her throat, a dark, decadent wine. A single, severed claw, still dripping, served as her gruesome goblet. The aftermath of her battle was a symphony of death, a grotesque masterpiece painted in the vibrant hues of gore.


    Her hair, a cascade of silken white, remained miraculously untouched, a stark, ethereal contrast to the bloody scene. It flowed around her like a halo, a testament to her otherworldly grace. A low, guttural chuckle rumbled in her chest, escalating into a peal of unrestrained laughter.


    "Delicious," she purred, the word a sibilant whisper in the still air. "Absolutely delicious. Ha... Haha... Hahaha!" The echoes of her mirth mingled with the faint, metallic scent of blood, a chilling aria of victory.


    "Bathilda," a disembodied voice echoed in her mind, "you do realize you killed all those monsters by yourself, right? I mean, it didn''t even take you that long."


    "And?" she retorted, flexing her arms, the muscles rippling beneath her flawless skin. "I''m a bit of a beast now, you know?" Her laughter, though light, held an undercurrent of raw power.


    "That''s my point. What if people think you''re a monster? Well, technically you are a vampire and all, but the moment they see your power they''re going to fear you."


    "Well then, I just won''t show them any power. Simple. I''ll find a clinic and become a magic doctor. People won''t be scared of me if I''m helping them or saving their life. That''s the goal after all. First though, I need to clean myself off. I''m not exactly portraying the vibe I want to like this, am I?"


    "If I was still a person and came across you, I would be extremely wary."


    With a fluid motion, Bathilda rose, her form gliding effortlessly above the carnage. She floated eastward, a ghostly apparition against the azure sky. A shimmering lake, nestled amidst rolling hills, offered respite from the gruesome tableau. She plunged into its cool depths, the water cleansing the crimson stains, revealing the pristine beauty of her skin.


    Emerging from the lake, she conjured a new ensemble, a manifestation of her refined taste. A white, frilled shirt, its delicate lace accentuating her slender neck, was paired with a sleek, black vest. Leather pants, hugging her curves, and knee-high boots completed the aristocratic look. She surveyed her reflection, a flicker of satisfaction in her crimson eyes.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    The journey eastward resumed, and soon, a sprawling city rose on the horizon, a fortress of stone and steel. Its towering walls, a testament to its formidable defenses, stretched as far as the eye could see. As she soared above the city, a piercing scream shattered the tranquility.


    Instinctively, she descended, a blazing comet streaking across the sky. She landed on a cobblestone street, her arrival a sudden, dramatic intrusion. A young girl, her face contorted in terror, lay sprawled on the ground, a monstrous werewolf poised to strike. With a swift, almost imperceptible movement, Bathilda severed the beast''s head, the grisly trophy landing in the child''s lap.


    The girl''s scream intensified, her eyes wide with horror as blood erupted from the werewolf''s neck, staining her clothes and skin. She shrank back, her gaze darting between the lifeless beast and the beautiful, yet unnerving, woman who had appeared. Bathilda''s crimson eyes, glowing with an otherworldly intensity, held a strange allure, a paradoxical blend of menace and reassurance.


    Before Bathilda could offer comfort, the girl''s fear returned, her trembling finger pointing behind her. Bathilda turned, her senses heightened, just as a massive claw, tipped with razor-sharp talons, hurtled towards her face. She raised her arms, bracing for impact.


    A sharp, metallic clang echoed through the street, followed by a guttural scream of pain. Bathilda burst into laughter, her initial panic replaced by amusement. The werewolf''s claw, shattered against her impervious skin, was a testament to her formidable strength. With a swift, predatory grace, she seized the beast''s throat, her fingers tightening, crushing its windpipe. She ripped its throat out, the monstrous creature collapsing in a heap.


    Behind the dying werewolf, a gaping hole in the city wall revealed a horde of its brethren, their eyes glowing with feral rage. "Hey, Flea Bags!" she roared, her voice echoing through the street. "Come and get some!"


    The werewolves surged forward, a tide of fur and fangs, their snarling growls a cacophony of primal fury. The young girl, her fear momentarily eclipsed by a surge of adrenaline, yelled, "W-What are you doing, Lady? Let''s run!"


    Bathilda glanced back, her crimson eyes gleaming. "Don''t worry, sweetie. These little doggies are nothing." With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a Reality Tear, a shimmering wave of destructive energy that sliced through the werewolves like a hot knife through butter. The street was instantly transformed into a crimson river, the air thick with the stench of blood and death.


    "Idiots," she muttered, turning back to the child, only to find herself surrounded by a phalanx of city guards, their weapons drawn. "They''re dead... You''re fine and you''re welcome... Where did the little girl go? Is she OK? Why isn''t anyone answering me?"


    "Remember what I said before you arrived?" Captain Hindsight was back on the scene.


    Fuck! It wasn''t that bad was it? It was only a (Reality Tear) and I tried to keep it weak. I just wanted to end it quickly to prevent the situations from escalating.


    "M-Monster! L-Leave this place now!" a guard stammered, his voice trembling. Others echoed his sentiment, their fear fueling their aggression.


    "I''m not a monster. I''m a woman, look at me. What''s more is that I just saved your ungrateful ass and this is how you''re going to treat me?" Bathilda pleaded, her voice laced with indignation.


    The guards, however, remained unmoved, their expressions hardened. They pressed forward, forcing her towards the gaping hole in the wall. Before being pushed through, she cast (Area Heal), a wave of restorative energy, hoping it would reach the terrified child.


    "This is bullshit," she fumed, allowing herself to be herded out of the city. "I just fucking saved your city!"

 Outcast

    The chill of the twilight air nipped at Bathilda''s exposed skin as she surveyed the meager collection of discarded wood. It was a motley assortment: splintered planks, warped door frames, and gnarled branches, all cast aside by the city''s inhabitants. The stark contrast between the sturdy, imposing walls of the city and her pathetic pile of refuse was a bitter reminder of her unwelcome status.


    The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and deep indigo. The city, a dark, impenetrable silhouette against the fading light, seemed to hum with a quiet, hostile energy. Every rustle of leaves, every distant murmur from within the walls, felt like a silent condemnation.


    With a sigh, Bathilda began the arduous task of constructing her makeshift shelter. The wood was rough, the nails rusty, and her hands, though strong, were ill-suited for carpentry. Each hammering blow echoed in the stillness, a defiant rhythm against the city''s indifference. She worked with a grim determination, the sting of rejection fueling her efforts.


    Every so often, she would take to the sky, her wings beating the air with a quiet, powerful grace, to scout for more materials. The city guards, ever vigilant, responded with a volley of arrows, their sharp points glinting in the fading light. The arrows, harmless against her enchanted skin, were a constant, irritating reminder of their hostility. She ignored them, her focus unwavering, her jaw set in a stubborn line.


    "Ungrateful," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely a whisper against the wind. "They should be throwing me a parade."


    The memory of the scream, the sudden terror that had pierced the quiet, was still fresh in her mind. She had reacted instinctively, her magic surging forth in a wave of healing energy, only to find that the danger had passed before anyone was truly harmed. A wave of frustrated energy, a sense of anticlimax mixed with relief, rolled over her.


    "At least they probably feel better," she grumbled, her eyes scanning the haphazard structure she had erected. Three walls, leaning precariously, and a roof that looked more like a sieve than a shield. "A masterpiece of... rustic charm," she said with a dry, self-deprecating laugh.


    Weariness tugged at her limbs, a heavy weight after a day of labor and rejection. More rejection. She crawled into the cramped space, the rough wood digging into her back, and closed her eyes. Bathilda wasn''t sure she needed to sleep anymore, but the habit persisted.


    "Maybe you should have waited for a few injuries to accrue," a voice echoed within her mind, a familiar, sardonic tone.


    "It might have worked, but I couldn''t do that," she replied honestly, her voice soft. "As soon as that girl screamed, I was there. Nothing else mattered."


    "Hopefully, I can get a good sleep tonight," she thought, her eyelids heavy. "We can focus on problems tomorrow. It''s been a long day."


    "Indeed," Hiro replied. "Hopefully, this... Thing, won''t fall down on you in the middle of the night."


    "Don''t say shit like that, Hiro," she mumbled, her thoughts drifting into the realm of sleep.


    The night was long and restless. The wind howled, rattling the flimsy structure, and the city, a dark, watchful presence, seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a groaning, splintering crash, the shelter collapsed, burying Bathilda beneath a tangle of wood and leaves.


    Morning arrived, a pale, watery light filtering through the clouds. Bathilda emerged from the wreckage, her hair tangled with twigs and leaves, her face streaked with dirt. She shook off the debris, her eyes scanning the scattered remains of her shelter.


    "That''s not going to cut it," she declared, her voice firm. "Granted, it was just a quick job because I was tired, but today''s efforts will be much better. There''s nothing this nurse can''t do these days!"The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    She surveyed the surrounding area, her eyes searching for sturdier materials, her mind already forming plans.


    Her gaze swept across the surrounding landscape, a dense forest of towering trees, her mind already racing with architectural possibilities. In the distance, the imposing city walls stood as a silent, formidable barrier, a challenge she intended to overcome. She would rebuild, stronger, more resilient, and she would earn their attention, their respect.


    With a decisive motion, she began to dismantle the remnants of her previous shelter, discarding the splintered wood with a dismissive wave. Then, with an almost casual display of her enhanced strength, she began to uproot the massive trees in her immediate vicinity. The earth groaned and trembled as the colossal roots tore free, the sound echoing through the still morning air.


    The sight of these fully-grown trees being tossed aside like mere twigs did not escape the notice of the vigilant guards on the city walls, nor did the rumbling sounds go unheard by the inhabitants within. Yet, Bathilda remained unfazed, her movements fluid and purposeful. Within minutes, she had cleared a substantial plot of land, leveling the uneven terrain with a few swift gestures.


    "Magic and stats are truly¡­ remarkable," she couldn''t help but pint out, a hint of awe in her voice.


    The felled trees lay in neat rows, their massive trunks a testament to her newfound power. With a series of precise (Reality Tears) she severed the overgrown roots and trimmed the unruly branches, leaving behind sixteen perfectly cylindrical, colossal tree trunks. The entire process, a task that would have taken days for a conventional lumberjack, was completed in less than ten minutes.


    Starting with the widest trunk, Bathilda extended her sharp, obsidian-like nails, slicing through the timber as if it were soft butter. She squared off the trunk, then bisected it lengthwise, repeating the process until she had created twelve, ten-foot-long, perfectly squared posts.


    Her mind, once filled with medical knowledge, now delved into the realm of construction. Back on Earth, she had been an avid researcher, a relentless seeker of information. But her practical application of that knowledge in this new reality proved frustrating. After twenty minutes of fruitless attempts to fashion wooden nails or find suitable fasteners, she let out a frustrated sigh.


    "This is bullshit," she cursed her impulsive start. A task she was now determined to finish.


    Deciding to leverage her accumulated skill points, no longer needing to conserve them as the "Queen of Monsters," she meticulously reviewed her available abilities. Eventually, she settled on a skill that perfectly suited her needs:


    Lesser Creation Magic: 100 Skill Points


    Testing the skill, she conjured a small, five-centimeter nail. One mana point vanished from her pool, a negligible cost considering her vast reserves. She smiled, then created a second nail. But then, an epiphany struck.


    "Why bother with such tediousness?" she exclaimed, her eyes widening.


    Concentrating on the image of her ideal home, a cozy log cabin, her mana pool began to drain at an alarming rate. A blinding light erupted in the clearing, illuminating the forest with an ethereal glow. As the light subsided, a breathtaking sight emerged: a beautiful log cabin, complete with a pitched roof, a small porch, and a vibrant blue front door. Bathilda''s mana was nearly depleted, but the magnificent structure before her justified the expenditure.


    Lesser Creation Magic has evolved into Creation Magic.


    Creation Magic:


    - The ability to conjure matter and energy from nothing, shaping reality to the user''s will. From simple objects to complex constructs, the limits are defined by the caster''s imagination and power.


    MP Cost: Undefined


    "I''m not complaining," she said, her gaze fixed on her new home. "Look at that, Hiro."


    The cabin was truly impressive, a stark contrast to the crude shelter of the previous day. Bathilda stepped onto the porch and entered the spacious interior. Large windows lined the walls, offering panoramic views of the forest and the distant city walls. The cabin was unfurnished, save for a rustic wood stove, and two doors led to separate rooms: a bedroom and a bathroom.


    "Magic is incredible," she marveled. "If this existed on Earth¡­ the possibilities. Imagine the medical advancements, the solutions to homelessness. Granted, the mana cost is significant, but the potential is immeasurable."


    She conjured two comfortable armchairs and summoned a clone for Hiro, now that they were safely hidden from prying eyes.


    "We need to address your appearance," she said, examining the clone. "And your voice."


    She turned her attention to the reflection looking back, marveling at her transformation. Her once-childlike features had matured into a stunning beauty. Silky-white hair flowed down her back and crimson eyes gleamed with unbound power. Her pale skin, now radiant even under the sun, was a source of pride.


    "What do you mean?" Hiro asked, his voice identical to her own.


    "Can you use illusion magic to alter your appearance?" she asked. "How come... Normally you have half the amount of mana I..." She stopped, realizing the error. "Ah. My mistake. Sorry, Hiro."


    "Sorry about what? Oh, for¡­" Hiro¡¯s clone faded from existence.


    "Fucks sake, Bathilda!"

 A New Experiment

    A full week had crawled by, each day a monotonous echo of the last, since Bathilda had carved her sanctuary from the wilderness. The silence of the woods was a heavy blanket, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the occasional distant roar of some unseen beast.


    Her clones, tireless scouts, had returned with disheartening news: the city that had so swiftly rejected her remained, for as far as they could reach, the sole bastion of civilization in a vast, untamed expanse. This world, seemingly as boundless as Earth, held its secrets close, its hidden pockets of humanity remaining stubbornly elusive. With three clones and Hiro at her disposal, Bathilda understood the necessity of patience, of playing the long game.


    The city guards, their vigilance unwavering, had become silent spectators to Bathilda''s daily routine. They watched, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and awe, as she effortlessly dismantled monstrous creatures, their colossal forms reduced to steaming piles of flesh beneath her blade.


    The air crackled with the heat of her fire, and the scent of roasting meat mingled with the damp earth. Not a word escaped their lips as a second woman, a perfect replica of Bathilda, materialized and joined the grim task.


    Their silence, however, was not disapproval. The sheer volume of monstrous wildlife that surrounded the city was a constant threat, and Bathilda''s actions were, in essence, a form of unsolicited, yet undeniably effective, pest control. Each day, the remnants of her hunts, the portions she couldn''t consume, were left near the city gate.


    The residents, initially hesitant, soon discovered that monster meat, properly prepared, was a viable source of sustenance. The gate would creak open, hands would snatch the offering, and then it would slam shut again, a silent acknowledgment of her presence, yet a firm barrier against her intrusion. Only one portion ever remained untouched, a testament to the lingering fear and distrust that permeated the city.


    With her mana reserves replenished, Bathilda turned her attention to her cabin. Higher Creation Magic, now amplified by the scale of her dwelling, allowed her to manipulate the very fabric of reality with unprecedented efficiency. A simple nail, once a single point of mana, now materialized for nothing, a stark illustration of the skill''s enhanced power.


    Emboldened, she transformed her rustic cabin into a haven of luxury. Within its walls, a sauna steamed, a gym gleamed, a pool shimmered, a cinema flickered, a library whispered, and a massage room promised blissful release. One clone was temporarily dismissed, its essence absorbed to experience the restorative touch of the massage, before being redeployed to continue its exploration.


    After days of indulging in the magical comforts of her creation, Bathilda felt a surge of renewed energy. She took to the skies, flying north, a mile separating her from the city''s walls. Upon landing, she began to weave mana, gathering it into a concentrated sphere in her palm.


    She had two objectives: to test Obliterate, the enigmatic skill that had evolved from Chomp and had no level, and to explore the possibility of creating a defensive barrier for the city. The distance was a precaution, a buffer against the potential chaos that Obliterate might unleash.


    "A thousand mana," she pondered, activating the skill. The world exploded in a blinding flash, a supernova contained within her hand. The roar that followed was a primal scream, a thunderclap that shook the very foundations of the earth. The ground beneath her feet buckled and fractured, then simply ceased to exist, vaporized by the sheer force of the skill.


    When her senses returned, the landscape had been irrevocably altered. A chasm, a gaping wound in the earth, stretched before her, a testament to the skill''s devastating power. It was a miniature Grand Canyon, a two-mile drop into the abyss, the jagged peaks mirroring each other across the vast expanse. "Holy fuck," she breathed, the words barely a whisper.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Bathilda! Are you okay?" Hiro''s voice echoed in her mind, laced with concern.


    "Holy shit! That''s even stronger than (Reality Tear)." It was unreal. Yeah, I''m fine. Wait. Why are you asking?"


    "There was a large light and an even louder rumble. More to the point, if you''re fine, then what the hell did you do?"


    Shit! That means I wasn''t far enough away, Bathilda sighed, Obliterate. It''s a skill that doesn''t have a level. I can see why now though. It evolved from Chomp. She explained, rising into the air, the ruined earth spread out below her.


    "I have Chomp. I don''t have Obliterate though. Is it because that skill doesn''t have a level?" Hiro asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.


    I don''t know, buddy. Not my world either, remember? Bathilda replied, her voice filled with honest ignorance. Probably a (Clone) thing. She reached the edge of the newly formed crater and, with a deep breath, unleashed Obliterate once more. Another thousand mana, another blinding flash, another earth-shattering roar.


    Within the city walls, the residents huddled in fear, the ground trembling beneath their feet.  The explosions, the blinding light, the terrifying roars, all spoke of a battle beyond their comprehension, a conflict that threatened to consume them all.


    <hr>


    The explosions, like the thunderous roars of enraged gods, had ripped through the air, followed by blinding flashes of light that seared themselves onto the retinas of those who dared to witness them. These were not the sounds of mortal warfare, but the terrifying symphony of a conflict that defied comprehension, a cosmic struggle that threatened to consume their fragile world.


    The meat Bathilda had provided, a seemingly generous offering, a temporary reprieve from their hunger, now seemed a cruel irony, a final, despairing feast before the inevitable end. The lingering taste of roasted game, once a comfort, now tasted of ash and dread.


    As the tremors subsided and the echoes of destruction faded into a heavy, oppressive silence, a tentative hope began to flicker. The world, against all odds, had not ended. The roars of death, though still imprinted on their minds, were no longer immediate, no longer threatening to shatter their eardrums. Slowly, hesitantly, life began to stir once more.


    The Demon, seemingly untouched by the chaos she had unwittingly unleashed, returned to her imposing wooden mansion, a structure that stood apart from the city¡¯s stone architecture, a testament to her enigmatic nature.


    The scout, a young man named Jones, positioned at his designated post, a small, square window overlooking the cabin¡¯s majestic facade, noticed her approach. He crouched lower, his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and fascination. He watched as she moved with an unsettling grace, her form silhouetted against the fading light.


    "S-Sir! S-She¡¯s back!" Jones stammered, his voice barely a whisper, as he relayed his observation to his superior. His ginger hair, usually a vibrant splash of color, seemed to have lost its luster, and his freckled face was ashen. He fidgeted, his hands trembling, his body rocking back and forth despite the stillness of the ground beneath him.


    The commander, a seasoned veteran named Valerius, stood tall, his full plate armor gleaming under the flickering torchlight. His face, etched with the lines of countless battles, held an expression of weary resolve.


    ¡°That is a terrific question, Jones. Luckily for you, because you asked, I am tasking you with a special mission.¡± He paused, his gaze fixed on the trembling scout, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.


    ¡°Someone has to go out there and confront that¡­ demon. I don¡¯t mean fight her, you probably wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. That said, she did leave when asked and doesn¡¯t seem unreasonable, merely¡­ powerful. But try not to provoke, offend, antagonize, or do anything else that might result in her destroying the city. Understood?¡±


    Valerius¡¯s words, though laced with a hint of humor, did little to alleviate Jones¡¯s terror. The young scout shivered, his teeth chattering, his mind reeling with the impossible task before him. But before he could voice his apprehension, Valerius continued, his tone shifting to one of command.


    ¡°Good! As a secondary mission, find out what she was doing in the forest. Any information you bring back will be valuable, so do your best, Jones.¡± Valerius clapped a heavy hand on Jones¡¯s shoulder, the weight of the armor a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation.


    Jones¡¯s trembling ceased abruptly, replaced by a surge of disbelief. ¡°Wait¡­ You want me to go out there? To talk to¡­ her?¡± His voice rose in pitch, a desperate plea for clarification. He looked around, hoping to see a hint of amusement on the faces of his fellow guards, a sign that this was some cruel joke. But their expressions were grim, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and fear.


    He was alone, tasked with confronting the enigmatic Demon, a being whose power had shaken the very foundations of their world. The weight of his mission settled heavily upon him, a chilling premonition of the unknown dangers that lay ahead.

 Scout Jones

    The oppressive weight of the forest canopy pressed down on Scout Jones, or Jonesy, as his friends knew him. Each gnarled root and damp patch of moss was a tiny, agonizing hurdle in his journey to the dreaded Demon''s house.


    His knees, protesting with every step, felt like they were filled with liquid lead, threatening to buckle beneath him. The dampness clinging to his trousers, a stark testament to his terror, was a cold, clammy reminder of his predicament. He tried to focus on the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, anything to distract from the creeping dread that coiled in his gut.


    His mission, a ludicrous proposition if ever there was one, echoed in his mind: politely ask a dragon too, rumored to be the source of earth-shattering tremors, to cease her activities and explain their cause. "A dragon''s den," he muttered under his breath, the phrase a chilling euphemism for the abode of a woman who could likely snap him like a twig.


    The forest finally yielded to a sun-drenched clearing. The golden light, a stark contrast to the shadowy depths he had just traversed, bathed his ginger hair in a warm glow, highlighting the constellation of freckles scattered across his cheeks. The warmth, however, offered no solace to his trembling nerves. He was a moth drawn to a terrifying, beautiful flame.


    The house, a hulking structure of dark wood, stood at the far end of what looked like recently tilled fields. The earth, still bearing the marks of the tremors, was uneven and treacherous. Jonesy, his clothes clinging to him with sweat, navigated the rough terrain like a man walking a tightrope over a chasm. He felt the weight of every bead of perspiration, each one a testament to his mounting fear.


    Reaching the imposing front door, he paused, his hand hovering in mid-air. The scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic, perhaps the lingering scent of Demon, filled his nostrils. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the air thick with the promise of his doom, and knocked. The sound, a timid tap against the sturdy wood, seemed to echo through the clearing, amplified by his fear.


    The door swung open, revealing Bathilda. She was even more breathtaking than he had imagined. Her hair, a cascade of shimmering silk, framed a face of stark, almost otherworldly beauty. Her eyes, a striking, vibrant red, held a captivating intensity that froze him in place. All thoughts of fear, of trembling knees and soiled trousers, vanished. He was a statue, a man transfixed.


    Her beauty was a physical force, a tangible presence that stole his breath. Her lips, full and inviting, parted as she spoke, her voice a melodious whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "How can I help you?"


    He couldn''t speak. He could only stare, his mouth agape, his mind a blank canvas. She was a vision, a goddess, a creature of myth made flesh. The curve of her hips, the way she placed her hands on them, repeating her question with a hint of impatience, was a symphony of feminine power. Even the slight lift of her eyebrow, a dismissive flick before she began to close the door, was a masterpiece of subtle arrogance.


    The door clicked shut, the sound snapping him out of his reverie. He stood there, a full minute lost in a haze of infatuation, his face a mask of bewildered adoration. He blinked, trying to regain his composure, to remember the reason for his perilous journey.


    He knocked again, this time with a more determined, if still shaky, hand. He would speak, he resolved, he would deliver his message, he would¡­


    The door flew open, Bathilda¡¯s face a mask of irritation. ¡°I swear to God, if you don¡¯t speak this time, I¡¯m going to¡­ to¡­ beat you up! Do you hear me?¡± Her voice, sharp and forceful, sliced through his infatuation like a cold blade.


    The threat, delivered with a childish petulance that somehow made her even more captivating, shattered his fragile composure. The color drained from his face, leaving him as pale as the moon. The fear, which had been momentarily banished, returned with a vengeance, a tidal wave of terror that overwhelmed him. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the porch, a limp, unconscious heap at the feet of the woman who had captivated and terrified him in equal measure.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    <hr>


    The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows across the rough-hewn walls of Bathilda¡¯s cottage. A low, rhythmic snore punctuated the air, emanating from the unconscious scout sprawled before the hearth. His face, usually a picture of youthful vigilance, was slack and pale, the faint flush of fear still clinging to his cheeks. Bathilda, her hair a stark contrast to the dim interior, knelt beside him, her brow furrowed in concern.


    "Did you kill him?" Hiro''s voice, sharp and accusatory, cut through the quiet. He stood beside her, his shadow flickering slightly in the firelight. His eyes, a shade of vibrant amethyst, held a mixture of worry and exasperation.


    Bathilda¡¯s fingers, stained with the earthy hues of herbs and potions, pressed against the scout¡¯s wrist, searching for the telltale thrum of life. ¡°No! I don¡¯t kill people, Hiro. I just¡­ scared him. I think.¡± A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she felt the faint, steady pulse. ¡°Thank goodness. I really didn¡¯t mean to... petrify him. He just wouldn¡¯t stop staring, and I was¡­ frustrated.¡±


    "You killed me!" Hiro¡¯s words, though a familiar refrain, struck a nerve. The phantom pain of past deaths, relived countless times, flickered across his face.


    "Yeah, but you''re in one of my clones. It''s different," Bathilda mumbled, her gaze drifting to the flickering flames. She knew it was a flimsy excuse, a desperate attempt to rationalize her actions.


    "No. It really isn''t," Hiro retorted, his voice laced with the weariness of repeated trauma. "Each death is a splinter of pain, a fragment of memory etched into my very essence."


    "Well, it wasn''t my fault you didn''t have enough magic to use the Illusion skill, was it?" Bathilda countered, her voice rising in defensiveness. She knew she was grasping at straws, but the instinct to deflect blame was strong.


    "Er¡­ Yeah! It actually was! And what about the times you used me as bait? Or a decoy? Or a test subject? Or when you pushed me off the damn ledge?" Hiro''s spectral hands gestured wildly, his frustration palpable. "Do you even realize how many times I''ve died for you?"


    Bathilda¡¯s shoulders slumped. She knew he was right. The litany of her past transgressions echoed in her mind, a chorus of reckless actions and careless disregard. She had treated Hiro as a disposable resource, a tool to be used and discarded.


    "Fuck. Alright, Hiro. I get it. I''m sorry," she said, her voice sincere. "I don''t know why I keep trying to justify it. I was wrong." The weight of her guilt settled heavily upon her, a stark contrast to the lightness she usually carried.


    "Do you remember what happened when you died, Bathilda? Do you remember your death?" Hiro asked, his voice softening slightly.


    Bathilda¡¯s gaze drifted to the ceiling, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Sort of. I remember being in a tornado, thinking of myself as Dorothy before I hit my head. I think? It¡¯s hard to remember. It¡¯s like a hazy dream. I do remember that bitch Florence, though! And that ridiculously muscled god. Seriously, why did he look like that? Was he auditioning for a celestial bodybuilding competition?"


    "I bet your death was very traumatic. Just like they are for me, Every Single Time!" Hiro¡¯s face contorted with the remembered agony.


    "I am sorry, Hiro. Really," Bathilda said, her voice filled with genuine remorse. "I promise, from now on, I¡¯ll do my best to protect you too. At first, I only thought of you as an interloper, a hitchhiker creeping along on my soul, getting a free ride. I was super mad at first, you know? But after a while, after all the fights and living in this house together¡­ I¡¯ve started to see you as family."


    "Family?" A faint smile flickered across Hiro¡¯s spectral lips, a rare expression of warmth. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared when Bathilda added, "Yeah. You¡¯re like my little sister now." A playful glint sparkled in her eyes.


    "God damn it, Bathilda! I¡¯m a man. M. A. N. Man! Why won¡¯t you just make me a man''s body?" Hiro¡¯s voice rose in exasperation, his tone simmering with frustration.


    "I can¡¯t alter the clones, unfortunately," Bathilda said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Although, I¡¯m surprised you haven¡¯t just used Illusion to change it yourself. You¡¯ve already done it to the hair and eyes."


    Hiro¡¯s jaw dropped, his amethyst eyes widening in disbelief. He stared at Bathilda, then at his own form, as if seeing it for the first time. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of anger and self-reproach. His form began to shimmer and shift, the contours of his body morphing and reshaping.


    The feminine curves softened, the shoulders broadened, the facial features sharpened. A wave of transformative energy washed over him, and when it subsided, a distinctly masculine figure stood in his place, a look of stunned realization on his face. "I¡­ I can''t believe I didn''t think of that."

 A Sight To Behold

    The world swam back into focus for Scout Jones, a disorienting kaleidoscope of shifting shapes and discordant voices. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a scene that defied all logic. Before him, a figure flickered, a visual anomaly, morphing seamlessly between a robust man and a strikingly beautiful woman. This mercurial being engaged in a heated debate with the infamous Demon Lady, whose reputation already preceded her like a thunderclap. She was the embodiment of allure, a whispered legend, a creature of breathtaking beauty and terrifying power.


    His heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the room. He took in his surroundings, the unfamiliar furnishings, the subtle scent of exotic spices, the unmistakable aura of raw, untamed power that permeated the air.


    He was inside the Demon''s dwelling, a place the guards whispered about in hushed tones, a place where even the bravest scouts dared not approach. A wave of nausea washed over him, followed by a chilling fear that gripped him like a vice. He swallowed hard, the sound amplified in his ears.


    "It''s not my fault you can''t keep the illusion up when you move. You''ll just have to practice, Hiro," Bathilda¡¯s voice cut through the tension, sharp and clear. Her gaze, crimson and intense, snapped to Scout, pinning him in place. "Great! You''re awake. Hi. I''m Bathilda," she said, her tone suddenly warm and welcoming.


    She seized his hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and shook it vigorously. "I''m sorry for scaring you before. I didn''t think you would just collapse. I''ve checked you over though and made sure your vitals are ok. I''m happy to report you''re all good."


    His eyes darted between Bathilda and the ever-shifting Hiro, a bizarre spectacle that added to his growing unease. Hiro¡¯s arm, currently a feminine, slender limb, waved erratically in the air. Bathilda, oblivious to his discomfort, continued, her voice laced with amusement.


    "This is Hiro. Ignore his complaints. He''s just a little sore that he can''t make himself look the way he wants to at the moment. He''s actually a man trapped inside a woman''s body. Would you believe it?" She let out a light, almost musical laugh. "Now you know us, who are you?"


    Her eyes, like polished rubies, sparkled with anticipation. Scout Jones felt a cold sweat prickle his skin. Bathilda¡¯s kindness seemed genuine, but her reputation, built on acts of devastating power, painted a different picture. The other scouts, their stories amplified by fear and rumour, had transformed her into a terrifying legend.


    "M-My name is J-Jones Jones, but everyone calls me Jonesy, Mam. Miss? Lady!?" He stammered, his voice a pathetic squeak. The sheer presence of Bathilda, the tangible aura of her power, was enough to paralyze him with fear.


    "Bathilda is fine. Also, you don''t need to be so afraid. We don''t kill people, you know? Just monsters." She reached out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. The gesture, intended to soothe, sent a jolt of terror through him. He recoiled, his eyes wide with fear. "Why are you so afraid of me? I don''t look that frightening, do I?"If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    With a flick of her wrist, a shimmering, hand-held mirror materialized. Bathilda peered into it, scrutinizing her reflection. Her eyes, pools of crimson, met her own. A smile, radiant and captivating, spread across her face. Her hair, a cascade of shimmering white, flowed like liquid moonlight. She was a vision of ethereal beauty, a goddess in mortal form.


    Yet, Scout Jones was not captivated. He was petrified. His gaze remained fixed on the floor, his body trembling. Finally, he found the courage to speak, his voice barely a whisper. "N-No, Miss Bathilda. It''s just you''re surrounded by such dense-purple mana it''s hard to comprehend."


    "Purple mana?" Bathilda¡¯s brow furrowed.


    "Could be your Aura," Hiro mused, his image still wavering. "Back home, we''d say it''s your inherent energy, what you naturally project. Jonesy'' saying it''s your Mana, which¡­ might be the same thing? Honestly, I''m still figuring out the differences between worlds."


    Bathilda nodded, absorbing the information, until Hiro¡¯s uncertainty left her frowning. ¡°Alright. Now we''re getting somewhere. How do I tone it down so that people won''t be afraid of me?¡± She asked Jonesy.


    ¡°D-Don¡¯t you have a skill to control your mana? Everyone leaks a little, but yours is insane.¡± Jonesy asked, his eyes still fixed on the floor.


    Bathilda scanned her skill list, finding nothing related to mana control. Disappointment flickered across her face. She had spent most of her skill points on (Creation).


    "I don''t know if this will work or not," she said, her voice a hesitant whisper. She held her hand out, palm upturned, and a faint, almost ethereal glow began to coalesce. It was a flicker of white light, like captured starlight, that danced and pulsed just above her skin.


    The light intensified for a moment, a brilliant, almost blinding flash, and then, just as suddenly, it vanished. The air shimmered, the residual warmth fading, and in the space where the light had been, nestled in the center of her palm, lay a delicate diamond ring. It was a flawless stone, catching the ambient light and throwing back a thousand tiny sparks, set in a band of intricately woven silver. She stared at it, her breath catching in her throat, a mixture of disbelief and wonder in her eyes. "Well," she breathed, her voice barely audible, "I suppose it did."


    (Bathilda''s) Ring of Control


    Price: Incalculable


    - A beautiful ring that absorbs the Aura of its wearer. Simple yet elegant for all occasions. Will break after reaching the maximum amount.


    Current Consumption: 1,954/1,000,000


    As she slipped the ring onto her finger, the oppressive aura around her vanished. Scout Jones¡¯s jaw dropped. "Woah!"


    "Can you see me better now?" Bathilda asked, and he nodded, his eyes wide with awe. "I''ve been waiting for someone to come and talk to me for a while now. You see, I''m a Healer and I came here specifically to provide aid to your city."


    "You did? What of the other cities and towns? Did you pass them on your way? Are they still... OK?" His voice was laced with concern.


    "Honestly? Yours is the first I''ve come across since leaving the cave."


    "The cave?" Confusion replaced concern.


    "It''s not important. Why did you ask about others?"


    "Seriously? The level of monsters keeps rising by the day. The world has been on the decline ever since the Demon King''s resurrection. How do you not know that!?"


    Bathilda and Hiro exchanged stunned glances. "The Demon King!?" They asked in unison, their voices echoing in the room, a shared sense of bewilderment hanging heavy in the air.

 Too Much To Handle

    The revelation hung in the lodge''s air, thick and heavy, a suffocating blanket woven from dread. Bathilda, her usually sharp eyes narrowed, absorbed the grim narrative. The Demon King, a specter of annihilation, had been systematically dismantling this world for over a century.


    The Hero, a supposed beacon of hope, had flickered and died, leaving only the encroaching darkness.


    A hundred years. A lifetime, multiplied by those snuffed out. Even with the world''s vastness, the Demon King''s glacial pace felt less like a strategic advance and more like a macabre dance, a slow, torturous waltz towards oblivion. Bathilda, a pragmatist at heart, couldn''t deny the sheer, agonizing inefficiency of it all.


    The city of Home, a fragile bastion against the encroaching tide, existed in a state of isolated terror. Magical communication, once a lifeline, had withered and died, leaving them marooned in a sea of monsters. Travel, once a necessity, had become a death sentence. Those who dared to venture beyond the city walls never returned, their fates swallowed by the wilderness.


    Home''s residents, trapped in a cycle of fear and resignation, seemed to have surrendered to their impending doom. Bathilda, her senses honed by a life beyond their comprehension, saw their weakness. Their eyes, dull and resigned, lacked the spark of defiance. Their bodies, thin and weary, bore the marks of constant anxiety.


    "This lodge," Bathilda sighed, her voice a low rumble that echoed in the quiet room, "I haven''t even had time to properly enjoy it." Jones, his face a mask of confusion, blinked at her, while Hiro, a fluid enigma, waved a dismissive hand, accustomed to Bathilda''s abrupt shifts in conversation.


    "The Demon King," Bathilda pressed, her gaze piercing, "how powerful is he? Can he fly?" She knew the questions were fundamental, but the answers were shrouded in a fog of fear and ignorance.


    Jones, his shoulders slumping, shook his head. "We don''t know. We only know what the old stories tell us, and those... those are just whispers now."


    A flicker of annoyance crossed Bathilda''s face. The lack of concrete information was infuriating. "Fine. At least most of the monsters are grounded." She glanced at the sky, a vast canvas of blue streaked with wisps of white.


    Jones stammered, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. "What? What do you mean?"


    Bathilda sighed, a sound of weary patience. "Come with me," she said, taking Jones''s hand, her grip surprisingly firm. The scout''s face flushed crimson at the unexpected contact.


    "W-what are you doing?" he stammered, his voice laced with panic. The fear that had gnawed at him during the journey to the lodge returned with renewed ferocity.


    Bathilda, ignoring his protests, lifted them into the air, her power a silent, irresistible force. Jones clung to her, his knuckles white, his face a mask of terror.


    The city of Home, once a sprawling settlement surrounded by dense forest, now resembled an island, a solitary beacon in a vast, verdant sea. The forest, abruptly truncated, ended in a chasm, a gaping wound in the earth that stretched in a crescent around the city. It was a scar, a testament to Bathilda''s power, a barrier against the encroaching darkness.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Jones, his eyes wide with disbelief, stared into the abyss, his mind struggling to comprehend the sheer scale of the chasm. The sheer drop, the utter darkness at the bottom, was a terrifying spectacle. He understood now. Bathilda, in her own way, had fortified their city, transforming it into a fortress.


    Back in the lodge, Hiro, his form shifting subtly, had prepared tea, the fragrant steam curling upwards. Jones, his face pale and drawn, sank into the plush sofa, his body trembling. He drank the tea, the sweet, warm liquid soothing his frayed nerves.


    Bathilda, her eyes filled with a strange mixture of concern and resolve, watched him. She understood the fear that gripped him, the fear that permeated every corner of Home. It was a fear born of isolation, of helplessness, of waiting for the inevitable.


    "I was thinking," she began, her voice firm and decisive, "we should cultivate the land to the north, between the city and the chasm. Amd raise livestock in the east. The monsters will be funnelled in from the south, making it an ideal training ground for your soldiers. As for the west..." she paused, her brow furrowed in thought, "perhaps more fields. Or maybe a defensive structure. I''m not sure yet."


    Jones stared at her, his mind reeling. He had just seen a scar on the planet, a feat that defied all logic, and now, Bathilda was talking about farming and livestock. He glanced at Hiro, who merely smiled, a knowing, enigmatic expression on their face.


    Bathilda continued, her voice held a quiet urgency that seemed to spur the air around them to life. "Without a plan," she repeated, her gaze firmly on Scout Jones, "you''re all just waiting to die. Not in some glorious, defiant blaze, but slowly, like embers fading in the damp. Each day, another piece of your world is chipped away, another memory tarnished, another spirit broken. Is that the way you want to go out?"


    She''d intended those words to be a lightning strike, a jolt to the heart that would reignite the flickering flame of resistance within him. She''d envisioned a spark leaping from his eyes, a surge of adrenaline, a guttural "Hell no!" echoing through her parlor. She''d anticipated a renewed determination, a burning desire to return to Home and rally his people, to fight back against the encroaching darkness.


    Instead, her words landed like a heavy, sodden blanket. The sharp edges of her rhetoric, meant to cut through his apathy, seemed to have simply weighed him down further. Jones''s gaze, which had briefly flickered with a semblance of awareness, now held only a vacant, almost childlike bewilderment.


    He looked at Bathilda, then at Hiro, his eyes tracing the contours of the room as if trying to grasp a reality that constantly shifted and dissolved. Then, his gaze drifted towards the unseen chasm, the yawning abyss that had surrounded his city, and a shudder, not of fear, but of profound weariness, ran through him.


    The sweet, lingering taste of her tea, a subtle, almost medicinal warmth, mingled with the chilling, visceral memory of the void. The sheer, impossible spectacle of her power, the way she had manipulated reality with a mere gesture, crashed against the mundane reality of his exhaustion. It was a sensory overload, a cognitive dissonance that his mind simply couldn''t reconcile.


    A soft, almost defeated sigh escaped his lips. The fight had drained from him, not in a dramatic, defiant surrender, but in a slow, agonizing trickle. He wasn''t terrified anymore, just utterly, bone-deep weary. The weight of the day, the impossible horrors he''d witnessed, the sheer unreality of it all, pressed down on him, forcing his eyes to flutter closed. He slumped back onto the sofa, his body surrendering to the overwhelming tide of exhaustion.


    His breathing deepened, becoming slow and rhythmic. He drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, a refuge from the chaos that had consumed his world. His body, finally released from the tension of fear and disbelief, lay slack and vulnerable.


    Bathilda¡¯s lips thinned. She had wanted to kindle a fire, not smother it. The quiet, almost pitiful surrender was a far cry from the defiant warrior she had hoped to awaken. She watched him sleep, a frown etching lines into her brow. This wasn¡¯t a mere setback, this was a collapse. She wondered, with a growing unease, if she had broken him entirely.

 Whats To Come

    The city of Home existed in a perpetual twilight, a muted symphony of despair orchestrated by the looming shadow of the Demon King. Within its high, crumbling walls, silence reigned, punctuated only by the hollow echoes of empty stomachs. Shelves lay bare, mirroring the barrenness of their hopes. Life was a monotonous dirge, a slow, agonizing crawl towards an inevitable doom.


    Then, she arrived. Not a conquering army, but a solitary figure, a female demon who, with quiet defiance, began a revolution of sustenance. Monster meat, piled high on doorsteps, became the city''s unlikely salvation. A feast for the starving, a spark in the ashes of their resignation.


    The change was palpable. Where once shadows lingered, a fragile warmth bloomed. Laughter, a sound long forgotten, now danced on the cobblestones. Conversations, no longer morbid recitations of fear, buzzed with tentative optimism. Even the air seemed to hum with a newfound energy.


    Scout Jones, his boots echoing on the revitalized streets, observed the transformation with a quiet awe. He saw neighbors, once strangers bound by shared misery, now engaged in animated discussions, their faces alight with a flicker of hope. He saw children, their eyes no longer hollow, chasing each other in games of raucous delight.


    He reached Valerius'' office, a weathered door that had witnessed countless grim reports. Today, however, Jones carried a different kind of message, a message whispered on the wind of change. He knocked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a smile born of a full belly and a nascent belief in a future beyond despair.


    <hr>


    The cerulean canvas of the sky stretched infinitely above, a silent, watchful realm where two figures floated, suspended like painted cherubs against the vast expanse.


    Below, the world unfurled, a tapestry of miniature lives bustling within the confines of the city, Home. Bathilda and Hiro, perched in their unseen observatory, possessed an otherworldly clarity of vision, their enhanced senses transforming the distant streets into a vibrant, living diorama.


    Bathilda, a whirlwind of restless energy, pondered aloud, her voice a soft murmur in the rarified air. "That chasm... should I flood it? It''d make a better barrier, wouldn''t it? But, then again, what if there are monsters that can swim? A death pit seems more... definitive. What if the city reject my ideas? I''ve already made the defensive perimeter, so there''s not much they can do about that."


    Her brow furrowed, she continued, "Why wouldn''t they embrace the concept of raising livestock, of cultivating fields shielded from monster incursions? It''s ingenious! I even made it so their military training is focused on a singular, defensible front? It''s the very essence of strategic advantage! They need to grow stronger, prepare for the inevitable arrival of the Demon King... Hiro?"


    Her voice trailed off as she turned to her companion. Hiro, a figure of striking contrast with his dark, crimson hair and piercing purple eyes, remained motionless, an ethereal statue against the azure backdrop. His attire, a simple yet elegant combination of a white ruffled shirt and black pants, accentuated his lean, almost otherworldly form. He was encased in a meticulously crafted illusion, a fragile veneer of normalcy that he struggled to maintain.


    As Bathilda''s gaze fell upon him, his eyes flickered, the purple hue morphing into a startling, vibrant red, betraying the strain of his illusion. With a sigh of resignation, he relinquished the facade, the feminine form dissolving to reveal his true, masculine self. "Bathilda, I implore you, please, level up your illusion magic. It would make my life so much simpler. It hasn''t improved a single level since I began casting it!"


    "So that''s why you were quiet! I asked you like a million questions, and you were ignoring me," Bathilda exclaimed, her tone laced with theatrical woundedness.


    "I just... I don''t want to be a woman anymore," Hiro confessed, his head drooping in a display of abject humiliation. For a being claiming to be male, his capacity for pouting was remarkably feminine. Bathilda, sensing she had pushed her jest too far, relented, her conscience pricked. "Alright, alright. I''ll level it up."


    With a flick of her wrist, Bathilda conjured three colossal monster illusions, placing them strategically between the city and the ominous southern forest. Their forms were colossal, their roars silent but palpable, their presence a stark warning. Unlike Hiro''s delicate attempts, Bathilda''s illusions were grand, sweeping, and immediately effective, a surge of power coursing through her as her skill level ascended.Stolen story; please report.


    He''s not going to be pleased when I have to dismantle him to recreate the clone, she mused inwardly, a flicker of mischievousness in her eyes.


    "I can still hear your thoughts, you know!" Hiro retorted, his voice tinged with exasperation. He understood the inevitable; to truly elevate his illusion skill, he would require a new vessel, a fresh body upon which the magic could take root.


    "It''s not my fault you need a new body for the skill level to take effect. You wanted me to level it up..." Bathilda began, her voice trailing off as she recognized the nascent stages of an argument. She turned her attention towards the northern edge of Home, a silent acknowledgment of the task at hand.


    Descending gracefully, they landed amidst the dense foliage separating the city from the chasm. The task before them was monumental: clearing the forest, creating a defensible buffer. Even with their superhuman strength, capable of effortlessly uprooting fully grown trees, the sheer volume of the task was daunting. Their arms, though powerful, were limited in number, making the work a slow, methodical process.


    The air thrummed with the rhythmic thud of falling trees, the ground trembling under the weight of their labors. Each felled giant was a testament to their power, a step closer to their grand design. Bathilda, her mind a whirlwind of strategic calculations, envisioned the future of Home, a fortified bastion against the encroaching darkness.


    Hiro, his face set in a determined grimace, focused on the immediate task, his movements precise and efficient. The silence between them was not one of animosity, but of shared purpose, a silent understanding forged in the crucible of their extraordinary existence. Or maybe it was because he was sick of his gender and needed to release some frustration.


    Either way, the clearing would be done, and Home, they hoped, would start to thrive. Hiro also prayed Bathilda''s Illusion would reach max level by the time they finished.


    <hr>


    The raw, pungent scent of freshly turned earth hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the piney fragrance that had permeated the clearing just days before. The "dumping ground," as Bathilda had wryly named it, was a chaotic mound of felled trees, a testament to the sheer volume of their labor. A neat stack of sturdy trunks, a hopeful offering, stood sentinel outside the gates of Home, a silent invitation to the townspeople.


    Bathilda surveyed the transformed landscape, a flicker of something akin to frustration crossing her features. It would have been so simple, so effortless, to remain ensconced in her lodge, a solitary figure wielding creation magic for her own comfort. She could have erected impenetrable barriers, ensuring the city''s safety without ever engaging with its inhabitants. But the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.


    How could she, with her power, her knowledge, her very essence, turn a blind eye to the suffering that festered just beyond her doorstep? The years of rigorous study, the relentless pursuit of knowledge, had all been driven by a singular, unwavering purpose: to alleviate suffering, to offer aid wherever it was needed.


    The isolation imposed by Jonny Tornado''s arrival had done nothing to dampen her resolve. If anything, it had fueled her determination to prove her intentions, to demonstrate the transformative power of her actions. She would forge a path, even if she walked it alone, hoping that her efforts would eventually inspire the townspeople to accept her.


    "Once they see the land is safe, free from the shadows of the forest, perhaps they''ll find the courage to step forward," she wondered, her voice barely a whisper. A surge of creation magic rippled across the ground, smoothing out the rough terrain, coaxing moisture from the depths of the earth, and enriching the soil with unseen nutrients. Lush, vibrant grass sprouted around precisely delineated squares of dark, fertile earth.


    The sheer efficiency of her magic left her momentarily stunned. Had she truly spent days laboriously felling trees when she could have simply willed them out of existence? A wry smile touched her lips. "A wasted effort, perhaps," she mused.


    A simple grey bag materialized in her hand, and she knelt, her fingers delicately extracting a single seed. With meticulous care, she placed it in a perfectly formed hole, a tiny cradle of life amidst the vast expanse of earth. Gently, she covered the seed with soil, a silent promise of future bounty. Rising, she flashed a thumbs-up at Hiro, a gesture of shared accomplishment.


    "Just 999,999 more to go," Hiro quipped, his laughter echoing through the clearing.


    Bathilda''s smile widened. "Absolutely not!" she exclaimed, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Watch this." With a snap of her fingers, a cascade of seeds, a vibrant tapestry of colors and shapes, rained down upon the prepared plots, each seed finding its designated place with uncanny precision. The holes closed, sealing the seeds within the earth''s embrace.


    "That''s definitely cheating," Hiro chuckled, shaking his head.


    "Guilty as charged," Bathilda replied, her laughter mingling with his. A gentle rainstorm materialized above the fields, a soft, nurturing shower that kissed the newly planted seeds.


    With the fields sown, Bathilda''s restless energy turned towards the western edge of Home. A wave of curiosity washed over her. Could she, in fact, simply vanish the remaining trees? The prospect of such effortless efficiency was too tempting to resist. With a burst of speed, she soared into the sky, a dark silhouette against the vibrant blue, eager to explore the limits of her magic.

 Fried Chicken and Diplomacy

    Bathilda surveyed the transformed landscape, a satisfied pride swelled in her chest. The dense, oppressive forest that had once choked the western approach to Home had vanished, replaced by a clean, open expanse. The air, previously thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, was now prepared for livestock.


    "(Creation) sure is something else," she remarked, her voice slightly lost in the newfound space. Hiro, standing beside her, observed the scene with a mixture of awe and bewilderment.


    The newly erected southern wall, a sturdy barrier of stone and earth, snaked its way from the edge of Home, seamlessly merging with the formidable crescent-shaped chasm she had carved around Home. Its purpose was clear: to prevent any monstrous incursions, a tangible symbol of security. While the majority of the local fauna were hardly masters of stealth, Bathilda wasn''t willing to take any chances. She had witnessed enough to know that the extraordinary was commonplace in this world.


    Following the same meticulous process on the eastern side, she had replicated her success. The trees were gone, replaced by a protective wall, completing the fortification of Home. In less than a week, she had fundamentally altered the city''s surroundings, a testament to her potent abilities and unwavering determination.


    Driven by a deep sense of responsibility, she meticulously walled the chasm''s edge on Home''s side, preemptively mitigating the risk of accidental falls. Rather than leave the precarious drop vulnerable, she prioritized the safety of others, unwilling to bear the potential guilt of a preventable tragedy due to inadequate protective measures.


    Scout Jones''s absence hadn''t deterred her. She hadn''t sought permission, believing her actions spoke for themselves. Improving the lives of Home''s citizens was a self-evident good, and she couldn''t imagine anyone, least of all a responsible leader, objecting.


    With a surge of creative energy, Bathilda had populated the newly cleared land. Pens, stables, barns, and coops materialized, each filled with a diverse array of animals. Cows, pigs, sheep, goats, and a multitude of poultry occupied their designated spaces, a living, breathing testament to her power.


    Hiro, however, seemed particularly fixated on the chickens, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are these ridiculous-looking birds?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism.


    "Seriously? You don''t have chickens where you''re from? Damn, Hiro. You are in for a treat tonight then." Bathilda''s eyes gleamed with anticipation as she rubbed her hands together, the phantom taste of crispy fried chicken already dancing on her tongue.


    "You eat these...things?" He gestured towards the chickens with a look of utter disbelief. "Now that big thing over there," he pointed towards a large, placid cow, "I can see that."


    "I get where you''re coming from, Hiro, but you''ll understand later. Not that beef isn''t legendary in its own right, but just wait till you''ve eaten chicken. It''s so good you''ll be sucking your fingers like you''re a child again."


    "I am suddenly feeling impatient to try it now. What else have you left to do out here?" Hiro asked, his gaze lingering on a chicken pecking at a stubborn rock. Its small, beady eyes seemed oblivious to the world around it, a testament to its singular purpose.


    "Honestly, I don''t know what else to do. This is about the extent of what I remember. I''m actually hoping the people will come out and deal with the animals and crops. I mean, I don''t mind making it rain now and then to keep the crops fed, but that''s about all I can do. Let''s hope Scout Jones can talk them into working on it."


    "Are we going home then?" Hiro asked, his eagerness betraying his impatience. He had clearly tuned out everything after the mention of chicken.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "You really want to try that chicken, don''t you?" Bathilda teased, a playful grin spreading across her face. Hiro blushed, a faint crimson tinting his cheeks, but he didn''t deny her accusation. Bathilda chuckled, watching as he carefully grabbed a plump, squawking chicken. With a final glance at the transformed landscape, they turned and flew back towards her lodge, the promise of a delicious meal hanging in the air.


    <hr>


    The aftermath of fourteen buckets of fried chicken was a scene of blissful, bloated contentment. Hiro, a man of raw, unrefined senses, lay sprawled on Bathilda''s plush sofa, a testament to his epicurean conquest. His normally sharp eyes were glazed with a happy, greasy sheen. A low, rumbling burp escaped his lips, a sonic punctuation to his declaration of culinary enlightenment.


    "Gravy," he rumbled, the word rolling around his tongue like a newfound treasure. "Why such a... muddy name? And yet, it tastes like... like sunshine and warm earth! How?" He punctuated his query with another prodigious gulp of the dark, fizzing liquid beside him. "And this! Cola! It''s like... liquid sugar lightning!" He shook his head, a gesture of bewildered awe. "I understand now, Bathilda. I understand why you hesitated in the cave. This is... transcendental."


    Bathilda, equally replete, mirrored his posture, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Yes, Hiro. A world away from¡­ Brat meat," she said, the name leaving a slight shudder in its wake. "Let''s just say we''re elevating our dining experiences. From now on, it''s fast food and, as I said, fine dining." She took a slow, deliberate sip of her cola, savoring the effervescent sweetness.


    "This fine dining was indeed fast!" Hiro proclaimed, his misunderstanding bringing a chuckle from Bathilda.


    "You''re adorable, Hiro," she said, patting his arm. "But no, fast food is¡­ well, this. Fried, quick, delicious. Fine dining is something else entirely. Think tablecloths, many forks, and food you can barely pronounce. I''ll show you sometime."


    Just as the last word left her lips, a sharp knock echoed through the room. Bathilda, with a groan of pleasant discomfort, heaved herself off the sofa and ambled towards the door. Upon opening it, she was met by Scout Jones, his ginger hair catching the afternoon sun like spun copper, and two figures who radiated nervous tension.


    Jones, his usual anxiety tempered by a professional air, offered a slight, almost relieved smile. "Bathilda, I''m here to report that my superiors have accepted your offer. Everything went smoothly. I''ve brought Gladys and Tom with me. They''re the experts on agriculture and livestock, respectively. It seemed more efficient than me trying to relay all their information second-hand. Besides," he chuckled, "I was a bit overwhelmed last time, trying to remember everything."


    He gestured to the two individuals beside him. Gladys, a young woman with a cascade of blonde hair, clutched a worn leather satchel, her knuckles white. Her eyes, wide and apprehensive, darted from one version of Bathilda to another and back again. "This is Gladys," Jones explained, "she oversees all of our crop production within the walls."


    Bathilda''s gaze softened. So young, she thought. And yet, entrusted with such a vital role. I hope the new fields I created aren¡¯t overwhelming for her.


    Jones then turned to the other figure, a young man with nervous, darting eyes and a mop of brown hair. "And this is Tom. He''s in charge of the Tigs, our primary source of meat. It was the promise of a reliable meat supply that truly swayed my superiors. You wouldn''t believe the arguments. Meat is¡­ well, it''s a powerful motivator." He placed a reassuring hand on Tom''s shoulder.


    Bathilda observed the two newcomers, their youthful faces etched with anxiety. The weight of their responsibilities seemed to press down on them, a stark contrast to the carefree contentment she and Hiro had just experienced. She wondered about the elders and superiors who had placed such trust in these young individuals.


    "Welcome, Tom. Welcome, Gladys," she said, her voice warm and reassuring. "It''s a pleasure to meet you both. I''m Bathilda, and I consider myself a nurse, though healer works too. My purpose is to help people, in any way I can." She gestured towards Hiro, who offered a beaming, if slightly burp-interrupted, greeting. "And this is my companion, Hiro. He''s¡­ me for the moment."


    She paused, allowing her words to settle, hard as that was. "But let''s not linger on pleasantries. You''re here on important business, and I''m eager to hear what you think." Her smile remained, but her eyes held a steady, focused intensity, signaling her readiness to delve into the practicalities of their arrangement.


    The air shifted, the lingering aroma of fried chicken now mingling with a sense of anticipation and the unspoken anxieties of the young emissaries. One almost passing out as Hiro practices shifting into his male form into he way to take in a movie.

 The Boogeymans Blackout

    The air in Bathilda''s parlor, usually light with a subtle, cheery undertone, now vibrated with her barely contained frustration. Scout Jones, perched on the edge of the plush sofa, held his tea as if it were a fragile truce offering, his previous cheerful demeanor evaporated. Hiro, ever the observer, reclined beside him, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips.


    Bathilda paced, her hair swirling like a halo of agitated energy. The recent exchange with Tom and Gladys, a forced bestowal of unwanted responsibilities, had left her feeling less like a savior and more like a dictator. The promotion Scout Jones had announced, now upgraded to Diplomat Jones, was far from being a reward and seemed a convenient way for the city to keep her at arm''s length. A leash disguised as a laurel.


    "Redemption?" she scoffed, her voice laced with incredulity. "You mean acceptance, don''t you? What grand sins do you imagine I''m atoning for?"


    Diplomat Jones, his newfound confidence faltering, attempted a placating tone. "It''s just¡­ you possess a certain¡­ intensity. A power that suggests a¡­ complex past." He gestured vaguely, his gaze darting around the room, as if searching for an escape route. "Surviving out here, alone, speaks volumes, doesn''t it?"


    "Volumes of what? Resilience? Self-sufficiency?" Bathilda¡¯s voice rose, a low growl rumbling beneath the surface. "Or is it just that I don''t fit your governments neat little narrative of a damsel in distress, waiting for a knight in shining armor? This isn''t some fairy tale, Jones. This is survival."


    Hiro, sensing the escalating tension, interjected, his voice smooth and calming. "She''s got a point, bud. You''re viewing her through a lens of your own preconceptions. She saved your asses, didn''t she? That''s a pretty tangible act of goodwill."


    Bathilda whirled around, her eyes flashing. "Exactly! I arrive, I avert a catastrophe, and what do I get? Suspicion. Whispers. Fear." She paused, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "Why can''t they just¡­ accept me? Why can''t they see me as an asset?"


    She gestured wildly, her movements echoing the restless energy that pulsed through her. "I''m strong. I can defend them. I can heal them. I can even feed them." A flicker of annoyance crossed her face. "And yet, I''m treated like a pariah. Like some monstrous threat lurking in the shadows rather than saviour."


    She kicked at the ornate rug, the sound muffled but sharp, a punctuation mark in her tirade. "Shouldn''t it be the opposite? Shouldn''t they see me as a guardian? A shield against the darkness? Someone who can banish their fears, not amplify them?"


    Her voice dropped to a low, frustrated murmur. "Instead, I''m the boogeyman. The outsider. The one to be feared. It''s¡­ illogical."


    She turned away, her shoulders slumped, the picture of wounded pride. A bottle of rich, ruby-red wine materialized in her hand, the glass catching the dim light of the parlor. She uncorked it with a sharp, decisive twist, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.


    Hiro watched her, his expression a mixture of amusement and concern. He knew Bathilda¡¯s frustrations stemmed from a deeper longing, a desire to belong, to be accepted for who she was, not judged for what she was. Jones, still clutching his tea, looked on with a mixture of fear and dawning understanding. He had stepped into a whirlwind of powerful emotions, and he wasn''t sure if he could weather the storm.


    Bathilda took a long, deep draught of the wine, the liquid a dark, swirling contrast to her pale skin. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the soft clinking of the bottle against the table as she set it down. The wine, a catalyst for truth and unfiltered emotion, was about to unleash a torrent of words, a raw, unfiltered outpouring of her soul, and neither Jones nor Hiro could anticipate the sermon that was about to begin.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Instead, a soft sigh escaped Bathilda''s lips. Her eyelids fluttered, then stilled. Her head dipped, a slow, graceful descent, until it rested gently against the cool surface of the table. The promised sermon, the anticipated deluge of raw honesty, evaporated, leaving only the lingering scent of dark berries and the heavy, anticlimactic thud of unconsciousness.


    Bathilda¡¯s eyelids fluttered, a slow, reluctant unveiling of the world. A dull throb pulsed behind her temples, a familiar echo of a time surrendered to the grape. Disorientation clung to her like a damp shroud. She remembered the heady aroma of the wine she¡¯d conjured, a deep, ruby elixir promising to sooth her evening. But the thread of memory frayed abruptly, leaving a yawning chasm of blankness.


    Her enhanced physique, a recent and thrilling development, had instilled a misplaced confidence in her. It seemed, however, that even augmented physiology couldn¡¯t entirely conquer the ancient, potent magic of fermentation.


    A wave of unease washed over her. What had she done? What had she said? The fear of drunken indiscretions, amplified by her newfound abilities, sent a shiver down her spine. "As long as I didn''t accidentally vaporize anyone," she muttered, a dark humor masking her genuine concern.


    Steeling herself, she ventured into the lounge. The scene before her confirmed her suspicions: something had definitely transpired. Hiro, sprawled on the sofa, radiated amusement like a heat lamp. His eyes, bright with mischievous glee, were fixed on her. Jones, the scout-turned-diplomat, sat beside him, his posture rigid, his gaze resolutely averted. The air crackled with unspoken narratives.


    Hiro¡¯s laughter, a booming, unrestrained sound, erupted, shattering the tense silence. Jones, caught in the crossfire of Hiro¡¯s mirth, looked like a statue carved from anxiety. Bathilda¡¯s cheeks burned. She was a spectacle, a source of entertainment.


    "Alright, out with it," she demanded, her voice a strained rasp. "I know I made a fool of myself. Just tell me how bad it was."


    Hiro, feigning innocence, wiped a tear from his eye. "What? Me? I wouldn''t dream of it." But his grin betrayed him, a wide, predatory curve that promised a delicious recounting of her debauchery.


    "Hiro," she pleaded, her voice laced with a tremor of genuine distress. "Please. Did I¡­ did I do anything... terrible?"


    He paused, a flicker of something resembling sympathy crossing his features, quickly replaced by a renewed wave of amusement. "Terrible? No, no, nothing like that. Just¡­ spectacularly clumsy. After you took a sip of that¡­ that divine nectar ¨C which, by the way, you¡¯ve been criminally withholding ¨C you simply¡­ collapsed. Like a marionette with its strings cut. One moment, you were standing there, radiating a kind of magnificent, drunken fury, the next, you were face-planted on the rug." He dissolved into another fit of laughter, clutching his sides.


    ¡°I... passed out?¡± Bathilda repeated, her voice incredulous. ¡°Just like that?"


    Hiro nodded, a mischievous glint in his eyes. ¡°Yep. Gone. Lights out. I carried you to bed twenty minutes ago, by the way. A heroic feat, if I do say so myself. Jones and I then valiantly finished the bottle. He was a wreck, poor guy. You really shouldn¡¯t take your frustrations out on him like that. He¡¯s a good egg. But, back to the point, I think I deserve a reward for my chivalry. Another bottle of that¡­ what was it again? It tasted like liquid starlight.¡±


    ¡°Twenty minutes?¡± Bathilda asked, her mind reeling. ¡°You carried me to bed twenty minutes ago?¡± The timeline felt warped, distorted by the wine¡¯s potent magic.


    To appease Hiro, and to try to salvage what was left of the evening, she conjured another bottle of the wine, explaining its composition in a hushed, almost reverent tone. She took a tentative sip, the rich, velvety liquid sliding down her throat. Perhaps, she thought, she could redeem the night.


    But the wine, a seductive siren, proved too tempting. The world dissolved once more, the edges blurring, the sounds fading. When she awoke again, the familiar ache in her head and the crumpled sheets confirmed her suspicions. Another blackout. Another loss to the intoxicating allure of her own creation.


    "Damn it!" she hissed, the word a frustrated sigh echoing in the quiet room. The cycle of wine, oblivion, and embarrassment seemed destined to repeat itself.

 Trial by Terror

    The air hung thick with the metallic tang of fear, a silent testament to the carnage that had preceded this moment. Two guards, their faces etched with a terror that mirrored the grim landscape before them, exchanged a petrified glance. The monstrous silhouette, a hulking, reptilian form, charged from the depths of the makeshift tunnel, its guttural roars echoing against the newly erected walls of Home.


    They had heard the tales, whispers passed from the veterans who had faced this horror before. The stories of the wingless beauty, the pale angel they called Bathilda, and her unnerving strength. They had dismissed them as hyperbole, until they witnessed her handiwork firsthand. The memory of the "mini-Rex," as she so casually named it, being cleaved in twain with a mere flick of her wrist, was seared into their minds, a chilling reminder of her power.


    The charging monster, a compact brute with thick, scaled hide and razor-sharp claws, was a terrifying spectacle. But before it could reach them, Bathilda moved. A casual wave of her arm, a motion so fluid it seemed almost dismissive, and the beast''s legs simply¡­ vanished. The creature, robbed of its locomotion, crashed to the ground, its small, pitiful arms flailing uselessly against the unforgiving earth. A guttural thud reverberated through the tunnel as the monster landed face-first, its momentum sending a spray of dirt and gravel into the air.


    The guards remained frozen, their breaths caught in their throats, until Bathilda''s voice, a stark contrast to her ethereal appearance, sliced through the tension. "Well!? What are you waiting for? An invitation? Fucking kill it!" Her words, rough and impatient, snapped them out of their paralysis.


    A silent, almost comical exchange passed between the two guards, a shared incredulity at her bluntness. Then, with a newfound resolve born of sheer survival instinct, they charged. They had seen the strategy employed by their predecessors: strike at the vulnerable flanks, avoid the snapping jaws and the powerful, now useless, claws. The legless mini-Rex was now a grotesque, thrashing worm, its ferocity diminished but still dangerous.


    They moved with a practiced rhythm, their blades flashing in the dim light, hacking and slashing at the monster''s exposed flesh. Each strike was met with a pained screech, a symphony of agony that slowly faded as the life drained from the beast. They focused on delivering strikes to the soft underbelly, and the thick muscle of the neck. Blood, thick and dark, splattered the ground, staining the earth a morbid crimson.


    The monster''s cries, once a terrifying roar, dwindled to a whimper, then silence. The two guards, their faces streaked with sweat and grime, exchanged a triumphant high-five, a release of the tension that had gripped them moments before. The thrill of victory, the surge of adrenaline, and the promise of hard-earned levels washed over them. Even with Bathilda''s share of the experience points, her devastating initial attack ensuring she claimed a lion''s portion, they still gained a significant boost in power. Over thirty levels each, a reward for their bravery and skill.


    Bathilda, her expression impassive, stretched her limbs, the movement as graceful as a predator awakening from a nap. She watched as the guards, their steps lighter, their spirits lifted, jogged back towards the gate, ready to relinquish their post to the next pair.


    She had transformed this once vulnerable city, Home, into a fortress. The chasm-enclosed livestock and farmland, now protected by sturdy walls, were a testament to her efforts. And the kill zone, the tunnel created by two parallel walls leading from the south gate, was a masterstroke, a funnel of death for the encroaching monsters.


    She had designed it to accommodate even the largest of beasts, but for now, she was cautious, allowing only one monster at a time to enter. The guards, still relatively low-leveled, were not yet ready to face a fully mobile mini-Rex, let alone two. She relied on Hiro to manage the rest, diverting one monster at a time towards the gate, while dealing with the others as he saw fit.


    A flicker of doubt crossed Bathilda''s face. "Once the guards have evolved we can see how they handle a mini-rex which still has its legs. Wait a minute... Shit. Do humans evolve? Or upgrade?"A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    She sent a mental thought to Hiro, his voice a whisper in her mind. "I don''t know? I hadn''t thought about it. On my world we would rank up through our skills. The level of our skills determined what tier we were and who would be more likely to win during combat." His words, though unhelpful in answering her immediate question, offered a glimpse into his past, a life governed by different rules.


    "So not like here then? Where it''s all about the person''s level." Bathilda sighed, her gaze drifting towards the gate as fresh guards approached, their faces grimly determined. The previous two, their turn complete, passed them with a nod, their expressions a mix of relief and exhilaration.


    The cycle ground on, a monotonous, brutal ballet of survival played out in the perpetual twilight cast by the looming walls of Home. It wasn''t a dance Bathilda enjoyed, but one she was now inextricably bound to. The cacophony of clashing steel and guttural roars formed a grim soundtrack to her self-imposed task: transforming a ragtag group of city guards into a formidable defense force.


    "Honestly," she muttered, wiping a smear of viscous monster blood from her cheek, "keeping track of names is proving as challenging as keeping some of them alive." A sea of blank, fear-stricken faces swam behind her. Perhaps a more gradual approach? Two guards, power-leveled, then they could train the others¡­ a cascading effect.


    Her internal monologue was abruptly shattered by Hiro''s voice, a crisp, disembodied presence in her mind. "Incoming mini-Rex. Sixty seconds."


    With a sigh, Bathilda shifted her stance, the air around her shimmering with nascent power as the creature charged into view. A swift, precise motion, and a shimmering blade of reality sliced through the lower half of the mini-Rex, cleaving it in two. The two halves slid across the dusty ground, leaving a trail of dark, viscous fluid that stained the earth a morbid crimson. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of monster ichor.


    She turned to the two newest recruits, their faces pale and their grips on their spears white-knuckled. "Well?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the lingering tension. "What are you waiting for? Fucking kill it!"


    They flinched, their eyes wide with terror, before clumsily lunging at the fallen creature. Their spears, wielded with more desperation than skill, glanced harmlessly off the thick hide.


    Bathilda watched, a grimace twisting her features. "These guards¡­ they''re poor. How have they survived this long?" she mused, conjuring a tall glass of icy tea. Three miniature icebergs, sculpted into fantastical shapes, bobbed within the amber liquid, and a vibrant red straw curved invitingly. She took a slow, deliberate sip, the cool liquid a momentary balm against the frustration simmering within her.


    "It would probably take ten of them, at least, to bring down a mini-Rex. And even then, casualties would be inevitable," she thought, watching their frantic, ineffective attempts to harm the already deceased creature. "It''s no wonder they prefer to hide behind the walls of Home."


    She observed their clumsy strikes, their desperate stabs, their futile hacking. The mini-Rex, already bisected, was taking a rather prolonged and unnecessary beating.


    "How long will it take to get them to a level where they can actually defend themselves?" she wondered, her gaze sweeping over the city gate, a looming shadow against the fading light. "Before I arrived, they''d simply retreat inside the walls at the first sign of trouble. Wait for it to leave, or, if it was small enough, swarm it with the entire guard. A hundred men against a single mini-Rex? The inefficiency is staggering."


    She imagined the chaotic scene: a mass of guards, crammed together, their weapons clashing, more likely to injure each other than the monster. The experience gained would be negligible, diluted among so many. And the cost, in terms of injuries and wasted resources, would be exorbitant.


    "No wonder they''re clinging to the last scraps of dried meat," she muttered, shaking her head. "They''re lucky I showed up when I did."


    With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the guards, sending them stumbling back towards the city gate. "Go on, then. Send the next pair," she said, her voice laced with pity. She remembered being weak. She remembered well.


    As they retreated, Bathilda pondered her predicament. "What did I do to deserve this?" she asked the empty air, then remembered, with a wry chuckle, "Oh, right. I volunteered."


    She took another sip of her iced tea, the sweet, icy liquid a stark contrast to the grim reality surrounding her. "Why am I wasting my time with this though? I''m the Queen of Monsters, for goodness sake. I should be out there, healing the wounded, not babysitting inept guards."


    A sudden thought sparked in her mind. "After today, I''ll delegate. That''s the answer. A clone for the tedious tasks. I have more important things to do." She gazed at the horizon, a flicker of anticipation in her eyes. "There are people to heal, lives to mend. And that," she said, a hint of steel in her voice, "is where my true calling lies."

 The Immortal Threat

    The simple phrases, "Thank you," and "Thanks," echoed in Bathilda''s ears, a sweet melody replacing the discordant hum of past rejections. "Thank you, Bathilda," the farmer had said, his weathered face creased in genuine gratitude. It was a small thing, a simple act of watering the parched magical fields, but it was a testament to the slow, steady shift in the townsfolk''s perception of her.


    Bathilda soared through the azure sky, her wings catching the warm currents, carrying her back towards her cabin. The joy that bubbled within her was a stark contrast to the icy isolation she''d known before. ''It''s nice to be appreciated,'' she thought, the words a mantra against the lingering shadows of her past. ''The polar opposite of being the outcast. I love my life.''


    Home, once a fortress of suspicion, was slowly becoming a haven. The chasm, her strategic masterpiece, yawned protectively, a natural barrier against unseen threats. The sturdy walls, reinforced with her magic, stood resolute against the encroaching wilds. And the guards, once a ragtag bunch, now moved with a newfound confidence, their skills honed by her rigorous training sessions. The results were undeniable: monster encounters were handled with efficiency, the guards'' morale was soaring, and the town''s safety was assured.


    Her training sessions, conducted by a tireless clone, had yielded impressive results. The town''s defenses were stronger than ever, and the flow of resources, particularly her enhanced meat and vegetables, had solidified her position.


    Bathilda descended gracefully, her feet touching the porch with a gentle thud. She paused, her gaze lingering on the vibrant flower bed that lined the path to her cabin. The colors were a riot, a testament to her nurturing touch, a reflection of the blossoming acceptance she felt from the town.


    Inside, the cabin was a sanctuary of comfort. "Hiro, I''m back," she announced, kicking off her boots and sinking into the plush sofa. The soft, yielding cushions were a world away from the cold, hard stone of her former cave. "This is so much better than the furniture I used to own, and it''s leagues above the makeshift base."


    Hiro emerged from the kitchen, a tray laden with two frosted glasses. His crimson hair, a stark contrast to his violet eyes, seemed to shimmer in the warm light filtering through the windows. "Welcome back," he said, his voice a smooth, comforting baritone. "Did you successfully make it rain?"


    Bathilda''s (Illusion) spell had evolved into (Grand Illusion), a manifestation of her growing power. Hiro, now capable of maintaining any form he desired, had settled into his preferred appearance, a testament to the bond they shared.


    She accepted the chilled glass, the condensation cool against her fingertips. "Of course I did. To be honest, I''m only limited by my imagination. For example, I could probably create a better city than what the people of Home are currently living in. The problem with that is they don''t trust me enough to say - yeah, let''s move to the Vampire''s city, no problem there - do they?"


    Hiro considered her words, his brow furrowed in thought. "True. You are, however, winning them over slowly."


    "I am, and that was just an example. It''s not like I''m going to create a new city. Not yet anyway." Bathilda winked, then took a long, satisfying sip of her drink. "That... is delicious. What is it with you and these drinks anyway? Are you sure you weren''t a butler or bartender in your last life?"


    "Don''t be so absurd," Hiro chuckled. "Just because I know how to make a good drink and enjoy serving them to others doesn''t mean that was my station."


    "Sorry. It was just a joke. Here," Bathilda conjured a bottle of fine wine, its label shimmering with an ethereal glow. "As a means of apology."


    "Bribes don''t work on me, you know?" Hiro declared, his voice laced with playful defiance.


    "I''ll just dispel it then, seeing as how I can''t handle it these days." Before she could lift a finger, Hiro snatched the bottle, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.


    "That would be a waste. I might as well drink it now that it''s here. I''m not taking this as your apology though, but another two bottles might see us good."The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Bathilda laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Fine. Here," she conjured two more bottles, her heart brimming with contentment.


    As Hiro popped the cork of the first bottle, a sense of unease settled over the room, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Then, a putrid, acrid stench, like rotting flesh and burnt sulfur, filled the air, a grotesque intrusion on their peaceful moment.


    Before either could react, the cabin erupted. Not from the wine, but from above. The roof splintered and shattered, a cascade of wood and debris raining down as something, or someone, crashed through the ceiling. The force of the impact was devastating, the cabin''s sturdy structure collapsing inwards, the peaceful haven transformed into a chaotic ruin.


    The air, thick with the acrid scent of splintered wood and disturbed dust, hung heavy in the ruined cabin. What had been a sanctuary of quiet contentment moments before was now a tableau of destruction, a brutal testament to the sudden, violent intrusion.


    Sunlight, a stark, accusing beam, poured through the gaping hole in the roof, illuminating the chaos like a stage light on a macabre play. Furniture lay shattered, scattered remnants of their former selves, like fallen soldiers in a silent war.


    Bathilda, her elegant form dusted with debris, rose from behind the wreckage of the once-comfortable couch. Not a scratch marred her pale skin, a testament to her undead resilience. Her eyes, usually pools of serene wisdom, now blazed with a cold, furious light. They locked onto the source of the devastation: a small figure bathed in the harsh sunlight, standing amidst the ruins like a misplaced porcelain doll.


    The figure, undeniably a child, possessed an unsettling aura. Her hair, as white as freshly fallen snow, framed a face of unsettlingly pale skin, a stark contrast to the crimson frills that adorned her black dress. Small, curled horns, like delicate ebony tendrils, sprouted from her scalp, adding an unsettling touch of the infernal to her childlike form. Her eyes, devoid of warmth or emotion, held a chilling, blank stare.


    "Excuse me," Bathilda''s voice, usually a smooth, melodic cadence, was sharp and laced with barely suppressed rage, "but what the actual fuck? What gives you the right to crash into my home like this? Where are your parents?" The child¡¯s appearance, so fragile and innocent, did little to quell the storm of fury raging within Bathilda.


    The child responded in a monotone, her voice devoid of inflection, like a pre-programmed recitation. "I am the Demon King. Fear me, for all who gaze upon my absolute presence shall perish." The words, so grandiose and menacing, were delivered with the flat, emotionless delivery of a robot, a stark contrast to the dramatic pronouncements they implied.


    A rustling sound emanated from behind a pile of shattered bookshelves. Hiro, his face pale and drawn, emerged from the wreckage. A tremor ran through his body, a lingering echo of the countless deaths he had endured. Bathilda''s heart clenched with concern; she feared he was reliving the trauma, bracing for another violent demise.


    The child, seemingly oblivious to Hiro''s presence, continued her rote pronouncements. "All shall die. All shall perish. I am the Demon King. All those that gaze upon my absolute..."


    "That was my fucking wine!" Hiro''s voice, a raw, primal scream, shattered the tense silence. His form blurred, a sudden burst of impossible speed, and in the blink of an eye, he stood beside the child, his hand gripping her snow-white hair.


    The child¡¯s small body crumpled to the floor, her blank eyes staring up at the newly formed skylight.


    "What the fuck, Hiro? She was just a kid!" Bathilda''s voice, a mixture of shock and outrage, echoed through the ruined cabin.


    "She was the Demon King. She said it herself. Problem solved," Hiro replied, his voice slightly off-key, a hint of a sniffle betraying his lingering fear.


    The child¡¯s disembodied voice, still eerily calm, echoed from the floor. "I am the Demon King. You cannot kill me. I am immortal. I will be back. All that gaze up..."


    Hiro, with a guttural grunt, seized the child¡¯s head and launched it through the gaping hole in the roof, followed swiftly by her crumpled body.


    Bathilda stared, her jaw slack, her mind struggling to process the bizarre spectacle she had just witnessed. Normally, a flying, talking head would register as a pinnacle of insanity. Now, it was just another surreal moment in her long, strange existence.


    "I can''t... It''s just... How?" Bathilda stammered, sinking onto a relatively intact cushion. "How is she a child? If the Demon King is as ancient as they say, how could she still be a child? Was she a child? It makes no sense." The incongruity of the situation, the immortal Demon King trapped in a child''s body, was a puzzle her undead mind couldn''t quite solve.


    "How are you a vampire? How were you a bat? How was I supposed to go through life looking like a woman?" Hiro''s rapid-fire questions, delivered with a mix of defiance and exhaustion, snapped Bathilda out of her bewildered reverie. A wave of laughter, unexpected but welcome, washed over her.


    The questions lingered, though. How strong was the Demon King, really? But those were for another time. For now, Hiro, despite his seemingly callous act, deserved praise and comfort. He had faced down an immortal threat, even if his primary motivation had been the loss of his wine.


    Even in the face of the absurd and the terrifying, the mundane realities of life, or unlife, persisted. Right now, Bathilda needed to create a new bottle of wine and restore her cabin from the aftermath of the last ten seconds.

 Twenty Minutes Later

    The Demon King''s eyelids, heavy as obsidian slabs, snapped open. Her pupils, pinpricks of malevolent light, adjusted to the dim, oppressive atmosphere of the mountain''s heart. Her body, small and deceptively fragile, lay sprawled atop a frigid, stone altar, the very cradle of her unholy birth. This was the place where the cult, their minds warped by forbidden knowledge, had torn a rift in reality and dragged her into existence.


    Her genesis was a crude parody of creation. Summoned as a weapon of annihilation, she had, with chilling efficiency, turned upon her creators, their screams echoing through the cavernous depths before she embarked on her millennia-long crusade of destruction. A path paved with shattered civilizations and the ashes of countless lives.


    For eons, a single, relentless directive had pulsed within her: obliteration. It was the only constant, the sole purpose that defined her existence. But recently, a subtle dissonance had begun to resonate within the symphony of carnage. After countless cycles of razing cities and extinguishing hope, a shift, imperceptible yet profound, had occurred. The familiar, bloodthirsty impulses remained, a dark undercurrent in her being, but now, a new, unsettling element had infiltrated her thoughts: a question.


    A thick, oily miasma, the physical manifestation of her demonic essence, seeped from the altar''s cracks, tendrils of darkness coiling around her limbs, a chilling embrace. As the miasma coalesced, a fragmented memory surfaced: the Vampire. Her eyes, pools of vibrant scarlet, had burned into the Demon King''s soul, leaving an indelible mark.


    She was an anomaly, a being radiating power so potent it was almost palpable. Even though their confrontation had been brief, a mere exchange of words, the Demon King recognized the raw, untamed energy that pulsed within her. Bathilda was a beacon of concentrated mana, a kaleidoscope of vibrant energies that shimmered and pulsed, visible even from vast distances. She was a force of nature, a volatile tempest poised to unleash its fury.


    In her long, bloody reign, the Demon King had encountered countless powerful beings, but none like Bathilda. This vampire spoke of concepts alien to her: right and wrong, family, empathy. She addressed the Demon King not as a monstrous entity, but as a misguided child, her tone a blend of admonishment and weary compassion.


    The Demon King''s child-like form, a stark contrast to her immense power, seemed to invite this condescension. Yet, surely, Bathilda could sense the terrifying magnitude of her power? Was it possible she simply didn''t care?


    For the first time since her awakening, a seed of doubt began to sprout in the barren wasteland of her mind. "Do I have to destroy everything?" The question hung in the air, a fragile whisper against the roar of her ingrained instincts.


    The miasma, now fully enveloping her, pulsed with an unseen energy. A voice, ancient and resonant, yet strangely familiar, echoed within her mind, a soothing, insidious whisper. "All is as it must be. Everything is right."


    A bracelet, formed from the same viscous, black gas, materialized around her wrist. Runes, glowing with an infernal light, etched themselves into the delicate skin of her arms, crawling like venomous insects. The Demon King screamed, a raw, primal sound that reverberated through the mountain''s core. The pain was not localized, but all-encompassing, a searing agony that consumed her very being.


    She tumbled from the altar, her small body writhing on the cold stone floor, a chaotic dance of torment. Fragments of independent thought, the first glimmers of genuine volition, flickered within her mind, fragile sparks in a raging inferno. "Why? Is what I''ve been doing wrong?"


    Before she could grasp the fleeting thoughts, another wave of searing pain crashed over her, extinguishing the nascent sparks of rebellion. Her screams intensified, reaching a crescendo of pure, unadulterated agony, until her lungs emptied and she collapsed, her body convulsing violently.


    The twitching subsided, and her eyes, once vibrant with malevolent energy, dulled to a vacant, lifeless stare. Then, with a sudden, unsettling stillness, she rose, her movements stiff and mechanical. She staggered towards the exit of the ancient temple, her mind a blank slate, her purpose re-written by the insidious influence that had seized control.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The Demon King dissolved into a swirling vortex of black smoke, leaving behind only the cold, silent dust of the altar, and the echoes of her tormented screams. The question that had dared to blossom in her mind was ruthlessly crushed, replaced by the unwavering, unyielding mandate of destruction.


    <hr>


    The air in Bathilda''s cabin hung thick with a tension that could have been sliced with one of her meticulously sharp nails. "How did it come to this?" she murmured, the phrase a weary sigh escaping her lips. The recent renovations, carefully created with her own magic, seemed to mock her with their pristine surfaces, a stark contrast to the chaotic tableau unfolding before her.


    On her left, Hiro simmered, a pressure cooker of barely contained rage. His usually pale complexion was flushed a furious crimson, the veins in his neck pulsing visibly. The source of his ire, a broken dream of rare vintage wine, a gift from Bathilda herself, lay shattered on the floor, its crimson stain spreading like a malevolent bloom. His purple eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now burned with an almost feral intensity, fixated on the diminutive figure across from him.


    That figure, the Demon King, was a study in unsettling normalcy. Her small, childlike form, clad in what appeared to be tattered remnants of royal finery, gave no indication of the power she wielded. No visible sign of her recent decapitation remained or the violence she had endured. Her dark eyes, an aura of terrifying power, held a disconcerting mix of confusion and frustration.


    "She just... popped over," Bathilda whispered to herself, the absurdity of the situation echoing in the quiet cabin. "Like it''s a casual visit. ''Oh, hello, I''m the Demon King, just here for a chat and a spot of destruction.'' As if it''s the most normal thing in the world."


    The truth was, the Demon King''s obsession with Bathilda, the silk-haired progenitor, was becoming increasingly perplexing. She seemed drawn to her, a moth to a flickering flame, yet every attempt to approach her was met with Hiro''s unwavering, almost violent, defense. He was a sentinel, a wall of pure, unadulterated possessiveness, and she could not pass.


    "So..." Bathilda began, her voice a careful balance of diplomacy and exasperation. "What do you want? I''m not really in the mood for another round of¡­ renovations. Especially after I just finished cleaning." She gestured vaguely to the spotless cabin, a testament to her meticulous nature.


    The Demon King opened her mouth, a torrent of dark pronouncements poised to spill forth, but Bathilda cut her off. "No! Stop that right now. Stop it." The sheer force of Bathilda''s command, a blend of ancient power and weary authority, silenced the child instantly.


    "Why are you here?" Bathilda asked, her voice softening slightly. The question seemed to catch the Demon King off guard, her small brow furrowing in concentration. A battle raged within her, a conflict between her ingrained instinct for destruction and a nascent, unfamiliar desire.


    "H-Help?" she finally stammered, the word a fragile whisper in the tense silence.


    "Help?" Bathilda echoed, her eyes widening in surprise. The Demon King, the embodiment of chaos and destruction, was asking for help? It was a paradox, a contradiction that defied all logic. Yet, Bathilda''s inherent nature, her unwavering commitment to aiding those in need, regardless of their nature, kicked in.


    "How exactly can I help you?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.


    The Demon King¡¯s face crumpled in frustration. "D-Destruction and D-Death. A-All who gaze upon me..." she began, then trailed off, her head hanging in dejection. The words, once a declaration of power, now sounded like a mournful lament.


    Bathilda frowned, trying to decipher the child¡¯s garbled message. "You want me to help you destroy the world?" she asked, her voice laced with incredulity. "That''s not exactly my forte, you know? I''m more of a ''friendly neighborhood vampire'' type. Healing, helping, tea parties, the whole shebang. I''m not interested in world domination, just¡­ world habitation."


    The Demon King shook her head vehemently, her dark eyes flashing with frustration. "D-Destruction and D-Death! A-All who gaze upon me! Stop!" she repeated, her voice rising in a desperate plea.


    "Stop? Oh! Stop the death and destruction, right. Okay. Erm¡­ Hiro? Ideas?" Bathilda turned to her companion, hoping for a moment of inspired insight.


    Hiro''s response was immediate and brutal. "We should chop her head off again to teach her some manners!" he snarled, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light.


    Bathilda sighed, shaking her head. "Yeah, that''s way too extreme for etiquette lessons. I''m trying to help her, not add to the pile of severed heads."


    She looked back at the Demon King, a wave of empathy washing over her. The child was clearly trapped, a prisoner of her own nature, and Bathilda was determined to find a way to help her break free. The problem was, she had no idea where to even begin.

 The End of An Era

    The air in the small cottage crackled with a tension that was almost palpable. Hiro, a figure perpetually perched on the edge of exasperation, repeated his grim suggestion, "I think we should just kill her. Again." His voice, rough and laced with a weariness that belied his youthful appearance, seemed to bounce off the rustic walls, each word a sharp echo.


    Bathilda, her brow furrowed in concentration, ignored him. Her attention was laser-focused on the delicate creation nestled in her palm: a ring of white-gold, its surface gleaming under the soft candlelight, centered by a vibrant red diamond that pulsed with an inner light.


    She was a Vampire, yes, but one driven by a profound compassion, a desire to mend the broken pieces of a world that seemed perpetually fractured. The ring, a culmination of knowledge, luck, and heartfelt intent, was her attempt to unravel the Demon King¡¯s curse, a dark stain on the fabric of their reality.


    "Ok. This is called the Ring of Self-Control," she explained, her voice soft yet firm, a stark contrast to Hiro¡¯s abrasive tone. "It should grant you complete dominion over yourself, but¡­ well, we¡¯ll see. I¡¯m going to place it on your finger now, so please, remain still."


    Hiro¡¯s protest was immediate and vehement. "This is a stupid idea! What if she attacks you? We''re dealing with the Demon King!" But the Demon King, a small, fragile-looking girl, was transfixed by the ring, her large, luminous eyes sparkling with a childlike wonder that seemed incongruous with her fearsome reputation. She gazed at the object as if it were the most precious treasure in the world, oblivious to Hiro¡¯s warnings.


    Bathilda gently took the Demon King¡¯s small, pale hand, the skin cool and smooth beneath her touch. With painstaking care, she slid the ring onto the girl¡¯s slender finger. The red diamond shimmered, casting a warm, ruby-colored glow across her delicate features.


    A tense silence descended upon the cottage. Bathilda held her breath, waiting for a sign, any indication that her magic had taken hold. Hiro stood rigid, his hand hovering by his side, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. The Demon King, meanwhile, remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the ring, her expression a mixture of awe and bewilderment.


    "It''s so beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely audible, a soft, ethereal sound that seemed to fill the room. Bathilda released a sigh of relief, a wave of tension washing over her. She cautiously approached the girl, her eyes searching for any sign of change.


    "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice gentle.


    "Erm¡­ I don¡¯t know. Different?" The Demon King¡¯s response was hesitant, her brow furrowed in thought. She had never experienced the sensation of self-control, of agency over her own actions. Emotions, feelings, were alien concepts to her, new and bewildering.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    "Good. Different is good," Bathilda reassured her, a warm smile spreading across her face. "It¡¯s certainly better than destruction and death. Now, come inside and have some tea." She turned towards the door, expecting the others to follow. But the Demon King remained rooted to the spot, her eyes still fixed on the ring. Hiro, too, stood unmoving, his gaze fixed on the girl with suspicion and distrust.


    "What are you waiting for? Hurry up," Bathilda called out, her voice laced with a gentle impatience. "You too, Hiro. Don¡¯t just stand there making her feel uncomfortable. God knows you did it to me long enough."


    "Hey! That was different," Hiro retorted, a hint of a pout in his voice.


    "Yeah, yeah. Just get inside before everyone sees us, please. You too," she repeated, gesturing towards the Demon King.


    Once they were all seated around the small, worn table, mugs of steaming tea warming their hands, the silence returned, thick and heavy. The Demon King, Hiro, and Bathilda exchanged cautious glances, each unsure of how to proceed.


    "Ok, that¡¯s enough of the tense silence," Bathilda declared, breaking the uneasy quiet. "Miss Demon King, what is your name? I refuse to call you by that moniker any longer."


    "I¡­ er¡­ I¡¯m just the Demon King. I don¡¯t have a name," she replied, her voice soft and meek, a stark contrast to the fearsome, monotone pronouncements of her former self.


    "In that case, your name is now Flo." Bathilda beamed, pleased with her quick thinking.


    "Why did you name her Flo?" Hiro asked, his voice laced with skepticism.


    "Recently, I¡¯ve been wondering if God was actually God and if his harem weren¡¯t all just a bunch of demons. Florence especially. I mean, she could have at least given me some basic information before shooting me off to start my second life as a bat."


    "Hmm? I spent longer there than I care to remember, but God being the Devil? I can''t see it and never saw anything that would suggest such. Although, I was never allowed to enter the hot tub." Hiro''s last sentence trailed off in a murmur, his expression a mix of annoyance and wistful longing.


    Bathilda shrugged, her own experience in the so-called heaven had been brief and bizarre. "Flo," the Demon King repeated, her voice filled with a newfound wonder. She smiled, her eyes sparkling.


    "Do you like that name?" Bathilda asked, and Flo nodded enthusiastically, repeating her new name over and over.


    "Do you want to live here with me and Hiro?" Bathilda asked, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity. Flo¡¯s eyes widened, sparkling with joy, and she nodded vigorously. Hiro, however, looked on with a mixture of disbelief and apprehension.


    "Ok, but there are rules. Do you understand?" Another nod. "Good. Rule one, no more violence. That goes for you too, Hiro."


    "This is such bullshit!" Hiro protested, but he remained silent. Flo continued to nod, her expression eager.


    "Rule two, humans like¡­" Bathilda paused, realizing she was no longer human. "Them," she corrected, pointing towards the walled city of Home visible through the window, "are precious and need to be protected." Hiro shook his head, while Flo nodded earnestly.


    ''Don''t kill them. Make sure you protect humans from now on. Monsters you can kill. Is there anything else or have I got it all covered?'' she thought.


    "Oh! Rule Three! All young girls must attend school. Since we don¡¯t have one though, I will homeschool you with everything I know." Hiro chuckled, amused by Bathilda¡¯s self-serving rule. Flo looked puzzled, but not upset.


    Bathilda, having lived in this strange and unpredictable world for some time, had learned to adapt, to accept the absurd. She was determined to give Flo a chance, to help her find a new path, a new identity, away from the darkness that had defined her past.

 The Silent Evolution

    The air in the small study thrummed with a tension so thick it felt like a physical presence, a suffocating blanket of unspoken frustration. Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight filtering through the narrow, arched window, illuminating the scene with a stark, almost theatrical clarity. Bathilda, her posture ramrod straight, stood a few feet away, her gaze fixed on the small figure seated at the rough-hewn wooden table.


    That figure was Flo, formerly known as the Demon Lord, the architect of a reign of terror that had once gripped the world in its icy fist. She was also a child, a mere wisp of a girl, her face a mask of concentrated fury. The table before her was littered with crumpled sheets of paper, each bearing the jagged, frustrated marks of a failing student. A broken pencil lay in two pieces amidst the chaos, a stark testament to the escalating tension.


    Bathilda¡¯s expression was a study in determination. She had taken Flo in, a decision that had raised more than a few eyebrows in the city. After all, how did one rehabilitate a being of such destructive power? Her answer, simple and unwavering, was education. Learning, she believed, was the key to unlocking a different path, to forging a future where the Demon Lord¡¯s formidable intellect could be channeled towards creation rather than destruction.


    This, however, was proving to be a monumental task. Every stray thought, every errant noise, was a disruptive force, a tiny spark that ignited the already volatile atmosphere. Flo''s brow was furrowed, her small hands clenched into fists. The intensity radiating from her was palpable, a simmering cauldron of frustration.


    The pencil snapping was a mere prelude. A moment later, a flickering orange glow began to emanate from Flo¡¯s fingertips, spreading rapidly until her entire body was enveloped in flames. It wasn¡¯t a raging inferno, but a controlled, almost contained blaze, a manifestation of her inner turmoil. Bathilda didn¡¯t flinch, didn¡¯t even raise an eyebrow. This was, after all, the third time this week.


    In the beginning, Flo had shown promise. Basic Math and English, the building blocks of knowledge, had posed little challenge to her formidable mind. She had absorbed information with an almost terrifying efficiency, her eyes gleaming with a sharp intelligence that belied her childlike appearance. It was when Bathilda had introduced algebra, the abstract world of variables and equations, that the cracks began to appear.


    The shift from concrete facts to abstract concepts was a jarring one. Flo, accustomed to wielding power with a mere thought, found herself struggling with the rigid logic of mathematics. The elegant, yet complex dance of numbers was a foreign language, one that she was finding increasingly difficult to decipher.


    Each failed attempt, each incorrect answer, chipped away at her composure, fueling the simmering frustration within. The once confident Demon Lord was now a picture of bewildered exasperation, her powerful intellect humbled by the simple act of solving ''x''.


    The flames around her subsided, leaving behind a faint smell of burnt paper and ozone. Flo stared at the charred remnants of her textbook, her eyes wide with a mixture of anger and confusion. She looked up at Bathilda, her expression a silent plea for understanding.


    "Quadratic equations," Bathilda said, her voice calm and steady, "require patience, Flo. They''re like a puzzle, each piece fitting together to reveal the solution."


    Flo¡¯s gaze flickered back to the ashen textbook, her lips pressed into a thin line. Patience, she had learned, was not one of her virtues. Centuries of wielding absolute power had instilled in her a sense of immediacy, a belief that her will should be instantly translated into reality. The slow, methodical process of learning was a painful exercise in humility.


    In the corner of the room, Hiro, Bathilda¡¯s companion, lay sprawled on a pile of cushions, his eyes closed, a faint smile playing on his lips. He was the picture of serene relaxation, a stark contrast to the tension that gripped the room. He had long since learned to navigate the turbulent emotional landscape of their household, choosing to retreat into a world of blissful detachment.


    He was no help to Bathilda, but he was a comfort. He was a constant, a reminder that life could be simple and peaceful, even amidst the chaos. He had offered to tutor Flo once, but after a rather dramatic display of spontaneous combustion, he had wisely decided to leave the educational endeavors to Bathilda.


    Bathilda, however, had to give Flo credit. Despite the tantrums and the occasional spontaneous combustion, she was trying. There was a flicker of determination in her eyes, a refusal to be defeated by a mere equation. She would glare at the textbook, her small hands gripping the pages as if they were the throat of a rival, her mind grappling with the unfamiliar concepts.


    She would spend hours poring over the examples, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips moving silently as she tried to decipher the cryptic symbols. She would ask questions, sometimes hesitant, sometimes demanding, her voice a mix of frustration and curiosity.


    Bathilda would patiently explain, breaking down the complex equations into smaller, more manageable steps. She would praise Flo¡¯s progress, no matter how small, and encourage her to persevere. She knew that the path to knowledge was not always smooth, that there would be setbacks and frustrations. But she also knew that Flo possessed the potential to overcome any challenge, if she was willing to put in the effort.


    The study sessions became a battleground, a clash between the Demon Lord¡¯s formidable will and the relentless logic of mathematics. There were days when Flo would storm out of the room, her face flushed with anger, her footsteps echoing through the stone corridors. There were days when she would sit in silence, her eyes filled with tears of frustration.


    But then there were days when a spark of understanding would ignite in her eyes, when the pieces of the puzzle would finally fall into place. A triumphant grin would spread across her face, and she would solve the equation with a flourish, her voice ringing out with a newfound confidence.


    Bathilda knew that the journey was far from over. Flo still had a long way to go, but she was making progress. She was learning to control her emotions, to channel her frustration into productive effort. She was learning to think critically, to analyze problems and find solutions.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    More importantly, she was learning that knowledge was a power greater than any she had ever wielded. It was a power that could build, create, and transform. It was a power that could change the world, not through fear and destruction, but through understanding and enlightenment. And in the heart of the once feared Demon Lord, a new kind of fire was beginning to burn, a fire of curiosity, a fire of learning, a fire of hope.


    .


    .


    Flo studied and weeks without incident passed that way.


    Bathilda taught, Flo studied, and Hiro enjoyed all the downtime he could get. With no imminent deaths in his near future, he was a happy cookie. More so whenever Diplomat Jones popped round for a glass of Bathilda''s famous red.


    Being a Higher Vampire, the nurse from another world wondered what came next. Her evolution didn''t mention being a final version so there still chance of evolution occuring when Bathilda reached max level.


    Her status, even though it said she needed an exorbitant amount of XP to reach the next level, didn''t inform her how many levels there were.


    Still, it was food for thought.


    Flo, once the feared Demon King, studied hard under bathilda''s tutorlege a few hours everyday. She was becoming quite the scholar. In her downtime, she would clear monsters from the forest and spend time helping Bathilda in the garden.


    People still didn''t come for healing, probably on due to owner and residents, but there was still time for that to change.


    .


    .


    .


    .


    The rhythm of their lives settled into a comfortable, almost idyllic cadence. Weeks unfurled, each day a gentle repetition of study, cultivation, and quiet companionship. The looming specter of imminent danger, which had once cast a long shadow over their existence, receded into the background, replaced by the mundane yet satisfying routines of their secluded life.


    Bathilda, with her ancient wisdom and patient demeanor, proved to be an exceptional tutor. Her lessons were not merely rote memorization, but rather a weaving of history, philosophy, and practical application. She possessed a knack for illuminating complex concepts with relatable anecdotes and vivid imagery, making even the most daunting subjects accessible to Flo.


    The former Demon King, her formidable intellect now honed and directed, absorbed knowledge like parched earth drinks in rain. The once-feared destroyer, accustomed to wielding power through brute force, now found herself captivated by the elegance of logic and the nuanced beauty of language.


    Flo¡¯s days were structured, yet not stifling. Mornings were dedicated to rigorous study under Bathilda¡¯s tutelage. Afternoons were spent in the verdant embrace of the surrounding forest, a domain she now patrolled not with destructive intent, but with a sense of stewardship. She cleared the overgrowth, pruned unruly branches, and ensured the delicate balance of the ecosystem remained undisturbed. The forest, once a battleground, was becoming a sanctuary, a place where she could reconnect with the natural world and find a sense of peace.


    Evenings were reserved for assisting Bathilda in her meticulously tended garden. The garden, a riot of vibrant colors and intoxicating scents, was a testament to Bathilda¡¯s skill and dedication. Flo, with her enhanced strength and inherent understanding of life force, proved to be a natural gardener.


    She learned to identify the subtle signs of a plant¡¯s health, to coax reluctant blooms into existence, and to nurture the delicate seedlings that promised future harvests. The act of tending to the garden was meditative, a grounding experience that allowed her to shed the remnants of her past and embrace the tranquility of the present.


    Hiro, meanwhile, reveled in the absence of impending doom. The constant anxiety that had gnawed at him since his arrival in this strange world had finally subsided, replaced by a sense of contentment. He spent his days exploring the surrounding countryside, indulging in his love of nature, and simply enjoying the simple pleasures of life. He¡¯d even begun joining Flo in her forest patrols, his sharp eyes spotting hidden trails and identifying unique flora and fauna. He¡¯d sit with Bathilda in the garden, listening to her stories and absorbing her wisdom like a sponge.


    The occasional visits from Diplomat Jones provided a welcome change of pace. The man, with his urbane charm and endless supply of intriguing stories, was a breath of fresh air in their secluded existence. He¡¯d arrive bearing gifts ¨C rare wines, exotic spices, and books filled with tales of distant lands long lost. His presence was a reminder that the world outside their tranquil haven continued to exist, a world of intrigue, adventure, and endless possibilities.


    Hiro, ever observant, noticed a subtle shift in Bathilda¡¯s demeanor. There was a quiet intensity in her eyes, a sense of anticipation that hinted at something more than mere contentment.


    Her status, displayed as a shimmering interface in her vision, continued to indicate the need for an astronomical amount of experience points to reach the next level. The sheer scale of the requirement was daunting, yet it did not deter her. She approached the prospect of evolution with a quiet determination, a sense of inevitability that spoke of her long and eventful existence.


    Hiro, being a Higher Vampire Clone of Bathilda, knew the intricacies of her evolution better than most. He understood that the process was not merely a matter of accumulating experience points, but also a matter of internal transformation, a profound shift in one¡¯s very essence.


    He knew that Bathilda, with her otherworld knowledge and ancient power, was on the cusp of something extraordinary. The fact that her status did not specify the number of potential levels did not concern him; it only served to heighten his curiosity. He wondered what form her next evolution would take, what new powers and abilities she would acquire.


    The lack of patients seeking healing at Bathilda¡¯s door remained a point of quiet concern. Hiro suspected that the reputation of the residents, a former Demon King and a mysterious Higher Vampire and her clones, might be deterring potential clients.


    Rumors, whispered in hushed tones, painted them as figures of formidable power. Dangerous. He knew that time was needed to dispel these misconceptions, to establish a reputation for compassion and healing.


    Bathilda, however, remained unfazed. She continued to tend to her garden, to teach Flo, and to welcome Diplomat Jones with her customary warmth. She trusted that the truth would eventually prevail, that those in need would eventually find their way to her door. Her focus was on the present, on nurturing the relationships she had formed and on cultivating the knowledge that would guide her future evolution.


    Flo, meanwhile, was undergoing a transformation of her own. The once-feared Demon King was slowly shedding the vestiges of her past, embracing the possibilities of a new life. She found joy in the simple act of learning, in the satisfaction of mastering a new skill, in the quiet companionship of her new friends. She was no longer defined by her past, by the darkness that had once been her. She was forging a new identity, one built on knowledge, compassion, and the unwavering support of her newfound family.


    The weeks continued to pass, each day a gentle rhythm of study, cultivation, and quiet companionship. The forest flourished, the garden bloomed, and the residents of the secluded haven found a sense of peace that had eluded them for so long. The future remained uncertain, but they faced it with a quiet confidence, knowing that they had each other, and that together, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead. They each had their own thoughts about the future, and what possibilities it held, but for now, they were content to live in the moment and enjoy the tranquility they had found.

 The Turning Tide

    The sun beat down on Hime, a benevolent warmth that mirrored the warmth in its inhabitants'' hearts. For the first time in what felt like an age, bellies were full, round and content, not gnawed by the familiar pangs of hunger. Laughter, a sound too long absent, echoed through the newly vibrant streets. Wrinkles of worry, etched deep by centuries of fear and uncertainty, had smoothed into smiles.


    The apocalyptic dread that had clung to the community like a shroud had finally lifted, replaced by a tentative, blossoming hope. Life, against all odds, was grand.


    Diplomat Jones, once known as Scout Jones, found himself approaching Bathilda¡¯s cabin with a sense of anticipation. ¡°Cabin¡± was perhaps too rustic a word for the dwelling. It was more of a retreat, a sanctuary, a place of quiet contemplation.


    The concept of a ¡°getaway,¡± though perfectly apt, was lost on Jonesy. The term, like Bathilda herself, originated from a distant, almost mythical place called Earth, a world Jonesy knew nothing about. His focus was on the present, on the important mission he carried. The leaders of Home, finally recognizing the wisdom of Bathilda¡¯s counsel, had requested a meeting.


    ¡°About time,¡± he muttered under his breath, a small smile playing on his lips. He raised his hand and knocked on the intricately carved wooden door.


    It swung open to reveal a young girl, no more than ten summers old, with bright, inquisitive eyes. This was Bathilda¡¯s adopted daughter, Flo. Unbeknownst to many, including the general populace of Home, Flo was also the Demon King.


    Jonesy, however, was in the know. The revelation, delivered by Bathilda and Hiro with a casualness that bordered on the absurd, had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest. He still remembered the clammy palms, the racing heart, the sheer disbelief that had washed over him.


    "Is she home?" Jonesy asked, striving for an air of calm neutrality. He desperately wanted to project an image of professionalism, of a seasoned diplomat, but the presence of the Demon King, even in such a diminutive form, still made his stomach churn. He focused on maintaining eye contact with Flo, willing himself not to soil his britches. The embarrassment would be monumental, for both of them.


    Fortunately, Bathilda was indeed home. She emerged from the depths of the cabin, her presence radiating a quiet strength. After a brief, pleasant exchange, they set off together towards Home, the weight of the world, or at least the weight of Home''s world, feeling a little lighter with each step.


    Jonesy walked beside Bathilda, a strange mix of apprehension and hope swirling within him. He knew this meeting was crucial, a potential turning point for the city. He just hoped he could keep his composure and play his part in what he sensed was a moment of great significance.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Ericson will still be on duty, he thought with a wry smile. He''d left the City just as Ericson had clocked in. Ericson, bless his soul, was one of the few who still called him "Jonesy Jones," a name that had thankfully died out with his teens. He was also, Jones recalled fondly, a walking, talking, occasionally tripping, encyclopedia of embarrassing anecdotes ¨C mostly involving himself.


    As he and Bathilda approached the imposing iron gate, Ericson was indeed manning his post, looking as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as if he¡¯d just started his shift, rather than being halfway through it. They strolled down what was known as the "kill box," a narrow passage Bathilda had designed (and, he suspected, named herself), leading to the gate.


    "Hail, Master Bathilda!" Ericson boomed, his voice echoing slightly. He and Carter, the other guard on duty, snapped off crisp salutes, leaving Diplomat Jones feeling momentarily superfluous.


    "Are you here for some more specialized training today?" Jones asked, noticing a distinct twinkle in Ericson''s eye. He vaguely recalled Bathilda putting the guards through their paces a few months back.


    "Paces" was an understatement. She''d practically turned them into super-soldiers, each of them rising up by a good hundred levels. It was insane, but, Jones had to admit, it had given Home the means to actually defend themselves. A noble, if slightly preposterous, intention.


    "Bathilda is here for a council meeting. If you don''t mind, Eric?" Jones said, trying to steer the conversation away from combat training.


    Ericson grinned, already working on the massive gate mechanism. "Not at all, Jonesy Jones. Old Elred should have have pulled his finger out earlier if you ask me. Bathilda''s done loads for us." Jones couldn''t help but nod in agreement. If they were to delve into the politics of why Bathilda hadn''t been summoned sooner, they¡¯d be there all night. And Jones, unlike some of the residents of the city, actually had a schedule to keep.


    Bathilda, as always, was the picture of serene elegance. She wore a simple white dress that flowed around her like liquid moonlight, and her hair, finer than spun spider silk, danced in the gentle breeze. She exuded an air of quiet power that made even the most hardened warriors (like Ericson after her training) a little nervous.


    "Indeed," she said, her voice soft but carrying. "Thank you, Eric. Come now, we don''t want to keep the old codgers waiting. They might fall asleep." Jones'' tone still playful.


    "Or die from old age," Ericson added helpfully as the gate creaked open, earning him a stifled chuckle from Jones. He and Carter shared a hearty laugh as the gate swung shut behind them.


    Jones led Bathilda through the bustling heart of Home. Everyone they passed greeted her with warm smiles and respectful nods. Bathilda, in turn, acknowledged each greeting with a gracious nod or a kind word, making Jones feel like he was escorting royalty.


    The contrast was stark. When she''d first arrived, they''d branded her ''Demon,'' ''Pariah,'' ''The End.'' Now, even though she''d saved their city, fear had blinded them. They couldn''t see she was a sheep in wolf''s clothing ¡ª a protector disguised as a threat


    Finally, they reached a large, imposing building ¨C the council hall. Jones ushered Bathilda inside, navigating the maze of corridors with practiced ease. They reached a heavy oak door, and with a deep breath, Jones opened it, revealing the council chamber.


    The air inside was thick with anticipation, and the murmur of hushed conversations died down as Bathilda entered. The discussions about the city''s future, and perhaps the world¡¯s, were about to begin.

 The Tempest In The Hall

    The heavy oak doors of the council chamber slammed open, the reverberation echoing through the austere, stone-lined hallway. Bathilda emerged like a tempest, her usually composed demeanor shattered, replaced by a volcanic fury that made Scout Jones instinctively step back.


    Her normally vibrant hair, neatly braided today, now whipped around her face like icy tendrils, framing a countenance etched with disbelief and incandescent rage.


    "How is it," she seethed, her voice a low, dangerous growl, "that no matter the world, the dimension, the plane of existence, it''s always a bunch of old, white men running the show?" She paced, her boots clicking sharply against the polished stone floor, each step a punctuation mark of her frustration.


    "Old Elred," she spat the name like a curse, "sitting there, puffed up like some bloated toad, reminded me so much of... of that President. You know the one. The one who thinks bluster and bravado are substitutes for actual intelligence."


    Jones, a seasoned scout accustomed to the bizarre and the dangerous, was utterly lost in the diplomat role. He''d seen Bathilda navigate farming and animal husbandry with the grace of a seasoned dancer, charming both leaders and brokering them into running her creations.


    But this? This was a level of raw, unbridled anger he''d never witnessed. He desperately wished Hiro was present. He could have translated Bathilda''s impassioned rant, providing context and nuance. Instead, Jones was left floundering, a silent witness to a storm he couldn''t comprehend.


    "Were they serious?" Bathilda''s voice trembled, a mixture of disbelief and outrage. "Did they really expect me to just... bend over? Faster than some two-bit hooker?" She gestured wildly, her hands slicing through the air, emphasizing her disgust.


    "They think I''m some naive tourist, some wide-eyed ingenue they can manipulate? They''re lucky I''m all about monster slaying and not people slaying, or else... or else..." She trailed off, the implicit threat hanging heavy in the air. It wasn''t that she lacked the words, Jones realized. It was more that the sheer absurdity of the situation had momentarily robbed her of articulate rage.


    She was, after all, a nurse, a healer ¨C not a killer. Though, the only time he had seen her wield healing magic was when the Demon King fell over and scraped her knee.


    "Do you know what the worst part is, Jones?" Bathilda¡¯s face was now a mask of incredulous fury. The Diplomat''s usually warm complexion was now as pale as the stone walls, her eyes burning with a cold fire. Jones, his own face flushed with shame, could only shake his head, a silent acknowledgment of his own complicity.


    "Everything they demanded, I would have given for free, had they not been such gigantic dickheads! I just can''t with people like that. Seriously... how are they your council?"


    Jones felt a wave of shame wash over him, a burning humiliation for his city, his peers, the very council he had sworn to uphold. He had been the one to vouch for Bathilda, to convince her to come to Home, promising a receptive audience and a chance to forge a valuable alliance. Instead, the council had treated her with condescension and arrogance, badgering him into bringing her there only to berate her and issue unreasonable demands. It was a colossal, catastrophic blunder.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    "I''m sorry, Bathilda," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "Not everyone in Home is... a gigantic dickhead." He couldn''t meet her eyes, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the stone floor. He felt the weight of his city''s reputation, his own honor, crumbling under Bathilda''s righteous anger. He had failed her, and he had failed Home.


    Bathilda stopped pacing, turning to face Jones, her eyes searching his. "You know, Jones," she said, her voice softer now, though still laced with a bitter edge, "I''ve read about dictators who were more reasonable than those¡­ those fossils. I''ve even seen North Korean leaders that have a better grasp of diplomacy than them. They treated me like some ignorant child, demanding concessions as if they were doing me a favor. They spoke of Home''s ''strategic importance,'' of its ''ancient heritage,'' as if those things gave them the right to treat me like dirt."


    She sighed, running a hand through her disheveled hair. "They talked about using my expertise with the Demon King, about using my magic to combat a plague that have spread through livestock. They acted like they were granting me some grand opportunity. But they didn''t ask. They demanded. They dictated terms, as if I were some supplicant begging for scraps."


    "They don''t understand," Jones mumbled, finally finding his voice, "they''re¡­ they''re afraid. They''ve always been isolated, clinging to their traditions, their old ways. They don''t trust outsiders."


    "Fear is no excuse for arrogance," Bathilda retorted, her eyes flashing. "They think they can hide behind their walls, their titles, their self-importance. They think they can dictate terms to someone who''s seen more worlds, faced more dangers, than they can possibly imagine. They''re living in the past, Jones. They''re so blinded by their own self-importance that they can''t see the world changing around them."


    She turned away, gazing out the large arched window at the city of Home, its ancient spires and winding streets bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. "They spoke of tradition," she mused, her voice barely audible. "They spoke of preserving their heritage. But what heritage are they preserving? The heritage of ignorance? The heritage of fear? The heritage of treating anyone different as a threat?"


    She shook her head, a gesture of weary resignation. "They don''t realize they''re not preserving anything. They''re stagnating. They''re rotting from the inside out. And they''ll drag everyone down with them if they don''t change."


    Jones watched her, his heart heavy with a mixture of shame and despair. He knew she was right. Home was a city steeped in tradition, clinging to its past, resistant to change. But he had hoped, foolishly, that they could see the value in Bathilda''s expertise, in her willingness to help. He had hoped they could see beyond their prejudices, their fears. He had been wrong.


    "What now?" he asked, his voice flat.


    Bathilda turned back to him, her eyes filled with a weary determination. "Now," she said, "we find a way to help them despite themselves. We find a way to solve their problems, to assuage their concerns over Flo, to cure their stupid plague. Not for them, but for the people of the city who are suffering. For the farmers whose livestock are dying, for the children who are sick. We''ll show them what true strength is, what true leadership is. We''ll show them that cooperation, not condescension, is the path to survival."


    She paused, a flicker of a smile playing on her lips. "And maybe," she added, her eyes twinkling, "we''ll teach them a lesson or two about humility along the way."


    Jones nodded, a faint glimmer of hope flickering in his chest. He knew it wouldn''t be easy. He knew they would face resistance, suspicion, and perhaps even outright hostility. But he also knew that Bathilda was a force of nature, a whirlwind of compassion and determination. And he knew that together, they could make a difference, even in the face of the most entrenched prejudice. And he knew that maybe, just maybe, Home could learn to change.

 The Rift And The Revelation

    Bathilda, her shoulders slumped with a weariness that belied the fire in her eyes, finally performed the task the council had mandated. It was a humiliating concession, a public display of obedience that chafed against her very soul. She moved through the streets of Grower, her hands glowing with the soft, white light of (Esuna), curing the minor ailments and lingering aches of the townsfolk. Yet, her heart remained untouched by their gratitude.


    The council, with their stiff pronouncements and self-important airs, had demanded she demonstrate her "usefulness," to prove her worth to their precious city. They saw her magic as a tool, a resource to be exploited, rather than a gift to be cherished. But Bathilda, though she obeyed, had no intention of letting them dictate the narrative.


    With each healing touch, she whispered a secret. To the weathered farmer, his calloused hands trembling with arthritis, she spoke of the council''s cold decree. To the animal raiser, her face creased with worry over a sick calf, she recounted the council''s dismissive tone. And to the wide-eyed children, their noses smudged with dirt, she explained how the council had attempted to diminish her, to reduce her to a mere instrument.


    She painted a vivid picture of their arrogance, their condescending words echoing in the ears of every citizen. She spoke not with anger, but with a quiet, unwavering resolve, her voice a gentle current carrying her message through the town.


    Then, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, Bathilda unleashed her true power. She stood in the town square, her hands raised, and a golden light erupted from her, enveloping the entire area. (Area Heal) after (Area Heal) cascaded over the crowd, a wave of soothing energy that washed away not just physical pain, but the lingering anxieties and burdens of the day. It was a spectacle of generosity, a display of magic so potent, so freely given, that it left the townsfolk breathless.


    The air thrummed with gratitude. Children laughed, their faces glowing with renewed energy. Old men wept, their aches banished. Women embraced, their worries momentarily forgotten. It was a symphony of healing, a testament to the power of compassion, and a stark contrast to the cold calculations of the council.


    Jones, watching from the edge of the square, couldn''t help but marvel at Bathilda''s strategy. It was a masterclass in subtle rebellion. She had turned the council''s weapon against them, transforming their demand for obedience into a public indictment of their arrogance. She had understood the true power of Grower: its people.


    The council, cloistered in their chambers, could issue decrees and wield their authority, but they couldn''t control the whispers that spread through the streets, the shared glances of indignation, the growing chorus of dissent. Bathilda had ignited a fire in the hearts of the townsfolk, a fire fueled by her kindness and the council''s hubris.


    She hadn''t engaged in a direct confrontation, hadn''t raised her voice in anger. Instead, she had used their own rules against them, turning their attempt to humiliate her into a triumphant display of her true worth. She had shown them that true power lay not in decrees and pronouncements, but in the hearts and minds of the people. It was a lesson in humility, delivered with a gentle touch and a radiant smile, a lesson that would echo through the streets of Home for years to come.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    The weight of a successful resolution settled on Bathilda¡¯s shoulders, a brief respite after the council''s relentless demands. She¡¯d navigated their bureaucratic maze, appeased their anxieties, and, in her own way, taught them a subtle lesson about overreach.


    Returning home, she found the familiar tableau of her sanctuary: Hiro, sprawled across a plush armchair, radiating an almost feline contentment, and Flo, nestled in a corner, her nose buried in a weighty tome.


    Bathilda scooped the small Demon King into her lap. "What are you engrossed in, Flo?" she asked, her voice laced with weary affection.


    Flo, her eyes gleaming with intellectual curiosity, presented the book. Its title, a labyrinthine string of archaic phrases, hinted at intricate political machinations and the delicate architecture of city governance. Bathilda, her mind still echoing with the council''s tedious pronouncements, felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. Politics was the last thing she desired before succumbing to sleep.


    The tranquility of her bedroom, however, proved fleeting. As she settled into the soft embrace of her bed, Flo curled beside her, a tear in the fabric of reality shimmered into existence, disrupting the quiet. A cold, ethereal breeze wafted through the room, carrying the distinct scent of ozone and something subtly floral.


    Flo, her small frame radiating an unexpected ferocity, sprang to her feet, positioning herself between Bathilda and the swirling anomaly. Her eyes, usually a soft, warm hue, blazed with a fierce, crimson light. Wisps of crackling, magical flames danced along her outstretched arms, ready to unleash their destructive power.


    From the heart of the rift, Florence emerged, her ethereal form shimmering like heat haze. Her blonde curls, untouched by the chaos of the portal, cascaded down her shoulders, framing a face that was both beautiful and, supposedly, full of warmth.


    Bathilda''s brow furrowed, a deep frown etching itself into her features. Flo, her small body trembling with restrained power, emitted a low, guttural growl, a sound that belied her youthful appearance.


    "Calm down, Flo," Bathilda said, her voice a soothing balm against the rising tension. "It''s alright. Well, not alright, but you don''t need to worry. Florence is¡­ a bitch, but she won''t do anything harmful."


    "Aww, Bat," Florence purred, her voice dripping with mock hurt. "After all the advice I gave you, the secrets I whispered to help you survive that encounter with the serpent? That wounds me deeply." She pressed a hand to her chest, feigning a dramatic swoon.


    Her patience, already stretched thin, snapped. "Secrets!? Cut the theatrics, Florence. What do you want?" She closed her eyes, a sigh escaping her lips. Even for a vampire, the need for restorative sleep was welcome. Flo, her scarlet eyes burning with unwavering loyalty, continued to glare at Florence, her stance radiating protectiveness.


    Bathilda had taken Flo in, offered her a sanctuary, a family. She¡¯d nurtured the child¡¯s burgeoning magical abilities, shared stories, and offered the unwavering comfort of a loving home. Flo acted like her shield, a fierce guardian, and Bathilda¡¯s heart swelled with a mixture of pride and affection.


    Florence, sensing the unwavering bond between the two, glanced at Flo, then back to Bathilda. "Very well," she said, her voice losing its playful edge. "There''s a¡­ complication. Time is of the essence, so I''ll be brief."


    The air crackled with anticipation.


    "There''s a new Demon King."


    Bathilda''s eyes snapped open, her weariness instantly forgotten. The revelation hung in the air, a dark cloud casting a long shadow over the room. The implications were vast, the potential for chaos immense. The delicate balance she had worked so hard to maintain was threatened.


    "A new Demon King?" she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief and a growing sense of dread. "How? When? Who?"

 A Soul Adrift

    The air in the sun-drenched courtyard hung thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and something else, something subtly magical, a shimmer of residual energy from Bathilda¡¯s recent spellwork. Hiro stood rigidly, his form flickering slightly in the midday light. His usual jovial demeanor was replaced by a petulant frown, a sight that, despite his size, made him look almost comical.


    "I don''t want to!" he repeated, his voice echoing with an almost childish whine. The sound clashed jarringly with his form, a warrior''s build encased in semi-transparent armor. He looked like a frustrated ghost knight. Even though he was twice Flo''s size, in reality he wasn''t even a tenth of her age. Mentally.


    The observation was a constant source of frustration for him. He was a soul, a consciousness unbound from flesh, existing in Bathilda''s mins or clone. His perceptions, his memories, were ancient, yet he was perpetually trapped in a state of youthful dependency.


    "Well, you don''t have a choice, unfortunately," Bathilda replied, her voice laced with a gentle firmness. Her crimson eyes, usually sparkling with amusement, held a flicker of genuine concern. "As much as I would love to leave you here to watch over the city ¨C and believe me, I would ¨C I can''t. The Clone will dissipate once I''m gone, and with you that far away, I don''t know what will happen. Your essence might¡­ unravel."


    Hiro¡¯s shoulders slumped. "Can''t you make a magic ring for me like you did for Flo? Hell, even Jonesy'' got one," he grumbled, gesturing vaguely towards the city where Diplomat Jones worked. ¡°Why is it that the poor, misjudged soul gets the short end of the stick?¡±


    "Is someone a little jealous?" Bathilda teased, a playful glint returning to her eyes. Flo, perched on her shoulder, let out a delightful giggle, her small hands clapping together. The sound, pure and innocent, amplified Hiro''s annoyance. He glared at Flo, his illusion momentarily flickering with a dark, almost demonic energy to match the Demon King.


    "Bathilda," he drawled, his voice a low growl.


    "I''m only joking, Hiro. Of course, we can," Bathilda assured him, her tone softening. She knew Hiro¡¯s frustration stemmed from a deep-seated fear of going back to Paradise. "It would have been much simpler if I could just use (Creation) to make you a proper body," she mused, her fingers tracing a complex pattern in the air. "But, as you know, it doesn''t work that way."


    She had tried, repeatedly, to use her powerful skill to give Hiro a tangible form. She had sculpted clay, woven strands of light, even attempted to coax life from the very earth beneath their feet. But (Creation), for all its immense power, seemed incapable of producing humans. The animals she summoned, the plants she cultivated, thrived and multiplied, but the human form remained stubbornly inert.


    ¡°You tried many different ways, Mother.¡± Bathilda could barely contain herself. Every time Flo used the word her heart swelled with glee.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Shall we make Hiro a pretty ring, then?" she asked, her voice filled with warmth. The little girl nodded enthusiastically, her bright eyes fixed on Hiro. "Something sparkly?"


    "It doesn''t need to be pretty," Hiro muttered, crossing his arms. "Just functional."


    Bathilda chuckled. "Of course, of course. But a little bit of sparkle never hurt anyone."


    The next few moments were a flurry of magical activity. Bathilda¡¯s hands moved with practiced grace, weaving strands of golden light and shimmering energy. She conjured a small, flawless diamond, its facets catching the sunlight and scattering rainbows across the courtyard. She molded gold into a delicate band, imbuing it with layers of enchantments.


    "Ring of Everlasting Spells," she announced, presenting the finished ring to Hiro. "This will allow you to maintain a limited number of magical effects indefinitely, until consciously dismissed."


    She slipped the ring onto Hiro''s finger, the gold shimmering. A small, but potent surge of magic pulsed from the ring, settling into the very core of his being.


    "Maximum spells: 2/10," Bathilda recited, reading the ring''s properties. "Plenty for what you need."


    Hiro flexed his hand, the ring gleaming on his finger. He dismissed his illusion, the masculine features vanishing to reveal his true form. The number of spells on the ring dropped to one. "(Clone+) is the only one you need to keep going, right?"


    "Right," Hiro confirmed, his voice slightly less petulant. He looked at the ring, turning it over in his hand. "It''s¡­ sparkly," he remarked, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.


    "It suits you," Flo chirped, her eyes wide with admiration.


    "Fingers crossed, that should be enough," Bathilda said, her tone laced with a hint of uncertainty.


    Hiro''s eyebrows furrowed. "Enough for what?"


    "Enough to keep you stable while I''m gone," Bathilda explained, her voice softening. "If not, let''s just hope that your soul''s tethered to mine with some magical bullshit and you don''t end up back in Paradise."


    Hiro''s eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing his translucent features. "Back in Paradise? But¡­ I don''t want to go back there."


    "I know, I know," Bathilda reassured him, placing a hand on his spectral arm. "We''ll figure it out. We always do."


    Hiro''s anxiety was palpable, a cold dread that emanated from his very being. He was a soul adrift, a consciousness clinging to existence by the thinnest of magical threads. The thought of returning to the endless expanse of paradise, filled him with a terror that transcended the physical.


    "Look, I''ll be back as soon as I can," Bathilda promised, her voice filled with sincerity. "We''ll find a way to make this permanent, to give you a real body, a real life."


    Hiro nodded. "Just¡­ be careful," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "And don''t forget about me."


    "I won''t," Bathilda assured him, her heart aching for his predicament. "I promise."


    "See you later, Hiro," she said, offering him a warm smile.


    "Bye, Hiro," Flo echoed, waving her tiny hand.


    Bathilda and Flo turned and flew away, their figures receding into the distance. They set off South East, towards the cave where Bathilda had first arrived on this world. The journey would be long, but Bathilda was determined to find the answers she sought, to unravel the mysteries of this world and, most importantly, learn how the world birthed Demon King''s like Peggy on Times Street. She had three times the amount of children as anyone else in Home.


    Hiro watched them go. He looked at the ring on his finger, its diamond sparkling like a tiny star. He knew that his fate was inextricably linked to Bathilda''s, that his existence depended on her. He knew that her promises weren''t empty, that she would return, and that they would find a way to make his existence permanent, to give him a life beyond the spectral confines of inhabiting her clones. He was a soul, waiting for his chance to truly live.

 Picnics, Demon Kings, and Aggressive Nettles

    The air whipped past Bathilda''s ears, a constant, roaring reminder of their altitude. Below, the landscape was a blur of greens and browns, occasionally punctuated by the ominous, smoking craters left by their recent, rather dramatic, monster-rending escapade.


    Flo, bless her tiny heart, floated serenely beside her, her white hair a cloud of defiance against the azure sky. Bathilda couldn''t help but notice the uncanny resemblance, the shared ruby-red glint in their eyes, the ethereal pallor of their skin. It was like looking at a miniature, slightly more cryptic version of herself. Except, of course, this miniature version was also the former Demon King, not a (Higher Vampire).


    "A Demon King," Bathilda muttered, the words still tasting like dirt. "And she just¡­ leaves? Again! Like I''m supposed to know what to do with that information?" She pictured Florence''s departing figure, the blonde vanishing into thin air with a smug grin, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions and a lingering sense of bewildered annoyance. It was like being handed a puzzle with half the pieces missing and then being told, "Good luck!"


    She considered Florence''s helpfulness ¨C or rather, the distinct lack thereof. Talking with her was akin to finding yourself stranded in a thorny wilderness, desperately needing toilet paper, and discovering that the only option available was a particularly aggressive patch of nettles.


    Not exactly ideal.


    Bathilda sighed, the sound lost in the wind. Ranting about Florence''s infuriating nature wouldn''t get her any closer to understanding the current demonic predicament. She glanced at Flo, whose summer dress, a confection of pastel hues, fluttered playfully in the breeze. The sheer innocence of her appearance was almost comical, considering the power she wielded.


    "Alright, little one," Bathilda said, her voice laced with amusement, "how about we take a break? I''m starting to think my stomach is trying to negotiate a peace treaty with my spine."


    "Lunch?" Flo asked, her voice a sweet, clear chime.


    "Lunch it is!" Bathilda replied, a smile tugging at her lips. "And maybe some¡­ strategizing."


    They descended gracefully, landing in a sun-drenched clearing beside a babbling river. The air was filled with the gentle hum of insects and the sweet scent of wildflowers. It was a picture-perfect picnic spot, a stark contrast to the chaos they were headed towards.


    "Right," Bathilda said, rubbing her hands together, "let''s get this show on the road." With a flick of her wrist, she invoked her (Creation) and (Clone+) skills. The former conjured a vibrant checkered blanket, a wicker basket overflowing with delectable treats, and a full picnic spread that would make even the most discerning gourmet weep. The latter produced a perfect duplicate of Bathilda to set off and scout the area ahead.


    Clone+ has leveled up


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    Bathilda grinned. She hadn''t leveled in a while. The skill finally rewarded effort, she thought. She only used it for the persistent clone dedicated to the layabout Hiro, and even that clone mostly just¡­ existed. She sent the new one off with a comically large sandwich, a silent apology for her lack of picnic privileges.


    "Woah, woah, woah!" Bathilda exclaimed, snatching a bottle of wine from Flo''s tiny hands. "Not for you, little one." She paused, then added, "Or me, for that matter. I don''t even know why I made this," she chuckled, blaming Hiro and his love for her creations.


    The last two times she''d participated in her favourite stress-relieving activity, she had passed out after the first sip. Another curse forced on her through magical BS.


    Magic BS? The words echoed in her mind, a half-formed thought coalescing into a tangible concept. It was there, a fleeting idea on the precipice of realization.


    "Yes!" she exclaimed, her voice ringing out through the clearing, startling Flo, who was mid-bite and nearly choked on a piece of apple. After ensuring she was alright, Bathilda focused, invoking (Creation) once more.


    Necklace of Tolerance


    - Grants the wearer complete immunity to the negative effects of alcohol consumption. If the necklace is removed while affected, the immunity is lost.


    Instead of her usual rings, Bathilda opted for a necklace. She was growing tired of the repetitive nature of ring creation. A masterpiece of white diamonds, intricately woven together, materialized in her hands. A single, vibrant red gem, pulsating with an inner light, sat at its center.


    It was a piece of exquisite beauty, the kind of regalia fit for royalty. And Bathilda, titled ''Queen of Monsters'', certainly qualified. Still, she resolved to abstain from testing its efficacy until her return. It wouldn''t do to set a poor example by passing out in the middle of the forest drunk.


    The wine was swiftly banished, replaced by a tall glass of ice-cold orange juice, its condensation beading on the glass. Flo accepted it with a delighted giggle, her eyes sparkling. They settled onto the checkered blanket, the gentle gurgle of the river providing a soothing backdrop to their meal.


    The feast commenced, a symphony of flavors and textures: crisp sandwiches filled with savory meats and fresh vegetables, sweet fruits bursting with juice, and delicate pastries melting in their mouths.


    Bathilda watched Flo, her heart swelling with an inexplicable warmth. "Mom," she''d called her. It was a simple word, but it resonated with a power that Bathilda couldn''t quite explain. She loved it, the way it rolled off Flo''s tongue, the innocent affection it conveyed.


    As they ate, Bathilda tried to find meaning in the information Florence had given her. A new Demon King, a vague threat, and then¡­ nothing. "So," Bathilda said, her voice thoughtful, "a new Demon King. That''s¡­ interesting. Any idea what this they''re planning?"


    Flo shrugged, her mouth full of sandwich. "The usual. Just¡­ Boom! Demon King! Doom and gloom. All who stare upon me shall perish. And all that," she added for clarity.


    "Right," Bathilda sighed. "Boom. Demon King. That''s helpful. Thank you, Flo." She still praised the little one regardless.


    After lunch, they lingered for a while, basking in the warm sunshine and enjoying the tranquil atmosphere. Bathilda felt a sense of peace she hadn''t experienced in a long time. But the looming threat of the new Demon King still hung in the air, a dark cloud on the horizon.


    "Alright," she said, rising to her feet, "time to get back on the road. We need to figure out what''s going on, and fast."


    With a shared nod, they took to the skies once more, heading towards Bathilda''s old cave, the place where her second life had begun. It was a place of misery, a place of dread, but hopefully, a place where they could find some answers.

 Echoes of Evolution

    The concept of strength, once a simple, linear progression in Bathilda''s mind, a mere measure of muscle and ferocity, had been utterly shattered. It wasn''t merely about physical prowess anymore, not after the dizzying, vertiginous climb through levels and evolutions that had redefined her very existence. As a (Higher Vampire), she was a testament to exponential, almost ludicrous growth, a being whose very statistics seemed to mock the natural order, rising with each hard-won level like a tsunami against a child''s sandcastle.


    The raw, unbridled power she now wielded was terrifying, even to her. The ability to bisect titans ¨C colossal figures that echoed legends of King Kong, Godzilla, and that bizarre, enigmatic turtle she had yet to definitively (Identify) ¨C to utterly (Obliterate) them from existence with a mere flick of her wrist, felt less like a triumphant validation and more like a crushing, inescapable burden. It was a power that demanded constant, unwavering control, a force that threatened to consume her, to reduce her to a mindless engine of destruction, if she wasn''t perpetually vigilant.


    The past few months had offered a welcome, albeit fragile, respite. A return to a semblance of normalcy, or at least, the closest approximation possible in a world teeming with monstrous creatures and unpredictable magical phenomena. She had deliberately, consciously refrained from indulging in her destructive capabilities, a calculated effort to distance herself from the killing machine she had been forced to become. It was a role imposed upon her, a grim necessity born from the brutal, unforgiving realities of her second life.


    Her journey had begun in the most precarious, vulnerable of circumstances: a blind, helpless Baby Wingtail, the world''s smallest, most pitiful bat, stranded in a realm populated by creatures far larger, far more predatory, far more terrifying than herself. Every moment was a desperate, frantic struggle for survival, a desperate scramble to avoid becoming another monster''s fleeting meal.


    The memory of that initial, paralyzing vulnerability, of being surrounded by the monstrous, unknowable unknown, still sent chilling shivers down her spine, a spectral reminder of her fragile beginnings.


    The fall into the pit with the Millisnake, once a terrifying ordeal that seemed to stretch into an eternity of fear and desperation, now felt like a distant, almost dreamlike memory, a faded echo of a nightmare. The desperate struggle, the frantic gnashing of her tiny fangs, the desperate surge of adrenaline as she finally felled the beast, the subsequent, exhilarating level up, the first, intoxicating taste of evolution ¨C it was a pivotal moment, a turning point that had irrevocably set her on this extraordinary, often terrifying path.


    From the vulnerable Baby Wingtail, she had evolved into a Poisonous Bat, then a Bloodsucking Bat, and finally a Vampire Bat, each transformation marked by a brutal, life-or-death confrontation, each step a testament to her tenacity. The battle against Tarb, the Bart King, hadn''t been harrowing, but a desperate, visceral annihilation in a world where only the strongest, the most ruthless, survived. Every other victory was hard-won, every evolution a testament to her unwavering resilience, her stubborn refusal to succumb.


    Then came the confrontation with the King Slime, a gelatinous entity that had tested the very limits of her endurance, pushing her beyond what she thought possible. The victory was a culmination of everything she had learned, a hard-earned milestone that finally granted her the (Lesser Vampire) evolution and, with it, a taste of freedom, a glimpse of the power that lay within.


    Did all that really happen? Bathilda found herself wondering, the memories playing out like a surreal, hyper-realistic film reel in her mind. Had her life truly been that arduous, that fraught with peril, that constantly on the edge of oblivion?


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    The answer, undeniably, was yes. Every step of her journey had been a trial by fire. A relentless gauntlet that had forged her, tempered her, into the being she was today.


    And now, she was a (Higher Vampire), an apex predator, the culmination of every struggle, every victory, every evolution. She was stronger than anything she had ever faced, stronger even than the Demon King, a being once considered the pinnacle of power, a symbol of absolute, terrifying might.


    Her gaze fell upon Flo, the miniature version of herself, the Demon King she had adopted, her daughter. Flo, with her wide, innocent eyes and playful demeanor, was a stark, almost comical contrast to the fearsome reputation of her title, a living paradox. Their confrontation hadn''t been a battle, but a plea for help, a desperate cry from a being overwhelmed by her own power, a soul adrift in a sea of overwhelming potential.


    But what will the next one be like? Bathilda wondered, a flicker of apprehension mixed with a strange, almost unsettling sense of anticipation. The world was a vast, unpredictable place, filled with creatures and forces beyond her comprehension, beyond the scope of her current understanding. She knew that her journey was far from over, that new trials and tribulations awaited her, that the path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty.


    She reflected on the profound change within herself. The initial blind rage, the desperate need to survive, had slowly, painstakingly given way to a more nuanced, complex understanding of her power. She wasn''t just a killing machine anymore, a mindless instrument of destruction. She was a guardian, a protector, a being capable of both immense, terrifying destruction and profound, unexpected compassion. Not a nurse, she reminded herself, but a being capable of offering aid.


    The weight of her power was a constant, tangible presence, a reminder of the immense responsibility that came with it. She knew that she couldn''t simply retreat into isolation, that she had a role to play in this chaotic, unpredictable world. The creatures she had encountered, the lives she had touched, had all shaped her, molded her into the person she was today, a being of complex contradictions.


    She thought of the citizens, the ones that looked to her for protection, the ones that saw her not as a monster, but as a beacon of hope, a symbol of resilience. It was for that she would continue to fight, to strive, to evolve. Bathilda would use her power not to dominate, but to protect, to create a world where even the weakest could find safety, where fear was not the only emotion.


    The memory of the paralyzing fear she felt when she was a blind, tiny bat was still vivid, a stark reminder of her humble beginnings. It was a reminder of how far she had come, and how much she had overcome. Now, she would use the strength she had gained to ensure that others wouldn''t have to experience that same terror, that same vulnerability.


    The world was still filled with monsters, both literal and metaphorical, both external and internal. But she was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, to embrace her power, and to forge her own destiny, to write her own narrative.


    She had transformed, irrevocably, from the terrified creature she once was. The blind, trembling bat had evolved into something more, something powerful, a force for good in a world desperately in need of it.


    Flo, her adopted daughter, had also blossomed under her guidance, transcending the limitations of her title. She was more than the Demon King; she was a beloved child, a cherished friend, a vibrant soul, a symbol of hope. Bathilda watched her with a quiet pride, knowing that she had helped nurture a being of immense potential, a being capable of both power and compassion, a being who could change the world.


    The thought of the new Demon King, whoever they might be, brought a flicker of hope, a spark of optimism. Perhaps, she mused, a fresh, untainted soul, unburdened by the weight of centuries, could be reasoned with. Perhaps, she could find a way to forge a peace, a fragile truce in a world steeped in conflict, a world perpetually on the brink.


    Bathilda would extend a hand, not a fist, and hope that it would be met with understanding, with empathy. She would use her experiences to guide, not to rule. She would try to build a better world, one interaction at a time, one act of compassion at a time, one hope at a time.

 A Vampires Return

    The repetitive grind of "Are we there yet?" had become a rhythmic drone in Bathilda''s ears, a maddening counterpoint to the rustling of the wind. Flo had asked the question with the tenacity of a persistent mosquito, each utterance laced with a growing impatience that bordered on outright disbelief.


    "I think so. I''m pretty sure that''s the one," Bathilda repeated, her voice a low murmur against the oppressive silence. The mountain loomed before them, a jagged, grey monolith against the bruised twilight sky. It was a scar upon the landscape, its peak abruptly truncated, as if a colossal blade had sliced away a significant portion. The jagged edge, the raw, exposed rock, it was a familiar and unsettling sight.


    "You said that last time," Flo retorted, her words drawn out, each syllable a testament to her dwindling patience. The child''s skepticism was a tangible thing, a weight that hung heavy in the air. Bathilda understood. The previous two mountains had been echoes of the one she sought, false leads in a labyrinth of her own memories. Each time, a flicker of recognition had sparked, only to be extinguished by the cold, hard reality of being wrong.


    This time, however, the familiarity was visceral. The mountain''s disfigurement was a brutal reminder of her past self, a raw display power. It was here, in this desolate place, that she had tested the limits of her strength, the raw, untamed force of (Wing Slash+). The memory of the energy unleashed, the sheer, destructive power, was as vivid as if it had happened moments ago.


    "I''m sure," Bathilda insisted, her voice firm, unwavering. "Let''s go."


    They descended, the air growing colder and heavier as they approached the mountain''s base. The landing was rough, the ground uneven and scattered with loose stones. The entrance, a dark, gaping maw, seemed to swallow the fading light, promising only deeper darkness within.


    "Really, really sure?" Flo persisted, her small voice echoing in the growing silence. The child''s eyes, wide and luminous, held a mixture of fear and reluctant trust.


    "I promise," Bathilda said, meeting Flo''s gaze. "I remember testing my skills here and creating that damage." She gestured towards the severed peak, the jagged scar a stark reminder of the power she had wielded. Flo remained skeptical, her expression a mask of doubt, but she followed Bathilda into the darkness, her small hand gripping the hem of Bathilda''s dress.


    The entrance opened into a network of tunnels, damp and claustrophobic. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and something else, something acrid and unsettling. It was the smell of decay, of death lingering in the shadows. The memory of her desperate escape, the fear that had driven her through these very tunnels, was a phantom limb, a constant reminder of her vulnerability.


    They reached the chamber where she had faced the King Slime, a monument to her past struggles. The smell here was particularly pungent, a miasma of musty earth and rotting ooze. Flo wrinkled her nose, her eyes watering.


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    "It smells in here," she complained, her voice a thin, reedy sound in the oppressive silence.


    "You''ll get used to it," Bathilda said, her voice wrapped in comfort. She remembered the stench, the suffocating miasma that had clung to her like a shroud. It was the smell of fear, of desperation, of the countless creatures that had perished within these walls.


    The fact that she was willingly returning to this place, this prison of her past self, was not lost on her. It was a confrontation, a test of her newfound strength. She was no longer the frightened creature that had fled these tunnels. She was a (Higher Vampire), a being of immense power, capable of wielding the very forces of life and death.


    The thought of facing the Demon King, of confronting the source of the evil that permeated this place, sent a shiver down her spine. But it was a shiver of anticipation, not of fear. She would not beg, she would not plead. She would offer him a chance, a single opportunity to embrace a different path. And if he refused, if he chose to cling to his darkness, she would (Obliterate) him, erase him from existence.


    They continued through the labyrinthine tunnels, the darkness deepening, the silence growing more profound. The path led them to a dead end, a cul-de-sac where the echoes of a brutal battle still lingered. This was where the Alto and the Brat had fought, their struggle a desperate dance of death. The air here was thick with a residual energy, a faint echo of the violence that had unfolded. A kill stolen and pursuit given.


    The dead end forced them back, retracing their steps to the spilt. From there, the path led to the pit, a gaping chasm that plunged into the depths of the mountain. The tunnels on the other side, the ones that had once teemed with Brats, were empty, a testament to her past carnage.


    The pit was the only way forward.


    Down.


    They descended, the air growing colder and heavier with each step. The smell of death intensified, a nauseating stench that clung to the back of their throats. At the bottom of the pit, the remnants of her massacre lay scattered, the decaying bodies of the Brats a gruesome testament to her power.


    Two tunnels branched off from the bottom of the pit. One was choked with the rotting remains of the Barts, a macabre charnel house. The other was empty, a dark, silent passage into the unknown.


    Bathilda looked at Flo, her eyes searching the child''s face. Flo''s expression was a mixture of revulsion and disgust, but there was also a flicker of curiosity, a morbid fascination with the macabre scene before them. She knew which path the child would prefer.


    Without a word, she led Flo into the empty tunnel, the darkness swallowing them whole. The air was thick with a palpable tension, a feeling that they were venturing into the heart of something ancient and malevolent. The silence was broken only by the soft rustle of their footsteps and the rhythmic drip of water, a constant reminder of the unseen depths that surrounded them.


    The tunnel twisted and turned, descending deeper into the mountain''s core. The air grew colder, the darkness more profound. Bathilda''s senses, heightened by her vampiric nature, were able to pierce the veil of darkness, but she couldn''t detect any sign of life, any hint of the Demon King''s presence.


    The feeling of being watched, of being hunted, intensified. The silence was no longer empty; it was filled with unseen eyes, with the whispers of unseen entities. Bathilda''s nails extended. She was ready. Ready to face whatever horrors awaited her in the depths of the mountain. Ready to confront the darkness that had haunted her for so long.


    The journey was a descent into the heart of her own fear, a confrontation with the shadows that lurked within her soul. But she was no longer the frightened creature that had fled these tunnels. She was Bathilda, a (Higher Vampire), and she would not be denied.

 Solitude and Shadowed Depths

    The silence in the cabin, once a comforting blanket, had morphed into a taut, unsettling hum. After Bathilda and Flo¡¯s departure, the weight of their mission settled upon Hiro like a physical burden, a persistent ache in his borrowed, cloned form. Relaxation, a state he¡¯d previously mastered, became an elusive phantom, chased but never caught.


    He¡¯d tried the usual remedies. The cabin, a rustic haven nestled snuggly within the forest outside Home, was designed for tranquility. Its cozy interior, with its stone fireplace and plush furniture, should have been a sanctuary. But the very elements meant to soothe now amplified his anxieties. The crackling fire sounded like distant battles, the gentle breeze rustling the trees like whispered warnings.


    The entertainment system, a marvel of Bathilda¡¯s magically enhanced technology, offered a vast library of films. He selected a fantasy epic, a tale of a valiant hero facing a monstrous dragon. Yet, the narrative, intended to distract, only served to heighten his worries. The dragon, a symbol of primal power and destruction, mirrored the Demon King they sought to vanquish.


    Hiro saw Flo¡¯s determined face, young but resolute, and Bathilda¡¯s unwavering gaze, a shield against the darkness. The film¡¯s triumphant climax, where the hero vanquished the beast, offered a fleeting moment of hope, but it quickly faded, replaced by the gnawing uncertainty of their real-life quest.


    He sought solace in the sauna, the dry heat meant to melt away tension. But the stillness, the absence of conversation, allowed his thoughts to spiral. The silence became a canvas for his fears, each tick of the clock a countdown to an unknown outcome. He imagined Bathilda and Flo facing unimaginable horrors, battling hordes of demonic creatures, beneath the mountain. He pictured the Demon King, a being of power, their malevolent aura casting a long shadow over the land.


    Days bled into one another, each marked by a growing sense of isolation. The initial confidence, the belief that Bathilda¡¯s ring would sustain him, began to erode. He¡¯d knew the ring maintained the clone, ensuring his existence as long as the original lived. But what if she fell? What if the ring¡¯s magic faltered? The thought of his borrowed form dissolving into nothingness, of ceasing to exist, or worse, going back to Paradise, filled him with a cold dread. He paced the cabin, his footsteps echoing in the empty rooms, a constant reminder of his solitude.


    The cabin''s windows, usually a source of scenic beauty, became portals to a world he couldn¡¯t reach. He watched the sun rise and set, the changing hues of the sky a stark contrast to the darkness that threatened to engulf his thoughts. The forest surrounding the cabin, once a place of serene beauty, now seemed to hold hidden dangers, unseen eyes watching his every move.


    The arrival of Diplomat Jones was a welcome reprieve. The ginger-haired man with rio many freckles, a master of diplomacy and a connoisseur of fine wines, brought with him a sense of normalcy, a temporary escape from Hiro¡¯s anxieties. Jones, with his jovial demeanor and endless supply of anecdotes, was a master of distraction. He¡¯d arrival prompted the need for a bottle of Bathilda¡¯s finest red wine, a vintage imbued with subtle magical enhancements.


    The afternoon unfolded like a scene from a forgotten play, a tableau of laughter and shared stories. Jones, with his diplomatic training, knew how to steer the conversation away from sensitive topics, focusing instead on lighthearted tales of his patrols and encounters with various councilmen. The wine, rich and full-bodied, loosened Hiro¡¯s tongue, allowing him to momentarily forget his worries.


    They sat on the porch, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cabin¡¯s weathered wood. Jones, with his innate charm, had a way of making even the most mundane stories sound captivating.


    Hiro, caught up in the moment, found himself laughing along, his anxieties momentarily forgotten. The wine, with its subtle magical properties, enhanced the feeling of relaxation, easing the tension that had been gripping him for days. He felt a sense of camaraderie, a connection to the world outside the cabin¡¯s walls.


    As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Jones prepared to depart. He stood, a slight sway to his gait, his face flushed with the effects of the wine. He offered Hiro a warm handshake, his eyes filled with genuine concern. ¡°Take care, Hiro,¡± he said, his voice sincere. ¡°Bathilda and Flo will be fine. They¡¯re both strong, capable women.¡±


    Hiro nodded, his gratitude palpable. Jones¡¯s visit had been a lifeline, a reminder that he wasn¡¯t alone. As Jones disappeared into the twilight, Hiro returned to the porch, the empty wine bottle a testament to their shared afternoon.


    The afterglow of Jones¡¯s visit lingered, a warm, comforting presence. Hiro felt a sense of calm he hadn¡¯t experienced in days. He sank into the plush cushions of the couch, the fading sunlight casting a golden glow across the room. He took another sip of the remaining wine, savoring its rich, complex flavor.


    ¡°Bathilda¡¯s got Flo with her,¡± he murmured, his voice filled with newfound confidence. ¡°She¡¯ll be fine.¡± He put his feet up, the tension finally draining from his body. The sunlight flickered through the cabin¡¯s window, casting dancing patterns on the walls. He closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of the wine and the lingering sense of camaraderie to wash over him.


    He thought of Bathilda, her strength, her determination, her unwavering belief in their mission. He remembered her words, her reassurances, her unwavering confidence in her abilities. He pictured Flo, her youthful enthusiasm, her unwavering loyalty, her determination to prove herself. He knew they could be facing a formidable challenge, but he also knew they were capable of overcoming it.


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    He thought of the ring, the magical marker that kept him stable. He felt a sense of reassurance, a belief that it would hold, that it would keep him safe. He pictured Bathilda, her magical prowess, her ability to weave intricate spells, her unwavering commitment to protecting those she cared about.


    He remembered the cabin, its rustic charm, its tranquil atmosphere. He thought of the forest, its ancient trees, its hidden pathways. He felt a sense of connection to the natural world, a sense of peace that transcended his anxieties.


    He drifted off to sleep, his mind filled with images of Bathilda and Flo, their faces illuminated by the light of their courage. He dreamed of their triumphant return, of their victory over the Demon King, of their shared celebration. He dreamed of a future where peace and harmony reigned, where the darkness had been vanquished. He slept soundly, his anxieties finally at bay, his heart filled with hope.


    <hr>


    The oppressive silence of the path hung heavy, broken only by the crunch of their feet against the gravelly terrain.


    "How is the Demon King here? It makes no sense," Bathilda complained, her voice a low grumble that echoed faintly against the tunnel walls. They had been trudging through the cave for what felt like an eternity, the path winding deeper into the mountain''s shadowed heart. The landscape remained stubbornly unchanged, a monotonous tableau of grey rock. Twenty minutes, or perhaps an hour, had bled into a featureless, agonizing crawl.


    "It makes sense to me," Flo replied, her voice surprisingly steady, considering her diminutive stature. She skipped ahead, her slight frame casting a fleeting shadow against the dull light. "With all the dead here, there''s thousands of potential for summoning."


    Bathilda paused, her brow furrowed in confusion. How could a child, seemingly so innocent, possess such morbid knowledge? Then, a chilling realization washed over her. Flo wasn''t just any child. She was a being forged in the crucible of destruction, a creature who had, in a twisted, involuntary cycle, decimated the world for a millennia.


    "How... how do you know that?" Bathilda asked, her voice laced with a mixture of dread and curiosity.


    Flo turned, her eyes, usually bright and playful, now reflecting a chilling, ancient wisdom. "I''ve seen it before." She paused, her gaze drifting to the bleak landscape. "Death is a powerful catalyst. It lingers, it festers, it calls to those who crave its energy."


    Bathilda shuddered, the weight of Flo''s past pressing down on her like a physical burden. "I know we haven''t really talked about it much," she began, her voice tentative, "but how much do you remember from back then?" It was a delicate question, a probe into the depths of a scarred soul. The timing was far from ideal, but the presence of a new Demon King, the very embodiment of the forces Flo had once served, demanded answers.


    Flo''s expression softened, her gaze drifting to the jewelry that adorned her finger. "Not a lot, thanks to the ring you gave me," she said, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into the metal. "It... it keeps the memories at bay. But I do remember my summoning."


    She paused, her eyes clouding with a distant, haunting recollection. "It was a ritual," she began, her voice a low murmur. "Cultists. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. They chanted, danced, their voices a mixture of madness. And the sacrifices... there were so many sacrifices. Their blood stained the ground, their screams echoed through the night. Then, I was born."


    Bathilda felt a wave of revulsion wash over her. The image of the ritual, the sheer depravity of it, was sickening.


    Flo continued, her voice devoid of emotion, as if narrating a distant, detached event. "Immediately after, there was a second ritual. One meant to bind me, to enslave me. To make me their weapon, their tool of destruction. They wanted to control me, to unleash me upon their enemies."


    Her voice faltered, a flicker of pain crossing her features. "But they messed it up. Two runes, in the wrong location. That''s all it took. Destroy and obedience, misplaced. Instead of being obedient to the cultists, I became a slave to destruction itself. I was bound to the annihilation of everything."


    The silence that followed was heavy, laden with the weight of Flo''s tragic past. Bathilda reached out, her hand trembling slightly, and wrapped her arms around the small figure. "Oh, Flo," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I''m so sorry."


    Flo leaned into the embrace, her small body trembling. "It''s okay," she murmured, her voice muffled against Bathilda''s shoulder. "I''m free now. Thanks to you, Mother."


    Bathilda tightened her embrace, her heart aching for the child she had come to love. "You''re safe now," she whispered. "You''re free from all that."


    Flo smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that lit up her face. "I know," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "I''m happy. I have you."


    The moment of tenderness was shattered by the sudden change in the atmosphere. The air grew thick and heavy, charged with an oppressive heat. The ground trembled beneath their feet, a low, guttural rumble echoing through the mountain.


    They rounded a bend in the path and found themselves standing before a gaping maw, a cavernous entrance that plunged into the mountain''s fiery core. The air shimmered with heat, the stench of sulfur stinging their nostrils.


    The cave was a hellish vista, a landscape of raw, untamed fire. Rivers of molten magma snaked through the cavern, their fiery glow casting an eerie red light across the jagged rock walls. The air thrummed with the raw energy of the earth''s core, a primal force that resonated deep within their bones.


    In the center of the cavern, surrounded by a churning sea of flames, was a small island of obsidian rock. And upon that island, stood the Demon King.


    He was a figure of terrifying majesty, his form wreathed in shadows and flames. His eyes, burning embers in the darkness, fixed upon them with an intensity that sent shivers down Bathilda''s spine. His horns, like twisted branches of obsidian, rose from his brow, reaching towards the cavern''s ceiling. His presence was a palpable force, a wave of malevolent energy that threatened to overwhelm them.


    He was not merely standing there, he exuded power. The air around him shimmered, distorting the very light, as if reality itself bent to his will. The heat was unbearable, a suffocating blanket of fire that made it hard to breathe. The magma roared, spitting plumes of fire into the air, a chaotic symphony of destruction that echoed the Demon King''s own nature.


    He raised a hand, a gesture that was both regal and menacing. The flames around him flared, their light intensifying, casting his form in stark relief. His voice, a low, guttural growl, echoed through the cavern, and then he started crying. Bathilda ground to a halt.


    "You have got to be shitting me!?"

 Florences Folly

    Bathilda''s jaw ached, a testament to the teeth-grinding frustration that had taken root within her. It wasn''t the arduous trek through the mountain, a labyrinth of twisting, winding tunnels, that had her so incensed. Nor was it the lingering dampness that clung to her skin. No, the source of her ire was far more specific, far more infuriating: Florence.


    Florence, the celestial equivalent of a gossiping magpie, a being who flitted in and out of Bathilda''s life with the regularity of a poorly timed monsoon, always bearing catastrophically unhelpful information. A celestial courier of confusion, a purveyor of preposterous pronouncements. And now, Florence had outdone herself.


    The mission, as Florence had relayed, was straightforward, if brutal: eliminate the Demon King, a being of immense power and malevolent intent, a scourge upon this unsuspecting world. But the reality, as it so often did, deviated wildly from Florence''s abridged description.


    After a second, grueling traverse of the mountain, a journey that felt less like a simple hike and more like a descent into some verdant, sentient maw, Bathilda finally stood before her supposed adversary. And what she saw was¡­ pathetic.


    The Demon King, a title that conjured images of towering infernal majesty, was a weeping, blubbering child. His cerulean hair, a shade of vibrant blue that seemed almost luminous in the light, was plastered to his forehead with tears and mucus. His equally blue eyes, wide and brimming with terror, were fixed on Bathilda and Florence with a desperate, pleading gaze. Miniature horns, barely more than bumps, protruded from his scalp, a comically underwhelming display of demonic power. His regalia, a scaled-down version of what one might expect a full-fledged Demon King to wear, hung loosely on his diminutive frame, a testament to his premature ascension.


    The moment he registered their presence, the already small figure seemed to shrink further, his shoulders hunching, his whimpers escalating. It was a spectacle of utter, abject fear.


    "The Hero!" he wailed, his voice a high-pitched tremor. Bathilda even turned as he did so. Not that she needed to since he was pointing at her.


    It took a considerable amount of time, patience, and soothing words, a task that felt profoundly absurd given the circumstances, but Bathilda finally managed to calm the distraught child. His story, when it finally emerged, was a tangled web of bewilderment and innocence.


    He was Bob.


    Bob, the Demon King.


    And, as if the universe had decided to play a particularly cruel joke on her, Bob was a reincarnation, courtesy of the very same "philanthropic asshole" who had sent Bathilda to this world: God.


    "Why are they trying to make me kill him?" Bathilda muttered, her voice a low growl that echoed through the silent forest. The absurdity of the situation pressed down on her, a suffocating weight of confusion and suspicion. This wasn''t a battle against a monstrous tyrant; it was an execution of a frightened child.


    "It doesn''t make sense." The pieces didn''t fit. The narrative was fractured, the motives obscured. There was a deliberate, malicious intent lurking beneath the surface, a puppet show orchestrated by unseen hands. Florence''s shit information, Bob''s unexpected innocence, the divine intervention ¨C it all coalesced into a suspicion as sharp and cold as a winter wind.


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    Shenanigans.


    That was the only word that adequately described the situation. But what kind of shenanigans? What was the purpose of this elaborate charade? Bathilda didn''t know, but she would find out.


    "So you know Florence then?" she repeated, her voice a low, dangerous purr. The Demon King offered a quick nod. Bathilda''s eyes, however, didn''t waver from him, but rather seemed to bore through him, seeking the truth hidden beneath his placid exterior. "And what exactly," she continued, each word laced with her growing annoyance, "did she say to you?"


    The Demon King recounted his bizarre journey with a surprising lack of dramatic flair. He had, as he put it, "kicked the bucket" on Earth, a victim of his own insatiable appetite for digital escapism. After a week-long marathon of a newly released virtual reality game, his heart, strained beyond its limits, had finally given out. He found himself, much to his bewilderment, in a place described as Paradise, a realm of ethereal beauty and serene tranquility.


    There, amidst the shimmering clouds, the hot tubs, and gentle whispers of eternal bliss, he was presented with a choice, a choice eerily similar to the one Bathilda had faced: remain in the idyllic embrace of Paradise or embark on a new life, a random reincarnation in a world brimming with the promise of magic.


    The allure of wielding arcane power, the very concept of magic, was too potent for the young, game-obsessed Bob to resist. He eagerly chose reincarnation, his heart pounding with the anticipation of fantastical adventures. Completely missing the part where they explained he had no say in the process.


    However, his enthusiasm was swiftly extinguished upon his arrival. A cold, mechanical voice, the "system" as it called itself, informed him of his new, rather inconvenient, title: Demon King. His assigned task, the purpose of his reincarnation, was nothing less than the utter destruction of the world he now inhabited.


    He was only twelve.


    The Vampire''s face contorted with a rage that seemed to emanate from the very depths of her soul. "I''m going to murder her," she hissed, her voice a low growl that resonated with raw fury. "I know she''s already dead, but just you wait till I see Florence." Her words hung in the air, a chilling promise of retribution.


    Little did she know, in a sunlit corner of the ethereal realm, the catalyst of her ire was engaged in a giggling gossip session with God, sharing "hilarious" stories of mortal confusion.


    Bathilda, if she had been granted the title of Demon King, would have undoubtedly used that power for good, to protect the innocent and vanquish evil. The thought of such power being wasted on a reclusive gamer filled her with a frustrating mix of exasperation and determination. She resolved to guide Bob, to mold him into a force for good, a protector rather than a destroyer. Like she had with Flo.


    This, however, was a daunting task. Bob, in his previous life, was a quintessential NEET, a recluse whose existence revolved around the glow of a computer screen. His understanding of the world was filtered through the lens of fantasy games and online forums. The concept of leadership, of responsibility, was as foreign to him as a sunny day in a cave.


    Bathilda knew that persuading Bob wouldn''t be hard. It was going to be harder to get him back to her cabin than have him give up world domination. The young boy being outside averse.


    But the seed of her wrath had been planted.


    The mere mention of Florence ignited a fire within her. If she discovered that Florence was the architect of Bob''s predicament, the instigator of his destructive destiny, then the ethereal realms would witness a storm unlike any they had ever seen.


    If the process wasn''t random?


    The gossiping magpie would learn the true meaning of thunder, the devastating power of a woman scorned, a woman who had seen the darkest corners of existence, and who would not tolerate being manipulated from beyond the veil.

 The Weight of Two Kings

    The wind whipped around Bathilda. A constant, whispering reminder of the vast landscape stretching beneath them. Below, traces of civilization had been reduced to a patchwork of overgrown ruins and shadowed forests, a testament to the Flo''s reign. Yet, amidst that desolation, a single beacon shone: Home, now a resilient ember against the darkness.


    Bathilda''s gaze drifted between the two figures flanking her. Bob, a boy barely into his teens, his youthful face still bearing the faint traces of the terror he had undergone before reincarnation, and Flo, her adopted daughter, a millennia-old spirit trapped in a child''s form. The incongruity of their presence, these two Demon Kings, now her charges, still stirred a sense of bewildered wonder within her.


    She had embarked on this mission with a singular purpose: to vanquish the new Demon King, to restore balance to a world teetering on the edge of oblivion. Instead, she was returning with two children, their destinies intertwined with her own, a twist of fate that defied all expectations.


    Flo, her daughter in every sense that mattered, had sought her aid, a plea for salvation from the burden of her demonic power. The bond they shared was profound, forged in shared experiences, mutual understanding, and the classroom.


    Bathilda had witnessed Flo''s struggle, her desperate attempt to reconcile her ancient spirit with the innocence of her current form. A millennia''s of accumulated power were a heavy weight for such a young girl. It would have been a constant battle against the darkness that threatened to consume her had it not been for Bathilda''s magic.


    Bob, however, was a different enigma. He had inherited the mantle of Demon King through a cruel twist of fate, a pawn in a game she barely understood herself. Unlike Flo, he hadn''t sought redemption; he had simply been adrift, a lost soul caught in a tempest of his own tears and snot.


    Bathilda''s decision to take him in had been impulsive, a flicker of compassion in the face of his bewildered helplessness. She saw not a monster, but a child, a victim of circumstance in need of guidance. The thought of leaving him to his own devices, to wander the ravaged world, was unbearable.


    Florence could go fuck herself.


    The journey back to Home was a silent procession, the rhythmic beat of the wind a counterpoint to the unspoken questions that hung in the air. Bathilda''s mind raced, grappling with the implications of her decision. What can I do for Bob? she thought. How would she integrate him into their already unconventional family?


    The thought of a gaming room, a sanctuary of digital escapism, had been a whimsical notion, a way to bridge the gap between his past life and his new reality. She knew that technology was a foreign concept in this world, a relic of a forgotten era. But her (Creation) magic, a force that could shape reality itself, held the potential to recreate the wonders of her past, to bring a semblance of normalcy to Bob''s life.


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    Yet, she was no fool. She understood the dangers of indulging his desires without discipline. Bob needed structure, guidance, a purpose beyond the fleeting pleasures of virtual worlds. Her lessons, a rigorous curriculum of magic, history, and philosophy, would be his foundation, a path towards self-discovery and mastery.


    She envisioned a balance, a delicate equilibrium between the thrill of gaming and the rigor of learning. The gaming rig would be his reward, a respite from the demands of his studies, a way to foster a sense of normalcy in his otherwise extraordinary life.


    But beneath the surface of her carefully crafted plans, a deeper concern lingered. Bob''s potential was immense, a raw, untamed power that could either illuminate the world or plunge it into darkness. She knew that he could choose to leave, to embrace the chaos that still lingered within him. He could gather strength, hone his demonic abilities, and one day, maybe even challenge her.


    The thought didn''t frighten her. She was a vampire, a creature of ancient power, forged in the fires of countless battles. The Monster Queen! She had faced far greater threats than a rebellious child. But the prospect of conflict with Bob, a child she had taken under her wing, was a source of profound sadness.


    She hoped that he would choose the path of knowledge, that he would embrace the opportunity to learn and grow, to become a force for good in a world desperately in need of heroes. But she also knew that the choice was his, and his alone.


    As they approached Home, the city''s walls rose from the forest like a beacon of hope, a testament to the resilience of humanity. The guards, once cowering behind the city''s defenses, now patrolled the surrounding forest, their confidence bolstered by the relative peace that had settled over the land and their rising levels.


    Bathilda''s heart swelled with pride. Home was more than just a sanctuary; it was a symbol of defiance, a testament to the enduring spirit of humanity. It was a place where even former Demon Kings could find redemption, where the scars of the past could be healed, and where the future could be forged anew.


    As they landed outside the city, a crowd gathered, their faces etched with curiosity and awe. Flo, accustomed to the attention, smiled and waved, her youthful charm disarming the onlookers. Bob, however, remained withdrawn, his gaze fixed on the ground, his posture tense.


    Bathilda placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, a silent promise of support. "Welcome home, Bob," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Your new life begins now."


    She knew that the road ahead would be challenging, fraught with uncertainties and unexpected twists. But she also knew that she was prepared, that she had the strength and wisdom to guide Bob, to nurture his potential, and to help him find his place in the world.


    If I had had someone like that, I wouldn''t have struggled so much. I wouldn''t have nearly died all those times either. She thought of Hiro, his aid... 50/50. Still, better than Florence''s.


    And as she looked at Flo and Bob, Bathilda realized that her journey had taken an unexpected turn, a detour that had led her to a destination far more fulfilling than she could have ever imagined. She had only wanted to help those in need, but she had started a family, a legacy that would endure long after the last vestiges of the demonic reign had faded into memory.

 The Monster Queens Children

    The digital battlefield crackled, a symphony of gunfire and frantic commands echoing in Bob''s headset. His fingers danced across the keyboard and mouse, a practiced ballet of precision and speed. The virtual world of "Apex Legends" shimmered before him, a desolate landscape of crumbling structures and treacherous terrain. Three teams remained, a tense standoff poised to erupt into a chaotic firefight.


    "Flank round to the right, I''m on the left side," he barked into the microphone, his voice a low growl of concentration. The two Americans, his unlikely allies, responded with terse acknowledgments, their voices tinged with the same adrenaline-fueled focus. It was a strange alliance, forged in the crucible of online combat, yet bound by a shared desire for victory. Bob still couldn''t quite wrap his head around how Bathilda, with her arcane abilities, had managed to bridge the digital divide, connecting him with these distant warriors.


    "One down, there''s two left inside," he announced, his crosshairs settling on a fleeing silhouette. The crack of his virtual rifle echoed through the headset, followed by the satisfying thud of a successful hit. "Clear," one of his teammates confirmed, the sound of reloading weapons punctuating his words.


    Only one team remained, the final hurdle between Bob and the coveted "Victory Royale." His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of his room. He was on the verge of his first win of the day, a sweet taste of triumph after a string of frustrating defeats. The early morning sun, filtering through the blinds, cast long shadows across his gaming setup, illuminating the intensity etched on his face.


    "Last house, last house," he directed, his eyes glued to the screen. A flicker of movement caught his attention, an enemy player darting into a dilapidated building. He urged his character forward, his footsteps echoing through the virtual streets. "There. Through the window. One down!"


    Just as the victory seemed within reach, the door to his room burst open, revealing the mischievous figure of Flo. "Why are you shouting so early in the morning?" she demanded, her voice a mix of annoyance and curiosity. "Oh, Mom''s going to be mad with you. You aren''t allowed computer before studies." Her ruby eyes, a stark contrast to her pale skin, gleamed with playful malice in the morning light.


    "Shut up, Flo. Get out of my room," Bob hissed, his concentration shattered. The intrusion was a jarring reminder of his reality, a world where the lines between the virtual and the real had become blurred. It had been a few months since Bathilda had brought Bob, the second Demon King, into their lives. Robert, once a lonely rich kid, had died in a freak accident, his father a distant figure consumed by his own pursuits. His mother, whom he never knew, had perished in childbirth.


    The absence of a biological family had made it easier for him to latch on to Bathilda''s affection, a warmth he had never experienced before. She showered both him and Flo with a love that was both fierce and tender, a love that transcended the boundaries of species and origin. Flo, with her infectious energy and playful nature, had already embraced Bathilda''s love with open arms, forming an unbreakable bond with their adoptive mother.


    Bob, however, still grappled with the complexities of their unconventional family. He was a Demon King, as was Flo, yet Bathilda, their mother, was a Higher Vampire. He wasn''t entirely versed in the intricacies of fantasy lore, but he was certain that Demon Kings were supposed to be more powerful than Vampires. Yet, Bathilda''s authority was absolute, her presence radiating a power that commanded respect.


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    "Nu-uh. I''m going to wake Mom up, right now," Flo giggled, her voice laced with the thrill of mischief. She turned to flee, her small feet pattering against the wooden floor.


    "Wait," Bob called out, his voice a desperate plea. He couldn''t afford to lose focus now, not when victory was so close. He fired a burst from his virtual rifle, eliminating another enemy player. His teammates, sensing the impending triumph, were swarming the building, their coordinated assault a whirlwind of destruction.


    Bathilda had given him a home, a family, a sanctuary from the loneliness that had haunted his previous life. She had provided him with a state-of-the-art gaming rig, a personal haven where he could escape into the immersive worlds of his favorite games. More importantly, she had spared his life, choosing to nurture him instead of ending him as she had initially planned.


    "I''ll let you have a turn next if you don''t tell Mom," he offered, his voice laced with a desperate urgency. The bribe hung in the air, a tempting morsel for Flo''s gaming-obsessed mind.


    Flo paused, her mischievous grin faltering. She was torn between her desire to be a good girl and her yearning for her brother''s approval. Her mother had also encouraged her to forge a stronger connection with Bob, a subtle nudge towards familial harmony.


    "Okay," she chimed, her voice filled with a newfound enthusiasm. She settled into the chair beside Bob, her eyes wide with anticipation as she watched him navigate the virtual battlefield.


    Bob''s focus returned, his movements precise and efficient. He was a whirlwind of destruction, a force of nature unleashed upon the enemy team. He moved with a practiced fluidity, anticipating their movements, predicting their strategies. His virtual rifle barked, his grenades exploded, and his enemies fell one by one.


    "Yes!"


    He was a boss, a legend. He was a force to be reckoned with. He was¡­


    "Robert!" Bathilda''s voice, sharp and commanding, echoed through the building, cutting through the digital cacophony. The victory screen flashed before him, a triumphant proclamation of his skill. But the joy was fleeting, overshadowed by the looming presence of his mother.


    He was¡­ in trouble.


    He slowly removed the headset, the sounds of the virtual world fading into the background. Bathilda stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowed, her expression a mask of stern disapproval. Her long, white hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her pale face. She radiated an aura of annoyance, a silent reminder of her true nature.


    "Robert, I told you, no gaming before your studies," she said, her voice low and even. "You know the rules."


    "But Mom, I was just going to show how Flo how to play," Bob protested, his voice laced with a hint of desperation. "And that was the final round."


    "That''s not an excuse," Bathilda replied, her voice firm. "You need to prioritize your education. You have a responsibility to learn and grow, to become more than just a gamer."


    "I know, Mom," Bob mumbled, his gaze falling to the floor. He knew she was right, but the allure of the virtual world was a powerful temptation.


    "Flo, you know you shouldn''t be encouraging him," Bathilda turned to her daughter. Flo looked guilty and slid off the chair.


    Bathilda sighed, her expression softening slightly. "Look, I understand that you enjoy gaming, but it''s important to have balance in your life. You have a bright future ahead of you, and I want to make sure you have the tools to achieve your goals."


    Bob nodded, his heart filled with a mixture of guilt and gratitude. He knew that Bathilda only wanted what was best for him, that her strictness stemmed from her deep love and concern.


    "I''m sorry, Mom," he said, his voice sincere. "I won''t do it again."


    Bathilda''s expression softened further, a hint of a smile gracing her lips. "Good," she said, her voice warm. "Now, go get ready for your studies. We''ll have a family game night later, if you''re good."


    Bob''s face lit up, a wave of relief washing over him. He knew that Bathilda''s love was unconditional, that even in her moments of sternness, she would always be there for him. He and Flo went to get ready, the tension in the air dissipating, replaced by the warmth of familial affection. He knew, no matter the challenges, he had a home, a family, and a mother who cared. And that was all that truly mattered.

 A Year of Gentle Melodies

    The rhythm of Bathilda''s existence, once a tempestuous symphony of isolation and fear, had settled into a gentle, almost domestic melody. A year had spun by, a year of hard-fought leveling and unexpected companionship. The most jarring note in this newfound harmony was, ironically, Bob.


    Bob, the newly minted Demon King, was a curious anomaly. He possessed the title, the potential, yet his heart was tethered to the pixelated realms of video games. His days were a blur of meticulously crafted quests, strategic firefights, and the euphoric rush of virtual victories.


    Bathilda, ever the indulgent matriarch, had provided him with a gaming rig that would make even the most dedicated enthusiast weep with envy. She''d watched, a bemused smile playing on her lips, as he navigated digital landscapes with an intensity that belied his inherent demonic power.


    The old Demon King, or rather, the fragmented consciousness that resided within Flo, had become an unexpected source of historical insight. She, now freed from the malevolent influence that had once twisted her purpose, was a hesitant collaborator, her memories flickering like candlelight in a draft. She contributed fragmented recollections, filling in the gaps in Bathilda¡¯s own knowledge about the figures who had once ruled this realm.


    Flo, herself, was a study in transformation. The once-vengeful entity was now a quiet, almost timid presence, her eyes reflecting a profound sense of remorse. She spent her days tending to the garden, her touch nurturing the vibrant flora with a gentle care that spoke of a soul seeking redemption.


    Bathilda, meanwhile, patiently guided Bob through the arcane arts, imparting the subtle nuances of magic, the intricate weaving of spells, and the raw, untamed power that pulsed within him. She also, with a touch of playful exasperation, dragged him into the nearby wilderness, forcing him to engage with the local monster population. While Bob grumbled about the chore of leveling up, Bathilda insisted that a Demon King should possess more than just virtual prowess.


    "Better safe than sorry," she''d often say, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "One never knows when a horde of particularly grumpy goblins might decide to throw a tantrum."


    Bob, despite his initial reluctance, had to admit that Bathilda''s power was awe-inspiring. Any creature they encountered, regardless of its size or ferocity, was instantly banished with a mere flick of her wrist. It was a stark reminder of the vast gulf between her abilities and his own, a fact that both intrigued and slightly intimidated him.


    The idea that a Vampire could wield such power, surpassing even a Demon King, was a puzzle he couldn''t quite solve. But he trusted Bathilda, implicitly. She had provided him with everything he could possibly desire: comfort, entertainment, and an unwavering affection that filled the void left by his absent father.


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    His father, back on Earth, was a distant figure, a man consumed by his own ambitions. Bob had often wondered if his father even knew he was gone, if he had even noticed his absence. The thought gnawed at him, a dull ache in his soul. One day, he voiced his anxieties to Bathilda, his voice thick with unspoken pain.


    Bathilda, her heart aching for the lost boy, enveloped him in a warm embrace. "It doesn''t matter," she whispered, her voice soothing and reassuring. "Everything is fine now. You''re safe here, with me."


    Then there was Hiro. Hiro, the enigmatic soul that had hitched a ride with Bathilda, was a constant source of wonder. An observer, a voyeur who seemed to absorb every detail of their lives. He was particularly drawn to Bob, often hovering near the Demon King as he immersed himself in his games.


    Hiro''s presence was most pronounced during Bob''s RPG sessions. He would watch for hours, his purple eyes fixed on the screen, his mind seemingly captivated by the intricate narratives and complex characters. He peppered Bob with questions, eager to unravel the lore and mechanics of each game. He was a storyteller at heart, a collector of tales, and he found the virtual worlds of Bob''s games to be a treasure trove of narratives.


    He also had a deep appreciation for cinema. Bathilda, ever the provider of entertainment, had created a vast library of films for him to enjoy. Hiro devoured them all, most often seen reclining in the plush seats of their private cinema. However, his enthusiasm for a certain animated ogre had reached a fever pitch, prompting Bathilda to discreetly remove the film from their collection. The phrase "Not the gumdrop buttons" had become a haunting refrain, echoing through their home.


    Life, in its quiet, uneventful way, was good. The days flowed into weeks, the weeks into months, and Bathilda found herself enjoying the tranquility of her existence. But then, the outside world intruded, disrupting the peaceful rhythm of her life.


    Diplomat Jones, a perpetually flustered and slightly harried representative of the Council, arrived with an official request. The Council, it seemed, desired another meeting. Almost a year had passed since their last encounter, and Bathilda realized that she hadn''t been to the city on a while.


    A sense of nostalgia washed over her. She missed the familiar sights and sounds of Home, the bustling streets, the vibrant energy that pulsed through the city. It might be a welcome change of pace.


    And, she had to admit, the fact that they called it a request, instead of a demand, was a pleasant surprise. It seemed that her previous actions had earned her a modicum of respect, or at least a healthy dose of caution.


    "They wish to discuss matters of mutual interest," Diplomat Jones stammered, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "They assure me that it will be a¡­ productive exchange."


    Bathilda raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on her lips. "Productive, you say?"


    "Yes, yes," Jones replied, his voice rising in pitch. "They are¡­ eager to hear your insights."


    Bathilda considered the offer. She had no desire to engage in another round of political maneuvering, but she also recognized the importance of maintaining a connection with the Council. She glanced at Bob, who was engrossed in a particularly intense gaming session, and then at Hiro, who was silently observing him.


    "Very well," she said, her voice decisive. "Tell them I will attend. But I will not tolerate any¡­ nonsense."


    Diplomat Jones breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Of course, of course," he said, his voice regaining its composure. "I will inform them immediately."


    As Jones departed, Bathilda turned to Bob. "We''re going on a trip," she announced, her voice filled with a hint of excitement.

 Home Communication

    The heavy oak doors of the council chamber seemed to amplify the silence that followed Elred¡¯s suggestion. A silence so thick, it felt like a physical presence, pressing against the eardrums of every council member.


    Old Elred, a man whose life had become synonymous with the city of Home, a man whose voice had once commanded respect and swayed decisions, had just shattered the fragile veneer of civility with a crude, almost barbaric suggestion.


    Bathilda, a woman whose presence in the council was as unexpected as a summer storm in winter, stood rigid, her eyes blazing like molten gold. The air around her crackled with an energy that made the hairs on the back of everyone¡¯s necks stand on end. Diplomat Jones, usually a picture of ginger composure, had gingerly paled, his carefully arranged papers trembling in his hands. The other council members, a collection of merchants, artisans, and bureaucrats, were frozen in their seats, their faces etched with a mixture of shock and dread.


    "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Bathilda¡¯s voice, though low, resonated through the chamber, each word a sharp, icy shard. The question hung in the air, a challenge that demanded an answer, an answer that Elred, in his hubris, was ill-equipped to provide.


    Attempting to salvage the situation, he stammered, "I¡­I merely meant that we should¡­examine them. Is it not better to take precautions?" His voice was weak, a mere whisper compared to Bathilda¡¯s thunderous pronouncement. He knew, as did everyone else, that the "them" he referred to were Bathilda¡¯s adopted children, two Demon Kings whose origins remained shrouded in mystery.


    Emboldened by his years of unchallenged authority, he had dared to suggest a course of action that was not only insensitive but utterly reckless. His words, a blatant violation of Bathilda¡¯s fiercely guarded family, had ignited a firestorm that threatened to consume the entire council.


    "Are you mad?" Bathilda¡¯s voice was laced with a barely suppressed fury. "Why don¡¯t I dissect your skull so we can all have a good look at your brain?" The threat, though delivered with a chilling calm, was unmistakable. Bathilda, a woman who had faced unimaginable hardships and emerged stronger, was not one to be trifled with. She was a force of nature, a whirlwind of raw power and unwavering resolve.


    Before Bathilda could unleash the full extent of her wrath and storm out of the chamber, Gertrude Tufskin, the head of the seamstresses, intervened. With a swift, decisive motion, she delivered a sharp clip to the back of Elred¡¯s head. The elder, startled and disoriented, turned a shade of crimson that rivaled the finest silk. Gertrude, her face set in a stern, disapproving glare, silently conveyed a message that was as clear as it was unequivocal: "Don¡¯t say another word."


    The silence that followed was even more profound than before. Elred, his face burning with shame and indignation, finally grasped the gravity of his transgression. He had not only insulted Bathilda but had also alienated the entire council. Every eye in the chamber was fixed on him, each gaze a silent condemnation. They all understood the delicate balance of power, the precarious position they held. They all needed Bathilda on their side, her strength, her wisdom, her unwavering loyalty.


    The topic of the examination of Bathilda¡¯s children had never been intended for the agenda. It was a reckless, ill-conceived notion born of Elred¡¯s arrogance and a desperate attempt to regain the influence he felt slipping away. He had taken it upon himself to taunt Bathilda, to test her limits, to remind her of her outsider status.


    The reason for his audacity was clear to everyone. Bathilda had snubbed them after their last meeting, a gathering marked by their condescending tone, their thinly veiled threats, and their relentless demands. She had returned to the city, and spoken to the citizens, and told them how the council had attempted to manipulate her, how they had treated her like a pariah. This act of defiance had not only embarrassed the council but had also solidified Bathilda¡¯s position as a champion of the people.


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    "We¡¯re sorry about that, dear," Gertrude said, her voice soft and conciliatory. "Ignore that cantankerous old fool." Elred, his face still flushed with anger, clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to retort. "What we wanted to talk about was magical communication."


    Bathilda, her anger still simmering beneath the surface, turned her attention to Gertrude. She knew that Home possessed a unique device, a relic of a bygone era, that had once allowed the city to communicate with other settlements. Jones had mentioned it several times, always with a hint of melancholy, lamenting its obsolescence and the isolation of their city.


    "Okay," Bathilda said, her voice regaining its composure. "What do you want to talk about them for? Aren¡¯t they out of commission now?"


    "They are, or were," Gertrude replied, her eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement. "Until this morning."


    The words hung in the air, a beacon of hope in the darkness. Bathilda, her curiosity piqued, leaned forward, her eyes searching Gertrude¡¯s face for answers. She had always been fascinated by the history of Home, by the remnants of the advanced civilization that had once thrived in this world. The idea that a piece of that history, a link to the past, could be reactivated filled her with a sense of wonder.


    "This morning," Gertrude continued, her voice filled with a sense of urgency, "a signal was detected. A faint, intermittent signal, but a signal nonetheless. It originated from the communication device in the mountains."


    Of course it''s the mountains. Why wouldn''t it be.


    The chamber erupted in a flurry of whispers. The council members, their faces illuminated by a mixture of excitement and apprehension, exchanged glances. The possibility of re-establishing contact with the outside world, of breaking the isolation that had defined their existence for generations, was both thrilling and daunting.


    "But¡­ but that¡¯s impossible," Jones stammered, his voice filled with disbelief. "We¡¯ve tried everything. We¡¯ve examined the device, we¡¯ve replaced the components, we¡¯ve even consulted the oldest texts. Nothing worked."


    "And yet," Gertrude said, her voice firm and resolute, "the signal is there. It¡¯s weak, but it¡¯s unmistakable. We need to investigate. We need to find out who or what is trying to contact us."


    Bathilda, her mind racing with possibilities, nodded in agreement. The prospect of discovering another community, of learning about the fate of humanity, was too enticing to resist. "What do we know about the signal?" she asked.


    "Very little," Gertrude admitted. "It¡¯s a series of pulses, a rhythmic pattern that repeats at irregular intervals. We¡¯ve been trying to decipher it, but we haven¡¯t made much progress."


    "We need to bring in experts," Jones suggested, his voice regaining its confidence. "We need to consult the archives, to find any information that might shed light on this signal."


    "And you need to be cautious," Bathilda added, her eyes scanning the faces of the council members. "We don¡¯t know who or what is on the other end of that signal. If my experiences here are anything to go off, we need to be prepared for anything."


    The council, united by a shared sense of purpose, began to discuss the next steps. They talked about assembling a team of experts, finding the communication device and came up with a plan of action. The air in the chamber, once thick with tension and animosity, was now filled with a sense of hope and anticipation. The discovery of the signal had not only rekindled their curiosity but had also reminded them of their shared humanity, their collective desire to connect with the world beyond their isolated valley.


    Elred, still smarting from his earlier humiliation, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor. He knew that he had made a grave error, that he had jeopardized the fragile peace of the council. But as he listened to the excited chatter of his colleagues, he couldn¡¯t help but feel a flicker of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, this signal, this unexpected message from beyond their walls, could offer a chance for redemption, a chance to mend the bridges he had so carelessly burned.

 Mountain Problems

    The lingering echo of the council''s pronouncements still vibrated in Bathilda''s mind, a discordant melody against the tranquil afternoon. Hours had passed since the heavy oak doors of the council chamber had closed, yet the weight of their words refused to dissipate.


    It wasn''t the petty jab about her children, those easily brushed aside with a practiced air of regal indifference, and a stern, if vulgar, choice of phrase. Bathilda, after all, had now mastered the art of selective hearing, a necessary skill for any self-respecting reincarnated nurse turned adoptive mother.


    No, her frustration stemmed from a far more immediate and tangible issue: the impending journey back to the damn mountain. The location of her reincarnation.


    The very thought conjured a weary sigh, a physical manifestation of the mental exhaustion that gnawed at her. She had barely settled into the comforts of her established life, enjoying the fruits of her labor, the quiet moments of domestic bliss, only to be yanked back into the wilderness.


    She stretched out on the plush velvet sofa, her feet finding solace on the embroidered ottoman. The weight of the day began to ease, replaced by the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the stained-glass windows of her parlor.


    The council''s insistence on the signal''s origin from that specific mountain nagged at her. Twice she had ventured into its shadowy depths, twice she had found nothing but the desolate remnants of a forgotten ecosystem, a landscape dominated by monstrous creatures and the snotty presence of Bob, the demon king she had impulsively adopted.


    The memory of the labyrinthine tunnels, the fetid air, and the grotesque, decaying carcasses of the Barts sent a shiver down her spine. The unexplored passages, hidden behind those rotting behemoths, were the only remaining mystery. She had spared Flo the gruesome spectacle on their last expedition, a decision she now questioned. Had that act of maternal compassion inadvertently obscured a vital clue?


    A wave of self-reproach washed over her. Why hadn''t she foreseen this? Why hadn''t she established a network of magical teleportation gates, a convenient shortcut to circumvent the arduous, week-long flight across the sprawling, untamed forest? Why? The sheer monotony of the journey, the endless expanse of verdant canopy stretching to the horizon, had begun to feel like a cruel and unusual punishment.


    "Maybe they were wrong," she mused aloud, swirling the ruby-red wine in her crystal glass. The liquid shimmered, catching the sunlight, a vibrant counterpoint to the shadows that danced in her mind. The necklace, a masterpiece of her own creation, rested against her collarbone, its intricate design radiating a subtle aura of regal authority. It served a dual purpose: enabling her to indulge in her favorite vice without fear of embarrassment and enhancing her natural charisma, projecting an image of effortless elegance.


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    "There are a lot of mountains around there," Hiro added, his voice a soothing balm to her troubled thoughts. He sat opposite her, his posture relaxed, his gaze thoughtful. The afternoon sun bathed him in a warm glow, highlighting the gentle contours of his face.


    He was right.


    "Hopefully, you won''t get lost this time, Mom," Flo chimed in, a mischievous glint in her eyes. She sat nestled beside Bathilda, an innocent smile playing on her lips, her small hands wrapped around a glass of orange juice.


    Bathilda attempted to dismiss her previous navigational mishaps as mere curiosity. "We only stopped at those mountains because I was curious," she insisted, feigning nonchalance.


    "That''s not what you said back then," Flo retorted, her smile widening. She wasn''t about to let her mother off the hook.


    "Okay, I got a little lost. We''d only been there once, though," Bathilda conceded, a chuckle escaping her lips. "Where''s your brother, Flo?"


    "Bob''s playing his computer," she answered without a moment''s hesitation, her voice laced with a familiar blend of exasperation and affection. "Of course he is," Bathilda laughed, the image of the diminutive demon king hunched over a glowing screen flashing through her mind.


    Flo snuggled closer, her small frame pressing against Bathilda''s side. The warmth of her daughter''s presence, the simple act of physical contact, brought a sense of grounding, a reminder of the life she had built, the family she had created.


    Hiro, ever the pragmatist, shifted the conversation to the practicalities of the impending expedition. "If they are mountain folk," he began, his voice measured, "will they even understand us? Will they speak the same language?"


    The question hung in the air, a stark reminder of the unknown that lay ahead. Bathilda, however, refused to be deterred. "It doesn''t matter. There''s magical BS at play when it comes to communicating. But, even if there wasn''t," she declared, her voice resolute. "I''ll find a way."


    Her mind raced, conjuring a kaleidoscope of possibilities. She could employ her formidable magical abilities, weaving enchantments of translation and communication. She could rely on her innate charm and persuasive skills, forging bonds of understanding through gestures and expressions.


    The thought of encountering another civilization, of forging alliances and expanding her influence, ignited a spark of excitement within her. The challenges that lay ahead, the potential for conflict and misunderstanding, only served to fuel her determination. She would approach this new encounter with a blend of caution and curiosity, a careful balance of diplomacy and power.


    She considered the mountain itself, a craggy behemoth that pierced the sky, its mass missing a layer like Lego instructions followed wrong. What kind of people would choose to dwell in such a harsh environment? Were they warriors, hardened by the elements, their culture steeped in tradition and resilience? Were they scholars, seeking refuge from the chaos of the outside world behind monsters, their minds full of ancient knowledge?


    The possibilities were endless, each one a tantalizing thread in the tapestry of her imagination. She would unravel the mysteries of the mountain, uncover the secrets of its inhabitants, and forge a new chapter in her extraordinary life. She would face the unknown with courage and resolve, her spirit undeterred, her heart filled with a sense of adventure. She would erect a network of teleportation gates to make travel between locations immediate.


    Most of all.


    If she found nothing, no people, no communication signal, in the mountain of her reincarnation, she would (Obliterate) it. Turning it into a plain, or maybe even a golf course, she hadn''t decided yet.

 The Monotony of the Sky

    The crisp morning air, tinged with the faint scent of damp earth and blooming honeysuckle, did little to soothe Bathilda''s restless spirit. Before her departure, she''d meticulously crafted an archway in the heart of her meticulously tended garden. The twin pillars, shimmering with an ethereal, opalescent light, hummed with latent power.


    These weren''t mere decorative features; they were nascent gateways, conduits through which she could summon others of her making, a network of potential companionship woven into the very fabric of her domain. More practically, they were a promise of swift returns, a way to bypass the time-consuming journey home.


    Seriously, a week? A whole week? I could have built a dozen more of those archways in that time. Why didn''t I just build one at the mountain last time?


    The thought of the week-long flight, a solitary trek across vast, untamed landscapes, gnawed at her. She yearned for company, for the easy banter and shared experiences that made even the most mundane tasks bearable.


    Bob, ensconced in his digital realm, his fingers a blur over the keyboard, was lost in the immersive world of his computer games. Bob the Destroyer, she giggled, his gamer tag was the direct opposite of his true persona. The only destroying he did was in the virtual world.


    Flo, the Harbinger of Doom, had recently completed this very journey with Bathilda, her tales of getting lost underneath starlit nights still fresh in her mind.


    And Hiro, forever relaxed now that death didn''t haunt him daily, also remained behind. Someone had to babysit the Demon Kings.


    Despite their seemingly fearsome titles, Flo and Bob were far from the harbingers of destruction they were perceived to be. But in a world where magic and chaos intertwined, prudence was a virtue and it was better to be safe than sorry.


    I swear, if I have to listen to the sound of the wind for another hour, I''m going to start singing sea shanties. Or maybe I''ll try to teach the clouds to dance. Anything to break this monotony. I should have brought a book.


    A sigh escaped her lips as she soared into the vast, azure expanse, the verdant patchwork of her garden shrinking below. "At least they said goodbye," she murmured, the words barely audible against the rush of wind.


    The face of her family fresh in her mind. Waving her off after she''d created the teleportation gate. The arch in her garden would be the first of many. The highway to fast travel.


    A week. A literal week. I could have learn a foreign language, write an opera, or even just reorganise my spice cabinet in that time. Instead, I''m flying. Flying. Which should be awesome if I wasn''t all alone.


    The sheer monotony of the journey soon settled in, a heavy cloak of solitude. Bathilda, accustomed to the constant hum of conversation, found herself increasingly conversing with the empty air. The realisation struck her with a poignant force: it was the first time in an age that she was truly alone.


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    The clouds are starting to look like sheep. Bored sheep. I bet even they''re bored. I wonder if I can teach them to play tag. Or maybe I can make them rain glitter. That would be more interesting. This is like watching paint dry, except the paint is the sky, and it''s not even drying, it''s just... existing.


    Even after her tumultuous reincarnation, Hiro''s soul had been a constant companion, a constant presence within the confines of her mind. When she finally manifested him a physical form, a clone created by her magic, it was a tangible affirmation of their bond, a bridge between her inner world and the external reality. Companionship, she understood, was more than mere proximity; it was a shared understanding, a resonance of souls.


    I miss Hiro''s endless rants. I miss Bob''s ridiculous theories about interdimensional internet cats. I even miss Flo''s old dramatic pronouncements about the doom and gloom, even though they ended up with us having tea. I miss them all. This is torture. Beautiful, scenic torture.


    A profound sense of loneliness settled upon her, a hollow ache that no amount of magic could seem to fill. She missed her family. The vastness of the sky, once a symbol of boundless freedom, now felt like an isolating expanse. If there was one thing magic couldn''t solve, it was soul crushing loneliness.


    If I see one more cloud that resembles a sheep, I swear I''m going to start herding them. This is ridiculous. Utterly, completely, mind-numbingly ridiculous.


    Then, a flicker of awareness, a subtle shift in the fabric of her being. A notification, subtle, yet undeniably present, resonated within her consciousness.


    You have acquired the skill: Parallel Minds


    She hadn''t learned a new skill in a while. Bathilda paused, her form momentarily still, her gaze fixed on the distant peaks. A spark of curiosity ignited within her. "Or maybe it can," she whispered, a hint of hope coloring her voice.


    Parallel Minds? What does that even mean? I can already make copies of myself? Can I finally have someone to play cards with that thinks?


    I think so.


    So do I.


    "Ok, that''s too weird," she muttered, a shiver running down her spine.


    Bathilda landed in a secluded forest clearing, the soft moss cushioning her feet. She focused her magic, weaving the threads of her essence into a physical manifestation, a perfect replica of herself. As she had with Hiro many times already, she seamlessly integrated the new consciousness, shoving the other version of herself inside.


    "Woah," the clone said, her voice a perfect echo of Bathilda''s own. "I knew you was going to do that, but it was still weird. Like going down the twirly slide on Carney Island."


    "You have my memories?" Bathilda was amazed by a simple reference. Other than herself, no one knew anything about Earth.


    "Of course I do. I''m you," the clone laughed, "or part of you? It''s weird, isn''t it?"


    "It is," Bathilda admitted, a smile spreading across her face. "But at least it''s better than being lonely."


    She created a small picnic, conjuring up a feast of pastries and fruit, and they spoke for a while about Earth, sharing memories and laughter. Bathilda wasn''t sure how long she had spent in the cave after reincarnating, but it had been almost 18 months since she''d escaped.


    The journey was much more pleasant now that she had someone to talk with, someone who understood her thoughts and feelings perfectly. Even if that someone was herself. The vast, empty sky no longer felt like a lonely expanse, but a shared canvas for their conversation.


    Bathilda didn''t feel crazy at all. She felt... complete. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt truly at peace, the ache of loneliness finally banished by the company of her other self. The sky was still the sky, the wind still blew, but now, there was someone to share it with.

 A Comforting Clone

    Bathilda''s brow furrowed, a delicate crease marring the otherwise smooth expanse of her alabaster forehead. A strange unease had settled within her, a disquiet that whispered of fractured reflections and unsettling echoes. It wasn''t the presence of her clone that disturbed her, not in itself. The clone, a perfect simulacrum born of her own formidable (Illusion) magic, was a testament to her power, a tangible manifestation of her mastery over the ethereal.


    No, the source of her perplexity lay in the clone''s form. The blonde hair, meticulously styled into a high ponytail, the vibrant, almost startling blue eyes, the crisp, white nurse''s uniform ¨C it was a perfect, hauntingly accurate recreation of Bathilda as she had been on Earth, before the transformation, before the fangs and the crimson gaze, before the exquisite, chilling beauty of her vampiric form.


    It was a stark reminder of a life left behind, a life of mundane struggles and quiet heroism. A life where she had been a healer, a beacon of compassion in a world of sickness and suffering. Now, she was something else entirely, a creature of the night, a being of immense power, a predator and a protector in equal measure.


    The fact that the clone had conjured this image, this perfect replica of her past self, before she herself had even considered it, gnawed at Bathilda''s pride. It was a subtle, almost imperceptible wound, a prick to her ego. She had been outmaneuvered by her own creation.


    She had grown accustomed to her new visage, the stark, ethereal beauty of her vampiric form. The snow-white hair, a stark contrast to the midnight of her surroundings, the ruby eyes that pierced the darkness, the flawless, porcelain skin ¨C it was a reflection of her inner strength, a symbol of her evolution. She had embraced her transformation, relished the power it bestowed upon her, the freedom it offered.


    Yet, the sight of her former self, so vibrant, so alive, so human, stirred a dormant nostalgia within her, a longing for a life that could never be reclaimed. It was a phantom limb, a ghost of a past that lingered in the corners of her consciousness.


    The clone, perceptive as ever, sensed Bathilda''s unease. It observed the subtle shifts in her posture, the flicker of her crimson eyes, the tightening of her jaw. It understood, perhaps better than Bathilda herself, the complex emotions swirling within her.


    And so, it shifted. The human form dissolved, the blonde hair and blue eyes fading away, replaced by a soft, plush form. A pink teddy bear, impossibly cute, with wide, innocent eyes and a gentle smile. It was a caricature of comfort, a tangible manifestation of warmth and affection. It was, in its own way, a gesture of apology, a silent reassurance.


    The change was immediate. The tension in Bathilda''s shoulders eased, the furrow in her brow smoothed. The awkward glances, the unspoken questions, dissipated, replaced by a sense of amused affection. She scooped up the teddy bear, cradling it in her arms, feeling the soft fur against her skin.


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    "Well, aren''t you just adorable," she murmured, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.


    The clone, now a teddy bear, radiated a sense of contentedness, a quiet satisfaction in having eased its creator''s discomfort. Bathilda, despite her immense power, still found comfort in simple things. Though she could fly with ease, she held the teddy bear close, enjoying the tactile sensation, the feeling of its soft fur against her pale skin. It was easier to talk, she insisted, when they were so close.


    The clone, of course, knew otherwise. She knew that Bathilda could hear its thoughts, that they could communicate telepathically, their minds linked by the same magical thread. But she remained silent, content to play her role, to offer comfort and companionship.


    They journeyed onward, their destination shrouded in mystery, the source of the signal related to Home. The landscape stretched before them, a tapestry of rugged peaks and verdant valleys, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon.


    As they approached the mountain, Bathilda landed, her senses tingling with anticipation. She focused her will, channeling her magic, and erected an archway. Inside, a shimmering portal appeared, a gateway to her garden. The portal shimmered and solidified, a swirling vortex of iridescent light.


    With a satisfied nod, Bathilda stepped through the portal, the teddy clone nestled securely in her arms. She emerged into her garden, a tranquil oasis of lush greenery and vibrant flowers, a sanctuary of peace and beauty.


    The mountain, the signal, the mystery ¨C all of it could wait. Tonight, she craved the familiar comforts of home. A hot bath, a bottle of her favorite red wine, a classic movie, and the solace of her own bed.


    She had spent a week traversing the wilderness, creating temporary shelters, miniature cabins that offered a semblance of comfort. But nothing could compare to the sanctuary of her own home, the familiar scent of her garden, the soft touch of her silken sheets.


    The evening passed in a haze of relaxation. Bathilda soaked in the warm, fragrant water, the tension melting away from her muscles. She sipped her wine, savoring the rich, velvety taste, and lost herself in the world of a movie, a classic tale of love and adventure.


    As she drifted off to sleep, the teddy bear nestled beside her, she felt a sense of contentment, a quiet satisfaction in having found a moment of peace amidst the outrageousness of her extraordinary life.


    The next morning, Bathilda awoke refreshed, ready to tackle the mountain. But first, there was the matter of the clone.


    "We can''t keep calling you Bathilda as well," she said, addressing the teddy bear, a hint of amusement in her voice. "It''s just¡­weird."


    The clone tilted its head, its wide, innocent eyes gazing up at her. It radiated a sense of agreement, a silent acknowledgement of the awkwardness of the situation.


    Bathilda pondered for a moment, her mind racing through a myriad of possibilities. She wanted a name that reflected the clone''s playful nature, its ability to bring comfort and joy.


    "How about... Blossom?" she suggested, a smile spreading across her lips. "It''s pink, it''s cute, and it fits you perfectly."


    The teddy bear, now Blossom, radiated a sense of delighted acceptance. The name resonated with its essence, its playful, comforting nature.


    And so, Blossom she was. A companion, a confidante, a reflection of Bathilda''s own evolving self. The journey to the mountain, the unraveling of the mystery, would be much more enjoyable with Blossom by her side and far less lonely.

 Mapping the Mountain

    The echoing silence of the mountain''s depths was a stark contrast to the monstrous activity that had once permeated its tunnels. Bathilda, accompanied by her clone, Blossom, navigated the labyrinthine passages, a sense of quiet satisfaction mingling with her lingering frustration. The ease of communication, the seamless flow of shared thoughts and intentions, was a novelty that still brought a faint smile to Bathilda''s lips. It was like having a perfect conversational partner, one who understood her every nuance without the need for explanation.


    It was nothing like talking to Hiro.


    The remnants of the Bart horde, once an obstacle to overcome, were now nothing more than a faint, acrid scent in the air, a testament to the past. Their remains now destroyed through the devastating power of Bathilda''s Obliterate spell. The clean, efficient eradication of the monstrous rat-men was a necessity, a preventative measure against the potential spread of disease and a way to avoid the unpleasantness of wading through decaying corpses.


    "So, where to now?" Blossom asked, her voice a perfect echo of Bathilda''s own, yet somehow imbued with a slightly lighter, more optimistic tone. The pink bear, levitating with the aid of her (Fly+) magic, surveyed the seemingly endless network of tunnels.


    Just like Hiro, Blossom wasn''t able to access Bathilda''s higher tier spells and skills. Clone abilities capped at ten. It''s a shame, Bathilda thought, (Gravity), (Reality Tear), and (Obliterate) had evolved when she became a Vampire, yet her clones were still stuck with lesser versions. Bathilda couldn''t picture Blossom using (Chomp+) on anything with her adorable form, even if beneath her (Illusion) lay a sharp of fangs.


    "I''m still skeptical about this whole endeavor," Bathilda admitted, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "This mountain has always been infested with monsters, a place of danger and death. I find it hard to believe that there''s anything else hidden in here."


    "And Bob," Blossom reminded her, a hint of amusement in her tone.


    "Yes, Bob was here too, but that was different," Bathilda conceded, a flicker of warmth in her eyes. "He wasn''t here when I first arrived."


    They ventured deeper into the mountain, exploring tunnels that Bathilda had never bothered to check before. The sheer number of passageways was staggering, a complex network that snaked and twisted, leading to dead ends and circular routes. It was a disorienting maze, designed to trap and confuse.


    The initial novelty of exploring new terrain soon gave way to a growing sense of frustration. Bathilda, despite her newfound confidence, still felt a prickle of unease in the depths of the mountain, a lingering fear of being trapped beneath its stony embrace. The lack of any sign of human habitation only amplified her frustration.


    "This is ridiculous," she muttered, her voice laced with annoyance. "We''re wandering around in circles, wasting our time."


    "It''s alright," Blossom reassured her, her voice calm and soothing. "We can always teleport back if we want to. There''s no need to panic."


    Bathilda considered erecting a stone arch and teleporting back to her home, a warm, inviting space filled with the comforts of her own creation. The thought of leaving the mountain behind, of escaping its oppressive atmosphere, was tempting. She was certain the council''s information was wrong. No sign of any intelligent life, no tools, no markings, no skeletal remains to indicate past inhabitants.


    Blossom, ever the pragmatist, began to meticulously map the tunnels, using her own (Parallel Mind) skill to create a mental representation of their progress. Bathilda didn''t want to think about how many parallel minds a (Parallel Mind) could have, but the number seemed infinite.


    The mapping was slow and tedious, but it brought a sense of order to the chaos, a way to navigate the labyrinthine network.


    "Have we searched everywhere?" Bathilda asked, her voice heavy with weariness.


    "I think so," Blossom replied, consulting her mental map. "Every tunnel leads somewhere, even if it''s just back to where we started. We''ve explored several small chambers and the large one where King Tarb probably lived."


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    The large chamber, the former lair of the Bart king, was a macabre display of skeletal remains, a testament to the monstrous hierarchy that had once ruled underneath the mountain. But there was no sign of human presence, no indication that anyone other than the monstrous inhabitants had ever called this place home.


    "So the council was wrong," Bathilda said, her voice filled with annoyance. "We came back here for nothing."


    "Maybe, maybe not," Blossom countered, her voice thoughtful. "They haven''t received a signal in hundreds of years. Their equipment is old, and their understanding of it is limited. It''s possible that they simply misinterpreted the data."


    "So they lied to me? They told me what they thought was right," Bathilda asked, her frustration resurfacing.


    "Not necessarily," Blossom replied, her tone patient. "It''s more likely that they made a mistake, that they got the coordinates wrong. Or perhaps the signal is faint, obscured by the mountain''s natural interference. We should check all the areas you''ve explored before, just to be sure."


    Bathilda sighed, her frustration battling with a sense of reluctant curiosity. She followed Blossom as they retraced her original steps, revisiting familiar tunnels and chambers, searching for any sign of human presence.


    The went down to the lava cavern where Bob had reincarnated as a Demon King. The Brat tunnels at the top of pit, the Millisnake''s lair, even the entrance where the King Slime had made its home. All to no avail.


    The mountain, once a source of fear and dread, now felt like a frustrating puzzle, a mystery that refused to be solved. Bathilda''s initial eagerness had given way to a weary resignation, a sense that she was chasing a phantom, a figment of the council''s faulty equipment and wishful thinking.


    As they continued their search, Bathilda began to notice subtle details that she had previously overlooked. The rock formations, the patterns of erosion, the faint traces of mineral deposits. It was a subtle language, a story etched in the very fabric of the mountain.


    "Look at this," Blossom said, pointing to a section of the tunnel wall. "The rock here is different. It''s smoother, almost polished."


    Bathilda examined the wall, her eyes tracing the subtle variations in texture. The rock was indeed smoother, as if it had been worn down by repeated contact.


    "It could be natural erosion," she said, her voice skeptical. "Or monsters."


    "Or it could be the result of something else," Blossom replied, her voice thoughtful. "Something that moved along this tunnel, something that rubbed against the walls."


    Like a monster, Bathilda thought. They continued to explore, but found nothing.


    Then, Blossom stopped abruptly, her gaze fixed on a seemingly unremarkable section of the tunnel wall. "Look," she said, her voice hushed.


    Bathilda approached, her eyes scanning the wall. At first, she saw nothing unusual. But then, she noticed a faint, almost imperceptible line etched into the rock, a line that ran parallel to the tunnel floor.


    "What is it?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.


    "It''s a groove," Blossom replied, her voice filled with a quiet excitement. "A very faint groove, but it''s there. And it''s consistent. It runs along this entire section of the tunnel."


    Bathilda followed the groove with her eyes, tracing its path along the wall. It was indeed a groove, a shallow indentation that ran for several meters, disappearing into the shadows of the tunnel.


    "It could still be natural," Bathilda said, her skepticism still lingering.


    "Perhaps," Blossom conceded. "But it''s worth investigating. Let''s follow it."


    They followed the groove, their senses heightened, their eyes scanning the walls for any further clues. The groove led them deeper into the mountain, through a series of narrow passages and winding tunnels. The air grew colder, the silence deeper, the sense of mystery more profound.


    After what seemed like an eternity, the groove ended at a section of the wall that was slightly recessed, a hidden alcove concealed by the shadows. Blossom reached out, her fingers tracing the edge of the recess.


    "There''s something here," she said, her voice barely a whisper.


    She pressed her hand against the wall, her fingers searching for a hidden mechanism. A faint click echoed through the tunnel, and the recessed section of the wall slid open, revealing a hidden passage.


    A rush of cold air escaped from the passage, carrying with it the faint scent of something metallic, something old. Bathilda and Blossom exchanged a glance, a mixture of apprehension and excitement in their eyes.


    They stepped into the hidden passage, their footsteps echoing in the silence. The passage was narrow and dimly lit, the walls lined with strange, metallic panels. The air was thick with a sense of age, of secrets waiting to be uncovered.


    The passage led them to a large chamber, a vast cavern filled with strange, glowing devices. The chamber was dimly lit by the soft, pulsating light of the devices, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor.


    In the center of the chamber, a large, crystalline structure pulsed with a faint, ethereal light. It was a beautiful, mesmerizing sight, a stark contrast to the rough, stony environment of the mountain.


    "What is this place?" Bathilda whispered, her voice filled with awe.


    "I don''t know," Blossom replied, her voice equally hushed. "But I think we''ve found what we were looking for."