Jonathan Clearwater—Hopes Path

  Jonathan squinted towards the church, then squinted a bit harder. Fuck, I might still be a bit drunker than I thought I would be, but I got this. I’m only here in case they suddenly try and pull something, right?

  As if on cue, a man in paladin's armor ran at an impressive full tilt into the church. Leaping up the stairs without slowing and nearly breaking the front doors.

  Oh, come on! I thought I was just going to get to drink. Eghh, well, I guess being a king's guard includes arson and breaking and entering as a duty that, or I just have a fucked-off king.

  Jonathan took another sip of his ale and checked his backpack to make sure he had plenty of lantern oil. Leaning back in his tavern deck chair.

  Welp, as far as stirring the hornets’ nest goes to try and get a chance for more intel, I guess this is a good idea. Especially since the soul fucker is off whispering who knows what lies to the higher-ups. Probably. I hope if Vrax gets himself killed, I keep the class though…

  The harried-looking paladin rushed out the front of the church and bolted off into the distance with warriors in tow. Jonathan sighed, then looked at his ale as if questioning whether entering an enemy stronghold on a reconnaissance mission slightly tipsy was a bad idea or not. He shrugged and took a few mighty gulps, finishing off his ale. He grabbed his potted plant off the deck and slung it onto his back along with Jonathan Jr. and his backup halberd.

  Jonathan strolled through the wide-open front doors and took in the rather severe architecture. Barebones pews. Garish iconography in golden paint over every inch of the walls and an uncomfortably prominent area for people to bow right in front of the altar.

  A priest with a panicked expression rushed up to him. “I’m sorry, sir, we are currently closed. If you wish to offer supplication, return tomorrow.”

  Jonathan looked at the mealy, unarmed man. “Nah, it’s all good.” He said and just walked past him, heading down the most important-looking hallway.

  Good stuff Is always kept wherever the fanciest carpets are. Oh, or throw rugs; if I see a throw rug, it’s a dead giveaway.

  “Sir! Sir! You need to leave!” The priest called after him shrilly, attracting the attention of a single warrior of Rembrand near the altar still on watch.

  The guard rushed over after the priest as he followed Jonathan down the hallway. “Hey, what’s the problem?” The guard said firmly,

  The priest turned to him with an exasperated expression. “This homeless man is drunk and won’t leave.”

  Jonathan sighed and kept walking; he took a sharp right-hand turn further into the church. The candelabras in that direction looked extra well shined. He ignored the footsteps quickly catching up as he looked around. Nice carpets, actual tapestries on the wall. A fucking fruit basket—he had to be close.

  A firm hand on his shoulder spun him around. The guard raised a finger into his face confidently. “You need to leave, sir! We are not ignorant to the plight of the poor, but we are closed until tomorrow.”

  Jonathan's face turned a bit red. “Goddammit, I’m not homeless—well, sort of… I just look like this because I traipsed through a fucking dungeon, and all I had to wear afterwards that was…mostly clean was these overalls.” There was a poignant pause.

  “Get out.” The guard said with a threatening edge and put his hand on his sword, a cocksure smile on his face.

  Jonathan frowned intensely, although no one could see it under the mess he called a beard. “Man, don’t. I’d rather not kill you. You seem like a, well...normal enough fellow. But I will. A little breaking and entering and homicide are like footnotes compared to half the shit my boss does for, from what I can tell, just shits and giggles, sooo…fuck off?” Jonathan finished hopefully.

  The man tried to draw his sword. Jonathan smashed the empty ale stein across his face, dropping him to the ground, and stepped over, hitting him twice more with it viciously to make damn sure he stayed down.

  The priest paled and started to back away; a pair of vines snapped out and started dragging him down the carpeted hallway towards the cup-wielding warrior.

  “Nope, sorry, nap time for you too!” Jonathan slurred out with a discomforting amount of cheer as he raised the stein high. He stopped suddenly, a look of realization on his face. The priest was still a few strides away, trying to claw his way free of the vines.

  “Man… I am still a cutthroat; I just got a fancier job title...hey, at least the class is good!” The priest looked at him in utter confusion and tried even harder to crawl away.

  Vraxious—Dragon’s Maw Arena

  Vrax powered through a fucking hailstorm of glimmering golden shards that Corvus flung his way. They exploded across his stigmata in a statico pattern. He tried to duck under them as he closed in on Corvus and Crixus, but the damned things simply followed him, driving him into the grass in a bone-shattering impact.

  Vrax tried to get up, but the explosion kept tearing across him. Suddenly his armor shields gave out, and massive rents of wood were blasted from the back of his armor. In desperation he threw a lance of miasma at Corvus and hoped Crixus saw it. Crixus was still behind the obnoxiously powerful paladin, still trying to subdue him with a chain around his neck. Thankfully he stepped clear as the lance of rot flew towards his captive.

  The smite Hit Corvus on his extended hand, melting his fingertips to the bone and wrecking his hand. It was enough to break his concentration, and the imminently lethal waves of shards stopped carving into Vrax.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Vrax poured healing energy into himself as he stood back up. Blood was flowing freely from his back, and most of the armor across his shoulders and spine was ruined. Vrax looked at the paladin in consideration for a moment; they were so close to getting the fucker into the portal and letting all the adapted creatures sort him out. Assuming he didn’t just turn the Menagerie into a religious BBQ party with his overpowered smites.

  Vrax’s problem was solved for him when an irresponsibly large crossbow bolt came thundering like a god’s javelin across the battlefield. It hit Corvus Square in the chest. It didn't pierce the enchanted armor, but it did buckle the plate inward and nearly launch him off his feet. Crixus didn’t miss his chance; he heaved his whole body sideways and strained with his arms, throwing the off-balance paladin through the portal by the chains.

  There was a moment of silence and heavy breathing as they both watched the portal nervously. One of the assassins peeked out of the cornfield less than a stride from Vrax, scaring the shit out of him. “Hey, y’all good over here?” Specter, or ghost—Vrax couldn’t tell which one it was. Asked in a maddeningly unbothered voice.

  Vrax painfully turned towards him, still dripping blood all over the ground below himself. “Yeah, just fucking peachy!” Vrax quipped, still trying to heal himself with his cistern. It could stabilize massive wounds, but the healing was by no means instant.

  Crixus gestured to the portal. “You mind?” Vrax looked at him incredulously for a moment.

  “Uhh, no man…knock yourself out…” Crixus grunted happily and finally drew his impractically heavy-looking great sword. He cracked his neck side to side before stepping into the portal with far more zeal than any man entering a dimension called The Menagerie of Predation should have.

  The assassin looked from Vrax to the portal and back. “Yeah, I think I’ll stay in the cornfield, by the way…more Golden problems.” He gestured to where a small group had just piled into the room through a side entrance. Unfortunately for them, the entrance led straight into the cornfield.

  It looked like they had only managed to gather one more paladin, and by the look of him, he wasn’t nearly as mean as the bastard that had been kicking Vrax and Crixus around for the last ten minutes. But there were an awful lot of warriors of Rembrand and even a few men in pieces of golden armor that looked more like paladin trainees than even full initiates.

  Vrax swept his predator's gaze across them; the highest level was the paladin [Elron Humic Tier-1] (lvl 49)[ Paladin Of Rembrand][Threat: Low].

  Oh man, these guys are fucked… I should at least try and make an example of them or, better yet, get them to surrender… Now that would embarrass the shit out of the order publicly. Fought me with superior numbers, and their warriors still surrendered or disappeared into gods know where.

  Vrax started angling through the field behind the assassins. He was trying to brainstorm how the hell to scare them into giving up without accidentally murdering them. Duchess was busy, and most everything else he had was...well, too damned lethal. Ahh, fuck it…where are the chickens…?

  “Hey Forest ninjas! Keep them busy.” Vrax saw a faint middle finger protrude from an indistinct patch of corn.

  Let's see where I'm at on mana…

  [Mana 243/306]

  That…should be plenty. How much mana could it really cost to adapt a chicken even a bit quickly?

  Vrax veered off from the two faint shapes ahead of him and steered straight towards the chicken coop in the center of the cornfield. He had at least a couple of minutes before they reached it, probably a lot more than just a couple if they were playing tag with the assassins and…

  Vrax looked up as a jiggling ball of fur and organs sailed overhead, its spider-like eyes locked onto something in the field. Yeah, the devourers forgot about those for a second there. Nope, I’ve got plenty of time.

  Vrax entered the edge of the clearing and started creeping toward the nearest chicken. It was a scraggly, wretched little thing pecking at the ground far away from all the other chickens. It had that henpecked appearance the weakest chickens got when they were bullied by all the other chickens.

  Oh, aren’t you just perfect? I bet you are the most bitter living thing in this whole arena.

  It was missing feathers, had more than a few scars across its barely feathered face, and had a noticeable limp as it fled from another much fatter, fluffier chicken that edged in on its hunting ground. It nearly ran into Vrax’s hands before it even noticed him. He carefully but firmly snatched the scraggly creature up.

  It barely even fought before giving him the most broken look he had ever seen and just going limp in his hands like it was expecting this to be the end. Vrax looked it over from a few more angles and nodded.

  “Alright, you poor little guy, your siblings beat the hell out of you, didn’t they… How would you like to not be bullied ever again?” Vrax said with disarming kindness to the chicken. But he had that twisted expression on his face that he got whenever he gave in to the mad mage-like impulses that [Adapt Life] made possible.

  [Mana 270/306]

  Vrax started with the chicken's overall shape and size and its outward appearance. He got rid of the rest of the poor balding thing's feathers and gave it a smooth bright red skin. Then he plumped it up a bit. Until its beady eyes were level with his own. They held a startling natural violence to them, like it understood it could now gobble down its own brethren.

  [Mana 210/306]

  Ha, holy shit. This thing already looks like it crawled out of a hell pit somewhere. And barely any mana used because, as far as the system is concerned, this is still just a weak old chicken...well, a big one, but still a chicken…for now.

  Vrax’s eyes lit up as he continued channeling, coursing green energy into the chicken. He took its stubby wings and made them mighty things that ended in far too human hands. Then he added another set of short arms and hands that came from it at mid-chest, making sure they had an impressive amount of muscularity.

  [Mana 200/306]

  Well, it's...now a grabby chicken... I bet it would be great at hunting gophers but not exactly scary…

  Vrax looked back towards where the devourers and the assassins were battling with the new arrivals. A warrior of Rembrand was snatched from the field by a tangle of feeding tentacles and carried away into the air screaming, “Yeah, they are fine.” He turned back to his work.

  You know what's scary? The mimic bullshit Duchess does...but hmm...

  Vrax focused on adapting it further; he added a very human voice box to its gullet. The chicken immediately started making some of the most disconcerting meaty noises Vrax had ever heard, like a drunk man smacking his lips while he ate chicken. One of the nearby chickens walked over curiously and looked up at Vrax and its former sibling.

  Faster than Vrax could even react, the Adapted creature reached one of its meaty hands out and grabbed the chicken with a sickening crunch, stuffing its still clucking brother down its beak with no hesitation or restraint. It looked Vrax dead in the eyes and made a noise somewhere between a cluck and the sound of an animal being gutted.

  Haha…ah…well…this might be a mistake, but I still have two hundred mana and a fucking point to prove.

  The chicken's feet changed from simple claws to more dexterous things with needle-like tips. The beak became a serrated, yawning portal that opened up and closed in a motion similar to a Venus flytrap. Then, for good measure, he put a couple of hands in the mouth so if food was being extra difficult, it could help it on its way down into the gullet.

  Awful and potentially lethal now, but still not…scary enough.

  Vrax focused in and opened the well of his mana to [Adapt Life]; he was going to give this chicken a talent that even Duchess would be jealous of.