Transcendent Odyssey [Coffeepen]-Chapter 36: Bones, Blades and Beasts

PREVIOUSLY-

In seconds, he vaulted over the ledge and stood straight, brushing the dust off his shoulders like loose threads.

"It's an Aaxte," he said, his tone clinical.

"It can't leave its Basque Cave."

Drelgor tilted his head.

"So?"

Raphael's eyes gleamed. Cold. Focused.

He drew his spear and twirled it once with relaxed fingers, like a baton in a surgeon's hand.

"It means it invited me inside."

Without another word, he sheathed his knives, spun the spear once more, and stepped into the darkness of the cave — calm as a man entering his study.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

INSIDE THE BASQUE CAVE

A red aura covered Raphael.

"Oh, I need to tone it down."

The energy flickered like a flame before becoming mere whisps of air that covered his body.

The stench hit him first—iron, musk, rot. A metallic tang thick in the air, like someone had boiled rusted chains in blood. Raphael didn't flinch. His breath was steady, his footsteps slow and deliberate. The faint crimson aura around his spear illuminated the cave in pulses, painting jagged walls in flickering strokes of red.

Bones crunched beneath his boots—some cracked, some soft with rot.

A low growl slithered from the dark.

Aaxte.

The creature crept into view, breath misting like steam from a furnace. Red veins pulsed beneath its granite-like hide, its red skin a living armour of cracked basalt and slick, twitching muscle. Four massive limbs moved with unnerving grace, each step leaving a depression in the stone floor. Blood clung to the bony plates of its muzzle, dripping from yellowed fangs as long as daggers.

It didn't charge.

It loomed—intelligent, cautious, territorial.

Raphael tilted his head at it, one eye twitching with clinical interest.

"So slow," he whispered, not to taunt, but to record an observation.

CRASH!

The Aaxte lunged, massive horns sweeping forward like twin blades.

SLICE!

Raphael's first dagger left his hand without hesitation—arcing in a perfect spiral—chhck!—tearing through the sinew beneath its left eye. Not blinding, just enough to disrupt depth perception.

The beast screamed, staggered sideways.

But Raphael was already gone—sliding low beneath its belly, boots gliding in blood-slick mud.

SHHHNK!

A second dagger punched upward, angled precisely into the gap between the creature's chestplate and gut muscle. He didn't just stab—he twisted, grinding the blade slowly, watching the twitch of the Aaxte's ribs and the spray of hot blood across his face.

He blinked once. Then again. Slowly. Like blinking off rain.

The Aaxte roared and reared, trying to slam its weight down on him. Too late. Its whole body turned into a sea of flames.

CRACK!

Raphael had already vaulted upward, gripping the ridge of its back like a mountaineer clinging to a cliff. The fire tried to burn his skin but couldn't. He braced a foot against its spine, drew his spear, and whispered—not for intimidation, not even for himself.

"Let me show you what pain feels like... when you can't understand why."

CHRRRCHK!

The spear bit deep into the Aaxte's spine—not a killing blow, but a paralyzing one. He didn't drive it clean. He dragged the blade down through cartilage and nerve, splitting the creature's back in a slow, ripping crescendo.

The Aaxte bucked. It shrieked, a horrible mix of roar and gurgle, its body convulsing against the cavern walls, but Raphael held on. One arm looped around the beast's horn, the other drawing another knife—this one serrated.

"Still alive? Good."

STAB! STAB! RIP!

He jammed the blade under its jaw and dragged downward—peeling skin, muscle, artery. Blood erupted like a geyser, painting the ceiling red, pouring over Raphael's arms like bathwater.

The Aaxte choked on its own fluids, its gurgles reduced to pitiful croaks.

Raphael dropped from its spine, landing beside its collapsing frame. His boots sank ankle-deep into the congealing pool.

He watched the Aaxte twitch.

Still breathing. Barely.

Raphael knelt, brushing a hand down the side of its torn snout. He gripped the exposed jawbone with one hand and, with the other, slowly pressed a dagger through the creature's temple.

SHLUK.

The eye burst.

Still not dead.

He twisted the blade.

CRCKKKK.

Only when the spasms stopped did he speak again.

"...You invited me."

He stood, soaked from collar to shin, his shirt sticking to his chest in wet patches of crimson and black. He looked down at his own reflection in the pooling blood—a warped, flickering image of calm.

He wiped his hands on the Aaxte's flank.

Then turned and walked deeper into the cave.

OUTSIDE THE BASQUE CAVE

The wind shifted as Drelgor stood at the cliff's edge, arms folded. He could no longer hear the Aaxte's roars.

Just silence.

Heavy. Dead.

Then—drip... drip... drip...

Raphael emerged.

Steam rose from his shoulders. His clothes were soaked, dyed deep crimson. Blood trailed in rivulets down his sleeves, over his hands, across his collar. His hair clung to his forehead, streaked with a slick, dark stain. One of his boots was missing, the other dragging a severed tendon wrapped around the ankle like a gift ribbon.

He didn't limp.

He didn't breathe heavily.

He just walked.

Slow. Straight. With his spear balanced lazily over one shoulder, tip still wet. His expression was empty—calm, focused, not triumphant. As if he'd just returned from a chore. A necessary one.

Drelgor said nothing at first.

His gaze dipped to Raphael's arms—cut in three places. To the blood sliding off his chin. Then, behind him.

No beast followed. No sound.

Just a smear of red across the stone threshold.

"You look like a butcher," Drelgor finally said, voice dry.

Raphael stopped.

He looked at his own fingers. Flexed them. Blood dripped off like rain from rusted iron.

"It tried to speak, near the end," Raphael murmured. "Something like a cry."

Drelgor tilted his helm. "You killed it slowly, then."

Raphael didn't answer. He adjusted his grip on the spear and stared at the cliff's edge where the wind howled.

"I needed to know how long it could last with its spine split. Turns out... longer than I thought."

Drelgor laughed—not mocking, but intrigued.

"You scare me, boy."

Raphael looked at him.

Not angry. Not proud.

Just flat, dissecting.

"Then I'm doing something right."

He reached into a pouch, pulled out a length of leather cord, and began to clean his blades—mechanical, efficient, folding the cloth after each wipe like he was tending to a scalpel set. Every movement exact.

Drelgor watched a moment longer, then nodded once.

"I'll remember this."

Raphael didn't look up. He cleaned the spear last, running the cloth down its length like a priest polishing a relic.

"You won't need to. The Aaxte won't forget me."

Raphael reached back into the cave. A moment later, he dragged out the Aaxte's severed head—spine still attached, entrails trailing like a defiled banner. He dropped it near the cliff edge with a dull, wet THUMP.

"It opened its mouth," he muttered, crouching beside the skull. "So I fed it its own tongue."

He tied a blood-soaked tooth to his belt.

"Why do you need that, boy?" Drelgor crossed his arms.

"It could wield fourth-circle fire magic," Raphael wiped the blood off his face,

"Not that I allowed it to."

"Boy," Drelgor leaned towards Raphael, "It's going to be fun watching you."

Raphael strapped his spear and continued on his path.

SOMEWHERE ELSE – DEEPER IN THE WILDS

Leon shoved aside a thicket of branches, eyes darting from tree to tree.

"...We're lost," he growled, flinging himself under a moss-covered tree with theatrical despair. "We are so lost, Threxil."

Threxil didn't reply at first. The armoured hologram knelt beside a patch of churned-up soil, fingers brushing along the deep grooves left behind. His visor reflected the shape etched into the mud—huge, sunken, and clawed.

"Lad," he muttered, "we've wandered into something...interesting."

Leon sat up, squinting. "Interesting? That's not the word I'd use when I'm starving and surrounded by trees that probably want to eat me."

Threxil jabbed a gauntlet toward the footprint.

Leon's eyes widened.

The impression stretched nearly twice the length of his torso. Five splayed digits—no boots, no shoes, just raw, heavy pressure that sank deep into the earth. Claw marks scarred the edges, gouged like a plough through soft clay.

"What in the gods' rotting names made that?" Leon stepped closer, eyes flicking between nearby trees. "That's not a footprint—that's a declaration of war."

Threxil stood, voice gravel-thick. "That's a 'Bigfoot'. Heavy. And territorial."

Leon didn't look scared. His jaw tensed, and a crooked grin spread across his face.

"Heh. Finally." He unslung his claymore and leaned it on one shoulder.

"Finally?" Threxil echoed.

"Yeah," Leon's grin widened. "I was getting bored just walking."

Threxil blocked Leon's path with one armored hand.

"Bigfoots are reclusive creatures," he said calmly. "They don't seek conflict. They hide from others."

Leon froze mid-step, then slapped his forehead with a groan. "Tch—seriously? I can't fight someone who doesn't want to fight."

His tone wasn't frustrated—it was disappointed. Like a hunter denied a worthy hunt.

Threxil pointed toward the deep footprint in the soil. "But we can ask him for directions."

Leon blinked. "Wait, you think it can talk?"

"Not in words," Threxil shrugged. "But their kind understands mana. Emotions. Intent."

Leon scratched his chin, slowly processing. "So... I track this beast down, find its little cave, don't punch it, and instead... what? Wave politely and radiate good vibes?"

Threxil's visor didn't move, but Leon could feel the deadpan stare.

The savage boy sighed. "Ugh. Fine."

He stepped beside the trail and closed his eyes, focusing. His mana extended again—not in aggression this time, but a steady thrum, like a beacon. A signal of peace, curiosity, and—though faint—respect.

The trail responded.

Faint pulses echoed back from the forest's edge, rhythmic and slow. It was close. Watching.

Leon smirked. "It's waiting."

Threxil nodded. "It knows we're not a threat."

Leon grabbed his claymore and slung it behind him. "That makes one of us."

The two continued, quieter now. No crunching leaves, no snapped branches. The trail led them toward a small cliffside alcove, half-covered in vines and moss. The cave within pulsed faintly with mana, like a heart beating in stone.

Leon paused at the edge. A shadow shifted deep inside—massive, hunched, but still.

"I see you," he muttered under his breath.

Then louder, "We just want to talk. About... directions. Maybe lunch options."

For a few long breaths, nothing moved.

The Bigfoot's silhouette was barely visible within the moss-veiled cave. It shifted once—just enough for the light to catch a gleam of fur matted with dried blood, and something else beneath the hair: runes, scorched into the flesh like brands.

Threxil stepped forward slightly, lowering his helm. "Leon..."

"Yeah. I see it." Leon didn't blink. "Those aren't natural markings."

The creature let out a low growl—not the sound of warning, but one of pain. Its head jerked once, violently, like it was fighting an invisible chain. Then again. And again.

The growl turned to a distorted shriek.

Leon's eyes widened. "Wait—"

BOOM!

The Bigfoot lunged, clearing the cave entrance in a single, monstrous leap.

Leon barely sidestepped in time. A tree splintered where he'd just been standing.

"Whoa! That's new!" he barked, tumbling into a roll and springing to his feet. "Since when do reclusive cave beasts ambush guests?"

Threxil raised a hand, voice sharp. "Don't kill it. Not yet. It's cursed."

"No kidding!"

The beast charged again, but Leon was already in motion. He twisted to the side, letting the massive claw pass inches from his chest, the wind of it whipping his cloak sideways.

"I liked him better when he was shy!"

The Bigfoot's movements were jerky, unnatural. As if pulled forward by something else, its limbs twitching out of sync with its own body. Spittle flew from its cracked lips, and the branded runes across its torso flickered with a dark red glow.

Leon ducked another wild swing, then leapt back, landing beside Threxil.

"It's not in control," Threxil muttered. "That curse... it's not just branding. It's possession."

Leon's fists clenched. "So this isn't his fight. Someone's making him."

"Yes."

Leon's eyes darkened, voice quiet. "Then I'm going to find whoever did this..."

The Bigfoot let out another pained roar, smashing its fists into the earth, cratering the ground in front of them.

Leon didn't move. Not yet. His fingers twitched near his claymore, but the blade stayed sheathed across his back.

"...And tear out their goddamn spine."

He glanced at Threxil, breathing steady despite the tension. "You said not to kill it, right?"

"For now," Threxil replied.

"Good. Because I'm trying really hard to stay civil."

The creature let out another howl.

Leon's foot slid forward slightly, his stance dropping low.

But he didn't draw his sword.

Not yet.

"Please..." The Bigfoot parted its lips.

"Please... kill me."

Leon stopped. He stared at the struggling creature for some time.

SWISH!

SHING!

He hurled his claymore in a quick vertical arc. His form straightened as a soft whisper escaped his lips

"Okay."