The blue Lacert's yellow eyes darted between Grub's face and the useless control device in his trembling claw. Horror crept across his scaled features as the reality of his situation settled in like a deadly poison.
Grub walked closer. Each step was slow and deliberate while his face was filled with malice.
"You're starting to get it, aren't you?" Grub's voice was flat and quiet. "How badly you just messed up?"
The Lacert scrambled backward, his tail dragging across the dirt. The blue lizard's breathing quickened as he desperately mashed the button, but his claw trembled so badly that he nearly dropped it.
"W-what—"
"Everything I told you was a lie." Grub said, tilting his head. "Morrigan is not heading to your camp, I never poisoned anyone, and the weapon isn't in the western brush."
The Lacert's heel caught a root and he toppled onto his back, the control device clattering beside him. Grub stood over him and looked down with an expression so cold that it could have been carved from ice.
"You understand what that means, right? Every word you just sent to the Colonel through that bird was fabricated. And your boss is going to split his army based on information that came straight from my mouth." He leaned closer. "You played directly into my hands."
The Lacert fumbled for the device again, slamming his talon against the button over and over. Click click click click. Each press was more frantic than the last and each one produced absolutely nothing.
Grub watched him for a moment, then sighed.
"Still clicking away?" He reached toward his wrist. "Well, you can cut that out."
The Lacert's eyes widened as Grub grabbed the black bracelet wrapped around his arm. Then ripped it straight off. The fake Mgbaaka Maara snapped apart easily and fell into the lush grass below. Watching in utter horror, the blue bastard looked like he had just seen a ghost.
"This was never real." Grub spoke with a cruel calculation laced in his voice. "Your people thought they could chain me? Control me? You thought you could stop me from reaching my goal?" The corner of his mouth curled upward. "You're all going to learn how wrong that assumption was."
The Lacert's eyes locked onto the broken replica. Understanding flooded his face, followed immediately by a sudden realization. His hand flew toward his mouth, fingers forming the shape of a whistle.
Grub moved instantly.
Crunch.
The Lacert screamed as Grub's boot pinned his hand against the dirt. The whistle died before it could leave his lips.
"I wouldn't do that." He pressed firmly enough to pin the claw against the dirt. "Those Simurgh birds have excellent hearing, especially for trained commands like that whistle. The last thing either of us wants is that bird turning around before Gavial receives every piece of misinformation it's carrying."
The Lacert's chest heaved. His yellow eyes were wild now, darting in every direction, searching for an escape that didn't exist. Grub crouched down so they were face to face.
"Now, my friend. You're going to answer some questions for us. Or the next couple of days are going to be very unpleasant for you."
With a clap of Grub's hands, two Guardians materialized out of the brush. They moved with trained efficiency, pinning the Lacert flat against the ground before the reptile could even process their presence. One of them pressed a knee into his back while the other secured his arms.
The Guardian holding the Lacert's wrists glanced up at Grub.
"We've got it from here."
Then they hauled the blue-scaled messenger into the undergrowth. His muffled protests faded quickly as the forest swallowed the trio whole and soon, Grub stood alone in the clearing.
He slid his hands into his pockets and let out a long, slow breath through his nose. The night air was cool against his skin and the sounds of insects filled the space where the confrontation had been.
Playing the villain back there had been necessary. The Lacert needed to be terrified of him and needed to believe that resistance would only make things worse. Fear was a tool, and Grub had wielded it with precision.
But he hadn't particularly enjoyed it. At least not most of it.
The look on the reptile's face when the button failed, and the dawning comprehension that every shred of power he believed he held had been imaginary. That expression had brought Grub a small, quiet satisfaction he wasn't entirely proud of.
He looked up at the night sky as stars scattered across the darkness in unfamiliar patterns that he still hadn't learned the names for.
The Lacert had confirmed what they already suspected. An attack was coming. The only question was when and how many.
Hopefully, interrogating the captured Lacert would provide specifics.
Between the false intelligence splitting Gavial's forces and whatever the Guardians could extract from their new prisoner, Anwansi would have a fighting chance.
Grub yawned and decided he should head back. The hard part would begin soon. After all, this had only been phase one.
As he walked through the village gates, a familiar figure waited near the entrance. Luthiel stood beneath a lantern, her long bangs covering her eyes and blue streaks running through her hair. El's posture was straight and still as always, her mitten-like hands folded behind her back.
"Scribe." She turned toward him as he approached. "The plan was a success?"
Grub nodded. "Went about as smoothly as I could have hoped. The Guardians grabbed the messenger for questioning, and the Simurgh bird is already on its way to the Colonel with a head full of garbage."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"We can't be certain Gavial will follow the advice, but if he does, it means a smaller force hitting the village instead of their full strength. That alone makes everything tonight worth it."
Luthiel gave a single, measured nod. "That is good."
They fell into step together, walking through the quiet streets toward their respective destinations. Most of the village was asleep by now, with their windows dark and doors shut. Only the lanterns along the main road kept them company.
After a stretch of silence, Grub spoke.
"There is one problem, though."
El tilted her head slightly.
"Lu asked me not to kill things unnecessarily. Which means I'm heading into a potential battle with an empty Nihil reserve." He frowned at the road ahead. "Hard to fight at full strength when your Forte runs on a fuel you promised not to gather."
El shrugged with characteristic bluntness. "I would not worry about that for long. When the Lacerts come, there will be plenty of dead bodies to absorb from. You will not need to hunt small creatures when the enemy delivers Nihil to your doorstep."
Grub winced at the casual bleakness of the statement but couldn't argue with the logic. "I suppose."
Though if he was being honest with himself, his reluctance ran deeper than Lu's request. Over the past few days, a growing wariness had settled into his thinking about Nihil. Something about carrying it changed him in ways he couldn't fully articulate. It was like his mind was covered in a thick fog of negativity, along with the quiet pull toward violence that hummed beneath his thoughts whenever the black residue coated his skin.
He wasn't avoiding Nihil just because a kind girl with golden eyes had asked him to. He was avoiding it because some part of him recognized the cost, even if his conscious mind hadn't assembled the full picture yet. He knew he still needed the power, and he wasn't stupid enough to throw it away. But the concern remained.
El's voice broke through his thoughts.
"When do you believe you will attempt your Trial?"
Grub blinked. "My Trial?"
She nodded. "You have advanced remarkably quickly."
"When you first checked your Ego, you were Dormant Tier Three. In just a couple of days of training, you have climbed to Dormant Tier One." Her hidden gaze seemed to study him through the bangs. "That rate of advancement is almost unheard of."
Grub scratched his cheek. "Morrigan trained us to the bone. That kind of intensity tends to produce results."
"She trained me as well," El replied evenly, "and I remain at Dormant Tier Two. Your growth outpaced mine by a significant margin despite starting from a lower point."
He didn't have a good explanation for that, so he just shrugged. "Morrigan did mention that the difficulty of advancing scales. The higher you climb, the harder each step becomes. After the first trial I probably won't move through the Cultivator ranks anywhere near this quickly."
Grub glanced at her. Over the last two days of training, Morrigan had explained something crucial about the ranking system. Most people in Aethrys existed at a level called Prosaic, one below Dormant entirely. They could interact with Anima in basic, passive ways like unlocking an Anima-keyed door or sensing strong presences, but active use was beyond them. Simple training and self-improvement could push someone from Prosaic into Dormant without much difficulty, and climbing through the three Dormant tiers required nothing more than consistent effort.
But ascending from one Rank to the next was a different matter altogether.
Each Rank transition required passing a Trial. A personal challenge unique to the individual, shaped by their soul, their Ego, and their circumstances. The Trials were progressively harder at each level and impossible to prepare for because no two people faced the same one.
Many aspiring fighters never passed their first Trial. The leap from Dormant to Cultivator broke more people than it elevated, in fact, some died in the attempt. Others survived but failed, and the failure often sent them sliding backward, their development crumbling until they descended all the way back to Prosaic. The same pattern repeated at every subsequent Rank boundary, growing steeper each time.
This was why the vast majority of trained combatants in Aethrys remained at Dormant rank for their entire careers. Reaching Cultivator was an achievement and reaching Enlightened was exceptional. Anything beyond that entered the realm of legend.
Luthiel stared at him through her bangs, waiting for an answer to a question she hadn't quite finished asking. "You haven't told me when you plan to attempt yours."
Grub thought for a moment as they walked. The lantern light played across his face, casting shifting shadows beneath his eyes.
"I am not sure," he said eventually. "I guess I will whenever I decide I need to be stronger than Dormant allows. There's no rush to throw myself at something that could kill me if I am not ready."
El considered this, then gave a small nod. "That makes sense, Scribe."
She paused at the intersection where their paths split. Her toward Morrigan's house, him toward the inn.
"When the time does come, Scribe, I would advise you not to die." Her flat voice carried its usual lack of inflection. "It would be quite inconvenient for those of us who have invested effort in keeping you alive."
Grub let out a tired laugh. "I'll do my best."
Luthiel turned and walked toward the chief's house without another word. Grub watched her go for a moment, the blue streaks in her hair catching the lantern light before she disappeared around a corner. Then he headed for the inn.
His room felt different without the weight of the bracelet on his wrist. More open, somehow. Like the walls had pulled back an inch and given him space to breathe. He sat on the edge of his bed, pulled out his enchanted notebook, and reviewed the plans one more time.
Phase one was complete. The false intel was flying toward Gavial's camp on iridescent wings. The captured messenger would provide additional intelligence once the Guardians finished their questioning and the village's defenses were as prepared as two days of frantic work could make them.
All that remained was the waiting.
Grub closed the notebook, set it on the bedside table, and lay back. His body ached from training and his mind buzzed from the night's performance, but exhaustion was pulling him under quickly.
Something was coming very soon. The village had to be ready, and so did he.
He closed his eyes and let sleep take him. The next few days were sure to be important.