Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.

I only claim the storyline and OCs.

TRIGGER WARNING: Body horror

Chapter 18

Her tiny room was in shambles. But, for her life, she could hardly care.

Plum made another circuit around the room. It was small alcove hollowed out at an uppermost spot near one of the lowest branches of the tree. She had been pacing the space, as much as one could without legs, for the better part of the day, scraping every inch of the inside of her skull for something, anything that would tell her what she so desperately wanted to know.

Why that smell was so familiar to her.

She knew what she had said to Bog. And she knew that it was entirely correct. That smell was unique to dark energy, or black magick as those who were unfamiliar with the arts of energy called it.

But how did she know that?

Plum glanced out her tiny circular window, the dark of the night seeping in, barely kept at bay by the little light of her lantern and the glow of her form. Her various belongings, not many since her captivity had robbed her of what little she kept anyway, were thrown from their neat and orderly honeycombs of shelves and carved out cubbies. Many books and scrolls, both hers and what few were available from the castle archives were strewn about the floor or atop her tiny table. She had gone through everything she could think of both in writings on pages and physical objects she possessed and yet despite her searching she still found no answers.

She knew absolutely and without a doubt she was right. However, the simple act of recalling the knowledge that went with the assertion was painfully frustrating. She could feel it was there somewhere, but it was like looking with wide open eyes into a dark room.

Something was wrong.

Plum twisted her hands as she floated away from her window, back, and away again. "Why? Why, why, WHY!?" she shouted, tugging on her ears. "I've never had this problem before! For all the time I've been here, all this time under Bog's thumb in that stupid orb I've never NOT been able to, to – to think! Heavens! That's all I had time for!"

Is that so?

"Wha?" Plum froze, suspended motionless above the floor of her hollow. She did not look around the space with her eyes, but instead opened her senses, allowing her to feel the energy of any being within her grasp.

Nothing.

She was alone.

Her eyes darted around the room, testing what her senses knew better. She twirled and spied out every nook and cranny.

Still nothing.

Plum shook her head raising her hands to rub her temples. She groaned and floated to the small looking glass on the wall. Her glowing, cyan eyes came into view, and she raised a glittery brow as she examined her face, seeing through the barrier that mimicked skin to the constellation of lights inside. Funny, she thought, how much empty space there is between them. She smiled lightly at her reflection, happy with her ability to amuse herself.

Not empty.

Her breath stopped, not that she needed it.

"OOWWWUUUUUU!"

"FA-" Plum jolted, slamming herself against the wall and just barely managed to catch the glass as it slipped from its hook. The alarm sounded again, and dread filled her stomach. "Oh no."

She discarded the looking glass with fleeting care as she hurried out of her room, following the trill of the alarm. Crowds of goblins soon engulfed her as the warriors assembled with her, all heading the same direction, all raking their arms and gathering weapons alike. When she finally found herself in the assembly hall, her eyes alighted on Bog, looking all of a barely contained thunderstorm as he and Marianne stood front and center.

"Bog! What's going on?" Plum asked, floating easily over the crowd and immediately meeting Bog's shoulder.

He seemed none too pleased with her proximity or contact and hitched away as he spoke. "There's been a disturbance. Something in the forest at the marshes."

"Any idea what it was?" Plum shot quickly, her anxiety bubbling.

"Not confirmed yet who or what, only that they're hostile," Bog answered, scanning his numbers piling into the room.

"Have you sent scouts? You need to-"
"PLUM, I think I know what I'm doing," Bog responded angrily, finally leveling an icy glare at her.

"Of course you do, but that's not the problem!" she retorted. Several gazes landed on her, the now thundering anxiety coursing her body and limbs making her hyper-aware of them all. "You know what I told you, so you should know that you can't just rush into this blind-"

"I don't need a lecture on how to proceed with battle tactics from someone like you!"

Plum froze. However, her shock and mild insult faded instantly.

Something was very, very wrong and she was not going to let Bog's fouler than average mood get in the way of trying to help. "Fine, then I'm coming with you," she insisted, only a breath of a second having halted her words.

"NO, you are NOT!" Bog shouted, slamming his staff to the ground.

The hall, originally bubbling with the sound of chatter and shuffling of heavy steps went dead silent at his admonition. Bog remained motionless, glare trained on Plum, the threat clear as day.

She had not flinched away, and she was not about to. She was quite certain Bog had no clue what she was truly capable of, and his little display was hardly cause for concern.

Wait, what? Her resolve faltered and her anxiety pierced her from inside.

Since when had she been so boldly confident in her abilities? Where was this boldness when she was trapped in that orb? Why was it only showing itself now?

Unfortunately, her internal conflict which sped into a standstill within the span of a second was enough to convince Bog he had bested her impudence. "You're staying here, Plum," he commanded none-too-gently.

As he turned away, she sealed her lips and simply observed. Bog was stiff and clearly angry, far more so than the present alert might warrant. Marianne seemed flustered, but as she and Bog started talking quietly, their words lost over the cacophony inside her own head, Plum noted that the princess was of a more concerned aura. Perhaps there was more than Plum currently knew. In fact, that was certainly the case.

Regardless, she had never been so absolutely convicted of such utter wrongness than what this situation bred in her mind and she was not about to sit it out like some useless mushroom. Oh, that's rude, they aren't usless, she thought waywardly. They're just… mushrooms… She blinked. "Okay, focus," she hissed under her breath.

"What was that?" Bog spouted, whipping around at her.

Having already started away, Plum turned her head back to him. "None of your business, as you so stated, your Majesty!" she shot back. She heard some angry un-enunciated mush utter from his mouth and some soft un-enunciated mush from Marianne but continued on her way.

I don't need your permission to help keep you from falling prey to whatever this trap is, Bog, and you'll thank me later.

xXx

"Aren't you being a bit harsh?" Marianne gripped Bog's arm, hoping to convey both comfort and concern with her hold.

He sighed, shaking his head. "I can appreciate Plum telling me what she did but that doesn't mean I trust her with anything else." He made to look out at the still assembling group, but she gave a slight tug. Piercing blue met her gaze. For a moment, his expression remained hard, bordering angry. But as she held tighter, he melted, his shoulders dropping a fraction, his eyes softening. As if feeling her thoughts, he looked to the floor.

Marianne realized then what he was trying to hide. "You don't still blame her-"

"I don't-" he stopped short, fist clenching at his side, grip tightening on his staff. "… I don't blame her for… I just…" He then shook his head, raising his arm to gently take hold of her shoulder, retaining her grip while forming a protective grip of his own. "I do. But I don't. And right now isn't the time to talk about it," he muttered, leaning in and meeting her gaze. "Right now, we need to move."

Marianne took a deep breath, heaving a sigh as she nodded. However, setting aside one concern only made room for another. "But Dad said-"

"I know what he said, but I cannae afford to wait if our enemy is so close." Bog released her to turn to the crowd. "A'rite, listen up!" he hollered.

Marianne bit the inside of her lip but remained quiet as she removed her hand, looking out to the goblins. She watched as they listened attentively. More than she could say she was doing, but dread started to crawl into her stomach with a vengeance. As he spoke, giving orders on who would go where and how each party would approach, she tried to pull from his clear confidence and resolve. He was the ruler of this forest after all, it was his domain. If anyone could act and react accordingly, it would be him and his people in their own land.

Right?

Yes. Yes, that's right, Marianne assured herself, schooling her face as she looked to Bog's. We can finally figure this out and tell dad what we've found. She took a deep breath as Bog finished, barely aware of what he had said, before he turned to her.

"Remember to stay close to me."

She froze for a second before nodding. "Yes."

It was Bog's turn to be concerned and his fingers gracing her shoulder were an immediate relief. "It'll be alright, Marianne. We can handle whatever this is. And we'll give that prince a lesson to remember." He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. "Right, tough girl?"

Despite the dread and anxiety, his ire got the better of her and she grinned back. "That's right," she all but purred. She nearly bit her lip when his crystal blues darkened but managed to keep her gin in place as he turned and raised his staff.

"RACHAMAID!"

They took flight as the goblins piled out of their assigned entrances, and within short order were joined by the dragonfly riders. Marianne drew her sword, watching as they readied themselves, glancing down to see the ground teams already heading out. One last look over her shoulder had her glimpsing the goblins armed and at their defensive stations along the tree. Seeing them on guard with the beacons lit helped to quell her anxiety further. She nodded to herself, turning to face Bog who was watching her. The smallest tilt of his head, the corner of his lips quirking just a fraction stoked her fire more.

But in the back of her mind, the dread refused to let go.

The space of time it took to get from the castle to the marshes was just long enough for her to work her nerves up as she noticed every little detail of the forest. As if each leaf, branch, or rock were some dangerous entity meaning her harm. But the one thing that caught her attention above all else was the silence. She remembered the silence in the area of the marshes from earlier, but it seemed as if the entire forest had dropped all sound in the wake of this impending confrontation.

Marianne darted her gaze everywhere could not see any sign of animal or insect life. Even at night the forest was abuzz with activity, the critters and creatures making their own songs in the dark. But there was nothing. Nowhere. Wait, what about the patrols? She put more strength into her wingbeats, trying to catch up with Bog to question him about her realization. However, no sooner had she made it closer did she see his hand go up and motion for a branch.

They were already there.

She, Bog and the riders alighted on a branch overlooking the farthest southern village where she had found him and the others earlier in the day. The sound of their steps on the bark of the tree thundered in the silence. She clenched her teeth, and even that small noise seemed to ring out into the stillness of the air. "Bog?" she whispered.

"Something's off."

She held her breath, looking at his face. He was scanning the village manically, his form stiff and his grip tight on his staff. He held his free arm out close to her as if any moment he expected he would need to shield her. She looked back out to the huts and immediately felt the buzz of anticipation along her limbs.

The homes had been torn apart and destroyed. The remains of roofs and walls were scattered about the mud walkways and village center. Even the huge, dug out fire pit in the middle of the village square was wrecked, as of some animal had dug up the walls and stones and flung them about the place. One thing that struck her as odd, though, was that even the belongings and property from the inside of the huts were littering the ground. Furniture and utensils were broken and torn apart and thrown every which way. Spice jars and remains of food were scattered around and trampled.

A cold sweat broke out along her skin.

Whoever had done this did so with no intention of taking or keeping.

"Bog-"

SNAP

She and the others crouched down instinctively, Bog holding his hand up to signal to stay put.

Marianne stared wide-eyed into the trees out beyond the northern border of the village where the sound had come from. It sounded like a twig, potentially a small one that any of them could have easily broken in two. But in the stark quiet around them it rang out like a branch being ripped from its trunk. She wanted to say something, anything, but she was frozen, clammy grip tight on her sword as she watched and listened.

CRACK

Without thinking she turned, Bog and the others doing the same, to look directly behind them. About the same distance away from them as the first sound, but back the way they had come.

How can that be? Marianne's mind raced, trying to pick out reasonable deduction from panic. No, no – it can't be-

CRIK

A gasp escaped before she could stop it as they whipped to their right. She nearly jumped when she heard scraping and thudding only to feel Bog coming around her, having switched his staff to his left hand and holding his right arm in front of her. She became aware of the tremor in her limbs as she looked at Bog's back, her mind rapidly coming to a conclusion that had her stomach sinking.

That third noise came from the side of the border with Green Meadows, the tree line, between them and the closest available open space.

They were surrounded.

"It's a trap!" Bog yelled.

CRASH

Marianne looked up just in time to jump out of the way as several branches came falling down onto theirs. She realized instantly their mistake: The group had scattered.

"Bog!"

"Marianne! Everyone, on guard-" The rest of Bog's words were cut off as the sounds of shouting and clamoring filled the air.

Instinct took over when she felt the change in air pressure behind her. She twisted midair, bringing her arms up to guard as she swung her leg out. Her eyes failed her, seeing nothing but darkness. However, she felt her shin connect with something hard and heavy. Marianne flung a punch with her left hand as she readied a strike with her sword and was then horrified to see the darkness engulfing her vision move.

A large, clawed hand swiped inward at her arm, flinging her fist down as another reached to grab her, only to flinch back when her sward - merely in the right place at the right time – sliced into its palm. An animalistic growl filled her ears as a mouth opened in front of her, exposing garish, yellowed teeth in an angry snarl, buffeting her face with strange-smelling breath. Marianne snarled back, raising her legs to kick at the thing, knocking it away from her. She watched it fall as she put several wingbeats of height between them, taking note of the large, long, wolf-like body. It was an abnormal length with an angular, prehensile tail twice as long as the creature itself, and sported distorted, bony yet muscular limbs. It used its tail to swing back on the branch it clung to and rock itself towards her. It let go, launching itself at her, reaching out with its huge, clawed hands. She swung her sword in an arch as she ducked to the left, slicing deftly into one of the arms. She steeled herself at the sensation of knocking through muscle and bone for the first time and grit her teeth as the creature howled past her. It continued a trajectory to the next tree and when a good enough distance was between them, she immediately scanned the area for Bog and the others.

The forest under her was chaos.

As if the darkness itself had come alive, the creatures were all over the goblins, brawling with the ones on the ground and knocking dragonfly riders out of the air. Panic got the better of her and she dove, her immediate concern for the lives of the riders coming to the forefront. Luckily not all of them had been bested, several doing all they could to dart out of the way of the monsters and try to catch their teammates. Marianne switched from rescue to defend and started for the beasts trying at the riders who were racing to help the goblins falling.

She landed a clean slice through a tail, a slash across another's back, and dropped a yard to kick her feet down onto the shoulders of a third. Sensing the change in air pressure above her, she twisted, folding her wings and rooting her sword at her side as she blocked her face. The dark creature slammed into her but roared as her sword pierced its shoulder. Its arms encircled her, but her wings avoided damage from its claws as she pressed them hard to her body. Before she could think about how to get out from under it and escape the fall, a force flung it from overtop her, the creature's grip spinning her from the momentum. She opened her wings to see it falling and twisting midair and looked to see the undine Guudahl, chief of Bog's castle guard, yank his dragonfly back and fly towards her.

His eyes still on the thing, he stopped in a hover close to her. "Princess, are you alright?"

"Yes, we have to help the others."

"Agreed." He tore his eyes away to nod at her before looking down to fray. "Wait-"

"Wait? We can't-"

"No, princess, look," Guudahl pointed to the ground.

Marianne followed his gaze and relief flooded her.

The dark creatures were retreating.

"Oh, thank heavens," she whispered.

"It's not over. We need to make sure they don't take anyone with them."

She nodded. "Right. Okay."

They both descended, slowly and on guard, watching for opportunity to defend their fellows. But as they looked around, gradually being joined by more riders and observing the ground teams righting themselves and taking stock it became clear the beasts were simply rushing off. As if scared by something they were all turning and running, taking no further heed to the goblins in air or on the ground. Though, more disturbing was the utter quiet with which they moved. They seemed to melt into the leaves and branches as if immaterial, though they were clearly sliding past and dodging by, twisting and contorting to not touch anything other than the surfaces they were already on.

Somehow, these things moved with more stealth than even the goblins.

A shiver fluttered down Marianne's spine, and she shook herself. "I hope Bog knows-" She froze, only the instinctive beat of her wings keeping her afloat. Her eyes darted every which way, taking in their surroundings with new vigor. "Where?"

"Oh no," Guudahl whispered.

Marianne looked at him, panic thundering in her ears. His wide, grey-green eyes conveyed the same realization that spiked through her chest.

"Where's Bog?"

xXx

In the commotion of the castle, and Bog's admonition, no one paid any heed to Plum as she raced out one of the smaller, little used side entrances. Having made a point to stay low, she followed behind them and somewhat to the side, making sure to stay as hidden under leaves and ground foliage as she could to keep her glow from being spotted. It was easy enough keeping up, their trek not quite as fast as she knew they could travel. No, it was not speed that made her following problematic.

It was the smell.

The smell that clung to the survivors and scouts now permeated the air and grew thicker the further towards the marshes they got. Plum managed to ignore it at first. But slowly, like being overcome by a miasma, it became difficult to concentrate and stay on task.

That scent.

Dark energy was rife in the air, filling every nook and cranny, smothering the leaves and saturating the soil. It was everywhere, spreading outward like a disease. The scent was simply a marker, something that someone like her could detect and recognize. And the more the scent filled her head and addled her brain, the more she fought with her own mind, trying to understand.

Something was wrong. And not just with the forest.

Something was wrong with her. But what? How? Why?

Plum shook her head, clutching her crown and the ethereal mass that was her hair. She screwed her eyes shut and cringed in on herself, suffering the distinct sensation of spinning uncontrollably. However, the feel of solid ground under her lower portion confirmed she was quite stationary. Though, she did not remember stopping.

When did I stop? Why am I on the ground? What am I doing? What's going on?

SNAP

Her eyes shot open as she looked up, crouching further to the ground.

The air was still. Too still.

And yet, something moved.

Plum tilted her head, listening without her ears, seeing without her eyes.

CRACK

She did not react this time. Her senses stretched out further than she ever remembered being within her capability. And she saw… things.

Things of bone and sinew but weaved together with darkness and distorted energy.

Energy.

It flared like a beacon.

Without thought, she was off the ground and rushing in a completely different direction from the noises and the things, drawn like a moth to a flame. She ducked under arched roots and low-lying leaves, through brush, past a trunk, into a thicket-

Time seemed to stop.

Plum stared, eyes wide and unbelieving, her cyan glow lighting her end of an open space at the bottom of the spikey branches. The other end was lit by a glow not unlike her own. A dark azure colored the branches and the ground, a constellation of lights lit up the body that contained them, and brilliant cerulean eyes suddenly alighted on hers from across the space.

"You…" The word slipped from Plum's lips before she could think to stop it.

The man, if that was what it was, remained still. His face was a careful mask. But she could see in his eyes an apprehension, regarding her like one predator sizing up another. She tilted her head, regarding his tall stature, his hair floating as if suspended in still water, his long ears pointed oddly and the gold band around his neck.

Something was wrong.

The sensation of heaviness settled on her body and her mind felt muddy. For a moment, she wondered if what she was experiencing was real. Was this a dream? Was she about to wake up and wonder why her mind was behaving so strangely in the night?

Silly. I don't sleep in this form.

Lightheadedness overcame her and her vision blurred. "You… you're like me…" was all she could manage. But for her life, she could not think of anything else to say.

The man's countenance changed immediately, a smirk spreading slowly across his lips. "Well, well. I was worried for a moment." He hummed in amusement. "How childish of me. Of course, you don't remember."

Plum blinked, the motion feeling sluggish and painful.

Remember…

"Regardless, my dear, I have other things to attend to."

Suddenly, he was right in front of her, nose within a hair's breadth of hers. His eyes, bright and yet somehow so dark, bored into hers with a knowing look that sent her ethereal skin crawling.

"Until next time, Sugar Plum."

And then he was gone.

Plum remained still, but vertigo overcame her. She looked at the empty space in which she was now alone under the thicket, but it was fuzzy, as if she were looking through a fog that existed only within her eyes. She blinked, another slow and excruciating motion. Sensation at her lips made her look down, only to realize she had brushed them with her own fingers. A ghost of a memory filtered through the fog, transparent and visceral.

A name.

"Ta'Kheta."

xXx

He thrashed and kicked and punched and clawed and roared.

And still failed to get out of the bag of strange material that had been wound around him.

Bog growled, low and angry, as much at himself as at the situation. How he had let his whole group get ambushed was beyond him. How he had let himself get captured was completely and utterly unforgivable to his own mind. And yet, he knew deep down this situation was far more problematic than he had first thought.

He had seen no evidence of what was going to happen during their path to the marshes. Aside from the quiet and stillness that seemed to have expanded, there was nothing to indicate via sight, sound, or smell that they were walking into a trap. And even if he had missed anything, which he knew could very well be the case, he knew he could rely on any one of his fellow goblins to pick up the looked over cues. Even Marianne would have called out anything that caught her attention. Yet, not one of them indicated noticing anything more than he.

Bog snarled, flailing again and garnering not much more than a squeeze as his captors continued their eerily smooth journey.

I should have listened to Plum.

He quieted down at his own reprimand, scowl marring his features. He could not smell what she could, could not feel what she evidently was aware of that prompted her to try and warn him, go with them. And feeling the way his captors, these creatures, carried him and moved with his weight as if he were nothing more than a feather in their claws… The way they darted and weaved along like air through the trees.

It was no wonder they had escaped his notice.

Impossibly quiet, unbelievably stealthy, unrealistically strong. If the beasts carried only one of these attributes, they would have put him on his toes. But having all three was clearly enough to encircle him without his notice, stroll past his instinctive reactions, disarm him, and cover him in some material that he had never seen before. And now they were carrying him somewhere.

It sparked his ire even more that their movements were such that he had no clue what direction they were going or how far. He could only hope that Marianne and the others had survived the ambush and were well on their way to tracking these things.

Marianne…

Bog clenched his teeth and bunched up the material in his hands. You made it through the melee. I know you did, tough girl. He screwed his eyes shut, bowing his head. Now be safe… and find me.

xXx

Marianne took another headcount, making sure to engrain the number into her mind. She knew she would have to do this again once reinforcements arrived, but she needed something to occupy herself with.

After taking stock of the wounded and sending them back along with two riders to warn the castle and retrieve more warriors, Marianne set the most experienced trackers in the party to try to find out where Bog might be. The results of their examination were nerve-wracking.

It appeared he had been taken amid the chaos, just as they suspected. The problem was his scent trail lead into the trees going east and then disappeared entirely. Knowing time was of the essence, it was taking all of her willpower to keep from charging in and overturning every bush, rock, and tree. On top of that, the rush from the attack was still thundering through her limbs and pacing was all she could do to keep from taking flight and circling aimlessly.

"They'll be here soon," Guudahl assured, having remained close to her side.

"I know," she managed, her voice tight.

Silence stretched between them, only broken by her steps. It was infuriating. So, when Guudahl sighed, she was ready to say something she was sure to regret.

"He's been through worse."

Her feet stilled against the solid mud of the village square. "What?"

"Bog. He's been though worse than being snatched by strange creatures. He can hold his own until we get to him."

Marianne turned to look at the undine. His grey-green eyes looked suddenly older than his face, aimed at the ground without seeing it. "You…" She paused, unsure what she was about to say or ask.

"I was with him. Through the worst."

Marianne clenched her fists, watching, waiting.

"We fought side-by-side on more than one occasion," the undine said softly, running his hand absently over the leather of his dragonfly's saddle, leaning heavily against the beast. "He… he put himself through more than the war ever could have. He still does." Guudahl looked up, meeting her gaze. "But even so. He's one of the strongest men I've ever known. He'll be alright." He then smiled, a sad gesture that quickly turned into a grin. "Especially, with you at his side, princess." He stood and turned to his saddle, making a point to check the straps.

Marianne was speechless and remained that way for several moments, simply watching and taking in his words. Despite her anxiety, her lips quirked up. She gripped her sword, looking down to the old but new weapon, eyeing the thorned vines and midnight flowers etched along the blade. "How do you know that?" she asked without thinking.

Guudahl was quiet. She looked up and narrowed her eyes. He gave the strap another tug before securing the buckle, yanking and knotting it. Finally, he stopped moving to rest his hands atop the seat.

"Because you're far more worthy of him than my sister would have been."

Marianne's breath halted as she realized immediately all the meanings held within those words. She opened her mouth to speak, but her mind failed her. What could she say?

Only a single moment more of silence was allowed them before several shouts rang out to the south.

Quick as a beat, Marianne drew her sword and turned to face the disturbance with her wings at the ready, Guudahl behind her already on his dragonfly with his mace in hand. Surprise stiffened her form. "Plum!?"

The blue glow of Plum's body preceded her as she raced over the heads of their party, her face all of a frenzied panic. "Why, why are you all just standing here? We have to, to go after Bog!"

Marianne lowered her sword. "We are, but we have to wait for-"

"We can't WAIT! There's no TIME!" Plum shouted, coming to a near instant stop in front of her. "We have to hurry!"

The sheer panic in the woman's voice set Marianne's nerves on edge. "We don't know where to go past the first set of trees, we need our trackers-"

"I'LL lead you- they wouldn't be able to track, track him anyway!" Plum grabbed her wrist, paying no heed to the sword's blade and yanked with surprising strength, almost lifting Marianne from the ground.

"Plum! Wait, we-"
"We CAN'T!" Plum was suddenly in her face, holding her shoulders in a death grip. "We have to hurry, hurry, hurry, there's no time, time – if we don't, don't-"

"PLUM!" Marianne dropped her sword, grabbing Plum's smaller form under the arms as if holding an infant, and shook her with a single, sharp jolt. "Calm down!"

Plum froze under her hold, eyes wide and darting all over Marianne's face as if searching for something. "We have to, have to…"

Marianne shook her head, brows screwing down in confusion. "Plum, why are you talking like that?" She then went still when Plum's smaller hands cupped her face.

"Marianne. We have, have," Plum's face took on a pained expression, "have to… hurry, hurry…" She stopped, closed her lips tight, eyes still boring into Marianne's before opening her mouth to speak again in slow, enunciated words. The mere act of speaking appeared to be a monumental effort. "We need to hurry and rescue Bog now or he will not survive."

A chill shot down her spine at the excruciatingly slow prediction.

Shouts to her right tore her eyes from the glowing orbs obscuring her vision. She could have cried in relief, seeing more dragonfly riders and the broad wingspans of her fairy soldiers with them. Even Roland's orange colors could not hamper the fire starting to burn in her chest.

Marianne turned back to Plum, the alarmed cyan eyes watching her like a hawk.

"Lead me to him."

xXx

Finally, something aside from the deceptive lull of smooth motions.

Bog kept his eyes closed, his grip tight on the material around him, listening. The beasts were lumbering on, as if walking on the ground, their movements somehow slow compared to the relative flying they were just engaged in. However, he could tell they were still covering a great deal of distance with their steps. And now he could feel enough to know they were going downhill.

A burrow, perhaps? A cave? A root hive? He chewed his lip, deciding it best to wait to see what mess he might be released into. He knew enough to know that had to be coming soon. These creatures were beasts surely, but simple beasts did not take captives.

He was about to meet their master.

Bog steeled himself, waiting for the inevitable movements that would indicate the material being removed from him. However, once they stopped, it appeared the beasts' master was prepared for his fury.

A solid grip caught him at the back of the head as a limb or structure caved inward at his stomach, bowing him over. He tried to resist, but another something knocked him at the back of the knees, forcing him to a kneeling position. He was then wrenched down further, his head near touching the ground as more clawed hands gripped his arms. He bit down on a growl when surprisingly gentle touches graced his wings. For a moment nothing happened. Then he realized what was going on.

They were giving him a chance to comply.

He took a deep breath and decided it best not to sabotage himself. He let the air out in a slow sigh, relaxing his body and willingly dropping his forehead to the floor. As expected, the beasts continued their silent tasks. The grip behind his head was loosened marginally while only enough material was removed or shifted out of the way to let the creatures work. His arms were lifted and bound behind his back. His wings were next, that still gentle hold working to twine them together; each primary tied to a secondary and then a knot tied in between, rooting all four wings together.

The care being used to bind him, his wings especially, was confusing. Though he would not rule out an attempt to get within his good graces by being nice. He knew well how thick he could be, but he was not stupid. This person wanted him intact for a reason.

They wanted his cooperation.

When the binding was done, all hands left his body, including the one at the back of his head. The material was then pulled from behind, dragging off his form. Bog remained motionless, eyes closed, head to the floor, simply listening. He heard the quietest of shuffling somewhere behind him, and noted there was no light in this area, as there was none melting in from in front of his closed lids. A sudden change in the air graced his senses, as if a gust were wafting from some location behind him to the side. He took another deep breath, smelling dirt, damp rock, and old wood.

"Please, your majesty, don't remain obeisant on my account."

His eyes shot open. In the darkness, against the dirt floor in his face, he made out a feint glow. Slowly, he raised his head. There was not much to see. He looked to be in a simple room hewn from the dirt. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the left as the sound of metal swinging through air came to his ears. From behind him the glow grew brighter. When the object emitting the light came into his view, he froze.

I should have listened to Plum…

A man, or so it seemed, translucent, glowing an azure color, and filled with speckles of lights, walked slowly around him. His own staff was in the man's hand, and he twirled it lazily as if it weighed nothing to his grip. Bog took in the intense glowing eyes, the hair wafting behind and over his shoulders, and blinked in surprise at the gold band around the being's neck.

Clearly, this man was of the same race as Plum, despite being so large and having defined legs. It was no wonder she was so affected by the situation.

Bog stared unabashedly, raising to a seated position as he watched the being come to stand directly in front of him. The man stopped twirling his staff, looking it up and down before setting it to the ground. He clenched his teeth, noting where the head of his staff aligned on the being. The man was at least a handbreadth or two taller than himself. He could only hope that height was also a disadvantage. If strength was not directly proportional to size, there might be a chance. "What are you?" he finally asked, making no effort to hide his distain.

The being merely chuckled, glowing eyes flicking to meet his gaze. "No pleasantries?"

Bog sealed his lips.

The man tilted his head with a smirk. "Alright, I'll do the honors." He took a step back and bowed, retaining eye contact as he held his left arm out away from himself, facing his palm upward. "I, your majesty, am known as Ta'Kheta." He stood, tilting his head the other way as he let his other hand glide down along the length of his staff. "And you are the Bog King. But you knew I knew that, now didn't you." He smiled, the gesture subtly vicious. "Lovely weapon you have here. Quite artful, I must say."

"What are you?" Bog repeated.

Ta'Kheta let out a hum, keeping his gaze locked with Bog's as he ran his hand back up along the staff. "So concerned with 'what', when you should be asking an entirely more necessary question, sire."

Bog kept the contest going, in no way wanting to show weakness by looking away. However, it was not easy. Plum at least blinked once in a while, even if she did look too long. He let out a huff. Despite hoping to stall for time by asking less important questions, it looked like he needed to play along.

"What do you want?"

A Cheshire smirk colored Ta'Kheta's face as he moved his fingers languidly around the girth of the staff before sliding his hand down again. "I want you."

Bog held his gaze true, barely fighting the crawling sensation under his scales.

"To assist in a noble endeavor."

Bog clenched his teeth.

Ta'Kheta chuckled, finally looking away as he picked the staff up and started twirling it again. "You see, a certain someone I know is trying to set things right in the world." He turned, starting a walk in a small circle. "And he would oh so love your… hmmm, experience? Advice? Approval?" He let out an airy laugh. "Certainly not your power, as that's hardly anything of consequence." His eyes alighted back on Bog's as he completed a circuit. "Even so, your majesty," he stopped in his original spot, setting the staff down again and shrugging his shoulders, "your joining in on this grand escapade would be much appreciated."

Bog remained motionless, glaring. "What is this escapade then?" he asked quietly.

Ta'Kheta tilted his head. "You expect me to believe you don't know?" His smirk faded a fraction as he examined him. "Ah, I see, you want the details," he suggested in a condescending tone. "Well, first weeeee overrun those opposed to my dear friend's new plan for the world, and then weeeee kill those who won't conform to this new plan, and then weeeee rewrite the plan and probably kill some more along the way." He leaned on Bog's staff and crossed one leg over the other. "In a nutshell."

Bog's stomach tightened. Something was wrong even despite the wrongness. "I can't make a proper decision if I don't know what's going on. I don't even know who this friend of yours is-"

The muted clang of his staff hitting the wall cut him off. Before he could move or try to duck away, Ta'Kheta was already on his knees in front of him, one hand clenched tightly on his jaw. The other hand dug fingers under the carapace at his side, yanking him up and against him. Even with them both on their knees, the being was taller than him and he now realized strength was definitely an obstacle.

"Playing dumb only gets on my nerves, majesty," Ta'Kheta whispered, face entirely too close. "You'd better give me the answer you refused our dear prince, or I'll make the decision for you."

Bog grit his teeth as his body instinctively stretched up to relieve the pressure. He kept his eyes locked with Ta'Kheta's but could not stop a tremor as the being countered by reaching his fingers further under the plate. Clean pain sliced into his side and a crack rang into the air, forcing a hiss through his lips as he struggled to keep glaring.

"Don't challenge me, boy," Ta'Kheta breathed, his eyes softening as his grip at Bog's jaw tightened. "You'll regret it."

His skin throbbed under the grip and pain inched inward from his side where Ta'Kheta continued pulling up the plate with excruciating slowness. But the heat of his blood trailing down his scales burned like the flame of his reignited fury.

Bog took a deep breath and let a growl rumble up from deep in his chest. He curled his lips and bared his teeth, snarling as he pooled all of his anger and defiance into his glare. "Basachadh," he spat.

The glowing motes dimmed as Ta'Kheta narrowed his eyes and his motions ceased. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he unclamped his fingers from around Bog's jaw only to wrap them around the back of his neck. He then gripped tight, his thumb and forefinger digging into the muscle.

"You'll wish it was so easy."

Too fast, he was up and standing behind Bog, forcing him back down onto his legs. Bog gasped, immobilized by the vise grip.

"At least when young Cole asks, I can say I tried."

The relief of having the fingers removed from his neck was short-lived as Ta'Kheta's foot smashed into his back, pushing down painfully against the scales of his spine. A grunt was all he allowed before he growled once more. His body trembled at the strain put on his hips and knees, Ta'Kheta forcing him down further and further until he had no choice but to angle his legs out from under him and allow his chest to brush the ground. It was then that the downward force stopped but he felt the heavier man move overtop him, his foot still in place. Soft strokes caught his attention, fluttering sensations ghosting over the stalks of his upper wings.

His blood ran cold and his growl caught in his throat.

"Oh yes," Ta'Kheta whispered in the dark. "You really don't know what I am, do you?" Fingertips slid feather-light down to the bases of his wing stalks then up again. "I can see right through you. I can see what pains you and what pleases you." His touch ghosted around the smooth carapace before floating down the length in a horrifying facsimile of a soothing gesture.

"What scares you."

In less than a beat those fingers closed around his wing stalks like the jaws of a predator.

His scream sounded foreign to his own ears. Pain seared into his back. It bolted up and down his spine from the back of his neck to the tip of his tailbone, jolting down to electrocute his limbs. His carapace cracked and snapped apart, and he could feel the bones of his wing joints come out of their sockets. His throat ached as he opened his mouth wide, his body failing to bring in air as the strain of the muscle ripping apart strand by strand added another slice of pain carving into his body. In the back of his mind, he screamed louder than his voice could ever manage, begging with words he could not breathe in air to utter physically.

Ta'Kheta was doing this deliberately.

This being of raw energy was ripping his wings off with calculated slowness, dragging the experience out, making sure he would feel this pain for as long as he could before the appendage was torn free.

Amid the agony, hot tears streamed down Bog's face as static filled his ears. Behind his closed eyes, he saw what Ta'Kheta had evidently delved into his mind to find.

His father.

Remarkably similar to him, both in height, carapace, and color but with more spikes and sharper teeth. The Brawn King had been the strongest most brilliant person Bog had ever known. His death was brutal, horrid and entirely undeserved…

… and came only days after his wings had been ripped out.

His body went limp. His head dropped to the ground. Something had happened. There was no more pressure at his back. The tightness of Ta'Kheta's grip was gone. He needed to open his eyes. He needed to look.

His body would not move. Even his chest remained still, his lungs devoid of air.

Pain.

That was all there was.

Pain and darkness.

And… a scream?

Thank you for the read. Have a good day or night and a wonderful time~*

Note: Basachadh is Scots Gaelic for "die."

Self-explanatory, I think…