"Hold, Bonded One. For you, this path leads only to trouble. Your people dwell east of here, in the swamps. But to cross the Curse Wall is death. Understand, the wall was built to power the bracelets. To give sorcerous power far from home. But your betrayal forced our hand. Now, the wall is a barrier and only those with permission may pass. Your kind do not have permission. You are trapped within these lands. It was our ultimate defense against the treachery of your kind. Do not go east."

Tuera grimaced as the words echoed into silence, shaking her head vigorously in an effort to clear her mind of the Lorestone's psychic assault. She rubbed her temple, blinked away the haze, and turned from the stone to face her companions.

"Alright, so how'd we do?" She asked, shaking her head one last time. "Who else got caught in that?"

Everyone behind her was in a single file line, each one of them holding onto a length of rope knotted at regular intervals. Obsun was the closest, followed by Samar, then Jakkad, Jamila, Hunter Ophelia, Shevatas, and finally Ioanna behind everyone else.

In truth, Tuera didn't really need to ask; it was obvious from body language alone who had been subjected to the Lorestone's psychic assault, and who had not. But with Jakkad clutching his head and grunting out a pained confirmation that he'd heard it, and Jamila loudly proclaiming that she was fine, Tuera was still glad to have her assumptions upheld.

"And what was the point of all this? Jakkad asked, unable to hide his irritation. "We already knew the information it blasted into our minds. The Archivist already told us as much. We could've just gone around, and saved us this misery."

"That's true, we probably could have," Tuera nodded, coiling up the knotted rope as her companions let it go, one by one. "But now we have a better idea of the radius of the Lorestone's effect. Next time we come across one – because, of course we will – the rest of you will know exactly how far away to stand."

"But not you, I gather," Samar chimed in, absentmindedly scratching at his beard. "You're going to keep subjecting yourself to these."

"Of course," Tuera smiled back at him. "Now, c'mon. We still have a long road ahead, and I sincerely doubt this jungle will make it easy for any of us."


The Archivist had described the lands surrounding the ancient Lemurian city of Xel-ha as a swamp, but it was immediately clear to everyone that either he was mistaken, or things had changed considerably in the last thousands years. Like the chilly forest to the north of the wall, there was a very sharp delineation where the desert simply stopped and almost immediately gave way to a lush, green jungle, with a canopy so thick, it very nearly blocked out the sun. To be fair, there was certainly a lot of ankle-deep water around, but it felt much more like a river delta cutting through a rainforest than what any of them would call a proper "swamp." But perhaps that was merely quibbling over semantics.

The group of warriors were being led by Monty's directions along the same ancient road as before, winding and twisting its way through the jungle. They had briefly lost track of it after leaving the Temple of the Shifting Sands, only to pick up the trail once more shortly after encountering the lorestone. With every step across the ancient cobbled street, the more buildings they saw through the trees: pillars and ziggurats of intricately carved sandstone, weathered by the weight of time, consumed by literal tons of moss and the wrist-thick kudzu vines growing out of every crack and crevice.

Ancient ruins and dense overgrowth were not the only things they witnessed during their trek. There were also a multitude of animals roaming this jungle. They occasionally caught glimpses of things like big cats and frighteningly large pythons off in the distance, but the creatures they came across the most were shoebill storks. It was certainly a shock for Tuera, because she heard the rapid-fire clattering of the stork's bill echoing through the jungle long before she saw any of them; she wondered for half a second if some manner of automatic rifle had fallen through time along with her, and someone was firing it off... before realizing the noise was coming from a bird.

That wasn't what was troubling Tuera, though. At least, not entirely. The animals certainly played a part, as she recognized many of them, and was reasonably confident most – if not all – of these creatures were from vastly different parts of the planet. They should not have existed in the same place at the same time, and yet... here they are. She wasn't entirely confident of that assumption, but one generally has no control over gut feelings.

No, the problem was that the deeper and deeper they ventured into this increasingly claustrophobic jungle, the more everything around her felt... familiar. But it was not the pleasant kind of familiar: this was something far more sinister and uncanny, like discovering a place which should be instantly recognizable is instead "incorrect" in ways difficult to articulate. There was a strange energy in the air, and she was sure she'd felt something like it somewhere in her travels, but it was difficult to pin down precisely what it was.

This jungle... it felt like it was somehow an amalgamation of every sub-tropical rainforest she had ever visited across all of space and time. From the sweltering heat of the Amazon or Cambodia; to the troll and pirate infested Stranglethorn; even alien jungles she'd seen on moons and planets the Yautja liked to use as game reserves for their sadistic hunts. Everything around her was both familiar and alien in a manner that put Tuera slightly on edge, and she did not care for it.

It was almost... as if... but... No. No, that didn't make sense.

… did it?


"How much further?" Tuera asked, looking over her shoulder to the staff on her back.

"Hmmm... difficult to say," Monty replied from his sling. "We've already had to take a few detours, since the landscape has changed significantly in the last thousand years. Honestly, the state of this place beggars belief! I sa-"

"Okay, yeah, we get it," Tuera cut him off, looking around quickly, and turning back to her companions. "The sun is bound to set soon. I think we should make camp before we go any further, just to be safe..." To her right, just off their path, she saw the entrance to a stone staircase flanked by two stone lions, half hidden by foliage; the stairs led up the side of a large step-pyramid with a pillared pavilion at the summit.

"There," she said, pointing at the top of the structure. "What do you think? We should be able to find some decent shelter up there..."


By the time the group had tied up the horses, set up the tents and bedrolls at the summit of the ancient ruin, and got the fire going, the sun had just dipped below the horizon. Even with a sky mostly obscured by a canopy of trees, night fell suddenly... and with the darkness blanketing the jungle came the buzzing of thousands of insects. The group settled in around the fire, engaging in idle chatter: telling stories, singing songs, and partaking of drink and food to while away the time.

Several hours passed.

The fire was now in the process of burning itself out, and the only one left to appreciate it was Monty, as the base of his staff had been wedged between a pair of bricks. The reflection of the flickering embers danced in his crimson eyes. Almost everyone was asleep... except for Tuera. As usual, she had volunteered to take the first watch. And the second.

She had posted herself on a corner edge, standing atop one of the upper setbacks of the ziggurat, when she heard a sound behind her: soft footsteps, and the sound of a small flame charring tobacco. She turned, and saw Samar approaching her, puffing on a long pipe with a halo of smoke lingering around his head.

"Can't sleep?" Tuera asked, unable to contain a smirk. Samar grunted, sitting down cross-legged near her, right along the edge.

"Sleep is for the guiltless," he replied as if it were obvious, as a thin curl of smoke escaped his mouth. Tuera almost burst out laughing, and caught herself before getting too loud; Samar regarded her curiously. "Something funny?"

"If that were true, we'd all be insomniacs," she shot back with a grin.

"Are we not?" Samar asked, almost rhetorically. "Besides, I figure it's long past my turn to be on watch." Tuera lifted a finger and opened her mouth to protest... but quickly closed it again, tapping her chin in thought.

"A fair point," she replied with a shrug. "So... what do you have to feel guilty about?"

Samar said nothing at first. He just sat there, one hand on his knee, pipe held in the other between a thumb and forefinger. He continued staring blankly into the darkness of the jungle beyond, the tobacco crackling softly as he inhaled. He held his breath for a moment, and then leaned back, idly blowing smoke rings. Tuera didn't quite know what to make of this, as his actions seemed strangely... rote and mechanical to her eyes, like he were merely going through the motions.

"It's alright, future girl. You can go and get some sleep," he grunted out, once there was no more smoke left in his lungs. "You don't truly wish to hear my tale, after all."

"Maybe I do?" Tuera offered up, sitting down next to him. "I won't know until I've heard it. But if I had to guess..." She gestured to the serpent bracelet on his wrist. "...it's got something to do with why you're here, yeah?"

Samar continued to stare into the darkness, as heavy shadows cast themselves upon his eyes. Thin curls of smoke rose from the end of his pipe. The insects all around them continued to buzz incessantly.

"A reasonable assumption," he eventually said. "And it's true: I'm guilty of many things..." The rumble of his tired voice carrying the weight of many years. "But the cause of my exile was the one crime I did not commit."

"Well, now you've piqued my interest!" Tuera replied playfully, grinning from ear to ear. "I definitely want to hear it now."

Samar sat there for a moment with a furrowed brow, silently regarding her. It was clear he was weighing his options, idly puffing on his pipe... until eventually:

"All right then, future girl..." he began. "Tell me. What do you know of Yamatai?"

"Probably nothing at all," Tuera said with a shrug. "My knowledge of the Hyborian Age was quite limited before I unexpectedly found myself here." She laughed softly to herself, and smiled in his direction. "Like I said the other night, I've mostly been bluffing my way through things, hoping people wouldn't suspect that I wasn't a local." Samar nodded, finally setting his pipe down. He inhaled deeply, and let out a heavy sigh.

"My home is a land far to the east, and is intent on tearing itself apart," he began. "It's been said that in the distant past, all of Yamatai was united, ruled over by a wise and benevolent God-King... but if there was ever any truth to that tale, it was long, long ago. Now, it is fractured into hundreds of warring states and pocket kingdoms. The old stories are little more than legends, twisted by every upstart warlord and would-be emperor to fit their own vain ambitions."

Tuera nodded, saying nothing. This was a story she'd heard hundreds of different times before, with hundreds of different names; one of the things she learned after years of traversing the multiverse is that history seldom repeats, but it quite often rhymes.

"But there was... one amid the chaos and bloodshed," Samar continued. "To her enemies, she was known as the Demon of Silk. But... to me... she was simply Meiko. She was not driven by insatiable greed, or by a lust for power like so many others. Hers was the purest motivation imaginable: revenge."

"I like her already," Tuera said with a grin. Samar did not return the gesture. Instead, he turned to look at her with... was that sadness? Before she could question, he looked away again.

"When we were children, her entire family was butchered in front of her eyes. All of them were murdered by the forces of a rogue warlord, for no better reason than because... they were simply in his way. By chance, Meiko survived the slaughter. When the fires had died down, and the dust finally settled, she picked up her father's bloodstained blade, and swore revenge. As one of her only friends at the time, I was the first to follow her, joining her righteous cause." He leaned back, staring up at the night sky peeking through the canopy of trees above.

"I would have followed her to the ends of the earth..." he almost whispered. "Ventured into the fiery depths of the underworld itself, without hesitation, had she bid me do so..."

He let out another heavy sigh, lowering his head once more.

"An army formed around her of others who had been wronged like she was... and those in awe of her skills with a blade. She was fearless and unstoppable, striding into war completely unarmored, wearing only a simple robe and armed with her father's sword... and every time, she would emerge completely unscathed. Meiko was a whirlwind of death, beautiful and terrible, every battle a symphony of violence. No matter the odds, no matter how impossible the task, nothing could touch her." Samar glanced over at Tuera, that same look of sadness in his eyes. "In a way, you remind me of her." Tuera furrowed her brow in confusion.

"How's that?"

"Apart from that trick with the melting blade the other day, I haven't seen you take so much as a scratch." He paused, looking away and back into the darkness. "In time, she found her revenge. She took the warlord's head and toppled his holdings, taking them for her own. With her family avenged, Meiko wanted to create something new... something better. A refuge for those who had lost everything and everyone, like her. And, for a time, it seemed like she might have succeeded..."

An uncomfortable pit grew in Tuera's stomach, as she was starting to suspect how this story might end. Samar did not continue at first, letting the heavy silence hang in the air between them for a moment.

"Her enemies knew that they could not best her in war, so instead, they chose the coward's path. One night... an assassin..." He shut his eyes tightly, and briefly clenched his jaw, before gulping hard. "An assassin poisoned her while she slept." Both his hands balled into fists, his knuckles instantly turning pale. "I did everything I could to find those responsible. I cut a bloody swath across the countryside, trying to find her killers and bring them to justice..."

"Did you?" Tuera asked, already knowing the answer. Samar opened his eyes, but refused to look at her.

"No," he growled. "I was ambushed and captured before I got the chance. I was brought before a council of those who had picked up the pieces of Meiko's fractured kingdom... and... they blamed me for her death. When I disappeared to find those responsible, they took it as an admission of guilt. Or so they claimed." He shook his head, the expression on his face contorting into a snarl. "The trial was a sham. The more I think back on it, the more I realize: those responsible were right in front of my face the entire time. I failed to avenge her, and was sentenced to exile by the greedy men who murdered her." He scoffed grimly. "So, here I am. Exiled to the other side of the world, because it was the only way they could be sure I would never interfere again."

Another heavy silence followed. The uncomfortable pit in Tuera's gut was refusing to go away, and her pointed ears twitched as she began to slowly realize something...

"Listen to me..." Samar grunted out, after composing himself to let the anger settle. "Rambling on like an old fool. I must be getting on in years..." He shook his head and sighed once more. "And what of you, future girl? What guilt is keeping you up at night?"

"If I told you everything I was guilty of..." Tuera said idly, looking into the darkness surrounding them with growing concern. "... we'd be here for days." Her ears twitched again, and she swiftly stood up. "Do you hear that?" Samar looked confused, but held a hand to his ear all the same.

Silence.

"I don't hear a thing," he said with a shrug.

"Exactly," Tuera placed a hand on the hilt of her sword. "The insects have stopped making noise." She drew her blade and turned to him. "Get everyone up and armed. I think we're under attack."

Samar was already on the move before she finished, hastily grabbing his pipe and running back up the stairs to the summit. Tuera, on the other hand, briefly paused, looking into the darkness of the jungle.

There should've been a smart play here, Tuera thought. Head up to the summit of the ziggurat, keep the high ground with the rest of the group, and make whoever is attacking tire themselves out climbing up the stairs. But there was something... there was a presence in the darkness approaching them. She recognized it. She hoped that her instincts were wrong, but if she wasn't...

Fighting defensively would leave them all overwhelmed and overrun.

Tuera braced her feet against the stone and kicked off hard, leaping into the darkness. She sailed through the air, the wind rushing past her ears, and she dropped a good 20 or 30 feet. With a heavy crunch, Tuera landed on the overgrown path just ahead of the stone lions. Her boots smashed into the path, cratering it beneath her feet, sending splinters of rock and heavy clouds of dust in every direction.

Her red eyes shimmered in the moonlight as she scanned the darkness, looking for targets... but it wasn't what she saw that confirmed her suspicions. It was the smell. The acrid and unmistakable ammonia stench of rotten fish mixed with salt water overwhelming her senses. And then, she heard the sounds: the low gurgles of lungs bubbling with fluid, wet and heavy footfalls, and the dirty grind of rust corroded metal grinding against itself.

A bowstring twanged from the darkened treeline to her left. Tuera's sword cut through the air with a flash of steel and the arrow deflected off the blade harmlessly, tumbling through the air and clattering to the ground. But then: a whistle, like a heavy spear cutting through the air, coming from the darkness to her right. She bent at the waist just as the projectile sailed over her, aimed right where her head had been a second before. She reached up and snatched it, only to realize that the metal head of the projectile was covered in wicked barbs. This was a harpoon, not a spear.

There was no time to rest, as another arrow was flying at her. And then another. And then another. She swung her blade – and even the harpoon – again and again, deflecting arrow after arrow. She even had to duck another thrown spear. But there were far too many projectiles coming for her, and eventually the inevitable happened.

"Gyah!" Tuera yelped, grimacing as an arrow buried itself in her shoulder. She stumbled back, dropping the harpoon with a clatter. But they didn't stop. Clang! She deflected one. Clang! She deflected another. But the arrow was interfering with her sword arm's range of motion, and the third got through her defenses, grazing her abdomen on the right side and sending her stumbling back another foot.

"Quit... stalling already!" Tuera snarled into the darkness with a grimace, reaching up to grab the arrow in her left shoulder. "These butterfly kisses won't kill me, no matter how many you try and pincushion me with!" She yanked out the arrow with a spurt of blood, tossing it onto the ground; the arrowhead and most of the shaft had almost completely melted, and the rapidly disintegrating arrow bounced against the stone path several times, leaving trails of sulfur smoke with each impact.

Vaguely humanoid figures began to emerge from out of the darkness on all sides, surrounding her. Each one seemed to have slimy, greasy skin with an unhealthy grey complexion, and they all stared at her with bulging, watery-blue eyes that never seemed to blink. Their armor and weapons were decorated in sickly green stones like malachite, and those without helmets revealed that they all had bald heads, flat noses, and almost nonexistent ears. Each of the gurgling monsters advanced on her from every direction with a peculiar shambling gait, apparently the result of their disproportionately immense feet.

And all of them, she couldn't help but notice, had bracelets made of brass wrapped around their left wrists. Even in the dim light, she could just make out the amber gemstones set within.

"Yeah..." Tuera grunted out, rolling her still bleeding shoulder to try and ease the tension. "That's what I thought." She hooked her foot under the discarded harpoon and kicked up, grabbing it in midair with her free hand.

The one in the lead (or, at least, the one directly in front of Tuera) opened its entirely too-wide mouth into an inhuman, gurgling screech, causing the folds along its neck to ripple and pulse. Every single one of the monsters surrounding her joined in, and one by one they all began to charge with a speed that seemed sharply at odds with their previous slow shuffle only a moment before.

Tuera didn't wait. She rushed directly towards the one closest to her, stolen harpoon raised and ready to strike. The amphibious monster raised its sword and shield in kind, bracing its stance for the inevitable. She thrust the harpoon forward, and the point glanced off the irregular edges of the raised shield. It responded by trying to stab her with its sword, but Tuera parried the blow with a downward strike of her own sword, sparks flying off the clashing blades. Before the beast had a chance to react further...

SLICE!

Tuera's sword surged forward and up, taking her attackers head clean off. She kept up the momentum of her arm, swinging the sword around to a spot directly behind her own head. CLANG! A blade from another attacker coming from behind was deflected. Tuera spun on her heel, finished parrying the blade to expose her attacker, and thrust her harpoon it directly between its breastplate and helmet; the barbed dart on the end of the shaft sliced clean through its neck and up into its underdeveloped chin.

"AUGH!" Tuera yelped loudly as a sharp pain stabbed into the back of one of her calves, causing her to let go of the harpoon. She dropped to one knee, and suddenly became aware of four attackers closing in on her all at once, far more rapidly than she had been expecting, and this wasn't even counting the one currently stabbing her in the back of the leg. The smell of sulfur filled her nostrils as she felt a mix of blood and globs of liquid metal sliding down her leg.

Tuera managed to briefly deflect one of the strikes, but it wasn't enough, and the sword in her hand was swiftly knocked aside, clattering against the stone some distance away from the fight. She felt herself getting stabbed several more times by swords, spears, and harpoons, and as her attackers piled on top of her, forcing her to kneel on the ground, she could see even more rapidly approaching. The sulfur smell got far more intense, and she couldn't help but chuckle darkly; she felt a strange sort of vindication in her decision to not fight defensively because this kind of assault probably would've overwhelmed the others, had they all fought together at the summit. In fact, this situation felt a bit like her fight with the cultists of Yog at The Summoning Place... except here, the attackers weren't holding back, waiting to be sacrificed.

So let's not hold back either, she thought.

Tuera roared, grabbed the two closest attackers by the edge of their breastplate collars, and proceeded to slam their heads together. There was a crack as the two bulbous foreheads impacted, each one becoming concave in the process. She tossed the pair aside, pushing up against the rest of them with all of her might, and the half-dozen attackers were thrown aside like ragdolls.

She rushed forward – several of the rapidly melting weapons already falling off of her, but just as many were still sticking out at odd angles – and dove hands-first at another one of the monsters nearby. It thrust its sword forward, the blade passing through her outstretched hands and slicing her left cheek open, but she paid the sting no mind. She planted both of her hands on either side of its skull, and there was a brief second where its too-wide mouth grimaced in pain and shock as her fingers clamped down tight, and its watery eyes seemed to get even more bulbous. She squeezed, and with a sickening crunch of snapping bone, the creature's head burst under her grip like a ripe watermelon, its brains showering her in foul-smelling blood and offal.

Before the headless body even had a chance to collapse, she ducked, as another sword came to swing at her, threatening to take her head off. She reached forward and grabbed its sword arm, and shoved, forcing the beast to stab itself. Another bowstring twang came from behind, she swung the body in her grip around, and heard the soft thud of an arrow hitting meat. She saw another one coming out of the corner of her eye, so she tossed the body right into the path of a downward sword strike, which practically cleaved the dead body's head off.

Her attacker was apparently so shocked by this, it couldn't react in time: Tuera grabbed the back of its head with one hand, its face with the other, and twisted. There was a crunch of bone, and its head turned completely around. The standing corpse wobbled unsteadily for a second, before dropping to its knees, letting out one last reflexive cough, splattering its backside with a gush of blood from its slack-jawed mouth, and finally collapsed forward with wide open eyes staring at the sky above.

Tuera didn't have time to appreciate the absurd spectacle, as another foe was charging at her. She reached for one of the swords still lodged in her side and yanked it free with a grimace; the blade was very quickly turning into liquid, trailing green smoke as it left her bleeding side. So rather than trying to stab her attacker with a useless weapon, she flicked the blade in its direction, sending a shower of acid blood and melting slag directly at its chest and head. The effect was immediate, as both its armor and its face started to quickly bubble and melt away. It dropped to the ground and screamed, desperately clutching at its rapidly dissolving features, trying in vain to prevent one of its eyeballs from rolling out of its socket.

She tossed the ruined weapon aside before it melted all the way down to the hilt, spun around, and reached up with her right hand: another one of the monsters came for her, trying to slash at her with a downward strike. She grimaced when she caught the blade, as it sliced her hand open. the monster almost looked confused as its watery eyes looked at Tuera, then to the blade which had come to a dead stop in her grip, eyes widening as greenish-yellow sulfur smoke began to escape through her fingers. Tuera grinned broadly with wild-eyed malice, the blood pooling in her mouth spilling out past her lips and staining her sharpened canines. She yanked the blade in her bloody hand forward, dragging the attacker along with it, opened her mouth wide, and sunk her fangs deep into its neck. It screeched right next to her ear as she clamped down hard and pulled back, tearing out a huge chunk of bloody meat.

She shoved the gurgling body and melting blade in her hands aside and turned around, spitting out the dissolving meat with disgust.

"Too much salt," she snarled, letting out a belch of sulfur smoke.

Before the words even finished leaving her lips, she sidesteped out of the way of yet another one charging at her with a spear. She reached up before it passed her and grabbed its face with her still bleeding hand. The whole body spasmed and went limp under her vice-like grip, almost as if it had run face-first into a clothesline. The screaming face began to boil under her fingers, and she shoved the whole body down, slamming the back of its head against the path. Brains and blood exploded everywhere as its skull collapsed, but her hand kept going until it met stone.

Tuera looked up with bloodshot eyes, hunched over the twitching corpse and practically on all fours. Another cluster of these creatures were standing some distance away from her... their weapons were at the ready, but their stances were hesitant. One of them was staring at her with fear behind those bulging eyes, its too-wide mouth working soundlessly, and the gills on its neck quivering. She slowly rose back on two feet, pulling her hand free of the pile of gore. Rivulets of blood spilled off her body from dozens of open wounds, the acid starting to burn away at her clothes and armor.

"What's the matter?" she growled like an animal, baring her bloodstained fangs. "Didn't think you'd run into a real monster?"

Tuera heard the twang of another bowstring behind her, and a half-second later an arrow embedded itself into her right trapezius. She barely even grimaced, calmly reaching up over her shoulder with a bloody hand to rip the arrow free, tossing it aside as she slowly continued advancing on the ones in front of her. One seemed to stand its ground, but the others all started to back away from the woman slowly walking towards them, completely unfazed by any of her injuries.

"I already told you, that won't-" she began to snarl. However, before she got a chance to finish, a new sound interrupted her: a bellowing war cry, cutting through the darkness. And then, Obsun's axe cut through the darkness as well, crashing down on top of one of the attackers caught unaware. The rest of her compatriots appeared shortly after, all with weapons in hand, and they made quick work of the rest.

Tuera felt like a plug had been pulled from a drain somewhere, or a balloon with a hole poked in the side to let it swiftly deflate, as all of the tension just immediately evaporated. She stood there in a daze, just as confused as the interlopers being cut down in the chaos. The blood leaking out of her many stab wounds had already slowed to a trickle, as many of the holes had already started healing. The sizzling and popping of the stones beneath her feet began to slow as the spilled acid blood began to oxidize, mingling with the gore and mangled bodies littering the jungle floor around her.

"Is that all of them?" Tuera heard Jamila's voice cut through the haze, once the chaos of battle finally died down. "I think... that..." Jamila trailed off as she came to a sudden stop in front of Tuera, apparently having just noticed her. "Seven Hells! Are you... is that your blood?"

Tuera wasn't quite sure how to answer at first. She looked down at her hands, which were almost completely soaking wet and still dripping... and then she just sort of shrugged.

"Some of it, yeah," she said, with an almost worrying calm. By now, the others had also noticed Tuera and the pile of bodies (that hadn't been their doing), and were starting to gather around her – but also clearly keeping their distance. A smart move on their part, she thought to herself, as not all the acid was fully inert yet.

"Are... are you going to be okay?" Jamila asked with an expression on her face that looked like she was trying to convey a mixture of concern, fear, amusement, and confusion, but was comprehensively failing to capture any of those emotions.

"Well, I mean... a normal person can swallow up to a pint of blood before they get sick." As she spoke, Tuera tried to wipe some of the blood off her cheek, but her hands were still a mess and only made things worse; the slice was mostly closed, but not completely, so her skin felt rough and uneven under her fingers. "Lucky for me, I'm not normal."

Tuera started giggling to herself, but a small part of her internally cringed. Quoting Fight Club once was bad enough, but twice was pushing it, especially surrounded by people who wouldn't appreciate the joke. But she could never pass up the opportunity to be a complete smart-ass, consequences be damned, and the setup was too good.

When she started to look around, and eventually locked eyes with Samar. He had just finished wiping off his sword with a cloth he had produced from somewhere and returned the blade to its scabbard, and was now simply... staring at the absolute state of her. She met his gaze and broke into a wide, bloody grin, shrugging once more.

"So much for not a scratch, huh?" she laughed.