Sid stood in the same spot, the mist thinning around his boots. His fingers flexed, threads flickering around his wrists like curious snakes, uncertain if they should move or wait.
He glanced at Krixi.
She tilted her head slightly, vents purring softly. No command. No words. Just observation.
He reached out—not to her, but to the threadwork between them. Invisible, but now familiar. Like tuning into a forgotten language that had always lived inside his bones.
Sid turned toward a nearby tree—old, towering, draped in moss thick enough to carpet its roots. He narrowed his gaze and exhaled.
> Cut it.
The thought wasn't a scream, or a plea. It was simple. Certain.
The threads moved.
Krixi moved.
In the same breath.
No order spoken.
She surged forward, green mist billowing behind her like a silk cape in slow motion. Her scythe-arm didn't slash—it flowed, a liquid blur of mirrored precision.
Roots exploded from the impact.
A section of the massive trunk collapsed, shorn clean through with almost artistic brutality. Chunks of earth, moss, and bark flung into the air, trailing mist and splinters.
Silence followed.
Not from fear—but awe.
Krixi stood beside the severed remains of the tree, motionless again. The edge of her reaper-limb hissed, venting a final line of steam.
Sid blinked.
He hadn't lifted a finger.
No puppet strings. No gestures. Just… intent.
> She felt it.
He turned to the others, breath still catching.
"I didn't control her. Not really," he said. "I just thought about cutting the tree—and she moved. As if the thread read me. Or she did."
Ethan let out a low whistle. "So you think now you're synced?"
Dianna folded her arms, lips pursed. "That's not just obedience. That's straight up mind control."
One of the scouts nodded slowly. "She doesn't wait for commands. She reacts to your will. That's more dangerous… and more efficient."
"Or both," another added.
Sid turned back toward Krixi. She was watching him again, not like a weapon awaiting activation—but something measuring him, learning.
Then a sharp whistle cut through the moment.
A scout jerked his chin upward, toward the ridge.
"Alright, threadmaster," he said, voice dry. "You're synced now. Good. But how about you try it on something that actually bites back?"
They pointed.
Sid followed their gaze—and froze.
Atop a boulder tangled in thick roots and age-worn vines, lay a beast.
Massive.
A feline—if you could still call it that—almost three times the size of a bull. Its skin was a patchwork of matted fur, raw muscle, and jagged scars. Blood smeared its flanks—still fresh. Its ribs rose and fell slowly.
It was watching them.
Its eyes gleamed, yellow and slitted like burning coins sunk in oil.
It hadn't roared. It hadn't moved. But it saw them.
And it remembered something.
The scout beside Sid whispered, grimly, "The Ravelleons didn't come from nowhere. That thing was probably their prey. They failed to kill it."
Dianna stepped forward, hand near her blade. "Or they tried. And it fought back harder than they expected."
Another scout murmured, "That thing might be the reason they came in the first place. Some apex trigger."
Ethan's grin was gone now. "It's injured. But it's watching like it knows the next fight already started."
The beast didn't growl.
It simply lifted its head—and stood.
And the boulder beneath it cracked.
The beast leapt.
A blur of mass and muscle vaulted from the boulder, cracking vines and stone beneath its weight. It landed in front of them with a heavy thud, moss and dust blasting out from its paws. Its low growl vibrated through the earth—deep, broken, wrong. It smelled of iron and old wounds.
The scouts instinctively stepped back. Weapons lifted. Dianna's hand gripped her hilt.
Ethan whispered, "kitty cat's not just mad. It's sharp."
The beast began circling.
Sid stepped forward.
No fear in his pace—only focus. The threads hovered around him now, loose and unreadable, trailing faintly through the air toward Krixi like silver veins suspended in mist.
He raised his arm—slowly, deliberately.
> Attack.
The thought echoed.
Krixi moved.
She shot forward with a hiss of green, scythe-limb cutting the air with surgical speed.
The beast charged too.
But instead of clashing, it shifted—darting low and wide with uncanny speed, slipping past Krixi's blow like mist avoiding flame. Her blade split only wind.
It lunged toward Sid.
He stumbled back—barely.
A blur of fur and muscle shot past him. The beast twisted mid-air, tail whipping violently. Sid ducked and rolled, threads reacting on instinct to throw him clear.
"Krixi, behind—!"
But she was already there, swiping.
Too slow.
The beast was faster.
It corkscrewed in the air, pushing off a branch mid-spin, its claws narrowly missing Sid's chest. The scouts behind shouted.
"Sid!"
"Come on—think!"
"You can do it!"
Dianna raised her sword, tense. Ethan grabbed her shoulder. "Wait. He's not done yet."
The fight raged.
Krixi dove and slashed, weaving strikes with the grace of a reaper in fog. The beast twisted, ducked, pounced—it was large, but not clumsy. It moved like it had been surviving death every day of its life.
Still, neither landed a critical blow.
Sid backed away from the group, forcing the fight deeper into the open.
"I need them not to interfere for now," he muttered. "I'll shift its focus on me."
He breathed in, threads flickering—then launched several in rapid succession, flinging them around the creature's limbs.
They wrapped—tight.
The beast roared and thrashed, pinned just long enough for Krixi to strike.
She lunged.
Her scythe came down—clean, fast—
> And missed.
The beast's body vibrated, a strange blur—its muscles convulsed, shifting in unnatural waves. It broke free, and with a sharp crack of displaced air, it vanished—only to reappear a few meters away, crouched and snarling, fur bristling like razors.
"What the hell was that?" one scout breathed.
Sid clenched his jaw. "It… it pulsed its body like a tuning fork. Slipped through the threads."
Then it came again.
Fast.
Too fast.
Its eyes were locked on him.
"Come on, think—think!" Sid barked at himself, skidding backward as claws missed his face by inches. "We can't match it one-for-one…"
Then—clarity.
Not panic. Not instinct.
A plan.
He ducked behind a root, hand outstretched.
> Krixi, move with me. Don't wait. Feel it. React—but follow my lead.
The threads pulsed—not in straight lines, but curved, flowing with his motion like twin dancers joining rhythm.
Krixi didn't wait for the next "command."
She read his motion.
Sid spun left—Krixi flanked right.
The beast turned—hesitated. Sid threw a burst of mist-thread forward, not to trap—but to guide the creature's dodge.
It worked.
It leapt to the side—exactly where Krixi had repositioned, preempting the shift.
She slashed—not with power, but with precision.
The blade sliced across the beast's leg.
Not deep. But enough.
The creature howled, landing hard. One leg buckled for a moment.
Sid didn't celebrate.
He moved.
Threads lashed out again—this time not to trap, but to pull himself in. He flipped toward the creature, baiting its attention while Krixi encircled it from the fog.
He gave her no direct orders now.
Just intent.
Just rhythm.
A shared beat.
The creature lunged for Sid—desperate now.
Sid ducked under a sweeping claw, slid across the dirt, and shouted—not in words but thought:
> Now.
Krixi struck low—threading her body between the creature's rear legs and slicing upward in a crescent arc.
Blood sprayed.
The beast bucked and howled, stumbling.
Sid rose to his feet. "We're syncing—keep it distracted, Krixi."
She circled again, her vents hissing softly—fog blooming outward in a spiral.
The creature's breaths grew heavier. Limbs trembling. Its flank now stained red.
Still dangerous.
Still watching.
But it was faltering.
Sid's mind raced, the threads dancing around his fingers like serpents ready to strike.
> One more exchange. One clean break.
He didn't speak.
Krixi didn't pause.
The jungle didn't breathe.
Only the beat of two minds—one heart, split across mist and thread—rising into their final move.