Hunter's Rise
Copyright© 2025 by Mezu
Pupil 44: Back to School! Part 4
Fantasy Sex Story: Pupil 44: Back to School! Part 4 - The story takes place in a world relatively similar to the real-life but with monsters. The main character is a monster hunter called Zara Cromwell. She and other monster hunters gain superpowers through experiments to be able to fight stronger monsters in the future. Warning: the series showcases various kinks and fetishes.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual NonConsensual Rape Reluctant Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Hermaphrodite Futanari Paranormal Furry Magic Vampires Were animal Zombies Incest Mother Son FemaleDom Rough Sadistic Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Black Female White Female Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Facial Fisting Lactation Oral Sex Sex Toys Tit-Fucking Amputee BBW Big Breasts Body Modification Hairy Public Sex Size ENF
This is the last installment of a lengthy story that I had to split into multiple chapters to make it more digestible.
This one is focused on introducing the new characters and their powers, but has more erotica in the second half.
Part 29
The strange group approached Zara as Aritimi called them closer. Leading the pack was a pair of conjoined twins.
“Ah, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” said the twin on the left, flashing a bright, confident smile. “Tünde Aranyosi.”
“And I’m Titanilla Aranyosi,” added the one on the right, her grin just as dazzling.
The twins were a surreal sight. Joined at the side of their upper torsos, their symmetry felt more like stylized choreography than biology. Both had fit, curvaceous figures: toned legs, eye-catching hips, and ample chests that moved in synchronized bounce with every step they took. Their warm, golden-tan skin practically glowed under the lights, and their matching high ponytails—platinum blonde for Tünde, black for Titanilla—added to their striking visual contrast.
They looked like they had stepped straight out of a workout shoot, dressed in tight leggings, sleek sneakers, and a custom sports bra cleverly stitched together in the center to support their shared upper body—though it seemed constantly on the verge of giving up against the four breasts it was meant to hold.
“Y-yeah ... nice to meet you both,” Zara said, shaking the closest hand with a slightly awkward smile.
Next up was another peculiar girl, her appearance just as striking but for a different reason.
“Undine Slate,” she said with a playful wink. “But feel free to call me Smurfette.”
It was an apt nickname. Undine’s skin shimmered with a silvery blue hue, like frosted steel. Even her long blonde hair had a faint cerulean tint.
“Whoa,” Zara said, raising an eyebrow. “That a result of your augmentation?”
Undine laughed with a wide, exaggerated grin that almost split her face. “Nope! This lovely blue is from a little something called argyria.”
“Argyria?” Akemi blinked. “Isn’t that the thing people get from too much silver?”
“Bingo,” Undine nodded, still grinning. “The mouth thing, though?” She leaned forward, her eerie grin widening even further. “Yeah, that’s augmentation.”
Zara took a cautious half-step back.
Undine just snorted. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna eat you.”
Then she stepped aside to let the next girl through—a figure almost completely hidden inside a massive, baggy hoodie. She moved with a soft clinking sound, like someone gently shaking a jewelry box.
“Valeria Glam,” she said, her voice quiet but clear. She extended her hand—and Zara blinked. The girl’s hand was made of intricate golden metal, ticking and shifting like clockwork. Its fingers were jointed with tiny gears and pistons, all working in harmony with soft mechanical clicks.
Zara hesitated before carefully shaking it.
“Oh, you can squeeze a little harder,” Valeria smiled gently. “It’s not going to hurt you.”
“I’m not worried about me,” Zara said, eyeing the hand. “I just don’t want to break it. That thing probably costs more than my rent.”
Valeria chuckled. “It’s not a prosthetic—it’s my own. Grown from my augmentation.”
“Seriously?” Zara asked, intrigued.
“Yup,” Valeria replied, brushing her blonde hair (which had the same golden hue as her mechanic parts) aside to reveal her left eye—except it wasn’t an eye at all. Embedded in the socket was a golden clock dial, complete with rotating hands. Zara squinted—sure enough, it showed the correct time.
“ ... How do you sleep with all that ticking going on inside you?”
Valeria gave a relaxed shrug. “You get used to it. Like rain on the roof.”
“Wait a moment...” Aritimi turned and walked back toward the corner. “Come on now, don’t be shy,” she called gently.
A soft, nervous voice responded, “Hi ... hi...”
Then she stepped into view.
It was like an ogre emerging from behind a curtain—if ogres had bashful eyes and gentle smiles. The girl was enormous, towering at around 4.5 meters tall. Her outfit, a small top and shorts, looked like it had taken enough fabric to clothe a whole family. Her breasts were so huge they could double as beanbag chairs, and her backside looked capable of flattening a car with one sitting. Her thick thighs led down to delicate yet enormous feet crammed into sneakers that were clearly custom-made, clown-sized and all. A waterfall of light brown—nearly blonde—hair flowed down her back, nearly touching her knees.
Despite her intimidating size, there was a warm innocence in her expression. Her cheeks blushed pink as she leaned down toward Zara, offering a hand.
“Welcome Home,” she said softly.
Zara blinked. “Oh ... do you live here?”
“No,” the girl giggled awkwardly, “That’s my name. Welcome Home. My mom thought it was funny because our family name is Home.”
Zara gave a thumbs up as they shook hands. It felt like trying to shake hands with a troll. “It’s ... actually a pretty cute name.”
“Is your size the result of your augmentation?” Zara asked.
“Nope,” Welcome said, still bashful. “I have Hypergigantosis. It’s a very rare form of gigantism that can show up in augmented pregnancies. I guess I hit the genetic lottery.”
As Welcome stepped aside—carefully, to avoid crushing any toes—the next girl emerged with theatrical grace.
“Hexmistress Xipil Blackwood,” she announced, bowing her head ever so slightly.
The witch aesthetic was strong with this one. Xipil had long, dark green hair cascading from beneath a wide-brimmed pointed hat. Her eyebrows and lashes matched—clearly not dyed. Her outfit included a black dress cut at mid-thigh, striped black-and-white stockings, and heeled boots. She even wore glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, adding a scholarly vibe to her mystical look.
“And let me introduce my apprentice, Xan,” she added with a flourish.
A young boy stepped forward—short, soft-featured, and dressed in a matching witch outfit. His green hair was long like Xipil’s, except for a thin braid near his left eye. He held a wooden staff and stood silently for a moment.
“He’s my apprentice, my son ... and my brother.”
Zara blinked again. “Wait ... what?”
“It’s because of the Liosk Syndrome,” Xipil explained, casually adjusting her glasses. “He was a parasitic twin—developed inside me for a year before they had to remove him. So yes, he’s technically my little brother, but also ... genetically my son.”
“Ah, right!” Zara said, remembering. “Akemi told us about that syndrome. You’re the girl she mentioned.”
“Hello,” Xan said timidly.
“So ... on paper, there’s only about a one-year age gap between you two?”
“Correct,” Xipil nodded. “He’s eighteen.”
Zara squinted at the boy. “He looks more like twelve.”
“He was removed a bit early,” Xipil admitted, “but my health couldn’t take it anymore. The doctors had to act.”
“It’s cool to see a pair like you,” Zara said sincerely.
“Oh, darling, we’re not really a pair,” Xipil chuckled. “I’m the mistress. He’s my little servant who helps with chores.”
“Not exactly. We’re both Aritimi’s pupils,” Xan objected.
“But I am the Hexmistress,” Xipil snapped back, glaring. “Now be a good boy and fetch me a drink.”
Xan rolled his eyes and turned. “As you wish.”
“Ahem!” Xipil cleared her throat meaningfully.
Xan sighed. “As you wish, Mistress...”
“Teenagers,” Xipil muttered with a fond smirk as Xan headed off. “Some days, I feel blessed. Other days, cursed.”
Then, the last girl stepped up. She had pale, freckled skin and blood-red hair tied into a single braid, like a red tail. Her outfit was a mix of wild and gothic—an emerald corset, red tartan mini-skirt, and black boots. A heavy backpack hung from her shoulders.
“Ysolde Byrne,” she said simply, offering a handshake.
Finally, someone who looked relatively normal, Zara thought. That illusion lasted two seconds.
“I’ll introduce you to my sisters too,” Ysolde said casually, dropping the backpack to the floor and reaching into it with both hands. “Zara, meet Yseult and Ysabel.”
She pulled out two heads. Severed. Identical to her own. Held by the hair.
Zara froze, staring as onlookers nearby gasped. One head twitched its nose. The other let out a tiny snore.
“Oops,” Ysolde chuckled. “Still a bit sleepy.”
She gave each head a shake. “Wake up!”
Both opened their eyes at once.
“Hello,” said Yseult.
“Top o’ the mornin’,” added Ysabel.
Without missing a beat, Ysolde hoisted them up and placed one on each shoulder. In a moment that defied all logic, two necks extended upward from her shoulders and connected the heads to her body like they’d always belonged.
“You’re like the Lexisters,” Zara said in amazement. “Triplets who merge into one body?”
“Actually,” Yseult began.
“We’re the opposite,” Ysolde finished.
“We’re conjoined triplets,” Ysabel clarified, “but we can detach our heads.”
“Wait ... conjoined triplets? I thought that wasn’t possible,” Zara said, eyes wide.
“It’s not impossible,” Yseult said confidently.
“Just super rare,” Ysolde added.
“Most don’t survive,” Ysabel explained, “but we were augmented in the womb as part of a test case. That’s why we’re alive today.”
Before Zara could ask another question, Aritimi clapped her hands.
“Wonderful! Now that everyone’s here, the team can bond and hang out for the rest of the day!”
“Are you joining us?” Tünde asked, hopefully.
Aritimi smiled. “Nope! Venus wants to introduce me to some of her friends.” With that, she stepped into one of her swirling portals and vanished.
“Sooooo,” Tünde grinned, hands on her hips, “what’s first on the agenda?”
“Any ideas from you guys?” Titanilla asked, looking around the group.
“We’ve got a plan,” Lexi said with a confident nod.
“Yup,” added Lexy, “we mapped out a few places we thought would be cool for everyone.”
“We’re heading to two more classes, then we’ve got some fun stuff lined up after that,” Lexie chimed in.
“Oh, you don’t have to do all that just for us,” Undine said, looking a little flustered.
Lexi shrugged casually. “It’s not just for you. We already added a few extra stops since Zara and Skeletina were tagging along.”
“Yeah, we’ve got plenty of time to kill,” Lexy said.
“And we’ll definitely find something fun for you two as well,” Lexie added with a wink.
Part 30
“Finally, some real fighting!” Quincy grinned, skipping every other step like an excited kid.
The group was outside again. Even among the many strange-looking people wandering the area, Zara and her companions still managed to turn heads. Hard not to, considering their lineup included a muscle-bound amazon, a set of conjoined fitness model twins, a 15-foot-tall girl, and a literal three-headed woman.
They arrived at a zone filled with smaller combat arenas, clearly designated for sparring and training. Signs posted around the area made it clear: this was the only authorized place on campus where augmented individuals were allowed to fight each other.
It didn’t take long to spot the instructor.
Etheldreda Graves, the martial arts expert, stood nearby. Barely 60 centimeters tall, she looked like a cursed porcelain doll come to life, complete with jet-black hair and a dark gothic dress that made her seem wildly out of place in the sunlit open space.
“Oh, welcome, girls,” she said with a polite nod as they approached. “I was expecting you. Especially you, Quincy.”
“We would’ve been here first thing in the morning if it were up to me!” Quincy beamed, bouncing on her toes. “Got anyone lined up to fight me?”
“I’m sure we’ll find a worthy opponent,” Etheldreda replied calmly.
Zara tilted her head. “Wait ... you teach here too?”
“I run an optional combat class,” Etheldreda said, her tone turning a little sharp. “Unfortunately, I only get a handful of students each year. Most families prefer their private instructors—no matter how useless those overpriced clowns are.”
Before anyone could respond, a heavy thud drew everyone’s attention. A large woman, dressed like a sumo wrestler, flew through the air and crash-landed on the lawn nearby.
“Hah! Another one down!” came a cocky voice from the direction she’d been launched.
Striding into view was a woman who looked like a distorted copy of Aritimi. Her long braids alternated between jet-black and neon pink. She wore a tiny black tank top that did a laughably bad job of containing her enormous chest and skintight biker pants that perfectly showcased her shapely ass.
Zara squinted. Artixene, she thought.
Artixene’s eyes locked onto the group the moment she saw them. A sly grin spread across her face.
“Well, well, look who’s here,” she said, cracking her neck. “Ari’s precious puppies, parading around like they own the place. Wanna try a fight with a real warrior?”
“Yeah, no thanks,” Tünde muttered.
“I’m good,” Undine added, arms crossed.
“Pass,” Welcome said.
Even the three Lexies shook their heads in synchronized disinterest.
But Quincy took a step forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’ll take you on!”
Artixene chuckled darkly and rolled her shoulders. “Knew at least one of you wouldn’t chicken out.”
With a sudden, grotesque movement, Artixene opened her mouth unnaturally wide. From deep in her throat, she drew out a long, fleshy tongue-shaped weapon, part sword, part whip, its glistening surface twitching like a living thing.
“Ew! That tongue sword again,” Lexi cringed.
Quincy grinned like a maniac and dropped into her fighting stance. Her entire posture shifted, tense and precise. “Let’s go.”
But before either of them could launch their first move, Etheldreda’s voice cut sharply through the air.
“Enough!”
Both girls froze.
“The principal has made it very clear,” Etheldreda said, walking between them without a hint of fear. “No direct fights between Aritimi’s pupils and the Argento sisters.”
“But we’re literally standing in the fighting arena!” Quincy protested.
“She started it!” Artixene added, pointing dramatically at Quincy.
“I’m not saying you can’t compete,” Etheldreda said, eyes narrowed. “You can, just not by fighting each other directly.”
Quincy and Artixene looked at her, puzzled. “Then how are we supposed to compete?” they said almost in unison.
“Simple,” Etheldreda smirked. “You’ll both face waves of opponents. I’ll pick them. One at a time. You fight until you lose.”
Artixene raised an eyebrow. “So that’s your challenge?”
“Exactly,” Etheldreda nodded. “Endurance, adaptability, power. We’ll see who breaks first.”
“Ohohohoho,” Artixene cackled, her tongue-whip twitching eagerly. “Not as good as a real fight, but will be good for now.”
“Bring it on,” Quincy grinned, cracking her knuckles. “I’ll mop the floor with whatever you throw at me.”
Etheldreda turned toward the arena. “Then let’s begin.”
“Quincy goes first,” Etheldreda announced, stepping onto the edge of the nearest arena.
“Excellent,” Quincy said, hopping over the barrier with a backflip, already bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Let’s kick this off with a bang.”
Etheldreda raised one delicate hand and snapped her fingers. “Desdemona!”
From the crowd, a small figure emerged. She was barely waist-high to most of the students, child-sized, but not a child. Her black Gothic Lolita dress was frilled and buttoned to perfection, topped with lace gloves and knee-high stockings.
“That’s your daughter?” Artixene snickered.
“Yes,” Etheldreda said simply. “She’s a professional.”
Desdemona silently stepped into the arena. For a moment, she just stared at Quincy, blinking slowly like a doll wound too tightly. Then, with a sudden shudder, her skirt ruffled unnaturally. A shape began pushing out from the fabric; something huge, jagged, and growing fast.
With a wet, tearing noise, a massive battle axe erupted from beneath her dress. Its obsidian blade shone in the sunlight, still pulsing like it had veins.
“That’s ... not cute,” Lexi muttered.
“Let’s do this!” Quincy shouted as she assumed her battle stance again.
Desdemona made the first move; fast and brutal. She zipped forward with eerie silence and swung the axe in a clean, horizontal arc.
CHOP!
Quincy’s left arm hit the dirt with a sickening thump.
Some of the onlookers gasped. “Oh my god!”
But Quincy didn’t even flinch. Instead, her stump writhed, and from it sprouted a new, fully formed arm in seconds: veins knitting, skin smoothing, nails popping into place.
“Nice try,” she grinned.
She lunged forward. Desdemona met her with a downward slash, but this time, Quincy twisted under it and launched a powerful knee into her opponent’s stomach, sending the little warrior skidding back.
Quincy didn’t let up. With a fluid spin, she ducked under the next blow and brought her elbow down on the axe’s shaft, cracking it. Desdemona tried to pull back, but Quincy followed through with a palm strike directly into the axe’s blade.
CRACK!
The weapon shattered, sending black shards scattering across the arena.
Desdemona stumbled backward, wide-eyed for the first time.
Quincy stood tall, flexing her fingers with a grin. “Never bring a doll dress to a dojo.”
Etheldreda nodded calmly. “Round one goes to Quincy.”
Artixene snorted. “Tch. Cute trick. But let’s see how long you last.” She then popped her neck and swaggered into the arena, flashing a smug grin back at Quincy. “Let’s see if your little win was anything impressive.”
Etheldreda raised her voice. “Walker Hart, you’re up.”
A girl emerged from the opposite end of the arena; deathly pale, long limbs moving with eerie calm. Her black hair hung damp and matted down her back, her sea-glass eyes glowing faintly even in the daylight. Her sportswear clung to her in the wrong ways, like it had just been peeled off a drowned body.
“I’m Walker,” she said with a flat voice. “I’m a Draugr-human hybrid, so you don’t have to hold yourself back. Pleased to fight you, by the way.”
“Cute,” Artixene sneered, flicking her tongue out like a snake. She reminded Zara of a black version of Quincy.
The moment the fight started, Walker surged forward, fast and low. Her movements were jerky, corpse-like, as if her joints didn’t obey normal rules. She reached for Artixene’s throat, but the tongue-using warrior was faster.
With a wet squelch, Artixene yanked her signature weapon out of her mouth: that grotesque tongue-sword-whip hybrid, dripping and twitching.
CRACK!
The fleshy whip snapped through the air and lashed across Walker’s chest, sending her tumbling with a snarl. Another snap followed, this time wrapping around her ankle and slamming her back down when she tried to rise. A final crack of the weapon sent her skidding across the arena like a rag doll.
Her clothes were in tatters, shredded and dangling off her pale form, exposing her pale breasts and even paler ass, but Walker herself rose again. Her skin, though bruised and scraped, held strong. She cracked her neck, coughed, and gave Artixene a thumbs-up.
“I’m good,” she muttered.
“Not bad for a drowned rat,” Artixene said, rolling her shoulder. “But not enough.”
Etheldreda nodded. “That’s enough. Victory to Artixene.”
“Back to you, Quincy,” she added without delay.
Quincy leapt the barrier again. “Bring it!”
“Sechs Hart,” Etheldreda called.
This time, a towering woman strutted in wearing only a microscopic bikini. She was stacked with muscle—shoulders like boulders, abs like sculpted stone—and most notably, six massive arms that flexed in unison. Three per side, every one twitching with power.
“Hope you like hugs,” Sechs growled.
“Oh, I’m gonna love this,” Quincy whispered to herself.
They clashed like titans. Quincy’s strikes were lightning-fast, but Sechs had the reach and numbers. A right uppercut, a left hook, a grab from behind—Sechs was all over her. In a whirlwind move, she ripped off both of Quincy’s arms with a terrifying roar.
But Quincy was grinning.
Still grinning.
“You’re sweaty,” she said calmly, raising her head toward Sechs as blood poured down her sides. “That’s great.”
She darted forward, not with her fists, but with her tongue. She licked Sechs’ glistening bicep in one long, gross swipe.
“What the hell?!” Sechs recoiled.
But it was already too late. Quincy’s shoulders began to bubble and squirm. Flesh burst forth—not just new arms, but three new arms from each side. Thick, veiny, muscular replicas of Sechs’ own, twitching with inherited strength.
“Oh. Oh. You are so screwed,” Quincy said.
Now six-armed herself, Quincy launched forward, every limb a blur. A flurry of punches, slams, chops, and jabs rained down on Sechs. She tried to block, but the numbers were equal now, and Quincy was faster with her raw fury. With a finishing move, she grabbed Sechs by all six wrists and spun, hurling her into the ground.
BOOM.
Sechs groaned from the ground, buried in rubble, dazed and twitching.
Quincy stood tall, all six arms raised in triumph. “I really like this game.”
Etheldreda clapped once. “Victory: Quincy.”
Lexy blinked. “She grew her enemy’s arms just by licking her. That’s—horrifying.”
“Yeah,” Zara said. “But, like ... really cool.”
“Well then,” Etheldreda said, clapping her tiny hands together. “Let’s raise the stakes a bit, shall we? Artixene, this time you’ll be facing a group.”
Artixene didn’t blink. “Bring it. I’m not afraid of a little crowd control. The more the merrier.”
From the far side of the training yard, a dozen girls strolled in, modestly dressed, and radiating wholesome menace.
“Wait ... are those...?” Artixene leaned forward.
“Yep,” Quincy nodded. “The Amish Death Squad.”
The group moved in eerie synchronization, skirts swaying, bonnets tight. Leading the way were two familiar faces, one with fire-red braids, the other golden-blonde, both beaming as they spotted someone in the stands.
“Hi Irish!” the redhead Mary called out, waving both hands enthusiastically.
Irish waved back.
“Oh, they must be the rest of Hester’s granddaughters. I didn’t know they were helping Etheldreda,” Zara said.
“I heard they often hang out at Etheldreda’s dojo to learn more,” Irish explained.
Etheldreda raised her hand. “These young ladies are the granddaughters of Hester, chief of the local Agriculture Protection Unit.”
Then she introduced them to the crowd. The first five were Anna’s daughters, all Mary. Each with different hair colors to tell them apart: red, blonde, black, brown, and white.
The five Marys stepped forward like a perfect little Power Rangers squad of puritan doom.
The rest were Emma, Esther, Fannie, Nancy, Verna, Martha, and Sadie.
The girls lined up in formation like a barnyard ballet team. Then, except for the Marys, their powers flared to life, one by one.
Emma’s fingers snapped with miniature lightning bolts.
Esther leapt sky-high, flipped twice midair like a human trampoline trick, and landed in the exact spot she started.
Fannie had some floating fireballs orbiting her like fat, flaming bees.
Verna’s arms burst into thorny vines, cracking and curling like barbed wire.
Martha rolled up her sleeves as a curved scythe blade slid from each wrist with a metallic hiss.
Sadie’s skin began turning frost-blue as the temperature dropped suddenly; even Zara could see her breath.
Artixene stretched lazily and cracked her neck. “You sure you girls brought enough people?”
Emma stepped forward, her eyes narrowed. “We’re not gonna hold back just because you’re old.”
Artixene grinned, sharp and unfazed. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not holding back just ‘cause you’re still in Sunday school.”
SNAP!
She lashed out her fleshy whip-sword in a blur. It shot across the arena toward the group, but Verna lunged forward, catching it in her thorn-wrapped hands with a wince. Martha stepped in immediately after, raising both scythe-blades to sever it clean in half.
But the weapon didn’t resist; it fell apart.
Floppy, twitching hunks of tongue splattered to the floor like butcher scraps.
“What the hell...” Martha muttered.
Then they twitched.
Each chunk writhed, squelched, and pulled itself upright, forming little humanoid horrors, each barely ankle-high. With four limbs made from one curled, wriggling tongue each and bulbous, headlike fifth tongues bobbing atop, they looked like something a horror doll would vomit out.
Artixene cackled, licking her lips. “Good luck with my tongue golems, girls.”
The arena erupted in chaos. The tongue golems charged, giggling in high-pitched slurping squeals, leaping with squelching limbs. Some tackled ankles, others clung to skirts, and one latched onto Nancy’s bonnet and licked her entire face in one swipe.
“Aaaack!!” Fannie screeched, fireballs flying in random directions as she fled.
“They’re so wet!!” Emma cried, kicking one off her shin with a zap.
“Why do they smell like mouthwash and shame?!” Sadie wailed as two golems clung to her thighs, their tiny tongues lapping like feral puppies.
Soon the girls were retreating from the arena in full panic, batting away tongue-creatures, swatting their clothes, and shrieking in disgust. The five Marys remained eerily calm at the back, but even they took a few cautious steps backward.
Back in the stands, Lexie curled into herself. “I’m going to dream about those things. And not in a good way.”
Artixene stood alone in the ring, surrounded by a gleeful swarm of her grotesque little minions.
“Victory: Artixene,” Etheldreda declared, not even pretending to be surprised.
“That was so cool! How did you make those golems?” Quincy asked, pointing at the disgusting little creatures.
“Training and will power,” Artixene grinned, “A lot of powers can create golems, even if just small ones, but not everyone tries to utilize their powers to the full capacity.”
“Hm, I wonder if I could do something like that,” Quincy was thinking aloud.
As the tongue golems were swept away by grumbling janitors, Etheldreda raised her delicate hand once more.
“Next ... Quincy.”
Quincy stepped forward, ready for the next fight. Her six muscular Sechs-arms were gone now, replaced by her usual frame; bare feet slapping the arena floor, that mischievous grin still plastered across her face.
Etheldreda smiled sweetly. “And now, allow me to introduce your opponents: Enola, Elisi, and Etenia Blackwillow.”
Three Native American girls entered side by side, silent and composed. They wore earth-toned athletic clothes decorated with green thread patterns resembling vines. Enola, the oldest, moved like a cat. Elisi was lithe and focused, while Etenia carried herself like she had nothing to prove.
Zara leaned in. “Hmm ... they must be Odina’s daughters.”
The match began with no warning.
Enola did a flawless backflip and landed with one foot on each of her sisters’ shoulders. The moment her heels touched down, something began to stir.
Cracking and tearing sounds filled the arena as thick bark erupted from their skin. Their arms extended, fingers twisting into branches. Leaves unfurled from their shoulders. Vines coiled around their torsos. Their three bodies merged into a single massive form; a ten-foot humanoid creature sculpted from living tree matter, armored in bark, arms shaped like a shield and a sword blade. From its back unfurled a flowing cape of green vines and gold-edged leaves.
“The Forest Guardian had arrived!” Enola’s voice announced.
Zara’s jaw dropped. “Okay, that’s actually cool.”
“Terrifying, but yeah,” Irish agreed.
Esmeralda muttered, “Their mama definitely gave them a full Terror Tree package.”
Without hesitation, Quincy’s arms morphed into blood-red, leathery wings. She flapped once, twice, then launched herself into the air with a whoop.
“Hiiii-YAA!”
She came crashing down foot-first, aiming a flying roundhouse kick at the Guardian’s shield. WHAM!
The bark didn’t even crack.
The Forest Guardian retaliated immediately. Its massive wooden blade swung with silent fury, fast and precise.
SLICE!
Quincy hit the dirt in five pieces. Her arms and legs flopped several feet away like wet marionette parts.
As the Guardian leaned down to gently lift Quincy’s torso like a broken doll, her eyes snapped open.
“Hate to break up the forest cuddles...”
SHLORP!
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