The trees twisted like drunk dancers — not that Judge had ever seen a drunk dancer up close, but if he had, he imagined this forest nailed the vibe.
The branches bent in impossible angles, and the canopy above let in streaks of iridescent light that flickered like faulty glow sticks at a rave for hallucinating moths. Some of the vines sparkled like they were dipped in glitter and then dipped again in radioactive despair.
Judge walked, and sometimes ran, Golden Eagle strapped behind him, sword at his side, panting but determined. His boots thudded against moss-covered roots that had all the tripping hazard energy of a prankster gremlin. He had one goal: catch up to Eleyn. His mother.
His terrifying, reality-bending, emotionally constipated mother who made fire look like a shy candle. And he had to do this before she reached whoever offed his master's husband.
"Note to self," he muttered, ducking a swinging vine that moved on its own, "next time, don't chase the person who can rewrite physics with a wave and a frown, and definitely don't do it while going through a forest that would try and kill you at any moment it got."
And that begged the question, Why did they think going through this forest was a good idea? And where the heck was that village that Satan had shown him?
The forest wasn't normal. It shifted. Paths moved. Trees blinked. Yes, blinked. Judge caught one making eye contact with him. It promptly looked away, ashamed, as if caught watching him undress. Another tree coughed.
He passed a glade where mushrooms floated three inches off the ground, pulsing like jellyfish. Another clearing held wooden statues of people mid-run, their faces twisted in horror. They looked far too real. Judge kept walking and did not make eye contact.
If horror movies had taught him anything, it was that eye contact was a legally binding curse contract.
The air buzzed, and Judge instinctively rolled sideways.
A giant centipede — no, centisnake — lunged from the bushes. It had a snake's head, but its body bristled with insect legs. Disgusting. Perfect. It hissed, and the ground sizzled under its acidic drool.
"Oh good," Judge muttered, "More nightmares. And it's Tuesday... Is it?"
He drew his sword and clashed with the creature, their collision echoing like a thunderclap. It lunged again, and he parried, ducking low, slashing across its belly. Green ichor splashed across his boots.
"New boots! You monster!"
The centisnake spun, using its tail like a whip. Judge took the hit, skidding backward, coughing. It knocked the breath out of him like a guilt trip from his aunt.
He triggered a burst of ether, leapt onto a tree, bounced off a branch, and dove down.
A wide arc cut through the centisnake's back. It screamed — well, wheezed aggressively — and writhed. It tried to burrow. Judge threw a dagger infused with a high kinetic pulse.
The beast exploded from within, showering the clearing with sizzling gore. One chunk hit a tree and caught fire.
Judge wiped his face. "Yup. Definitely wasn't wearing this shirt to impress anyone."
He kept moving. The deeper he went, the weirder it got. A pond that reflected someone else's face. Trees that hummed lullabies. A deer made of literal smoke, staring at him before bursting into butterflies that argued over whose wings were shinier.
Dozens of wasp-like creatures with razor-thin wings and flaming abdomens. They buzzed like they had somewhere to be and Judge was in their way.
"Oh, for crying out loud—"
He ducked, fired Golden Eagle, dropping one. Another flew at his face. He sliced it in half. Two more came. He conjured a burst of ether around him.
A blast knocked several back. He stabbed upward, skewering one. They circled. His ether was running low.
"Come on, Judge," he told himself, "Time to be irrationally awesome."
He holstered the gun, drew his sword, and created another sword — one normal, one ethereal.
"Dance, you flying razors!"
He spun into the swarm, blades flashing in a ballet of violence. Each slice left sparks. Each dodge was within inches. One clipped his cheek. Another sliced his shoulder.
He ignored the pain. Switched stance. Jumped off a log. A flaming wasp chased him. He caught it in a reverse spin and hurled it into a tree.
With a final burst of ether, he spun mid-air and unleashed a series of "Dark Incision(s)!" The entire swarm disintegrated into falling ash and sizzling bits.
He dropped to one knee, panting.
"Okay... that was cool. Also... I'm gonna cry later."
But he still kept moving forward. He had mom to catch up to, although he still hadn't decided on how to confront her. With sarcasm? Or a therapy coupon?
The forest went silent again after a short while. Too silent. The kind of silence that meant either peace or someone planning to wear your skin as a coat.
He stood. The world flickered. Then flickered again.
And ended up five steps forward.
He ran to a tree — the same tree he had passed two minutes ago. He carved a mark with his small knife.
The mark was ahead of him again.
He reached into his pouch and took out a catalyst. It didn't light up. The light spun in place, flickering erratically.
He tried to escape into the Studio, but however low the amount of ether it required, he couldn't amass any.
Then he saw it: the trees were repeating. The landscape echoed itself. And the ether... it pulsed wrong.
He sat on a rock, glaring at the forest.
"This is definitely Mom's fault."
Then the rock blinked.
Judge screamed, leapt off, and tripped over a root that wasn't there a moment ago.
From somewhere in the branches, an owl hooted. In Morse code. Probably saying: 'Welcome to the party, loser.'
Judge groaned and flopped on the forest floor. "Cool. Guess I'm sleeping here tonight. Hope the trees don't start a talent show."
And somewhere, the forest grinned.