Chapter 25: Blood Serpent
Gabby crouched low behind a thick tree; his back pressed against the cold bark. The forest was dark and quiet—but not peaceful. Every sound—every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves
He wasn’t scared of goblins. They were usually weak—loud, clumsy, and easy to kill. But Darius? Darius was different. Just thinking about him made Gabby’s chest tighten. His hands trembled. His breathing was fast and shallow.
Then he heard it.
"HISS", A slithering sound, like something dragging across dry leaves.
The Blood Serpent.
He thought to himself, "It was close. Too close."
Gabby’s eyes darted between the trees. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. The air had changed—colder now, thick like fog pressing against his skin. Every sound was sharper. Every shadow looked like it might move.
His breath caught in his throat.
He crouched lower, trying to see through the darkness, but it was useless. The forest was pitch black, the cresent moon hidden behind thick clouds.
Gabby clenched his jaw and thought bitterly, "I can’t see in this cursed night. If only I could use my Phantom Sight."
He closed his eyes. Focused on the cold air filling his lungs. On the rough bark beneath his fingers. He slowed his breathing. Slowed his thoughts. He didn’t fight the fear—he let it pass through him.
The hissing stopped.
Gabby opened his eyes slowly—and froze.
A shadow moved just beyond the trees. Long. Low. Silent.
Then, a soft rustle to his left. He turned his head slightly and saw it: a sloth, clinging weakly to a low branch.
Gabby’s mind raced. "The Blood Serpent is drawn to blood... and fear."
Without thinking, he crept forward, pulled out his knife, and stabbed the sloth. It fell to the ground with a soft thud.
The hissing returned. It was louder and closer.
Gabby backed away. The Serpent was coming straight toward him. He could see its shape and gliding through the ferns like smoke. Its eyes locked onto him.
Then, he stopped moving.
The Serpent lunged.
Gabby didn’t flinch, bracing for the strike.
But at the last second, it veered, jaws snapping down on the sloth instead.
Its body whipped through the underbrush, coiling tightly around the sloth. Bones cracked under the crushing force. Blood sprayed across the leaves in thick, dark streaks.
The Serpent sank its fangs deep into the sloth’s flesh. Almost instantly, the body began to twitch violently. The venom worked fast—paralyzing, then liquefying the insides. A foul, metallic stench filled the air as steam rose from the wounds, the flesh already beginning to rot.
The monster was only a few feet away now, its massive body writhing in the shadows. Gabby could hear the wet tearing of flesh, and the low, guttural hiss of satisfaction.
But he didn’t move. He knew Blood Serpent’s one weakness: it was blind.
Gabby thought to himself, "It doesn’t hunt with eyes. It senses changes—shifts in temperature, the rhythm of a heartbeat, the scent of fresh blood. One wrong move, one spike of fear, and it’ll come for me."
Then it turned.
Its head shifted toward him.
Gabby knew this moment would come. And that knowledge was the only thing that kept him alive.
He didn’t move.
He thought to himself, "Stay calm."
He breathed slowly, evenly. The cold helped—cooling his skin and slowing his pulse. It also helped numb his fear of Commander Darius.
Gabby closed his eyes for a moment—not to shut out the danger, but to focus. To think.
He thought to himself, "Thinking about Darius will only make the fear worse, I need to reframe my thoughts. Think about something else. Noble beef—it’s delicious. The Blood Serpent doesn’t scare me anyway. I want to fight it... but I shouldn’t."
The Blood Serpent slithered closer.
Gabby didn’t breathe.
Its head hovered just inches from his face. Its tongue, slick and glistening with venom, flicked out—so close it nearly brushed his skin.
One inch.
That was all.
Gabby didn’t flinch.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. His body was ice. He had trained for this. Afterall an assassin should have a maximum patience.
The serpent paused, tongue hanging in the air between them, tasting nothing but stillness.
Then, slowly, it turned away—sliding back into the shadows, vanishing between the trees like smoke.
Gabby thought to himself:
"Thank goodness, "my bleeding arm has stopped."
"The horse I found last night—tied to a tree not far from here—it’s still close. I left it there for this exact reason."
Gabby’s eyes scanned the dark woods ahead.
Then he ran.
But he stopped suddenly—something caught his eye. Weedsprout, a rare plant known to heal trauma in the right dose... but if misused, it could cause serious brain damage.
Gabby knelt beside it, careful not to rush. He knew Weedsprout had to be harvested with care.
"If it’s not picked properly," he thought, "its effects weaken—or worse, become dangerous."
He took his time, gently collecting the soft leaves and roots. It took nearly an hour, but he worked patiently, tucking some of the plant into the folds of his clothes.
When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dirt from his hands, and started running again.
Soon, he found the horse he had hidden the night before—still tied to a tree, waiting right where he left it.
Gabby returned to the tree camp under the cover of night, the cold wind biting at his face as he dismounted.
He moved quickly, gathering dry grass, brittle branches, and anything that would burn fast and hot. He moved quickly, gathering dry grass, brittle branches—anything that would burn fast and hot. He studied the land carefully, every slope, every dip in the terrain. The wind blew steadily from the north, cold and sharp, but just strong enough to carry the fire where he needed it to go.
He crouched low and pressed his hand to the ground. The soil was dry. The air was damp, but not enough to stop what he was about to do.
He thought, "Perfect"