Fortunately, there were no casualties amongst the expedition. Lucius had already anticipated as much, but the Franks truly were a hardy people. They shrugged off stab wounds and gashes with little more than a splash of alcohol (that fellow who stoked the campfire emerged unharmed, surprisingly, and apologized to Sir Maugris for attacking him), and those more critically injured were tended to by the priests of the Order. The players were also in, relatively, good condition. Those who had succumbed to the hallucinations however found themselves waking with large bruises over their bodies — nothing too serious. Why, one could even call it training for their possible encounter with the Great Evils!

Nonetheless, their experience here weighed heavily on their minds. None wished to stay in this unsettling land any longer; and so, after gathering the able-bodied and loading the injured onto the carriages, the expedition immediately departed, determined to reach the Shaded Woods where the Beast Lord resided by the morrow.

Firstly, though, they had to prepare. The expedition couldn't afford a repeat of their sudden madness, not with their numbers temporarily lowered, and so Renaud devised an elaborate system where each member was to accompany another at all times. They would do their duties and march whilst practically attached to the hip; and if they ever felt drowsy, their partner would snap them awake and search for any signs of possession.

Whether it be ghosts, specters, or grudges of the dead — the most dangerous foe was one unseen. Renaud did not know what lingered here, and so he prepared for every possible scenario and the necessary procedures to overcome it, no matter how unlikely it seemed. That was all well and good, but one problem…

There was no such foe. No curses or ghosts or anything supernatural, otherwise.

And thus, Lucius strolled along as carefree as he could possibly be. He was the only one to behave like so. The others grimly marched on, lips twisted into a frown in anticipation of another spiritual attack. They would continue to be this way for the next twelve long hours.

While they engaged themselves with that, Lucius was busy sneaking glances at Sir Maugris. The man had a different atmosphere around him and had undergone many changes since the start of their journey. Where before he was bright and personable, the Maugris of now was even gloomier than the sickly Renaud. The man walked slowly with his head turned downward, and every now and then Lucius could hear him mutter something faint: a fearful prayer, an apology, the croaks of one begging to be forgiven.

And yet, even greater than his terror of the Lord, was an insatiable hunger to explore his newfound power, the power of godless magic. He explored the depths of his craft when none looked his way and found solace in it, delighted in his ever increasing familiarity. With time Maugris's awkward spell-weaving grew more natural, more confident, than before his time as a faithful man. And this troubled him.

For every advancement came an uncertainty wondering whether this was right or wrong. He shuddered in unease, constantly casting glances at the sky as if he expected to be struck down for his hubris at any moment, but retribution never came: God never descended. Rather than be punished for his sacrilegious study, he was rewarded for it.

Maugris seemed to resent this fact. He wished to be proven otherwise, to be brought low like the sinner he was. Why did the Lord allow him to tread this path? He groaned and clutched his head, but an answer never came — not one he wished to hear, at least. No, the only possibilities availed were far too miserable to acknowledge.

And so he continued his scholarly pursuit, knowing that his soul had long been forsaken.

It was upon the expedition's final stretch that they finally caught a glimpse of the land their ancestors had considered taboo. Their breaths hushed, and their hearts pounded fierce, for they knew this place to be truly ancient.

This was the Shaded Woods, a forest grown before mankind was even a thought in the world's history.

There were big, burly trees the size of mountains that rose up higher than they could see. Vines and leaves wrapped around the tops, casting all those below in a vast shade that stretched far into the wilds ahead, and one could circle around the trees' base for minutes on end before reaching the other side. Even the bark was daunting: a rich brown covered in dense grooves as if they were muscle. And below, thick roots bulged from the dirt, spreading out, and joining the forest together into an interconnected frame.

Lucius couldn't help but feel as if they were entering the bowels of a living creature, one so vast in its being, so archaic and grandiose, that it was impossible to comprehend from mans' lowly perspective. The sap was its blood. The roots were its veins. Everything that met their sight was a part of this organism undefinable from human standard.

"So, we have finally arrived," Renaud said, gazing at the forest. A light flickered across his eyes: one of awe, and pride… as well as tension. The man had done it. He had set foot where none ever dared, the first of his kind. This was an honor only he could boast. Surely, with this, he could return with his head raised high, celebrated as a proper Peer.

But there was one last thing he needed to do beforehand, and that was to discover the demons' secret: the source of their sudden behavior.

"I daresay we are in for quite the long search, my friend," Lucius said to him, for the expedition knew not what it was they truly sought. Ganelon did not know, nor did Roland. The only clue was the Forest Guardian the players had encountered back at Roncevaux fortress. It emerged from this land as a demon, but whether the source of its corruption actually originated here… well, the gentleman supposed they would soon find out.

The system had given them a mission, after all; and whenever appeared that strange floating screen, trouble inevitably followed.

Sir Renaud boldly stepped forth onto the uneven dirt. "Perhaps so, but are we not a gathering of our respective people's finest? We have braved many challenges on this journey; and yet, not a single life has been lost. Such is the result of my leadership, and it will continue to be so even here. Triumph is on the horizon, Sir Lucius. We need only to grasp it."

With that confident declaration, Renaud ordered the expedition to proceed, and so they marched into the final region of their quest. The Franks were in high spirits. The thrill of venturing into a land yet mapped stoked the spirit of exploration within them all.

Perhaps it was because of their enthusiasm that Lucius stopped himself from asking Sir Renaud a very important question: What if they were to encounter the Beast Lord?

That fun little possibility lingered in the gentleman's mind as the group trudged through moss and shrubs and all manner of vegetation. Oftentimes their way would be blocked by overgrowth. The paladins at the front would then unsheathe their weapons and clear the path, hacking and slashing at the stalks whilst sweating under the blazing, humid heat of the forest. It was a strenuous trip, but also an uneventful one.

Almost to a suspicious degree.

The expedition had scoured the Shaded Woods for a few hours now. And yet, not a single beast had attacked them. They hadn't seen much life at all, actually, save for the foliage. Was this truly the domain of the one called Beast Lord? If such an entity did exist, Lucius thought Forest Lord would be a more appropriate title. That was, until he felt a prick across his skin.

The gentleman looked up to the treetops. He saw nothing, and yet he felt something. Something out of sight: watching them, assessing their every move. It was not only from above he felt this. Everywhere around him, from beneath the bushes, to around the corners, lurking and stalking just out of range… they followed. What they were, exactly, he did not know. The most intriguing thing about this though was that Sir Maugris seemed none the wiser of their pursuers despite having cast his detection field.

Only Lucius realized their presence. Of course, he didn't mention a thing. Where would the fun in that be? And these shadowy beings didn't particularly seem hostile — at least not for the current moment. They skulked across the forest with perfect synchronicity that should have been impossible for a mere beast. Either these things were more intelligent than the others, or they were being controlled.

When it had turned midday, Expedition Argo came across something quite bizarre. It was a flower: except not exactly. It was in the shape of a flower, but instead of a stem or petals, the thing was covered in a collage of photos mimicking a floral appearance. The players knew this nonsensical style well. This was a demon.

Renaud began to give the order to eliminate it, but Lucius stopped him at the last moment.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Peer grunted.

The gentleman remained unfazed and pointed at the demonic flower. "Don't you find it peculiar, Sir Renaud?"

"Peculiar? How so?"

"Well, it hasn't reacted one bit to our presence. Strange, isn't it?"

The thing clearly had the expedition in its sight. Yet, it neither attacked nor even deigned to move. It was simply docile as if it were an actual flower, but that was where the problem laid. The demons were not a docile species. They laughed, and sung, and committed themselves wholly to the destruction and wanton slaughter of all in their way.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

But this demon was different. If its purpose was not to destroy, then what was it?

"You may be right," Renaud said, halting the others for now. He cautiously crouched to inspect the floral demon. He waited for a response: a lunge, a swerve, something to indicate sentience. He donned a white glove, courtesy of Lucius, and briefly tapped its base. The flower did not react. Renaud went even further and tore out a chunk of its body. Still, the flower did not react.

It bled no blood, spoke with no voice. Even when ripped apart piece by piece, it kept its indifference to the very end.

Renaud frowned and stood back up, rubbing his chin, before turning toward Lucius. "What do you make of this?" he asked.

The gentleman tilted his head and pondered for a bit. He watched the flower's remains dissolve into a puddle of ink and how it seeped into the dirt and darkened a small patch around its growth. The ink slowly crawled forth and touched the stems of other flowers. There was no change, at first, but upon looking closer Lucius noticed a cluster of small, blotchy dots where they sprouted from. It wriggled and, slowly but gradually, began to creep up the stems. It was then that Lucius realized it: the nature of these demon-like growths.

Its purpose was not to erase, but to propagate.

And it did so through its death. When one was plucked, many more would sprout in its place, and more, and even more, proliferating in a cycle of death and rebirth that saw no end. Not unless you went against your instinct and left it alone. Such was a difficult task when these horrid things clashed so distinctly with the surrounding; however, it was necessary if they wished to prevent the spread of infection.

Perhaps that was why the beasts of this realm avoided it. There was no telling how quickly the forest would deteriorate, otherwise.

"I see," Renaud muttered. It was then that a troubling thought came to him. "If their remains are what causes the spread, then what if a beast were to ingest it?"

"Then we would likely see a repeat of the thunderbirds' transformations, perhaps. And it is likely not just them. I expect there are many other demonized creatures roaming the wilderness we have yet to see."

The discovery of this revelation both intrigued and unsettled the Peer. At the very least, they had an idea as to how the Forest Guardian became corrupted. Now all that was left was to find out the 'where'. Where did the corruption first spawn from?

The regular demons were nowhere to be seen; and judging by the group's unseen stalkers, the Shaded Woods had yet to fall to the demonic influence. Clearly there was a power struggle here; but regardless of who emerged the victor, the expedition had a mission to accomplish.

"Mm, let us try this," Renaud began, speaking out to his procession. "We will follow the demonic wildflowers. If my theory is correct, the source of this outbreak likely resides where the corruption is at its most rampant. Avoid trampling what flora you can and prepare yourselves for battle. Both the demons and the beasts are our enemies here."

His fellows nodded and, with greater caution, resumed their trek through the woods. They found little of the flower-spawn in the outer edges, but the deeper they delved, the darker and more twisted their surroundings became. Lucius even felt the beady eyes of their stalkers recede after a while. The beasts dared not venture this far in.

The forest here was but a remnant of its former self. Ribbons and confetti replaced the vegetation, and where once stood mighty oaks hundreds of years in age, spirals of what appeared to be made out of crudely painted clay instead drooped and curved around them. It was as if the expedition was dropped right in the middle of a children's toy box.

But what puzzled Lucius was the fact that, despite being at the center of all this whimsy, he wasn't really affected all that much — nor were the other players or the Franks. Shouldn't they be worrying about becoming demons themselves? That would ordinarily be the case, but for some curious reason the corruption did not spread to them. They were immune unlike their beastly neighbors, or else those at the fortress before would have long succumbed after years of exposure.

Such was why they could now dive into the heart of this nonsensical territory without concern. Well, not entirely. They could still perish through physical means, such as that poor fellow Lucius saw at the fortress who had his heart torn out, gouged, and then tossed around by the demons like a doll, but at least death in battle was more honorable than becoming the very enemy you despise.

It was in the middle of Lucius's musings that he decided to check up on Sir Maugris. The man pretended to be deep in concentration and gripped his sceptre tight, but the gentleman felt no power emitting from the jewel. His net of detection was maintained solely by that which dwelled inside.

"So there truly is not a foe around us?" Lucius asked whilst discreetly moving to his side.

The heretical priest glanced at the others, before responding, "You are correct, Sir Lucius. Although whether this is luck or a premonition of greater threats to come… I know not. Let us be thankful for this brief peace, nonetheless."

"Indeed, indeed," Lucius nodded. "I am merely curious, considering this—how should I say—youthful space we've found ourselves in. You would think those of their kind would delight in these decorations, but I suppose they would rather ravage other lands yet untainted."

In that sense, the demons could be likened more to a virus than of conscious beings. That made Lucius wonder a little bit. Just what exactly were they, anyway?

"Have you ever given it any thought, my friend?" Lucius asked Maugris. "About just where these things came from, their objective, or why they exist?"

The man's eyes lit up in excitement for a brief moment, but he soon coughed and collected himself. "That is a question many scholars have attempted to solve, albeit to little success. But speculation is entertainment in its own way. Back at the capital, we priests and scholars often gathered to hold debates about that very subject, and with every year came newer and, admittedly, more outlandish theories."

"Oho? That does sound quite interesting," Lucius replied, humoring him. "Any theory in particular you fancy yourself?"

Maugris tapped his foot and pondered. "A few, actually. Some more out of sheer ridiculousness rather than logic. For example, there was one fellow, a younger priest, who claimed they were an experiment funded by the other nations to keep Francia in check. Laughable, that one is. If there was another who truly had the capability to produce such fiends, then there would be no need to hide themselves when they could simply slaughter us all.

"Another proposed that they were created by our God as a way to punish his late Holiness, Pepin the Throngler, for his atrocities against the world. It does not surprise me that some would think that way, but the Lord is loving, and kind, and cherishes us deeply. They would not involve the innocent for the sake of one man's hubris."

Lucius would have to agree. Not because the Frank's God was supposedly merciful, oh no, but because how unlikely it was for those of considerable power and influence to personally face judgement for their sins. Oftentimes they merely got away with it.

"Then which one do you believe the most plausible?" the gentleman said.

To that, Sir Maugris let out a sad smile, and then he looked up to the sky shrouded by balloons.

"The Stars," he said. "They came from that starry realm up high."

>[Sinister Interdimensional Bureaucrat coughs and turns away]<

>[Virtual Goddess of the Wired shuts their eyes tight and apologizes]<

>[Clown Around Town scratches their chin and says that he's not exactly correct]<

"The Stars, you say?"

"Yes. I do not know why, nor do I wish to believe those of our Lord's kin would purposely seek our undoing, but when I look upon those strangely childlike beings… I sense a sort of familiarity. They remind me of the days when I did naught but gaze out to that heavenly expanse, and I welcomed its majesty into my heart, wishing, praying, that I could one day know its secrets for myself. And I truly believed then that I had felt the energy of the cosmos. In the end I never could realize it; however, I still remember the feeling, the faint trace of what could have been. That trace? I saw it in the demons. It's been twisted, fouled and malformed into something hideous, but it is there."

How interesting, especially those brief reactions Lucius saw from his own starry audience. Before the gentleman could ask more, though, he and Sir Maugris snapped their heads toward the front.

"... It is only one," Maugris said, his bright expression quickly hardening. "But the power I sense from it belongs to no ordinary demon."

Lucius and Maugris nodded to each other, before quickly rushing to Sir Renaud's side and holding him back.

"Finally," the man said with an indignant tug at his collar. "Any longer without confrontation, Maugris, and I would have thought you were purposely leading us to the demons."

The three of them steeled their nerves and waited. A hushed groan sounded from beyond — guttural, pained, yet infected with that same cheerful tone they had come to know from the demons. However, this one was slightly different. It was as if the source was attempting to fight against its nature, to desperately resist the madness worming into its skull.

The clay trees were violently ripped aside, and there, emerging from the thicket, was a giant bear dripping in spray paint and covered in all sorts of flashy graffiti. It was not quite a demon just yet; rather, the poor thing seemed to be mid-transformation. It howled and clawed at its own body, tearing and tearing at the paint, but it was no use. It kept flowing out endlessly. All the bear could do was writhe in pain as the corruption inevitably took over.

The paladins took up arms. Lucius called the players forth and readied to engage with the half demon.

But as the tension was just about to break, something rushed by above them.

Snap.

Before the expedition could even blink, the bear was gone, vanished without so much as a cry. All that was left behind was a puddle of paint.

Soon, they heard a new sound from behind. It cracked and slurped and crushed: wet and messy, like the sounds of a feral animal munching on its long-savored meal.

The Franks dared not look back, for they knew instinctively that the thing behind them was far stronger, and ancient, and more savage than anything they had encountered on this journey — nay, in their entire lives. For the mere presence of this being was enough to choke their spirits and made them keel over in fear.

Lucius wasn't bothered though, so he happily turned around to greet his new fellow.

"How do you do?" he said. "My name is Lucius Rose, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The thing was obscured in the darkness. He could not see it, but soon, he heard it: words that came from a slew of garbled throats that were never meant for speaking. It came out gritty and near unintelligible, but there was no mistaking the drawl of intelligence. Whatever this being was, it knew the Franks' language.

"Hairless… prey… the two-legged race…" it snarled. "What has… brought… you… to the hunter?"

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