"Bright!"
The companions keeping watch by the campfire had been monitoring this area the whole time. From behind, they saw Bright standing there for no reason, gazing calmly into the deep woods as if he'd spotted someone he knew.
Then they watched him unfasten his hand axe and hurl it with decisive, deadly force at the place he was staring. It struck a body that made a strange, muffled sound. At the same time, Bright turned and fled toward camp.
From beyond the reach of the firelight, a mottled figure moved into view without making a sound. Its movements were stiff and awkward, like a marionette, utterly unnatural—yet it briefly sped up as it drew close.
By the time the watchman realized this wasn't a nightmare mirroring the sights he'd seen during the day, Bright had already been knocked to the ground. A heavy, strangely colored, smoke-like substance sprayed from the darkness, scattering like powder spilled from a box and setting off a fit of irritating coughs that left the victim no time to catch his breath.
The two entangled figures soon vanished into the darkness. An unbelievable yet unmistakable and horrifying conclusion scorched his reason like glowing charcoal: the human-shaped figures covered in ornate fungi had started moving.
"Attack!" the sentry rasped. The shout was already somewhat redundant. The camp, where everyone slept lightly, had long since awakened. Metal clanged in chaotic discord.
And the first person to leave his tent was, improbably, the professor they'd just been discussing. He used his sword to lift the flap first, took in the situation outside with practiced speed, then ducked out and stood in the shadows cast by the tent.
It was hard to imagine what had given him such a cautious habit, instinctively assuming that danger lurked everywhere. Keeping close