Warily, Judson put distance between himself and the climbers behind to prevent getting trapped a second time, especially in such a situation.

His eyes stayed ever fixed on the malicious beast. Her giant paws met the ground without noise each time she took gentle steps. It appeared that, over time, she had shed her filthy companions - flies. Her open flesh, though, remained an ever repulsive sight.

"You remember me well, don't you?"

His eyes twitched in an attempt to shut because of the ugly things
that flashed before them for a moment, but he kept them wide open. The slightest distraction could lead to his quick demise.

"Malva!" He acknowledged, more as a way to ease the cooking burden of her name inside his chest than cordiality.

Her chuckle was low and devious. "Even the Empyreals could not erase me from your mind."

"They did not put you there." He corrected. The mere sight of her had ignited far too many unpleasant and tormenting memories in his head; memories he believed had long quenched after his cleansing in the Celestial Mountains.

"No," She agreed. "You did."

"What do you want?"

Every attempt to calm his nerves only resulted in more ribboning and serious unease. The state of discomfort that clothed him from the lioness's presence grew at an alarming rate by the second. He broke into sweat, and his fingers numbed; he saw great fires, heard screams, envisioned corpses in thousands, and smelled smoke. The air started to fill with a stench fouler than the one he already stood in. Fear encroached him just as the vines had previously done, causing his knees to quiver.

Unsurprisingly, Malvarëken was the cause of his terror. She was the personification of Fear and her presence alone had ignited the emotion in him a lot stronger than any living thing could manage.

"You know I never want anything, old friend. Although, what I want mortals can never give."

When she paused, he easily guessed what her next words would be.

"You could've given it!"

They sounded accusatory.

"Not me." He denied, growing a bit testy. "I wanted nothing to do with you. . . or him."

"Yet it was you, out of a thousand others, that proved worthy enough to host him. You carried his throne. You alone possessed the strength to, the will, the advantage. . ." Her paws slapped noisily against the earth. "And what did you do?"

He braced his numb self.

Her voice had taken on a very sharp edge. Malice burned in her eyes as did mad fury. She was twice his size, with keen claws the length of small daggers. Her leaping range was twice that of any Rage or lion, making him doubt he would be able to soar far from her reach in the case of an attack.

"You expelled him!" She roared a few times, clawing at the soil. "You dared to visit the Empyreals; you thwarted my master and reduced me to nothing. I have lost my intended place in all the realms because of you and that piddly mice."

Then, abruptly, she stopped, eyes darting in search for a moment.

"Your quest will fail!" Each word was dragged, like nails against a board, with anger and disdain. "You will die before you reach what you so desperately seek."

Her body began to contract, her growls rattling through the atmosphere like stones during an earthquake.

"I will make sure of that!"

Just as he predicted, he was unable to elude her when she took a gigantic leap.

Malva caught him midair and sunk all ten of her claws into him.

When he met the ground again, her jaws yawned wide, aiming to sink deadly teeth into his neck. But something knocked her right off of him, issuing irritated growls out of her.

In his battered state, Judson could only make sense of airy figures outlined by very vibrant colors. They whipped about like the wind, knocking Malvarëken over and over with brutal force. She howled and cried in resistance, but could not match their number and might. Energy magnified all around him as his liberators flooded the jungle, lifting trees with which to whack the lioness.

Unable to withstand the assault any longer, Malva sprinted away as quickly as she could.

Once more, silence was restored.

Judson fought to breathe. His front had been perforated with deep stabs, each one gushing with alarming amounts of blood.

"Hlāford." A concerned voice whispered.

First, a soft hand touched his forehead, then slid around to his nape to lift it. He moaned weakly in response.

"You are hurt, hlāford. We must make you whole."

He stared bleary-eyed at the number of hands clutching every part of him with care. In spite of his dull sight, he recognized his helpers to be Derews. They transported him on foot only a few kilometre distance before setting him down again.

However, he noticed that the jungle looked different. They had brought him into a different part. He even doubted it was nearby, but could not voice his thoughts.

The spirits camped around him and linked hands. One by one, they began to light up in a way that reminded him, quite painfully, of Ayariel. As they did so, a croon rose in the air and his eyesight slowly sharpened again. Each spirit lowered and placed their hands on him, infusing his bones with a kind of healing magic he never encountered before. He felt it knit into his bones, tint his blood, and magnify his senses.

In no time, he felt brand new.

What struck him first was the appearance of the Derews. They looked nothing like their usual kind, appearing instead like Elves, although willowier. Leaves adorned their bodies modestly and their faces were stained with bright colors in attractive ways. In spite of their obvious presence, he found it odd that he could sense them more with his nose, like perfumes in the air.

"Thank you for saving my life!" He sighed, looking from one quaint face to another. "All of you."

Their heads bowed in unison.

"Where did you come from?" He wondered. "I felt no life in these parts when I first arrived."

"We have emerged from Mirver-Anlon. We sensed your distress, Hlāford."

He perked in disbelief. "You came from the sea! How is that possible? Derews cannot survive in water, exce—"

"Worry less about our origin and more about your affairs, hlāford." The foremost Derew spoke. "We traversed all this way to assist you, because it is a great honor."

"And we bring you a warning as well, sire."

His eyebrows arched in grave alarm. "What warning?"

"You have strayed from the direction in which you are meant to go. You and your Elf kin."

"How do you mean?" He sat up, feeling a panic rise within him.

"You are lost, hlāford." The first Derew revealed. He came forward and sat before Judson. "If you do not find the right path, danger will continue to ambush you."

He regarded the spirit first, then the environs. Air smelled fresher and plant life had a healthy sheen to them than everywhere else. He guessed the place could be a haven of some kind. Yet it was not home to the spirits.

"Can you point me in the right direction again?"

"We can, hlāford, but only if you tell us which way you aim to go."

"North."

"We will show you the way then."

A Derew brought forward a full sack and handed it to him. It was woven from strong fibre yet felt soft to the touch.

"It holds a cure for the fervid state your kin is subjected to." The Derew explained. "And contains food."

"Thank you." He beamed, examining the bag.

"Come with us, hlāford."

"We will lead you safely out of here."

From the way they spoke, Judson sensed that the nature spirits always worked in harmony; and they seemed, each one, eager to please him. He inspected his body where the lioness had poked holes into, but found that they had closed up nicely. His skin still felt sore and sensitive, but he knew even that would fade with time. Only his clothes bore rips to prove that such an encounter took place.

His new companions kept him in their midst, strolling with care and watchfulness as they led him away from the haven and into a stranger landscape.

"Where is this?" He questioned, noticing tall powerful trees all around.

"The Mahogany Trail, hlāford. It is a shortcut."

"Wyvernwildé has shortcuts?"

Though he mumbled it, one of the Derews gave a nod. In silence, he went with them, until the forest began to dim again and grow narrower. To his surprise, he recognized when they drew close to his campsite.

"We must leave you here, hlāford. Find the scent of the lonely lily. Her fragrance is stirred by the northern wind."

He turned, brows furrowing in slight sorrow. In their midst, he had felt the most protected. "Will I ever see you again?"

The question seemed to stump the group because they stared at each other in surprise for a long time. At last, one came forward.

"If that is what you wish, sire. We dwell by the Glassfall sea. You only need call to us."

Another advanced, took his hand and kissed the inside of it. "Thank you for letting us help you. We bid you farewell, sire."

One by one, every Derew repeated the act til the last one. Then, altogether, they rose into the air and became apparitions of color - just as he had seen them when they first arrived. With a soft whoosh, the spirts departed back into the jungle.

A heavy sigh whistled out of Judson that he was unaware he had been holding in.

He trudged the rest of the way in a hurry, hoping his friends were safe.

Upon arrival, his insides turned to cement.

Neither Phyllis nor Diarmaid was anywhere within the compound, except for their blankets strewn across the ground. He slung the sack handle over his head and approached with caution. Nothing about the place suggested there had been a scuffle or a fight beforehand, which made him grow even more suspicious.

Then, his heart leapt when a hand closed over his mouth. In a flash, Diarmaid's head appeared next to his.

"Make no sound." The Elf whispered in a soft murmur. "Come with me."

In confusion, he mimicked Diarmaid's style of retreat and found himself ducking into a low shelter that seemed to have formed over time from all the drooping, wild vegetation around. Inside, he found Phyllis asleep. Looking at Diarmaid's face, he saw that his friend was obviously sick still, but had managed to transport them both.

"What is it?" He questioned.

"A Bellow." Diarmaid wheezed, lowering to his knees. Judson helped him sit. "I had to take us far before it came close. Where did you go?"

"In search of more herbs and food. I found some. Here!"

He opened his fibre sack, which was filled with fresh berries, grapes, nuts, and medicinal nectar. He fished the latter, uncorking it as he offered it to the Elf.

"No," Diarmaid refused, pointing behind Judson. "Her first."

Judson obliged and tipped the little vial, emptying its contents into Phyllis's mouth. "Do you know where the creature went?"

"Hovering in the opposite direction where you came." Diarmaid managed to speak through labored breathing, making Judson look to him with concern. "It cannot be spotted in the dark save for its eyes, which you mustn't look into no matter what."

"It blinds." Judson inputted with several nods. "I know. How do we escape?"

"In our condition? By staying put. It'll kill us all if we engage." The Elf paused, assessing the sack. "Where did you find all that?"

Judson stared down at the bag, remembering the Derews. "Friends."

Diarmaid scoffed a laugh. "You're the only one to find friends in such a desolate place. Is it my turn now?"

As Judson made to move over, his wing knocked against a low branch which also knocked down their baggage from where Diarmaid kept it on the low tree above their heads. Both branch and baggage fell with a loud snap and ruffle.

A groan from nearby told them the Bellow had discovered their hideout.

"Just our luck!" Diarmaid sighed.

"Drink quickly!"

Immediately Diarmaid's hand closed over the vial, an unseen weight crashed next to them, filling the air with heat, hair, and animalistic noises that could shake one's very bones. Judson rolled over with the Elf in tow, leaving the threat in between them and Phyllis, who was still unconscious.

"Run!" Diarmaid coaxed and led the way even though he was staggering like a drunk.

"What about Phyllis?" Judson looked behind, unable to see because everything in the shelter had crashed down.

"It is yet to spot her. We can distract it from doing so."

Running in a straight line was not a good idea; not when the pursuant ran like a bull. Judson suddenly understood why Diarmaid staggered the way he did. It was a tactic. Yet he feared tactics would not save them from the Bellow. The creature seemed mad.

"We have to defend ourselves." He warned.

Before the words were out, he was lunged at and air was knocked right out of his chest. Even then, he could not quite descry the creature save for a pair of deep red eyes that disappeared the moment he fell.

Suddenly, noise of a blade being unsheathed came to his ears. He looked up and his mouth hung open at the sight of Phyllis. Every trace of weakness was gone from her. She took out a piece of cloth with which to tie over her eyes, igniting waves of worry in Judson.

"Olwirien!" Diarmaid called out in warning. His tone came out much stronger. "You can't fight it!"

Regardless, she attacked.

Watching her combat an unpredictable creature blindfolded not only trapped his breath in chest, it also opened Judson's eyes to how truly magnificent a warrior Phyllis was. She struck fluid blows with momentums equal to that of an avalanche; utilizing timely, quick dodges and flips.

Unfortunately, in spite of her commendable effort, she was fighting a losing battle.

As often as she landed hits, the Bellow also took lethal swipes. Her armour suffered many tears and rips; her skin showed gashes in different parts that oozed blood. More often than not, she was either tossed like a rag or slammed hard into the earth.

Judson's eyes razed the dark forest for Diarmaid, whom he saw had passed out from drinking out of the vial. He guessed the Elf was undergoing concoction and that it would take a while before his recovery was complete. In between, Phyllis would have probably died.

In a pinch, he rose to help.

By then, the Bellow was tromping about in readiness to deal a final blow. On the other hand, Phyllis was retreating on her elbows, her face covered in dirt and blood. Surprisingly, her blindfolds were still intact. When the correct moment presented itself, Judson lashed at the creature with Calaire in its whip form, forcing a pair of red eyes to focus on him.

Instantly, his own eyes began to cook and water under the creature's piercing glare. His peripheral vision burned, like paper caught in flames yet his gaze darted briefly to see Phyllis removing her blindfolds, perhaps in wonder over why her opponent had not finished her off.

Only moments later, the Bellow heaved a staggering breath, veered in the opposite direction and ran off.

Judson sank to his knees, burying the heel of his hands into his eyes. They stung so much that he could barely keep them close.

A pair of hands hurriedly grabbed his shoulders. He looked up.

Phyllis was panting and her eyeballs were clocking so fast across his forehead that it made him dizzy just by looking into them.

"I think the Bellow wanted a scapegoat than a fight." He sighed, heaving as well. "You look terrible, but better than Diarmaid does."

Her mouth hung open. She sank to sit on her heels. "You still see me!"

He nodded. "By some miracle, I do."

Whatever emotion was stirring within her seemed to be a real struggle. In silence, she rose and ran to check on Diarmaid.

The next few moments were spent packing up. The trio set off once more, with Judson keeping an eye out for the lonely lily. In no time he found it – the only living thing – at the very entrance to the gloomy parts they had camped in.

Using its scent, he navigated northward.

He and his company did not stop walking until they entered into a glade. A small streamlet ran on one side of it. They halted to set up camp by the waters; drank and washed, then sat together to eat.

Peace and quiet had never felt so refreshing to Judson, and it would have felt complete had Phyllis not been staring at him in strange ways.

"What is it?" He asked eventually, unable to keep shut any longer.

"Did you feel them?"

"Feel what?"

She regarded Diarmaid – he was engrossed in trying to patch up his robes – and sauntered close to sit shoulder to shoulder. The noisy rush of water was soothing to their ears because the forest had long been dominated by silence, and daylight filled the glade in uplifting ways, making them appreciate the atmosphere even more.

"When you came under the Bellow's Glare," She spoke whilst focused on the environment. "I saw a crown appear upon your brows."

Judson's head retracted to stare at her. Then, she did likewise.

"A crown?" His fingers reached up, as if wanting to feel his forehead.

"It. . . wasn't a physical headdress. They somewhat seemed like," she stuttered. "like they had come from within you. They. . . resembled runes."

His brows arched even higher. "Runes?"

She shook her head trying to piece words together. "Glyphs, rather. They looked like runes, and I've certainly seen their likes before. They're godly writing."

The more she spoke, the more confused Judson grew. "How is it possible that runes were on my face?"

"I don't know, but I can guess." Her eyes flickered to his forehead. "I think Waverly put them there."

"If she had, I would have known."

"What other explanation is there? Moon runes were once sacred to Alluña's temple and used to ward off evil."

At that point, her explanation made sense.

Judson stole a peep at Diarmaid before speaking. "They protected me from the Bellow's Glare."

"Yes. Who else do you think would've made a crown of runes on you for the sake of your protection?"

He sighed, filling up with emotion. Though he could not confirm nor even recall if Waverly had truly done such a thing before, he believed it. The runes were, once again, proof that she valued his welfare above all else.

Instinctively, he bent to look into the clear water. Just as he did, faint patterns began to shine above his eyebrows with a silver glow, growing bolder and defined until they were evident – in a straight line from one side of his temple to the other, similar to a crown.

"There are over a thousand reasons to be grateful for Waverly." Phyllis continued softly from behind. "She saw ahead of us and created safeguards, because she knew that one day, she wouldn't be here to do it herself."

Little by little, the silver glow weakened. Staring at it coaxed a tear out of Judson's eye that fell into the stream with a tiny plop, distorting his image in the water. By the time it cleared again, the runes were all gone.

"I will not rest until I bring her back." He murmured loud enough for Phyllis to hear. "I will not rest until she is safe and sound, and nothing can ever take her away from me again. I will not rest until she is happy."

"We won't rest either." Phyllis added.

By Diarmaid's account, twenty nine days had passed since their journey began.

Every now and then, they would face a great foe, but by working together, emerged triumphant.

However, Wyvernwildé wore them out greatly; food became scarce, water even so, and heat intensified, bringing them discomfort as well as easy exhaustion.

In spite of all, none felt discouraged.

Whenever they could muster enough strength, they ran to cover ground, like hunters hot on a trail.

Because of this, progress came fast and they reached the Virgin Rivers.

"Look, look!" Phyllis squealed in delight, standing atop a high mound. "Come and take a look, you two!"

When Diarmaid and Judson joined her atop the platform, they saw far into the horizon what looked like a large tributary.

"The Virgin Rivers." Judson said out of relief. Sight of the water bodies assured him they were indeed on the right path.

"In our tongue, they are Hlsalon and Inlanon." Diarmaid revealed.

"Birth and death." An uneasy frown came over Judson's face. "That is their meaning?"

Phyllis shrugged a bit. "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds far too grim. I like to think of them as start and finish; sunrise and sunset, beginning and end."

"Mortality and immortality." Diarmaid offered.

"Where do they empty?" Judson asked, staring at the rivers. They gleamed  seductively under the sunlight that he felt a tempting urge to run for a swim no matter the distance.

"No one knows." Phyllis replied, staring ahead.

"No one ever found out?"

"No one wants to."

He wore a perplexed expression that made her sigh. Diarmaid jumped down from the mound, giving them privacy.

"They are called virgin because since the Elven race began, none has swum in nor taken a boat on them. It is forbidden to do so."

"Why?" He chuckled.

"Because it isn't everything about life that we are expected or meant to understand. Even animals steer clear of the rivers; they do not drink nor wash in it."

"How can you be so sure? You do not live inside Wyvernwildé. No one does. It is possible a hummingbird might have washed her beak in or a thirsty Rage has lapped up the waters."

"I agree that it is possible and we can't say for certain that the waters remain untouched til this day, but I want to know how you feel when you look at them."

He stared again at the tributaries. The same tempting urge enveloped him.

"Like swimming." He confessed. "I feel like swimming."

"Then go ahead." She prompted. Nothing about her tone or face showed that she was teasing or even joking. "Fly to it. I'll wait for you here. Take a swim and come back."

He stared skeptically at her, unable to lay a finger on how he felt upon her invitation.

"No, that would take up time. We cannot pause for luxuries."

"You're right." She nodded. "But it won't take up more than fifteen minutes to get there with how fast you can fly."

"I do not want to swim."

"Why not?"

He shrugged, searching for a reason. Nothing came to mind. "I have no idea."

"It isn't because I told you the waters are sacred that you now refuse to swim. It is 'cause you knew even before I said so. You chose what to believe."

"So you mean to say it is ingrained volition that led me to refuse?"

"I'm saying it is ingrained belief that leads us all. It's why the rivers are still unspoiled."

Heaving another sigh, she looked in a different direction. "Now, we travel East. It seems the NeverEnd will soon come to an end."

After the Virgin Rivers were gone from sight, many other wonders presented themselves in one way or another. For the second time in his life, Judson experienced Uakari monkeys. He retold to Phyllis how he and Waverly were ambushed by said creatures inside the Gateway Realm on their way to rescue Selene.

Phyllis had paused for a whole minute in utter disbelief. "Selene was captured? How and when did that happen?"

"I assure you that far worse has happened between then and now. We should dwell little on it and focus on dealing with this nuisance." He pointed to the raucous monkeys.

However, the nuisance did not last because Diarmaid distracted them with fruit.

Following that, Phyllis fell off a cliff – much to the horror of her company – because she thought she saw a peek of edibles in the bushes. Lucky enough, she caught on to climbing plant and did not plummet all the way.

Judson was the one to retrieve her.

"That is the fifth time you've saved my life." She pointed out. He sensed the sheepish manner with which she spoke. She was embarrassed.

"I do not keep count, but I am surprised that it is you, and not Diarmaid, getting into trouble so much."

Together, they stared at the aforementioned. He was in a bad state from head to foot – they all were. His cloak was ruined almost totally, his hair covered in bits of bramble; his face soiled by grime and dirt, yet his expression carried such radiance that it was impossible to call him filthy.

"He's trying hard to not need my help on the quest." She reasoned. "I best him at everything."

"And finally, the commander of perfectionism has a flaw." Diarmaid grinned, having eavesdropped. He walked over to inspect the bush. "I can't believe you fell for a bird's nest."

"I can't believe you fell for making a hurtful comment."

He turned partly. "I fell for what?"

Judson managed to roll his eyes before Phyllis unexpectedly pushed Diarmaid off the cliff. His shouts echoed through the tropics.

"Go get him!" She instructed.

When he came up again, Diarmaid became a lot quieter, and it touched Judson a great deal even though he could not determine exactly why.

"Do you not think your actions were a bit. . ." He faltered, swallowing the next words.

Phyllis spat them for him with a smirk. "Over the top?"

"Something like that, yes. Why did you do it?"

"He's different when he sulks," Her eyes were softly fixed on Diarmaid, who was ambling up ahead with their baggage clutched close to his chest.

"Also, he's more reasonable then and rarely opposes me. Whenever he's this way, he becomes like a reincarnation of Dermot."

There, her tone hinted at guilt.

"I coax him on purpose – to get a glint of his brother."

"Sounds like an awful thing to do, yet I cannot deny that it affects me tenderly."

"They have more likeness than he chooses to believe. I wish him to see that it's true. Dermot lives in him. All the time."

Silence reigned following that.

As Judson was about to ask how Dermot had passed away, Diarmaid spoke for the first time. He seemed to have come to a halt in the far distance.

"By Gayl!"

When they reached him, they saw the reason for his astonishment. A marshland.

"I have never beheld a terrain of this mass." Phyllis muttered, frowning. Her expression reflected Judson's because he, too, was worried about the extensive area of quiet, boggy land before them.

The marsh resembled an ocean, encompassing hundreds and hundreds of yards down to the horizon.

"Couldn't we go around it?" Diarmaid wondered, stomping gently on a patch of dry marsh a few feet from his standpoint. "It's still a bit tender."

Phyllis shook her head, staring as if scouting the area. "Going around will take much longer. We'll lose time. Mind your footing."

In a file, they began to cross the marshland.

Judson kept his eyes fixed on the flakes of broken earth that jiggled upon contact with human weight. He gathered that, in order to get to the other side of the marshland before nightfall, they would have to walk a lot faster. However, he feared the consequences of rushing through such a terrain. His instincts screamed at the possible threats lurking thousands of leagues under their feet, but he did not want to alarm his friends.

"I used to think that my swamp was the very last of its spectacular kind." Diarmaid groaned.

"And the most annoying." Phyllis chirped, shrugging. "Clearly not."

Faint rumbles from below made Judson halt with one leg raised to listen. His eyes followed the Elves ahead of him and their obliviousness told him he alone had sensed the noise. Why he remained still and silent for so long was questionable, but some convincing part of him felt it was the best thing to do. Albeit that it crossed his mind to call his friends to a halt for their own sakes, he could not bring himself to speak a word.

Then, the rumbles died off completely and he knew the worst was about to happen.

"Run!" He roared, breaking into the swiftest sprint.

He was able to catch a glimpse of Phyllis and Diarmaid turning around before the earth exploded in front of him, knocking him backwards. A serpentine creature had burst out of the depths of dirt, screeching so loud that his ears heated up. In the next minute, it dove back into the earth, creating massive craters as it swam just near the surface.

"Run!" Judson called again with more strain as he got back to his feet and gave the creature a hot chase.

Since it operated in familiar territory, the earthworm – a Skut – was six times faster than he was, gaining quickly on Phyllis and Diarmaid, both of whom were outracing each other at intervals.

Judson could see them about a thousand yards ahead, running like their lives depended on it. By nature, the soggy earth should have swallowed them up, but Elves could weigh nothing at will.

He spread out his wings and shot straight ahead, overtaking the Skut in under a minute. When gained on his friends, he did not pass them. Instead, he came to a brutal stop in between them and the Skut. Green energy detonated from his body and met in a violent collision with the fast approaching worm.

With a magical barrier hindering it, the creature wailed and squirmed ferociously, breaking more earth and causing absolute catastrophe. While it threw a continuous tantrum, Judson got a better look at it. It might have been over seven centuries old yet vivacious as a young. As a result of living underground all its life, its body was stained earth brown. Its age was the main reason why Judson did not want to kill it.

"How exactly are you doing that?" Phyllis's breathless voice came from behind.

"Resistance bubble." He answered, turning over to regard her.

"You trapped it behind a great wall of gas?" She looked about, obviously exhausted from the run. The environment was awash with soft green light emanating out of the barrier.

"The strongest wall of gas you may ever witness."

Diarmaid came to stare up at the Skut, which was towering roughly forty feet above their heads. The creature was gigantic. "You mean it won't be able to break through the shiny greeny?"

"Not anytime soon. And that means we should be on our way."

"How did you even know it was going to show up?"

"I heard it. Come on." Judson took Phyllis's arm and steered her to turn about. "We must leave before it gets cataclysmic."

"Diarmaid, come, let's go!" Phyllis urged in turn, but the Elf was oddly entranced by the struggling creature.

"I've never really seen one of these before," He balanced both hands against his waist. "speak more of see one up close."

"This is not the time for sightseeing!" Phyllis hurried to grab his arms and yank him. "Maraeti would kill us both if she hears you got yourself killed."

"Oh, alright! Alright!" He conceded, joining to walk in a hurry. "How long do we have?"

The Skut had tried every means to break out of its energy prison, but none had worked so far, leading it to violently crash itself against the border on repeat.

"An hour at most," Judson explained. "To put a safe distance between ourselves and it, but the Skut can cover many miles, so we need to be quicker if we aim to leave this place in one piece."

Diarmaid stared at him with his lips hanging open in mild wonder. "If you and Waverly had known each other for so long, how come she wasn't this knowledgeable?"

"She was. She is, in a different way than I am."

"And annoyingly impulsive, might I add."

Just then, energy rippled past them and made them turn around.

"It's growing weak." Phyllis stated, staring at Judson for both confirmation and dismissal.

He did neither. All he said was, "Run!".

Again, the trio fled for their lives.

It appeared that because of the Skut's endless struggles, the earth softened even more.

Chances for survival thinned when the trio sank fully and all at once into mud filth. Luckily, Judson was able to will vines and drag them out before anyone suffocated.

"Ugh, that is disgusting!" Diarmaid retched, crawling on his elbows to plop down on his back. He sat up again, staring dejectedly at his soiled clothes.

"What's worse is," Phyllis piped in quite cheerily. "you won't be having a bath any time soon."

He blinked out of painful realisation. "Might as well just get eaten."

"We are only a few sinks away from getting out of the bogs." Judson announced in a bid to encourage them.

He could truly sense that the marshland would be history in a few hours. Looking back at his energy barrier, which was still prominent in the far distance and dispelling ripples each time the Skut crashed into it, he prayed that their passage would be easy. As high as the blockage went, it also ran deep to prevent the creature any access to an underground escape route. That should allow them enough time to make a break for it.

"Then, what are we waiting for?" Phyllis smirked, straightening. "Diarmaid loves to swim."