Chương 25: Chapter 23 — First Blood

"This is what we get for sticking to the paths," Bea muttered, her tone somewhere between annoyed and amused. Chelsea looked around, confused. The forest hadn't changed. The same trees, the same narrow trail, the same filtered light breaking through the canopy. Nothing looked out of place, and yet the rest of the group had shifted instantly. Adriane had gone still. Edgar's head had tilted slightly, as if listening for something beyond normal hearing.

Even Dewey had changed, his posture tightening, his presence heavier. Chelsea felt it a second later. Not something she could see. Something she could feel. Like the forest had stopped breathing. She stepped closer to Dewey without thinking, lowering her voice.

"What's going on?" Dewey didn't answer. That scared her more than anything else.

"What have we here?" a voice called out from somewhere ahead, rough and aged, carrying easily through the trees.

"You lot don't look like fae." Chelsea's head snapped toward the sound, but she saw nothing. Just the path stretching forward like it had before. No one responded. Not Adriane. Not Edgar. Not Bea. Chelsea swallowed and kept her mouth shut too. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the world shifted. It looked like water falling in reverse. A thin, wavering sheet dropped from the air itself, rippling as it collapsed. The forest didn't change, but something hidden behind it snapped into place.

Shapes filled in where there had been nothing, and suddenly the empty path wasn't empty anymore. Men. A lot of them. Twenty, maybe more, spread across the trail in a loose formation. Some leaned casually on weapons. Others stood ready. All of them were watching. Chelsea's stomach sank.

"It's simple," the man at the front said, stepping forward just enough to separate himself from the group.

"Your valuables, and we'll take that little one in the back. Then you can be on your way." Chelsea felt something cold settle in her chest.

"Chelsea," Adriane called, her voice calm. Chelsea didn't hesitate. She moved forward immediately, slipping past Dewey and Bea until she stood beside her sisters at the front. Adriane raised a hand toward the bandits, a silent signal for them to wait, then lowered herself to her knees in front of Chelsea. The shift in height made it feel more personal. More serious.

"I told you your training was over," Adriane said quietly.

"I'm going to count this as a form of training." Chelsea's stomach twisted.

"You need to kill all of these men." Chelsea shook her head immediately, panic rising.

"No. I can't. I..."

"I know," Adriane said softly, pulling her into a brief hug. It wasn't forceful. It wasn't cold. It felt… real.

"You come from a world where killing is wrong. I understand that." She pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes.

"But these men will not hesitate to do far worse to you," she continued.

"And if it comes to it, if you need to feed, no one in this family will judge you for it." She smiled. Warm. Encouraging. Chelsea's eyes filled with tears.

"Adriane, I don't want to." Adriane nodded once. Then she stood and pushed her forward. Not hard. Just enough. Enough to make it clear that this wasn't a suggestion. Chelsea stumbled a step toward the bandits, her heart pounding in her chest. Behind her, she could feel the rest of the group watching, waiting, not moving to intervene. The bandits noticed. Their expressions shifted as they got a better look at her.

"Kill it," someone muttered from the back. A few others laughed.

"I'm not putting my prick in a demon," another said.

"That's bad luck." More murmurs followed, spreading through the group, but the man at the front didn't join in. He stepped forward instead, his boots heavy against the dirt. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Up close, his face was worse than it had looked from a distance. Scarred. Deep lines cutting across his features like something had tried to tear him apart and failed. A war hammer rested casually on his shoulder.

He looked Chelsea up and down, taking his time.

"Aren't you a cute little archer," he said, smirking.

"And I see you've eaten recently." Chelsea blinked, confused for half a second before she realized what he meant. The blood. She hadn't cleaned herself before they left. No one had told her to. Her hand twitched slightly at her side.

"Please," she said, her voice shaking despite her effort to keep it steady.

"We don't have to do this. We can all just walk away." The man's smirk widened.

"That's not how this works, girlie," he said.

"You belong to us now. So be a good girl and do as you're told." Chelsea's throat tightened. She glanced back. Bea was watching with a wide, manic grin, eyes bright with excitement. She lifted a hand and gave Chelsea a little wave, as if encouraging her forward, like this was all some kind of game. To the bandits, it probably looked like approval. Chelsea turned back slowly.

"Please, sir," she said again, quieter now.

"This is your last chance. I really don't want to hurt anyone." One of the men off to the side shifted, his bow already drawn, the arrow trained directly on her.

"I don't like this," he said.

"They gave her up too easily." He waved off the man's warning and stepped forward, lowering himself until he was at her level. The head of his hammer rested in the dirt beside him, one hand loosely gripping the handle as if he didn't expect to need it.

"You think you're going to hurt us, kid?" he asked, his voice thick with amusement.

"I don't like being threatened by a little demon bitch." He spat at her feet. Laughter rippled through the group behind him.

"You better watch out," one of the men called from the back.

"She probably bites." More laughter followed. The man in front of her tapped his cheek with two fingers.

"This is your shot, kid. One hit. I'll even let you take it. After that, we take you back to camp and..." Chelsea stopped listening. Her breathing slowed. The fear was still there, but something else pushed in beside it. Something colder. Sharper. Focused.

"Umm… okay," she said quietly. She shifted the bow into her left hand, her fingers tightening around the grip. Her right hand curled into a fist, her stance uncertain, almost clumsy. She stepped forward. Her punch came in wide and unrefined, exactly what they expected. It drew another chuckle from the men behind him. Halfway through the motion, her arm changed. Her wrist dipped. Her fingers opened. The claws on her middle and ring finger drove forward instead of her knuckles. They met almost no resistance.

Her hand sank into the side of his throat like it had been guided there. Flesh parted. Cartilage gave way. Her claws slid through and out the other side in a single, uninterrupted motion. For a fraction of a second, nothing happened. Then the man made a wet, choking sound. His eyes went wide. His grip on the hammer loosened as his body folded backward, both hands flying to his throat in a useless attempt to hold himself together. Chelsea stared at him. She felt it. Not fear. Not horror. Something else.

Movement snapped her out of it. The archer beside him had already released. The arrow struck her left shoulder with a solid impact, the force of it twisting her slightly and knocking the bow from her hand. She barely reacted. The pain was non-existent. Making the wound irrelevant. These five seconds made her understand fully what it meant to be in the Wixx family. What is a wound you can't feel? Bea will just heal it up later. She moved.

Her wings snapped open, catching air just enough to push her forward as she launched herself at the archer. He was already reaching for another arrow, his fingers fumbling in sudden panic. He didn't get the chance. Chelsea hit him hard, her hands finding his face. Her thumbs drove forward, sinking into his eyes with a wet, yielding resistance that gave way instantly. His body collapsed backward under her weight. She landed on his chest, already pushing off again before he finished falling.

Another man stepped into her path, raising a mace to block her. It worked. The weapon intercepted her hands, forcing them wide, but in doing so, it left his throat completely exposed. Chelsea didn't hesitate. Her mouth found it. Her teeth sank in. The pressure needed was almost nothing. The structure gave way beneath her bite, and the man's body jerked violently as his breath cut off. Warm blood filled her mouth, thick and immediate. For a split second, everything slowed. The taste hit her. It was… good? Too good!

Someone shouted. Another arrow was already in the air. Chelsea twisted, her left wing snapping outward just enough to throw off her position. The arrow cut past her face, close enough that she felt the rush of air from it. She hit the ground hard near the archer's feet, her hand shooting out blindly. Her claws sank into the back of his knee. He screamed as his leg buckled, collapsing under him. Chelsea pulled. Blood coated her fingers, hot and slick, and instead of recoiling, she leaned into it.

Her other hand pressed into the dirt as she tried to push herself up, her body moving faster now, more certain. A boot slammed into her side. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, sending her rolling, but she didn't stay down. Her hand went to her shoulder, gripping the arrow embedded there. She ripped it out in one motion. Before the man who kicked her could react, she drove it upward into him, low and brutal. His scream cut through the chaos as his hands dropped to his groin, his focus completely broken.

Chelsea pushed to her feet. The world around her had changed. She wasn't overwhelmed anymore. She was inside it. She spotted the archer's bow on the ground and reached for it, but the weight was wrong, impossibly heavy. So she abandoned it. Her hand closed around a nearby rock instead. She stepped in and swung upward with everything she had. The impact made a dull, cracking sound that she felt more than heard. The man's body went slack immediately, collapsing where he stood.

Chelsea stood there for a moment, breathing hard, blood dripping from her hands, her arms, her face. There were still too many of them. If she stayed in the middle, they would overwhelm her. Her eyes flicked to the treeline. She moved. Her wings gave her just enough lift to carry her upward as she leapt toward a low branch. Her hands caught, her body swinging for a brief moment before she pulled herself up and around the trunk, putting the tree between herself and the remaining men. Below her, they regrouped.

They were shouting, and moving. Their eyes were searching for her. Chelsea crouched in the branches, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her breathing. She should have been afraid. She wasn't. Her body felt… alive. Her tongue pressed against her teeth as the taste finally settled in. Human blood. It was rich. Warm. Addictive in a way she hadn't expected. Her fingers twitched against the bark. She wanted more. The thought came uninvited, but she didn't question it.