After a week in the City of the Dead, a place that twists your worldview like iron under a cold hammer, Ouyang finally led Augustine and the others out into thin, colorless light.
Augustine had been hinting the whole way, tossing pebbles into a still pond: ask the City Lord for a few heavy hitters, a few shadows with knives.
Ouyang ignored him like a stone Buddha in fog, carefree as a boy cutting through sunlit dust, and walked them straight out of the City of the Dead.
Anxiety hit first, like a tight drum in Augustine’s chest, before he moved his lips in his soul: Lord Cat… do we have a chance?
Silence puddled like black water, because the White Cat lay on his head so still he almost lost its presence, a snowflake melting on dark hair.
Not sure…
The answer came like a pebble dropped down a well, then nothing, silence spreading like frost; Augustine drew breath to ask about Ouyang when the cat spoke first.
Don’t ask Lord Cat; Lord Cat knows nothing, knows nothing… The phrase looped like a broken wind chime, and suspicion coiled in Augustine’s gut like smoke.
Truth was, the White Cat had seen plenty, but after Ouyang and the Jade Rabbit beat him like thunder on a night of moonless wind, he didn’t dare leak a word.
That night had been ink-black and knife-cold; he woke to a rope biting his neck like a noose and hung from the rafters like a lamp, while three strangers waited: two humans and a rabbit.
In their little traveling crew, Augustine, Caro, and Bai were dressed for war, their clothes like armor against rain; the rest looked like they were headed to a play.
Jade Rabbit wore a black butler’s suit and a black top hat, big buck teeth flashing like white stones under a crow’s wing.
Collin swam in an oversized robe, fabric billowing like a sail on a lazy river, not an ounce of “adventure” on him.
As for Ouyang, he rocked a T-shirt and shorts with no backpack, strolling like he’d just stepped out of his courtyard to water bamboo.
Augustine had asked about their attitude, but Ouyang’s one line—We’re noncombatants—landed like a door shut in the wind.
Ouyang lifted his eyes to the sky, where a crow cut across the light like ink on rice paper, its dark red pupils pricking him like thorns.
His steps halted like a snapped string; he leaned to Collin and Jade Rabbit and whispered, breath cold as a blade: Killing intent.
The White Cat heard despite the hush, ears pricking like grass in wind, and scanned the brush with lantern-bright eyes, hunting the scent of a knife in the air.
Augustine, Caro, and Bai heard nothing but chatter, and Caro traded whispers with Bai like passing notes, while Bai kept glancing back at Ouyang as if he were a hidden dagger.
Suddenly Augustine stepped on a small stone, balance tipping like a boat in crosswind, and he crashed down with a choking rustle of dust.
The White Cat guarded against sky and earth like a wary hunter, but never against Augustine, his walking cat tree; he flew off in an arc and splashed into a swamp like a dropped pearl.
See? I said there was killing intent! Ouyang wiped phantom sweat with a wry face, words drifting like dry leaves; he meant that crow, a black omen on red eyes.
The White Cat soaked like a drowned cloud, pure-white fur smeared with mud the color of old tea, his expression sour as rain.
He’d felt a chill omen when Ouyang spoke, so he’d been all thorns; yet he’d ignored the most familiar danger, the “mobile cat nest” beneath him.
Human boy, you— He clawed up the bank like a muddy ghost, just as Augustine lurched again like a loose puppet and crashed, body bowling the cat back into the mire.
Glug—one gulping sound, and the White Cat disappeared under the swamp like a coin in dark water.
Ah! Lord Cat, Lord Cat, hang in there! Panic buzzed in Augustine’s voice like trapped bees; he grabbed a branch and shoved it toward the sucking mud.
At the last blink before submerging, the White Cat’s paw snatched the branch like a hook, and Augustine yanked, breath flaring like bellows.
Crack—the branch snapped like dry bone, and the White Cat sank again, slow as a moon setting behind hills.
Enough! I’ve had enough! The White Cat’s sharp voice lanced up from the swamp like lightning, followed by a column of light bursting skyward like dawn.
A white cat rose inside that pillar like a spirit from incense smoke. If Lord Cat doesn’t show fangs, you think Lord Cat’s a sick housecat?
Every hair stood on end like winter grass, his fur puffed like a storm cloud, and he swept his gaze around to find the root of this cursed comedy.
Wow, Lord Cat, you look amazing right now… Augustine’s eyes shone like stars in a night river, devotion warm as firelight.
Flattered, the White Cat preened, tail curling forward like a silk ribbon, rubbing his cheek with the tip like a noble polishing jade.
Ouyang watched with a crooked look, a smile bent like a fox’s; he shook his head and murmured to his two underlings, voice soft as ash.
See that? Classic cautionary tale. Showing off before you’re out of the woods is tinder by a campfire—don’t do it… don’t do it…
Whoosh—several tentacles shot from the swamp like eels from black water and wrapped the White Cat’s limbs like wet ropes.
Meow my tail, Lord Cat’s male, you filthy tentacle— His mouth got gagged by a thick feeler, the rest of the curse muffled like thunder in snow.
Tentacle monster? Holy crap. Red alert—fall back! Ouyang’s order snapped like a whip, and two men and a rabbit vanished like startled swallows.
Caro, Bai, and Augustine were left facing the mire like soldiers before a storm; when they glanced back, the three “noncombatants” were gone like smoke.
Whoosh—a tentacle coiled Caro’s waist like a snake and lifted her into the air like a fish on a hook.
Caro! Augustine’s panic burned like a flame in dry grass; he yanked his short knife, slashing at the tentacle with frantic strokes like rain.
The tentacle moved like a clever vine, lively as a lizard’s tail, and Augustine was panting hard while it kept its springy, hateful life.
Only Bai had real bite on the field, her dragon blood stirring like thunder under skin; she was the one Augustine could lean on like a tree.
She didn’t fail him; the fabric on her back bulged like storm clouds, then—riiip—the sound of ripping split the air, and white dragon wings unfurled like winter fans.
Scales bloomed on her hands like frost on leaves, fingertips tapering to sharpness like ice, until dragon claws replaced her human grip with a steel sheen.
Her feet turned to talons, and her small shoes shattered like brittle shells on stone, scraps scattering like snow.
Sensing power like a pressure drop before rain, the tentacle monster changed tune; not one feeler but a dozen surged at Bai like spears from a thicket, hungry to bind that bright girl.
Smack—Bai’s white dragon tail cracked several tentacles like reeds under a boot; her wings beat, and she twisted through the strikes like a swallow through arrows.
Her claws shredded one tentacle into ribbons like torn silk; flames roared from her mouth, and feelers sizzled like bacon on a hot pan.
Bai, you got this! Augustine could only shout from the ground like a drumbeat in fog; that was his one small arrow in the dark.
Rip and scorch, claw and fire—the pile of feelers became a butcher’s floor, hacked sections falling like chopped eels, burned stubs blackening like charcoal.
In that moment Bai was a valkyrie from a snowbound saga, wings bright as blades, cutting a path like sunrise through mist.
At last her claw raked the octopus-like head, carving three red lines like brushstrokes, and the monster shrieked like metal on stone.
From vents in its body, yellow-brown smoke sprayed out like poisoned incense, rolling low over the ground like fog from a bog.
Caro, who’d been struggling in coils, went soft as wet paper, strength bleeding away like tide from sand.
Even Bai, green to the world but not blind, saw the problem in that smoke like a warning lantern, yet she breathed a curl by mistake.
Her body went limp like a loosened bowstring; her wings lost strength and she fell straight down like a cut kite, only to be wrapped by a waiting feeler.
With power gone, her half-dragon form blurred like ink in water and collapsed; she returned to a human girl with breath like a flickering candle.
Once the monster had Augustine bound too, limp on the ground like a fallen reed, its tentacles oozed a slick slime like snail trails.
Clothes touched the slime and melted away like frost in morning sun, turning to white vapor that drifted like ghosts.
The naked White Cat had no fabric to lose; instead his white fur fizzed and thinned under the slime like snow eaten by salt.
He’d wanted to watch the show like a spectator under an umbrella, but the moment his fur began to burn away, patience snapped like a brittle twig.
No… don’t… Caro watched her clothes dissolve like sugar in hot tea, a breathy moan slipping out like a feather; she tried to fight, but not even a finger would rise.
Bai fared worse; her earlier transformation had shredded her clothes like storm-torn banners, and the slime ate what was left until only a few strips clung like desperate ivy.
The White Cat’s tolerance hit the cliff edge like a wave, then broke.
Tentacle freak, taste Lord Cat’s Frenzied Claw! Several white flashes carved the air like lightning, and the tentacles binding him burst into meat confetti.
Lord Cat has roamed eras beyond counting like wind across open steppes—how dare a little tentacle punk offend me?
Swish, swish, swish—the White Cat moved so fast he became afterimages like falling petals, flickering all over the monster’s body like sparks.
Every tentacle became minced meat under his claws, sliced to a rain of chunks like chopped noodles, leaving only the giant octopus-like torso quivering like a beached whale.
