The battle raged. Steel rang. Guns thundered. Magic scorched the earth. Green blood soaked the dirt. Shark heads littered the forest floor. Teeth crunched under boots. The stench of salt, acid, and burnt mana filled the air.
It took nearly an hour. An entire hour of relentless violence before the last beast fell, twitching once before going still. Silence returned. Heavy. Broken only by labored breathing. Prince Ford stood among the corpses, sword dripping green, chest rising and falling. He slowly turned toward me. "You told that story," he said carefully. I leaned out the window, hair a mess, face splattered with something I did not want to identify. "I swear on my life, I did not plan this."
Henry wiped his gun. "So… no more stories?"
I slumped back into the obscene cushions. "We're switching genres."
Joff raised a brow. "To what?"
"Farming," I said immediately. "Nothing with teeth."
Chubby nodded. Wise.
