The Reaper of the Reeds
The water rippled in a violent, rhythmic stir that had nothing to do with the wind. George felt the hair on his arms stand on end as a cold, predatory gaze seemed to bore into the small of his back. As they waded through the knee-deep muck, the sensation of being watched—and worse, being wanted—became a physical weight.
"Wait! Do you hear that?" Flynn asked, his usual condescending tone replaced by a sharp, jagged edge of alarm. "Shhh. Listen."
The group froze. The constant squelch of their boots died away, leaving only the heavy, wet silence of the marsh. A low, vibrating hum began to resonate through the air, vibrating in George's teeth. Then, a whisper drifted across the surface of the stagnant pools, as quiet and thin as a dying breeze.
"One, two, three, four... each one knocking at my door. One, two, three, four... I've eaten ten thousand; I'll eat four more. Come closer, come closer, dearies. The water's fine."
The rhyme sent a chill through George's marrow. An ominous whistling followed, weaving through the reeds like a serpent. George's emerald eyes narrowed, scanning the thick patches of pondweed.
"Stay back," he hissed, his hand tightening around his staff as he channeled a defensive current of air. "There's something out here. Something ancient. Something bad."
The water erupted again, and a monstrous, shadowy figure breached the surface before sinking back down. Ever the protector, George didn't wait for it to strike first. He thrust his hand forward, unleashing a concussive wind blast that parted the murky water in a violent spray. But the creature, letting out a guttural, wet chuckle, simply melted into the depths, leaving the attack to strike nothing but silt.
"Who are you? Show yourself!" Flynn demanded, his voice echoing fruitlessly across the vast expanse of the swamp. He held his blade in a white-knuckled grip, his dark eyes darting frantically.
"Show myself? I'm right next to you," the entity whispered. The voice was chillingly close, as if the speaker were breathing directly into Flynn's ear.
In a shimmer of distorted mana, a middle-aged woman materialized beside him. Her skin was a disturbing, translucent dark green, covered in a thin layer of slime. Her face was bulbously deformed, with eyes that bulged like a frog's, and when she leered at him, she revealed rows of teeth filed into jagged, emerald points. Long, wicked claws, stained with the rot of the marsh, extended from her webbed fingers.
"Are you the first to die?" she rasped.
She vanished as quickly as she had appeared, leaving Flynn spinning in a circle, his sword cutting through empty fog. "Where'd she go?" he yelled, his composure finally beginning to fracture.
Arthur stood close to George, his blue eyes clouded with unease. "Guys, I'm getting a very bad feeling about this. This isn't a normal golem."
No sooner had the warning left Arthur's lips than the woman reappeared in a blur of motion next to George. Before he could raise his guard, she delivered a devastating kick to his midsection. The force was like a battering ram, sending George sprawling backward into the cold, foul-smelling bog.
"George!" Arthur cried, rushing to pull him from the mire.
George pushed himself up, coughing out swamp water and wincing as he clutched his ribs. "I'm... I'm okay. What the hell is that thing?"
"I don't know, but it looked like some kind of twisted, green elf!" Flynn yelled, his voice strained with adrenaline. "Whatever it is, it's fast. Faster than anything we fought in the maze."
Arthur turned to the empty space where the creature had stood, his royal authority hardening his voice. "Who are you and what do you want with us?"
A cackle echoed from the reeds, appearing to come from every direction at once. "I am the monster of the swamp, the reaper within the waters. I am Jenny Greenteeth."
She flickered into existence next to Flynn again, her claws sweeping in a lethal arc. Flynn let out a desperate lurch, narrowly dodging the talons that would have opened his throat. She vanished again, a relentless, teleporting phantom. As the group tried to press deeper into the marshland, Jenny followed them, her presence a suffocating cloak of dread. Night began to descend, turning the marsh into an unrecognizable landscape of eerie whispers and shifting shadows. Her malevolent aura seemed to seep into the very water they waded through.
Suddenly, Jenny shrieked—a sound like stones grinding together in a centrifuge—and lunged from the shadows. Her clawed hand shot out, aiming directly for Siri.
"No!" George reacted instantly. He didn't have time for a complex spell, so he threw a raw, desperate wind blast. The surge of air caught Jenny mid-leap, deflecting her just enough that her claws hissed through the air inches from Siri's face.
Before they could counter-attack, Jenny shimmered and vanished beneath the murky surface with a mocking splash.
"She's not just fast—she can teleport!" Flynn yelled, holding his blade in a defensive stance. "Keep your eyes peeled! Don't let her get behind you!"
They stood back-to-back in the fading light, four small souls against a reaper who owned the very ground they stood on. The month in the forest had only just begun, and the marsh was already demanding its tribute.