“Sloth Bear, Ursus folivora- an inhabitant of the Great Vale’s tree canopies. This is a rather elusive creature that spends most of its time napping on branches after a hearty meal. It is an omnivorous creature and has a rather docile demeanor. However, once it deems it's territory under threat it becomes a dangerous ambush predator dropping from the trees and dispatching threats with its scythe-like climbing claws. On the ground, it can easily outpace a grown man in speed…” from Philiarz Warnerskemander’s Bestiary for Adventurers: ‘Exotic Beasties and Where To Find Them

There were two of them; an archer and a mage. While the mage controlled the flow of battle, the archer went in for the kill. But the archer was down, temporarily. Now the mage...the mage was going to be the hardest to find; but Arthur kept running.

Staying in one place was just asking to be sniped again. Assuming the archer got up…well, he would not be getting up again. That kick had most of his strength in it.

As for the mage, they had yet to make their move. However, the sand was still up. Or did they assume that he’d been had? Their synergy was quite good if they could work in concert. As an ambush team, they were very good at it.

Perhaps it was overconfidence; if that was the case, then he needed to find them, knock them out and get the hell out of there before the rest of the bandits came. But against someone whom they had scant information about, they barely got him. Arthur was lucky he’d had his [Wind Shield] when he did.

He felt it when the Archer had tried to breach his magic with the shard of the broken arrow that had thunked against his hoverboard. But going by the way the man seemed to have moved to recover the arrow head, perhaps they were made of a rare metal. It was just dumb luck that the bandit archer happened to have only one of them, otherwise he’d had been in more trouble than he could take.

Arthur really wanted to facepalm for not thinking of it sooner. A mage was a literal magic beacon asking to be found. Why would they— ‘Ah, I assumed that every mage would have mana sight’. Just a slight mental prompt and his vision swam with the colors of the aether.

Tendrils of mana rose from the ground, a smoky amethyst overlayed over the sand. It was still disconcerting no matter how enchanting the world of motes and wisps was, but he found the mage.

Their aura was subdued, clinging so close to their skin, yet they were one with the earth. They might as well have been broadcasting their position with their magic to Arthur’s mana sight.

‘ Not a common skill then?’ Arthur found his attacker. And now,the question on his mind was how he’d make his move. From their short altercation he’d already known that each of his movements were somehow felt to the mage. But now, with the archer out of commission, he was masquerading as the mage’s companion, or so he hoped.

Sahra and Tashir's job had been going well. All they had to do is to stop their quarry so the rest of the bandits could get to them. She used her magic [Sand Fog], to stall their quarry, while he used his archery to harry or if need be, incapacitate them. There was no killing.

Be as it may, they were caught off guard this time. Overconfident, her twin brother had only carried a few arrows in his quiver because he seldom missed his targets.

Nothing would have prepared them for going after a mage however. And Torpeth, one of their acquaintances, failed to mention that.

Sahra could see why the bald bandit might have missed it. His aura was so thick that the bandit’s senses had been muddled. It made her shiver when he entered her domain’s area of effect; she could scant believe it. Even her twin brother was shaken, almost wavering. But Tashir bit down on his lip; they had to do this…it would be their last job.

Perhaps the spirits of the Sands were on their side. Whoever was pitted against them was not adept in the ways of combat despite their prodigious aura. On the other hand, the twins had seen war; only because of circumstances did they throw their lot in with the bandits. They were refugees, they had nothing and naturally they were so desperate.

Tashir’s first shot had gotten the mage on the backfoot from the get go. And he had shot to kill. That wasn't part of the plan! Knowing her brother, Sahra knew that he was just looking out for them because the other person might not hold any reservations about killing to defend themselves.

But instead of a shot through the eye, there was a distinctly metallic sound. Sahra felt, rather than see the mage go careening into the air for the impact. ‘ What in the sand depths was that? The Sand Mage thought. Sahra had detected the mage several paces off the ground and yet, the way he was using the magic of air was not the way she’d expected. He had a relic that helped him fly, if they could get it before the bandits got their hands on it—

That was what surprised her more than what her twin felt, unsettled that a kill shot to the brain had been rebuffed. But Tashir did not falter. Sharing her connection to the sand through a rare skill called [Twin Soul], he capitalized on the mage’s disadvantage, sending five more arrows in quick succession.

Perhaps feeling her anxiety, he became more aggressive and committed to his attacks, [Piercing Shot], [ Recurrent Bombardment]! She heard him activate the skills despite his dwindling quiver.But all of them broke; the mage had reacted! Then he retaliated.

Were it not for their constant movement, they would’ve been scorched where they stood. Lightning came cracking out of their own curtain of sand, burning holes through her spell. Sahra watched pillars like termite mounds grow as she blinked. She almost tripped but her dear brother caught her just in time and they kept running.

The mage was flinging their spells indiscriminately. She felt part of her domain waver, as the sand was turned into glass. Glass! If she could just level up she could be a glass mage too but she’d hit a bottleneck at level 20. The hair at the back of her neck rose and her skin began to prickle as charge began to build up within her spell.

Tashir was fed up; he got one of his aces; a tenebrith arrow head. The black pointed shard of ore from where null-steel and darksteel was mined was one of their few valuables. It cost an arm and a leg just to get one and for a good reason. Back home, it was a witch killer. Magic seemed to recoil from the arrowhead and the sensation through her mana sense made her skin crawl.

Everything hinged on that one moment. Tashir made the shot, a perfect shot of all he’d ever done. It was supposed to go through the navel, where a mage’s well of power was rumored to be. Tashir didn't miss—the mage did the unthinkable. He put his relic in the way of the arrow, and the relic died; the mage dropped into the ground.

Then Tashir disappeared before she could even stop him; her twin was frustrated. She tried to run after him but she couldn't catch up. She was not athletic like him. She hoped that, against her better judgment, her impulsive brother would come out unharmed.

Sahra waited with bated breath for something to happen; her brother’s death or worse—if he died, half of her would die with him. She prayed to the Mistress of Flame that he would survive.

What came through the link after several heartbeats though, was agony the likes of which she’d never felt before. He was being tortured! Sahra went white as a sheet, she couldn't move, transfixed where he stood. Then he came, eyes blazing gold as if they could peer through her soul.

Arthur found the mage; the cause of all his predicaments. His hoverboard was shot, a mana conduit severed into two where the mana sail’s receptacle went to the engine. It wasn't a loss, it could be fixed. As for the arrow head that did it, it was buried too deep for him to extract it. He’d do that later because now, he didn't believe what he was seeing.

There was a teenager cowering before him. Her face was almost pale as if she’d seen a ghost and her hands trembled, even though she tried her best to clench them against her sides. Even from the way the spell around them seemed to falter, sand dropping down before lazily levitating up to fill in the gaps, he could see she was straining.

Either she’d kept the spell up for too long or she was afraid…Of him. Besides that, she didn’t really fit in with the bandit motif. If anything, she seemed more like a disgraced princess in her dirty, dusty harem pants, foot wraps and shawl.

Her hair was a silvered gray, despite the detritus and her face, even with her eyes scrunched closed, had vaguely semitic features. Arthur almost thought he was in the middle east. He felt bad; there was no way he was going to get the blood of that girl on his hands. He wouldn't touch a hair on her head if he could help it.

“ Hey, I know what this looks like…a big misunderstanding right?” Arthur started. “ I can look the other way if you do one thing for me, “ Arthur grinned in what he hoped was an easy going smile. He was absurdly bad with kids. He took slow, measured…non-threatening steps towards her. He was 6 foot 2 after his hybridization, she was a measly 5 foot four. She cowered like a small animal corralled into a corner.

This was it, the hunter became the hunted. Now the mage was going to do despicable things to her. How could she live with herself knowing she’d been sullied; it was better if he killed her and got over with it. Better she follow her brother into the Dark Beneath, instead of being touched by a filthy…depraved monster so tall he dwarfed her brother head and shoulders. She didn't want to die. He touched her shoulder…

Arthur touched her shoulder in what he assumed was a non-threatening manner. Unfortunately, weeks with Aeskyre must have shorn off a few sensibilities about personal space around humans. The girl screamed.

Sahra screamed. She screamed loud enough to make the dead slumbering beneath the Dust Bowl's sands stir in their eternal sleep. The man flinched back, utterly in shock but Sahra was not in the state of mind to notice.The girl recoiled from his touch, stumbled and fell on her rump. Nor did she notice that the mage with the shining eyes was flustered and trying to reach for her.

All Sahra saw was a monster reaching for her with his insidious claws. In that moment of panic, she remembered the poisons she’d been brewing for her brother. She remembered the little crossbow Tahir had made her. She’d holstered to her thighs as self defense. She didn't like men and the little weapon was supposed to hit them where it hurt the most. Her aim was bad—

As he was reaching for the girl, at a loss at why she was screaming as if he was the most vile of creatures ever to walk Eryth, there was a twang as the air whistled. Pain bloomed on his leg. Despite the protection he’d worn, in the most unlikely of circumstances, she hit him where the owl had pecked and ripped a piece of his pants. The barbed crossbow bolt went through his calf and stayed there.

“ Ow!” Arthur winced, with a betrayed expression as pain lanced through his leg. Suddenly he’d lost all sensation on that side. It felt like his leg was being consumed alive, swallowed and ground by a thousand teeth rotating on the girth of his left leg.

Then his foot collapsed under him. He turned his gaze from the girl in front of him as he hit the sand with his knees, grayscale as seen through his crystal goggles. Her eyes were wide as if she didn't believe what she’d done either.

He was fighting against an urge to suddenly sleep, his eyelids were too heavy, slowly shutting as if they had a mind of their own. Where had he felt like this before? Yea, when he was studying for his final aviation exams and had to stay up late.

That the nightshade knocked him out while the wurmroot was steadily crawling up his thighs might have saved him because his metabolism dropped to as low as it could possibly be. Otherwise he’d have been screaming in agony. But even before the wurm root poison’s burn could entrench itself in his nerves, regeneration, like an autoimmune system, had already kicked in.

At the expense of his bottoming out mana reserves, the skill fought back, overdrawing to exorcise the poison being conveyed into his bloodstream by a thin black bolt from a mini crossbow. But for all the skill’s versatility when it came to clearing poisons, it was indiscriminate and couldn't prioritize which one to eliminate.

Nightshade was slow acting, inducing deep sleep and slowly inducing hypothermia as metabolism dropped below normal thresholds. Another side effect, it induced nightmares in high enough doses. Wurmroot induced paralysis and burned like pouring molten lava on your nerve endings.

Sahra found her brother. Thank the eternal sands he was alive, otherwise she would not have known how to live with her lonesome. As she dropped her spell, feeling the all too familiar sensation of drawing on her well she stumbled into her brother still on the ground looking for all in the world like a half dead man.

She averted her eyes from the spectacle of her twin groaning and grimaced as some of the agony bled into their connection; though it was muted. It couldn’t even compare to her moonlies, she cried in relief that they’d made it.

As the last of the sand continued to dissipate into the wind, she cast her eyes about to see if she could find the flying artifact. She was dismayed, it was nowhere to be found.

And the mounds of sand would make it harder to find before the rest of the bandits came around but it was already too late.

On their llimu’s and dusk hounds they came loping across the dunes. She felt sorry for the man, despite her earlier feelings of terror; at least his death was going to be painless.

“You failed…” the voice broke through his fugue. It moved him. Arthur did not feel his body; it felt distant, removed as if all his senses were just cords that’d been unplugged. Being in a state of sleep and awareness was unnerving. It felt like he was always destined to find himself in such situations. ‘Ah, the third time now?’ he chuckled ruefully.

‘Guess this is the end of the line’. He felt indifferent about the inevitability of his death, regarding it as a matter of fact.“ You failed!” said the voice again, louder this time. Space twisted on itself and Arthur found…Arthur found himself straining his non-existent neck to gaze upon familiar heterochromatic eyes.

Only, instead of condescension and indifference, he saw rage. He almost stumbled back but there was nowhere to stumble back to with ethereal legs. The eyes, electric blue and amber gold bore into him and he felt the gaze crush him under its weight.

‘No no…Aeskyre, its me,’ he croaked. His mind dredged memories of the first time he was held up by his throat; the feeling came again as if reliving for the second time. Only he had no hands with which to fend off the unseen force.

“You failed!” the words were repeated, Arthur felt his existence quake, about to come asunder torn into two. “ Now die!” A gigantic maw opened and Arthur found himself staring into the essence of the sun itself.

Plasma roiled in a sphere, bright and searing yet he could not close his eyes, for he had no eyelids in this place. He found himself hurtling into the maelstrom as he felt his disembodied form becoming atomized.

Averse to going out like that, Arthur clawed with every ounce of his will. Will became intention; intention manifested. But not in the way he intended.

[Conditions….

Outside Arthur’s nightmare, the bandits had arrived. Yelling and whooping was heard as mounted bandits and those on foot approached the archer and mage twins.

However, most of them had eyes only for the young man lying face down on the sand, as though he was peacefully sleeping. They knew he was anything but sleeping, most probably dead. Two of them with a bone to grind went ahead and kicked him in the torso.

…Met…

“All of you sand blasted rats shut yer damn yaps!” boomed the [Sandbandit Chieftain]. The head of a dozen cutthroats but a bandit chieftain all the same.

“Torpeth—Oi Torpeth!, Where's that sand sucker at?!”

“Here boss!” said Torpeth, making his way to the front of the throng.

“Why did you not think to mention he was a sandblasted mage?” the chieftain growled, spittle flying out of his lips. His hand swung so fast and so hard that the bald man could do naught but get smacked upside the head. The bandit chief’s llimu mount squawked indignantly from its harnesses being shoved whichever way.

…Temporary Heritage Skill…

“ I swear boss, Val was there with me. We didnae smell a whiff of magic on the boy.”

The bandit chieftain turned to the twins, Sahra leaning on the ground against his twin who seemed to have recovered.

"You! Ossyrian waif—how strong was he?"

“ He was scary,” Sahra quivered suddenly the centre of attention. Looking at the youth’s body from the corner of her eye, she shrunk further when she saw the way two goblins were kicking at him. “ And He was holding back, “ she swallowed thickly, recalling how terrified she’d been.

Now? She was the one standing. As for the artifact, maybe they could lie about that. Surely the bandit chief didn't have a truth crystal on him and he didn't even know how the mage had escaped their perimeter in the first place.

Luck was smiling on them. If she could feel it with her sand, she could bury it a little deeper and then they would come for it later. That train of thought derailed when a sense of foreboding dug into her psyche. Her mana sense screamed. ‘No!’, she was loathe to turn her head behind her.

…Instigated!]

“Uh, Boss! Boss!” the two goblins with the [Skulker] class slowly backed away from what they’d presumed was their mark’s body. Only he wasn’t. Dead bodies did not suddenly start arcing sparks and charging the air around them with static.

"What yer sappers?!—I'm busy here cleaning up your messes!”

“ The body!” the bandits closer to Arthur yelled.

"I think we should run,” shivered the sand mage as her [Mana Sense] screamed at her. “Monster, “ she mumbled, standing up on shaky legs. Internally, she was shrieking at her legs to move.

Her twin felt the same dread through [Twin Soul]. As he was the faster of the two, awkward pain was forgotten as he scooped his sister in a fireman's carry and started running.

“Hey come back here!” The bandit chieftain roared. It was already too late. Whatever happened next, even the perpetrator had no idea it would happen.

Before anyone could heel their canine or avian mounts or even hightail it on foot, [Danger Sense] skills went off. A wave of terror swept through the observers and transfixed them to the ground as they gazed upon the ethereal spectacle in front of them.

Lightning crackled and thunder boomed yet it was not the rainy season in the Titan’s bowl. At least not for another couple months, yet the clouds above were moving as if forming a storm. Twin crescents peeked from between the maelstrom in the sky, looking for all the world like malevolent deity sneering at the bandits from above.

[Storm Dragon’s Aegis!]

Arthur’s supine body levitated off the ground, a golden sphere surrounding him. Stray lightning struck at the air, heating it uncomfortably so. While thunder temporarily deafened those afar, arcing lightning grounded itself on their metal weapons, temporarily incapacitating them as their muscles locked up.

A blue glow meshed with the swirling shield of amber, spinning in reverse, swallowing up the sand. Then it contracted, once, twice, thrice and like a depth bomb going off—it expanded in the blink of an eye.

A tempest of wind floored the people on their feet bringing them to their knees as the explosive impact of rapidly expanding air. Then, grains of super-heated heated and glazed sand billowed outwards at the speed it took some to gasp in shock before the shards of glass peppered them. However much they tried to shield their eyes, it was futile.

More lightning looked for places to ground and let it be said that there were a lot of eligible candidates lying around. Save for two people, who cowered inside a dome made of sand, baking from the inside as its exterior glazed over. However they too suffocated as their little bunker became so warm it caused heatstroke. They were the luckiest of them all.

[ Scion of Sturmdrache Level 1!]

Faraway, a dragon looked up and snorted, ”Idiot!”