FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

1

Candelabras weren't usually menacing, least of all brass ones with floral patterns on them. To apprentice swordsmen like Michitaka Kage, to whom impressing his father meant more than mastery of his iaijutsu, those six little flames were a hexad of flamethrowers pointed at his chest. Masamura Kage sat cross-legged behind him. Real katana, as opposed to his usual bokken, weighed down his sword belt.

The six flames hazily lit the dark room, providing the perfect moody incandescence for this crucial moment. Or, a covert figure who possibly belonged to the Six (now five) Demonic Petals of the Twin Lotus, who might've clung to a ceiling corner with the power of amphibious adhesiveness and aching joints, for secret meetings that'd suddenly been interrupted. That was the problem with being the secret member of a villain group. You had to nod along whenever someone called it the Five (now four) Demonic Petals of the Twin Lotus. You had to jump up to the rafters, or behind a pillar, or beneath the floorboards, or in a barrel whenever your Master had company.

Michitaka, ignorant to the plights of villainous spies, breathed deeply.

He shut his eyes.

Bent his knees.

Crossed his arms.

Grabbing both swords with sweaty hands, he—

"Get on with it already!" Masamura barked.

He intook, stepping forward and drawing both swords, slashing the flames.

His cross-slash wasn't worse than Masamune's on Beatstick, so much as it simply didn't compare. You wouldn't compare a butter knife with a laser beam. You wouldn't compare an emo kid's manifesto with alien battle plans for wiping half the galaxy off most commercially available star maps.

Six, otherwise undisturbed, flames continued flickering after a slight breeze passed.

Michitaka's right eye twitched.

"You've slain dust mites," Masamura said. "I'll fire our maids, post haste."

Flipping the light switch revealed a small dojo and the crestfallen Kage heir. No, Masamura thought, crestfallen was too bland a word. Michitaka had this look after Mayumi…died. He'd seen it on another otter boy's face too, a lifetime ago. Devastation. Self-loathing. Rage.

"You aren't preparing for war, Michitaka," Masamura said soothingly. "You won't die if you can't master this commoner parlor trick."

"I WILL!" Michitaka shouted. "He'll kill me if I don't get stronger! He'll kill you too! Let me help you, Father. Let me fight him with you!"

Masamura Kage's jaw set. "Leave me," he said.

"But—"

"Go."

If there was a technique for the indignant sheathing of one's swords before running away from one's father in a resentful huff, Michitaka Kage would've mastered it then and there.

Masamura Kage watched him go, shut the door, then returned to his seat.

"Gunso," he said, and a blue frog landed in a crouch before him. His features: wiry build, cross-shaped scar on his red underbelly, eyes like solid gold dipped in muddy water, were laid bare. His cloak was in the wash. The last barrel he jumped in was full of honey.

"Resume your report."

"The compound is destroyed. Beatstick is dead."

"And the Rushdowns?"

"The guests of honor at a tribal feast, my Lord."

Masamura Kage frowned. "When did they have the time to visit a tribal feast?"

"They were the feast, Sir."

"You might've said so in plain Common. And the necromancer?"

"He's with Masamune."

Masamura Kage stroked his noose-beard.

"You're taking this massive loss in merchandise and manpower very well, Sir."

The lights buzzed, flickering over the leftmost wall where several katana and hand-drawn maps of the Feral Islands were displayed. Masamura Kage regarded them contemplatively.

“Minor inconveniences do not perturb me. Equipment and manpower can be replaced. Animals can be recaptured, compounds rebuilt. It's weakness, failure, and the inadequacies of my most elite subordinates that disturb me."

Gunso sweated.

"Masamune saved me the trouble of admonishing Beatstick for leaving by himself. How should I admonish you for letting them escape? For letting the necromancer live, when he's sure to lead them right to us?"

"Ah," Gunso said. Rhetorical question or not, it was the kind you wanted to answer so all the suspenseful implications couldn't hang freely. "I will intercept them, my Lord, the moment I finish reporting here."

“My other spies, the ones who cannot move through shadows, have long since reported the compound's destruction. Go lend aid to the forces I've dispatched. Do not return unless it's with Masamune's head, or a bag for yours."

"I am unworthy of your mercy, my Lord," Gunso said, bowing low.

They then stared at one another in silence.

"Well?"

"This is embarrassing," Gunso said. "May you turn out the lights? As you've said, I travel through shadows and there are none for me to...move through...in here. Um. Never mind, I'll see myself out."

2

Stowhart's story ended with the three of them in the dinky room below deck that'd be their cabin. Old blankets were set up like hammocks. The sky outside their porthole window darkened from bronze to black throughout the tale.

Masamune lay in his hammock, arms folded behind his head, legs crossed. Fat sacks of gold coins sat beneath him. Ed sat on the ground, arms and legs crossed. No hammock could hold him without sturdy chains and a prayer.

Stowhart sat on a stool beside the cracked porthole window. Recounting his past choked him up, not because of anything sad, but both men declined his polite insistence to shower. Things were gonna get real messy, Masamune'd said. No point in prettying themselves up for a dip in shit creek.

"Th'smarmy fuck wants t'become a necromancer," Masamune said, "to resurrect your dead brother, 'n you're goin' along with it?"

"Yes," Stowhart said.

"There's worse reasons t'want me dead," Masamune yawned. “No hard feelin's from me."

The airship lurched, making his bags of gold clink with affirmation.

"What about you?" Stowhart asked Ed then, thinking it'd help because he'd heard a commoner use this lingo once, added, "we cool?"

Ed hummed deeply, stood, then proffered his right arm. "By maudlin light, or fate's fiercest flame," he began.

Masamune was about to ask what the fuck he was doing when Stowhart stood and locked their forearms at the elbows. "Our fellowship shall never sway. Our blades never stayed," he continued.

Their left hands engaged in an intricate series of handshakes before clasping together. "This is the will of Calamity. The Brethren of Steel!" they finished in unison.

"Yeah, we're cool," Ed said, grinning. "No one who's ever tried killin' us had a gamin' set-up like yours. Or a mini-fridge. Or—"

"This rekindled friendship sounds rather one-sided," Stowhart said.

"I'll have time to appreciate your charmin' personality after I kick your ass in BA2. You owe me a rematch."

"You'll have your rematch…After a long, hot, soapy shower. You're not sitting on my couch looking like you took a dip in cherry syrup. Or touching my controllers. Or stepping foot on my carpet. It's bad enough you won't wear the slippers." Stowhart put an arm around the least sticky parts of Ed's shoulders and led him out of the room.

"Do I have to use soap?" Ed groaned down the hall.

Masamune, having watched this play out in stunned silence, huffed and shut his eyes. He was about to fall asleep when something like a bomb blast struck the airship's hull, throwing him out of his hammock. He hit the ground nose first, his legs folding over his head for one terrible, back-breaking instant before another impact smacked him flat against the opposite wall. Decades of piracy told him what was happening before Lain's voice shouted over the intercoms.

"We're under attack! Stowhart, on the downstairs turrets. Masamune, you and your pet stay out of the way."

Masamune stretched to realign his spine before getting dressed (hat, check, scarf, check, swords, check), then rushed up to the main deck.

Two-man, winged aircrafts the size of jet skis buzzed around the airship, alternatively dodging Stowhart's laser fire and firing their own at the ship. Sky Wasps. Masamune hadn't seen one since his brief stint as an Overworld sky pirate and, ducking to avoid a laser that left a huge scorch mark on the wall beside him, would've preferred keeping it that way.

Ed ran upstairs just as that laser hit, knocking him against the deck's outer rail. He opened his eyes to a panorama of gold-tinted clouds zooming below, screamed, and threw himself back downstairs.

The Wasps hovered above, allowing their passengers to board them before buzzing away. Lain watched them surround Masamune through the bridge's window. There was a foreboding moment when the cackling animals, believing they were people with lives, goals, and ambitions instead of goons in a schlocky samurai epic, drew their weapons. Then Masamune drew his swords.

The screams didn't bother Lain, but the blood splatters across his window made it difficult to steer.

"You're cleaning that up later," he shouted outside. "T.K. Get out there."

I seem to remember us havin' this conversation before.

"Just do it!"

Lightning struck inside the bridge, followed by Thunderkiss's booming laughter as he flew outside. He was firing electricity at the Sky Wasps while zig-zagging around them, blowing several to smithereens when Masamune barged into the bridge.

"Are there more turrets downstairs?" he asked. "I'll help shoot th'sons of bitches outta th'sky."

Lain stared at him, then down at the red footprints behind him. He'd just had the floors polished. "Don't bother. We're going down."

Masamune was slammed into the door frame before he could ask what he meant, after Lain pulled a lever that made the ship plummet toward the jungle.

"You're fuckin' nuts!" Masamune shouted over terminal velocity's whooshing winds.

"I know," Lain said, gripping the wheel.

Foliage shrouded the deck outside after breaking through the treeline. A brittle sound, like a thousand chopsticks being split apart in rapid succession, rang out.

“W-we're gonna crash!"

“The ship's insured."

The outer rails broke off first. Then a large branch speared through the bridge's window and missed Lain's head by inches. He didn't blink. That they didn't crash, bow first into a tree and explode into a million smoky bits, proved people with main character energy are only the ones who haven't died yet. They landed before hovering procedures started, doing so with the grace of an Olympic skier skidding across asphalt after a jump before wiping out. The ship stopped eventually. Smoke rose. Their keel'd dug a wide, half-pipe ditch through the jungle behind them.

Masamune opened his eyes to a destroyed bridge. Glass was everywhere. Leaves fluttered like confetti. He and Lain, who was hunched over the wheel, breathed deeply, harangued by their nerves. Lain straightened himself first. He plucked twigs out of his hair, dusted his cloak, then appraised Masamune's haggard expression with a smirk. "Be ready, they may give chase."

"Tell 'em to gimme a sick bag while they're at it," Masamune said.

Lain had to step over several large branches to get out onto the deck. Sky Wasps buzzed on the other end of the tunnel he punched through the treeline.

Stowhart slumped upstairs next, clutching walls like footholds on a steep rock face. "B-brother, did we crash?"

"No, we landed," he said firmly. “Everything went according to plan." Another large branch fell onto the deck from above. The airship trembled.

"Thunderkiss."

"Yes, Sir!" T.K said, appearing beside him with a mock salute that juddered against his forehead.

"How many did you shoot down?"

Three."

"How many are up there?"

"More than three."

"Damnation! I should've anticipated Masamura Kage intercepting us."

"Brother, let me—"

"Stowhart," Lain said in a way that suggested he'd forgotten he was there. "Gather supplies. Get everything important in the storeroom. We'll travel by foot."

"Everything important in the storeroom" was a whole magic shop's worth of various trinkets, baubles, and books that encompassed Lain's research. Stowhart left in a hurry, ignoring Thunderkiss sticking his tongue out at him. They could be attacked again at any moment. He bagged everything up with a jittery Ed's help in under ten minutes, throwing most of it overboard for Lain to catch with wind magic down below. They opted to carry fragile equipment down the ladder. Ed went down first, descending like a fidgety spider carrying an egg sack three times its size.

As Stowhart went back up the ladder, Lain and Thunderkiss drew runes in the dirt around their cargo. Rocks were placed around at various points, they were out of candles. Elemancer and familiar chanted in unison after completing the magic circle.

"Realm of Earth.

Receive my wares in Grass, and Vines, and Mud.

Hide them.

Keep them.

Contain them within Thee.

I call upon the Earthen Satchel!"

Electricity scorched cool night air with its tininess. Runes around the circle glowed. Vines sprouted around the bags, lacing around them. Next, a layer of stone-specked mud lathered itself over everything. Finally, grass grew on the mud dome and the ground swallowed it up.

"Nifty trick," Masamune said, who'd rubbed Ed's back while he made disconcerting noises in the bushes.

"We've wasted enough time here, let's get moving," Lain said dismissively, as Thunderkiss overlapped and disappeared within him again. Stowhart'd climbed back down with another few bags, things he said were too fragile to risk throwing down.

"Earthen Satchel won't be difficult to maintain?" he asked.

"I'll endure it," Lain said. "It's a slight inconvenience on my focus, nothing more."

"Good," Stowhart replied, then thrust a bag into Lain's hands. "Do it with these as well."

Lain grimaced, struggling under its weight. "What's…in here?"

"The figurines from my room, ones that didn't break when you “landed". And my consoles. I put them in these boxes here, and wrapped them in plastic just in case. This bag's got the games. The television's a lost cause, I couldn't unbolt it from the wall on such short notice. Let's pray jungle animals can't manage a locked door until we return. Here's the posters too. These ones are framed, so be gentle with them. Don't worry about this mini-fridge, I'm carrying it myself. Gods know I'm going to need a drink before the night's over."

3

"Shit, we lost 'em in th'woods!" the baboon piloting a Sky Wasp said over the radio.

"We didn't lose 'em. I see them right there," another baboon chimed in.

"Oh," the first one said. They all saw the elemancer's crashed airship down below.

"One of us should go down there and get 'em," another baboon said.

"Yeah, one of us."

The radio went silent. The Sky Wasps continued circling the hole tunneling through the jungle's roof.

"We can't do nothing!" one of them declared.

"Why not?"

The other pilots considered this counterpoint deeply. Their friends getting blown out of the sky wasn't so bad. It came with the territory. None of them anticipated Masamune Kage. None of them ever planned on being cut into pieces small enough to fit on hors d'oeuvres.

"Because we're Lord Kage's trusted subordinates, hired to cull all opposition in the Feral Islands and claim it in the name of Ashright. We are symbols of his might, his bravery, and to show cowardice in the face of the enemy is to show the world that Lord Kage is weak. We must pursue them now, and we must show them the might of our unrestrained valor."

The baboons gave each other funny looks. They'd all suspected at least one of them was the spy who ratted them out after that beer fiasco last month, but this was corporate shilling on a whole 'nother level.

One baboon, who'd noticed his Sky Wasp felt heavier all of a sudden, looked over his shoulder to find a cloaked, possibly amphibious, figure wearing a large lily pad for a hat. He sat in his passenger seat, in his shadow.

"W-w-who th'fuck are you?! How'd you get up here?"

"Forget about that."

The baboon forgot about it. Arguing with the cloaked stranger behind you tended not to be good for one's health.

"Tell the others to make way for Nemissa's Delights," the figure demanded.

"Nemissa's? Th'brothel?"

"No, the Sunday school."

There was a pause.

"Yes, the brothel you simian simpleton!"

"What th'fuck's at Nemissa's?"

"Tits, drugs, beer, and pussy, last I checked," the figure said. "Masamune Kage and his ward are flagrant hedonists. One whiff of all that B.O. and cheap booze and they'll bulldoze the doors down."

The baboon made a face. "Masamune Kage would stall his lifelong vengeance quest for a quick lay?"

“Gods no," the figure said. "They'll probably be there until tomorrow morning, at least."

"Greg! What's where you're—"

Greg crashed headlong into a tree before catching that last part. Taking your eyes off a cloaked stranger was bad for your health, but not watching where you were flying was worse.

"Holy shit, Greg's dead," the same baboon cried into his helmet's mic.

"Was he drunk again?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Hey, Carl, who's that on your passenger seat?" Carl heard through the radio.

"Tell them to land at Nemissa's Delights, on orders of Masamura Kage" Gunso said, seated in his shadow. "And for Gods' sake, watch where you're going."

4

"You can't be serious," Lain said.

"Beats campin' out in th'woods, where anybody can jump us at any time. Plus, my wallet's itchin' 'n it ain't empty for once," Masamune replied, peeking over the bushes with an expression like an offender watching a drunk sorority girl.

"What happened to your oh so unquenchable thirst for vengeance? Your lust for your brother's blood on your blade?"

"Women with big tits and dudes with fat asses, that's what." Masamune waggled his eyebrows at Lain, whose facial features squirmed inward. "Masamura ain't goin' nowhere. Besides, we all need a bit of time t'unpack all th'harrowin' shit that's happened to us today."

"You're just saying that because you want to spend the night at this damned pleasure house," Lain said through a wrinkled nose.

"This damned pleasure house", the one that smelled like burnt barbecue served on a jockstrap, was Nemissa's Delights. Wild animals lived in a sort of equilibrium. Predators were born to hunt. Prey were born to be hunted. This was nature. Nature didn't account for warring tribes, hierarchical conflicts, and property lines, however. Even the Feral Islands needed a “neutral ground". A place where animals came together in a common pursuit, and whoever built Nemissa's knew coming was the only thing all animals had in common. Animals ate each other in the jungles, and ate each other out at Nemissa's. Rival tribesmen could pork and parley here.

Nemissa's looked more like a giant tiki bar than a multi-structure bordello, while lit by the orange glow of various torches and bonfires. Animals danced, fucked, or both around the property. Outdoor bars served drinks in coconuts, the color of engine oil, liberally. Tents were pitched everywhere: in loincloths, pants, and outside, these ones rustling to match the rigorous enthusiasm of their occupants. The moans of animals became a hedonistic anthem that could be heard for miles throughout the surrounding jungle.

Masamune looked back at Lain after taking this in. “Yeah, so?"

Lain rubbed his temples. "I cannot believe we're having this conversation."

"I agree with Lain," Stowhart said, who watched Nemissa's the way a reverend watches a death metal concert. "This is a...bad place to stay the night."

Thunderkiss emerged with his cheek against Lain's, rubbing his shoulders from behind. "I'm with tall, blue, 'n smelly on this one. Let's get our rocks off!"

"No!" Lain barked, shrugging him off and chopping both hands forward. "We are not 'getting our rocks off'. Need I remind you all that we're being chased by Masamura Kage's men? Must we—where is Masamune?"

Stowhart and Thunderkiss looked at the empty space beside Ed, where Masamune previously stood.

"He snuck away while you weren't lookin'," Ed said.

"Why didn't you stop him!"

Ed, dreary eyed, blinked slowly before yawning.

Lain buried his face in his hands. When he next looked up, Ed was gone too. Stowhart, who hadn't noticed Ed slipping away while consoling his brother, waited for Lain to stop grinding his fangs before speaking.

"If nothing else, we're—" he paused, choosing his words while surveying Nemissa's again. Somebody fell off one of the thatch roofs. Another animal was thrown through a wall. Everywhere looked like you'd come up sticky after sitting on it. "—marginally safer here, as opposed to sleeping out in the open."

"We wouldn't be in this situation if ya didn't crash th'ship," T.K. said. "I mean, I dared ya t'do it, buuuut…"

"What?".

"It...it wasn't a dare!" Lain said.

Thunderkiss nodded. "I double dared 'em."

"No! Okay, yes. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and it worked out, didn't it? I had to do something with you missing every shot, Stowhart!"

Stowhart opened his mouth, then shut it tight.

"I'm going to find someplace to set up camp," he eventually said. "Bring the others whenever you've pried them from whatever orifice they're nosing."

"You're leaving me alone? You?" Lain gaped.

"I wouldn't want my sloppy shooting to impede your plans any further than they already have," Stowhart said, stomping away.

"Brother, wait!"

Thunderkiss phased through him, blocking his path, now wearing his cloak and hat disguise. Lain turned his back to him.

"Let him goooo. When's th'last time we hung out anyway? I mean, sure, we're gettin' jumped by a buncha bitch ass goons, but that don't mean we can't have some fun! Oooh, let's zap people! Give 'em a little spark like how we used t'prank your servants."

Lain spun around and T.K. leaned backwards. "Why did you tell him about the dare?"

"Didn't think it was a secret," Thunderkiss shrugged. "We had t'do somethin' if he wasn't gonna help. King Tinhead bein' useless while I save th'day, as usual. You're welcome, by the way."

"Never talk about my brother that way again," Lain growled.

"Who's gonna stop me?"

"ME. Your MASTER. Something you seem to forget wearily often!"

Sparks flew beneath Thunderkiss's hat. Then, turning up his nose, he walked toward Nemissa's.

"Where are you going?"

"To unwind. Alone."

"No. I need your help to find Masamune and the bear!"

Thunderkiss looked over his shoulder.

"Y'kno, you're right," he said. "I haven't been th'most obedient minion. Why start now?"

He then vanished like a match being blown out, the grass sizzling where he stood.