A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

The ground rumbled under my boots, the lake trembling like something massive was waking up beneath it.

"Uh... is this supposed to happen?" I asked, my voice pitching higher than I liked.

Before Creation could answer, the water exploded — and something gargantuan straight out of a fever dream dragged itself into the open air.

It had four neon green eyes — yes, four — all glaring at us from a bulbous, warty head. A jagged red mohawk bristled along its back, and its limbs, long and twitching like a giant spider's, clicked against the rocks.

Worse yet, a blade-sharp nose jutted from its face, and two massive fangs curled up from its jaw, matched by another set stabbing downward. Its tongue — gods help me — slithered around like a snake on too much caffeine.

And then it spoke.

Its voice was a broken record of male and female tones crashing into each other, grating against my eardrums.

The creature let out a guttural, broken howl —

"Deeestroyyy... must deestrooyyy..."

— before lurching forward, shrieking like a nightmare on fast-forward as it barreled straight toward us.

I stared, horrified. "Holy crap, what the hell is that ugly thing?!" I shouted, instinctively stumbling back.

Destruction rose from where he sat, a wicked grin carving across his face as he pulled out a sword so huge it should've had its own postal code. For a second — just a second — I caught a flash of excitement in his eyes, like a predator spotting a meal.

Meanwhile, Creation barely spared the monstrosity a glance. With a slow, almost lazy sigh, he picked up his fishing rod again and cast his line back into the water like we weren't about to be mauled by a nightmare.

"Make it quick, Destruction," Creation said over his shoulder. "I just got a nibble, and I'm not losing my bait because you took too long playing."

I gawked at them both — one acting like it was Tuesday afternoon chores, the other vibrating with barely concealed bloodlust.

What even was my life right now?

"Finally! Some decent action!" Destruction roared, practically skipping toward the creature like he was greeting an old friend.

I didn't think twice — I dove behind Creation's chair, peeking out from behind his fishing rod. "What is that thing?!" I hissed.

"That," Creation said calmly, reeling his line in a bit, "is a Straggler."

"A Straggler?" I repeated, ducking lower as Destruction clashed with the beast in a shower of sparks. "What the hell's a Straggler? Is it dangerous?"

"For you? Yes," he said, smiling. "But for Destruction? Not even a warm-up set." He reeled in his line once, twice. "Relax. Enjoy the view."

Sure. Easy for him to say while a living abomination was trying to eat us.

"Why is it even here? Does it live in the lake? Were you guys fishing for it or something?" I rattled off questions, my heart hammering away like a drum solo.

Creation chuckled under his breath and finally set down his rod, turning to face me properly.

"You ask too much, Carl. Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

"Yeah, well, the cat probably didn't have four-eyed spider-frogs screaming at it," I muttered.

He laughed, an easy, warm sound, then said, "Still, it's good you want to understand. It'll matter later."

Creation leaned forward slightly, like he was about to let me in on a secret.

"Stragglers are... viruses," he said. "Magical mutated creatures. But we called it an anomaly here. They showed up during the Realm Wars before — abominations born from ruined worlds."

I blinked, trying to process that. "Ruined... worlds?"

He nodded. "When a realm is destroyed, its creatures perish. But those connected to the heavens — the stronger, more ethereal ones — don't die. They... mutate. Corrupt. What you're seeing now is a failed creature of the heavens, cursed to wander until it finds a realm weak enough to break into. Like a virus would."

My stomach twisted.

"So you're saying... if Mythica collapses... our creatures could end up like that?"

"Exactly," he said, smiling as if it was no big deal.

A nasty realization hit me.

The Straggler wasn't just some ugly freakshow — it was a warning sign.

"And... since it's appearing here..." I trailed off.

Creation's smile faded into something thinner, tighter. "It means Mythica's starting to crack. This one showed up in the memory fragments realm — a place still separated from the real world. But if the cracks widen..." He spread his hands. "Then yes, Mythica is, as you so eloquently put it, in deep shit."

I scrubbed my hands over my face. Great. Just fantastic.

Add 'saving the entire realm' to my job description.

Wait.

Something clicked in my brain.

"Bifang mentioned something about Stragglers before he — you know — before he... went through his rebirth," I said, voice dropping. "He told me to pass a warning to Vorta. But I couldn't even meet Vorta. Why would Bifang tell me?"

Creation's expression turned thoughtful. "Maybe Vorta knows how to stop it. Maybe he's seen this happen before."

I glanced over at Destruction — who was now casually flipping the dismembered pieces of the Straggler into the lake like he was skipping stones — and then back at Creation.

"Do you know how to stop them?" I asked, voice lower, the weight of everything suddenly pressing against my ribs.

Creation smiled sadly. "If I did, Carl... do you think I would be sitting here fishing?"

A beat of silence passed between us, heavy enough to make me squirm.

I shifted awkwardly behind Creation's chair, watching Destruction hoist the Straggler's twitching remains onto the shore with a grunt of satisfaction.

The absurdity of it all caught up with me — a four-eyed mutant frog, realm apocalypse warnings, memory fragment lakes — and before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out:

"Can I borrow your fishing rod?" I blurted.

Creation arched a brow, amused. "Fishing for what exactly? Another Straggler?"

"Fishing for answers," I muttered, tapping the rod in my hands. "Back in my world, when I needed to calm down and think... I used to go fishing with my dad—"

The words snagged in my throat. A hollow ache thudded in my chest as the memory twisted, cracked apart. Dad. Right. Except... he wasn't. Not really.

I swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile.

"I mean... with my adoptive parents," I corrected, my voice rough. "I only just found out I'm not actually their biological kid. I was adopted."

The confession tumbled out before I could stop it, feeling bigger and heavier out loud than it ever had in my own head.

Destruction, who had just finished turning the Straggler into yesterday's garbage, strolled back toward us, his blade slung lazily over one shoulder. He looked downright bored.

"How mundane," he complained, like he just sat through a bad movie. "Wasn't even worth breaking a sweat."

Then, out of nowhere, he grinned at me — all teeth and trouble.

"So, you finally figured it out, huh? That you're adopted?"

I blinked. Once at Destruction. Once at Creation. And back again.

They both wore the same blank, casual expressions — like I'd just announced the weather. Like this earth-shattering revelation about my life was old news.

"You guys knew?" I demanded, feeling about two inches tall.

Destruction shrugged like it was obvious.

"If you hadn't lost your memories, you would've known already. Kinda annoying, honestly, keeping it zipped."

"But why didn't you tell me?" I asked, heat creeping into my voice.

Creation reeled his line in slowly, calm as ever. "We couldn't. Interfering would've messed with your memory absorption. It's a delicate thing. You have to rediscover everything naturally."

"And some fragments," Creation added, casting his line back into the water with a flick, "decided to toss you at us instead. Lucky you."

He smiled faintly like this whole situation was just another quirky fishing story.

Destruction muttered under his breath, "Must be a bug somewhere..."

I stared at both of them, my brain still catching up.

Parents who weren't really my parents. Memories slipping in like loose puzzle pieces. Stragglers — creatures signaling Mythica's doom — popping up like bad pennies.

Yeah. Totally normal Tuesday.

"Still," Creation said, breaking the thick silence, "today was important. You learned about the Stragglers. The fragment's trying to warn you."

Destruction's eyes lit up, mischief sparking to life.

"Ohhh, right! Since the anomaly already showed up... that means our role with the fragment memory is done now, right? Can I knock him out yet?" he asked brightly, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Yes," Creation said smoothly, without even looking up. "I think he's seen enough this time."

My heart plummeted straight to my boots.

"Wait. Hold on. There's gotta be another way out of this memory realm," I said quickly, backing away from Destruction's evil grin.

He paused for half a second — thinking, maybe.

Hope flared inside me.

Then he cracked his knuckles with a wicked smirk.

"Nope. Adios, kid. It's time for black out."

I barely managed a "WAIT—" before a meteor-sized fist collided with my face.

WHAM.

Stars exploded behind my eyes as the world flipped upside down. I hit the ground with all the grace of a sack of bricks, the throbbing pain in my skull the last thing I felt before everything went black.

One of these days, I promised myself before darkness swallowed me, I'm totally getting payback for this.