A Zoologist’s Guide to Surviving Magical Creatures

When you're staring at a mountain that appears to be alive, you start questioning the choices that led you here.

Rocks weren't supposed to breathe, let alone rearrange themselves like an overly enthusiastic game of Tetris.

It wasn't just the mountain's impossible geography—sections morphing from rock to vines to waterfalls in real time—that unsettled me.

No. It was the fact that while I was about to risk life and limb, someone else seemed completely unfazed by the ordeal.

From my peripheral vision, I caught a flicker of movement. Agnos, the smug purple-furred feline who had somehow become my unwelcome life coach, sat perched on a throne-like chair fashioned entirely from bones.

The staff must've prepared it specifically for him because, of course, he'd demand royalty-level seating.

There he was, licking his paw with deliberate indifference, his tail flicking lazily against the side of his chair. Occasionally, he'd yawn wide enough to show off his unnervingly sharp teeth, as if this whole thing bored him to tears.

"I'm curios. Why are you not participating?" I called over, incredulous.

He glanced at me like I'd just suggested he start paying taxes. "Why would I?"

"Because it's a trial. You're supposed to—"

"I'm a VVVVIP," he cut in, emphasizing each "V" with a smug grin. "Very, Very, Very Valuable and Important Purrson. Rules don't apply to me."

"Of course they don't," I muttered, adjusting my gloves.

"Oh, and did I mention?" he added, inspecting his claws. "I have an unlimited pass to Mictlan. Lifetime membership."

I blinked. "You have a what now?"

"Unlimited. Pass." He gestured with a paw, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "I can come and go as I please. No trials, no restrictions. Just perks."

The fact that a cat—a literal cat—regardless if he's one of the Unknown Gods, had access to what was essentially an all-you-can-die buffet of afterlife experiences baffled me to my core.

Meanwhile, I was here risking my mortal hide for the chance to survive one more day.

"Life isn't fair, Carl," he purred, as though reading my thoughts. "You should know that by now."

Here I was, standing at the base of the Shifting Mountain, my knees knocking more from anticipation than fear.

"Welcome to Adapt or Plummet: The Mountain Edition!" a skeletal instructor barked through a megaphone.

His bony jaw clattered with enthusiasm, and his sunhat—an absurdly bright yellow with a "MAAA Staff" badge pinned to it—wobbled precariously.

The mountain itself loomed before me like some geological chimera: sections of rocky cliff morphed into twisting vines, stone staircases dissolved into cascading sand, and occasionally, the entire surface rumbled like it had indigestion.

"Your goal," the skeleton continued, "is simple: reach the summit before sunset. If you fail… well, we have a lovely pit of enchanted dust to cushion your fall!"

Behind him, the pit in question gleamed ominously in the light. Enchanted dust or not, it looked about as inviting as a dentist's chair.

I squinted at the challenge ahead. "This mountain has ADHD."

The skeleton snickered. "Oh, it gets worse. Good luck, rookie!"

Determined not to let Agnos's blasé attitude get under my skin, I turned my focus to the task at hand. Scaling the Shifting Mountain wasn't just a challenge; it was an insult to logic itself.

My first attempt was straightforward enough. I picked a steady-looking ledge about six feet up, took a running start, and hauled myself onto it.

"Not bad," I muttered, brushing off my gloves. Then the ledge moved.

"What the—?!"

With a deep rumble, the rock reshaped itself into a coiling vine, which promptly slithered out from under me. I tumbled down into the pit of enchanted dust below, landing with a puff that immediately triggered a sneezing fit.

From his throne of bones, Agnos watched my plight with mild amusement, his whiskers twitching.

"Enjoying the show?" I snapped, staggering to my feet.

He yawned, completely unbothered. "You're doing great, Carl."

My second and third attempts weren't any better. Stairs turned into slides, handholds crumbled into sand, and at one point, a random boulder I stepped on started rolling away like it was late for a meeting.

"Is this mountain built by an indecisive architect?!" I shouted, clawing my way back up yet another slope.

A bird perched on a nearby ledge chirped loudly, a sound that suspiciously resembled laughter.

"Oh, great," I muttered, glaring at the feathered heckler. "Even the wildlife thinks I'm a joke."

After what felt like an eternity of slipping, sliding, and inhaling glittery moss spores, I took a moment to sit and reevaluate my life choices.

That's when I noticed something.

The mountain wasn't just changing—it was reacting. Every time I rushed, hesitated, or overthought, the terrain shifted to thwart me.

"Alright, you sentient pile of rocks," I muttered, brushing dirt from my goggles. "Two can play this game."

With renewed focus, I started to adapt.

Vines became handholds when I tied them off to sturdy boulders. My MECCP utility boots—blessed by the magical fabric of Mythica—helped me gain traction on sandy stretches. When stairs disappeared, I used a fallen log to bridge gaps.

The skeleton instructor, watching from below, shouted, "Not bad for a rookie!"

I gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up just as a staircase vanished beneath me. "Seriously?!"

By the time I reached the summit, drenched in sweat and covered in moss, the sun was setting. I planted a soggy sock from my pocket as my "flag."

"It's the thought that counts," I muttered, collapsing onto a boulder.

If scaling the Shifting Mountain was an exercise in frustration, the third day, Wind of Obsidian Blades was a masterclass in masochism.

I stood in a glass dome, watching the infamous storm swirl outside. Shards of obsidian spun through the air like murderous snowflakes, their edges gleaming with malice.

A skeleton wearing a monocle handed me a small puzzle box.

"Your task is simple," he said in a clipped tone. "Solve this while dodging razor-sharp shards of death. Piece of cake, right?"

I stared at the puzzle, then at the storm, then back at him. "Do I at least get cake afterward?"

He didn't laugh.

The moment I stepped into the storm, a shard zipped past my face, close enough to leave a faint scratch on my cheek.

"Oh, great," I muttered, ducking. "Nothing like an airborne blender to start the day."

Balancing the puzzle box in one hand, I weaved and dodged through the storm, trying not to lose any fingers—or my sanity. At one point, I tripped over my own shoelace, landing face-first in the dirt.

From his bone throne, Agnos was still watching, now nibbling on what appeared to be a fish-shaped biscuit.

"Having fun yet?" he called, his voice dripping with amusement.

"Oh, just a blast," I shot back, narrowly avoiding another shard. "Let me know if you see my dignity fly by."

With the timer ticking down, I forced myself to focus. My fingers flew over the puzzle pieces, even as shards of obsidian whizzed past me. One particularly nasty shard nicked my arm, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Of course," I muttered, gritting my teeth. "Why not add a little blood to the mix?"

Finally, with seconds to spare, I snapped the last piece of the puzzle into place. I held it up triumphantly, just as a shard grazed my sleeve.

The monocle-wearing skeleton appeared, inspecting the puzzle with a critical eye.

"Well, you're still alive," he said grudgingly. "So I suppose you pass. Barely."

I collapsed onto the ground, utterly spent.

"Great," I muttered. "Do I at least get a Band-Aid?"

As I limped back to the dormitory that evening, battered but victorious, I couldn't help but glance at Agnos. He was following me now, his bone chair carried by two skeletal servants.

"Don't feel too bad," he said, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "Not everyone can be as effortlessly fabulous as me."

"Oh, don't worry," I replied dryly. "I'll be sure to aspire to your level of laziness."

Somewhere in the distance, a disembodied voice whispered, "The worst is yet to come."

"Fantastic," I muttered, pulling another shard of obsidian out of my boot.