Fragmented Flames [Portal Fantasy, Adventure, Comedy]

The creatures moved across the grassland with the sort of inexorable purpose that suggested bad things were about to happen to someone, and that someone was probably them.

"Hold position," Ember commanded, studying the distant figures. "Ash, you brought your field guides?"

Ash was already extracting a leather-bound volume from her pack—Eldorian Threats & Territorial Behaviors, purchased during their shopping expedition. Her fingers moved through pages while her eyes tracked the approaching creatures.

"Tall humanoid constructs... agricultural territory... vegetation manipulation..." she muttered, cross-referencing observations and illustrations. "Here. Scarecrow Shepherds. Originally created as crop guardians, but these appear to have evolved beyond their initial parameters."

"Threat level?" Cinder asked, positioning herself for optimal sight lines down into the valley.

"Moderate to severe, depending on environmental factors." Ash's smoky aura created reading light as she scanned the entry. "Highly flammable construction, but encounters in grassland environments present significant collateral fire risks. They're territorial defenders and—oh, that's concerning."

"What's concerning?" Kindle bounced on her heels, azure heat creating small thermals in the grass around her feet.

"They adapt tactical responses based on previous encounters. Learn from each engagement."

"Right," Ember said, watching the Shepherds maintain their steady approach across the valley floor. "Standard formation. Assess capabilities before—"

Pyra blurred down the hillside.

One moment she stood beside them, the next she was a streak of orange cutting through the tall grass. The distance to the valley floor disappeared in seconds of controlled descent that left a trail of bent grass marking her passage.

"—committing to direct assault," Ember finished. "Or we could do that."

The first Scarecrow Shepherd reacted to Pyra's approach. Its elongated arm uncoiled like a ship's rope, tattered fabric peeling away to reveal wooden framework wrapped in rotting burlap. The improvised whip cracked toward Pyra's trajectory.

She twisted sideways, combat reflexes turning a killing blow into a glancing impact that sent her tumbling through shoulder-high grass. Three rolls, back on her feet, momentum conserved for immediate counterattack.

"Joint targeting," she announced, charging again. "Got it."

The Shepherd planted its root-like feet and prepared for her second approach. Around its base, grass began weaving itself into restraining coils—thick green cables that writhed upward like serpents seeking prey.

Cinder had moved while Pyra made first contact, her path taking her in a wide arc around the valley's eastern rim. She positioned herself where her flames could do the most damage.

The second Shepherd tracked her movement, its hooded head swiveling. Beneath tattered coverings, wood creaked against wood—ship timbers in a storm. Both arms rose, and the grassland around Cinder's position erupted in grasping tendrils that shot from the earth like green spears.

She vaulted the initial wave of plant growth, clearing impressive height while maintaining forward momentum. Crimson heat built around her hands as she landed, targeting the creature's center mass.

The beam carved through superheated air, leaving a trail of shimmering distortion. The Shepherd stepped aside, and Cinder's attack struck the hillside behind it. Earth cracked and hissed, steam rising from flash-heated soil that turned to glass.

"Careful!" Ember called, already moving down into the valley. "This entire area will ignite!"

She covered the distance quickly, golden barriers materializing—walls of heat that bent the air around them like liquid amber.

Pyra had discovered that fighting something nine feet tall required creative approaches to conventional pugilism. The creature's reach advantage meant her usual strategy of getting close and hitting things needed adjustment.

She ducked a sweep that would have removed her head, rolled under a follow-up strike, and came up inside the Shepherd's guard long enough to drive her fist into what approximated a solar plexus. The impact sent vibrations up her arm—seasoned wood that felt like punching a fence post.

The Shepherd's backhand caught her across the ribs. The impact lifted her off her feet and sent her skidding through grass that immediately twisted around her ankles like living rope.

She rolled and came up spitting earth. "Okay, that one actually connected."

Kindle materialized between Pyra and the advancing Shepherd, her approach so rapid she seemed to simply appear rather than arrive.

"Tag out," she announced, spinning around the creature in a helix that left afterimages burned across normal vision. "You're approaching this wrong."

"There's a wrong way to punch things?" Pyra demanded, regaining her feet.

"When they're twice your size and constructed from hardwood, yes."

The Shepherd swiped at Kindle, wooden claws whistling through air. She ducked the first strike while sliding under the second, somehow ending up behind the creature long enough to drive her boot into the back of its left knee joint.

Wood splintered with a sound like breaking masts. Splinters flew, and the Shepherd's perfect balance wavered for a moment.

"Hit the joints," Kindle called, already dancing away from retaliatory strikes. "They're not as flexible as they pretend."

"Noted." Pyra's next charge made it clear she'd abandoned any notion of close engagement. Hit and run, lobbing fireballs that struck the Shepherd's chest and limbs, momentarily setting burlap aflame—small victories, but every distraction gave Kindle precious room to maneuver.

Cinder had moved onto the valley floor, using Ember's barriers as cover to approach the second Shepherd's flank. Her flame beams had been replaced by focused bursts, projectiles of concentrated heat that hammered the creature's torso in quick succession.

The Shepherd parried with lengths of grass that bent and wove around its claws. Cinder's attacks scorched plant matter but never found their mark.

Grass around her feet twisted into nets that yanked her legs sideways. She hit the ground hard, and immediately vegetation began wrapping around arms and torso—living rope that tightened with each struggle.

"Ngh! Minor... tactical miscalculation," she announced, trying to burn through plant bonds without creating grassland fires. Each careful application of heat freed one limb while three others became entangled.

"Optimal solution appears to be not getting caught," Ash observed, her voice seeming to emerge from smoke that was rapidly filling the valley.

"Helpful commentary," Cinder replied, finally burning through enough grass to free her left arm.

Ash moved through obscuring clouds, stepping from one wisp to the next. Gray tendrils poured from her position, not the thick choking smoke of a house fire but something subtler—mist that carried the scent of old parchment and rain-soaked earth.

The second Shepherd thrashed through smoke, swiping at phantoms as Ash darted in and out of smoky cover. Each strike left blackened gouges across wood, areas where fire failed to catch but nonetheless left its mark.

It swung blindly, trying to swat an enemy that flickered and danced just out of reach.

Ember had been managing battlefield flow, golden barriers appearing and vanishing as she redirected attacks or blunted the worst of the Shepherds' aggression.

"I'll distract," she said, releasing the barriers and forming a fiery projectile the size of her head. It blurred through the air, struck the Shepherd's torso, and bounced away—wood shattering against iron-hard dirt. "You finish."

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"Right." Pyra's flames brightened to blinding intensity. "The old one-two."

She skidded to a stop in front of the creature, pulled back her fist, and struck the same spot Ember's projectile had damaged.

There was a brief puff of burlap and sawdust—the cloud that hangs in the air after driving a burning fist into a scarecrow's chest cavity.

Its next attack wasn't a telegraphed swipe but a coordinated grab that caught her mid-dodge. Wooden fingers wrapped around her torso—pressure that squeezed the air from her lungs while lifting her off the ground.

"This is significantly less entertaining than advertised," she gasped, struggling against grip pressure that was steadily increasing.

The Shepherd drew her toward its hooded face. At close range, she could see into the hollow space where features should exist—shifting grain mixed with bone fragments that clicked and rattled. Amber light pulsed from deeper recesses like embers breathing.

"Definitely not entertaining," she corrected.

Ember's barrier materialized between Pyra and the creature's face—a wall of golden heat that forced the Shepherd to hold her at arm's length rather than completing whatever it had planned. The reprieve lasted exactly long enough for Kindle to arrive at full combat velocity.

She covered the distance in a blur, azure fire trailing behind her like comet exhaust. Her shoulder connected with the Shepherd's elbow joint—kinetic energy transferred through wood that cracked like breaking timber. The grip loosened, and Pyra dropped to earth.

"Gratitude," she wheezed.

"Thank me by not getting grabbed by obvious trap maneuvers," Kindle replied, already repositioning to avoid counterattack.

The engagement had continued for several minutes, and while they maintained tactical advantage, the creatures showed no signs of fatigue or retreat. Their coordination was improving, attacks becoming increasingly synchronized.

"We need resolution," Ember called, creating another barrier to deflect grasping vegetation. "They're adapting to our maneuvers."

"Options are limited," Ash replied, her voice barely audible behind swirling banks of smoke.

"More fire would provide immediate resolution," Cinder noted, having freed herself from plant restraints and looking considerably more disheveled. "These things are essentially mobile kindling. Can't we just go scorched earth?"

"And burninate the countryside?" Ember countered. "No. This is a farming region. We destroy it, local villages starve. There's a reason this goes in field guides as 'avoid engagement.'"

"Yeah, and it'll be a pain trying to snuff out the wildfires," Kindle added, sliding under a sweeping claw strike that would have taken her legs out from under her. "Speaking from experience, scorched earth sucks. Right, Ash?"

"As the one who historically has to handle collateral control," Ash agreed, "I have reservations about total immolation."

The truth was visible in scorch marks Cinder's attacks had already created. Grass was tinder-dry, and the afternoon breeze would spread flames faster than they could run. Using their most effective capability would create a disaster that dwarfed their current problem.

Ash waved her hands in a sweeping motion and the smoldering grass, along with the little fires their powers had caused in the immediate vicinity, snuffed out. "I'd rather not have to do that for an entire region, thank you very much."

"Hard way, then," Ember decided. "Coordinated assault on structural weak points. Everyone targets the same Shepherd. Go."

"Which one?" Pyra asked, ducking another grab attempt from the first Shepherd.

"Left side," Cinder decided after rapid structural assessment. "It's beat up a bit more."

They repositioned smoothly. Ember's barriers materialized in a golden corridor—walls of heat that cut off the damaged Shepherd's retreat while forcing its partner to navigate around obstacles that burned the air itself. Ash's smoke poured between the creatures, gray tendrils that obscured vision and muffled the sound of approaching footsteps.

Pyra hit the isolated Shepherd's right knee while Kindle struck its left shoulder joint. Wood splintered under dual impacts—cracks that spider-webbed through the creature's frame. The Shepherd's balance wavered as support structures failed.

Cinder stepped into optimal range, crimson heat gathering around her hands like liquid fire. She pressed both palms against the creature's central framework—the main wooden beam that ran through its torso. Heat poured into seasoned wood that had been dried by decades of sun and wind. The timber hissed and crackled, sap boiling out through cracks while char spread inward from her touch.

The Shepherd toppled backward, frame collapsing as supporting elements gave way. It struck earth and raised dust clouds, scattering straw and loose grain, then lay motionless except for the occasional pop of cooling wood.

"One down," Ember announced.

The second Shepherd's response was immediate.

The entire valley erupted in aggressive vegetation as the creature abandoned restraint in favor of overwhelming force. Grass twisted into thick cables that lashed across the battlefield like whips. Wildflowers became barbed projectiles that whistled through air, their stems hardened to spear points.

"Grief response to partner loss," Ash observed, creating temporary safe zones where her smoke neutralized the plant attacks.

"Does motivation matter?" Pyra demanded, delivering a kick that splintered another wooden joint. "Just fight, analyze afterward!"

Ember and Cinder redoubled their attacks, using flame beams and fireballs to beat the Shepherd back until it was pressed against a grassy embankment. Its remaining arm moved through whipping patterns that set the air hissing, but the offensive was increasingly defensive—desperation, not aggression.

It raised its last functional claw, and Cinder's flame beam vaporized the limb in a hissing cloud of superheated sawdust. Ember's attack followed a fraction later, a solid beam of heat that connected with the creature's head.

Straw and wooden fragments exploded upward, showering them and surrounding vegetation. There was no dramatic end note—just a cessation of movement that left the Shepherd's frame dangling loosely against the embankment, waiting for a breath that wouldn't come.

The valley fell silent except for the wind through the grass and the occasional pop of cooling wood. The five stood among the scattered remains, barely winded from the encounter.

"More complicated than expected," Pyra observed, examining knuckles that had acquired several splinters.

"The terrain control was the real problem," Cinder pointed out, brushing grass seeds from her hair.

"That and being flammable in the middle of a fire hazard," Ember added, surveying scattered remains.

Kindle was already examining fallen creatures. "Anyone know if there are more of these things?"

"Territorial behavior suggests individual or pair bonding," Ash theorized, closing her field guide. "I doubt we'll encounter others in this region. But the book mentions they can coordinate across large areas when threatened."

"Wonderful," Cinder muttered. "Mobile grass-controlling scarecrows that network."

They spent several minutes examining remains, but there was little of value to be learned. The creatures were constructed from natural materials, which were either too damaged to salvage or too decayed to be useful. Even the lightbulb-like eyes emitted only the faintest glimmer, and their glow faded in contact with sunlight.

"Guild report after mission completion," Ember decided. "Other travelers need warnings about this route."

They resumed eastward progress, leaving the valley and its defeated guardians behind. Grass gradually returned to normal height and behavior as they moved away from territorial boundaries.

"Note for future reference," Ash said as they settled back into traveling rhythm, "fire-vulnerable enemies in flammable environments require alternative tactical solutions."

"Note for future reference," Pyra countered, "everything's more interesting when you can't just burn it."

"Disturbing philosophy," Cinder observed.

"Says the woman calculating joint stress tolerances while being strangled by grass."

"I wasn't being strangled. I was conducting tactical assessment under adverse conditions."

"Same thing."

They crested hills on the valley's far side, and landscape opened again into rolling plains stretching toward eastern horizon. The road became more defined as they moved away from Shepherd territory, suggesting other travelers had learned avoidance tactics.

Behind them, smoke rose from small fires their battle had started, but breeze carried flames away from the main grassland. Damage would remain contained to a few acres rather than the thousands they'd risked.

"Think there are more of those things out there?" Kindle wondered.

"Probably," Ember replied. "But that's tomorrow's problem. Today, we have research retrieval and a harbor city to reach."

The rhythm of their run had just settled back into its hypnotic cadence when Kindle spotted something on the horizon—a flash of metal catching sunlight, followed by a plume of dust rising from the plains.

"Movement ahead," she called out, pointing toward a shallow depression about half a mile distant.

They slowed enough to make out details without stopping completely. In the natural bowl formed by erosion and time, four figures fought desperately against what appeared to be massive, chitinous nightmares erupting from the earth.

The creatures—each roughly wagon-sized—had segmented bodies ending in wicked pincers, with too many legs scrabbling at dirt and mandibles that clicked like knives being sharpened.

"Are those... dirt lobsters?" Pyra asked, skidding to a crouch as they observed from the ridge.

"Ankhegs," Ash corrected, consulting her field guide again without breaking stride. "Burrowing predators. Highly territorial, aggressive during mating season."

A human scream cut through the air as one of the adventurers narrowly avoided being snipped in half.

"They're getting slaughtered," Kindle said, already bouncing on her toes. "We have to help!"

"We're on a schedule," Ember pointed out.

"They'll be on a funeral schedule if we don't intervene," Pyra countered.

Cinder crossed her arms. "Not our problem. Guild contract takes priority."

"You can't seriously—" Kindle began.

"Of course she's not serious," Ember cut in, recognizing the familiar tightness around Cinder's mouth that always appeared when she pretended not to care. "Five minutes. Quick intervention, no elaborate heroics."

"But we just finished dealing with those scarecrow things," Ash observed. "Shouldn't we conserve energy for the journey?"

"Five minutes," Ember repeated. "In and out."

"You never let me have any fun," Pyra pouted, even as her entire body vibrated with eagerness.

"Correction: I never let you have disproportionate fun at the expense of mission objectives," Ember replied. "Let's go save some people."