Tigress Side Story #1

The Tigress couldn’t sleep, her large, muscular body struggling to find a comfortable position on the solid ground. The branches of a bush she was in kept pestering her face and tickling her torso, causing her to lightly. But that wasn’t the reason for her lack of slumber. Not the main one, at least, for she had slept in situations far worse than this. No, what truly bothered her was… this place. This world. There was something strange about it. Something sinister. She could not quite place it: it was an instinct, one seemingly unfounded in reality. But if there was one thing she learned over the last few years, after she was abandoned and betrayed by everyone she knew and, thought, she loved, it was that her gut was her one true friend. Her intuition was to be obeyed and never disregarded.

Just like now.

Suddenly, the Tigress rolled to the right – and, by just an inch or two, avoided a spear that would’ve pierced her stomach. She flipped herself to her feet, hands on the ground, and let her eyes dart around, studying the new arrivals. There were three of them, all dressed in ragged tribal clothing, wielding spears and boasting glowing tattoos scattered on their exposed bodies.

These were locals, no doubt, but why were they so hostile? The previous strike was neither a warning nor an attempt at incapacitation: the killing intent it emitted was almost palpable.

Grinning, she grated her claws against each other in excitement. A battle? That was more than fine by her.

With a snarl, she pounced. Both legs above the ground, claws stretched out, she latched onto one of the attackers and pulled him down. Her metallic blades entered his chest, missing the heart but opening a huge, bleeding wound. What surprised the savage woman, however, was the tribesman’s resolve.

He didn’t scream. Didn’t wail. Didn’t produce any sound at all, except for an involuntary grunt, while she was ripping his life away. Instead, he pounded at her sides, smashing his fists against her ribs.

She didn’t want to admit it, but they hurt. Much more than punches from a mortal ever should’ve.

Feeling another attack coming, she threw her legs forward, her body bending in a bridge-like shape. As she got up, the claws, still stuck inside the man’s flesh, lacerated it into a skinless mess.

The Tigress hurriedly raised her weapons to her neck to receive the incoming spear. Unable to stop it completely, she redirected it to her shoulder instead. It left a cut, but, in response, she cut off the wooden shaft, turning the spear into a harmless stick.

Before she could gloat, however, the third attacker tackled her from behind. Her face landed on a rock and warm blood poured from her cheek. It also didn’t help that the man wrapped his hand with her long red braid and started smashing her into the ground. Once, twice, he continued, until the Tigress let out a roar of rage and found the man’s head with her palms. She sunk her claws, which now glowed with bright red, into the skull, metal cutting through the bone, before she, with another thunderous roar, ripped it open.

The man collapsed in an instant, the Tigress didn’t even get a second to catch her breath. The last attacker, his determination undisturbed by the deaths of his comrades, viciously attacked the back of her knee with his now staff. The weapon, not meant for such use, broke in the process – but not before plastering Tigress once again. Furious, she dug her claws into the earth and, ignoring the pain, weaved her legs around the attacker’s calf, before twisting and bringing him down. She turned and leaped, swiping at his throat. The man, even with his death mere seconds away, still did his best to harm her in return. As if his one goal in life, his singular purpose was to murder the redheaded barbarian: he pulled her closer and bit into her already wounded shoulder, spitting away a chunk of flesh before his strength left him and the light in his religiously-fevered eyes vanished.

Panting, the Tigress pushed herself off the corpse and laid on her back. She clutched her wound, her expression confused. These were mortals, she knew, and yet she felt the Inner Energy – no, some variation of it – on them. How pec-

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Startled, Tigress jumped back. She frantically began looking around, searching for the source of the sound, but couldn’t find any. Until, she heard a tree rustle and turned, witnessing another trio jumping down from a tree. Only these were not the native warriors, their clothes far too extravagant for that. Two were women, wearing tight, figure-hugging robes that accentuated their voluptuous curves. The third one, standing in the middle, was an enigma. Their silhouette was blurred, veiled by magical darkness. Their face covered by a demonic mask of silver color. Even when they spoke, their voice was distorted and inhuman. But one thing about them was clear.

The sheer arrogance that radiated even through all the methods of concealment.

“What an interesting creature you are,” the figure said, their arms crossed and their head tilted, “The savage dumwits are truly mindless brutes, driving you out when they could’ve molded you into their best Feral Champion. And for what? Some measly pearl?”

The last sentence caused Tigress’s eyes to go wide and bared her teeth, both in anger and fear.

“Who are you?” she asked, taking a step back.

The figure, though, just chuckled and ignored her.

“You truly deserve your high spot on the List. I admit, even I would, somewhat, struggle against you,” the stranger then smirked, “If it was a fair fight, of course.”

They waved their hand and weapons appeared in the robed women’s grasps. One was a longbow, the other a harpoon. Without hesitation, they unleashed their skills.

“Art of the Twin-Hunters – Stream of Arrows!”

“Art of the Twin-Hunters – Capture Prey!”

The bow and the harpoon glowed – the Tigress’ fate was soon set in stone.

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“Good job, girls,” the obscured figure laughed, watching as one was pulling her harpoon out of the barbarian’s unconscious body, while the other was tying her up with tight knots of Metal Rope, “At this rate, we’ll be able to collect the reward in no time.”

An old, withered scroll appeared before them. The figure then swiped its finger and one row of hieroglyphs was stroked out.

“Will we…” one of the women asked, tightening the ropes. She gulped in hesitance before she continued, “Will we try to take down #1?”

For the first time, the obscured figure became serious. They kept quiet for a minute, thinking, before they shook their head with obvious regret.

“No. With the last reports I’ve heard of him, that does not seem to be possible,” soon though, they found their buoyancy again, “Number two on the other hand… Well, that should be within our means.”