Chapter Text
The Grandis were going to pay for this.
Monoco muttered under his breath the entire way out of the station. “Yes, go on, laugh about it,” he grumbled. The pair of Grandis guards were howling and smacking their furry knees. He ought to have gone back and shown them exactly what he thought of their little oratory contest. No better poetry than a nice bell to the noggin.
The fatter of the guards called, “Enjoy the patrol, Monoco,” and the other had to lean against the wall to stay upright. There were actual, plump tears of mirth falling into their beards.
Monoco growled back at them and stalked on.
What had he been thinking, betting with the Grandis on a day like this? Those two lazy old farts would do anything to avoid a patrol. It was colder than a Pelerin’s balls out here, even for him. Monoco sniffed, his staff crunching through the snow. At least the sharp wind was taking away the blurry effects of the rum he’d downed earlier.
He’d meant to save it until Verso came back, honest. But a Gestral could only be patient for so long. And with Noco gone, again, there was no one for him to share it with. His staff slammed a bit harder as he walked.
Damn Golgra and his rules. Damn the queue process.
Damn Noco for always getting running straight into danger for Lost Gestrals, and dragging Monoco right along with him.
Then again, maybe he was less sober than he thought. It took a solid hour of freezing his tail off, tripping over the snowbanks, and crossing icy bridges for Monoco to remember, oh. He could shapeshift, if he wanted. He resisted the urge to smack his head with his own bell.
In a huff, he exploded into a fire-filled Stalact.
Not the most wieldy form for a patrol, sure. He’d gotten this leg from a young Stalact, a patate, really. So he wasn’t exactly going to intimidate anything he came across, either.
But it was an awfully cozy form. The flames crackled in his chest, warming him down to the core. Monoco let out a pleased little sound and tramped forward. Who said patrolling had to be miserable? Hmph! The joke was on those two. He’d rub it in the Grandis’ faces when he got back.
In the Stalact’s view, the world was a swirling kaleidoscope, shimmering outside the panes of ice that protected its eyes. Every form carried its own inclinations (there was a reason he avoided shifting into Chevaliers, gorgeous as they were). But this Nevron's excitement was infectious, and Monoco found himself bounding through the bright white fields for the sake of it, snow kicking up behind him. He could leap! He could roll around if he wanted to, though of course he wouldn’t, couldn’t, expose himself to danger that way. Who knew what other nefarious creatures were watching now?
He eyed the snow drifts longingly. Some other time, perhaps.
With reluctance, Monoco dragged his own consciousness to the forefront. The silly little beast would be the death of him if he wasn’t careful. Look at me, he thought, huffing. He’d already gotten too far off the patrol route. The Stalact had steered them towards a grove of frozen trees, probably to rub its back on one. Which did sound quite nice, didn’t it?
Shaking his big, icy head, Monoco started to turn away. And likely would have missed it all together, if not for the high-pitched noise.
His concentration snapped.
Monoco immediately fell back into his ordinary form, his staff manifesting beside him. Shit. He knew this goofing off would get him in trouble. He swung around wildly, the wind washing away all of the warm feelings he’d had. Beyond the tree line, the wail sounded again from a cave, nestled behind the drooping treeline.
What if it was an actual, adult Stalact? Or a pack of Danseuses?
Then you should have stayed in Stalact form, idiot, a voice suspiciously Verso-toned muttered in the back of his head.
Well, there was nothing for it, now. Rolling back his shoulders, Monoco lumbered forward. He wasn’t some lily-livered coward. Lovely Danseuse, arrogant Braseleur, they’d be no match for his might. He’d face whatever it was with his two eye-holes in front, his bell up —
The Veilleur whirled around, lantern raised.
Monoco flopped down behind a clump of frozen stalactites, belly first. His knees smashed the hard ground.
Merde, merde, merde!
Had it seen him? No, it was focused on something else.
The enormous beast, made of the twisted brambles of hell itself, let out a low roar. Guttural and pained, like there were razors trapped in its throat. It swung a glowing purple lantern around, filled with dark, all-consuming blight. A warning.
Monoco swallowed, and definitively did not tremble. It was fine, it was fine. All he had to do was back away, and run.
Except, that noise had started up again.
Ears perked, Monoco panted, listening close. There was no way that squealing was coming from the Veilleur.
Could it be…?
No, impossible. He and Noco had patrolled this part of the continent for months, looking for Lost Gestrals. Surely they would have seen it if one had been hiding here. What he needed to do was shift again, run, and get back to the Grandis. Get back where it was safe, away from that horrible, hypnotizing lantern.
But that crying noise was only getting louder.
And the Veilleur was lumbering deeper and deeper into the cave, out of Monoco’s sight.
If it was a Lost Gestral…
Well, Noco might never forgive him, when he came back.
Grunting, Monoco pushed himself back to his feet. You owe me for this, son, he thought, sneaking through the treeline towards the cave.
The entrance gaped like a dark mouth. The only illumination was a thin yellow light, streaming down into the bowels of the mountain. An Expeditioner rope. Monoco rubbed his hairy jaw and looked up and down the cavern.
The Veilleur must have jumped down into its lair.
Creeping forward, he came to the lip of the hole. His armored fingers curled around the edge of it. Yes, there the Veilleur was, dragging what seemed to be a bundle of cloth behind it. The high-pitched mewls started again.
Where on the Continent was this foul creature taking it?
By the stacks of frozen Expeditioner bodies fringing the lair, nowhere good.
Snatch and run, that was what he would do. Simple. Snatch the bundle and make off like a Petank zooming away from its pursuer.
In fact…
Monoco grabbed the rope of light and slid down, and down, and down. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he rolled behind a boulder, plunging his hand into his store of Nevron feet.
The Veilleur growled, tail swinging as it whipped around. It used a single claw to send the cover boulder flying into shards around the cavern.
And it came face-to-face with a green-lit, curvaceous, Petank.
Gears whirling, Monoco zipped to the other end of the lair. All this form wanted was to go go go go go, fleeing in a blur towards the nearest hiding place. He forced it to stay still as the Veilleur turned. A flash of purple light exploded out, but the Petank was too fast, stubby little legs flying across the stone. The blight missed him by near inches.
Oh, he loved this form.
He danced around the Veilleur, dodging swinging lantern strikes and bobbing under sweeping bramble attacks. Wave after wave of the blight flew out, and the cavern shook, stalagmites crumbling around them.
In all the fuss, the Veilleur had abandoned the bundle by an odd, stone-encased door in the middle of the room.
Monoco lurched towards it, but the Veilleur stomped in front of him, nearly cracking the Petank’s copper shell in two. There was no way around. A nervous hum started in the green chroma swimming in the Petank’s chest.
Chin up, he thought to the poor creature.
Then he rammed the Petank straight into the Veilleur’s leg.
The impact sent the lantern flying, purple chroma erupting from the Veilleur. It swayed, drunk and stunned. Monoco could barely feel his limbs as he dragged his bent, battered shape forward. Pain arched through every shingle in his shell.
Gasping, he shifted back into his Gestral form.
The bundle. He staggered forward and swept it into his arms. Ignored the squealing, squirming creature inside, and shouldered his way to the door. “You’ll be alright, just quiet now, quiet,” he whispered, slamming his staff on the door.
It didn’t open.
Putain, what were mystical doors good for? He slammed the staff again and again, the Veilleur snarling back to life behind him.
“Come on, damn it! Open now!”
A familiar voice said, “Monoco?”
The door cracked open, and Monoco barreled in, bundle held against his chest. He hit something soft, just as the claws of the Veilleur swiped behind him.
His landing cushion wheezed out an, “Oof.”
The door closed, seemingly of its own accord.
Groaning, Monoco rolled to the side. Flat on his back, Verso stared up at the ceiling, his face scrunched up in an odd way. He was wearing his nice suit and everything, and there was paper strewn around the room. Monoco shook one off that had clung to the bottom of his foot.
“What the devil –”
“Don’t ask,” Monoco grumbled.
“Don’t ask why you were fighting a Veilleur alone?”
“A Chromatic Veilleur,” Monoco corrected, “Not some sideshow, you know.”
He crouched by the bundle which had, miraculously, made it inside with them. Verso exhaled sharply behind him.
“Is that…”
Gently, Monoco unwrapped the cloth. Underneath, a wrinkly, tiny creature bawled its lungs out. It had tufts of bright red hair and bunched up fists. The symbols on Monoco’s masks shifted, the circle drawings of his eyes going wide.
“A human pup, apparently,” Monoco said.