A twig snaps and I bolt awake. The trees are still dark under the Moon’s unrelenting glow. Just like the night in the mud cave, the dream seems so real. Unbelievably so. Running over everything, the urge to smack myself swells in my stomach like an unruly storm. What was that? How could I be so stupid, as if-

  Another twig snaps behind me and I freeze. Something in my gut is telling me this isn’t like last night. Something is near me. Trying to move as silently as possible, I shift to a crouch and slowly reach for the knife strapped to my thigh.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a low, predatory voice hisses at me.

  Right, because I’m just going to listen to that advice. I move fast, as fast as I did with Szah, and tear my only remaining dagger from its strap. But I don’t make it far, for as soon as the dagger makes contact with the open air, a thin, wet rope shoots from above and clings to the blade, snatching it from my hand with unnatural speed.

  My head snaps up and finds the face, or rather the hood, of my attacker. His eyes and nose are shielded, but I can clearly see each pointed tooth. He’s holding my dagger in one of his slimy, scaled hands, his rope still dangling before him.

  Not his rope. His tongue.

  Three more figures drop from the tree canopy, how the weight of them didn’t snap the branches is beyond me, but that is definitely not what I should be thinking about right now. What I should be thinking about is how each of them is carrying a long, curved blade that looks like they would give me several diseases by simply touching them.

  Horror fills me as fast as lightning strikes the ground. There’s only one answer for what these things are. These beings are groja. Serpent-amphibian-like beings created by Varkashi, who travel under the night sky, their skin rotting the very second it touches the Sun. Their appearances vary to great extents, but you can always expect some level of decaying skin. The one grasping my beloved blade is a prime example of this, his face having rotted so terribly that I can see each bone in his jaw, allowing full exposure of grimy, yellowed teeth.

  One of the hooded figures in front of me hisses, “You’ve made it quite far-”

  “-For a human,” another finishes.

  “I couldn’t tell you the last time I tasted human flesh,” the one above sneers, making to stand by his companions.

  “Though is it a human?” One ponders, tilting her head slightly, “Smells strange…” Seeming to disregard this, the groja chuckles throataly, “But I suppose they are strange things, the shadow folk.”

  A low and unholy growl vibrates through the forest as I scramble to keep up, “You know well enough that it is not human.”

  It? Ouch. And did he say I’m not human? What could that mean-

  “We’re bringing her to him.”

  They’re bringing me to who now?

  “He’s been looking for her for quite some time,” the groja who appears to be the leader continues, “We will be paid well if we bring her to him.”

  I’ve only been here for three days, how could someone already be looking for me? Unless it’s Szah, but I highly doubt these goons are loyal to him. There’s only one person who has sway over these beings.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Before I can come up with a response, one of the groja drops into a crouch, crawling to me with the increasing stench of rotted flesh. He reaches a bony hand towards my face, his hood still lowered over his own, and I strike. My hands whip behind his head and I snap his neck in one quick, brutal movement.

  His body hits the grass before the other three realize what I did. Shock ripples through their faces as the dead groja piles on the ground, stiff and cracked, just like the esha once did to my brother. Just like I will do to anyone who stands between me and my family. My freedom.

  The shock of the figures doesn’t last long. The one who I believe is the leader tears his hood from his face, exposing moldy flesh that eats away at his left eye and nose, allowing a full show of the serpent shaped skull that lurks beneath slimy, forest green scales.

  “That was very naughty,” he growls.

  The one who is holding my knife rushes forward, a battle cry roaring from his throat as he charges me like a bull. He approaches me with speed I have to give him credit for, but he’s holding one of my knives. Obviously I’m going to get that back.

  The groja cocks his arm and throws the knife at my head, screaming as it leaves his fingers. My blade whizzes by my ear and I duck just in time for it to plunk into the wood. Tearing it from the trunk, I whip around and slice the first thing I see. His tongue.

  A wail emits from the beast, quickly followed by a loud thud as he plummets to the grass. Another charges towards me, her own blade held above her head. But to my surprise, the leader snatches her cloak and tears her back, sending the groja tumbling onto the ground. She hisses at him and whips her hooded face to meet his.

  “We need it alive, Igra.” He bears his yellowed teeth in warning.

  “It killed Veren. You just expect me to let it get away with that?” The groja named Igra turns her head to me briefly, spitting on my shoes in disgust.

  “I never said it was going to get away with it.” The leader smirks, snapping my attention back to him, “Just that it was needed alive.”

  Igra’s thin, wide lips spread into a haunting smile as she turns her beady yellow eyes back to me, “What can I take, Ura?” The excitement in her tone is relatively concerning.

  Before I have time to move, Ura whips out a flute-like cylinder of wood and brings it to his mouth. He blows out with a loud huff, and what looks like a dart shoots out from the pipe and hurdles towards me so fast it seems like a blur.

  I duck in the nick of time, the dart forcefully planting into the tree behind me, a black growth rapidly spreading where it punctured the trunk.

  I turn around as Ura lifts the device once more, and instinctively throw my knife at him. But he’s fast too, and, annoyingly, steps aside just as the dagger passes his head. Cursing myself, I raise my fists, my only remaining weapons. But after a mere moment, all three groja have circled me. Each now carrying one of those pipes and bringing them to their mouths.

  In what is clearly a practiced attack, poison tipped darts fly at me from all directions. I’m ducking and flailing around, desperately trying to avoid contact, and likely looking rather ridiculous as I do. This would be funny if they weren’t trying to kidnap me.

  A sharp prick hits my arm and my body freezes immediately. Unable to control myself, I fall to the ground face forward with a loud crunch that I know is my nose breaking.

  Slimy hands grasp my side and flip me over so I’m laying flat on my back, blood pouring from my throbbing nose and smearing his hands with red liquid.

  The injured groja glares at me, his blade raised above my head, but the only thing I can move are my eyes, no matter how hard I try to pry my limbs apart. Whatever they shot me with has entirely disabled me.

  “I say,” Ura drawls from somewhere nearby, “If she was so happy to take your tongue, Xatta, then it’s only fair we do the same to her. I’m sure the Emperor wouldn’t mind. She’s always had a mouth on her. Haven’t you, Deliandrah?”

  Deliandrah.

  They think that I’m my mother. Does that mean that she might still be alive? If they know of her, then there has to be some chance of her survival. But why would the Emperor be looking for my mother, why would he have interest in a human?

  But I don’t have time to keep thinking about that. Not when Xatta reaches his grimy hand to my mouth, prying my jaw open as I watch in horror. And as a green, bloody smile spreads across his face, the groja swings his blade down, severing my tongue for eternity.