Nivara didn’t flinch. Myco, a tiny ball of shivering spores, had instinctively darted from her medical bag and curled at her boot, a faint, sickly glow pulsing from its translucent fur. That was it. That was the line.
“No, you don’t!” she shrieked, a furious, raw sound torn from her throat. Instead of retreating, Nivara launched herself forward, a human shield, throwing her arms out wide in front of Myco. The rabid Vorga screeched, its momentum carrying it into her. The impact was like a battering ram, slamming the breath from her lungs. She stumbled back, pain lancing through her shoulder, but she held her ground, a tiny, defiant barrier. Her temper, a familiar, volatile inferno, roared to life, eclipsing fear. “Get back, you overgrown dog! Touch him, and I’ll dissect you myself!”
The beast snarled, a low, wet sound, its putrid breath washing over her. Its claws, long and yellowed, quivered inches from her face, ready to tear. But before they could even twitch, a force like a collapsing mountain struck the room. Tavrok moved with the speed of a nightmare. One moment, he was a looming shadow at the room's far end; the next, he was a blur of black fur and bone, a guttural, earth-shaking roar ripping from his chest. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated fury, a primal declaration of dominance that vibrated through the very stones of the Manse.
The rabid Vorga, caught mid-snarl, didn’t stand a chance. Tavrok’s heavy head dipped, and his jaws, lined with teeth like obsidian daggers, clamped down on its scruff with terrifying precision. He didn't just bite; he punished. With a violent jerk, Tavrok hoisted the creature clean off the ground, thrashing it like wet cloth. Yellow claws flailed futilely at the air before Tavrok slammed the beast into cracked stone. Again. And again. The sound of bone meeting rock was sickeningly loud.
Other Vorga in the main ward, those whose minds still held a shred of sanity, whimpered and pressed themselves against the walls, terrified by the Alpha’s rage. Tavrok pinned the creature with a heavy paw, his weight driving it into the stone floor. He leaned over the defeated Vorga, a low, vibrating growl rumbling in his chest, a clear warning that this aggression would not be tolerated. The message was unmistakable: *Mine.* He didn't maul it to death; he broke its will, pinning it captive under iron sinew, eyes fixed on Nivara. He was a sentinel, lethal and watchful.
Nivara, still breathing hard, pushed a trembling hand through her hair, her furious adrenaline slowly receding. “Alright, alright, Tavrok. That’s enough. He’s subdued.” She nudged his dense foreleg with her boot, a ridiculous gesture against such a behemoth, but he responded, releasing the fallen beast with a final snarl before lumbering back over her and Myco. The beast lay gasping, barely conscious, battered but alive. Nivara knelt beside the whimpering form, fingers probing ribs. “Someone get me bandages and the sedative paste. Quickly!” she barked at the two stunned orderlies who had finally emerged from behind a collapsed cabinet.
Working quickly, Nivara administered a strong tranquilizer, then began to assess the damage. The creature's ribs were cracked, and its left foreleg hung at an unnatural angle. As she tended to a deep gash on its flank, a dark, viscous fluid oozed from the tear. It wasn’t blood, not entirely. It was thick, almost tar-like, riddled with tiny, black, thread-like filaments. Nivara’s brow furrowed. She collected a sample on a sterile swab, then pried the creature's jaws open. Black residue caked the fangs. Her gaze went to its milky white eyes, the source of its madness.
“The Mourn-Blight…” she murmured, a cold dread seeping into her bones. This wasn't just a sickness; it was a *fungus*. The threads she saw were hyphae, tunneling through flesh, hijacking the nervous system, turning the host into a vessel of mindless aggression. Krell hadn't just gone feral; he was being consumed.
Her examination took a darker turn when she felt a strange rigidity in the beast's stomach. Using a small, curved surgical probe, she carefully extracted several fragments. They were bone. Human bone. Small, brittle, and undeniably human. Her stomach clenched. The feral pack wasn't just a danger to each other; they were a danger to the Manse’s inhabitants. The Mourn-Blight was creating cannibals.
This new, terrifying understanding spurred her on. The standard Manse remedies, simple tinctures and salves, would be useless against a parasitic infection. She needed something potent, something from the wild. She paced the stone infirmary, Myco still nestled near her boots, Tavrok a low, rumbling presence. Her gaze fell on a faded botanical diagram pinned to the wall, left by the real Valda. Her eyes fixated on a rare, blooming sprig: *Lunaris Primoris*, the Moon-Brier root, said to thrive in the deepest, most lightless bogs of the Mournvel. Its potent antifungal properties were legendary, a last resort against the rot.
It was a dangerous journey, a fool’s errand, but Myco’s glow was growing fainter, and her own lungs felt increasingly heavy, a gritty ache blooming with every breath. She had to go. Under the cover of twilight, Nivara moved with practiced stealth. The Manse was a labyrinth of shadows and creaking timbers, its guards sparse and complacent after the evening meal. She clutched a leather satchel containing her few medical tools, a meager map, and a handful of dried rations. Tavrok, ever present, was a silent shadow gliding behind her, his padded steps impossibly soft for his size.
They reached the Manse’s secondary gate, a smaller, less-guarded entrance used for waste disposal. Nivara began to pick the lock, her fingers nimble and quick, when a harsh, familiar voice cut through the stillness. “And where do you think you’re going, *High-Physician*?”
A grizzled, one-eyed sentry emerged from the deeper shadows, a heavy iron lantern swinging in his hand. His face, usually a mask of weary indifference, was set in a hard, accusatory line. “Wandering off into the Mournvel at night? Don’t you know the rules, healer? Or do you fancy yourself above them?”
Nivara straightened, feigning indifference. “I’m retrieving a specific botanical for a delicate procedure. It requires fresh harvest.”
The sentry scoffed, his single eye narrowing. “A delicate procedure, or a swift escape? I’ve seen your kind before. You cause trouble, then vanish when the rot gets too thick. This Manse is a sanctuary, not a revolving door for reckless physicians. I should lock you in the ward, for your own good. Or perhaps, for ours.” He reached for the heavy bolt on the gate.
Tavrok rumbled. It was a low, deep sound that started in his chest and vibrated through the very air, a sound that promised unimaginable violence. His hackles rose, his silhouette growing impossibly larger in the flickering lantern light. The man froze, hand hovering over the bolt, color draining from his sallow skin. The Alpha’s head dipped, a silent, terrifying warning. The sentry swallowed hard, gaze flicking between the colossal beast and Nivara. He slowly, reluctantly, backed away, his hand falling to his side. “Fine,” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. “But if you bring back more rot than cure, the cells will be ready for you.” He turned, retreating into the shadows without another word.
Nivara didn’t waste a moment. She finished picking the lock, the ancient mechanism groaning open. The cool, damp air of the Mournvel, thick with the scent of wet earth and decay, immediately enveloped them. She pulled her cloak tight, breath scraping against raw, burning lungs. They had to be quick. They had to be quiet. Now, under the pale glow of the twin moons filtering through the canopy, she pulled from her satchel a fragment retrieved earlier from Valda's quarters. It was a small, leather-bound journal, its pages brittle with age. *Valda’s Journal*, the cover read in faded script. Nivara carefully opened it, her fingers brushing over the delicate paper. The first entry, dated mere weeks ago, was scrawled in a frantic hand: “They are watching me. I know too much. The true nature of the contagion… they are using it. They killed Elan. And soon, they will come for me. The cure is not enough. I must hide my research. Someone inside the Manse.”