The Wild Beasts of Anthony Mannis

An East Forest ranger kit will typically consist of the 0.27mm Chesswinder bolt-action hunting rifle (modified to take five-round clips) and a Kesla-Allay tactical knife. North Forest Rangers will be kitted differently (see Pamphlet IX).

- Information Available to Borges Citizens, Pamphlet II

“First of all, you didn’t get away—I totally hit you with that blue golem. Don’t make it sound like I messed up!” Anthony complained, “we just kind of forgot about you.”

Philip nodded in agreement, and the toothless ranger’s face fell slightly.

Their captain stepped forward. He was a head taller than the other rangers, but extremely skinny. He had long, lanky arms and legs that reminded Anthony of a stickbug.

“You did, however, ‘mess up’. Who was the idiot who fired a round? Did you think that no one would hear it?”

“Well, we are in the forest, a tree could fall for all we know,” Philip ventured cautiously. Anthony snickered. None of the rangers were laughing.

“Oh what, we don’t like jokes here?” Anthony grinned. He felt pretty brave after his last ranger encounter. We even beat a Spectre Man, these four are gonna be cake…

“What’s going on here?” Another patrol stepped into sight, five strong. Anthony’s stomach dropped.

“ East Fifth Patrol. We heard the gunshot.”

“We’re East Third,” the stickbug captain said, “Ringo says these are the guys that attacked East First.”

“Not only that,” Ringo—the toothless one—chimed in, “That baby-faced one is the freak from Mint Village. The one I told you about.” The gaps from his missing teeth made a whistling noise whenever he talked.

“I’m not baby-faced. And I’m not a freak.”

“Be quiet, kid,” the captain of East Fifth patrol said, gesturing to Ringo and another ranger, “Ringo, Totem, shoot him and his nerd friend if they move. We don’t want the invoker summoning anything. East Fourth is on their way. They’re moving a bit slower because they got a pair of Spectre Men.”

Anthony groaned inwardly. That’s what I get for calling it a cake-walk, he said to himself. He glanced at Philip, who seemed terrified and was sweating profusely.

The East Fifth captain pulled the books out of the packs. He gestured with one of the tomes towards Philip. “Whatcha need with these? These aren’t Borges texts.”

“I uh…you’re getting them wet…”

The captain had already turned around. “Suspect Literary Search and Seizure. Shred this contraband.”

He handed them to another ranger, who flipped out a hunting knife.

“NO!” Philip shouted. He ran towards his books. Three of the rangers turned towards him and raised their rifles, fingers on the triggers.

A large pile of hay landed on one of the rangers, knocking her to the the mud. Fighting in close where the long barrels of the hunting rifle were unwieldy, the straw jacketed girl bludgeoned through the three rangers with her staff and the butt of Philip’s revolver. Rain pattered loudly on the ground, and she disappeared into the trees.

The rangers of East Third Patrol looked at their captain, unsure of whom to follow. There was a loud THWACK and another two rangers fell. “MOVE, YOU IDIOTS!” shouted the stickbug captain.

“There’s only us two!” Totem squeaked, pointing to Ringo.

Anthony looked around. Totem was right. Not counting the two captains, they were the last two available rangers. Okay, Anthony thought, this is doable.

“Who’s there?” screamed the East Fifth captain to the forest, rifle pointed upwards, “Show yourselves!”

“You are not alone,” boomed a deep voice, as East Fourth Patrol crashed through the undergrowth, flinging mud every which way: six rangers and two Spectre Men. The pair of super-soldiers were a good foot taller than the rangers; the larger one was wearing all-white body armor, a crude winged skull carved into the chestplate. The other was wearing all black: black boots, a large black trench coat, and a cracked full-face helmet.

“Officer Raffick,” gasped Philip.

“Hey there, officer!” Anthony dipped his head with false bravado, attempting to make himself feel braver.

“You laugh now,” Raffick said, “But I see nothing amusing about your folly. A gunshot; you might as well have just told us where you were. Let it be known on the official report that their injuries were caused by their resistance.”

He pulled out a baton. Fortunately, Anthony noted, he doesn’t have his railgun or his sidearm…

Raffick took a step forward, and the giant pile of hay landed on his head, knocking him to the ground. With a recognizable quickness, the girl’s staff whirled and spun, slamming crack-crack into Ringo’s face and Totem’s groin. Totem threw up. Without missing a beat she launched herself at the all-white Spectre Man, taking a swing at his helmeted head before dodging away.

“That gun looks like it belonged to me, girl,” Raffick said, gesturing towards the revolver held inversely in her hand, “it’s a work of art. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use it as a hammer.”

He swung his baton at her and she blocked it with her staff, the reverberations causing her to grit her teeth.

“I’d appreciate it if all you jaggo pricks left my forest,” she spat, staring into Raffick’s cracked mask, one cold, determined eye visible.

“Do not use that word with me, girl.”

In the reflection of his visor she saw two rangers—Ringo and Totem—go flying into a tree trunk with a sickening crunch. Raffick glanced up.

“I’m back, my friends!” Anthony announced melodramatically, as the minotaur he had summoned bludgeoned another ranger with a thunderous backfist. The remaining rangers fired their rifles at it, but it deftly maneuvered out of the line of their fire, dodging among trees.

“You idiots!” screamed the East Fourth captain—as his men flew about him by way of minotaur—“Don’t shoot the monster, it’s not even real! Shoot the invoker!”

He cocked his pistol and raised it right as the minotaur charged him, breaking four of his ribs and sending him rolling down a rain-slicked hill. It let out a roar and glowed a deep victorious red. Rain pattered on it and sizzled.

“Sure felt real, didn’t it buddy?” Anthony taunted.

There was a CRACK of purple lightning as the white-armored Spectre Man blasted the minotaur with his railgun. The beast’s victory roar turned into one of pain, electric arcs shooting from its body. The air reeked of burnt fur. Anthony screamed and clutched at his head, clawing helplessly at the mud, rolling and yelling, a high-pitched tone ringing in his ears.

Philip tried to tackle the Spectre Man, who stopped firing long enough to push Philip to the ground and kick him solidly. The girl leapt in, planting both feet in the Spectre Man’s back, and he tripped over Philip and fell into the mud. She twisted the quarterstaff in her hands and it split into two smaller staves which she promptly used to smash the Spectre Man’s hands.

Raffick, ignoring his partner, made his way to a dazed Anthony and picked him up with a giant gloved arm. He flipped his face mask up to get a clearer look at the boy’s face. Interesting, he thought, very familiar.

“Holy hell that is a mother of a scar,” the girl said. She was breathing lightly, breath visible in small puffs, surrounded by unconscious rangers. A bloody stave was clutched in each hand as she stood over the other Spectre Man.

She shuddered as Raffick turned to face her. The scar cut across his whole face, from his left eyebrow to his chin. Whoever had tried to stitch it up had done an impatient, horrible job and it was improperly healing into a jagged line.

“Little girl,” Raffick said, “You are too far away to save this boy. If you try, I will kill you. You will stay there and be still while I apprehend this one.”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” she retorted, and quick as a blink flung a stave at Raffick’s face. He caught it with his free hand. Right away she was on him, aiming for the weak points in his armor—face, knees, lower neck, and armpits—but he was parrying every strike with the precision of a fencer. Squeezing Anthony’s neck with his other hand, Raffick laughed—an empty sound—and disarmed the girl with her own weapon. She slipped in the mud and fell to one knee.

“You are a fool,” Raffick said, lifting her chin with the stave.

“No.” Anthony gasped through Raffick’s grip, “You are the fool.”

A giant wolf invocation shot out of Anthony’s chest and barreled into Raffick’s, forcing them apart. Raffick was knocked back into the mud, and as he clutched for the other Spectre Man’s railgun, the werewolf landed heavily on it, crushing the gun into pieces. Raffick scrambled to his feet and stood up in time for the beast to hit him fully in the chest, sending the Spectre Man tumbling down the same hill as the ranger captain.

“Let’s get him!” the girl yelled, “Come on! He’s ours. Everyone else is still out, we’re golden.”

Anthony promptly collapsed on the ground. He smiled weakly. “I can’t move. Can you do me a favor and go get Philip? Hah! That reminds me. Hey Phil, they called you a nerd. Remember? My nerd-friend. That’s you. You’re a nerd.”

“Shut up, I’m right here,” Philip shouted, struggling to get out from under the unconscious white-armored Spectre Man, “would you give me a hand? This guy feels like he weighs three hundred pounds.”

Anthony turned back to the girl, ignoring Philip. “You came back for us.”

The girl smiled. “I never left. And good thing, too! You guys are definitely more helpless than a jaggo kitten.”

“You keep using that word,” Philip strained as he wriggled himself free, “It’s not a nice thing to say.”

“What do you mean I’m a jaggo kitten?” Anthony argued, still ignoring him, “Are you kidding me? Did you SEE what I did?”

The girl stood, her hands filled with cross-shaped silver coins. “Hmm, sixty spikes,” she muttered to herself, “oh well, getting there.”

She jammed the silver into her pockets and turned to face the boy invoker, chucking Philip’s revolver back to him. “Yea yea, you’re an invoker. That would have been more impressive if you didn’t cry like a little baby when your monster got toasted.”

Anthony laughed thinly. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, and he was so tired. There wasn’t much else he could do; he didn’t even have the energy to be mad.

“What’s your name?” he asked the girl.

“Hayley. Hayley Ry—…mmm, Hayley will do for now. At your service. Going to Lanaya aren’t ya? So am I.”

She brushed back a strand of wet brown hair. Her gold eyes were unnervingly brilliant.

“Hayley. Really?” Anthony smirked. He gestured at her straw jacket.

“Shut up! It’s just a coincidence.”

“Whatever you say, Haystack. Say, do you know how to build a shelter? I’m not sure if you noticed, but it’s been raining.”