Gamble King Chapter 43. How

Man, the Heightening made everything so much clearer.

Max could see the individual fibers in the witch's white robes as she moved, the way they caught and released the filtered gray light. He could see the texture of her skin, not smooth like he'd thought before, but covered in a network of fine lines, like cracked porcelain.

Her eyes weren't just bright. They had depth to them, layers of color that shifted as she tilted her head. Amber at the center, fading to honey at the edges, with flecks of something darker scattered throughout.

Her smile was the same, but now he could see how wrong it was. The skin at the corners of her mouth pulled too far back. The muscles underneath moved in ways that human muscles shouldn't move. And when her lips parted slightly, he caught a glimpse of what waited behind them.

Rows and rows of teeth. They weren't arranged like human teeth at all. They spiraled back into her throat, each one sharp and slightly curved, overlapping like the inside of a lamprey's mouth.

No mistake about it, the witch was still fast. Inhumanly so.

But with the Heightening active, Max could track the micro-movements he'd missed before. The slight shift of her weight onto her front foot. The way her shoulders rotated just a fraction, preparing to launch forward. The tension building in her calves, visible even through the drape of her robes.

She was coiling up like a spring.

Max's hand tightened on his knife. The Fanga burned through his veins, pushing his heart rate higher. His vision had that strange quality now where everything seemed just slightly slower than it should be, like the world was moving through honey.

He saw her pupils dilate. Saw the muscles in her jaw flex. Saw the tendons in her neck go taut.

She moved.

Her right foot came up first, toes pointing downward. Then her whole body compressed, knees bending deeper than they should have been able to. The movement was fluid, snake-like. Her arms came forward, fingers spread wide, and Max registered that her nails were longer than they'd seemed before. Not quite claws, but close.

She pushed off with both feet simultaneously, launching herself forward in a lunge that kept her low to the ground. Her trajectory wasn't straight at his head like he'd expected. She angled slightly to his left, her body twisting mid-air so that her right shoulder led.

The whole motion took maybe half a second.

Max's brain catalogued it all. The crouch. The launch. The angle of approach. The way she twisted to bring her mouth around toward his neck from the side rather than head-on.

But alas.

His body couldn't match what his eyes were seeing. He'd started to move his knife up and across, trying to intercept, but his arm was still rising when she reached him. The blade was maybe halfway to where it needed to be.

Her mouth opened wide as she came in, those spiral rows of teeth spreading apart. Her jaw unhinged like a snake's, far wider than any human mouth could manage.

Then she was on him.

Her teeth sank into the left side of his neck, just below his jaw. He felt them punch through skin and muscle, felt them scrape against bone. The pressure was immense. Her jaw clamped down with hydraulic force and his vision went white, then red, then black.

In the darkness, Max's mind was still working though.

She crouched first. Low. Launched from both feet. Came in from the left side at a downward angle. Mouth already opening mid-lunge.

Next time, he'd know. Next time, he'd be ready for that approach.

[NUMBER OF REROLLS LEFT: 9]

***

Max woke up with jerky in his mouth.

The taste registered first. Salt and smoke and something gamey. Then the warmth of stone against his back. The faint orange glow painting the cave walls.

He sat up.

Tarak scrambled backward, spear coming up. The kid's eyes went wide.

"Let's go," Max said, already on his feet.

"What?"

"Let's go. We're leaving now."

Max grabbed his pack and started for the cave entrance. Bro chittered softly on his shoulder, legs adjusting their grip.

Tarak stared at him for a long moment, then slowly lowered his spear. "You are very, very strange, Harek."

"Yeah. I know."

The descent went fast. Max didn't bother with careful handholds this time, just efficient ones. He knew exactly which rocks would hold and which wouldn't. Tarak stayed quiet on his back, but Max could feel the kid watching him.

When they reached the bottom, Max didn't wait for questions. He headed northwest, toward the Witch's Forest.

"The White Hands—" Tarak started.

"Will kill us on every other route. We're going through the forest."

The kid went quiet again.

Everything went normally after that. The sprint across the clearing with Bro taking out the raven early, the Blindrages stopping at the tree line, the arrows from the archer that Max dodged with his enhanced hearing already active. He'd taken the Heightening right after setting Tarak down in the forest, three drops under his tongue while the kid watched with concerned eyes.

And now they were here again.

The witch stood on her branch above them, white robes pristine, bare feet somehow finding purchase on the bark. That same gentle smile on her lined face.

"Well now," she said. "What have we here?"

Max set Tarak down. "Stay behind me."

He didn't bother with the conversation this time. Just pulled both his knives from his belt and settled into a fighting stance, weight distributed evenly, knees slightly bent. The Fanga was already burning through him at a steady simmer. His heart rate was elevated but controlled, sitting somewhere around one-forty.

The witch's smile widened. "Oh my. Someone's eager."

"Death battle," Max said. "I win, we go free. You win, you eat me. Those are the terms."

"Cutting right to it, are we?" She laughed that high, girlish giggle. "Very well. I accept."

She dropped from the branch.

The fall should have taken a second, maybe a second and a half. Instead she seemed to float down, her robes billowing around her like she was underwater. Her bare feet touched the snow without making a sound.

Max watched her weight shift onto her front foot. Watched her shoulders rotate. Watched the tension build in her calves.

Here it comes.

Her right foot came up first, toes pointing downward. Her whole body compressed, knees bending deep. Her arms came forward, fingers spreading wide, nails catching the light.

She pushed off with both feet, launching herself in that same low lunge. Her body twisted mid-air, right shoulder leading, angling to his left side.

But this time, Max was already moving.

He threw himself to the right, away from her approach vector. His enhanced perception made the movement feel smooth, almost leisurely, even though he knew he was moving as fast as his body could manage. The world slid past him in that honey-slow way.

The witch's trajectory carried her past him. Her mouth was already open, those spiral rows of teeth spread wide, but they closed on empty air where his neck had been.

She landed in a crouch about ten feet past him, her robes settling around her.

Max came up in a fighting stance, both knives ready.

The witch turned to face him, and that gentle smile was gone. In its place was something sharper and more interested.

"Oh?" she said softly.

She straightened up, brushing snow from her robes with one hand. "Well now. That was quite good."

Max's heart was hammering. The Fanga burned hotter in his veins. He kept his knives up, and his weight balanced.

"You actually saw it coming," the witch continued, tilting her head. "How delightful. Most don't manage that."

"Why thank y—" Max started before the world exploded in pain.

He looked down and saw her hand buried in his chest. Up to the wrist. Her fingers had punched through his sternum like it was paper, and he could feel them inside him, wrapped around something vital. His heart, maybe. Or his lungs. Hard to tell through the agony.

Blood filled his mouth. Hot and copper-tasting. It spilled over his lips when he tried to breathe.

"HAREK!" Tarak's voice, high and terrified.

The witch was laughing. That same girlish giggle, but louder now. More genuine.

Max wanted to say something. In fact, he wanted to call her a bitch. But his lungs were full of blood and all that came out was a wet gurgling sound.

His vision was darkening at the edges.

The last thing he saw was the witch's face, still smiling and laughing, her hand still inside his chest.

Then nothing.

[NUMBER OF REROLLS LEFT: 8]

***

Max woke up with jerky in his mouth.

He spat it out, rolled to his feet, and grabbed his pack in one motion.

"Let's go," he told Tarak, who found him strange.

The rest blurred together. The descent, the sprint across the clearing, Bro and the raven, the arrows he dodged, the forest that swallowed them. Max took the Heightening as soon as Tarak was down, three drops that hit his system like lightning.

And now the witch was dropping from her branch again, floating down like a ghost, her bare feet touching snow without a sound.

"Death battle," Max said before she could speak. "I win, we go free. You win, you eat me."

Her smile widened. "Very well. I accept."

She coiled. Right foot up. Body compressed. Arms forward.

She launched.

Max threw himself right. The witch's open mouth sailed past where his neck had been, teeth snapping on empty air. She landed in a crouch, then straightened.

"Oh?" she said softly. "Well now. That was quite good."

She brushed snow from her robes. "You actually saw it coming. How delightful. Most don't manage that."

"Why thank y—" Max started.

Her hand came at his chest.

But Max had already coiled himself, muscles tensed and ready. The moment her arm extended he twisted hard to the left, her fingers missing his sternum by inches.

Her arm was still extended, fully committed to the strike.

Max screamed and swung Dusk in a vertical arc.

"YOU BITCH!"

The short sword cut through her forearm like it was made of water. No resistance at all. Just a clean slice that separated hand from wrist, wrist from forearm.

Blood sprayed.

Not red. Something darker. Almost black in the gray forest light. It splattered across the snow in thick ropes, across Max's face and chest, hot and viscous.

The witch's scream was nothing like her laugh. It was a raw, animal sound. She stumbled backward, clutching the stump of her arm. More of that dark blood pumped out between her fingers.

For the first time since he'd met her, that smug smile was gone.

Her face twisted with shock. With pain. With something that might have been fear.

Max felt a savage satisfaction bloom in his chest.

"So you can bleed, huh?" he said.

The witch's head snapped toward him. Her gentle features warped, her jaw extending, her teeth becoming visible. A sound came from her throat. It was low and rumbling. A growl that sounded nothing like a human and everything like a big cat about to pounce.

She started to circle him.

Her movements were different now. Lower to the ground. Her remaining hand flexed, nails catching the light. The stump of her right arm had stopped bleeding, the wound sealing itself with something that looked like black ice.

"How," she hissed. Her voice had changed. Deeper. With an echo underneath it. "How. How. How. How did you do that?"

She kept circling, and kept repeating that word. Her head tilted at angles that weren't quite right. Her eyes never blinked.

"How. How. How. How—"

Max kept his feet planted, rotating to keep her in front of him. His knives were up, Dusk still dripping with her blood. Every instinct screamed at him to attack, to press the advantage while she was hurt.

But he knew better.

She was too fast. Even injured, even with one arm gone, she could close the distance before he could react. If he committed to an attack now, she'd kill him. He was certain of it.

Better to wait and let her come to him. Whatever move she made next, he'd learn it. He'd die learning it, probably, but then he'd know. And next time he could counter it. Next time he could find the opening for a fatal strike.

The pain would be bad. He knew that. The hand through the chest had been agony. But whatever she did to him now would be over fast. He hoped.

"You little insect," the witch snarled. Her voice kept getting lower, kept picking up more of that echo. "You pathetic, crawling thing. I'm going to pull you apart. I'm going to eat you piece by piece while you scream."

Max forced a grin. "Big talk from someone who just lost an arm."

Her growl became a roar.

Her body coiled. Not like before. This was different. Her spine curved backward, her shoulders hunching forward. Her remaining hand pressed flat against the snow. Her legs bunched beneath her like a cat about to spring.

Her eyes went completely black. No whites, no iris, no pupil. Just solid darkness that seemed to drink in the light.

Max adjusted his stance. Knees bent. Weight balanced. Ready to move in any direction.

The witch launched.

There was no twist this time, and no angle either. She came straight at him in a direct line, her body horizontal to the ground, her mouth already open wide enough that her jaw looked dislocated.

For once, Max had expected exactly that.

He dove forward and to the side, tucking into a roll that brought him under her trajectory. He felt the displacement of air as she passed over him, felt something brush the top of his head.

Then a tremendous crash.

Max came up from his roll in time to see the witch collide with a massive pine tree behind where he'd been standing. The impact was enormous. The tree trunk exploded in a shower of splinters and bark. The whole thing toppled, its roots tearing free from the frozen ground.

The witch was on the ground in the wreckage, partially buried in snow and broken branches.

She seemed stunned. Not moving.

This was it!

Max ran.

Dusk came up in both hands as he closed the distance. Five feet. Four. Three. He could see her back, and the perfect spot between her shoulder blades where the blade would go.

Two feet.

Her remaining hand shot out.

It shouldn't have been able to reach him. He was behind her, she was on the ground, the distance was wrong.

But the bitch's arm extended. The limb stretched like taffy, or rubber, elongating impossibly fast. Her fingers wrapped around his throat before he could process what was happening.

She squeezed and there was a sound. Like a wet crack.

Then nothing.

[NUMBER OF REROLLS LEFT: 7]

***

Max woke up with jerky in his mouth.

He sat up and started laughing.

It wasn't a bitter laugh or a crazy one. It was genuine, the sort that came from deep in the chest and felt good coming out. In fact, it was so genuine it made Bro chittering on his shoulder seem almost concerned, the spider's legs doing that little uncertain shuffle they did when Max did something unexpected.

"Morning, Bro," Max said, reaching up to scratch under the spider's mandibles. The chittering turned pleased, and Bro settled back down into his usual spot.

Across the fire, Tarak was staring at him with wide eyes, spear already gripped in both hands like he thought Max might have lost his mind overnight.

"What?" Max grinned at him, still riding that strange high. "You think I'm strange, don't you?"

The kid's mouth worked for a moment before he managed to get words out. "Very, very strange, yes."

Max's grin widened as he started gathering his things, movements quick and efficient. "Yeah, well. I find myself strange too these days."

Which was true, and that was maybe the strangest part of all, because surprising himself, he was actually liking this.

Not the deaths themselves, obviously. Getting his head bitten off had been horrifying, drowning in his own blood while trying to curse had been worse, and having his neck snapped had at least been mercifully quick even if the crack of his own vertebrae would probably haunt him later. None of that was pleasant. In fact, he was shocked at how he wasn't completely traumatized by the experience so far, how he could wake up and laugh instead of curling into a ball and refusing to move. Maybe he was still in shock from it all. Maybe the trauma would hit him later, all at once in some quiet moment, and he'd break down completely and never be the same.

But right now, in this moment, all he could feel was that odd satisfaction thrumming through his veins alongside the fading traces of Fanga.

He'd cut her arm off. He'd made her bleed that weird black ichor that splattered hot across the snow. He'd seen actual fear flash across her face, seen that smug gentleness crack and shatter into something raw and animal and desperate. She'd growled at him like a cornered predator, circled him like he was dangerous instead of prey, and that felt better than it probably should have.

And more importantly, he'd learned her patterns. The low lunge angling from his left side. The chest strike that came when he dodged the first attack. The straight-line charge when she was angry enough to abandon tactics. The arm extension when she was desperate and he thought he had an opening.

Max ran through the calculations in his head while he checked Duck and Dawn and made sure his pack was secure. He had seven rerolls left, which meant seven more chances to figure out the puzzle of how to kill something that could extend its limbs and move faster than he could track even with the Heightening burning through him.

The elongating arm was the real problem, he was realizing. She could extend her reach when she needed to, which meant that mid-range fighting was a trap. He needed to either get in very close where she couldn't generate the force for a killing blow, or stay far enough back that even a full extension couldn't reach him. But both of those options had their own problems, because getting close meant being in range of those spiraling teeth, and staying back meant never landing a hit of his own.

Still, he'd seen her stunned after the tree impact. Seen her on the ground with broken branches scattered around her, disoriented enough that she hadn't immediately attacked. That was a window, even if it was a small one. The question was how to exploit it without getting grabbed by that impossible elastic arm.

Next time he could bait the charge again, dodge it the same way, but instead of rushing in for what looked like an easy kill, he could create some distance. Let her recover just slightly but stay cautious about his positioning. Learn what she did when she was hurt and wary instead of hurt and desperate. See if she had any other tricks he hadn't discovered yet.

Or maybe, if he was smart about it and lucky enough, he could finish it this run. If he anticipated the arm extension before it happened, if he positioned himself at just the right angle, if he was fast enough with the counter strike when the opportunity came—

Yeah. This run or the next one. He was getting close now. He could feel it.

"Finish your food," Max told Tarak, already moving toward the cave entrance with Bro secure on his shoulder. "We're leaving."

The kid blinked at him, a piece of jerky still halfway to his mouth. "But I just started eating—"

"Eat while we walk. Come on."

Tarak looked at the jerky in his hand, then at Max's back as he headed for the exit, then sighed in that long-suffering way that suggested he was seriously reconsidering his choice of traveling companion. "Very, very strange," he muttered again, but he got to his feet and started gathering his things.

Max was already at the cave mouth, looking out at the gray morning light filtering through the trees. Seven tries left, maybe fewer if he got it right.

He was going to kill that witch. And honestly, he was starting to look forward to it.