//------------------------------//
// More than emerald and ruby. 
// Story: A Gleaming Treasure 
// by Lium 
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Spike stared at the treeline, the wooden border to the twisted, jungle-like Everfree forest. It was foreboding, menacing. He did not belong, the leafy denizens seemed to whisper upon the wind. Yet, at the same time he was filled with an almost drawn feeling, as though he was being pulled into the dark and unnatural woodland.

He knew that within the heart of the dangerous and sprawling thicket lay a prize more than worth the nigh-suicidal trek, for he had been there, once. Though it had been sheer luck that he had wandered by it, especially without being attacked by something which might dine upon human flesh.

But he had brought along his blade and armour for that very purpose, not with the intention, as he previously had, of slaying some monstrous felbeast for glory, but mere self-defence. Hopefully the antique sword would provide enough protection, should it become necessary. Although he wouldn't be terribly surprised if it broke upon whatever he struck. Terrified and very probably dead, but not surprised.

Yet what-ifs, could-be’s, and uncertain prophecies only delayed his quest. Today he would once-more seek out the dragon of the Everfree Forest. She had preyed on his heart and mind ever since that bizarre and unexpected meeting and he could no-longer contain his fervent desire to once more gaze upon her, to admire her snow-white form whilst sitting by a roaring fire and talking for hours on end, feeling the white light of time flicker by.

However, the vast swathes of foliage hindered his path. Every vine and root he cleaved (with some difficulty, he was not as strong as he’d have liked,) had two more lying in wait behind it. The canopy was silent for the most part, the evening still as the world settled down to sleep, but occasionally various eldritch cries split the fragile barrier. Shadows were prevalent as dusk slowly edged toward total darkness, the trees shifting and turning. Who knew what lay in the darkness? Thankfully, he carried a branch wrapped in cloth to use as a torch.

The dense bramble and fern gave way to single trees, giants who had stood the test of time. Scars and tears had rent their thick trunks, but it would take even the mightiest woodsman with the strongest of axes months to bring these Kings of Plants to their feet. Not even the Apple Family farmers, well renowned in village for their knowledge of all manner of vegetation, even Big Macintosh who was widely regarded as the strongest man around, would attempt to tackle such behemoths.

And the lords of the forest knew their invincibility, each creak and shudder they gave served only to reinforce their point. Every moment he stood on their land was a trespass to be paid for. Every blow he landed among them and their kin was to be atoned. Every step he took was treacherous, now. The ground grew soggy and slippery, the mud giving way with ease. He had to keep his eyes out, lest he trip over a rock or step into an unseen hole.

And it was while he was carefully choosing his path that something caught his eye on the ground not two metres from him. A spatter of red lay amongst the rotting, brown leaves long since shed. He retrieved one and brought it to his face, squinting in the dim torch-light. The crimson stain was a liquid he was familiar with. Blood. But just what manner of creature had suffered a wound?

His answer was at hand, however. A soft growl was carried on the wind, startlingly close. He glanced wildly, and up ahead of him stood a silhouette, hardly visible to his eyes. He jammed the torch into the mud and hefted the cracked sword in both hands, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The growl was repeated, louder this time; the shade before him was ambling toward the light.

“D-don’t come any closer! I’m armed!” Warned the trembling teenager, looking to avoid a fight if possible. Unfortunately, the figure paid no attention to the stuttered words that fell from the trembling mouth and stepped into the light, revealing itself to be a bull Manticore, the very thing he was hoping to avoid.

Manticores were known for their violent nature, and this one had been injured; a bunch of what seemed to be splinters were stuck in various parts of one of it’s paw and leg, possibly from a fight with a Timber Wolf or even several.

However, the injury wasn't serious enough to hamper it in any way, and he wasn't fast enough to run away with his armour on. His best bet was to stand and fight. Fight with a lump of metal barely sharp enough to cut apples against a fully-grown, male apex predator that was almost as big and weighed more than he did. The odds did not look good.

“Make or break time, Spike. Do or die. You were going to fight a dragon, what’s an overgrown scorpion-cat?” He muttered to himself. The manticore hissed in response, it’s snarl revealing the razor-sharp fangs within. Venom dripped off the three-inch long stinger, primed to deliver a fatal overdose.

The beast tensed, gripping the mud as best as it could, digging in the hook-like claws and before the teen could react had pounced, smashing into the green-haired boy and sending him straight to the floor.

Fortunately for Spike, the manticore had not landed on him or knocked away his sword, and so he slashed wildly at the monstrous animal. The sword caught it on the wounded paw, slightly slicing through the flesh of the wingéd lion. It roared, a deep and primal sound that chilled the blood in his veins.

Blood-red eyes glared down at the hapless teenager and it raised it’s uninjured paw, raking it’s claws across his chest and shoulder. Most of the damage was deflected by his armour, but the metal caved and gave way under the monstrous force of the swipe. Yet still, some deep wounds had been inflicted and the boy couldn't help but yell out in terror and pain.

The brutish beast poised it’s toxic barb to strike a killing blow into his stomach. He had barely any time to react to the deadly attack, but managed to roll away in the nick of time, the point being driven deep into the ground a hair’s-breadth away from him. 

Once more he took up his sword, which had been dropped after the first attack, and swung it with all his might, severing the chitinous tail in half. It spewed out cobalt-blue blood in a torrent, showering the ground.

Now the manticore was really, really annoyed. Saliva dripped off it’s exposed canines as it roared so loud the sound reverberated off the trees and rang in his ears, dazing him. 

It leapt forward once more, catching him on his injured shoulder. It bit hard into the already damaged armour, crushing and spearing it with it’s mighty teeth. Spike screamed once more, and knew for certain this was to be his end. He’d fought a foe bigger than him and dealt it some severe blows. A noble death, in his mind. Tougher men than him had fallen to manticores, after all.

Fate, however, had different plans in mind for the aspiring knight. The battle had not gone unheard, the cries given out had spread far out in the forest. Just as Spike was preparing for oblivion, another growl had rang out, different to the manticore’s angry howls. Through his dimming sight, Spike saw a blur race out from the trees and strike the beast that was attempting to devour him and knocking it away.

His enemy and his saviour grappled, but the fight was one-sided. The manticore had been seriously injured, it’s greatest weapon rent from it’s body. There was a rush of air and the copse was lit up by a brilliant light. The manticore let out one final, anguished screech before falling silent forever. The only sound was the crackle of flames that spread over the charred carcass of the once-proud predator.

Exhausted from fighting and pale from blood-loss, Spike’s eyes slid shut and he knew no more.