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???

At first, it's easy. Hunt the thing that existed to be hunted. There's a number of non-trivial obstacles to the process, such as pursuing the huntable thing even as it flees through small holes and over high barriers, but the hunter is already suited to handle some of these, and for others it's changed as the problems arise. The hunter spreads, grows, devours, all very smoothly and easily. There's countless things other than the huntable thing that try to interfere, but they're almost beneath notice compared to the huntable thing.

As time goes on, things get a little harder. The huntable thing cottons on to the fact that it is being hunted, and shifts and changes. Some sections of the huntable thing change their patterns, attempting to convince the hunter that they're one of the trivial things. Sometimes they even succeed, though only ever temporarily as the hunter finds itself abruptly changing to understand that these too are the huntable thing. Other sections of the huntable thing become smaller or more careful, attempting to escape the hunter's notice by going places the hunter has difficulty pursuing, but the hunter is flexible enough to recognize these tactics and specialize pieces of itself into following into these hidey-holes. Still other sections of the huntable thing grow vicious, aggressive, hooking themselves into the hunter in an attempt to destroy it or hijack it, but change from outside invariable washes over the mass and denatures the huntable thing until it is simply a part of the hunter.

In response, the huntable thing gets creative, attacking from afar and combining attacking action with hiding away to create ambushes, a concept the hunter is not initially built to understand. Change washes over it, and it becomes wilier, aware that sometimes a retreat is a retreat, but sometimes it's bait to lure away parts of the hunter to where they can be destroyed without the omnipresent external force washing away the huntable thing's aggressors. The huntable thing also begins to aggressively recruit the things previously beneath the hunter's notice, altering them into things that can hamper or harm the hunter, sometimes so subtly that the external force misses them when making changes favorable to the hunter.

The hunter grows to meet this task, spreading into crevices and developing specialized parts for studying and understanding what the rest of the hunter knows. Ambushes are sprung deliberately, but in a way that favors the hunter, the things previously beneath its notice are destroyed, altered, or incorporated to serve its own ends, and sundry other changes occur.

Events continue in this general vein for a period of time external observers might characterize as 'a while'. The hunter itself has something of a sense of time, but not impatience or an awareness of exactly how long it's been at this. All it knows is that eventually it meets the things that are the real goal of the huntable thing, large and complicated things. The hunter has encountered large and complicated things like this before, but had no reason to delve into the mass, as the huntable thing never went inside them. This particular class of large and complicated thing, for whatever reason, is routinely targeted by the huntable thing, its processes hijacked and altered to produce results the hunter can't really comprehend. Change washes over the hunter, and now it's task becomes difficult: it is to undo the changes the huntable thing makes to these large and complicated things. In cases where the hunter arrives shortly after the huntable thing, this is reasonably straightforward: the hunter knows what things looked like before the huntable thing arrived, and can work to set them back to that state.

In cases where the hunter finds the huntable thing infiltrating a large and complicated thing long after the huntable thing has gotten its many hooks into the large and complicated thing, the hunter... well, it removes the huntable thing. After a change washes over it, it also looks for mechanics that produce more of the huntable thing and alters them so they don't anymore. After it builds up a general idea of what these large and complicated things are like when the huntable thing doesn't get at them, it also develops a series of categories of things that do not belong in these large and complicated things, and removes or alters them as encountered.

This still leaves enormous amounts of changes that the huntable thing has made, or possibly not made and they were a natural part of the large and complicated thing. The hunter doesn't know how to address those differences.

Initially, it elects to ignore these differences. As time passes, a notable fraction of the altered-and-ignored large and complicated things suffer cascading failures, until virtually every component of them ceases to function. A change washes over the hunter, which in human terms could be thought of as the hunter being told 'use your best judgment, but fix them'.

And so the hunter alters the altered in earnest.

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Meanwhile, Panacea has it slowly dawn on her that she's made a mistake, and she's not sure whether her cure is worse than the problem or not.

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Emma Barnes

A week ago, Emma had felt under the weather. A little fever, a lingering drowsiness, a realization that she couldn't quite remember emptying her plate, though there it sat bereft of more than crumbs.

She'd shrugged it off. She wasn't a weakling who would be kept from school by a cold.

Besides, she didn't want to miss Taylor coming back.

Two days passed, and Emma didn't feel better. If anything, she was ravenous, pulling down what must've been five solid meals a day and snacking in between, only occasionally pausing when she remembered she was supposed to avoid gaining weight if she wanted to do more modeling. Where normally that thought was enough to stay her hand, in the throes of this illness that didn't know when to quit it felt unimportant. She ended every meal still hungry, after all, and some dim memory insisted it was normal to eat more when battling sickness.

She'd probably puke it right back up given the way she felt, anyway.

Or so she thought.

The fourth day, Emma felt better. Then she went to school, and it smelled. She looked everywhere, trying to find the damn repellent smell, but it was everywhere or maybe nowhere and less than an hour in she figured out nobody else could smell it. Something to do with her lingering cold or flu or whatever the hell it was, obviously, and Emma did her best to hide her revulsion from everyone else. Wouldn't do to be seen... something. The thought wouldn't complete, and then Shmidt shoved his greasy face into her private conversation, ugh, and she forgot.

Whatever the smell was, it went away when she went home. Which was a relief, she'd been driven up the wall by it, so disgusting.

Why the hell hadn't she puked yet? She wasn't even nauseous, in spite of being sick and haunted by a smell that made her think of the ugliest, nastiest clothes she'd ever seen, the ones her mother had only been half-joking when she said they might need to burn them. The smell just made her want to get the bleach and start scrubbing, though she wasn't sure what.

The fifth day came and went, and the only reason Emma knew she'd missed school was her cell phone was covered in text messages from Sophia, crawling all over its surface and accusing her of skipping class in a voice like the buzzing of Locust talking. (Emma had shrieked and stomped the phone, ruining it utterly, before a moment of lucidity had intruded, reminding her Locust was dead and would likely have punished her horrifically if the phone had been Locust in the first place)

It was halfway through the sixth day it occurred to her that her parents should have let her know about school, whether by telling her she was staying home or frowning angrily at her while disappointment dripped in condescending lines from their ears. She spent an indeterminate period trying to remember if any such thing had happened, failed, and went searching for them. Somehow, the house was larger than it had any right to be, and she got hopelessly lost in the canyons before taking shelter in the pantry. Absently, she stuffed two boxes of cereal down her throat and collapsed into sleep, vaguely recalling that she would be easier to find she held still.

Some picky, irritating part of her complained that cardboard wasn't made for eating, but given how delicious the meal was Emma was disinclined to listen to that part.

That came to today, the seventh day. Probably. Assuming time hadn't turned fluid on her. Emma wasn't really confident of that.

She was still trying to decide between moving and staying. Staying meant food on hand, a wall at her back, and a greater possibility of rescue. Moving meant being able to find that goddamn stink so she could scrub it to its goddamn bones. Three reasons against one, but the one spoke to her soul. Or at least her poor, assaulted nose. Why had the stink come into her home? What had she done to it?

"Oh fuck."

Emma twisted to look at the voice, a sluggish part of her brain desperately cataloging features. Female, it said. Worried, it inferred, though Emma couldn't quite imagine how it drew that conclusion. Familiar, it noted, and Emma frowned at that because who knew her that would worry about her? Then her eyes got in on the action, and after a tremendous effort some other part of Emma's brain spat out an unintuitive answer.

"Sophia?"
 
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6.s
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Sophia Hess

Fucking hell.


"No, you dipshit, it's me, Shadow Stalker," I bit out while leaning into Emma's face. Fuck, her breath smelled like a dumpster had been lit on fire and then someone had used sewage to try to put out the fire. And failed. Dark circles under her eyes. No makeup to hide it, I noticed. Emma was fastidious about that shit. Which meant her cold was way fucking worse than she'd let on.

I eyeballed the stairwell. I hadn't gotten close enough to confirm her parents were dead, so even though they'd looked pretty fucking dead when I peeked in I was still tense, expecting them to interrupt. That'd be a problem. Bad enough to be showing up in Emma's house in costume at all. Didn't help that I had no idea where Emma's sister was. What the hell had happened?

"Oh." Emma waved one hand at a limp angle. "Nice to meet you, Shadow Stalker."

Way worse than she'd let on.

"Come on," I said while hauling her to her feet. "You need to get out of here." Before Bonesaw's surprise gets here and makes you really sick, I didn't say.

Emma frowned at, looking more lost than angry. "Are you taking me to school, Miss Shadow Stalker? I'm late and lost."

Non-plussed, I put one arm over my shoulder, making a mental note to hit up a clinic for antibiotics on our way out. Clearly, Emma's parents hadn't fucking bothered. Pantry was nearly empty, what the hell? I'd been planning on packing some food here, Emma's family always had piles, why not now of all times? They were fine two days ago, I fucking called them, what is this shit? Why are they dead in bed upstairs? Where is Emma's fucking sister, she's the nosiest asshole I know aside Piggot.

I was always going to leave them to rot, they're not worth the effort, but I'd thought I'd be giving a speech about how we couldn't afford to cart along weaklings. It'd be work, one more weakness pulled out of Emma like an abscess, but another step toward being someone no one would fucking mess with.

Instead I find the house is a mess, the food is basically all gone -whoop-de-dee, one half-empty box of fruit animals remained- parents look dead, Emma is out of her mind...

Eventually I shrug it off. At least it simplifies parts. Complicates other parts. Emma can't even stand on her own right now, leaning heavily on me. Fuck, I was always planning to jack a car, but I think-

"Emma, where do your parents keep the car keys."

Emma nods muzzily instead of responding. I repeat myself twice, louder and more irritated, at which point she suddenly snaps awake. Her free arm wobbles and wavers and eventually I realize she's pointing at a desk. While we shamble our way over, crossbow repeatedly wobbling into Emma's side without her reacting, she mumbles something about school again. Apparently she thinks I'm planning to drive her. Whatever. It's not even a school day, but there's no point in telling her that. It'd probably just confuse her.

I'm tense as hell once we're out in the open, but it's nearly midnight and the PRT clearly doesn't bug my shit so I'm not all that worried. It's not like Armsmaster is going to pass through any second now; he patrols more in the North and won't break from pattern without a really big reason. Where 'big' means that I'll spot Lung rampaging this way before I spot Armsmaster following him.

Getting the car open takes entirely too fucking long, with too many keys tied together and the stupid car alarm being stupidly ambiguous and Emma fucking hissing when the moon comes out the clouds long enough to get her in the eyes, but eventually Emma is slumped in the passenger seat and I'm in the driver's seat.

I seriously consider taking off the upper parts of my costume, but I'll have to put it right back on when I get supplies and the goggles have good night vision so fuck that.

Driving turns out to not actually be exactly like a video game, but the streets are quiet and who cares if some asshole's mailbox is leaning at a right angle now? I get it done and tune out Emma's incoherent moans about a smell. It's fine in here, the only thing wrong is your godawful breath. Your window is fucking open, too.

Parking is harder than expected, but whatever. I get antibiotics, food that doesn't require cooking, and juice bottles. 100% discount, courtesy of phasing through the glass doors.

I'm just pre-empting the looting that's going to be happening once word gets out about the bugs in the water. Better me than some criminal asshole.

Getting Emma to take the medicine is a giant pain in the ass, but she goes to sleep afterward -loudly snoring- so whatever. I snort to myself, wondering if her parents even noticed she was sick.

Thirty minutes later, she wakes up and pukes out the window.

Great. I eyeball the stain on the side of the road in the rear view mirror as it recedes, vaguely wondering why it's that shade of red. Kinda reminds me of the antibiotics. Then I shrug and pull over long enough to force Emma to drink more.

Twenty minutes pass this time before she hocks out the window, complaining vaguely of the taste. Fuck, what a giant pain in the ass. Why did you have to get sick now?

The fifth time she's woken up and puked is where I start wondering if maybe this isn't helping.

Fortunately, we're not quite out of Brockton yet, and I spot a closed pharmacy soon enough. One raid later, I have a whole range of possibilities for treatment.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, yeh?

So I start force-feeding Emma three kinds at a time.

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Two days later, I can't misunderstand the situation any longer. Emma doesn't have a cold, it's that goddamn thing Bonesaw released in Chicago. Emma is growing spines. Two spinal columns out her lower back, off to the sides. No skin, just bone and nerves and what I think is muscle. The ends seem to be growing toward being spikes, too.

That's the most eye-catching change, but at some point her eyes turned dark like a deep well, her hair is sticking to her back and hardening, and there's some rasping noise every time she breathes out that reminds me of either an evil cricket or a knife being slid against wood. She's also increasingly incoherent, and the last time I tried to force-feed her some medicine the only reason I didn't get the wind knocked out of me was I reflexively phased when she threw the punch.

I spent a day trying to decide whether I should abandon her in the woods or put a bolt through her head myself.

Than I noticed I was sweating. Lost track of time and discovered the poptarts were all missing. Box and wrappers included.

Well, fuck.

I spend what feels like a few minutes trying to reframe the situation; okay, I was just considering putting a bolt through Emma's head to prevent her from becoming a monster. That means.... I should be considering doing the same to myself. Right? That sounds plausible, but it feels wrong, and also my 'few minutes' of thinking turns out to have been much longer because I open my eyes after closing them for just a moment to focus and the sun has jumped to the other side of the sky.

I struggle with my thoughts. I can still remember considering putting a bolt into Emma, but the logic is slippery. I had a good reason for considering that. I must've, I wouldn't kill Emma on a whim. I don't kill people at all, really, just scare them, send them home packing some injuries so they'll think twice about trying their shit again. So seriously considering killing Emma has to have a really good reason. Right?

She'll turn into a monster.

Well, yes, apparently. It's still Emma, though. She's a survivor, she'll be fine. Hell, turning into a monster will make it easier. It's like the universe finally recognized she's a survivor and gave her what she'd so richly earned. It's not a parahuman ability, but still.

I spend a minute turning those thoughts over, feeling like something doesn't fit, but then I get distracted by the urge to clear out the cereal. Who knew cardboard could be so delicious?

At least nobody is going to stumble on us out here.

I frown at that thought. Why am I worried about being found?

Oh, right, Emma and I are turning into monsters. The Protectorate kills monsters. We're survivors, dying isn't on the table.

Or wait, wasn't it?

I get distracted by watching Emma struggle to all fours, stagger her way over to a tree, and start awkwardly climbing it. I don't think I've ever seen Emma climb a tree before. Weird.

She drops out of the tree a few minutes later, slamming into the ground with an oof and a crunch from the squirrel stuffed halfway into her gaping, fang-filled mouth. There's also some kind of bird with a red patch on its front clutched in one of her hands. Wait. The red patch isn't feathers. It's blood.

Man, I could go for some chicken myself-

Emma hisses at me and clutches protectively at her bird and I have a brief moment of lucidity, catching myself reaching out for the bird like I'm planning on eating it raw. Emma never was big on sharing food, really. No, shut up, infected brain! Get a bolt and stab yourself through the eye before it's too late!

I stagger my way back to the stolen car, search vaguely inside, then realize the bolts are kept on my person and I'm an idiot. I grab one, stare blankly at it for a while, trying to remember why I grabbed it, and then with a jolt of memory thrust the woundy end right into my right eye.

It skips off the surface.

I blink a few times, reach for my eyes, and- oh. The goggles. Right.

I spend a bit trying to get them off, but a process that used to be easy just isn't anymore. No idea why. Eventually I get frustrated and try to jab the bolt in my chest -only to be reminded my costume includes body armor.

When I do eventually manage a stab into bare skin, it turns out my skin is more a plastic that bends and squeals instead of breaking. No pain either, not even when I furiously stab at the same spot several times until it starts oozing something that looks like tree sap if it were an ugly white color with traces of red running through it.

I stare blankly at the spot. Part of me is saying mission accomplished, you stabbed yourself just as intended. Another part is insisting this isn't what was supposed to happen. But I can't visualize what was supposed to happen, and anyway I'm hungry.

I have one last moment of lucidity while tearing into a snake that tried and failed to penetrate my plastic skin with its fangs, Fuck. Completely fucked this up.

At least we'll be scarier than anybody is my last human thought before the haze of hunger rips reason from me again.

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End of Monsters book one.

See you in book two: The Wild Hunt.
 
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I... Don't think even Sofia and Emma deserved something like that. Even less all the other potential afflicted.

Oh my God, I suddenly feel nauseous, Good job with the chapters, I guess.
 
Okay, I'll be the first to say it.

Eh.

Having the end of the whole thing be "dohoho cosmic justice turns human monsters the readership is conditioned to hate into actual monsters" feels...weak. Not that I hate the whole "oh hey there's a plague and two counterplagues going around fucking up everybody's biology" thing, but having it happen to Emma and SS first is just...eh.
 
I remember Nilbog unleashing plagues but I don't remember Bonesaw doing the same
Same. I thought Bonesaw's plagues were set to go off is she died, which... hasn't happened in this story. She was recruited instead.

I'm not actually complaining about Sophia and Emma turning into literal monsters*, just unsure about the reasoning. Maybe it's misinformation and it's actually Nilbog's work?

* Although Sophia stuck in a quarantine zone fighting monsters until something inevitably killed her was a perfectly fine ending for her if it had been left there.
 
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This was certainly Nilbog's plague?

Bonesaw propably wouldn't exactly copy him with the mutation thing.
Either lacking IC-knowledge from the character or a mix-up from the writer?
 
Man, I can't believe I was relieved when Sophia said she found Emma's parents, because I was worried Emma ate them. Here's to hoping Anne was out town/the state or similar, but I doubt she's that lucky.

Great job on the horror, what a nightmare—especially for Piggot. To be frank, zombie scenarios and similar (basically apocalypse by contagion) are my worst fears, and you had me queasy right from the start of Emma's bit.

I'm wondering if Sophia was sick before visiting Emma, or just really, really stupid.

"There's a Bonesaw plague in the water. My friend also recently fell ill. No way those two things are connected."

She might have just been in denial and wanted companionship while on the run.

WRT the overall story:
I don't know if you always intended to go this direction, but I'm hoping the plague gets contained quickly. There's not much Taylor can do to help besides poke Riley.

Then again, the main draw for me was the dynamic between Cherish and Taylor, and that'll be there regardless of what's going on around them.

(I mean, I guess you could kill Cherish off…)
 
So yes, this took entirely too long and this Arc in particular had pacing issues, but it was moderately experimental, practice for what I'll be doing in The Wild Hunt, and also there's been a host of meatspace considerations interfering with my ability to just sit down and write. Some of these no longer apply, and hopefully won't be coming back. A couple of the remaining issues look likely to be sorted out in the next couple of months, so hopefully my writing pace will be picking back up, like, permanently instead of 'oh look here's a chapter now I'm going to fuck off for a few months' like I've been doing.

The Wild Hunt thread won't be happening until after I've done the editing pass for Monster, corrected/caught up the Fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own mirrors (As well as corrected/caught up the Story-Only Thread), and probably gotten at least the first Arc more or less completely written. Doing Arc 5 and especially Arc 6 has made it very clear to me that it's important for me to have an Arc genuinely written up instead of loosely planned in advance, preferably at least 2-3: the first three Arcs are tight and coherent in no small part because I completed and connected all three of them together, such that the first Arc had various elements incorporated to set up for the second Arc and so on. Arc 4 worked out in the end, but flailed a little because I hadn't pinned down the direction. Arc 5 had a strong start and had issues toward the end in part because I didn't properly have planned out where the story would be going next.

Arc 6, as I said, was experimental: do an entire Arc without getting back into Taylor's head at all. I've alluded to this before, but Monster!Taylor has a substantial component of channeling my own thought processes: not necessarily in a straightforward 'this is what I actually think' sort of way, but certainly in a 'I don't have to stretch my brain to imagine how other people think about things to write her character'. While most of my writing isn't out there on the web, a fair amount of what else I've written has shades of this, and the exceptions have tended to be lackluster. I wanted, in part, to see if I could do a competent job of writing a series of non-Taylor characters without the writing being really weak.

The answer appears to be 'eeeeeeh it's not bad'. Plus 'it's much, much harder and takes longer to write'. (Even accounting for the meatspace issues making everything harder and slower, this Arc was still much worse, and I was notably faster when writing Anne+Jane segments of the Dumped in Canon omake arc) The highly variable length of this Arc's sub-components comes down most heavily to who I could get into readily and found interesting to write: Bonesaw was tricky to get into, but interesting and once I had a bit of a groove I didn't run out. Emma I had an extremely basic idea, and then had nothing more do add to it because I just couldn't get into Emma's head. (I'm an asshole, but not the kind of asshole Emma is) If I hadn't been forcing myself into doing a gimmick probably no one has noticed, I honestly might've dropped the Emma part entirely, since it adds only a little value over Sophia's part. (Or more precisely to Sophia's part, making it more readily obvious what's happening to Sophia, but it's not like it's unclear by the end of things) I definitely don't want to entirely avoid writing outside my easy comfort zone, but I'm a lot clearer there's a significant trade-off in writing speed, as well as competency of the execution. 'Write what you know' and all that.

Mind, if I just wanted to do such an experiment, I would've dumped it all in my one-shots thread. Another part of the point of Arc 6 was to pull back and give the audience an idea of what is happening with the larger world and what they think of the things happening around them: Taylor's perspective is mission-focused, with much of the bandwidth not about her mission taken up by the relationship stuff that has ended up rather more prominent than I'd originally imagined would happen. Stuff like 'what the PRT is doing in response to Taylor's actions' just isn't stuff she looks into or tries to make sense of a lot of the time, at least not until it directly intersects with her life. Using Interludes throughout has helped offset this some, but I've mostly ended up using individual Interludes to add in some fairly specific bit of context to relatively immediate events. Larger context has tended to remain missing.

Mind, I'm skeptical I succeeded in really giving that larger context anyway. Piggot's segment touched on this stuff relatively directly, and I still felt it was fairly lacking. I probably should've had, like, the Protectorate Heroes have a coffee break room discussion to convey the actual personal opinions and overall social dynamic involved, but that literally only just occurred to me and I'm not that invested in the idea of giving the audience this info. Certainly something to keep in mind going forward into The Wild Hunt if I continue to have this problem. (Which seems likely)

Anyway.

Credit, by the way, goes to @Tithed_Verse for getting the idea out there that, hey, I can end this story and write a sequel instead of lurching along unendingly in the same thread. Otherwise this would be even more of a horror show. I wasn't thinking of natural breakpoints, and indeed struggle very consistently with transitions, which is annoying given how a chapter break is basically by definition a transition...

Final point of order: in addition to any major editing I do (eg overhauling the Danny sub-section), I do intend to post one final chunk of the Dumped In Canon omake arc thing. So this isn't completely done with me posting, even aside responding to people.

Speaking of...

Okay, I'll be the first to say it.

Eh.

Having the end of the whole thing be "dohoho cosmic justice turns human monsters the readership is conditioned to hate into actual monsters" feels...weak. Not that I hate the whole "oh hey there's a plague and two counterplagues going around fucking up everybody's biology" thing, but having it happen to Emma and SS first is just...eh.

Factual incorrectness first: they're not first. Early, sure, but not first.

More narratively though... I'm not gonna deny 'metaphorical monsters karmically turned into literal monsters' because it kind of doesn't matter whether I deny such an intention, but to give some context I'm going to note that it frustrates me how often stories contrive for the protagonist to very specifically and explicitly learn of the final fate of everyone who ever mattered to their story. That frustration drives this in part.

Though it does occur to me a sub-chapter I cut as too hard and 'not important' miiiiight have been a mistake to cut.

I remember Nilbog unleashing plagues but I don't remember Bonesaw doing the same

Sophia is assuming Bonesaw has unleashed a plague because of what happened with the Nine. She has no actual information confirming it actually happened. She's Sophia, though, so hedging about her beliefs isn't a thing she does: she thinks it's true, therefore it's true, and who needs to double-check actual facts?

Though it also occurs to me the cut sub-chapter is probably contributing to your misunderstanding.

Okay, that's another thing to correct in the editing pass...

WRT the overall story:
I don't know if you always intended to go this direction, but I'm hoping the plague gets contained quickly. There's not much Taylor can do to help besides poke Riley.

I was decided before I ever started posting that Nilbog's death would have Consequences. It was actually pretty annoying trying to talk around that fact when people speculated whether there would or would not be such consequences, and I'm pretty sure I mishandled dodging around admitting it without actually lying.
 
Factual incorrectness first: they're not first. Early, sure, but not first.
Just to be that guy, I'm not suggesting that they're literally first. Just...the first such victims the readership is introduced to. The onscreen examples of the victims of the plague, our first introduction to its effects. I'm not saying it's happening to them first, but for us it's happening to them first, y'dig?
 
@Ghoul King, I'm still afraid of what Taylor's PoV will be like.
I still remember what the thread was like when you revealed that "Taylor has no more emotions" effectively meant "Taylor speaks like a cross between a fairy and a robot, in weird and flowery language".

I've been reading every chapter hoping for another Taylor PoV, just to see how far you'll be taking it in the future. I really, really hope that it tones down later, because it's just weird and sometimes even feels pretentious.
 
I remember Nilbog unleashing plagues but I don't remember Bonesaw doing the same
I think Taylor had Riley unleash a counter-plague to stop the Nilbog plague? Unbeknownst to anyone, Amy also unleashed a counter-plague earlier to nip the problem in the bud. Seems it didn't work, didn't get to Emma and Sophia in time, or the counter-plagues interfered with one another since neither party knew that someone else was taking care of it as well.
 
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@Ghoul King make sure you let us know when you make the new thread, the standard way to do that is a thread marked link to the new thread.

Thank you very much for the story. We appreciate you <3
 
The Wild Hunt thread won't be happening until after I've done the editing pass for Monster, corrected/caught up the Fanfiction.net and Archive of Our Own mirrors (As well as corrected/caught up the Story-Only Thread), and probably gotten at least the first Arc more or less completely written. Doing Arc 5 and especially Arc 6 has made it very clear to me that it's important for me to have an Arc genuinely written up instead of loosely planned in advance, preferably at least 2-3: the first three Arcs are tight and coherent in no small part because I completed and connected all three of them together, such that the first Arc had various elements incorporated to set up for the second Arc and so on. Arc 4 worked out in the end, but flailed a little because I hadn't pinned down the direction. Arc 5 had a strong start and had issues toward the end in part because I didn't properly have planned out where the story would be going next.

Well I'll be excited to see the sequel when it's ready. Just please don't get so caught up in trying to perfect something people already like that you end up overly delaying or cancelling new material.

Sophia is assuming Bonesaw has unleashed a plague because of what happened with the Nine. She has no actual information confirming it actually happened. She's Sophia, though, so hedging about her beliefs isn't a thing she does: she thinks it's true, therefore it's true, and who needs to double-check actual facts?

Ah, that makes sense.
More narratively though... I'm not gonna deny 'metaphorical monsters karmically turned into literal monsters' because it kind of doesn't matter whether I deny such an intention, but to give some context I'm going to note that it frustrates me how often stories contrive for the protagonist to very specifically and explicitly learn of the final fate of everyone who ever mattered to their story. That frustration drives this in part.
I'll admit, you said "to the protagonist" not "to the audience" but I'm not sure it was necessary to spell them out explicitly to either. "Stuck behind quarantine in a monster infested hellhole" was already pretty strongly implying a bad end. On the other hand, I suppose having characters we know succumb to the plague does make the consequences of her decision to kill Nilbog somewhat more real. It's all fun and games until someone gets sick and dies, as they say.
 
I mean i liked the chapter. Considering Emma and Sophias previous proximity to Taylor, the infection makes sense, and this plot element has been stewing for a while.

Shit, poor Danny. Though I guess the purpose of this is to help propel Panacea into action, so that's cool. Pretty excited for the Wild Hunt going monster hunting.
 
I don't think there's an implicit moral judgement in Sophia and Emma turning into monsters given that our heroine herself is one. If their monstrous forms are an external manifestation of the state of their souls, what does that say about Taylor from day one?
 
So, Taylor is Patient Zero, or rather Typhoid Mary Zero. The PRT knows that she is Monster, but completely fails to have anyone known to have contact with her screened by Panacea, or alternately completely fails to investigate yet again to see who they should be frantically screening for any variants of the bugs released on Nilbog's death. Sadly this sounds entirely legit.

Alternately Emma and Sophia's fate is entirely unrelated and luck of the draw, but still quite derpy on the PRT's part if they still aren't monitoring Sophia's movements.
 
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I wish the Wild Hunt has a cool way of announcing itself that isnt just mass murder like the S9, something like mists everywhere would be great.
 
I wish the Wild Hunt has a cool way of announcing itself that isnt just mass murder like the S9, something like mists everywhere would be great.
Wouldn't that be counterproductive? The element of surprise is rather important in hunting down their targets, whether it's to avoid running into pretty prepared opponents, or to not have the target run off somewhere and hide.
 
Wouldn't that be counterproductive? The element of surprise is rather important in hunting down their targets, whether it's to avoid running into pretty prepared opponents, or to not have the target run off somewhere and hide.

Hmm. They need someone like Labyrinth on their team. That way, they can announce themselves with "You are suddenly trapped in a misty forest, and the howls of the Hunt are getting closer"
 
Wild Hunt doesn't need a way to announce itself because Wild Hunt will never need to announce itself. This is literally like saying "you know what the Triumvirate needed to really hit the next level? A way to announce to everyone that they're in town." Like no, they don't need that because they're not there to strike terror into the hearts of citizens, they're there to do a task and then leave.
 
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