Malric moved like a phantom, his skeletal frame cutting through the undergrowth without a sound. The trail of heavy footprints he followed led him to an open glade, dimly lit by the moon overhead. Two figures occupied the clearing, their bulky forms illuminated in pale silver light.

The creatures were grotesque, their misshapen forms a blend of brute strength and primal savagery. The smaller of the two crouched low, its mottled skin taut over sinewy muscles, its hunched back twitching with every sound in the forest. The larger one stood tall and broad, its skin marred with scars, each breath rumbling through its massive chest. Beady eyes scanned the area, and jagged claws flexed with restrained violence.

Malric lingered in the shadows, watching. The creatures were oblivious to his presence. Their guttural exchanges were meaningless to him, but the tension in their postures was clear. His gaze shifted between them, calculating. The smaller one, while faster, seemed less of a threat. His decision was made.

Malric struck without warning, his blade flashing in the moonlight as it cleaved into the smaller creature's back. A sharp, agonized howl erupted as the creature fell forward, writhing on the ground. He didn't stop. His strikes were precise, brutal, each enhanced blow cutting deep until it no longer moved.

The larger creature froze for a moment before unleashing a guttural roar that shook the trees. Malric turned just in time to see it charge, its massive frame barreling toward him like a boulder.

Malric moved to dodge, but the creature was faster than he'd anticipated. It grabbed him with clawed hands, lifting him high before slamming him into the ground. A rib snapped with the impact, but Malric was silent, his skeletal frame enduring the punishment. The creature lifted him again, slamming him into a nearby tree, the force cracking several more bones.

It roared, triumphant, before lifting him one last time and throwing him into a rocky outcropping. His sword clattered to the ground, and his limbs felt disjointed, but Malric rose slowly, watching the creature.

The creature's rage blinded it, and it advanced with heavy steps, roaring its defiance. Malric bided his time, waiting for its frenzied movements to slow. As the creature paused, throwing its head back to roar again, he struck.

His magic surged through his blade as he lunged forward, aiming for the back of its knee. The strike landed true, severing the tendons in one leg. The creature collapsed, howling in pain as it clawed at the ground.

Malric circled it like a predator, his empty gaze locked on its struggling form. He struck again, severing the tendons in its remaining leg. The creature, now crippled, let out a pitiful whimper, dragging itself backward with its claws.

He loomed over it, his skeletal frame casting a long shadow in the moonlight. The creature's eyes darted frantically, filled with a primal fear. Malric tilted his head, savoring the moment. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his blade and ended its misery.

The clearing was silent once more. Malric stood over the lifeless body, observing his own broken frame. His ribs jutted at odd angles, his left arm hung loosely, and his leg bones bore fractures from the creature's onslaught. Yet he felt no pain—only a strange clarity.

He examined the smaller creature's corpse, digging into it for sturdier bones. As he replaced his damaged parts, he felt a faint pulse of magic, a resonance as his new pieces integrated with his body. His strikes would be stronger now, he realized.

The larger creature's bones, however, were weak despite its size. He discarded them with disdain, their fragility unsuited to his purpose.

Malric stood amidst the carnage, his skeletal frame now repaired and reinforced. He flexed his fingers, feeling the added strength in his grip. The creatures had been disappointing in death, their parts barely adequate to sustain his growth.

Looking out into the forest, he felt a gnawing hunger—not for sustenance, but for something greater. These creatures were nothing more than stepping stones. There was more to be gained and he would find it.

With a sense of grim purpose, turned away from the clearing and disappeared into the darkness, seeking something better.

Stolen story; please report.

Malric put his desires on hold when he noticed the stillness of the night begin to wane. Malric noticed the faintest shift in the air, the growing presence of dawn whispering through the trees. The deep, encompassing darkness he had become accustomed to started its slow retreat. He looked to the horizon and noted the faintest sliver of light creeping upward.

His gaze fell back to the forest around him, and then he turned in the direction of the creature camp. There was unfinished business there. He moved with purpose, stepping over the broken remains of the creatures he had dispatched. Their corpses held no further value, and so he left them behind without hesitation.

The creature camp was as he had left it—a scattered assortment of crude shelters and makeshift structures. The fires had long since gone cold, and the faint smell of ash and earth lingered in the air. Malric's empty sockets scanned the area with precision, taking in every detail. He did not care for the creatures themselves, but their tools—primitive though they were—held potential.

Malric moved through the camp, methodical and silent. His skeletal hands shifted aside debris and overturned crude wooden tables. He found jagged scraps of metal, likely scavenged by the creatures, but they were too corroded to be of immediate use. Near a pile of discarded bones, however, he found what he was searching for: tools.

Among the heap was a chipped stone, the edge sharp and worn from use. A crude hammer of hardened wood lay nearby, its surface splintered but serviceable. Malric picked them up, turning them over in his hands. They were rudimentary at best, but for now, they would suffice.

Seating himself on the ground near the pile of bones, Malric began his work. His hands moved with an uncanny precision, guided by instinct and fragmented memory. He took one of the creature bones, a femur that had survived relatively intact, and began napping it with the stone.

Each strike chipped away at the bone, sending small fragments scattering across the ground. Malric's movements were deliberate, each blow carefully measured to shape the bone into a usable implement. He worked quickly but efficiently, and soon the femur had been honed into a rough blade.

Next, he turned his attention to the stone itself. Using the crude hammer, he chipped away at its edges until it formed a jagged but sharp point. This, too, became a weapon in his hands.

The tools were primitive, but they held promise. Malric tested the bone blade against the remains of a nearby creature corpse, running it along the surface of the flesh. It cut well enough, though it lacked the elegance of steel.

As Malric finished his work, the first rays of sunlight pierced through the treetops. The camp was bathed in pale golden light, the shadows of the night retreating into the corners of the forest.

Malric turned his gaze upward, his empty sockets fixed on the sky. The sunlight washed over his skeletal frame, revealing every crack and crevice. He felt no discomfort, but something about the light made him pause.

He lowered himself to the ground, settling into a stationary position. His tools rested by his side, his weapons within reach. As the day began, Malric became perfectly still, blending into the environment like a lifeless artifact of the night.

The sunlight continued to rise, and the forest stirred with the sounds of waking life. Yet Malric remained unmoving, a silent sentinel in the remnants of the creature camp, waiting for the cover of darkness to return.

========

The morning air was crisp, filled with the chirping of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves. A group of four young adventurers trudged through the forest, their gear clinking softly with each step. The leader of the group, a wiry man with shaggy brown hair and an oversized sword strapped to his back, carried an eager grin. His name was Ryn, and though his armor was slightly dented, his enthusiasm was unshaken.

"Alright, everyone," Ryn said, gesturing dramatically ahead, "this is it. The guide said the ruins were just past that ridge. By the end of the day, we'll have treasure spilling out of our pockets!"

Behind him, a petite redheaded woman named Lila rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. "You're always so dramatic, Ryn. What if it's just another pile of rocks?"

"Then we'll make it the best pile of rocks anyone's ever seen!" Ryn shot back, grinning.

"Ryn’s enthusiasm might kill us faster than any monster out here," muttered Kellen, the group's archer. He had sharp features and a knack for sarcasm, though the easygoing banter kept the group moving forward.

The fourth member, a timid cleric named Farin, adjusted his spectacles nervously. He was the youngest of the group, barely out of his apprenticeship. His staff clattered against the ground as he kept pace with the others.

As the group moved deeper into the forest, the path became more rugged. They took a break near a stream, their chatter filling the air.

"You know," Lila said, leaning against a tree, "when we get rich, I’m buying a tavern. A proper one, with good ale and no mold on the walls."

Ryn laughed, tossing a pebble into the water. "A tavern? You? I thought you'd want something more... exciting."

"Owning a tavern is exciting," Lila countered. "It's steady money, good stories, and I don't have to babysit you anymore."

Kellen snorted. "I’d buy a horse. A fast one, so I can outrun whatever stupid ideas Ryn gets us into next."

"Ha! Like I’d let you ditch us," Ryn said, pretending to look offended.

Farin shifted uncomfortably, his voice hesitant. "I think... I think I’d give the money to my family. They need it more than I do."

The group fell quiet for a moment before Ryn clapped a hand on Farin’s shoulder. "That’s noble of you, Farin. But you better keep some for yourself, yeah? Buy yourself something shiny."

The cleric smiled faintly. "Maybe. I just want to make sure this all means something, you know? That we’re doing the right thing."

Ryn stood, stretching dramatically. "Don’t worry, kid. We’ll be fine. Stick with us, and you’ll be a legend in no time."

Kellen raised an eyebrow. "Bold words from the guy who nearly got us killed by a boar last week."

Lila laughed. "I still can’t believe you tripped on your own sword."

"Hey, that boar was faster than it looked!" Ryn protested, waving his arms for emphasis. "And besides, we made it out fine, didn’t we?"

"Sure," Kellen said dryly. "But maybe next time, don’t lead with your face."

The group laughed, their spirits high as they resumed their journey. Yet, as they moved deeper into the forest, the atmosphere began to shift. The trees grew denser, their gnarled branches casting eerie shadows. The air felt heavier, colder.

Farin shivered, clutching his staff tighter. "Is it just me, or does it feel... different here?"

Ryn waved off the concern, though his grip on his sword tightened. "Relax. It’s just the ruins. You’re probably just spooked because we’re close."

But none of them noticed the silence that had fallen over the forest, the absence of birdsong and rustling leaves.

Their jokes and dreams hung in the air, fragile and fleeting against the oppressive stillness of the ancient woods.