The bedrock around them shifted suddenly with a splitting KRAACK and nearly threw DeSean off his knees.

Art History fell on his side, but the connection between his mana and Botany’s didn’t break. She wasn’t done feeding on him.

The university girl gestured again, and the ground trembled, moaning in response. Fissures formed. Water rushed to fill the gaps. The earth drank greedily as Botany broke, snapped, and shifted what was solid ground into something she desired.

On each side of Hailey’s body, thick jagged stones shuddered upward. They gave off the same brownish-yellow glow as Botany as they rose upward, throwing small waves of water aside as little streams flowed down their porous surfaces.

With a thunderous thump, four walls about as tall as DeSean standing, and several times thicker than a human, slammed together. For a second, the Marine thought it would end there. Then Botany wretched a slab into the air with a flick of her glowing hands. She lifted it up with magic alone and topped the tomb fashioned for her friend.

By then, Art History was tuckered out. The flow of mana he was handing out stopped. The same went for Lylothia’s offering of mana, although the princess looked completely unfazed.

Botany only had herself to rely on. She looked incredibly strained and ready to fall. But the girl wasn’t done.

She pushed forward, pressed her hand against Hailey’s tomb, and breathed out more of the bedrock’s wordless song. Words appeared engraved above Botany’s hand as if worked by an invisible chisel.

Rest In Peace,

Hailey Donaldson.

“What else… should I write?” Botany asked, her voice sounding strangled.

“Thank you for saving our lives,” Art History said.

“And let this shrine honor those who’ve lost their lives fighting the apocalypse,” DeSean suggested.

“Done, and done.”

The glow disappeared from around the university girl’s body. She staggered backward, ready to collapse.

DeSean caught her and gently helped her down. Lylothia scampered from her shoulder to DeSean’s shoulder in the meanwhile.

After a long silence, DeSean looked past Hailey’s shrine and saw one of the monster carriers drawing too close for comfort. Before he could rouse the group to depart the area, Botany got to her feet and threw herself into DeSean’s chest, hugging him.

The Marine stiffened, surprised by the affection.

“Thank you so much,” the girl cried. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Seriously, thanks,” Art History said from behind her. “You didn’t have to do this, and coming to you about it was unfair of us. But… you have our gratitude. You have our willingness to follow you anywhere, Sergeant, if you’ll have us.”

DeSean opened and closed his mouth. For this occasion, he didn’t know what to say. In the back of his mind, he knew without a doubt they would be loyal to him until death split them apart. They were assets now, and they were capable enough to become something greater. They still needed work to become sharper, deadlier, more powerful, but the foundations were there. Best yet, one of them had what looked like talent for elemental magic. The other had a way of words and could be way more personable than DeSean.

That was the tactical part of him laying claim over these wayward souls. But the human in him was happy to be of service. He couldn’t quite shake that.

“Come on,” DeSean said, patting Botany on the back. “Let’s leave. We got some preparations to do before we return, kick-ass, and level up.”

***

It was the next day, and DeSean was sitting on a crate in the parking lot of Dr. Patterson’s private practice. He was not alone. There were at least a dozen people sitting on odds and ends. DeSean was sharing a fire and some vittles getting cooked on sticks. The Marine was drifting back from his recollection of last night, and it was thanks to his Focus that he could somewhat recount what had just recently happened this morning.

His optilings became a breakfast-catching racket. Soon as people started talking openly about food and their own hunger, DeSean let his Sergeant side takeover. It came in two parts. Part one, doing what he could to help those who followed him or were in similar straits. Part two, making a profit that didn’t necessarily need currency. Every military service member worth their salt knew that haggling and trading were important on the ground level.

So, DeSean raised three more optilings. His mana depth was mostly recovered due to the rest from last night, and summoning the same minions was getting easier with each attempt. The mana expense was shrinking with practice. He could probably summon another three and maintain them, but he wanted his mana depth to remain more than halfway full in case he wanted to recover to full depth quicker. He was going to practice more elemental magic later, or he might need his mana for an emergency.

Besides, six optilings were more than enough. The little pug-looking buggers were surprisingly skilled hunters.

Even though they didn’t look like it.

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Their appearances were so silly, DeSean was embarrassed by how easily a random kid or two would try to pet them or point and laugh at his minions. But the little impish goofballs hauled in the goods, enabling DeSean to offer invitations at his campfire with the promise of food as long as the new attendees had something to offer.

Now DeSean had a new pair of sneakers, jeans, and a long-sleeve shirt with a cartoon cat on the chest. He got a change of clothes for Art History and Botany both, the university students looking at him with wide eyes and smiles. Ah, yes, I must really look nice to you right now. Just know there will come a time when I’ll shove you into the point-man position and you’re going to have to win and survive for the good of the team.

The corner of DeSean’s mouth twitched, almost becoming a smirk. He schooled his expression and saw Princess Lylothia gnawing on a roasted squirrel. Her little teeth chomped into the meat before she shook her head back and forth like a little wild thing, ripping away a little piece for her to chew and swallow. She noticed him staring and used her wing to wipe away the crumbs.

“This form can enjoy meals,” she said quietly. “Do not look at me in such a way, Summoner. There is a time to eat like a princess, and there is a time to eat… well, to eat.”

“This is grossly cute,” Art History said.

“Botanical female, smack the annoying one,” Lylothia ordered.

Botany struck Art History on the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“Does that count as a favor?” DeSean asked, chuckling.

“Nay, a real favor is felt and known and recognized by the System,” Lylothia explained. “You will know when I want my favor paid.”

As they talked, DeSean kept track of the reactions of the randos sharing the fire with his people. The newcomers were still acting uneasy around DeSean’s group, though that was mostly the Marine’s fault. He had Lylothia eating a squirrel on her own separate box in front of him, and three of his minions were fooling around behind him like puppies. Three others were up in the sky, keeping a lookout for threats.

From a layman’s perspective, DeSean probably had a… presence.

It didn’t help when Mariah and her brother finally appeared, toting long guns proudly. They made a beeline straight for DeSean’s position.

He had seats ready for them.

Before Art History and Botany could ask about Social Media’s condition, the remaining member of the university trio appeared in the flesh.

She was a short and buxom blonde, her hair falling in frizzy ringlets around a pretty face with pink lips and a button nose. Her green-gray eyes sparkled with an abundance of energy. She searched all around her for something interesting to look at before going back to her phone that she clutched to her chest.

She walked briskly to her friends and threw herself into their arms with a screech. The girls made happy, chirpy, squealing noises that hurt DeSean’s ears. Just as soon as they hugged, Social Media bounded away. She suddenly appeared in front of DeSean, her eyes misty and shaky. Everyone fell silent around them.

She was breathing hard, and every time she opened her mouth to say something, she shut it and shifted around awkwardly. DeSean waited, silently wishing there weren’t so many people paying close attention to them now.

These types of things should be behind closed doors, honestly.

Finally, when DeSean started to feel awkward himself, he coughed into his fist. “So… you got something for me? If it’s to call me a horrible bastard, you’ll have to get in line.”

“Wait, no, I don’t want to say that!”

“Hm?” DeSean hummed.

“It’s just… just….” Social Media waved both hands, struggling for words.

Her eyes landed on his left arm. Part of the sleeve was hanging by his side loosely. Only when she looked did Mariah and Roberto notice the same.

“Oh, no, D, what happened?” Robert asked, alarmed.

“Jerk!” Mariah jumped to her feet. “You went out and got yourself crippled! How are you supposed to fight like this?”

Before DeSean could answer the brother and sister, Social Media squealed.

“Oh my gawd, DeSean! Ah!” She squatted against his side, fretting over him with way more energy than someone should have after facing near death. “Can I do something? Want water? Want to know the buzz that’s out there? I can do whatever you want!”

Don’t say that, DeSean said, feeling weird. Before he could address any Social Media’s offers, another major player of DeSean’s ragtag party appeared.

Quinton came out in the same clothes he wore yesterday, looking worn and ragged. But he still carried himself like the American hero most people would attribute to him by looks alone. His blue eyes found DeSean’s darker pair. With a nod of his head, Quinton made it known it was time to talk.

“Hey, Social Media, keep my seat warm. Art History, Botany, fill in Mariah, Roberto, and my seat warmer on last night.” DeSean stood up and walked out of the campfire circle. He paused to address Lylothia. “I won’t be gone long, Princess.”

“I will await your return here,” the princess said through a mouthful of squirrel. She quickly swallowed to say, “Avenge my lost.”

Heh, she already knows what this is about. DeSean chuckled as he went over to Quinton at the edge of the parking lot. There was a gazebo overlooking a stretch of woods flowing down a hill. Both men stood near the railings, looking out.

DeSean’s eyes landed on a ruined bird’s nest an optiling had ravaged for food. I might need to keep the little bastards in check.

They weren’t just silly-looking predators. They were demons from the Crimson Forest Lands, which sounded pretty dangerous. Since they were imps, the most basic of infernal monstrosities from the Seventy-Two Hells, they could do damage if he loosened the leash too much.

Then again, maybe I should take my own advice.

“How’s the arm?” Quinton asked.

“One of them is still attached, the other is rotting in an ice cooler in the suburban.” DeSean shrugged. “I think Lylothia has plans for it.”

“Plans for a decomposing arm?”

“Maybe it’s necromancy. But I doubt it. It’s not her style. Could be used as a sacrifice for something better, maybe.”

“Better than your arm… being attached and made functional?”

“Like a magic gauntlet of terror. Or a bigger, badder minion. I don’t know yet, and she won’t tell. But I’m thinking it’s going to turn out badass.”

Quinton grasped his face with one hand. “DeSean, this… this needs to stop.”

“No.”

Ever so slowly, the big All-American blond dropped his hand and turned to glare at DeSean. “It needs to stop, or you’ll pull another Jebediah and melt people who don’t deserve it. Then you’ll teach everyone who follows you that melting people is an okay thing to do to a person when it’s not. Regardless if they are your enemy, nobody deserves what you did to that man.”

“I’m not going to stop,” DeSean said, “melting people. A lot of them deserve it and whatever else Lylothia has cooking for me to learn.”

Or whatever I start to learn on my own when I get my Main Path.

Quinton swelled, his face hardening. “That demon is still a monster from a foreign land, you know?”

DeSean scowled. “And that monster is my patron, foreign or not.”

“We don’t really know her plans. Everything she’s telling us can have omissions bent to her favor if we don’t even consider how many lies she probably fed us.”

“No shit,” DeSean said. “She’s a fucking princess of Hell. She wouldn’t have that position if she wasn’t thinking a bunch of steps ahead of us. But that’s not even a real issue at this point.”

“It’s not?” Quinton grunted.

“I’ll see where things go as long as we have a reasonable relationship,” DeSean said. “And that relationship includes magic that’ll fucking melt people, or do worse shit.”

Quinton turned red in the face.

DeSean leaned forward, feeling manic. “What is it, Quinton? What do you have for me that’s going to change my mind?”