(Charles)

The bell chimed again, signaling Charles’s departure from the alchemist’s shop. A panicked elf bolted past him on the sidewalk.

‘Thief?’ he wondered, then recognized the elf’s tunic; it marked him as a member of the local guild, Nightshade. A guild member moving that fast could only mean trouble. ‘Dylan? No, he’s still in the arborhearth.’ He looked up to see smoke rising into the sky over Merchant’s Circle. ‘Should’ve placed a brand when I had the chance.’ Without giving his oversight a second thought, he sprinted toward where he’d left Dylan.

As Charles approached, he felt a familiar aura—Dreadfang. He hadn’t expected Dreadfang and Rono to attack within city limits. An unfortunate miscalculation on his part, costly all around. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have prepared better. The pair knew his destination and waited for the right moment to strike. Leaving Dylan behind was the moment they were looking for.

He slowed his pace slightly, unable to sense Rono’s aura. ‘Rono’s too cautious. Dreadfang’s alone.’ Charles arrived to find Dylan collapsed on the ground, his arborhearth engulfed in flames. He steadied his nerves, remembering: Dylan’s self-resurrection ability would kick in. Charles saw Dylan, covered in arc burns and frostbite—the handiwork of Dreadfang.

‘He’ll be fine.’ Charles watched as the body remained unmoving. ‘Probably.’ Dreadfang didn’t hold back during his attack, easily overpowering Dylan’s mostly mundane constitution.

The same elf from before was beside Dylan. He held out his hand, casting a spell: Pale turquoise tendrils shot from his fingers, surrounding the chubby man’s body. Dylan’s skin tightened while the bones underneath thickened, yet, disturbingly, he appeared both gaunt and fat. Dropping to his knees, the elf bent over to sit Dylan up.

Dylan’s burnt chest crackled, expanding as he gasped for breath. Between coughs, Dylan asked, “Did you just… resurrect me?” His shirt was in tatters, and arc burns marked his chest. Black patches of frostbite mottled his nose and lips.

Charles figured Dreadfang hit him so hard that he forgot about his own ability.

“What?” The elf blinked in shock at Dylan’s self-resurrection. “No—I mean, it was close, but I’m sure I got to you just in time.”

Dylan coughed into his fist. “I’m like ninety-nine percent sure you—” He noticed Charles. “Oh excrement, he’s here.” Both Dylan and the elf looked up at him.

Charles reached inside the bag, pulling out a few potions and the grenade. He slipped them into pouches along his belt, tossing the rest of the bag to a very dead-looking Dylan, who grunted as it landed in his lap. Then Charles walked up to the engulfed arborhearth and opened another chest, thinking of the resonating dagger he’d need. His Hot-blooded passive kept the heat manageable as he grabbed the dagger and slammed the lid shut.

Walking away from the burning arborhearth, he dismissed the summon with a thought. With nothing left to fuel it, the flames snuffed out.

Charles held out his arm, summoning his phoenix. Heat coursed from his shoulder to his wrist as the small mythical bird materialized, perched on his arm. [Summon Phoenix] was a Mythical ability from his Fire framework. It summoned a hatchling mythical phoenix, as the name implied. The creature was swift, with an ability to sense heat. It made for a great, if temporary, scout at this rank.

The phoenix existed in a delicate balance: too hot, and they’d burn up; too cold, and they’d flameout. Once summoned, its temperature constantly decayed, with ability activations causing sudden surges of heat.

Charles leaned in toward the small inferno and whispered, “Find the campfire just outside of town with four heat signatures.” The phoenix took off, flying up into the sky like a flare. Charles would’ve preferred a less flashy summon, but during the day, the bird was hard to see unless you were looking for it. He turned to the Nightshade mender. “Watch him.” They simply nodded in response.

Charles bent down and placed his hand on the ground next to Dylan. A pulsing red circle burned into the ground, sizzling as it spread. [Scorching Brand] was a Dimension ability, also from his Fire framework. It allowed him to teleport back to the brand. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. If his plans went awry, he’d use the brand, and they’d have a head start on reaching the League of Adventurers’ Hall. Even those fools weren’t dumb enough to attack the League.

The safe play would be to report the attempted murder of a League-protected refugee and let them sort it out. But he’d planned for this. It’s why he pushed so hard to get Dylan registered. They’d made an unfortunate mistake, and Charles intended to capitalize on it. Afterwards, he’d put in a request for Vera as compensation instead of a lootbox. Freeing Vera was his plan all along; sticking it to Ebonscale was just a bonus.

Charles looked up to see his phoenix circling above an area, signaling that they’d found what they were looking for. ‘That didn’t take long.’ He knew their position. Dropping his aura, Charles sprinted toward them. A handful of minutes later, he was stalking around their camp. The phoenix flamed out due to inactivity just before Charles arrived on scene. He’d have liked to use its Dive-bomb ability, but held off until he was in position.

Noting the direction of the breeze, he altered course to stay upwind, ensuring they wouldn’t catch his scent. Okamijin were notorious for their well-developed sense of smell. He crept toward them, slow and deliberate, as they argued, activating Locate Weakness on Dreadfang, Rono, and both theropods.

[Locate Weakness] was a Perception ability from his Dark framework. It detected past physical and mental traumas to exploit. He felt bad using it on Vera but couldn’t afford to take the chance with a four on one scenario.

“You idiot.” Rono paced back and forth by the campfire, frustration twisting his features. He kicked a stone into the woods. It skipped past Charles, missing him by two reaches.

“At least I’m no coward,” Dreadfang growled back, baring his teeth.

Rono walked right up to Dreadfang, jabbing a finger at his face. “I told you we should have reported back to Ebonscale first.”

Dreadfang loomed over the shorter man. “And let him escape again?”

Rono pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “What if Guildmaster Maeve wants to interrogate him?”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“You think she wants to talk to him?” Dreadfang’s shoulders slumped at the mention of her name.

Rono spoke softly. “We don’t know what she wants, Dreadfang.” Then his voice hardened again. “Because we didn’t ask!”

“At least I got revenge for T’alanza. She would have wanted that.” Dreadfang reached up, touching one of his tribal necklaces, as if seeking comfort.

“I’m glad we could make your dead girlfriend happy.” Rono shot back. “We’ll probably be dead before the end of the week.”

‘Or sooner,’ Charles thought dryly.

Vera noticed Charles, about to blow his cover with her usual greeting. Quickly, he brought a finger to his lips, signaling for her to keep quiet. Her eyes narrowed, flicking between him and Rono. Slowly, she stalked toward the other theropod.

“Shut it,” Dreadfang said, waving a dismissive hand. “I was in and out. He was just a mundane. I killed him and got away clean.”

“And what part did this mundane play in the attack on the stronghold?” Rono crossed his arms, his glare demanding a response.

Dreadfang shrugged. “What does it matter?” he asked dismissively.

Rono grit his teeth, barely holding his rage. “It matters because that’s exactly what Guildmaster Maeve is going to want to know.”

“Well…” The okamijin nova took a moment to think, his first one, if Charles had to guess. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“That’s my point, you buffoon!” Rono spun away from Dreadfang, pacing furiously. “And now we’ll never know.” His fists clenched at his sides. “Because you went and killed the only person who had the answer!”

Dreadfang grunted, his jaw tightening as he realized Rono was right. “Well, they can’t pin it on us. I was in and out quick enough.”

“First off—it wasn’t us—it was you. And second, because you can’t keep your muzzle shut. Get a round of beer in your belly and you’ll be boasting to Guildmaster Maeve herself. Going on about how you tore out his guts with your own claws.” Rono jabbed a finger at Dreadfang.

“I—I did no such thing. I only punched him, and it wasn’t even ten times.” Dreadfang folded his arms defensively.

Vera stalked over to the other mount. She snapped at her sister, who cawed and then hissed. Charles had seen this before: Fu-tang had taught all theropod riders to look out for this behavior. Vera was claiming pack leader, and neither Rono nor Dreadfang was paying attention. Their only hope was if her sister challenged the claim.

“Knock it off.” Rono picked up a stick and chucked it at the two theropods. Vera’s sister hopped out of the path of the stick. The stick landed harmlessly, but the damage was already done. He’d pissed her off enough to join Vera’s pack. She made a clicking noise deep in her throat. Vera had successfully conscripted her.

Canceling Locate Weakness on Vera and her sister, he watched as they quietly positioned themselves, ensuring Rono and Dreadfang were between them. He slipped the second dagger into an extra sheath on his belt and readied his bow. He waited for Locate Weakness to finish.

[Dark orb] [Locate Weakness] complete. Weak points highlighted.

[Dark orb] Dreadfang is mourning the loss of his draconi mate, T’alanza.

[Dark orb] Rono is terrified of the theropod, Vera.

‘That’s unfortunate,’ Charles thought. He’d hoped to discover a new mental vulnerability. He’d only get one shot before Dreadfang would activate his defense and start shooting down all projectiles. Standing, he took a steadying breath, notched an arrow, and took aim at Dreadfang’s highlighted elbow. Both his arrow and breath released simultaneously.

Dreadfang howled in surprise as searing pain ripped through his elbow. The arrow’s shaft lodged in the joint, rendering it inoperable. Wasting no time, Charles fired shot after shot, anticipating Dreadfang’s predicted response.

‘Stage one: trigger defense.’ Charles aimed for the other weak point marked on the okamijin’s hand. The second arrow went wide. The third missed, but still lodged itself in his thigh. Hitting such a small target at this distance proved exceptionally challenging. The fourth arrow exploded mid-air, shot down by a micro firebolt. At last, the pincushion activated his ranged defensive ability.

“Traitor!” Dreadfang barked when he saw his attacker. Purple blood trickled from the wound as he growled, yanking the arrow from his leg with his good arm.

It didn’t hit any arteries. ‘Unfortunate.’ Charles thought. He would’ve liked to see spurts of blood, a sure sign of nicking or severing an artery.

‘Stage two: separate.’ His original plan was to take on all four of them in stages, but Vera’s revenge offered a different opportunity. She’d be the wedge to drive both adventurers apart, preventing them from supporting each other.

It was easy to tell when Rono’s aura was active. Technological plates unfolded along his spine, and the muscles in his arms transformed into steel-cabled fibers, boosting his unarmed attacks and blocks. A brawler archetype, Rono was a decent fighter.

Vera crouched low, readying herself to pounce. She let out a sharp squawk at Rono, demanding his attention. This was how she hunted—sowing terror into her prey, forcing them to flee and giving her the perfect opportunity to give chase. Rono’s face paled. A flicker caught his eye; his head snapped to the side as he saw a second theropod circling to flank him.

“Mother help me.” Rono’s attention bounced between the two approaching pack mates. His boots transformed into cloven feet, and he sprinted deeper into the forest, giving Vera exactly what she wanted. She cawed with glee, her eyes gleaming, and both raptors chased after him.

“Fine…” Dreadfang cradled his wounded arm, watching his partner abandon him. “I’ll do it myself.” He wrestled with the arrow lodged in his elbow, howling in rage as he only worsened the wound.

‘Stage three: negate healing.’ Charles also knew Dreadfang’s archetype was nova, specializing in area-of-effect damage. He planned to use that against the okamijin. Taking cover behind a thick tree, he readied another arrow and waited the full second. Trigonometry showed the path of the arrow with a crimson line only visible to Charles.

[Trigonometry] was the passive ability from his Ranged framework. It displayed the path of his projectiles, including any ricochets, and activated after one second of holding a primed shot.

Charles stepped out from behind the tree, placed the crimson line on Dreadfang’s head, and released his shot. Immediately, he took cover, relying on Proprioception to track what happened next. Dreadfang’s defense intercepted the arrow again. Charles noted with satisfaction that the defensive was still up. Longer cooldowns usually offset longer duration abilities.

“You’ll die like T’alanza,” Charles taunted from behind the tree. “Alone, full of terror and regret.” He needed the nova to transform.

Dreadfang bit at the arrow lodged in his arm, growling as he barked, “Don’t you say her name!” Gripping the arrow’s shaft with his free hand, he whimpered before snapping it. His mangled elbow was now free, the broken arrow tossed to the ground. “I’ll show you terror.” Dreadfang’s growl turned into a cruel laugh.

Charles needed to be careful. Thanks to Dreadfang’s aura, the more damage he took, the deadlier he’d become. Dreadfang preferred to hold off on healing to maximize his damage. This would give Charles the time and destructive window he needed to carry out his plan.

The rhythmic crackling chorus told Charles that his opponent had finally used one of his transformations. White prisms sprouted from Dreadfang, distorting his form and covering his body. A spectrum of colors danced across the trees, surrounding the area in a dazzling display of scintillation. Charles clenched his jaw and readied himself for what came next.

Dreadfang continued laughing, his injured arm still hanging limp at his side. He didn’t need arms for his next ability. His crystal shell exploded from his body in a burst of razor-sharp shards, shredding everything they struck. White shards coated all the trees facing Dreadfang.

‘How long until—’ The delayed secondary explosion Charles had been waiting for finally erupted, shotgunning bark, wood splinters, dirt, and rocks into the air, further shredding the area. Dreadfang stood on a slightly raised circular pillar—the only ground that wasn’t pelted with shards. The area surrounding him was now cratered, and soil rained down around them both as he kept laughing. Only the larger trees still stood, although stripped of their bark, missing half their trunks, and doomed to a slow, rotting death.

Not even Charles had made it through unscathed. Green blood oozed from minor cuts and scrapes. His clothing had absorbed most of the damage. Ripped, tattered, and full of holes, they wouldn’t protect him again. Unfortunately, Charles needed Dreadfang to do that again.