Glacial Warden is not amongst the rarest of classes. However, in clever hands it can go toe to toe with many of the elite classes.

  - WSA Researcher Venturo -

  “Medic!”

  My jaw clenches, but my feet move.

  “Jimmy!” Cortez yells after me, but I’m already running toward the cry for help.

  Tran and Barlow follow after her, laying down suppressive fire.

  “Fall back to the planes!” one of the Sergeants yells, blood trickling down his cheek.

  “Where the fuck are the WHA!” another yells.

  My eyes trace the person who needed the medic they’re… dead. Face eaten off down to the bone, even their windpipe is missing. Strong jaws on these fucking insects. My eyes blink as a feeling rushes up my spine, flashes of images… memories. The dead soldier’s memories.

  [ 1 x Wither Charge Gained ]

  Fuck, that’s the first time I’ve gained a human wither charge. No time to think about it. The person who called me over is frantic, eyes bulging. Pulling the trigger of an empty rifle toward the sky. It’s a new recruit from Fourth Platoon.

  “Medic! Medic!” he screams in my face.

  “I’m here, they’re gone,” I say, ducking beneath the side of the sandbags. More waves of the dragonfly bugs are coming, but so far it seems like we have them pinned down.

  “We need to move!” Tran yells over the gunfire.

  Grasping the shaken soldier by the helmet I say, “Get your shit together, soldier.”

  They blink, looking down at the faceless soldier, and then back at me. A nod, and we’re moving.

  Another tingling feeling up my spine, then another. Both giving me Wither Charges. One human, one an off-worlder. Do the bugs not give me Wither Charges? Maybe they’re soulless, or too weak for me to draw it in. I keep feeling tiny prickles as I walk by their corpses, but no popup or full-blown charges.

  “Triage,” I say, activating my skill.

  Time slows, and the chorus of gunfire becomes less chaotic. Clouds of red auras shimmer on the horizon. Some of the blue ones are flickering inside the planes, my eyes squint, the auras are becoming more full… the Cleric maybe? Has to be. Too hard to know for sure with so many overlapping though.

  Good. That’s really good news.

  All of us keep low. Lead slinging above us from those creating a small perimeter around the modified transport planes. Tenny is at the front, shaping her Glacial Wall skill to make a tunnel of some kind between the planes. The four of us, Tran, Barlow, Cortez and me, we half drag the new recruit into the plane.

  “Get further back! Squeeze in!” one of the Sergeants yells, beckoning people in with a hand, “Come on, nut to butt!”

  We do as they ask, moving further back.

  I see Tenny’s magic growing and arching, she’s gripping two mana stones now. Jagged spikes descend from the top down to the ground. It’ll force the large bugs to weave through them. Too big for them to fly through, but big enough to get a piece of lead to their dome. Genius.

  As we get further back, I see there’s a pocket of space in the crowd of soldiers. Where the WHA members are sitting on supply crates.

  “Verantha, don’t waste your mana,” I hear the mage-type WHA guy groaning.

  Stepping past the gaggle of soldiers, I see he’s talking to the Cleric. Soldiers are lining up in front of her.

  “I’m a Cleric, my calling is to heal,” Verantha says, whipping her green hair, “You could help them clear the waves, Trent.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  He rolls his eyes.

  “They seem to have it covered,” the asshole WHA mage Trent says. He lets out a fake ass yawn and pulls down his pointy Gandalf wannabee ass hat over his eyes as he leans back on the plane’s hull, gripping his fancy ass tree branch staff.

  “You fucking asshole,” one of the soldiers seethes, stepping forward.

  The heavily armored one from the WHA moves their helmet toward the one stepping forward.

  A sergeant grabs the soldier before they find out what kind of vibe the armored one has.

  “Relax, they’re the failsafe, we have this under control,” the Sergeant says, patting their head and pushing them back into the crowd.

  “I’m ready for the next who needs healing,” Verantha says, with what looks like a genuine smile, no one’s that nice though, right?

  Everyone looks wary of her offer, taking a glance at the Knight, or whatever the armored one is.

  “On me,” I say, shaking my head, “I’ll patch anything up that’s not serious.”

  “Make room!” one of the Sergeant’s yells, making a larger circle.

  Verantha gives me an appraising eye, and then a nod.

  “Whatever you can’t deal with, I will mend it,” she says. There’s no hostility in her voice, unlike the douche behind her, kicking his feet up while the soldiers fight outside.

  “Thanks,” I say, turning to the crowd, softly I whisper, “Triage.”

  Light swells, sound slows. Thirteen wounded, only one’s actually serious enough for a healer… or a Cleric I guess. Releasing the skill, I point to the soldier on the right, who is clutching his leg and abdomen. The nearest Sergeant pulls them toward us.

  “If you heal him, I can deal with the rest,” I say to the Cleric, she nods, a curious look on her face.

  She places her hands together, “Goddess of Light, hear my prayer, thy humble follower beseeches thy Divine Blessing. Holy magic, blessing of Goddess Amaetha.”

  Golden light erupts from her hands, and there’s a strange fluctuation of mana in the air intermixing with hers. It reminds me of when Ulana destroyed the Lich Aderaic with a snap. So, Clerics actually channel divine power in their blessings. Interesting. Not much is made public about their classes. They’re very rare. It’s actually strange that we got assigned one, given that this is a green gate. Makes me wonder if Dorliac had her dad pull more strings.

  When I tried to report officially my inability to use healing, Dorliac smiled and said not to worry about it. Said she had me covered. Is this what she meant?

  “Triage is a rare skill,” Verantha says after she finishes healing them, she gives me a curious look again.

  “Lot of good it does,” I mutter, patching up a bleeding arm. Surface bite, hopefully it doesn’t get infected, “When we get back, straight to the hospital.”

  “Got it, doc.”

  Nodding to him, I move to the next and point for Cortez and Barlow to help. I’d ask Tran, but he never paid attention during my combat lifesaver classes.

  “Do you want help with the rest?” Verantha asks, peering at my name tape, her expression changes as she reads it out loud, “Novak.”

  “No, thanks Ma’am,” I say, addressing her as they teach us to. Same with all civilians.

  I probably shouldn’t have complained about Triage. It has actually saved my life. Slowing one’s perception of time comes in handy. Also knowing where people are and seeing their insides, well, it’s pretty useful.

  It takes about nine minutes to finish up with Barlow and Cortez helping, I check all of their wraps. Just like I taught them.

  “I could have helped you know,” Tran sighs.

  I give an eyebrow raise. Barlow shakes his head.

  The gunfire has died down now. Just the occasional pop or two for the random stragglers. Lieutenant Tenny really is a strategy prodigy. I remember when she had the Sappers lay the explosive ordnance around the gate. Perfect separations too. Exactly where they ended up being. It’s too bad it didn’t work. Painful memories get swallowed back as I remember her death. All of their deaths.

  Shaking it off, I glance over at the Cleric. The entire time we’ve been working, she’s been watching. Not in a weird way, but in a curious way.

  She approaches me, Cortez gives a wary eye to her but doesn’t say anything.

  Verantha speaks low, “I noticed that you had me heal someone whom you could have healed.”

  I try not to flinch. She’s right, and obviously she’s wrong. I used to be able to heal something like that. Before I can answer, Cortez speaks up.

  “He healed someone earlier, his mana is low,” Cortez lies, damn, she’s quick.

  “Ah, well, that makes sense. Healers draw much more mana for their craft after all,” Verantha says with a smile.

  She raises up a hand, I see a glinting silver ring on her index finger. Outstretching it toward me.

  “Let’s remedy your mana problems,” she smiles.

  I give her a strange look, but her meaning becomes clear when the purple gem on the ring begins to glow. A portal opens in front of the ring, she closes her eyes and a mana stone appears in her hand, just like that, the portal disappearing.

  “There, this should be sufficient, Novak,” she says, giving me another smile. Not in a flirty way, that might feel less off. She’s too nice. It feels off. Like she’s forcing it somehow. Or like she’s purposefully singling me out to befriend. Making me uneasy.

  “You should keep it,” I say, shaking my head, “Mana stones are better spent on Clerics rather than healers.”

  “Objectively yes, you’re not wrong,” she says, trying to push it into my hand now, “But if I’m incapacitated, who will mend me?”

  “Fourth’s medic can I’m sure, ma’am.”

  “I don’t know Fourth’s medic though,” a vein in her forehead throbs as she tries to push it into my hand for a second time.

  “Ma’am, I’m serious, keep it. I’d rather you spend it to continue helping heal people.”

  “I insist though.”

  What the fuck? If I try to drain that mana stone, she’s going to know that Cortez was lying and that I’m mostly full mana. Does she know? Is she testing me? My heart begins to pound, her smile doesn’t falter. Who is this chick?

  She tries to press it into my hand again for the third time.

  “Listen up!” one of the Sergeants yells.

  Tenny walks through the group, everyone goes silent. The Cleric lets out a suffocated sigh, putting the mana stone back in her storage ring. She’s going to be trouble. Probably.

  “Okay, we’ve cleared the last of the waves, get me a status report, I want personnel numbers and a roster of wounded.”

  “Roger, ma’am,” the Sergeants echo.

  “Also, I need a detail of soldiers to start making stronger fortifications near the plane's exits.”

  “Tracking, ma’am,” they reply.

  “Good,” she purses her lips for a second, but doesn’t speak for a few moments, wiping bug goop off her forehead, “Carry on.”

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