The clearing was a mess of torn-up grass and scattered luggage. David sat outside, on a chunk of moss-covered rock, the femur from the dead warg resting across his knees. The bone was the size of a fence post. His job for the afternoon was singular: turn the monster's leg into a pile of spears and javelins. The next hunting trip had a dual purpose: field-testing the limits of his control over Mara and seeing what her necromancy could actually do when pointed at something other than him.

  He could feel her now, back in the wreckage. It was like a sixth sense, but instead of a vague feeling of direction, it was the specific, unwavering knowledge of exactly where to find someone who wanted to stab you in the kidney.

  At least she's consistent.

  He ran a hand over the bone's surface. [Infernal Thrall] was a live wire hooked to his brain. Demonic energy cooked humans—Mara’s near-liquefaction proved that. So a skill using that energy for control… its original users probably had more tentacles than feelings. The potential was there. He could feel the tether to Mara, a constant hum of suppressed fury. He could yank it, freeze her, or, he was pretty sure, crank the power and pop her like a blister. File that under 'break glass in case of emergency'.

  It paired perfectly with his portals. Open a door, send the angry puppet through first, take whatever comes out. Simple. The problem was the doors. Every time he’d made one bigger than his palm, something on the other side had tried to redecorate the area with his intestines. Leveling the portal skill was a gamble he wouldn't take until his other skills caught up to its danger A bigger portal might summon something he could stab. It might also summon something that used stabbing as a handshake. He’d keep them small. Weapon-sized. Not idiot-sized.

  He got to work. First, he triggered [Calm Mind]. The background noise of the camp faded, the grain of the bone under his fingers sharpening into focus. He held his left hand over it, and a blade of dark, hazy heat-shimmering energy coated his fingers. With his right, he focused, and a portal the size of a coin ripped open in the air just above the femur.

  "Tell me you're not about to open a gate to someplace that screams," a voice said.

  Rhea stood a few feet away, her arms crossed. She looked at the bone, then at the humming, silent rift in the air.

  "Just using it as a power tool," David said, not looking up. He guided the demonic edge into the portal. It sheared through the super-dense bone like it was soft clay, a clean section thumping onto the grass. Handy. Opens a door to screaming hell-dimensions, also works as a bone saw. Multifunctional.

  "It looks unstable," Rhea said, her tone flat. She didn't back away, just watched his hands, her eyes tracking the energy. "One wrong move and you could slice your own arm off. Or summon something that does it for you."

  "That's why I'm practicing now. Better here than with a warg breathing down my neck." He tried to activate [Battle Sense], hoping for some insight into the weapon's balance. Nothing. The skill was apparently on strike unless there was something actively trying to kill him. Lazy.

  He practiced feeding a trickle of Demonic Energy into the portal skill, making the air waver without fully tearing. The last thing he needed was to be mid-swing and accidentally redecorate the clearing with a surprise from the hell-dimension.

  Next, he tried feeding a single drop of Mana into the portal—not demonic energy. The thing shuddered violently, the edges fraying like over-stretched fabric as a high-pitched whine filled the air. It stabilized just before it looked ready to paint the trees with pieces of him.

  Yeah, he wasn't doing that again.

  Rhea watched for another moment, her expression unchanging despite the near-spatial explosion. "Huh. Just make sure your new toys don't get the rest of us killed." She turned and walked back towards the main group, her posture straight, already scanning the tree line.

  "I'll do my best," he said, his tone flat. “No promises.” The next hunt would be interesting. He had a new weapon to test, and a dangerous, resentful asset to field-test. It was time to see what his tools could really do.

  David looked at the bone spear in his hand, then at the tiny, unstable portal he'd just used to shear a bone splinter. Portal Magic. The name itself was the clue. He'd been using it wrong. He'd been using the tip of the spear to open the rift. The skill wasn't 'Weapon Infusion,' it was for making holes. He was using a key to hammer a nail.

  He set the physical spear down. Focusing, he channeled [Demonic Energy Mastery], trying to push the raw, chaotic power through his fingertips to tear a portal directly into the air. The energy writhed and sparked, refusing to coalesce. It was like trying to thread a needle with a rope made of anger and static. Using weapons as a medium truly made it easier. The attempt fizzled, draining a significant chunk of his achieved calm. So it needs a physical focus. Or a conduit. Damn.

  The failed effort brought up another puzzle. Why didn't absorbing Jamie's ice work during the fight with the colossal hobgoblin? He turned the memory over. It can't be the skill. [Energy Absorption] should have triggered. So it must be the ice itself. Maybe the ice doesn't hold energy. Or it doesn't count as a valid energy type for the skill to recognize. It was a dud resource.

  The clue was the heat absorption. His eyes widened. He sucked in the heat, and the world got cold. Really cold. So cold was just what happened when he took all the heat away. Cold didn’t count.

  His mental concentration was shot, a dull throb building behind his eyes. Deciding to save the remaining dregs of his mana for the actual hunt, he picked the bone spear back up. He finished the job the old way, using the demonic-infused point to carve the last of the bone. It was manual labor, but it was stable. Good practice for control, if nothing else.

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  "Hey, bone-smith," Jamie called out, strolling over with an energetic, mocking grin. "Are those for the squirrels? Let them fight their own wars, man." He nudged one of the finished javelins with his foot. "They look kinda... flimsy."

  Rhea stood a few paces back, arms crossed. A slight, genuine smile tugged at her lips as she watched Jamie's antics, her expression stoic but personable. She didn't say a word, to David, she might as well have been cackling.

  David looked from Jamie's grinning face to Rhea's amused silence. A plan clicked into place, simple and beautiful.

  "Funny," David said, his voice flat. "Since you're so observant, Jamie, you're on point with Mara for the hunt. You get to be the official 'hello' committee for anything with teeth."

  Jamie's grin vanished. "Wait, what? Point? Come on—"

  Should've stuck to making snowballs. David filed the kid’s panic under ‘acceptable consequences.’ Maybe he’d think twice next time he felt like leaving a Glassdoor rating.

  David was doing a final check on his gear, making sure the bone javelins were secure in the makeshift harness on his back. Rhea, Jamie, and a silent, seething Mara were ready to move out. That's when Corbin and Evans walked up. Evans stood slightly behind Corbin, his calm, observant eyes taking in the whole scene—David, the hunting party, the state of the camp. He was quiet, but he missed nothing. Watching for weak points. Standard procedure.

  Corbin, on the other hand, looked terrible. He was pale and sickly, like a man running a high fever. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead and his breathing was heavy and labored. He’s not fine. That’s the look of a body losing a fight.

  "You good?" David asked, looking at the marshal's clammy skin. "You look like you're fighting a flu and losing."

  "Fine," Corbin grunted, the word strained. "It's just stress. Or that warg meat. I put points in Constitution. I'll get over it." Tough guy act. Points don't fix poison or system shock. Corbin's face had a greenish tint and he looked like he was about to throw up, but then his back straightened, a clear, deliberate effort to fight through the sickness. He locked his bloodshot eyes on David. Pushing through. Stupid, but useful. Shows willpower. You gotta respect the commitment. It's like watching a pigeon try to fight a cat.

  "Listen," Corbin said, forcing the words out. "Mara told us about your trip. If you see anything big in those woods—the colossal hobs, the elites—don't be a hero. The big one’s armor is like plate steel. You go for the weak spots. The joints, the eyes. Hit fast and fall back." David just listened, internally dismissing every word. Solid advice for someone who hasn't already turned one into a colander. Armor’s tough, but it’s not invincible. Just need the right angle and enough force. My problem was not even close to ‘knowing where to stab’, it was surviving the counter-swing.

  Corbin took another shaky breath, his composure a thin veneer over his obvious illness. "That's not why we came. We need to talk about the hobgoblin scouting squad. The one that hit the camp." Finally. The actual point. Wasted energy on the small talk.

  David gave a slight nod, his expression neutral. Let’s hear it. What’s the official line? He could feel a spike of cold attention from Mara through the tether. She was listening, her own success tied directly to whatever trouble this was about. Good. She’s paying attention. Now we just have to not get shot. No pressure.

  Evans finally spoke, his voice a low, steady counterpoint to Corbin’s strain. “They were organized. More than animals.” No kidding. Animals don’t wear armor or coordinate attacks—the last squirrel I saw with a sword had a much better pension plan. David kept the thought to himself, just shifting his gaze to Evans. Corbin was the showy one, the guy who made a lot of noise. Evans was the one you had to watch. Nobody expected to get shot by the nice guy.

  “I don’t think they were just scavenging,” Corbin continued, wiping his sleeve across his forehead. “They had a formation. They were probing our defenses.”

  Our 'defenses'. The "hide behind the flimsy chair" strategy was not a sound one—David knew that from personal experience. They were counting us, taking notes; sizing us up. They'd definitely gone back to tell their friends. This was an RSVP. For an army, maybe? Another camp, like theirs? What if the gamer kids were right, and there was a demon king, or a goblin king? A hobgoblin king?

  This changed everything.

  So they have Evans, Mara’s, and everyone’s descriptions and displayed abilities now. "Human, looks tired, probably tastes salty." Fortunately they didn’t have David’s or Rhea’s or even Jamie’s, as they had missed the main event. More like the announcement, David thought; now we’re on the menu for a much bigger party.

  David’s mind was already running through the new variables. Perimeter security. Early warning. Escape routes that weren’t just running blindly into the woods. He looked past the two marshals, scanning the tree line. They could be out there right now. Watching this little meeting. Noting who looks like a leader, who looks weak. He focused back on Corbin. “You think they’re coming back.”

  It was a statement of fact. Corbin’s grimace was all the answer he needed.

  Corbin’s breathing hitched. “There’s more. My group… we ran into another squad deeper in. They… they looked like they were searching. One had a net. Tried to wrap me up in it.” He swallowed thickly. “They had marks. Brands, like the imps, burned right into their shoulders.”

  Evans, who had been silent, spoke up, his low voice tight with a raw, hateful edge. “The ones that hit the camp were worse. Like fucking Avengers. They used the big one as a shield. It just ate the bullets. Didn’t even flinch.” He looked away, jaw clenched. “Thank Christ none of them had magic like that ogre. But it was bad. We had to run.”

  So they got their asses handed to them twice. David kept his face neutral. Net. Brands. Coordinated tactics. This is an organized military operation. We’re insurgents behind enemy lines.

  Corbin’s shoulders slumped, the tough-guy act finally crumbling. “We need your skills, David. I’m serious. Sending out small groups... it’s a death sentence now. We saw what’s out there. The hobs, the scouts... we can’t handle them alone.” He gestured weakly toward the woods, then to the pile of airline amenity kits and backpacks. “We need to stick together. A real hunting party, safety in numbers. To get water, to hunt, to watch for their patrols. We need you.”

  David let the silence hang for a split second. He watched the sweat drip from Corbin’s chin, saw the shame in his eyes at having to crawl back after trying to form his own little faction. How the mighty have fallen. He let the moment stretch, enjoying the subtle tremor in Corbin’s hand.

  After a few seconds of tense silence, David spoke. “Fine. I’ll join you. I’ll help.”

  Relief washed over Corbin’s face.

  “But… we have a problem,” David continued, his voice flat. “You need to start a fire. A big one. Get it ready before we move out.”

  “A fire? Why?”

  “Because you’re cursed,” David said, looking him dead in the eye. “That Colossal you ran from? My skill can see it. It’s a tracking beacon. That’s how the scouts found you. It’s how they’ll find everyone else.” He let the lie settle, watching the color drain from Corbin’s already-pale face. “If I don’t act, you’re a dead man. The fire is the first step.”

  Corbin stared, his feverish eyes wide with a new kind of terror. Obviously, I’m lying. But he doesn’t know that. And now he’s my problem to solve. The fire wasn't for a cure, but for a conversion. A thrall with a gun and combat training was far more useful than a dead marshal or a rival. The hunt was about to gain a new, permanent member.