The three musketeers. Mia, Jamie, and the giant kid, Son.
They were clustered around Rhea, who was sitting cross-legged with a collection of warg bones and twisted metal scraps laid out before her like a demented arts and crafts project. Her face was a mask of intense concentration, a single bead of sweat tracing a path down her temple. She was practicing; trying to bend the world to her will, one chunk of debris at a time.
Jamie was, of course, front and center. "You got this, Rhea! Make it do a flip!" he urged, his entire body vibrating with enough energy to power a small town. His hair was the bird's nest David was quickly becoming familiar with and he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’s like a firecracker with a lit fuse. Just waiting for the bang. The world’s loudest assassin ever.
David’s attention shifted to Mia. Mia, it turned out, had a skill identical to Rheas, she sat a few feet away, knees drawn up to her chin, her wide, anxious eyes fixed on Rhea. But where Rhea's face was a mask of concentration, Mia's was pure anxiety. She’s just trying to make herself small enough to avoid notice. She needs to level up. “You're not even trying, are you?"
Mia flinched, pulling her knees tighter. "I... I don't want to break anything."
"Nothing here that isn't already broken," David said. "Pick something up. The fork. Just try to make it twitch. If you break it, we'll get another one from the five-star cutlery set over there." He jerked a thumb toward the wreckage.
Hesitantly, Mia focused on a single, bent fork from her pile. Her brow furrowed. Nothing happened for a long moment. Then, the fork gave a feeble shudder, lifting one prong a millimeter off the ground before clattering back down.
She looked up at David, her expression a mix of fear and a tiny spark of triumph.
"See? The world didn't end," David said. "Now do it again before you forget how."
Mia nodded, not looking at him. "It’s a little… It's... loud."
"Yeah, it is," David agreed. He watched Rhea for a second. "Seems like you've already got a good teacher to learn from." He nodded towards Rhea.
Mia finally glanced over at him, then at Rhea. "She's really good."
"She is. Stick with her. You'll get there." He pushed himself back to his feet.
He walked away, leaving her to it. The poor girl looked like a strong wind would knock her over, but if she could get a handle on the fear, that identical skill to Rhea's could make her unstoppable. It was worth a few encouraging words. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod. If she stops jumping at her own shadow, she might actually be an asset. And if not, at least Rhea will have a permanent, terrified shadow. Everybody wins.
Son was the calm in the storm. The kid was built like a refrigerator with glasses, a massive, broad-shouldered frame that looked like it should be snapping trees in half, not sitting patiently watching a telekinesis lesson. He was quietly sharpening a bone shard into a point with a piece of rock, his movements slow and precise. He's the only one of the three who looks like he's actually planning for the future, and not just the next five minutes.
Rhea let out a slow breath. A long thick leg sized javelin of warg leg-bone, sharpened to a point, trembled on the ground. Then, with a lurch, it lifted into the air. It was uncannily steady, like a fighter jet made of the bones of an abomination that sometimes wobbled with performance anxiety and an audience.
"Whoa!" Jamie breathed, his voice full of genuine wonder. "It's flying!"
"It's hovering, Jamie," Son corrected softly, not looking up from his work. "There's a difference."
"It's gonna be flying when she stabs a hob in the face with it!" Jamie shot back, his grin infectious.
David ambled over, his hands in his pockets. "Don't get too excited. Right now, it couldn't stab a pat of butter."
Rhea's eyes flashed up to him, a flash of irritation breaking her concentration. The bone shard dipped sharply before she wrestled it back under control. Good. A little annoyance from is better than surprise from a dragon demon or whatever else this place throws at us.
"See? You're making her mad," Jamie said, his face full of brilliant observation.
"I'm providing motivational feedback," David said. He watched the shard wobble.
Rhea gave him a look that could curdle milk, but she shifted her focus. The shard's wobbling decreased slightly, stabilizing into a slow, shaky orbit around her head.
"Okay, that's actually cooler," Jamie admitted.
Mia finally spoke, her voice a tiny whisper. "Can you... can you feel it too? In your mind?"
Rhea gave a tight, single nod, not breaking her focus. "It's like... having a really heavy, invisible hand."
"Awesome," Jamie declared. "I'd use mine to steal snacks from, like, a mile away."
"You'd use a superpower for petty theft?" David asked.
"Is it really theft if no one can catch you?" Jamie countered, his logic a perfect, self-serving circle that would give a philosopher a stroke. Objectively, the kid was wrong and probably on a watchlist somewhere. Subjectively, staring at this beautiful, circular nonsense, David had to admit he had a point. A brief, terrifying flash of a future where Jamie was running a wildly successful crime empire crossed his mind before David mentally set it on fire. Nope. Not a genius. Just an idiot with a good lawyer's mindset.
"Jamie. A word," David said, nodding away from the group. Jamie jogged over, still buzzing from the whole fire-and-ice spectacle. He looks like a golden retriever who just learned how to open the fridge. This should be interesting.
"Those ice panes you make," David started. "The ones you use to blind things."
"Yeah? They're good, right? Nothing gets through that glare."
"They're good for things with eyes. What if we run into something that sees with, I don't know, sonar? Or just feels vibrations? Your fancy window is just a light snack for it." It'll be like serving a single, decorative potato chip to a bear.
Jamie's grin faltered. "Oh. I didn't think about that."
"Try making it thicker. A lot thicker. Not a window. A wall. A big, dumb block of ice." Something that says 'I'm not here to dazzle you, I'm here to ruin your day.'
Jamie focused, his brow furrowed. A shimmering pane of ice formed in the air, but it wavered, thin and brittle as always. He grunted, pushing harder. The pane thickened, becoming cloudy, then opaque. With a final surge, a solid, foot-thick block of ice slammed onto the ground with a heavy thud, cracking the dirt beneath it.
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Jamie stared at the block, then let out a triumphant whoop. "Level Three! It just hit Level Three! The ice feels... denser! It's way more solid!" He pumped his fist. "Ha! You're a terrible teacher, but I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day."
"Broken clock would be more useful," David retorted. It also wouldn't celebrate being right by insulting me. "It wouldn't talk back. Now, think about shape. A block is fine. A sharp point is better. And if you can't shoot them fast enough, stop trying. Just summon the thing right over someone's head. Let gravity do the work. A big, pointy chunk of ice falling from ten feet up does a lot more than a little snowball to the face." It's the difference between a polite suggestion and a final decision.
Jamie's eyes widened, the celebratory mood shifting into a new, dangerous calculation. "Oh. Oh, yeah. I can do that."
He then looked at Son, sharpening his bone, not practicing. "You just gonna sit there and look pretty?"
Son adjusted his glasses. "I'm observing the mechanics. Understanding the theory before application increases efficiency." He held up the bone shard he was sharpening. It was now a perfectly serviceable awl. "And I'm making tools."
Kid sounds like a tiny, muscular university professor. "Theory's great until a warg is chewing on your leg. Then application is all that matters."
"Understood," Son said, his expression unchanged. He pointed a single finger at a thick magenta tree branch twenty feet away. A pinpoint of brilliant white light gathered at his fingertip for a split second before erupting in a thin, searing beam. There was a sharp crack and the smell of ozone as the branch, cleanly severed, tumbled to the forest floor. The end of the stump glowed orange, smoldering. He lowered his hand, his expression unchanged.
"Well, shit," David watched the last of the molten wood drip from the severed stump. A slow grin spread across his face.
"Okay, new plan," he announced. "Son, you're on the team. Me, Jamie, and Rhea will make sure you don't die." I've decided I like him. He's quiet and he cuts things in half. That's my kind of person.
Jamie's jaw dropped. "Hey! No fair! How'd you do that?"
"He paid attention instead of running his mouth," David said. He felt a weird, almost paternal pang of... not pride, exactly. More like satisfaction. Like seeing a tool you sharpened finally cut properly. Don't get sentimental. They're just less likely to die immediately now.
He watched them for another minute. Jamie was now trying to summon two things of ice at once and failing spectacularly—a misshapen block of ice the size of a mini-fridge materialized and a wobbly, lopsided icicle appeared about twelve feet up, hovered for a second like they was surprised to exist, and then plummeted, immediately crashing to the ground.
Mia was making her fork do a slow, shaky cartwheel. Son was back to sharpening, having proven his point. Rhea had moved on to trying to unscrew a bolt from a piece of fuselage with her mind, her face a grimace of effort.
It was time. The little show was over.
"Alright," David announced, his voice cutting through their focus. He looked directly at Jamie, then turned to his new dangerous flashlight, son. "We're going on a field trip. You, me. We're out of food and water."
Jamie's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. "A mission! Yes! Are we hunting? Scouting? Is it dangerous?"
"It's a trip to the store, you maniac. We need water, and meat. It's probably the most dangerous thing you'll ever do." Because I'm bringing you along.
"Cool! What's my call sign?"
"Your call sign is 'Jamie, shut up and don't get eaten.' Let's go."
The group assembled at the tree line, looking nothing like a heroic party and everything like a yard sale at a murder convention. David did a quick count. Himself, Rhea, Son the teen quarterback-sized laser pointer, and Jamie, who was vibrating on the spot. The kid was pale and wide-eyed, one hand clamped over his mouth like he might be sick, while the other gave a shaky thumbs-up. Someone must’ve told him about the ‘army’ theory. He looks like a kid who just won a free skydiving lesson but remembered he's afraid of heights on the way up.
At least he was still willing to jump. That put him in the top ten percent of the flying deathtrap's passenger list. Most of them were still back at the wreckage, trying to wish reality away.
Mara stood apart, her face a perfect blank, one hand resting on the hilt of the animated longsword she’d claimed. At least the sword seems enthusiastic. One of us should be.
Evans clutched a wooden shield he'd gotten from the System, paired with a sword taken from the possessed armor. A wooden shield. That's the survival equivalent of bringing a paper napkin to a knife fight. It might soak up a little blood, but it's not stopping the blade.
And then there was Corbin. The man was a walking armory, weighed down by a sword, a mace, and a halberd he’d apparently traded for with some other passenger. What kind of idiot trades away their weapons in a death dungeon? Did he offer them a timeshare, too? "I'll give you this halberd for your dagger and a firm handshake." David made a mental note to find that passenger later. Anyone that stupid was a liability, but they might also be easily parted from other useful things.
Then there were the three new people. Louis, a well-built swimmer, could make her skin turn into solid, polished chromium steel. Liam, the tall fencer, could move in a sudden, blurring burst of speed. And Alex, a guy who was cagey about revealing what he was capable of. For now, they were just two more scared people holding spears.
"Try not to trip," David said, his voice flat.
Rhea moved out first, a ghost in the undergrowth. David followed, every sense screaming. The forest was still. Behind him, the group shuffled forward, a harmony of nervous rustles and quickened breaths.
They had barely gotten out of sight of the clearing when Rhea stopped. It wasn't a pause. It was a complete, petrified halt. Her entire body went rigid.
"Rhea?" David’s voice was low.
She didn't turn. "We need to run," she whispered, the word stripped of all color. "Now."
“Wha—”
David’s [Battle Sense] detonated inside his skull, flooding his mind with a single, inescapable truth: in two seconds, everyone would be dead. He saw the arrows and lances already in flight. He saw himself die a dozen different ways. If he shouted a warning, a storm of black shafts converged on him, shredding him into a bloody mess while the rest of the volley fell on the others. He died. They all died. The only path that didn't end in a corpse was one:
David’s mind snapped into focus. He yanked on the mental tethers connecting him to Corbin and Rhea. A single, urgent command flashed between them.
All three of them hissed in unison, a sharp, synchronized command that cut through the air: "Duck! Now!"
The shadows between the trees coagulated. Tusked heads, brutish and foul, rose from behind ferns and fallen logs. They were surrounded.
Most of the passengers had heard stories about David's fight instincts, his uncanny knack for sensing danger a heartbeat before it struck. Without a second thought, they threw themselves flat against the earth.
Louis was still processing the sound, her body just beginning to tense as her mind reached for the power to harden her skin. Perhaps she hadn’t heard the rumors, or didn’t take them seriously. A black-fletched arrow punched through her skull before the metal could form. She dropped, a dead weight, onto the forest floor.
David’s mind took a snapshot of the horror show in front of them. Rather than uselessly try to see for himself, he immediately hissed at Rhea, who had previously used her distant gaze skill. "How many?"
Her eyes were wide, her voice a tight whisper. "Thirty. Three collosals. Six elites riding six adult wargs. And fifteen imps."
The numbers clicked into place in his head, a cold, clinical assessment. Three colossal hobgoblins, their bulk dwarfing the others. Six elites with apparent martial prowess, riding adult Wargs, giant and slavering, sniffed the ground. For them. Fifteen Imps chained to leashes, chittered from the branches. The hobs were deployed in a wide, practiced net.
“Three archers!” Rhea hissed.
They’re sweeping the area.
This is a coordinated military operation.
We’re the rabbits.
"BACK TO THE CLEARING!" Evans roared, his voice cracking. "GO!"
David cursed mentally at the idiots illogical order, but now, in the chaos, there was no other choice.
He sent a mental command to his thralls, and David ran.
There was no heroism, but there was a ‘helluva lot of panic. The group shattered, a stampede of pure survival instinct. They crashed back through the path, branches whipping faces, forgotten spears clattering to the ground. Behind them, the forest erupted into a cacophony of pounding feet, howls, and shrieks.
He didn't look back to see who was falling behind. He felt Corbin in his mind, and Mara at his back, heard Jamie’s ragged breaths as they tried to keep the trees between them, each headed for the closest redwood to cover their retreat. Everyone heard a choked cry—one of the new guys, Alex or Liam, he didn't know—cut short by a wet, final sound. Liam, the one with the speed, was just gone, a blur that disappeared deeper into the woods, abandoning them without a backward glance. Evans took an arrow in the back and didn’t even flinch, he just kept running.
They burst into the clearing, stumbling, gasping, their numbers already thinned. The relative openness was a lie.
The tree line disgorged the hunt. The hobs fanned out in a wide crescent, sealing off any escape. At the rear stood three colossal hobgoblins, each nine feet tall and clad head-to-toe in thick, black iron plate armor. Forming the front line were six elite hobgoblins. They wore polished steel breastplates and chainmail, and they carried a mix of axes and broadswords. Each one was mounted on an adult warg the size of a bus. The imps were tethered to the elites' saddles with iron chains, screeching and pulling at their leashes.
They were trapped. The clearing was a cage.