David moved toward the group clustered near the torn wing of the plane. Henderson and one of his buddies were already there with Corbin and Evans, standing in a loose, quiet circle. The fact that their third friend wasn't with them said everything. A couple of other guys, maybe in their thirties, completed the group. One, an older man with a severe crew cut, introduced himself as Robert in a low grunt. Aside from Robert, only Corbin acknowledged David with a sharp nod; the others looked at the ground, the trees, anywhere but at him.

  Near the broken fuselage, three men who clearly knew each other were having a heated, whispered argument. They kept glancing between the dark tree line and the relative safety of the wrecked plane. Finally, they turned and climbed back inside. Probably the smartest decision they’ve made all day, David thought.

  He was a little surprised to see Mara and Rhea there, faces drawn but determined. His eyes then landed on Levi’s body, dumped unceremoniously at the edge of the clearing. A spectacularly bad idea. It was like ringing a dinner bell for every scavenger in the area. The body was stripped down to its underwear, a massive wound visible on its chest. Okay, so someone is thinking about resources. But leaving it out in the open is just asking for trouble. He dismissed it. If they want to use a corpse as landscape decoration, they can deal with the consequences.

  “What are we looking at for supplies?” David asked, breaking the silence. “Water? Food? It’s been six hours.” Six hours. It feels like we’ve been stuck in a particularly brutal movie for a week.

  Corbin tilted his head toward a small collection of items. “We’ve got some bottles, a few plastic bags. And that.” He nudged a large, rusty iron canister with his foot. It looked like it had once held something industrial, maybe fuel. Or the distilled essence of despair.

  I am absolutely not cleaning that thing, probably has a soul in it, David decided immediately. That’s a job for our eager newcomers. Let them feel involved. He just gave a quiet nod and pulled out the dark crystal dagger. It sat well in his hand, but it was no replacement for the sword he’d shattered. A real shame. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a monster carrying a nicely polished broadsword. What a world.

  David studied the crystal dagger in his hand. It wasn’t metal, but some kind of obsidian-like stone, dark and slightly see-through. It felt incredibly solid. It was better than nothing, but it was a tool for stabbing, not fighting. The reach was too short. He needed a real weapon.

  His mind went to the possessed armor they had encountered before. Those things carried swords. Proper, full-length blades made of the same strange, durable material as his dagger’s hilt. He hadn't thought of it then, focused only on survival, but now the idea was clear.

  He needed to find one of those suits of armor, kill it, and take its sword. It was a simple, brutal equation. A few hours ago, the thought of seeking out one of those murderous constructs would have been insanity. Now, it was just logistics. How times have changed.

  “Let’s go,” Corbin said, his voice leaving no room for discussion. He turned and led the way into the oppressive shade of the trees.

  David took one last look back at the wreckage. The survivors were huddled together, shell-shocked. An older woman was praying, her gaze locked directly on him with an intensity he found both puzzling and uncomfortable. What, do I have a sign on my back that says ‘designated problem handler’?

  The moment they entered the forest, Mara, Rhea, Henderson, and Evans fell into a stiff silence. Every rustle in the undergrowth made them start. Evans was different; his eyes never stopped moving, scanning the branches and shadows with a predator's focus. Good. Fear keeps you alive. Complacency gets you eaten.

  For now, the woods were still. The quiet was its own kind of tension. I could get used to this. Hopefully the local wildlife agrees.

  The sound of water reached them a few minutes later. The effect was immediate. The group’s posture changed, backs straightening. Robert and Simeon began whispering rapidly to each other. Henderson’s face brightened. Evans quickened his pace, his injury seemingly forgotten. They broke through a final thicket and saw the stream, cutting a silver line through the dark stone.

  “Water! Thank God!” Simeon exclaimed, his voice too loud, too full of relief. He tried to push past Evans toward the bank.

  Evans moved with blurring speed, clamping a hand on Simeon’s shoulder and spinning him around. “Shut your mouth,” he growled, his face inches from the other man’s. “You’ll bring everything down on us.”

  Simeon wrenched himself free, a foolish, defiant look on his face. “Get off me! It’s just water!”

  And that’s how you become a warning to others, David thought. He closed the distance between them, his movement quiet and deliberate. “Simeon.”

  As the man turned, David drove his fist deep into his diaphragm. The air left Simeon’s lungs in a pained gasp, his eyes wide with shock. Before he could crumple, David’s hand shot out and clamped around his throat, demonic energy surging into his single arm, back, and legs to lend them inhuman strength. Robert, the older man with the crew cut, yelled as David lifted Simeon clear off the ground. Heavier than he looks. Note to self: improve lifting capacity.

  Simeon’s feet kicked weakly. David saw the rage flash in his eyes, a stupid, desperate fury. But before Simeon could act on it, Mara was there, the point of her sharpened metal rod hovering an inch from his throat.

  “Don’t,” she said, her voice flat and cold.

  Silence descended. Simeon struggled, his mouth working soundlessly. David increased the pressure on his throat for a three-count, watching the man’s face begin to purple. Understanding, and sheer terror, finally dawned in his eyes. He gave a frantic, choking nod.

  David dropped him. Simeon collapsed, wheezing and clutching his throat.

  “If you want to die, do it quietly,” David said, retrieving his dagger from where he’d dropped it. He nodded to Evans, who immediately moved toward the stream to begin assessing the water. Let the eager volunteers test it. If they’re not vomiting in an hour, we might have a win.

  Corbin, Rhea, Robert, a thoroughly cowed Simeon, and Evans began the work of filling the canister and bottles. David, Mara, and Henderson formed a perimeter. As the last container was being sealed, Rhea went perfectly still. Her hand came up, fingers splayed, then pointed like a blade into the deep shadows between two colossal trees.

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  “Contact,” David said, his voice low but carrying. The reaction was instantaneous. Containers were set down softly. Weapons were gripped. Evans’s pistol clicked as he chambered a round.

  Rhea looked at David, her eyes sharp. She pointed to herself, then to the source of the sound. She was asking for permission to engage.

  She’s confident. Let’s see what she can do. He gave a single, sharp nod.

  They moved forward together, David signaling the others to hold. After ten paces, Rhea stopped. She stood, drew her arm back, and hurled the metal javelin, carved from cooling possessed armor metal. It wasn’t a throw; it was a launch. The spear flew with impossible speed and seemed to correct its path mid-air, curving subtly around a tree branch.

  Telekinetic guidance. I really, really want that.

  A sharp yelp of pain echoed from the gloom. Rhea glanced back at him, a quick, fierce smile on her face.

  Very impressive. Gold star. “What was it?” he whispered.

  They advanced another twenty feet and found her kill. It was a wolf, but built on the scale of a sedan. Its fur was a matted, light purple streaked with black. Its claws and teeth, each as long as his hand, glowed with a soft, toxic-looking turquoise light. Magical venom, maybe? Definitely don't want to get scratched. It was still breathing, but lying on its side, a javelin lodged in its large iris. Rhea hurled two more javelins with the same unnatural force and precision, punching deep into the creature’s skull until it stopped moving. The glow in its claws faded. No identifying text appeared over its body.

  Damn. Didn't even get to see its level.

  “Juvenile Warg. Level one,” Rhea murmured, her voice tight with adrenaline.

  “I leveled up, too. Two points in mana, four in constitution.”

  “I used my skill to guide the strikes.”

  “I think we might be able to eat that,” she said, gesturing to the massive carcass. Her face was neutral, but a spark of triumphant pride was in her eyes.

  Great. She’s leveling up, has homing missiles, and is now our head chef. Overachiever. His stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. I wonder if a high constitution gives poison resistance. We could always use the historical method—find a volunteer.

  David looked at Rhea, that teasing glint still in her eyes. Better be careful. Wouldn't want to get attached. He could just picture it now: the foundation of a beautiful relationship, built entirely on a shared desire to not be eaten and the bonding experience of eating the things that wanted to eat you. A true romance for the ages. We'd have our first date over a nicely seared imp shank. Maybe share a bottle of boiled water under the hellish skies. Very romantic.

  "Let's get this back," he said, slicing through a tendon with his dagger to separate a massive hind leg. He gestured for her to take the other end. They dragged the heavy, bloody load back towards the stream. He was surprised by her complete lack of squeamishness; she handled the gore and weight with a grim practicality that even he found a bit intense. Weirdo. A useful, monster-killing weirdo, but still. At least she doesn't complain.

  Back at the stream, Corbin maintained his watchful position while Evans, Robert, and a sullen, silent Simeon stood ready. Mara and Henderson had finished organizing the water containers. Water and food. All we need now is fire with a side of poison-tester, and maybe a dimensional portal back to a world with fewer teeth. But one can't be too greedy. Though a few less imps would be nice.

  "Henderson, Simeon. You've got cargo," David said, keeping his voice low but firm.

  A barely audible whisper slipped from Simeon's lips. "You have got to be kidding me."

  Well, well. If it isn't the consequences of his own actions. I thought it would take longer for reality to catch up to his ego. The universe works fast around here. It's almost efficient.

  Rhea stepped forward and took the sloshing water bags from Simeon's hands, handing them to Robert and freeing him up. With a grunt of effort from Corbin, who provided a supporting heave, Henderson and Simeon hoisted the butchered warg onto their shoulders. It was a strange, gruesome sight—two men carrying a chunk of a monster that could have easily fit them both in its mouth. Simeon groaned, his knees buckling slightly under the immense weight, and he shot a look of pure, undiluted venom at David. Suck it up, buddy. Channel that anger into something useful, like not getting us all killed. Maybe into carrying that leg without tripping.

  The journey back to the main camp was uneventful. When they reached the clearing, Simeon, drenched in sweat and breathing in ragged gasps, simply let his portion of the carcass drop from his shoulders and collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving. The makeshift camp stirred to life at their return, people gathering with excited murmurs and even a few tentative smiles. Then, David felt a sensation against his leg—warm, soft, and utterly out of place. He looked down to see a cat, its grey fur plush and thick, rubbing against his shin. Its ears were folded forward in that uniquely endearing Scottish Fold way, and its large, copper-colored eyes held a startling intensity. And… was that a flicker of mana he sensed from it? A faint, curious energy that seemed to orbit the creature? No, that's impossible. I'm just tired. Or maybe this place is turning everything into a potential magic item. Next thing you know, the rocks will start casting spells.

  A girl of about eleven hurried over, her face etched with concern. "It's okay, Milo. Calm down. Mommy is here," she said, gently taking the cat from him and cradling it, her small hand stroking its head rhythmically.

  I hope she keeps that thing quiet, David thought. The last thing we need is a meowing dinner bell for every predator in the forest. Though if it distracts something long enough for me to stab it, maybe it's not all bad. He noted a small pile of gathered wood near the wreckage. At least someone did something useful. His eyes then fell on Levi’s body. Still lying at the edge of the clearing like a piece of discarded trash. We’ll have to deal with that soon. Maybe after dinner. Or during, if things get lively.

  "Oh no."

  The way Corbin said it—two syllables loaded with dread—made David's hand instantly tighten around the hilt of his dagger. His reserve of heat energy was completely gone, a temporary battery he'd drained. He triggered demonic energy circulation instead, feeling the raw, potent power flood his veins like a shock of lightning, while consciously holding his mana in reserve. He never wanted to be that empty again. Using both energies simultaneously felt clumsier, like trying to write two different sentences with each hand, but he decided that was a problem for later. Right now, 'later' is looking a bit uncertain.

  The ground trembled, and a crash sounded.

  Then a scream tore through the air, short and sharp.

  Rhea gasped.

  Every head turned in unison towards one direction.

  Towards two lifeless bodies. One was a girl he hadn't spoken to, a passenger with blond hair now matted with blood. The other was Robert, the man with the crew cut who'd just been at the stream with them. Both were partially crushed, limbs bent at unnatural angles.

  And then his gaze shifted up to the thing standing over them.

  It wasn't a tall man; it was a giant, a literal giant. A tower of living mottled grey skin, like weathered stone, and muscles coiled beneath it with every slight movement, easily twenty feet tall. It filled the clearing like a storm about to break. Its forearms were thicker than David’s whole torso, and it held a warclub that was essentially a thick, studded metal pole that looked heavy enough to flatten a truck, gripped by a massive hilt wrapped in stained leather and yellowed bone. Its eyes burned with a fierce, intelligent blue light, scanning the clearing as if assessing a menu, or a predator marking its prey. It moved with a calm, almost relaxed inevitable power as it looked up from the two corpses to assess the clearing, a force that could crush anything in its path, and in that gaze, you could feel the calm hunger of something ancient, unstoppable, and utterly lethal.

  Its warclub hung at his side, loose in its grip. David gulped, then his jaw dropped as he saw its level, then it dropped even further as the thing spoke.

  “Strange little sparks,” the giant said, voice grating like stone torn along metal. “This place rarely receives pieces as small as you.”

  [Ogre, lvl 25]