“I have to help them,” Mark murmured, not taking his eyes off the clearing.

  Antea grabbed his arm.

  “Help who, exactly? And how the hell do you even know who the good guys are?”

  “And how do you know who the assholes are?” he shot back.

  Antea pointed at the bound woman.

  “Maybe because someone gagged her and tossed her on the ground like a package? Doesn’t take a genius, Christ.”

  “I don’t think those two with the swords could’ve done all this carnage,” Mark said. “Look at this mess. They couldn’t even if they tried.”

  “Perfect. Then we save the girl and get the hell out. The rest we leave to whoever wants to die for charity. I’m out.”

  Mark shook his head.

  “You don’t get to decide.”

  Antea planted herself in front of him, eyes hard and glossy at the same time.

  “Mark… stop. I’m begging you. Don’t throw yourself into this shit just because you’ve suddenly got a hero complex.”

  “It’s not heroism,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s logic.”

  “Logic? In this situation?” Antea flicked his chest with two trembling fingers. “You’re out of your mind. You don’t know who the fuck they are. They might slit your throat before even thanking you.”

  Mark didn’t answer right away.

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  The words stuck in his throat.

  Antea added, softer:

  “Don’t risk your life for people who could be worse than the monster that did this slaughter.”

  And that hit him hard, like a knee to the gut.

  Not because of what she said.

  Because of how she said it.

  Because she said it.

  “It’s not a small creature,” he finally said, raising his hand slowly. “I won’t miss.”

  Antea stayed silent.

  It wasn’t approval.

  It wasn’t contempt.

  It was the kind of silence that squeezes your stomach tighter than any insult.

  He stood up.

  He turned toward her one last time.

  In Antea’s eyes was a mess: anger, fear, resentment… and underneath, poorly hidden, a new kind of worry.

  For him.

  For his skin.

  A real shiver ran through Mark.

  Deep, genuine.

  “Mark…” Antea said.

  But he was already moving.

  Chest pumping.

  Blood pounding.

  And that feeling inside… alive, dirty, sharp.

  The feeling of finally doing something that mattered.

  Mark stepped out from behind the log.

  He felt the stares on him, like thumbtacks on his skin.

  He didn’t count them. He only knew the biggest, the wrongest one, was the yellow gaze of the bear-man at the center.

  They stared at each other a second too long.

  That was enough.

  The bear-man lowered his head and charged.

  A mass of flesh and fur coming at him like a runaway moving truck.

  Mark raised his hand on reflex.

  He didn’t know if it would work, but at this point the whole “telekinesis package” came with the animation pre-loaded.

  The psychic lash snapped forward.

  It hit the creature square in the chest and hurled him backward.

  The bear-man flew a couple of meters and slammed into a tree with a sharp THUD that made the air vibrate.

  It wasn’t like the hit from the first day.

  That one had been pure rage, blackout, the universe exploding in his chest.

  This one was tighter, cleaner.

  And therefore weaker.

  The bastard got back to his knees, then to his feet.

  He shook the impact off like dust.

  Spat blood to the side and locked eyes with him again.

  Then charged again.

  “Oh, fuck off,” Mark thought.

  The second lash aimed for the legs.

  The invisible force swept his ankles out; the bear-man instantly lost balance, stumbled forward, body pitching down, arms spread, snout aimed at the mud and blood.

  He never reached the ground.

  Mark pulled the third.

  From below.

  The psychic whip exploded upward, right into the creature’s gut as he was falling.

  The hit drove into his belly and launched him upward, straight up, as if someone had hooked him to a cable and yanked hard.

  The bear-man shot vertically for several meters.

  One moment he was falling forward, the next he was airborne, legs dangling, air blasting out of his lungs in a strangled grunt.

  Mark didn’t even recognize himself in the move.

  He didn’t think.

  If he thought, he froze.

  He threw the fourth.

  From above, downward.

  The lash caught him like a giant hand and smashed him down.

  The monster’s body hit the ground with a thick, heavy sound that disappeared into the mud and blood.

  A half-jolt.

  Then nothing.

  Silence.

  Mark realized his arm was still raised and lowered it slowly.

  His brain took a second to kick back in: he heard the forest again, someone breathing, a distant moan.

  Behind him, Antea sucked in air hard, almost a choked sob.