The bandit leader continued speaking, his voice carrying that unsettling resonance as his hands still swirled with that impossible darkness. His monologue stretched on, gestures growing more elaborate with each incomprehensible sentence.

  Doc stared, momentarily caught between scientific fascination and tactical assessment. The absurdity of the situation struck him—facing down a teleporting dark mage who seemed determined to deliver what appeared to be a villain's speech that no one could understand.

  "Is he... monologuing at me?" Doc muttered.

  "Evidence suggests extended self-focused speech patterns consistent with dramatic exposition," Lux confirmed. "Translation remains incomplete."

  Doc mentally shook himself. The situation wasn't funny—it was deadly. This wasn't some holodrama villain; this was a being who could tear holes in reality.

  "Lux, just how dangerous is this individual? What are our options here?" Doc kept his weapons raised, maintaining eye contact with the bandit leader.

  "Threat assessment remains extreme. Energy readings indicate capabilities beyond any entity we've encountered. Our current equipment is insufficient for direct confrontation." Lux's analysis was clinical but carried unmistakable urgency. "Recommended options include: tactical retreat utilizing Fish's phase abilities as distraction, negotiation if translation becomes viable, or lethal incapacitation attempt with synchronized attack patterns."

  "And our odds on that last option?"

  "Probability of success: 17.3%. Probability of severe injury to you or Fish: 72.8%."

  "So running is our best bet," Doc concluded.

  "Correct. However, the subject's teleportation abilities may render escape difficult."

  The bandit leader had stopped speaking and was now staring at Doc with narrowed eyes. His head tilted slightly, the darkness between his fingers pulsing with renewed intensity. He spoke again, this time with a rising intonation at the end.

  "I believe he has asked you a direct question," Lux noted. "Your lack of response appears to be causing confusion."

  Doc realized he'd been standing frozen, having an entire conversation with Lux in his head while the bandit leader waited for some response. The man's expression shifted from confident to irritated.

  "Working on translation," Lux updated. "Partial success: Question appears to involve 'joining' or 'alliance.'"

  The bandit leader's eyes narrowed further, and he raised his hand in Doc's direction.

  "Warning," Lux's voice sharpened. "Detecting unusual energy signature directed at us. Pattern analysis suggests information-gathering function. Similar to neural scanning technology but utilizing unknown energy parameters."

  Doc felt a slight pressure behind his eyes—like the beginnings of a headache.

  "Block it," Doc ordered immediately. "Like you did with the Sylvan's telepathy."

  "Implementing neural shield protocols," Lux confirmed.

  The pressure vanished instantly. Doc watched as the bandit leader's expression transformed from irritation to genuine surprise. The dark energy between his fingers flickered, momentarily destabilizing before reforming.

  The man took a half step backward, reassessing Doc with newfound wariness. His posture shifted subtly—less theatrical, more guarded. The confident smirk disappeared, replaced by a calculating stare.

  "Subject's biometric readings indicate significant shift in emotional state," Lux observed. "Heart rate elevated, pupil dilation suggests heightened alertness. Threat posture has changed from dominant to defensive."

  The bandit leader spoke again, but this time his voice was lower, the words measured carefully as his eyes never left Doc's face.

  Doc stared at the bandit leader, acutely aware of the standoff developing between them. The man's expression had shifted from theatrical confidence to something more calculating—more dangerous. The dark energy still coiled around his fingers, but the posturing had vanished.

  "Translation progress?" Doc subvocalized.

  "Minimal," Lux replied. "His dialect contains unique magical terminology that lacks reference points in our current linguistic database."

  Doc glanced quickly at the freed prisoners huddled together nearby. Carl's wide eyes reflected the eerie glow of the bandit leader's power, while Maz stood protectively in front of the smaller beings, her tusked jaw set in defiance despite her obvious fear.

  Running was tactically sound. Doc could probably push his suit's capabilities to maximum output, use Fish as a distraction with her phase-shifting, and escape into the forest. The odds favored survival.

  But the prisoners wouldn't be so lucky.

  "I can't leave them," Doc decided, a heavy certainty settling in his chest. "Not to whatever this is."

  He'd come to this planet as a scientist, an explorer of anomalies and unknown phenomena. Since crash-landing, he'd been forced to become diplomat, survivor, and now apparently soldier. None of those roles fit him properly, but abandoning these people to a worse fate than their previous captivity wasn't an option he could live with.

  "Lux, we're going to have to fight," Doc said, his voice steady despite the rapid calculations running through his mind. "And since we're clearly outmatched, I need everything."

  "Clarify parameters," Lux requested, though Doc knew the AI had already begun preparations.

  "Full combat protocols. Suit capability set to max. H.O.T. activation. Both plasma weapons at lethal capacity."

  "Warning: H.O.T. Protocol will significantly tax your metabolic systems given your recent injuries. Post-activation recovery period will be extended."

  "Noted. Do it anyway."

  "Authorization required: Delta-Seven-Omega."

  "Authorization: Delta-Seven-Omega," Doc confirmed.

  Doc felt the immediate shift as combat systems engaged. His perception sharpened, the world around him seeming to slow fractionally as Lux boosted his neural response time. The pain from his healing ribs faded to background noise as his suit adjusted internal pressure and administered targeted pain suppressants.

  The bandit leader seemed to notice the change in Doc's stance. The man's eyes narrowed, and he shifted his weight to a more defensive posture, the dark energy between his fingers intensifying.

  Doc started to aim his plasma gun—but he wasn't fast enough.

  The bandit leader made a sharp, slashing gesture with his hand. A distortion rippled through the air between them, like reality itself was being torn. Before Doc could react, an invisible force slammed into him with crushing power, sending him flying backward.

  His back hit the wooden wall of the nearest structure with enough force to crack the timbers. Doc felt the impact reverberate through his reinforced suit, the armor absorbing most of the damage but not all. He slid down to one knee, his vision momentarily swimming as his lungs struggled to recapture the breath knocked from them.

  "Impact assessment: moderate structural damage to posterior armor plating. Minor internal contusions detected. Suit integrity at 87%," Lux reported crisply.

  Doc pushed himself back to his feet, drawing his plasma blade with one fluid motion. The blue-white energy hummed to life, casting harsh shadows across his face.

  "You know," Doc wheezed, finding his voice as he squared off against the bandit leader, "where I come from, we usually start with a handshake, not throwing people through walls."

  The bandit leader's eyes widened slightly at Doc's quick recovery, then narrowed with dangerous intent. Dark energy gathered around both hands now, swirling like miniature black holes ready to devour anything in their path.

  The world slowed around Doc as H.O.T. Protocol took full effect. His muscles burned with chemical enhancement, neural pathways firing at accelerated rates as Lux integrated directly with his motor functions. The bandit leader's movements—impossibly fast to normal perception—now appeared deliberate, trackable.

  "Spatial distortion forming at his left hand," Lux warned. "Signature matches previous teleportation event."

  Doc rolled sideways as the bandit leader vanished in a twist of darkness, reappearing instantly behind where Doc had been standing. A bolt of void energy scorched the ground, leaving a smoking crater of twisted earth.

  "Predictable," Doc muttered, already pivoting to face his opponent.

  "He's using consistent patterns," Lux confirmed. "Teleportation vectors follow line-of-sight targeting. Calculating probable destinations."

  The bandit leader's face contorted with surprise as Doc tracked his movement, plasma blade humming with deadly energy as he brought it slashing toward the man's midsection. The leader barely twisted away, the blade grazing his armor and leaving a molten streak across the black plating.

  "Impossible," the man snarled—the first word Doc could understand.

  "Translation function online," Lux announced. "Basic comprehension established."

  The bandit leader's hands flashed with dark energy. He gestured sharply, and multiple void lances shot toward Doc from different angles.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Incoming projectiles. Evasion pattern suggested," Lux highlighted a path through Doc's HUD.

  Doc pushed his suit's servos to maximum output, his body moving with augmented speed. He twisted between two of the void lances, deflected a third with his plasma blade, but the fourth caught him in the shoulder. Pain exploded through his left side as the armor absorbed most—but not all—of the impact.

  "Damage report," Doc gasped, rolling behind a supply crate.

  "Left deltoid armor compromised. Minor tissue damage. Administering localized analgesic."

  The bandit leader laughed, a sound filled with cruel confidence. "No one has ever dodged my void lances before. Who are you?"

  Doc didn't answer. Instead, he fired three rapid plasma bolts around the edge of the crate. The bandit leader teleported away, exactly as Doc had anticipated.

  "Predictive algorithm complete," Lux announced. "Next teleportation destination calculated with 78% probability."

  Doc was already moving, his plasma blade arcing toward the empty space three meters to his right. The bandit leader materialized directly into the path of the swing—

  But vanished again before the blade connected.

  "Adaptation detected in teleportation pattern," Lux warned.

  The world around Doc exploded in darkness. Void energy enveloped him, crushing against his suit from all directions. Alarms blared through his neural link as his armor's integrity dropped rapidly.

  "Suit integrity at 64% and falling," Lux reported. "Unknown energy type attempting to penetrate neural shielding."

  Doc gritted his teeth against the pressure. "Redirect power from non-essential systems to shields."

  "Insufficient. Recommend alternative strategy."

  The darkness pressed tighter, like being squeezed in a giant's fist. Through the swirling void, Doc glimpsed the bandit leader, hands extended, face locked in concentration.

  An idea struck him. "Lux, does his teleportation signature have a unique energy frequency?"

  "Affirmative. Consistent harmonic pattern detected at 7.83 kilohertz."

  "Match our plasma blade to that exact frequency."

  "Warning: Modifying weapon harmonics may destabilize the containment field."

  "Do it anyway!"

  The blade in Doc's hand flickered, its blue-white energy shifting to a deeper violet as Lux recalibrated its harmonic frequency. The void pressing against him suddenly wavered.

  "Now!" Doc shouted, thrusting the recalibrated blade into the darkness surrounding him.

  The void energy shrieked like tearing metal. The pressure vanished as the bandit leader staggered backward, his concentration broken, a look of shock replacing his confident sneer.

  "How—" he began, but Doc was already charging, plasma blade leaving trails of violet light as he pressed his advantage.

  The bandit leader recovered quickly, teleporting rapidly around the clearing—but now, with each spatial tear he created, Doc's blade seemed to pull toward it, as if magnetized to the dimensional distortions.

  "Your teleportation creates weaknesses in local space-time," Doc said, tracking the man's movements with Lux's predictive assistance. "And now my blade is tuned to those weaknesses."

  For the first time, uncertainty flashed across the bandit leader's face. He raised both hands, gathering a massive concentration of void energy between them.

  "Detecting extreme power buildup," Lux warned. "Recommend immediate evasive action."

  Doc saw the massive concentration of void energy building between the bandit leader's hands—a swirling vortex of darkness that seemed to devour the very light around it. Even with H.O.T. Protocol enhancing his reflexes, the sheer scale of the attack made his stomach drop.

  "Evasive pattern initiated," Lux announced, highlighting a zigzag trajectory through Doc's HUD.

  Doc launched himself sideways, pushing his suit's servos to their maximum output. The void energy erupted toward him like a tidal wave of darkness. He twisted, narrowly avoiding the brunt of the attack—but the edge of the energy wave caught his right side.

  The impact was catastrophic. Pain exploded through Doc's body as the void energy tore through his suit's defenses. The force flung him across the clearing like a ragdoll, straight into the wooden wall of the nearest building. He hit with bone-crushing force, creating a crater in the timbers as splinters exploded outward.

  "Critical damage detected," Lux's voice sounded distant through the ringing in Doc's ears. "Suit integrity at 32%. Multiple contusions. Possible fracture to right clavicle."

  Doc struggled to breathe as he slumped to the ground. His plasma blade had been knocked from his grip, skittering across the dirt several meters away. Only his plasma gun remained, clutched desperately in his left hand.

  The bandit leader stalked forward, darkness coiling around him like a living shroud. His face was twisted in a triumphant sneer as he gathered another surge of void energy between his palms.

  "I don't know what you are," the man said, his voice echoing strangely through the distorted air around him, "but your interference ends now."

  Doc tried to raise his plasma gun, but his arm felt leaden. The H.O.T. Protocol was still active, but his body was failing under the strain of combat and injury.

  "Targeting assistance online," Lux said, a faint reticle appearing in Doc's vision despite the damage to his systems. "Waiting for optimal firing solution."

  The bandit leader raised his hands for the killing blow, void energy condensing into a spear of absolute darkness. "Any last words, stranger?"

  A violet streak flashed across Doc's peripheral vision—so fast it was barely perceptible even with his enhanced reflexes. One moment the bandit leader stood triumphant, the next a snarling mass of black fur and glowing purple lines materialized directly beside him.

  Fish phased into existence with jaws already open, clamping down on the bandit leader's forearm with bone-crushing force. The man screamed, his concentration shattered as the void energy dissipated harmlessly into the air. He swung wildly with his free hand, trying to dislodge the phase wolf from his arm.

  "Now," Lux's voice cut through Doc's pain with crystal clarity. The targeting reticle locked onto the bandit leader's head, compensating for Doc's trembling arm.

  Doc didn't hesitate. He squeezed the trigger.

  The plasma bolt erupted from the weapon with a high-pitched whine, streaking across the clearing in a blinding flash of blue-white energy. It struck the bandit leader directly between the eyes, the superheated plasma burning through skull and brain matter in an instant.

  For a heartbeat, the bandit leader remained upright, a look of utter disbelief frozen on his face. Then his legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground in a heap of black armor and lifeless limbs.

  Fish released her grip on the dead man's arm and bounded back to Doc's side, her amber eyes glowing with concern as she nuzzled against him.

  "Good girl," Doc managed to whisper through the pain, his hand shakily reaching out to stroke her fur. "Perfect timing."

  Before Doc could stroke Fish's fur, his vision darkened at the edges. The adrenaline that had kept him upright drained away, leaving only crushing pain and exhaustion. His hand fell limply to his side as consciousness slipped from his grasp.

  "Warning: User vital signs declining rapidly," Lux announced to the empty neural space where Doc's consciousness should have responded. "Initiating emergency medical protocols."

  Lux immediately performed a comprehensive scan of Doc's injuries. The results were concerning: multiple contusions across 40% of his body surface area, hairline fracture to the right clavicle, three cracked ribs, internal bleeding in the lower right quadrant of the abdomen, and mild concussion. The suit had absorbed the worst of the impacts, but the void energy had penetrated in several places, causing localized tissue damage similar to severe electrical burns.

  "Suit integrity at 31%," Lux noted, directing nanites to begin emergency repairs on both the suit and Doc's body. "Initiating tissue regeneration sequence. Administering pain management compounds and cellular stabilizers."

  Fish circled Doc's unconscious form, emitting high-pitched whines of distress. She nudged his face with her muzzle, then positioned herself protectively over his chest, her glowing violet eyes scanning the surroundings for further threats.

  Slowly, the freed prisoners emerged from their hiding places. They stared in shock at the destruction left by the battle—scorched earth where void lances had struck, craters in wooden walls, and the twisted remains of crates and barrels. The bandit leader's body lay motionless, a perfectly circular hole burned through his forehead.

  Mazoga was the first to approach, her tusked face a mixture of awe and concern. "By the old gods," she whispered, taking a cautious step toward Doc's prone form. "He actually killed Rellan."

  Fish's head snapped up at Mazoga's approach. The wolf's hackles rose, and a deep, rumbling growl emanated from her throat. The violet lines across her black fur pulsed with intensity, and her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

  Mazoga froze immediately, raising her hands in a placating gesture. "Easy there," she said, her voice deliberately calm despite the fear evident in her eyes. "I just want to help him."

  Fish's growl intensified, and she lowered her head protectively over Doc's chest. The prisoners behind Mazoga murmured nervously.

  "That's a phase fang wolf," Carl whispered, his small form partially hidden behind Mazoga's leg. "They're apex predators from the deep forest. No one's ever tamed one before."

  "It's still a pup," Mazoga observed quietly, not taking her eyes off Fish. "But even a pup could tear out my throat before I could blink."

  "How'd he manage to bond with a beast like that?" questioned another captive, a beast tamer called Tanna. "Even the most skilled beast tamer have trouble with lesser wolves."

  Mazoga shook her head slowly. "I don't know. But he's not like anyone I've ever encountered." She gestured toward the bandit leader's corpse. "Rellan was a Voidcaster. Level 45 at least. No one's been able to stand against him for years."

  Carl edged forward slightly, his eyes wide with fascination as he studied Doc's suit. "His armor... it's different from any armor I've encountered before. And those weapons—I can't identify what sort of magical enchantment they have, but they exceed the power of every enchanted weapon I've ever handled."

  "Whatever he is," Mazoga said, stepping back from Fish's warning growls, "we owe him our lives. And right now, he needs time to heal."

  _______________________________________________________________________________

  Mazoga or Maz as the other prisoners called her, took a deep breath, scanning the destruction around her. The scorched earth, splintered wood, and bodies of unconscious bandits told a story of violence she'd seen before—but this was different. Her gaze settled on the crumpled form of Rellan Vex, One of the most feared bandit leader in three provinces, now just another corpse with a perfectly circular hole burned through his skull.

  "I can't believe it," she muttered, running a calloused hand through her braids. "The bastard's actually dead."

  For three years, Maz had heard tales of Rellan's raids—villages burned, caravans plundered, and anyone who stood against him left as twisted, void-touched husks. Guild hunters and royal knights alike had tried to claim the bounty on his head. None returned. Yet this stranger, this bizarre armored man with weapons that defied understanding, had accomplished the impossible in mere minutes.

  And now he lay unconscious with a phase fang pup standing guard over him.

  "Anyone got any ideas?" she asked, turning to the huddled group of former prisoners.

  Carl, the small folk engineer, shook his head. "That wolf won't let anyone near him. And honestly, I don't fancy testing how fast those jaws can close."

  Maz studied the wolf more carefully. Its black fur was interwoven with pulsing violet lines—a sign of recent evolution. The creature's amber eyes tracked her every movement, intelligent and wary. When she shifted her weight slightly forward, the wolf's hackles raised and those glowing patterns intensified.

  "That's loyalty," she observed. "Not magic binding or control. That wolf chose him."

  Which made the stranger even more of a mystery. Nobody just befriended phase fangs wolfs. The beasts were notorious for their territorial rage and lightning-quick killing style. Yet here was one, barely more than a pup, ready to die protecting an unconscious man.

  Maz's gaze drifted beyond the immediate scene to the dark treeline surrounding the bandit camp. They were stranded in the most notorious death-forest on the continent, with unconscious bandits, terrified former captives, and their rescuer bleeding out under the protection of a creature that could tear out her throat faster than she could blink.

  "We need those healing potions from the storehouse," she decided, pointing to a small building on the camp's edge. "And we need to set up a proper defensive perimeter for now."

  "What about him?" asked a thin-faced woman, who'd been captured alongside Maz.

  Maz studied the stranger's crumpled form. His strange armor was damaged but still unlike anything she'd ever seen—no visible enchantment runes, no magical signatures she could detect, yet clearly more advanced than the finest dwarven plate. The weapons he'd wielded had cut through Rellan's void shields like they were mist.

  "We wait," she said firmly. "We secure the camp, gather supplies, and wait for him to wake up. He's our best chance of getting out of this forest alive."

  She took a tentative step toward the unconscious man, carefully gauging the wolf's reaction. The creature's growl deepened, vibrating through the clearing with unmistakable threat.

  "Easy there," Maz murmured, immediately stepping back. "I just want to help your friend."

  The wolf's ears flattened against its skull. Message received.

  "Right," Maz sighed, turning to address the other freed prisoners. "Let's focus on what we can control. Carl, check the bandits' equipment—see if there's anything useful. Everyone else, help me secure those buildings. We need shelter, weapons, and food, in that order."

  As the group dispersed to their tasks, Maz cast one last glance at the stranger. Whoever—or whatever—he was, he'd saved them all from a fate worse than death. Now she just had to hope he'd wake up before the forest claimed them instead.

  turning point I’ve been building toward—Doc going all in, no more holding back. Up to now, he’s been surviving. This time, he made a choice to stand and fight, even when the odds weren’t in his favor. It’s a victory… but not without cost.

  Chapter 11 drops Tuesday.

  (There’s also a bonus interlude on Sunday—a quiet Chapter 10.5 from Mazoga’s point of view.)