The climb grew steeper as they ascended the mountain ridge, but the path itself offered little resistance.

  The ground shifted from cracked mineral plates to smoother basalt flats, the jagged edges giving way to

  ancient stone shaped by centuries of wind. Despite the elevation, the team moved without strain, the

  faint tremors of recent battles fading into the crisp mountain air.

  Bash followed closely behind Vanra. His breathing was steady, but he could still feel echoes of the Life

  Steal pulses deep in his core. They were quiet now, less like aftershocks and more like a lingering

  pressure behind his ribs. He kept his expression neutral, not wanting to give away how destabilized he

  still felt.

  Rhoen glanced behind him as he walked. “Looks like no more spiders. I consider that a victory.”

  Kayris tapped her blades lightly against her hips. “I consider every step without invisible poison webs a

  victory.”

  Tyrish grunted. “Cowards fought dirtier than anything we have seen all morning.”

  Orran pointed his zweihander toward the ridge above them. “Hopefully nothing up there spits silk.”

  “No promises,” Korvex said.

  Vanra lifted her staff lightly as she scanned the summit. “Stay focused. Something is broadcasting.”

  The wind shifted as they reached the final incline. Dust blew past their feet, carrying faint metallic

  vibrations. Bash could sense something ahead, a dull thrum in the stone that resonated even without SC

  needing to whisper confirmation.

  They crested the peak.

  And froze.

  Spread across the wide plateau was a pack of beasts unlike anything Bash had seen before. Over

  seventy hulking forms prowled the high ground, their bodies covered in thick, muscular hide bristling

  with metallic quills. Each creature moved with low, coordinated aggression, ears pinned back, tails

  flicking sharply against the stone.

  Iron-Quill Ravagers.

  A full pack.

  Vanra exhaled through her nose. “There it is. The last affinity we were looking for.”

  Thorns, damage reflection.

  All seventy plus pairs of glowing eyes turned toward the team as if sensing the shift in energy.

  Vanra’s gaze locked onto Bash. “Listen carefully. I do not know how much of their reflected damage

  you can withstand. Your gear is the lowest tier on this team and thorns recoil does not care about armor

  or positioning. If you attack one of them, even lightly, the recoil could be fatal.”

  Bash felt a knot tighten in his stomach, but he nodded.

  She pointed to a scattered cluster of boulders about twenty meters to their right. “Stay behind those

  rocks. Close enough to catch any essence if the pulses reach you, but far enough to avoid direct hits. If

  the fight shifts toward you, you run.”

  Bash forced his jaw to unclench. “Understood.”

  Kayris caught his expression as he stepped back. “Do not look so defeated. There is enough sharp

  metal out there for all of us.”

  Tyrish smirked. “You get to sit down during this one. Some of us will be earning our meal.”

  Orran tapped his shield once. “Be glad you are not taking the recoil. It stings.”

  Bash tried to chuckle, but the sound came out thin. He slipped behind the rocks as the team formed

  their lines.

  And deep inside, he was relieved.

  After the way the T3A Life Steal pulse had knocked him unconscious earlier, there was no way he

  could stand in formation for this. The fact that nobody questioned his being pulled out was the closest

  thing to mercy he had been given all day.

  He crouched low behind the rocks.

  The team charged.

  The Ravagers struck first.

  A half dozen leapt forward, their claws scraping sparks off the stone. Orran braced himself front and

  center, shield locking into place to absorb the impact. He swung his zweihander in a controlled arc, the

  blade slicing along a Ravager’s hide. The creature’s quills detonated with kinetic recoil, sending a jolt

  back into Orran’s arm hard enough to rattle his bones.

  He grunted, but held.

  Tyrish barreled in beside him, both zweihanders striking in fluid, brutal swings. Every hit sent recoil

  back through his forearms, but his Durability affinity absorbed most of the kinetic rebound. He kept

  advancing, forcing the Ravagers to retreat under his relentless pressure.

  Kayris danced between them, a streak of speed and flickering arcs of lightning as her blades carved

  precise, shallow cuts that minimized recoil. She pivoted, spun, and sliced through weak points with

  perfect timing.

  “Keep pressure,” she called.

  “Already doing that,” Tyrish replied.

  Korvex lifted his staff and fired a volley of mineral blasts that erupted beneath the Ravagers’ feet,

  breaking their formation and scattering those trying to flank the front line. His DoT flares ignited

  across several hides, burning without triggering heavy recoil.

  Rhoen’s rifle shots cracked through the air one after another. Each hit released a pulse of healing that

  washed over the melee fighters. The recoil from their own attacks was stacking, and his steady output

  was the only thing keeping them from wearing down too fast.

  “Keep swinging,” Rhoen said. “I am covering your backs.”

  Vanra stood behind the front line, staff glowing with soft green light. Continuous healing radiated from

  her in waves, countering both Ravager blows and the ricocheting damage from the team’s own strikes.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Maintain spacing,” she commanded. “Do not let them surround you. Rotate positions now.”

  Orran shifted right, Tyrish stepped left, and Kayris slid through the middle like a streak of silver. Their

  formation tightened without collapsing.

  Behind the rocks, Bash watched the fight unfold with clenched fists. He could feel his heartbeat in his

  throat, each pulse heavy and tense.

  The first Ravager fell.

  The T3A essence pulse slammed into him like a boulder.

  Bash’s breath was ripped from his lungs as his knees buckled. He barely managed to muffle the sound

  as he dropped to the ground. His hands dug into the stone to steady himself.

  SC’s voice echoed in his mind. “One absorbed.”

  A second Ravager died.

  Another pulse hit him, harder than the first.

  He hunched over, teeth gritted.

  A third. A fourth. A fifth.

  Each pulse crashed against him, sharp and overwhelming, thorns affinity essence biting through every

  layer of his composure. He pressed his forehead to the rock, trying not to cry out as pulse after pulse

  surged through him.

  The battle continued.

  Tyrish tore through two Ravagers in a single spinning strike. Kayris dispatched another with a clean

  slice across its throat. Rhoen and Korvex dropped three from range. Orran smashed one into the stone

  with his shield before cutting it down with a full-force zweihander swing.

  Each kill sent another pulse slamming into Bash.

  Ten.

  Fifteen.

  Twenty three.

  Thirty one.

  His arms were shaking violently now, muscles spasming from the repeated shock. His vision blurred

  and his breath stuttered. He tried to stay upright, to stay conscious, but each pulse felt like someone

  was hammering into his core with raw kinetic force.

  The team advanced deeper into the pack, Ravagers dying in rapid succession as their formation broke.

  Forty two.

  Fifty.

  Sixty.

  SC’s voice stayed steady, counting each one. “Sixty one. Sixty two. Sixty three.”

  Bash’s entire body trembled. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing him into the ground. He

  was barely aware of the battle anymore, only the relentless rhythm of incoming pulses.

  “Seventy three. Seventy four. Seventy five.”

  The final Ravagers fell with desperate snarls.

  “Seventy six. Seventy seven absorbed.”

  Silence filled his mind after SC’s final count.

  Bash stayed crouched, gasping quietly, until he trusted his muscles enough to hold his weight. After a

  few more breaths, he pushed himself to his feet and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  When he stepped out from behind the rocks, the team was gathering near the bodies.

  “Good timing,” Kayris said with a grin. “We were just about to come find you.”

  “You all handled that beautifully,” Bash said, keeping his voice steady.

  Orran smirked. “Glad you enjoyed the show.”

  Tyrish cracked his neck. “It was a little messy. But they fall eventually.”

  Vanra approached. “Bash. Did you unlock?”

  He shook his head.

  Her shoulders lowered. “Then this was not enough. Collect the fragments. We head back.”

  The Ravager quills shrank into shimmering metal trinkets as the team collected them. Rhoen let out a

  low whistle as he examined the fragments.

  “Seventy seven T3A quills. We are going to eat well tomorrow.”

  Tyrish nodded. “Rhell better appreciate the beating we took to get these.”

  They laughed together as they made their way back down the mountain.

  The forest was quiet now, peaceful even. No more spiders. No more webs. The path back to the portal

  was easy, giving them time to trade casual insults and retell favorite near-death stories.

  When they stepped through the portal, the familiar hum of the Ark welcomed them back.

  They turned in their fragments, received their shares after the Council and Guild deductions, and

  gathered briefly in the debrief room.

  Vanra asked, “Do you want to hear the report?”

  The entire team groaned in unison.

  Kayris waved her off. “Spare us.”

  Orran folded his arms. “After the nonsense we dealt with this morning? Not a chance.”

  Tyrish let out a tired laugh. “If Rhell walks in again I am leaving.”

  Vanra smirked. “Very well. Be early tomorrow. Rhell assigned us a mission.”

  The laughter died.

  They exchanged glances.

  Then they split for the evening.

  Bash grabbed his ration and followed the quiet corridor back to his room. He closed the door behind

  him and sat on the edge of the bed, letting the weight of the day settle.

  “SC,” he whispered. “What do you think the mission will be?”

  Her voice emerged calm and analytical. “The bounty board for Black guilds is large. It could be a

  containment breach, a missing squad, a corrupted portal, or an unclassified domain. Black guilds

  choose first. That means high risk. Unknown dangers.”

  Bash rubbed his forehead. “Great.”

  SC paused before speaking again. “I searched every part of the Nexus available to you today. Nothing

  mentions unlocking procedures. Nothing references your anomaly. Rhell is holding the answer.”

  “After this morning, I do not think he wants anything to do with me.”

  “Perhaps not,” SC said. “But if you cannot unlock without him, then you must make him see you

  differently. Show something exceptional on the mission he assigned. If he sees value in you, he may

  reveal something.”

  Bash stared at the floor, fists tightening slowly.

  “Then I guess tomorrow is my chance.”

  SC’s tone softened. “It will be. Rest while you can.”