Calen stared at the thing that had crashed into the clearing.

He knew draugr. He'd seen them outside Threeburrow—frozen corpses reanimated by necrotic energy. They were stiff and relentless but also predictable.

This wasn't that.

The creature stood hunched, its frame unnaturally broad across the shoulders. Gray, bloodless skin stretched tight over mismatched limbs—one arm thicker than the other, joints pulled at odd angles with crude black stitching holding the seams together. Frost rimed exposed bone along its spine where flesh had been deliberately opened and left unclosed. Its movements were wrong, like something taken apart and put back together in a hurry, with no care for whether the pieces matched.

Calen's Resonance Veins flared painfully as his skill tried to read the thing and couldn't. The energy inside it wouldn't hold still—churning, folding over itself, refusing to resolve into anything his skill could map.

What is that?

The shooter on the left recovered first. He raised his crossbow and fired.

The bolt punched into the creature's shoulder with a wet thunk.

The thing's head snapped toward the shooter.

It screamed—a raw, inhuman sound that made Calen's teeth ache—and moved.

Fast.

Impossibly fast.

The creature crossed twenty meters in the span of a heartbeat, closing the distance before the shooter could even reach for another bolt. It slammed into him with enough force to crack ribs, bearing him to the ground.

The shooter tried to scream.

The creature's hands found his throat, then his face. The screaming stopped before he hit the ground. By the time the thing was done, there wasn't enough left to recognize.

The big bandit turned and ran.

The creature's head snapped up, following the movement like a hound catching a scent.

It pounced.

The bandit made it five steps before the thing crashed into his back. Clawed hands punched through his armor and into the meat beneath, and then it pulled—wrenching back and up, tearing through flesh and bone in one wet motion.

What dropped into the snow didn't hold together the way a body should. The thing was already turning before it finished falling.

Its eyes found them. Two points of pale light, fixed and cold.

Mav's crossbow shook in his hands. "Shit. Shit."

Calen's breath came in short, painful gasps. His ribs screamed with every inhale. His legs felt like stone.

Their eyes met.

Mav's expression shifted—fear and grim understanding.

For now, they had a truce.

The creature tilted its head, studying them both. Its gaze flicked between the two—before settling on Calen.

The thing moved.

Calen barely registered the motion before it was on him—a blur of gray flesh and black stitching closing the distance in a blink. Clawed fingers reached for his throat, already moving to tear—

Calen activated his bramblefade skill and the world blurred.

Calen slipped sideways through space, his body phasing between real and not for a handful of heartbeats. The creature's hand passed through empty air where his neck had been a fraction of a second earlier.

Mav bellowed as he activated a skill and his entire body ignited with red light.

He swung his blade in a hard arc

The blade connected with the creature's shoulder.

Crack.

Bone shattered. The thing staggered sideways, screaming that awful, raw sound again.

Then it hit back.

The creature twisted with inhuman speed, one arm lashing out in a brutal backhand. Its fist connected with Mav's chest like a sledgehammer.

The impact launched Mav backward. He tumbled across the snow, skidding to a stop against a tree trunk with a breathless whump.

Calen's Bramblefade wore off. He reappeared five meters away, gasping.

The creature turned toward him again.

Blood and gore dripped from its hands. Frost gathered at the edges of its broken shoulder, already beginning to harden into jagged ice crystals that stiffened the wound.

Calen's mind screamed at him—outmatched.

He knew it. Every instinct told him to run. He was tired. His ribs throbbed with every breath and his head pounded from his earlier injuries.

And the creature was already moving.

It lunged.

Calen threw himself sideways, rolling through the snow. His Resonance Veins flared—energy surging toward the thing's right arm, coiling tight like a spring about to release.

He ducked before it swung.

The fist smashed through the space where his head had been, close enough that he felt the displacement of air.

Calen scrambled backward, boots slipping on ice-slick stone.

The creature tracked him. Its pale eyes never blinked.

Energy pooled in its legs. Tendons tightened. The flow shifted—left leg, then right, preparing to leap.

Calen rolled before it left the ground.

It landed where he'd been standing, claws gouging furrows into frozen earth.

Calen's lunged, driving his blade toward the exposed joint at its elbow—one of the crude stitching points his skill had flagged as weak.

The knife bit deep.

The creature shrieked.

Then it swung.

Calen tried to pull back, but his boot caught on a root hidden beneath the snow. He stumbled—just for half a second—but it was enough.

The fist came at him like a hammer. He got his arms up but the impact drove through them and into his bones, and the clearing tilted as he left the ground.

His back slammed into a tree trunk with a wet crack that drove the air from his lungs. Stars exploded across his vision. He dropped to his knees, gasping, tasting copper.

The creature advanced.

Energy gathered in its arms—both of them this time, coiling tight for a finishing blow.

Calen tried to move but his legs wouldn't respond.

The thing loomed over him, raising both fists—

A sharp crack split the air.

The creature's torso exploded in a burst of blue-white light.

It screamed—worse than before, raw and broken and furious—staggering backward as smoke poured from the hole punched through its ribs.

Something black and violet materialized beside Calen.

Fish.

Her amber eyes met his for half a heartbeat. Then the world shifted, phasing sideways through space in a dizzying blur of motion.

When reality snapped back, Calen was twenty meters away, gasping on his hands and knees in clean snow.

Doc stood between him and the creature.

Dark gray armor. Blue tracings pulsing along the seams. Forest-green cloak rippling in the cold wind. The plasma gun still raised in one hand, smoke curling from the barrel.

Doc glanced back over his shoulder. "You okay?"

Calen coughed. Tasted blood. Grinned anyway. "I've had better days."

Doc's expression shifted—between exasperation and approval—before he turned back toward the thing.

He holstered the gun.

Drew the blade.

Azure light blazed to life in his hand, threaded with silver veins that pulsed like a heartbeat. The hum filled the clearing, low and resonant, cutting through the wind.

Calen stared.

Doc looked like something out of the old stories—a paladin from the Imperial heartland, armored and blessed, the kind of figure mothers told their children about.

Doc advanced. The creature lunged to meet him.

Calen tried to keep his eyes open. To watch. To see how it ended.

But the cold and the pain had been waiting, and now they took him.

The clearing tilted, the blue light smearing across his vision—and then there was nothing.

---

---

Doc advanced toward the monster, blade humming in his hand. Fish circled left, her midnight coat rippling with violet patterns as she phase-shifted through the snow.

The creature tracked him with pale, lifeless eyes. Then it moved.

It lunged with terrifying speed, claws extended.

"Right arm strike, eighty-seven percent probability," Lux reported. "Recommend counter-angle defensive shift, three degrees port."

Doc sidestepped. The claws missed by inches, whistling through the air where his head had been.

He pivoted and drove the plasma blade into the creature's exposed side—just beneath the ribs.

The blade bit deep. Necrotic tissue hissed and bubbled around the superheated edge.

The monster screamed and thrashed backward, dark ichor spraying from the wound.

Fish materialized behind it, claws raking across the back of its knees.

It collapsed forward, catching itself on malformed hands.

Doc pressed the advantage. He moved in, blade raised for a killing stroke—

The creature twisted with unnatural flexibility and launched itself sideways in a desperate lunge.

Doc's blade carved through empty air.

"Energy concentration detected in lower torso," Lux warned. "Structural reinforcement pattern consistent with core proximity."

The creature scrambled to its feet, favoring its injured leg. Frost gathered at the edges of its wounds, crystallizing into jagged ice that sealed the torn flesh.

Doc circled right. Fish mirrored him on the left, amber eyes locked on their target.

The creature's head swiveled between them. Its movements erratic.

It charged Doc with a guttural roar.

"Predictable frontal assault," Lux noted. "Recommend lateral evasion."

Doc stepped off the line of the charge at the last moment, pivoting as the monster barreled past. Claws raked through the space he'd left, tearing snow and stone. Doc came around behind it and struck—blade carving through the shoulder joint where bone met corrupted sinew. The arm went limp, hanging by threads of frozen tissue.

The monster spun, using its momentum to swing the dead limb like a club.

Doc ducked. Fish phase-stepped in from the side, jaws clamping down on the thing's ankle.

The creature kicked wildly, sending Fish tumbling through the snow. She recovered instantly, circling back into position.

Doc pressed forward. Every strike targeted weak points—joints compromised by crude stitching, areas where necrotic tissue hadn't fully fused, gaps in the frost armor forming over its wounds.

"Core energy fluctuating," Lux reported. "Structural integrity declining to sixty-three percent."

The monster backed away, limping now. Dark ichor stained the snow behind it in a growing trail. Its remaining functional arm hung low, defensive rather than aggressive.

Fish darted in, harrying its flanks. The creature swung at her but the blow was slow, uncoordinated.

She phase-shifted through the attack and raked her claws across its ribs.

Doc moved in sync with her, blade finding another weakness—this time at the base of the skull where the spine met corrupted vertebrae.

The creature staggered.

Backed away further.

Its movements had become purely reactive now—fighting on instinct alone. The bloodlust that had driven it forward was fading, replaced by something closer to panic.

Doc advanced. Fish kept pace beside him.

The creature's back leg hit something in the snow.

Doc's helmet display registered it—the large bandit's corpse, partially buried in frost.

The thing looked down. Then it moved—dropping to all fours and lunging for the body, away from Doc rather than at him.

Doc slowed, blade up, not yet understanding.

The creature's ribcage split open like a grotesque flower. Tendrils of corrupted flesh erupted outward, wrapping around the corpse and dragging it inside. The bandit's body liquefied on contact, dissolving into raw biological matter the creature absorbed with wet, mechanical sounds.

"Energy signature spiking," Lux said. "Sharply. Its mass is increasing—it's pulling the body into itself. I don't have anything that explains this.

That was when Doc understood, and by then it was done.

When the creature straightened, the wounds across its body had closed. New muscle mass bulged beneath its patchwork skin. The dead arm had reattached, flexing with renewed strength.

And its eyes—

The pale, lifeless stare had changed. Something flickered behind them now. Awareness.

Doc tightened his grip on the blade. Fish growled low beside him, hackles raised.

"Core energy signature has increased forty-seven percent," Lux reported quietly. "Threat assessment elevated."

The creature's mouth split into something that might have been a grin.

Then it took one deliberate step forward.

and another.

Then it was a blur.

Doc barely registered the blur of motion before the fist connected with his side.

The impact launched him backward. The world spun. His back slammed into a something solid with a jarring crack.

"Suit integrity compromised," Lux reported calmly. "Plating deformation detected along right torso panel. Recommend avoiding direct strikes of that magnitude."

Doc laughed—short and breathless—as he pushed himself upright. "Noted."

The creature didn't charge this time. It circled.

Watching.

Calculating.

It moved like a trained fighter now. Scanning the terrain, reading it.

The monster lunged from the left.

Doc turned—too slow.

Claws raked across his shoulder guard with a screech of tortured metal.

He spun and cut—but the blade carved through empty air. The creature had already disengaged, shifting to the opposite flank.

It's fighting diffently Doc realized.

"Confirmed," Lux said. "Movement patterns consistent with trained combatant. Neural response time insufficient at baseline parameters."

Doc exhaled. "Lux, Activate H.O.T mode."

"H.O.T. Protocol engaged."

The world sharpened. Colors brightened. Sound clarified. Every detail crystallized into perfect focus.

The creature moved again—but Doc saw it this time. Predicted the arc. Sidestepped the strike and drove the plasma blade into its ribs as it passed.

The monster twisted, absorbing the blow as if it hadn't felt it, and countered with a backhand that Doc barely blocked.

Fish darted in, jaws snapping at exposed tendons.

The creature kicked her away without looking.

It was good. And it was learning.

Doc pressed forward. Blade high. Footwork precise. But the monster matched him—deflecting, redirecting, using the trees to break line of sight and reposition before he could follow through.

A low branch exploded in splinters as the creature used it to swing around behind him.

Doc pivoted. Too late.

The blow caught his helmet. His vision flared white for half a second. He staggered backward, blade up defensively.

The creature didn't press the advantage.

It circled again. Watching.

Studying.

Doc adjusted his stance. Shifted his weight. Let the blade dip slightly—an opening.

The creature saw it.

And lunged.

Doc moved.

He sidestepped the charge at the last possible instant, letting the monster's momentum carry it past him. Then he pivoted—perfectly balanced—and drove the plasma blade upward through the exposed ribcage.

The blade bit deep. Punched through corrupted bone and necrotic tissue, carving a path straight toward the pulsing energy signature Lux had marked earlier.

The monster screamed.

Dark ichor sprayed from the wound. The creature thrashed backward, clawing at the gaping hole in its torso.

Doc pressed forward for the kill—

But the monster ran.

It turned and fled into the trees, moving with desperate, lurching strides. Blood-dark trails marked its path through the snow.

Doc started after it—

"Calen's vital signs are declining," Lux said quietly. "Multiple fractures. Internal bleeding detected."

Doc stopped. Looked back at the boy crumpled against the tree.

The creature was gone. Swallowed by the Waste's twisted pines.

Doc exhaled slowly. Deactivated H.O.T. Protocol. The world dulled slightly as his enhanced reflexes faded back to baseline.

He walked back to Calen.

Fish materialized beside him, limping slightly but functional. She pressed against his leg as they approached the boy.

Doc knelt in the snow beside Calen, already reaching for the medical kit at his belt.

---

---

Calen woke to darkness and the smell of smoke.

His ribs ached, but less than before he passed out.

He blinked. The cave ceiling above him resolved slowly—rough stone, uneven, lit by flickering orange light from somewhere to his left.

He turned his head. Pain lanced through his neck, but he pushed through it.

A campfire crackled near the entrance, casting long shadows across the stone. Doc sat beside it, slowly turning a length of meat on a makeshift spit.

Beyond the fire, snow fell in lazy drifts. The Waste stretched out into darkness.

Calen shifted.

His hand brushed glass.

An empty healing potion bottle lay beside him, the glass still faintly warm. That explained the ribs. He turned his head the other way—and stopped.

Mav lay a few meters off. Unconscious. Breathing steady, chest rising and falling beneath his torn coat.

The man who'd spent the afternoon trying to kill him. Alive. Resting by the same fire.

Why?

"You're awake."

Calen's gaze snapped back to the fire.

Doc hadn't turned. Still focused on the spit. But his tone carried quiet acknowledgment.

"You hungry?"

Calen's stomach answered before he could. A low, insistent growl that echoed embarrassingly loud in the confined space.

Doc chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes."

Calen pushed himself upright. The movement left him dizzy for a moment before the world steadied.

He stared at the creature roasting over the fire.

"What… what is that?"

It looked like someone had taken a rodent, stretched it to twice its normal size, and covered it in iridescent scales. The firelight caught the edges, making them shimmer faintly green and blue.

Doc glanced back at him. "Honestly? No idea. Fish caught it."

As if on cue, Fish lifted her head from where she lay near the fire. Her amber eyes fixed on Calen for a moment before she settled back down, unbothered.

Doc pulled a section of meat free and handed it to Calen on a flat stone. "Fish wouldn't bring us anything poisonous. I trust her instincts."

Calen took the offering. The meat was hot enough to sting his fingers, but he didn't care. He bit down.

The taste hit immediately. Rich, gamey and a bit sweet at the edges.

Relief flooded through him—warm and stupid and overwhelming. He was alive. Doc had found him. That was enough.

He chewed slowly. Swallowed. Took another bite.

After a moment, he looked up at Doc. "Did you… did you kill it?"

Doc shook his head. "Hurt it badly. But it ran before I could finish the job."

Calen nodded. He'd expected as much. That thing had been wrong—he'd hurt it, Mav had hurt it, and it hadn't slowed for either of them. If Doc had killed it, Calen figured he'd have seen the body.

His gaze drifted back to Mav.

Doc followed his line of sight. "I kept him alive."

Calen looked at him.

"Lost track of the kidnappers," Doc said quietly. "He might know where they're headed."

That made sense. Cold and practical—the call Calen would have expected.

Calen took another bite and let the warmth settle in his chest.

"When he wakes up," Doc said, eyes back on the fire, "he's going to tell us where they took the girls."

Doc's voice hadn't changed—calm and even, like he was talking about weather.

But Calen looked at the man by the fire, and he was glad he wasn't the one Doc was hunting.