Well Fed and Colossally Terrifying

“Minute,” he said to the dust and the light and the friend that had come back. “Just a minute.”

The glow dimmed, lingering like an afterimage.
His eyes ached from mana strain, but shapes came back into focus as eight feet of gold and gelatinous gravity settled in front of him like a misplaced god. Bob loomed, trembling light and slow movement, tendrils unfurling in deliberate arcs. They slid across stone, tasting the air like deep-sea feelers dragged into daylight. Every strand shimmered faintly, brushed the ground, then curled protectively toward him and Dane before folding back.

A god, maybe—if gods came with unblinking black eyes and a mouth full of needle teeth.
Nathan stared while catching his breath.
Definitely not fewer teeth than before. Probably more.

God is too generous a description. Looks like a glowing demon about to consume everything in its path, with cheerful gold-lava light and a friendly chirp.

Nathan let his shoulders drop. His muscles hummed with leftover terror. His mana felt scraped clean, like someone had taken sandpaper to his bones.

Glad he’s on my side.

The rest of the world stayed dull, washed in the thin, miserable red of the Nightmare Realm’s sky. Bob’s light pulsed faintly—one heartbeat of gold in a world gone still.

The quiet pressed close, heavy but fragile, until Dane broke it.
“They’re gone. What wasn’t decimated, retreated.”

Nathan sat very still until the tremor in his hands passed.

“Yeah.” His voice cracked, more air than sound. “That’s… good. Was pretty sure we were going to die just now. If anything else shows up, I’m playing dead.”

Dane crouched beside him, staring at Bob again, dried blood crusted on his skin and armor. “That might work,” he said, voice low—impossible to tell whether he was joking. After a beat, “It’s still… him, right?”

Nathan tried to laugh, but it came out as a shaky exhale. “Yeah, it’s still him. Just—more real estate now.”

He looked up at the creature. You find some kind of buffet over there?

Bob chirped once—a sound too small for something that looked like it could eat a cow in one sitting—then plopped down.

The three of them sat in a loose circle, like school friends on the quad at lunch break.

Neither Nathan nor Dane spoke, and Bob just stared.

This is weird.

His legs refused to move. He leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting to the seam behind Bob.
Why did it refuse me?

After a few more minutes, Nathan looked to Dane. “Told you he’d come back.”

Dane nodded once. “You did say that many times.” He let the words hang, then added, “We owe him gratitude. And distance.”

Bob shifted, the movement careful.

Nathan huffed a quiet breath. “Distance might be tricky. He’s so big now.”

Bob burbled.

The air felt awkward.

After a pause, Dane asked, “Can you… understand him? The creature, I mean.”

Nathan hesitated. “Understand him?”

Huh. I never even thought about that before.

“Yeah. Sort of. It’s not really words—more like intention. I get the shape of what he means.”

Bob reached out a slow, hesitant tendril toward Nathan.

Nathan watched it hover a breath away from his arm. “Usually we’re touching when I understand him best. It’s intent, not actual words,” he said quietly.

The tendril brushed his sleeve, and a warmth flickered through his chest—not heat, but recognition. Bob’s surface rippled faintly, almost relieved.

Nathan managed a faint smile.

His fingers flexed against the ground. Still solid. Still here.
“Why did it refuse me?” he murmured. “What did I miss?”

Dane followed his gaze. “You think this one’s different from the others.”

“I don’t know.” Nathan frowned. “Same color, same texture… I mean, everything looks the same.” He pushed a hand through his hair, then winced. “Maybe it's me. Maybe the seam doesn’t like something now—like the specters altered me somehow?”

Dane’s expression tightened. “I really can’t say. Possibly it doesn’t recognize you anymore. Maybe you’ve been contaminated.”

“Contaminated?!”

Dane shrugged.

Not helpful. I suppose I’ve had a lot of strange things happen to me, but contaminated?

Dane tilted his head. “If it refused you… what’s on the other side?”

Nathan glanced at the seam, then at Bob. “I don’t know. I can’t see through it. But the light feels… dense. Whatever’s over there, it’s probably monsters. Or was.”

“He does like eating monsters.”

Nathan continued, “It’d have to be something large and pure—strong.”

Dane watched him, brow furrowing. “Pure… mana?”

Nathan’s eyes widened just slightly. “Motes.”

“Motes?” Dane echoed, glancing toward where Nathan was looking.

“In the last dungeon—the manaborn dungeon I was in with Ronan and the others—the seams there were different. I thought of them as mote veins.”

“Mote veins?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think to even try entering any of them then because, why would I? But those seams—or veins—were pouring out motes. Big monsters were inhaling them. Even the guardian.”

“You… think this one might have motes then?” Dane’s voice dropped, thoughtful. “That would explain why this one is so large now. He looks well fed. No purer food source for a monster than motes.”

Bob chirped.

Well fed. Understatement of the century.

Bob made a low, liquid burble, his light rippling once.

Nathan looked up at him. “You know something I don’t?”

Another burble—almost thoughtful.
Bob’s tendrils shifted, and faint warmth pulsed through the air—steady, rhythmic, deliberate. The glow along his surface brightened briefly, then flowed outward, a controlled current that slipped through Nathan’s glove and met his skin like a slow breath.

It wasn’t motes; it was stored mana, just like before. It didn’t feel any different.

Warmth spread through Nathan’s chest—not burning, but steadying. The ache behind his eyes eased. His breath evened out.

It took him a second to realize it wasn’t fading.

He looked down. Steady light peeked from beneath his chestplate, and he noticed the vest under it held the glow—the dark vest with the silver stitching Ronan had given him.

Is this why I’ve been glowing? Like it’s holding something for me… keeping it steady. How did I not notice this?

The light dimmed again, sinking into the fabric, but his whole body seemed brighter now—like he could see the mana wrap around him.

That’s... wild.

“Well,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Thanks for the assist, Ronan.”

Dane turned his head. “Come again?”

“Oh.” Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. “I was just thinking—this vest Ronan made me wear before we left, it’s probably part of why I started glowing back in the spire. When Bob hit me with that huge mana dose.”

Dane looked at the vest. “Ah. Yeah, that’s your mana vest. Though, I must admit, I’ve never seen you glow before, Boss.”

He smiled and shook his head.

Should’ve just kept my mouth shut. He’ll never stop prying until I tell him the truth.

“Ahem. Right.”

Dane shifted. “At least he can still give you charge… without you exploding.”

“Jeez, that’s a pleasant thought. Thanks, Dane.”

“Of course.”

Nathan glanced at him. The man didn’t look like he was joking. “Sometimes I worry about you.”

Nathan kept staring, half-dazed. Bob pulsed—steady, content, like he’d just solved a puzzle no one else could see. The light rippled across his surface in slow, satisfied waves.

A faint hum touched Nathan’s skin—warm, familiar, deliberate. Not wild like before.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You good?”

Bob wobbled. Then the glow tightened. His edges drew in, surface pulling closer, compressing. Seven feet. Six. The air buzzed faintly, gold condensing like liquid light being poured into a smaller mold.

Nathan blinked. “Oh. You can control it?”

Bob’s mouth curved—if you could call it that—into something that could only be described as smug.

Nathan groaned. “You look like you’re about to—no. Don’t make that face. That’s the same face the stag made before it tried magic and nearly shit itself.”

Bob chirped, clearly offended—and promptly shrank another foot.

Nathan stared. “Right. That’s fine. Totally normal. My slime can shapeshift now.”

Before he could say more, Bob oozed forward and up onto Nathan's lap. He tugged at the pouch on Nathan’s belt with a tiny tendril.

“Oh, you want in?” Nathan muttered.

Bob chirped again, insistent.

"Alright, alright." Nathan opened it wide enough for Bob to slip inside. "Home sweet home, I guess." The glow dimmed to a soft pulse, faint warmth bleeding through the fabric.

He sat there for a long moment, feeling that quiet rhythm against his side.

If you can get small… how big can you get?

Dane raised an eyebrow. “Convenient.”

“Yeah,” Nathan said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Would’ve been nice to know before I started planning meals for a glowing elephant.”

He dragged a hand down his face, the last of the tension bleeding out. “Okay. So: the seam hates me, monsters are avoiding us—which is actually a great development—and Bob’s now a mobile battery-slash-size-changer. We can work with that.”

Dane’s lips quirked faintly. “That almost sounds… no, I still don’t understand more than half of what you say.”

Nathan laughed. “Let’s rest a bit, then plan our trip east.”

Dane suddenly asked, “If it’s full of motes like you said, why not send him back through first? Let him top off before we move.”

Nathan’s eyes stayed fixed on the space in front of them—on the seam. Dull edges. Same solid yellow center. But still he couldn’t enter it.

“I wouldn’t be able to back him up,” Nathan said quietly. “That’s what worries me.”

He hesitated, thinking aloud. “We don’t even know how long he was in there. What if ten minutes for us was a week for him? Could’ve been a vein full of motes.” He rubbed his jaw. “Or a nest of monsters. We don’t know.”

Dane’s brow furrowed. “You’re right. It could be another one of those… different-time rooms.” He looked uneasy now. “We don’t need to test that theory.”

“Exactly.” Nathan’s voice stayed low. “I don’t want to risk it.”

From inside the pouch came a faint, muffled chirp—Bob, volunteering anyway.

Nathan’s mouth twitched. “You’ve done enough, buddy. We’ll figure something else out. Let’s find cover, rest a bit, and make a plan.”

Dane considered that, then nodded. “He’s helped us plenty—and he’ll be valuable going forward. I apologize if I pushed a boundary.”

Nathan managed a tired smile. “You were just looking at every angle. It’s fine.”

Dane nodded and rose to his feet.

Nathan groaned as he finally pushed himself up. At least my legs still work.

“Let’s hope the next seam doesn’t throw a tantrum if we’re in quick need of an exit.”

He glanced once more at the seam.
I’ll just hope you’re an irregularity.

Nathan pulled the relic from his pack. “Nyx,” he said, and the light flared—still pointing the same way it had before, back the way they’d come.

“Guess I’m not surprised.”

Dane adjusted his grip on his sword. “We should get going.”

“Yeah. I can get us there quickly with the bridge construct, but I don’t think we’re rested enough for an all-out war.”

“Agreed.” Dane scanned the canyon walls. “Let’s stay low. Find somewhere to rest.”

“Not up top?”

“Too open.”

“Right.” Nathan waved him ahead. “After you.”

The canyon opened, then narrowed again, winding through the warped landscape. The red sky overhead hadn’t changed.

Dane’s steps had gone uneven. His focus was iron, but his mana was clearly dry.

“We need to rest.”

“Haven’t found a safe spot yet.”

“I haven’t felt safe since we entered this dungeon, let alone this hellscape. Doesn’t change the fact that I need you healthy.”

Dane chuckled softly. “You almost sounded selfish. Like him. But I know you’re worried about me too.”

“I do need you in the fight,” Nathan said, and left it there.

They kept walking.

Until Dane stopped near a break in the rock where a narrow alcove cut into the canyon wall. It wasn’t much—barely wide enough for both of them to sit shoulder to shoulder—but it broke the wind.

“This’ll do.” Dane sank down first, exhaustion catching up all at once. He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, sword resting across his knees.

“I’ll take first watch,” Nathan said quietly.

He slumped near the entrance, watching nothing happen for too long.

“Not even any wind,” he muttered. The sound of his own voice felt strange in the stillness.

He pulled the pouch from his belt and eased it open. “Hey, buddy. You awake?”

I’m not sure he ever sleeps.

A faint pulse glowed through the fabric—gold light bleeding between his fingers. Bob stared up at him, two glossy black eyes reflecting Nathan’s face like warped glass.

“Hey there,” Nathan whispered. “Been thinking.”

Bob made a curious little chirp, the kind that usually meant ready for orders.

“I know, I know,” Nathan said, smiling despite himself. “You’re full of anticipation, huh? Always ready for whatever dumb idea I have next.”

Another, softer chirp.

Nathan turned Bob gently in his palms, the glow warming his skin. “I think… you can do it. Not right now, but later. When I ask.”
He frowned slightly, choosing the words. “Big. I mean really big. Like, eat-a-fortress big. You think you can do that?”

Bob stared back unblinking, his surface rippling once, as if the idea alone made him happy.

Nathan huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I figured you’d like that one.”

He let the little creature rest against his palm a moment longer, the warmth steady and reassuring. “All right. We’ll think about it later,” he murmured. “Save your strength.”

Bob gave one final, satisfied chirp before settling—his light dimming to a soft pulse. Nathan slipped him carefully back into the pouch and cinched it closed.

He can do this.

Silence filled the canyon.

Nathan leaned against the wall, half-expecting it to stay that way.

Then something shifted—so faint he almost missed it. A scrape against stone.

He straightened, pulse tightening.
That wasn’t wind.

He waited a few breaths, but nothing followed. The sound was gone.

After a while, Dane’s voice came from behind him. “My turn.”

Nathan exhaled. “Didn’t think you’d wake up so soon.”

“I never really sleep deeply,” Dane said, pushing himself upright. “Get some rest.”

Nathan didn’t argue. He shifted aside, letting Dane take his spot near the entrance.

The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was the man’s silhouette against the canyon wall, still and listening.

When Nathan woke, Dane sat by the entrance again—shoulders slouched, eyes on the rim above them.

“How long?” Nathan asked.

“A few hours,” Dane said, passing him some dried meat.

Nathan chewed in silence, then nodded toward the pouch on his belt. “You think those monsters can still sense his mana? Even when he’s this size?”

“I’m not sure,” Dane said. “But if they can, maybe that’s why they’re leaving us alone.”

“Yeah,” Nathan murmured. “Feels too good to be true. I’m not complaining.”

A faint poke tapped his ribs. Nathan looked down to see a small tendril pushing through the pouch opening, little eyes gleaming.

“Snacks,” he sighed. “I did promise you snacks. Sorry I’ve not been keeping up, buddy.”

Bob trilled softly, the sound suspiciously like a demand.

“I know, I know. I’m horrible,” Nathan muttered, tearing off a piece and setting it on his palm. “Meat for the scary demon shapeshifter savior.”

Bob ate it greedily, teeth flashing as he gnawed. So terrifying.
“Watch my fingers. I’m attached to them.”

When he finished, another tendril reached out. More.

Nathan shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his mouth—then gave him more.

Across from him, Dane hadn’t moved. His eyes had gone distant, fixed like he was boring a hole through the canyon wall.

“You okay?” Nathan asked.

“Must be exhaustion,” Dane said quietly.

It didn’t sound like just exhaustion.

“You should get a little more sleep,” Nathan said. “I’ll tell you the plan I came up with when I wake you next.”

Dane only nodded, then lay back on his bedroll and closed his eyes.

Why does that make me so uneasy? His eyes looked… glassy. Hopefully a little more sleep will help.

For a while, Dane stayed motionless. Nathan thought he’d fallen asleep—until he noticed the faint twitch of Dane’s fingers against his sword hilt, the shallow rise of his chest just a little too controlled.

Not asleep.

Nathan almost spoke, but the words caught behind his teeth. He couldn’t have said why, only that it felt like breaking the silence might make it worse.

Time passed. His eyelids grew heavy. He was fighting sleep.

A clatter—a single rock falling—snapped him upright.

He blinked, scanned the area, then froze.

There, on the rim above, barely visible in the distance, a shape moved. Tall. Wrong. Watching.

“Oh shit,” he breathed.

He rubbed his eyes once, then focused again, pulse quickening. Nothing moved now—just that constant dull, rust-color sliding over the rock.

He pulled in a breath and flipped on his mana radar. The world sharpened.

There it was—one flare, far above him. The shape burned faintly in his sight, definitely a specter.

Just one?

He frowned, scanning farther east. The horizon was a storm of signatures—hundreds, dense and tangled, same as before.

“Not great,” he muttered.

Instinct prickled. He turned, sweeping the canyon behind them, then went cold.

Dozens—no, hundreds. Waiting, just past the rim.

“Dane,” he hissed, low but sharp.

The man stirred instantly, hand on his weapon. “What is it?”

Nathan didn’t take his eyes off the rim. “They’re back. They’ve surrounded us.”

Dane was on his feet before Nathan finished speaking. “How close?”

“Not close enough yet,” Nathan said, using the mana radar to keep sweeping. “But they’re not moving. Like they’re testing us.”

“What about in front of us?”

“Only the one nearby, then that same mess in the east.”

Dane’s expression darkened. “Feels like a trap.”

Nathan’s stomach sank. “You’re right.” The pattern made sense now. He turned slowly again. “Looks like more now.”

Dane’s tone dropped. “Like they want to herd us.”

“Yeah,” Nathan muttered. “And we’re in the middle of the pen. Well, joke’s on them—we’re heading that way anyway.”

“Right. I suggest we get moving.”

The stillness of the canyon cracked. Somewhere above, something scraped. Then another. Dozens of claws—or blades—raking stone.

Then came the sound—low, throaty, rising like a chant. Hun gryyy.

Dane moved fast. “They know we’re awake.”

They already had their packs. Nathan’s pulse spiked. “Bridge?”

“Might as well,” Dane said.

Nathan already had his sword in one hand. His other lifted on instinct, the mana wrap already in place—bright, reactive, eager to move.

Build. Shape. Anchor. Move.

“Platform first! Get us above ’em.”

He pushed the thought outward. Light burst beneath their boots and solidified—a circular platform of blue energy rising fast through the canyon air.

“Brace yourself.”
“Against wha—”

Dane’s question ended in a shout as the lift shot upward.

“Sorry!” Nathan winced, throttling the surge. “First time on an elevator?”
“A what?”
“Never mind!”

A specter dropped from above; Nathan’s fire caught it mid-fall, turning it to ash. More bodies poured from the rim, tumbling like rain. Dane’s stylus carved precise sigils. “Slice.” Again, and again.

“You get all the easy ones,” Nathan muttered.
Dane gave him a look that shut him up.

They cleared the canyon’s mid-height, the air thinning over the swarming horde below.

“Okay—bridge now.”

The platform locked. From its edge, a thin ribbon of light shot forward, snapping into form across open air—a narrow band of pale blue that hissed as it stretched, taut as drawn steel.

“Go!”

Dane sprinted first, boots hammering against light that flexed but held. Nathan followed, every movement tied to thought—extend, retract, feed forward. The bridge thinned to two soles wide, just enough to run.

Below them, the ground erupted—a massive horde, all types of grotesque bodies with claws and fangs clawing over each other. The chant rolled closer—Hun gryyy.

“Faster!” Nathan barked.
“Didn’t you say you had a plan?” Dane’s tone stayed maddeningly calm.
“Oh yeah. Before we get there—Bob’s our ride.”
“What? That’s the plan?”
“Yeah, well, they seem scared of him…”

A specter lunged from the rim. Nathan whipped his arm; the bridge flared upward like a snapping blade and sent the thing screaming into the void.

“Weaponized architecture,” he gasped. “My new favorite subject.”
“Boss,” Dane said, still running. “Focus.”
“Focusing!”

The light trembled beneath their boots as they ran, the chaos below following close and loud.

“How far?” Dane called.
“Until we’re ahead of them!”
“I don’t think we can outrun them.”

Nathan slid his sword back into its sheath. “Hold here.”

The construct steadied underfoot, pulsing once.

He grabbed the pouch at his hip and pulled Bob out, holding him in his palm.
“Bob, remember what we talked about? Big?”

Bob chirped.

“Yes, big. Big as you can!”

Nathan set him down on the bridge. “You got this. Go for it, buddy. Time to scare the monsters.”

Bob trembled—a questioning burble, then another, louder.
His tendrils stretched first, light spilling across the construct.

The glow surged.

“Be ready to grab hold, Dane!” Nathan shouted, reaching out.

“Boss? I don’t kn—”

Too late.

The platform quivered beneath them as Bob’s aura exploded outward. The bridge flexed under the weight as his body swelled, his golden glow blotting out the red haze.

“Now, Dane!” Nathan caught a tendril and released the construct the instant Dane grabbed on.

Bob became a blinding column of light, expanding like boiling mercury.

Nathan threw up his free arm, shielding his eyes as the glow intensified.

Ten feet. Twenty. Thirty. More. Higher.

“Oh my god—holy crap,” he breathed. “He’s actually doing it. He’s—he’s doing it—Bob, that’s enough! Maybe not this big—”
“I do not like this!” Dane shouted.

Bob’s shape stabilized—kind of. Still swamp-esque, rippling, roughly humanoid. Enormous shoulders. Soulless black eyes and teeth now humongous—everything about him clashed against the ethereal gold glow.

“Get to his shoulder!”

They climbed until they reached the same massive ridge of flesh and light.

Nathan looked up at Bob’s face again and wheezed out a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He pressed a hand to his mouth, half hysterical. He looks like a glowing Stay-Puft mud-man. Of course he does. Of course.

He looked down. “Too big, Bob! Don’t want you to burn out too fast!”

CHIRRP.

Nathan tried to clap his hands over his ears—forgetting he still held a sword.
“HOLY SHIT! Inside voice, you mammoth blob!”

The monsters that had been screaming and chanting now shrank back, their chorus breaking apart into ragged, uncertain echoes.

This seems too easy.

Bob turned—or rather, the huge upper mass rotated slightly, focusing on the ground below. His mouth opened, and a sound like thunder underwater rolled out. He lashed a tendril outward.

Some of the escaping horde stumbled. A cluster got flattened outright. Dust rippled through the air.

His glow flickered, unstable. Bob’s edges wavered like heat mirage.

“Boss,” Dane said quietly, bracing against the vibration. “He’s burning himself out.”

“I see it! Bob! Little smaller, buddy—reduce your size!”

Bob took one more half-step forward—if it could be called that—and shrank a little. His glow started to stabilize. The monsters hesitated again, uncertain whether to advance or flee.

"Better!" Nathan shouted.

Nathan laughed once, the sound raw and shaky. “Colossal. He’s colossal. Look at him, Dane!”

Dane’s hand twitched on his stylus. “I’m on him. And I do not believe any of this is happening.”

“Welcome to my world,” Nathan said, still grinning like a lunatic. “Population: us—and the giant marshmallow blob.”

Bob swayed, his massive form flickering again.

“A little more, Bob. Smaller.”

Bob managed to swivel an eye toward Nathan.

“Scary,” Nathan muttered.

He got smaller.

Twenty, maybe twenty-five feet now. Big enough to make a kaiju nervous, but hopefully not enough to burn himself out. Probably.

Once he steadied, Nathan pointed forward. “Walk. Easy does it.”

Bob’s eye rolled forward again, a low rumble building in his chest.

“Try not to do that,” Nathan said quickly. “You shake when you do that. I’d prefer not to fall to my death.”

Bob lumbered ahead, seemingly doing his best not to throw them off. His glow cast a halo through the red air, actually improving visibility.

Like a giant glowstick.

Dane called out, “It still feels like a trap. They all retreated too quickly.”

Nathan switched on his mana radar. “You’re right. I don’t see any nearby. Where the hell did they go so fast?”

“They must be able to move underground,” Dane said.

“Well, I can’t see that far. Mana radar’s non–ground-penetrating, apparently.” Nathan exhaled, tension still buzzing in his chest. “Let’s just get to the east already.”

“It still looks that bad in that direction?”

Nathan had been watching for a while. He didn’t answer.

“That bad?”

“It’s been steadily getting worse,” he said at last. “I think you’re right—maybe they come up from the ground or something.”

“How many?”

Nathan gave a small, humorless laugh. “I can’t even tell. And remember how I said there were big ones?”

“Yes.”

“Even bigger now.”

“We’ll be okay. We’re on a giant monster.”

Nathan turned toward him. Dane’s eyes had that glazed sheen again, faint but wrong.

“You sound… almost. No—like you just took something. Prozac, maybe. Couldn’t care less about anything.”

“Never know what you are saying,” Dane muttered. “But worrying isn’t going to help.”

Nathan studied him for a second longer. Something about his voice carried that same flat calm as before—too measured to be normal.

“Seriously, what is going on with you?”

Dane’s head dipped. “I started… you know Mason’s mental fog?”

Nathan blinked. How do I answer this? I mean, I know he knows that I know that he knows I’m not Mason.
He decided on, “Yes?”

“I’ve been feeling its presence,” Dane said quietly.

“What?” Nathan frowned. Wouldn’t that mean Mason would have to be here?

“I’ve been resisting like I used to. It’s been easy so far—no commands or anything. But I’m worried. It feels stronger the farther east we travel.”

“Well, that’s not good. What should we do?”

“Let’s just keep moving for now,” Dane said.

Nathan considered. We should have allies in this direction too—maybe they can help.
He finally nodded. “Take it easy and keep me updated if you can.”

“Yes.”

The terrain leveled out ahead, then dipped. Cracked ground, half-buried ruins, and broken white spires stretched to the horizon. It felt like walking across the bottom of a drained lake—every step hollow, echoing.

Nothing moved. The air felt stale, heavy with quiet.

Bob kept walking. The pace felt slow, but they were covering a lot of ground.

Then, ahead, the horizon flickered.

“Fuuuck…” Nathan exhaled. “It looks even crazier.”

Dane was staring. “Don’t even need mana sense to see that.”

Nathan leaned forward against the slope of Bob’s shoulder, eyes narrowing on the basin ahead, almost like a valley, surrounded by high walls. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Guess we’re doing this.”

From here he could already hear it. The shrieking, the chanting, the clash of movement gathering in the hollow ahead.

"They're coming." Dane raised his stylus.

Shapes broke loose from the basin’s edge—too many, all moving at once. Bob slowed, his glow tightening. The air filled with noise, claws scraping against stone and bone.

Nathan drew in a breath that felt too shallow. “Okay,” he muttered, gripping his sword. “Here we go. Push through. As deep as you can go, Bob!”

Bob answered with a pulse of golden light that rippled down his form like a living wave. The first impact came seconds later—shrieks, claws, the wet percussion of bodies slamming into his legs. Tendrils lashed out in every direction, scattering the swarm in sprays of gray dust.

Dane was already moving, stylus in one hand, his other sketching sigils so fast they blurred. Each mark detonated on contact, carving holes through the oncoming lines.

Nathan gritted his teeth, sword burning bright with his wrap. He slashed downward; a crescent of mana tore through the crowd below, scattering the nearest monsters. The light flared, then vanished into the dark tide.

Bob’s footsteps shook the ground. For every creature they destroyed, more came crawling from the edges of the basin, claws tearing through stone.

Nathan braced himself against the curve of Bob’s shoulder, eyes wide. “Where do they keep coming from?” he yelled over the noise. “Are we even making a dent!?”

Another explosion thundered across the basin—Dane’s doing this time—white fire streaking through the air.

Nathan spat grit from his teeth. “Guess that’s a no,” he muttered.

“From under the ground!” Dane shouted back. “Have him keep moving toward where we need to go! Clear the path—don’t let them climb!”

“Yeah, sure sounds easy!” Nathan shot back. I can’t even look at the relic. I’m pretty sure it wants to go just beyond that ridge, though. His grip tightened on his hilt. “Fine. Then we make a path.”

Bob bellowed, a guttural, liquid roar that rolled through the battlefield and sent the nearest monsters scattering.

Nathan yelled, too. “Going to go deaf,” he muttered.

All three of them kept firing, slashing, detonating—whip, cut, explode, repeat.

They were making progress, but it was like slogging through mud.

The density of the swarm finally started to break. Not vanish—just scatter wider, like they were being herded toward something.

“Middle of the basin,” Dane rasped. “We’re almost there.”

Nathan didn’t like the way he said there.

The ground had flattened out, a shallow bowl surrounded by crumbling ridges. Piles of broken spires jutted up like teeth. Too many places to hide.

“Doesn’t look any better up close,” Nathan said.

Bob’s glow dimmed, each step slower now, heavier.

“Can’t go on like this much longer!” Nathan shouted.

Dane’s reply came rough. “Have you noticed there haven’t been many specters?”

“Yeah. Like they’ve been sending their endless monster legions to wear us down.”

“Stay vigilant,” Dane said. His voice had gone thin—focused in a way Nathan didn’t like.

The ground trembled again, deeper this time, slower—like something massive shifting far below.

Nathan’s grip tightened on his sword. “They’re regrouping,” he muttered.

But they weren’t.

From the far edge of the basin, the shapes he’d seen earlier began to move—at least forty. Each one towered above the ruins. Not as tall as Bob, but heavy enough to make the earth quake when they moved. They were different types of monsters—most Nathan couldn’t even name. Some resembled what he might have called a minotaur. Others, lizard-built or wolf-jawed.

“Ah, hell,” Nathan breathed. “New friends.”

The smaller monsters scattered, clearing a wide path. Around the outer edges, specters stood like sentinels—black silhouettes watching from a distance, motionless.

What are they waiting for?

Bob shifted, his glow tightening around his form, tendrils curling like drawn wires.

Dane’s stylus lifted, but then lowered again.

“Dane?” Nathan called.

No response.

“Hey!” Nathan launched a string of explosions, light bursting across the field. “Bob! Give it all you’ve got—aim for the big ones!”

He turned back to Dane. “You still with me?”

Nothing. Dane’s head had turned toward the approaching giants, eyes open but unfocused, pupils dilated.

Shit.

The nearest giant let out a guttural roar that rattled Nathan’s bones. Bob answered with a bellow of his own, gold light flaring in defiance. The air shook.

Nathan swung his sword, cutting through the tension. “Fine! Let’s finish this before they get any closer!”

Bob whipped his tendrils like snapping cables, movement so fast it blurred. The first blow landed like thunder—gold against gray, light against stone.

Dane still hadn’t moved. His lips parted like he meant to speak, but no sound came. His hand trembled around the stylus.

“Dane?”

The man blinked once. “I… I can hear him.”

Nathan kept firing attacks. “Who?”

Dane’s voice was barely a whisper.

“What?” Nathan shouted, glancing back—

He was gone.

Nathan spotted him halfway down Bob’s side, climbing like he’d forgotten about all the monsters waiting to eat him.
“Dane! Stop! You’re going to get yourself killed!”

What in the fuck—

“Bob! Get a tendril around him!”

Bob reacted instantly, one glowing strand snapping out and wrapping around Dane’s waist.

Dane twisted, eyes unfocused, striking at the tendril with wild precision.

“Don’t have time for this!” Nathan barked. He flung out his hand, mana bursting from his palm as a small construct formed beside Bob’s flank. “Drop him there!”

Bob obeyed. Dane hit the platform hard, and Nathan sealed it in with a quick barrier.

“This is nuts!”

The words broke into laughter—half disbelief, half mania.

“You and me, Bob!” he shouted, grinning like a lunatic.

They slashed, crushed, exploded—over and over—until the larger ones finally started to thin. The air shook with every impact, every detonation a heartbeat in a song of violence.

Nathan’s muscles burned. His arms felt lead-heavy, mana scraping raw against the inside of his ribs.

Below, Dane was fighting the barrier, slamming his augmented blades against the inside of the construct like he could carve his way out.

“Great,” Nathan muttered between strikes. “Perfect time for jailbreak instincts.”

He swung again, clearing a monster that had gotten too close to the platform. “Stay in there, damn it!”

Bob slammed another tendril down, crushing a hulking beast that had tried to flank them. The recoil made the entire basin quake.

Nathan’s pulse roared in his ears. The tide just wouldn’t end—more bodies crawling up, more shadows filling the edges.

I need a path. An exit.

He looked across the battlefield, searching for any opening, any way forward. The noise, the light, the heat—everything blurred together until it was hard to tell where the monsters ended and the nightmare began.

Ah, the ridge. Canyon over that way.

“Bob, need to push toward the ridge!” He pointed. “Toward that ridge—keep clearing a path!”

Together they inched forward—explosions, tendrils, whipping strikes clearing the way. The whole basin rumbled.

“That’s it!”

Like he’d found a new surge of energy, Bob yelled.

“GANGSTER!”

“Ah, holy fuck. Definitely going deaf.”

Nathan couldn’t stop laughing as he and Bob kept forcing the advance.

“Hit forward with your tendr—”

He froze. Are those people?

On the ridge. Human outlines. One with a huge sword.

You have got to be kidding me.

Kieran.

“Oh, come on. Of course. Of course you’d show up now.”

Bob went wild, his glow flaring as something below grabbed one of his tendrils.

“Shit.”

Nathan waved his sword frantically toward the group on the ridge.
“MOVE!” he shouted. “IDIOTS, IT’S NOT SAFE!”
They didn’t move—were they deaf, frozen?

He was still holding the cage on a struggling Dane while Bob slammed his weight down to shake loose the massive creature below. The ground shuddered like thunder.

Nathan’s chest hitched, laughter and panic tangled. His sanity slipped with every roar.

“FUCKING MOVE!”
He waved more desperately, sword flashing in the light. Almost dropped it, caught it by the hilt.
The air vibrated around them, a warning too late.

The ground buckled beneath Bob, his roar of fury swallowing everything else.

Then Bob sank.

“Now what?” Nathan breathed.

Bob’s roar cracked through the air, raw and guttural.

“A trap?”

The specters swarmed in all at once—straight for Bob.

Nathan’s face went pale. They’re trying to drain him. That’s why they waited.

Bob lashed out, a tendril swinging like a bulldozer. One massive monster was flung through the air—straight toward the ridge where Kieran was standing.

“Fuck.”

The ridge began to crumble.

He dropped his sword onto Bob’s shoulder and shot out a construct as fast as he could. Mana radar—on. He could make out the falling human shapes.

Get there. Faster!

He turned the bridge into a giant net.

It hurt. The strain hit like fire.

“AHHHH!”

He missed a few. “No!”

Bob was still roaring—shrinking now, pulled down by the trap, being eaten by the specters.

Nathan felt his grip on Dane’s barrier start to splinter.

“We’re so fucked.”