It was sudden.

  A loud thundering.

  The air seemed to take color as random spots of orange fog appeared.

  The flood of monsters was starting to slow.

  Hunter's chest still ached, but he hesitantly breathed a sigh of relief. "Is it finally over?"

  The two beside him who had fought by his side had deep frowns, but their eyes were wide with hope.

  "I…" Tren wiped dried blood from his ear. His voice came out thin, barely a whisper. "I hope so."

  Even though they'd won, the battlefield didn't move. It wasn't silence; it was a clawing stillness that rang in Hunter's ears.

  No more screams.

  No more pounding footsteps.

  Scraping from a sword being sheathed was the first sound. Some looked, others stared off into the distance.

  The sky grew lighter, the morning stained with a deepening crimson glow.

  The wet sounds of boots moved to the city and passed those who were still frozen.

  The air was thick, not with tension, but with the stench of death. Burnt flesh, scorched earth, cracked bones, everything had a scent now.

  Some stared down at their hands like they didn't recognize them. Others just sat where they had stood, like moving might break the illusion that it was over.

  The ground looked like it had been fed too much.

  A few coughed. One vomited. Another laughed, sharp and broken, like the man's mind hadn't caught up with the fact that he'd survived.

  Victory wasn't cheering.

  Victory was exhaustion.

  Hunter saw people look down at wounds as if the pain was foreign, an alien sensation they didn't know what to do with.

  And for some, for the ones who'd lost more than just strength, it was staring across the field at nothing, wondering what winning even meant.

  They walked back into the city.

  They were safe. They had protected it.

  But what was even left?

  People sat on the ground, staring into nothing. Bandages passed from hand to hand. More sat down as the stream of survivors slowed to a trickle.

  "This is it?" someone whispered. "This is all that's left?"

  From further down the road, the echo of footsteps carried, too sharp, too steady.

  Clean armor. Sharpened blades. Support had arrived.

  Too late.

  Too much was lost.

  Healers and medics fanned out, some glowing with magic, others holding cloth and herbs.

  "Let me heal you real quick," someone said from above him.

  He looked up. A man in white robes stood over him, holding a tablet in one hand and reaching out with the other.

  "No," Hunter said, lowering his gaze.

  "No?" the healer echoed, confused.

  The pain was real. In a way, it felt like the only thing keeping him grounded.

  The man touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry. This is my job."

  A yellow light erupted from beneath the torn fabric. Hunter's skin glowed.

  It hurt.

  The healing stopped.

  The ache in his chest remained.

  His skin was clean, but the pain hadn't left.

  The healer moved on.

  Another set of footsteps approached.

  "Hunter?" a voice asked.

  He looked up.

  "I'm gathering debriefs. I'm trying to assess the situation and… and the casualties." The man faltered, his eyes shifting away. "Do you know who's alive?"

  Hunter looked to his left. Then his right.

  He said nothing.

  The man nodded. "Indy and Tren. They're marked as survivors. Your teammates."

  He paused, taking a breath, then stiffened. "I need to inform you of people you may know who didn't make it."

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  Hunter's heart skipped. "People I know?" He looked again, checking if Indy and Tren were still really there.

  The man began reading off names.

  “Erwin Trelton. Fabio Heler. Ellis Thurton.”

  Hunter's breath caught.

  How had he thought he'd be the only one affected?

  "James Delan." A pause. "Derek Holder."

  A ringing started in his ears.

  The lights.

  The sirens.

  "NO!"

  The back of the police car.

  "Stop!"

  The morgue.

  His throat closed. No words came.

  His mind was tightening, and then, in an instant, he was again in the cold steel room.

  Twenty minutes...

  "Hunter!" Came a voice far away.

  There he was, lying on the table.

  It had only been twenty minutes.

  Grabbing his friend's shirt, he was still warm.

  "You can't leave me like this."

  Everything dimmed.

  His cheeks stung.

  The sky had turned gold and rose, beautiful, cruel.

  "Another person I can't keep my promise to," he muttered, voice breaking.

  Tren dropped beside him. "So many people."

  Hunter didn't move.

  "I keep thinking… if I was just stronger." His voice caught. "But we're still breathing. That has to count for something… right?"

  He didn't sound convinced.

  A warm pressure touched Hunter's hand. Indy. She didn't speak, just sat there, watching the sky.

  "If it hurts," she finally said, "it means you're still alive."

  That's all they gave him, no speeches, no lies. Just presence.

  And right now, that was enough.

  The following days were hard.

  This world had something like a will, and Derek had signed Hunter into it just days before the end.

  It hurt, going back to the cart of a man he barely had time to know.

  Somehow, it had survived the siege, along with Louie. Unfazed by all the destruction, the large Lorid blinked at him, no thoughts beyond those eyes. "Stupid creature." Hunter mumbled, "He'll outlive us all."

  Feeding the beast was easy. Too many bodies still lay unclaimed.

  Derek's will had been written like an apology.

  Derek confessed he'd wanted to use Hunter, seeing him as a weapon. "Selfish," he'd called it. But he still asked one final thing: "Look after Louie."

  The rest was junk. Money. Odd trinkets. A hoarder's nest of memories.

  Hunter stayed in the cart. Sometimes, he slept. Mostly, he stared at the ceiling, waiting to feel tired enough to close his eyes.

  Each day was the same.

  Wake up. Try to cook. Burn it. Give thanks to Derek. Eat anyway. Charcoal never tasted so bitter.

  Then he'd head out and help. The city needed rebuilding, and with the new strength he'd earned, he could finally contribute.

  He added all five skill points to strength. It helped.

  Indy and Tren helped, too, but they were distant, carrying wounds that didn't bleed.

  Tren smiled when Hunter showed up, but his eyes didn't join in. Dark bags clung under them like bruises that wouldn't fade.

  Indy's hands were always wrapped in red-stained cloth. When she wasn't working, she was training. She didn't smile, but she'd ask how he was, ask him about Tren, and tell him about the researchers still under investigation.

  That was their rhythm.

  Hunter found his fingers tracing the inscriptions on his mace. The best thing Derek had ever made.

  By the third day, the streets were almost clean. By the fourth, the orders had stopped.

  Hunter was terrified.

  Because it meant there were fewer distractions, no more walls to patch, no more fires to put out.

  He needed something to chase.

  So he ran. Outside the gates. Into the wild.

  At first, it was to clear his head. Then, it became training. Then, it became hunting.

  And then… it became something else.

  A Salager stood by itself.

  It looked weird alone, with no explosions or flood of monsters behind it.

  His mace dropped into his hand.

  His mind was finally empty.

  Fear enraptured him.

  He fed it to his anger, running at the beast.

  Derek would've called this reckless.

  The monster reared back for an attack using its left fist.

  But Derek wasn't here.

  Jumping out of the way, Hunter felt his blood boil.

  No one was.

  "I've seen your tricks!" he spat.

  Activating his Phantom Strike for the first time, he struck upwards at the extended arm.

  The Salager's bones cracked, and Hunter backed up.

  "What did I-" He didn't finish.

  The beast's arm cracked again, and chunks of flesh splattered from a nonexistent strike.

  His muscles felt sore.

  He didn't care.

  The Salager, now one arm down, lunged at him with the other.

  Snarling, he yelled. "Didn't learn the first time, huh?"

  He ducked under the blow and activated amplify, bringing his mace up to meet the ugly, long face of the monster.

  Teeth shattering, its face imploded, the Salager collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

  The bracelet on his arm shattered, breaking into pieces.

  He looked down at the fragments, blinking. "Right… Strength must be over forty now."

  A notification appeared.

  ————————————————————————————————————————————————————

  You have killed a Salager

  38 xp earned

  ————————————————————————————————————————————————————

  Telling himself it was training, Hunter knew deep down that he liked the sound monsters made when they stopped breathing.

  He wouldn't stop; the silence during battle… He needed more.

  Finding another Salager, he fought it, winning again.

  A Porolf.

  Easy.

  Eventually, he sat down, barely able to hold his mace anymore.

  ————————————————————————————————————————————————————

  You have killed

  1 Salager

  1 Porolf

  40 xp earned

  Level up, now level 30

  ————————————————————————————————————————————————————

  "A level?" he laughed; without a thought, he put the points in strength.

  The light was waning, the green hills illuminated by a soft pink hue. A light wind came from behind him.

  Grass danced along with the breeze, his hair flowing past his shoulders. "What do I want?" he asked himself.

  Hunter had always struggled with direction, and honestly, he had been relieved when Derek chose one for him. "What now?" he mumbled.

  Balling his fist, he looked at his mace, gore still covering it, red streaks of blood being absorbed into the ground.

  His chest ached again, the pain returning, so he pushed himself to his feet.

  Reaching down, he picked up his weapon and returned it to his inventory.

  Throughout the night, Hunter continued chasing the silence he had only felt in battle.

  Waking up, Hunter was confused; he was inside and not in Derek's cart.

  Trying to move his arms, he realized he was stuck.

  Thrashing, he immediately tried to bring out his mace.

  It wasn't there.

  "Awake?" someone said to his left, then she continued. “You guys may come in now."

  His breathing quickened as sweat rolled down his face.

  Pulling again at his restraints, his fear peaked. "Why am I not strong enough?"

  The scuffling of feet came from outside, and he froze. It was Tren and Indy.

  Furrowing his brows, he was about to speak, but Tren interrupted, sounding angry. "Help me understand, Hunter.

  Why you didn't return last night?

  Help me understand why you went out without telling us?

  Tell me why you left on your own."

  "Why?" His voice faltered. "Why we found you in a pool of your own blood?"

  Guilt ached, his chest flaring with pain; Hunter reached for his mace but couldn't move.

  Tren's hands shook. A tear rolled down his cheek. “I've tried, Hunter. I have to, for my family. I can't lose more.”

  Indy put her hand on Tren's shoulder and then walked closer to Hunter, rubbing her hands together. "We all have our own ways to deal with pain and loss. Please don't make us have to deal with losing you."

  Like a punch in the gut, the aching doubled.

  Hunter stopped struggling, and the fight left him, but the pain continued.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  Undoing his restraints, they helped him sit up.

  His muscles trembled. His skin was clean. The pain continued.

  No one said anything.

  Indy's hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment.

  That was all.

  And for now.

  That was enough.