The rats, sleek and well-fed on the city's refuse, watched with an almost scholarly interest. They twitched their whiskers, their tiny eyes gleaming in the dim light, as they munched on discarded crusts. Some of the bolder ones had even ascended to perches atop discarded boxes, their silhouettes outlined against a flickering glow. From their elevated vantage point, they observed the strange ritual unfolding, the rhythmic chanting of the humans a low, guttural hum in the night.

  The circle was indeed perfect, meticulously drawn in chalk on the basement's floor. This time, the gathering was significantly larger than before, a full two dozen acolytes cloaked in the somber hues of midnight and charcoal. Their faces, obscured by shadows and the low light, were masks of focused intensity.

  One figure, however, stood out like a beacon in the monochrome scene. Aaron Nyl, the architect of this clandestine rite, was in his vibrant crimson, ornate vestments. The rich fabric, a stark contrast to the drab surroundings, seemed to pulse with an inner light, mirroring the fervor in his heart.

  He had rehearsed the ritual countless times, each step etched into his memory. Every rune, every incantation, every gesture had been scrutinized and perfected. He couldn't afford another failure. The weight of his ambition pressed down on him, a tangible force driving him forward. This time, he was certain, it would work. This time, he would be successful.

  "Brothers and Sisters," his voice resonated with an almost feverish intensity, cutting through the hushed anticipation. "What we do here tonight will shake the very foundations of the world. Do not falter. Do not be afraid. Give it everything you have!" With a dramatic flourish, Aaron channeled his mana into the circle. Following his lead, the other acolytes added their own energies, and the runes blazed to life, casting flickering shadows that danced like imps on the alley walls.

  For a moment, it seemed as though the ritual was proceeding flawlessly. The runes pulsed with power, the syphons hummed with a hungry energy, and the air crackled with anticipation. But then, the portal, a gateway to power, failed to materialize. Instead, an ominous silence descended, broken only by the ragged breaths of the straining mages.

  One by one, the acolytes succumbed, their bodies twitching and spasming as their mana reserves were brutally plundered. Their skin, once flushed with the fervor of the ritual, paled to a disturbing, ashen grey. The air, thick with the scent of incense and ozone, now carried the metallic tang of draining life force.

  Aaron, his senses acutely attuned to the ebb and flow of magical energy, felt the catastrophic unraveling of his carefully constructed ritual like a shard of ice piercing his heart. He severed his connection to the circle, the abrupt disconnection slamming into him like a physical force, leaving him gasping for breath.

  He stood amidst the carnage, a grim tableau of his failed ambition. His acolytes, once vibrant and full of devotion, now lay scattered on the cold stone floor, their robes crumpled around them like discarded rags. Their mana, the vital spark he needed to ignite his grand design, had vanished, absorbed by the ritual.

  Rage, hot and blinding, warred with a chilling dread. It was the same agonizing theft as before, the same inexplicable drain on the death energy he had painstakingly channeled. Someone, a phantom in the shadows, was systematically undermining him. But who? And how could they bypass his wards, his protections?

  Aaron’s vestments, once symbols of his power and authority, now felt like a cruel mockery of his impotence. He clenched his fists, the fabric bunching in his white-knuckled grip. The power he craved, the dark apotheosis that pulsed just beyond his reach, remained tantalizingly close, a phantom limb that twitched with the memory of sensation, yet always eluded his grasp. "A tracing rune," he rasped, the words laced with the bitter venom of regret. "I should have… I should have known."

  A wave of bleak resignation washed over him. "Next time," he muttered, the words heavy with the knowledge of the grim task ahead. He hadn't anticipated having to repeat the ritual, let alone endure this repeated sabotage. It made avoiding the guard harder. Even more the captain of Guard House 3.

  The thought of doubling the number of Cultists chilled him, yet the burning hunger for power eclipsed any flicker of conscience. From a dozen acolytes to two dozen. For the next ritual, he would leave no room for error. He would consign them all to the abyss if that was what it took.

  He would also have to consult Cecil. The old man, with his network of whispers and arcane knowledge, might offer some insight into this insidious sabotage. Aaron sighed, the weight of his unfulfilled ambition pressing down on him, a crushing burden that threatened to suffocate him.

  He glanced at the fallen acolytes, their vacant eyes staring up at the vaulted ceiling, and a flicker of something akin to pity – or perhaps it was just disgust at their weakness – crossed his face. He turned and walked away, the heavy silence broken only by the soft rustle of his crimson robes.

  ???????????

  The battle hadn't exactly been a clash of titans. More like a titan versus a particularly fluffy, twitchy-nosed… Snack. The rabbit, bless its cotton socks, had apparently decided that facing Sarah, a woman juiced up on so many overpowered buffs she could probably bench-press a small car, was simply too much excitement for one small, furry heart. It had given up the ghost in the most dramatic way possible: instant heart failure.

  Sarah, a soldier whose usual enemies sported rifles, armor, and a distinct lack of adorable fluffiness, felt utterly ridiculous. She was panting like she'd just run a marathon carrying a piano, her muscles screaming in a chorus of "Seriously?! For that?!" The echoes of her own voice, magnified by a symphony of magical enhancements she’d now abruptly cut the cord on, still bounced around her skull. She sounded like a deranged opera singer trying to summon a demon. All for a rabbit. A dead rabbit.

  It was a good test, she supposed. A slightly excessive test. Almost-death-number-five excessive, but she had still garnered knowledge.

  Pulling herself out of the conveniently Sarah-sized hole she’d created (don’t ask), her body, bless its regenerative little socks, kicked into high gear. Her passive Natural Regeneration, an ability that kept growing to the point of absurdity, began hoovering up ambient mana like a Roomba on a dust bunny convention.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The subtle surge of power was like a tiny spa treatment for her abused muscles, a promise of future bunny-battling glory. But the deceased lagomorph, the first casualty of her new, ridiculously overpowered existence, continued to haunt her conscience.

  "Poor little guy was so scared he died on the spot," Sarah muttered, eyeing the supposed monster with morbid fascination. "And so did I... Almost."

  Before she could even contemplate the existential implications of almost dying from stupidity, the bushes rustled. Another rabbit? Surely not. After that sonic boom of magical energy, every critter within a five-mile radius had probably packed its tiny bags and moved to a quieter postcode.

  Then, as if conjured from the dappled sunlight and the rustling leaves, a lion emerged through the foliage. Not just any lion, mind you. This wasn't your average, run-of-the-mill, Earth-variety lion, the kind that might chase a gazelle or feature prominently in a nature documentary narrated by David Attenborough.

  No, this was Leo, captain of Guard House 3, and he looked less like a king of the jungle and more like he'd just stepped out of a particularly flamboyant production of "Cats." His fur, an almost blinding white, practically shimmered in the sunlight, and his golden irises, currently fixed on Sarah, held a mixture of curiosity and what Sarah could only interpret as slightly stalker-ish adoration.

  Sarah wasn't worried, though. Well, not Earth-lion worried. She’d spoken with him enough now to consider a large feline with a penchant for drama a minor inconvenience. Her primary concern was more along the lines of, Isn't this crush bordering on obsessive? Following me outside the city walls? Seriously, Leo, get a grip. She gave him a polite, if slightly strained, smile.

  They stood in silence. Each staring at the other. Sarah, mentally composing a strongly worded but ultimately gentle rejection speech (because, honestly, who wanted to break the heart of a giant, white lion?), and Leo, whose inner monologue was currently a chaotic mix of confusion and awe.

  Sarah was thinking, Why did he follow me? Is this some sort of lion-courtship ritual? Does he expect me to groom his mane now? Because I'm really not the best with hair. Whereas Leo, bless his bewildered heart, was thinking, What. The. Hell. Did. I. Just. See?

  Leo’s Dexterity was, objectively speaking, pretty darn good. A solid 47. Which, considering he’d prioritized Strength over everything else – seriously, the man probably bench-pressed baby elephants for fun – was actually kind of impressive.

  All that Dex came from boring stuff like class level bonuses. Boring, but effective. Especially when combined with a certain skill that, for all intents and purposes, doubled the stat when it came to tracking movement. It allowed his eyes to keep up with even the most nimble of opponents.

  And yet…

  He hadn't even seen Sarah move. One moment she was there, and the next… Poof. Gone. Vanished. Like she’d been disappeared in a portal or spontaneously combusted into a cloud of glitter and fairy dust.

  All he’d registered was the distinct sound of splintering wood behind him, like a particularly grumpy beaver had just lost a fight with a greenwood. Did she teleport? Is that even a thing? He vaguely recalled a seminar on spatial manipulation magic, but he’d mostly been preoccupied with trying not to fall asleep and not drooling on the instructor’s notes. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

  Maybe the sun was playing tricks on him. Or maybe, just maybe, Sarah was a lot more interesting than he’d initially given her credit for. He certainly wasn’t going to mention the whole “disappearing act” thing. That would just be embarrassing. And possibly dangerous.

  He decided to play it cool, though his heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "So," he began, his voice a low rumble that he hoped sounded suave and not like he was trying to dislodge a furball, "nice weather we're having, isn't it?"

  Is he serious? The thought echoed in Sarah's mind, a flicker of amusement warring with the lingering unease of his sudden appearance. At least generic conversation starters worked the same on Ciria as they did on Earth. Not that it’s going to get the lion out of answering why he followed me.

  "Sure," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. "What are you doing here, Leo?" Her hazel irises, usually so warm, now held a sharp glint as they bored into him. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, his mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. He had obviously not thought this through, and Sarah could tell just by looking at him. "And don't BS me, please, Leo."

  "BS?" The phrase was lost on the captain.

  "It means don't lie to me," Sarah clarified, her expression softening slightly as she saw his genuine confusion. "Why are you here?"

  Leo sighed, the bravado he'd been trying to project crumbling under the weight of her directness. He stopped trying to concoct a story and told her the truth. He was worried about her.

  The monsters here might be the weakest around, but she was still… Dying. He had come only to watch, a silent guardian ready to step in if she truly needed him. He’d expected to find her struggling, vulnerable. After what he had witnessed, however, his concerns had been assuaged, replaced by something else entirely.

  She was clearly competent, resourceful even. She had made the journey to Grower from River Stone all on her own. A daunting task for those unprepared, and even harder for those in precarious circumstances. He’d underestimated her resilience, her strength.

  Watching her navigate this strange and dangerous world, he felt a new respect blossoming within him, a quiet awe. The foreign woman was much stronger than he originally assumed. There was a quiet dignity in the way she carried herself, a fierce determination in her eyes that spoke of battles fought and won, even before she’d arrived in his city.

  He had come expecting to protect her, a knight errant in shining armour, or at least, serviceable leather. But perhaps, Leo thought with a dawning reverence, tinged with a flicker of respect, she could protect herself. He was a good man, earnest and dedicated, but utterly oblivious to the true nature of her… Pursuits. The lion, so fierce in battle, was a lamb in this particular arena.

  That wasn't what she had been expecting at all. She'd anticipated suspicion, perhaps even hostility. Instead, the guard captain had been disarmingly frank in his admissions. He liked her. Sarah knew it. It was in the way he looked at her, the slight flush in his cheek when she spoke to him, the almost puppy-dog eagerness to assist her. In a way, it made sense. He was a protector by nature, and she, ostensibly, was a newcomer in need of protection. The irony wasn't lost on her.

  She would have to squash it eventually, of course. She wouldn't lead him on. He was too nice for that, a decent guy caught in the web of her carefully constructed (Deception). The thought brought a pang of guilt, quickly followed by a pragmatic shrug. Needs must, as they say.

  But she also couldn't send him away. It would look suspicious, raise questions she wasn't prepared to answer. How could she explain her presence here without revealing the truth? It would be like hanging a sign around her neck that read, "I'm here to practice my Necromancy buffs." Not exactly subtle.

  In the end, she settled for a compromise. Leo could stay. Her "buffs," as she was calling them, were just that – buffs. No need to label them as Necrotic ones when explaining. The less he knew, the better. Ignorance was bliss, especially when dealing with the dark arts.

  Besides, having the guard captain around could be useful. Leo was a seasoned warrior, experienced in the practical application of combat skills. He could point out where she was going wrong, offer insights into the mechanics of battle, even if he didn't understand the underlying magical principles. It would help her understand her stats, get a handle on her new body, this vessel she had already rebuked three times. She still wasn't entirely comfortable in this world, it was like living in borrowed flesh that felt both familiar and alien.

  A slow smile spread across her face. This could work. She could play the damsel in distress, the innocent scholar, while secretly honing her skills, pushing the boundaries of her power. The guard captain, her unwitting protector, would be a valuable asset in her grand experiment. And who knew? Perhaps, in time, she might even come to consider him a friend.

  A dangerous thought, but one she allowed herself to entertain. For now, at least, the game was afoot, and she was playing to win. The future stretched before her, a tapestry woven with shadows and secrets, and Sarah was ready to embrace it.