I scratched my head, the confusion in my mind settling into a dull throb. The more I tried to piece it together, the less it seemed to fit.
Asellus: Another Hopper? What are you doing here? We already have three.
She shrugged, her casual demeanor almost maddening. But there was something in her eyes—something quietly calculating beneath the surface.
Stella: I don't really know. One minute, I'm writing something down, and the next, I'm landing face-first in the dirt. The Higher-Ups must really need help if they're tossing me in when there are already three of you.
Her tone was light, almost joking, but there was an edge to her words, like she was trying to make sense of it just as much as we were.
Barten and I exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between us. Neither of us knew what to make of her sudden arrival, but there wasn't much choice. Whatever game the Higher-Ups were playing, we were all pawns.
I let out a long breath, forcing myself to roll with it.
Asellus: Well, welcome, I guess. Our third guy just left to explore. Make yourself at 'home.' We've got some extra resources lying around—you can set up a place nearby.
Stella: Alright. I'll find a spot close by.
Asellus: Good. Barten and I are heading out soon to gather materials for a machine.
Barten had been quiet through the exchange, his face hard as he grabbed materials from the table. He didn't look thrilled—then again, Barten never did well with big groups.
With a casual motion, he grabbed a spare sword and tossed it into the air.
Barten: Here. Extra sword.
Stella caught it with surprising ease, flipping it over in her hand to inspect the blade.
Stella: Thanks, but I'm not much of a fighter. I usually try to avoid monsters and, well, anything sharp with teeth.
Barten's expression didn't change, but his tone carried a faint edge of sarcasm.
Barten: It's always good to have some way to defend yourself, even if you plan to run.
Without looking, he tossed a piece of armor at me. I caught it, driving my sword into the ground for balance as I began strapping the iron plates onto my arms. The metal was still warm from the forge, the heat radiating through my gloves.
Stella: Sorry, I didn't catch your name.
I glanced up at her as I tightened a buckle.
Asellus: Asellus. You've already met Barten, and the other guy—Agorix—is off somewhere. Let us know if you need anything else.
Stella: Got it. I'll start setting up while you're gone. Good luck out there.
She gave a small wave before turning on her heel, the sword resting easily on her hip as she walked toward the trees.
Barten barely acknowledged her departure, his focus back on the workbench. I slid on the helmet that matched the armor set, adjusting the straps as Barten finished up and began donning his own gear.
I watched Stella for a moment longer than I probably should have, the steady sway of her green hoodie disappearing into the treeline. Something about her caught my attention, though I couldn't put my finger on it.
A snap of fingers broke me from my thoughts.
Barten: You good?
I blinked, shaking my head.
Asellus: Huh? What? Yeah, I'm fine.
His eyes narrowed, skeptical.
Barten: You sure?
Asellus: I'm fine, I just...
I trailed off, glancing back toward where Stella had disappeared.
Why was I staring?
Barten: Grab your stuff, and let's go. The faster we get back, the faster we can set up the machine.
His tone was clipped, the usual ease in his voice replaced with something harder, more distant. I nodded, heading into the house to gather the supplies. It wasn't lost on me how Barten's demeanor had shifted. He wasn't always warm, but this cold edge was new. Maybe the Angel topic was still gnawing at him—couldn't blame him for that. It was gnawing at me too.
Inside, I started rummaging through the mess I called storage, hunting for the food I'd mentioned earlier. It wasn't until now that I realized how much I'd lost track of my original task. The search felt like a scavenger hunt in a disaster zone, every crate and corner yielding nothing but junk.
A shadow passed by the doorway, and Barten peeked in, leaning casually against the frame.
Barten: You really gotta organize your stuff, dude. Every time I see this place, it's a storage nightmare.
I shot him a glare.
Asellus: Shut up.
Barten: Hey, I'm just saying—maybe label a chest or two. Save future you some pain.
His grin was faint, barely there, but it softened the edge he'd been carrying. For a moment, it felt almost normal. Almost.
Barten: Just hurry up, man.
Finally, after what felt like forever, I stumbled across a chest hidden in the back, buried under spare gear and broken tools. I popped it open to find a stash of food—enough to last us through the trip.
Asellus: There. Let's go.
I tossed him a share of the food, and we set off, heading toward the place we'd first arrived. The sun was dipping lower on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and violet. The fading light didn't help my nerves. Every shadow stretched a little too long, every rustle in the underbrush made me flinch.
Barten moved ahead, his movements sharp and focused. He was just as alert as I was, his eyes scanning the trees as we pushed through the undergrowth. Bushes snagged at our clothes, twigs snapped underfoot, and low-hanging branches clawed at our faces.
Then, a sound—a rattling, bone-chilling and all too familiar. My blood ran cold.
I barely had time to process it before an arrow zipped through the air toward us.
Barten: Get down!
He moved fast, raising a shield he'd crafted earlier. The arrow struck it with a loud thunk, splintering on impact. I didn't stop to think. As the undead creature lumbered closer, I vaulted over Barten, my sword flashing in the dim light.
With a yell, I brought the blade down hard, striking the monster dead-center. It shattered, the brittle bones exploding into fragments that clattered against the forest floor.
Breathing hard, I landed on the other side of Barten, my heart pounding in my chest.
He lowered his shield, glancing back at me with a raised eyebrow.
Barten: Here I thought you were going soft. Good to see you still got it.
I smirked, wiping bone dust off my sword.
Asellus: Aww, you miss me?
He didn't reply, just gave a faint snort before turning back to the path ahead. I followed, the tension still buzzing under my skin. The encounter had been quick, but it was enough to remind me how dangerous this place was—and how far we still had to go.
Close by, another undead lurched toward us, this one gripping a sword in its bony hand. Its movements were jerky but aggressive, its hollow eyes locked onto us. Behind it, more began clawing their way out of the ground, dirt crumbling from their brittle limbs.
I tightened my grip on my sword, the rough leather hilt familiar in my hands. Beside me, Barten raised his shield, his mechanical arm steady and unyielding.
Barten: Here we go again.
As the first undead charged, Barten stepped forward, his shield meeting the monster with a bone-crunching crack. I darted past him, my blade swinging upward in a clean arc that split the creature in two.
Another one closed in, its rusted blade aimed for Barten's side. He saw it coming, sliding forward with surprising speed, his own weapon piercing through the monster's ribcage.
A faint twang cut through the chaos.
Barten: Archer!
I spun around just in time to see a skeletal figure nocking an arrow on a warped bowstring. Barten didn't hesitate, positioning his shield behind us to cover our backs as I slashed through another undead closing in. The metallic clang of arrows striking his shield echoed through the forest.
Blood dripped from the edge of my blade, staining the ground at my feet. My chest heaved as I caught a quick breath, sweat trickling down my temple.
Barten, meanwhile, was on the move, steadily advancing on the archer. He blocked shot after shot, the arrows snapping uselessly against his shield as he closed the distance.
But more undead were converging on us, shambling forward in a relentless tide. If I didn't do something, they'd overwhelm him before he reached the archer.
Asellus: I've got this!
Without waiting for a reply, I launched myself toward a nearby tree, the bark rough under my boots. With a grunt, I kicked off, using the momentum to propel myself into the air. Time seemed to slow as I soared over the horde, their empty eyes following me in eerie unison.
I landed dead center among them, the impact sending up a cloud of dirt and dust.
Asellus: Let's go!
One of them swung at me, its rusted sword clashing against mine with a deafening clang. The force rattled my arms, but I held firm, shoving it back. With a shout, I spun in a wide arc, my blade carving through the group surrounding me. Bone fragments scattered like shrapnel, the sound of cracking and breaking filling the air.
The horde thinned for a moment, giving me a brief window to glance back. Barten was nearly on the archer now, his shield angled perfectly to deflect the next shot.
Barten: Keep them busy, Ase!
Asellus: Don't have to tell me twice!
The undead were relentless, but so was I. With every swing, I felt the weight of survival driving me forward. The sound of battle—the clash of metal, the groans of the undead, Barten's steady grunts—was all that filled my ears.
Night had fully claimed the sky by the time Barten closed the distance to the archer. The creature, sensing its end, tried to retreat, its brittle legs creaking under the effort. But Barten was faster. With a decisive lunge, he grabbed its bow mid-flight, yanking it from the skeletal grip. Without a moment's pause, he swung the bow like a club, shattering the archer's skull in a single, brutal motion.
Barten: Not much of a fight, are you?
He slung the bow over his shoulder, his movements precise and efficient. A quick flick of his sword ended the archer for good, leaving its remains scattered among a few stray arrows glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Meanwhile, the horde around me felt infinite, an unrelenting tide of snarling death. I ducked under a wild swing from one of the undead, using the momentum to spin into a wide arc, my blade slicing through three more. My arms burned from the effort, but there was no time to stop.
And then, out of nowhere, arrows began to streak through the air, finding their marks with unerring precision. The undead closest to me fell one after another, each one reduced to dust before it could land a blow.
I glanced up to see Barten standing atop a small incline, the stolen bow in hand. His mechanical arm drew and released with machine-like efficiency, each arrow striking true. He didn't say a word, his focus unshakable as he picked off the remaining undead with a cold, calculated rhythm.
A few seconds later, silence fell. The horde was gone, their remains scattered as nothing more than piles of ash and shattered bone.
Asellus: Wow. Didn't know you were good with a bow.
Barten lowered the bow, glancing at me with a smirk that bordered on smug.
Barten: I don't miss.
I rolled my eyes, sheathing my sword across my back.
Asellus: Yeah, sure. Modest as always.
Barten snorted, already turning to move forward.
Barten: Piss off. Let's go.
I fell in step beside him, the crunch of ash and twigs underfoot the only sound as we pushed onward. The forest felt quieter now, almost eerily so, as though the night itself was holding its breath.
We weren't getting what we needed by standing around...
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