I staggered back a step, boots grinding over shattered wood.
The knight was already moving again, too fast, too smooth, shield up, tracking me like it knew.
Its mask didn't blink. Didn't shift. Just pointed at me.
Then I felt it.
A pull.
It wasn't just a tug. It was a hook. Something barbed dragged through the meat of my chest, threading me like bait on a line. My ribs shuddered. For a second I swore I felt cords under my skin, taut, reeling me forward like I wasn't bones and blood but some half-animated puppet.
My vision narrowed to a tunnel with the cracked mask at the center. Everything else, flames, shadows, even breath, blurred and bled into static.
Every time I tried to glance at the others, something dragged me back to that cracked mask. To the tank.
Aggro tether. They're forcing it.
I'm not the player. I'm the fucking boss.
My lip curled. I could feel my molars grinding.
A ragged laugh tore out of me. Too loud. Too raw.
"You want my focus?" I growled, eyes locked on that blank gaze.
"You think you can handle it."
The bear didn't argue. It approved.
I vaulted over the burning remains of the crate. Ash in my mouth.
My whole body screamed to maul.
I swung, a wide, baiting arc, the kind meant to be blocked.
The knight obeyed.
Shield up. Predictable.
At the last second I dropped low and hooked the axe behind its ankle and ripped.
Mine.
The bear surged against my bones, delighted. My joints popped, tendons straining, like something larger was trying to stretch inside skin too tight. The thought of tearing the mask wasn't just mine anymore, it pulsed with both hungers, man and beast, braided into one violent prayer.
With a roar, I yanked.
Its leg snapped out from under it. It hit the ground with a sound like a busted vending machine.
I surged forward, axe raised.
Kill it. Kill it. Tear the mask off. Eat what's behind it.
Then, a shiver down my spine.
A whisper of wind, too close.
I jerked left.
A dagger hissed past my ear.
The rogue had appeared like a shadow with bones.
One blink and it wasn't there.
Next blink and it was already mid-swing.
Thin frame. Cloak. Mask painted with a bleeding knife.
No eyes behind the holes. Just emptiness.
"Backstab... ready," it hissed, wet and broken. Like it spoke in drool and static.
Rage flared.
Red. Immediate. Total.
I wanted to drop the axe, tackle it to the ground, and bite.
To rip and thrash and feel bones crack in my jaws.
My fingers twitched.
My mouth opened.
Then something screamed in the back of my skull. Not instinct. Not the bear.
Me.
Trap. Bait. Think.
Through the blur, I caught the knight rising again.
Behind it, fire gathering, the mage charging its next spell.
They want the beast to bite. Split the threat. Kill the control.
I choked back the roar.
Muscles quivering. Teeth bared.
"Not yet," I growled, low, not sure who I was talking to.
The rogue cocked its head, puppet confusion. Like it didn't know why I hadn't lunged.
So I gave it a reason.
I swung the axe one-handed, savage, reckless.
Not to kill. To drive it off.
The blade cut empty air.
The rogue shimmered and vanished, blinking out just before contact. Coward.
Just like a good little golden boy rogue from the System would.
WHUMP.
Shield. Spine. Pain like a wall.
Air left my lungs. The world tilted.
I hit the ground hard, stone teeth against my palms.
Before I could breathe, steel flashed above me.
I threw myself sideways.
Metal slammed down where I'd been. Sparks. Stone chips.
I rolled. Pain in my side. Shoulder screaming.
Then, a pulse. A burn. A correction.
My arm, the one that got sliced earlier, was knitting. Messy, angry, wrong. But working.
My gut clenched. My stomach howled.
Food burning like fuel. Rage feeding the furnace.
The trait didn't ask. It just took.
Flesh bubbled like boiling water under my skin, knitting. Wrong. My arm spasmed, fingers curling backward before they snapped back into place. I gagged on the stench of my own marrow cooking hot, but the pain didn't fade, it simply rerouted, hammered into fuel.
I was a forge that didn't care what metal it burned.
And the fear?
It spread.
The rogue didn't come back in.
The fire-mage paused.
Even the knight hesitated, shield up, but not charging.
Like they were waiting for a command that didn't come.
Good.
Keep watching.
Keep feeling it crawl up your spine.
I was still on the ground.
But I was rising.
And they were the ones losing formation.
I snarled, raw, open-throated, and scrambled upright.
My back throbbed where the shield had hit.
Didn't matter.
Across the arena, the fire-mage's hands raised in a wide V.
Oh hell.
I ducked. Heat washed over the bench I dropped behind.
Stone groaned. Hair curled. The air screamed.
Flames tore past both sides, a curtain of death.
I gritted my teeth. Smoke clawed at my lungs.
The bench cracked, held. Barely.
They were trying to burn me out. Box me in. Cook the monster alive.
The moment the fire dropped off, I moved.
Not at the mage, that's what it wanted.
The bear wanted it too. Wanted to lunge. Claw. Burn and bite and taste smoke on blood.
No.
I dropped low and grabbed the busted healer crate.
Wood charred, splintered. My claws dug in.
With a roar, I hurled it overhead, all strength, no aim, just hate.
It tumbled, a flaming mess of mass and force, straight at the cheerleader.
The Herald didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
"Great job, team! Formation integrity... optimal!"
Crate met face mid-slogan.
CRUNCH.
The porcelain grin cracked down the center. The Herald tumbled backward, scraping across the floor like trash. One arm bent backward with a wet click.
Not dead. But damaged.
Good.
The healer with the star-mask floated sideways, dodging the debris, silent.
Its head turned. Looking at the Herald. Judging.
"You are... not permitted... to die."
The voice was calm.
Like reading patch notes aloud.
A pulse of golden light spilled from its hand, washing over the Herald.
Bones reset. Mask realigned.
The crack smoothed like wax melting in reverse. Light flooded into seams like golden glue. I felt something ugly twist in my stomach, revulsion, envy, rage, because that thing got to be repaired. Put back together like it mattered. My own scars festered and split raw just from moving, and this porcelain mannequin got corporate healing with a smile.
My throat tore with the sound that came out.
Not a yell.
Not a word.
A sound.
I launched forward, nothing clever. Just momentum and murder.
The knight moved to intercept.
I felt it again. The pull, that damned compulsion.
But I didn't fight it.
Not at first.
Let it think I was leashed.
I charged, axe high, eyes locked, right into it.
It braced. Shield up.
At the last second, I faked. Dropped the swing.
Kicked.
Foot met armor.
Metal bent inward. The knight staggered.
Stupid dog. Bad dog.
I didn't wait. I was past. Three strides. Four.
The healer turned toward me. Calm.
"Proximity alert," it said.
Hand glowing. Too late.
Too slow.
I roared and brought the axe down in a brutal cleave.
Impact. Resistance. Give. Split.
The blade sheared through.
Shoulder to chest.
Mask to floor.
Light sprayed from the wound like blood.
Its body slumped. A heap of robes and wrongness. Mask rolled free.
A thin, shrieking tone screamed from its mouth-hole, then stopped.
The air changed.
The other four shuddered.
The Herald stuttered, trying to rise, its motions twitchy, off-sequence.
The mage froze mid-cast. Flames flickering like a video buffering.
Even the knight faltered, mid-step, like its own legs weren't sure anymore.
A noise rippled out, not natural. A dead-tone hum like dying servers.
I stood over the robes, panting.
Chest heaving. Heart too fast.
A grin split my face. Wide. Wrong.
"Not so optimal now, are we?" I said.
Or maybe the beast did.
The kill felt good. Too good. My muscles sang. My blood raced.
The axe was warm in my hands.
The bear liked it.
It wanted more.
I wrenched the axe free. Light dripped from the blade like syrup, fizzing as it hit the stone.
And still, I wasn't full.
Behind me, a roar, not mine this time.
Metal on stone. Boots pounding.
The knight.
I turned, snarling, just in time to see it charging, shield gone, sword gripped in both gauntlets, body on fire and not caring. Not tactical anymore. Just angry.
Like me.
It came in swinging. Wide. Wild.
I raised my axe and caught the first blow, edge to edge.
The impact numbed my arms. Bones shivered.
Too strong. Fucking class buffs. Fucking cheat codes.
I slid back, boots skidding.
Another swing. Other side. I blocked again. Steel slammed against steel.
Teeth rattled in my skull. Arms screaming. My jaw creaked, teeth grinding like they wanted to lengthen.
Keep going. Let them scream. Scream louder.
From the edge of my vision, flicker.
The rogue. Again.
Left side, low angle.
A blade glinting for ribs.
Right side, light. Heat.
The mage. Fire spiraling in on both of us. Didn't care about friendly fire. Fine.
Ideal team tactics. Fuck you. Formation this.
I grabbed the knight by the breastplate and yanked. Dragged it across my chest like a shield. Let the rogue aim for me.
It stumbled, off-balance, and I spun, shoving us both around.
The rogue's daggers sank into the knight's back, steel finding chinks, not me.
In the same breath, the fireball landed.
FOOMPH.
Flames rolled over us.
Heat licked my arms. My face. Hair sizzled.
The knight screamed, a distorted metal screech like a dying speaker.
Armor caught. Leather straps curled and blackened.
It burned.
I burned.
And I didn't fucking care.
Still holding its chestplate, I howled and drove it down, full-body, knee slamming into its torso.
Steel shrieked.
It thrashed. I didn't let go.
Axe rose.
Came down.
Crack.
Mask split. Eye-sockets flickered.
Gone.
I stood over it. Smoke rising from my shoulders.
Chest heaving. Mouth open too wide.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
I stared down at the crumpled tank. Bits of mask stuck to the floor.
Fingers twitched on the haft.
I yanked the axe free. Heat shimmered around me.
The voice came again, the Herald, its script broken:
"Team... status: Critical. Regroup and..."
I moved before it finished.
No thoughts. Just motion.
I crashed into it shoulder-first, snapping its balance.
It went down hard, mask half-patched, one arm twitching.
I pinned it with my bodyweight.
It kicked. Twitched. Played at life.
Axe fell.
Head. No more.
The mask smashed.
Still fucking smiling.
Pain.
A line of fire tore across my calf.
I turned, too fast, too low, stumbled a half-step.
The rogue again.
Low stance. Twisted limbs. Mask dripping something black.
Poison? Blood? My blood?
The wound flared. Burned.
My body fought it, heat rising in the cut, rage boiling it away. I went to a knee, heat buzzing up my spine.
Muscle bubbled under the skin, stitching too fast, crawling to keep up.
The cut writhed like it was alive. Veins spidered black, the stain racing faster than the healing could catch. My thigh jittered, bone clicking in its socket like it wanted to pop free.
I pressed down with my palm and felt muscle twitch and tear under my hand, tendons recoiling like snapped wires. It was a race, venom or rage, which one finished me first.
The thing cocked its head.
"Target... compromised. Lethal force... advised."
Its voice buzzed. Happy. Like it liked this.
My forearm sizzled. My leg twitched, numb and useless.
Everything hurt, lungs, skin, soul.
I lay there for a heartbeat, back to stone, mouth full of smoke.
And the bear howled.
Up.
Up.
Claws out. Teeth in.
Bone crack. Blood spill.
Kill. Bite. Tear.
K̴͕͘Í̷͇L̴̞̄L̸̳̅ ̶̢̈́I̶͎̽T̸̪͝!
My hand twitched on the axe haft.
But I didn't rise. Not yet.
You're not in charge...
[TUTORIAL HINT] — Remember to focus fire on high-priority targets! ☺️