Rachel's stomach twisted at the sight before her. The clearing ahead was dimly lit, a series of crude lanterns casting eerie shadows over the forest floor. In the center, a group of robed figures surrounded a glowing magic diagram etched into the earth. Strange symbols pulsed in sickly green light, their edges wavering as though barely holding their shape.

Fellgrins—dozens of them—skittered around the clearing, drawn toward the cultists. The creatures hesitated near the runes, as if sensing something unnatural. Then, the spell flared with a sharp command from one of the figures. The moment the twisted energy surged over the Fellgrins, their bodies convulsed. Bones popped, skin stretched, and suddenly, where there was one, there were two. The newly formed creatures let out shrill, unnatural screeches, their movements even more erratic, their aggression heightened.

"Shit," Paul whispered, pressing against the tree. "They're multiplying them."

Rachel crouched low behind the thick brush, and the rest of the group huddled around her. The cultists' ritual's eerie glow bathed the clearing in a sickly green light, and the flickering runes etched into the ground pulsed with unnatural energy.

"We need to stop that," Paul whispered, his grip tightening on his sabre.

Rachel nodded. "The question is how."

Nathan shifted beside her, already itching for a fight. "We could just charge in and tear 'em apart."

Rachel shot him a sharp look. "Yeah, and then every Fellgrin in the damn forest will come running. We need to be smart about this."

Evelyn kept her voice low. "What exactly are they doing? Is it just multiplying them, or is it something worse?"

They watched in tense silence as another group of Fellgrins hesitated at the edge of the glowing symbols. The cultists chanted in low, guttural tones. The moment the creatures stepped fully into the diagram, the magic surged forward, wrapping around them like grasping tendrils of smoke. The creatures twitched violently, their bodies shifting, stretching, and splitting.

Rachel clenched her jaw. "They're doubling them. Turning one into two, and the second is… worse. They're more frenzied, less coordinated."

George adjusted his grip on his bow. "They don't just multiply them. They're stripping them of whatever instincts they had left. This could spread out of control fast."

Diana narrowed her eyes. "Then we take out the casters first."

Rachel nodded, then pointed to the group. "Alright, let's break this down. We have the numbers, but they might have more magic ready if they hear us coming. We need to cut them off before they can react."

Charles tapped his shield. "We could draw their attention while someone flanks from the side."

Paul shook his head. "If we get spotted too soon, they'll reinforce the center. We must remove them before they even know they're under attack."

Rachel glanced back at the archers. "What about an opening volley? We take out a few from range when the fight starts."

Felicity nodded. "We can stay just inside the treeline and hit them before they have time to react."

Nathan grinned. "And then we rush in."

Rachel exhaled. "Fine, but you are not yelling before we engage. No battle cry, no screaming, nothing until we hit them."

Nathan groaned. "You're taking all the fun out of this."

"You'll live," Rachel muttered. "Now, let's move."

The group fanned out.

Felicity, Evelyn, and George took positions just inside the dense tree line, their bows already drawn, arrows knocked.

Rachel, Nathan, Paul, Charles, and Diana stayed low, moving quickly through the underbrush, keeping to the shadows. Their steps were slow and measured, and they avoided any loose branches or leaves that could give them away.

The cultists continued their ritual, unaware.

Nathan moved with uncharacteristic silence, though Rachel could feel the tension rolling off him. He was dying to charge, but for once, he listened.

They were just feet away when one of the cultists hesitated. His head turned ever so slightly, his gaze shifting toward their position.

Rachel saw it the second he registered something was off—his mouth opening, lungs pulling in air for a cry of alarm—

And then Nathan moved.

The axe came down in a brutal arc, cleaving straight through the cultist's shoulder and deep into his chest. Blood sprayed across the glowing runes, and arrows streaked from the trees before the other cultists could react.

Two of the robed figures standing further from the ritual jerked violently as arrows pierced their chests, their bodies crumpling before they even had time to cry out.

Rachel surged forward, her sword flashing as she aimed for the next.

Rachel lunged forward, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword as she slashed clean through the throat of the nearest cultist. Warm blood sprayed in an arc, droplets catching the dim light as the robed figure gurgled, staggering backward. His hands grasped futilely at the gaping wound, fingers slick with his lifeblood, before his legs gave out, and he crumpled to the earth in a heap.

Paul darted past her, his sabre flashing in a quick, controlled motion as he clashed with another cultist. Their blades met in a brief but violent exchange, steel scraping against steel, before Paul twisted his wrist, angling his weapon past his opponent's desperate guard. The edge of his sabre carved deep into the cultist's ribs, slicing through fabric and flesh alike. The man gasped, stumbling backward, his mouth opening in a silent cry. Before he could hit the ground, an arrow whistled through the air, embedding itself deep into his skull. Felicity, steady and focused, had loosed the shot from her position near the trees, her bowstring already drawn taut with another arrow.

Charles barreled forward, his shield raised like a battering ram, and crashed into a cultist mid-chant. The impact sent the robed figure flying back, their body slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. The symbols glowing beneath them flickered, the spell unraveling as the cultist struggled to sit up. Before they could regain their footing, Diana was already there. She moved like a shadow, swift and silent, her knives flashing as she twisted around him, both blades sinking deep into his back. A sharp gasp was all he managed before his body went rigid, then limp, the light in his eyes fading as he collapsed.

Nathan, grinning like a predator in his element, lifted his axe in both hands. The heavy weapon gleamed, stained with the blood of the fallen, as he brought it down with terrifying force. The last cultist standing barely had time to react before the axe cleaved straight through him, splitting his torso clean in two. The wet sound of rending flesh and cracking bone filled the clearing as both halves of the man hit the dirt in opposite directions.

The fight was over in seconds.

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the group's ragged breaths. The bodies lay still, crimson pooling around them and seeping into the soil. The glowing runes beneath the fallen cultists flickered weakly before the energy dissipated, their power fading into the dirt like dying embers. Whatever dark ritual had been sustaining the unnatural transformation of the Fellgrins had been broken.

Rachel let out a slow exhale, lowering her sword. "Everyone alright?"

Evelyn scanned the group. "No injuries."

George wiped sweat from his forehead, his face pale but determined. "That was… easier than expected."

Paul scoffed, shaking the blood from his blade. "Because we caught them off guard. If they'd finished whatever they were doing, that might've gone very differently."

Rachel glanced around at the scattered corpses, her gaze lingering on where the ritual had been cast. "Let's regroup near the diagram and determine what comes next."

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They moved toward the center of the clearing, the heavy scent of blood thick in the air. The ground beneath their boots was still warm from the remnants of magic, the last traces of the runes fading away like dying coals.

Then, a low, guttural growl cut through the stillness.

The group froze.

Rachel's head snapped up just in time to catch the faintest movement in the trees. Glowing red eyes peered out from the shadows, unblinking and full of unnatural hunger.

The Fellgrins that had scattered into the woods after the ritual had broken were no longer running.

They had turned back.

And now, they were coming for them.

Rachel's stomach tightened as more and more figures emerged from the undergrowth, their bodies twitching with erratic movements, jaws hanging open in twisted snarls. Once dull and instinctual, their eyes burned with something far more dangerous—awareness. A vengeful hunger rippled through their ranks, a silent understanding passing between them. The pack was no longer mindless.

Charles muttered, barely above a whisper. "We're outnumbered. Three to one."

Nobody needed to say it. They all saw the numbers.

Rachel raised her sword, muscles coiled with tension. "Hold formation. Keep your backs to each other." She signaled for the other three to come to them and noticed them sprinting to make the distance.

The Fellgrins crouched low, bodies tensing, their ragged breathing filling the clearing. The moment stretched, thin as a wire, ready to snap.

Then, Nathan stepped forward.

His breaths deepened, slow and controlled, and his massive frame rolled with each inhale. He stomped one foot, then the other, his grip tightening around the haft of his axe. The air around him shifted, thickening and humming with something primal.

Then, from deep within his chest, he roared.

The sound exploded through the clearing, raw and deafening, shaking the very trees.

A red haze pulsed around him, rippling outward like heat from a forge. His entire body exuded something savage, something ancient. The Fellgrins twitched, their eyes wide as if compelled by some unseen force.

Then, as if bound by instinct, they all turned their attention to him.

Rachel's breath hitched.

"They're—" Evelyn whispered. "They're all going for him."

Nathan grinned, eyes blazing with wild, unshaken resolve, as the first wave of monsters lunged forward.

Rachel barely had time to process what she was seeing before she shouted orders, her voice sharp and cutting through the chaos. "He triggered a taunt skill. Evelyn, stand right behind him and heal him when he gets too low. Charles and Paul, guard his flanks—don't let them surround him. George and Felicity, stay together and pick off anything that tries to break past the front." She was already moving as she spoke, Diana slipping into place beside her as they ghosted out to widen the line, trying to keep the tide of creatures contained.

Nathan stood like a mountain at the center of the formation, his massive frame grounded and shoulders squared as the first wave of Fellgrins crashed into him. The red haze surrounding him pulsed with each heavy breath, and his axe gleamed as he swung it in wide, brutal arcs. The impact of each strike was thunderous, and bodies broke and limbs were severed as the monsters shrieked. But no matter how many he cut down, more surged forward.

Rachel heard the wet crunch of claws scraping against his axe, the snarl of teeth sinking into flesh, but Nathan barely reacted. Blood trickled from deep scratches along his arms, his shoulders, but Evelyn's hands were already moving, her palms glowing faintly as she pushed healing energy into him the moment he dropped to what seemed like half health. Her magic seeped into his wounds, knitting flesh just enough to keep him standing, but she clenched her teeth in frustration.

There's no group screen. No way to monitor their health. She had to rely on sight alone, but the flickering of blades and the chaos of the fight made everything harder.

Charles and Paul flanked Nathan as best they could, but his swings were wild. His axe cut through multiple Fellgrins at once, sending bodies flying, but it forced them to adjust constantly to avoid being caught in the carnage.

"Watch it, big guy!" Paul grunted as he ducked under an errant backswing. A Fellgrin lunged for him when he was off-balance, but Charles intercepted it, slamming his shield into its chest before driving his sword through its exposed throat.

Nathan, oblivious to his friends' struggles, kept swinging. Another Fellgrin lunged at his chest, claws bared, but he let it come. At the last second, he twisted his entire body, using its own momentum against it. The creature collided with the broadside of his axe, bones snapping, before he lifted the weapon overhead and brought it crashing down, splitting the beast in half.

Rachel and Diana moved along the edges, never stopping, weaving in and out of gaps in the fight, cutting down Fellgrins that slipped through the cracks. Diana's knives flashed, finding throats, severing tendons, each strike precise and deadly. Rachel's sword was a constant blur, carving through anything that got too close.

The air was thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and burning fur, and the ground was slick with dark ichor beneath their feet.

George and Felicity stayed at the perimeter, arrows streaking through the air. Each shot was methodical, aimed at the Fellgrins trying to slip around the front line.

Rachel turned just in time to see George let out a sharp exhale, his bow glowing faintly, before he loosed an arrow.

A loud explosion tore through the battlefield.

She barely had time to register what had happened before she saw a Fellgrin engulfed in flames, shrieking as it turned to ash.

George let out a whoop, pumping his arm.

Rachel blinked before realizing what had happened. He had figured it out. He had finally channeled mana into his arrows.

"Do it again!" she called over her shoulder before returning just in time to parry a claw aimed at her ribs.

The fight dragged on, stretching minute after grueling minute.

Evelyn struggled to keep up, and her mana reserves were running low. Her hands trembled each time she reached out to mend a wound, and her healing was only barely enough to keep them from collapsing.

Paul took a gash along his leg, nearly toppling before Charles yanked him back behind his shield.

Rachel's arm throbbed where a Fellgrin's fangs had torn through her shoulder, but she ignored it, her grip tightening around her sword.

They kept fighting.

Nathan kept roaring, taking hit after hit, his rage keeping him upright even as his clothes were ripped and battered.

The bodies piled high, but the Fellgrins just kept coming.

And then, finally—

The horde began to thin.

The last few creatures snarled, their aggression faltering as their numbers dwindled.

Rachel's chest heaved as she stood over the last twitching corpse, sweat and blood dripping from her brow.

Silence settled over the battlefield.

They were all still standing. Wounded, exhausted—but alive.

Nathan staggered, the weight of the battle finally crashing down on him. Even though Evelyn had kept him healed, his body still struggled to process the adrenaline rush. His breath came in sharp gasps as he dropped to one knee. His axe hit the dirt beside him, and his hands gripped his thighs as he fought to steady himself.

The others weren't much better. Paul leaned against a tree, rolling his shoulder where a claw had torn through his clothes. Charles sat on a fallen log, shield resting across his lap, his fingers idly tracing the new dents in the metal. Evelyn moved through the group, her hands glowing faintly as she restored what little she could with her remaining mana.

Rachel wiped a streak of blood from her forehead—some of it hers, most of it not—and exhaled. "Alright, everyone check your screens. I just leveled up."

A flicker of light in her vision brought up the notification.

Quest Completed: Cull the Fellgrins (Uncommon)

Rewards:

450 Experience

7 Gold

1 Item Token (Upgraded to Uncommon)

Paul let out a small huff of amusement. "Check again, dear. I got two levels. I'm level three now."

Rachel quickly scanned her screen again, realizing she had missed the notification. The sheer number of kills combined with the quest upgrade had given her enough experience to gain two levels.

The exhaustion of the fight faded slightly as the group perked up, excited by their first real progression.

Rachel tapped through the menu, calling out as she noted what was available. "Looks like we get five stat points to spend however we want, plus one each into Endurance and Willpower. Did everyone else get the same?"

There were a few murmurs of confirmation as the others scrolled through their menus, eyes flicking across invisible screens.

Rachel stretched out her shoulders. "Does anyone need help distributing points? These seem pretty standard to what we're used to in RPGs."

No one took her up on the offer.

She considered her options carefully before splitting her ten points across Strength, Willpower, Agility, and Constitution. She had debated stacking purely physical stats, but after seeing how crucial Willpower was in gaining skills, she wanted to increase her chances of unlocking something new.

Nathan finally stood, rolling his neck with a groan. "I feel like I got stomped by a giant."

Paul smirked. "You got stomped by about fifty Fellgrins."

Nathan grunted. "Same thing."

Evelyn placed a hand on his shoulder, casting one last small healing pulse into him. "You're lucky you triggered that skill when you did. If they'd all split their attacks evenly instead of focusing on you, I don't think we would've made it through that. What was it, by the way?"

Nathan exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Yeah. That was intense. Apparently, my senseless shouting garnered me a taunt skill." He said, pointedly looking at Rachel. Who just rolled her eyes.

George, still inspecting his stat screen, glanced up. "So, uh… what do we do now?"

Rachel closed her menu, flexing her fingers as she turned back toward the others. "We get stronger. We need to spend those points wisely, figure out where we each fit best, and ensure we're better capable of handling something like that. But we should return to camp and rest up for the immediate needs."

No one argued. They had won this time, but no one wanted to push their luck.

*****

Larry crouched low in the underbrush, his fingers tapping absently against the hilt of his sword as he watched Rachel's group from a distance. His lips curled into a smirk as he observed them picking through the corpses of the cultists and the fallen Fellgrins. They were tired, wounded, and moving slightly less cautiously than before.

Perfect.

"They're gonna be a problem," muttered one of the men beside him—Derek, a wiry guy with sharp features and an even sharper temper. He wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted after them. "Too organized. Too strong. If we let 'em keep getting ahead, they'll end up running things."

Larry scoffed. "They won't. I'm the strongest one here, and they're about to learn that the hard way."

Another one of his men chuckled darkly. "They do have a lot of good stuff on them now. You see how many of those things they killed? Bet they got all kinds of gear, experience… and gold."

Larry's smirk widened. "Exactly. They did the work, but we're the ones who are gonna reap the benefits."

The group had moved just beyond sight, but their tracks were fresh, and they weren't moving nearly as cautiously as before. They thought they were safe.

Idiots.

He flicked his hand in a silent signal, and his men shifted, moving through the trees like wolves on the prowl. "We find the right spot," Larry murmured, voice dripping with confidence. "We hit 'em hard, take everything, and leave them with nothing."

A glint of steel flashed in the moonlight as he drew his blade, its weight steady in his grip.

"They won't even see it coming."

The forest swallowed them as they followed their unsuspecting prey, fading into the night like shadows with knives.

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