The march to the next zone was short, barely two klicks, but after the last two battles, the silence

  between them felt heavier than the distance. The faint hum of their boots over packed soil was the only

  sound.

  Calen finally broke it. “We’ve had swarms in simulation runs,” he said, voice low. “Three melee up

  front, ranged behind, keep rotation tight. Remember?”

  Taren nodded. “Yeah. Easy in VR. Out here? A lot harder to reset when someone misses.”

  Nyra checked her rifle’s readout. “At least they’re T1C. That’s manageable if we don’t get surrounded.”

  Rixor snorted. “Manageable until you’re chewing on wings.”

  “Let’s just stick to formation,” Bash said, eyes forward. “No deviations. We hit fast, we clear fast.”

  The others murmured assent and fell back into focus. Bash stayed quiet, his mind elsewhere.

  “S-C,” he thought, “I need clarity on these surges.”

  “You’ve recorded numerous instances since arrival,” she replied. “Each aligned with essence transfer

  events from defeated creatures.”

  “First was durability. Then speed. And nothing’s unlocked, just stronger reactions. Why?”

  “Correlation unclear,” she said. “The first surge aligned with Rixor’s durability activation. The second

  with your own absorption from the apex predator, speed-type essence. Neither produced an ability

  manifestation in your core. Data inconsistency persists.”

  Bash’s jaw tightened. “What about before, before I woke up in this body? The Spartor who had it

  before me. I saw him fight, he bent the ground, froze air, absorbed missile fire, then… he reincarnated.”

  “Reviewing archived memory files,” she replied. After a pause: “Ah. The previous system data was still

  updating during your awakening. Several classifications were mis-tagged.”

  “Meaning?”

  “What you observed: the ice manipulation is an elemental subtype of water control. The absorption and

  reflection you recall are forms of energy manipulation. The ability to bend the ground falls under

  mineral manipulation. Combined with durability and reincarnation, that accounts for five known

  abilities.”

  Bash frowned. “And if he also had speed?”

  “That would make six distinct abilities.”

  “How rare is that?”

  “That would make six distinct abilities. Statistically one percent of Greens ever reach that level. Most

  possess three; roughly half awaken a fourth. Anything beyond five is considered extraordinary, seven is

  nearly myth.”

  “Could I be inheriting fragments of his?”

  “Possibly residual data,” she said. “But nothing definitive. If that’s the case, the next battle will confirm

  it. Prepare for stronger feedback… and a lot more shocks.”

  Bash exhaled slowly. “Can’t wait.”

  They crested a low ridge and the valley opened before them. The team stopped dead.

  The air shimmered. Movement rippled across the hollow like a living cloud. Thousands of small bodies

  hovered and shifted in the light, wings catching the sun in rapid, metallic flashes. The sound hit next, a

  deep, collective hum that crawled under the skin.

  Rixor muttered, “That’s not a swarm. That’s a storm.”

  Taren squinted through the haze. “Are we sure we want to do this?”

  Bash’s thought. “S-C, confirm classification.”

  “Confirmed. Tier 1 Common. Power-type swarm.”

  He exhaled. “Let’s hope you’re wrong about being prepared for shocks.”

  Then, aloud to the team: “They’re T1C power-type. We clear them. Make every shot count. We rest

  after this.”

  No one argued.

  They moved into formation, three melee up front, Bash and Taren in the middle, Calen and Nyra

  covering from the rear.

  “Rixor, Liora, Darik, draw their attention. Stay mobile. Calen, Nyra, aim low, go for abdomens. Taren,

  you’re with me; mid-range support. On my signal.”

  They spread out just enough for maneuvering room, weapons ready.

  Bash raised his hand. “Now.”

  Gunfire and arrows erupted in unison.

  The first volley tore through the leading edge of the swarm, bullets and arrows ripping through the air

  like a storm of precision. Each round struck home, bursting through chitin and wings, scattering

  iridescent fragments that shimmered briefly before falling lifeless. The air filled with the harsh crack of

  gunfire, the twang of bowstrings, and the sizzling hiss of ruptured abdomens.

  The swarm reacted instantly. It didn’t falter, it adapted. The front ranks folded back while the rear

  surged forward, twisting in a corkscrew of movement that reformed into a rolling wave. Their hum

  grew deafening, a living wall of vibration and rage.

  “Here they come!” Rixor roared.

  The front three braced as the mass descended, an avalanche of wings, claws, and stingers. The sound

  alone shook the ground. Rixor swung wide, his war hammer connecting with a solid thud that burst a

  cluster mid-flight, spraying translucent fluid across the dirt. Liora moved like a dancer beside him, her

  twin blades flashed in sweeping arcs, each strike leaving trails of shattered exoskeleton. Darik dropped

  low, spinning through the melee, his short blades flashing as he sheared through legs and wings before

  rolling back to his feet.

  Behind them, the ranged team unleashed everything they had.

  Calen’s arrows came in a relentless rhythm, the hiss and snap of the bowstring almost mechanical. Each

  shaft found its mark, through eyes, through throats, through wings, every motion drawn from instinct.

  One arrow pinned two of the creatures together, sending them spinning out of the air.

  Nyra’s rifle cracked like thunder, every shot perfectly timed between Calen’s volleys. Each round

  burned through its target, dropping another attacker before it could close the distance. When one of the

  creatures got within a meter, she didn’t hesitate, she turned, fired point-blank, and stepped through the

  burst of disintegrating wings without slowing.

  “Push them back!” Bash yelled. “Keep the line!”

  Taren and Bash moved as one. She fired in bursts, sharp and deliberate, her dual sidearms cutting clean

  holes in the swarm. The recoil kicked in rhythm with Bash’s shots, the two weaving their trajectories to

  overlap seamlessly. He covered her reloads; she covered his. There was barely a flicker of silence

  between volleys.

  Bash’s trigger rhythm was flawless, short bursts, quick reload, no hesitation. His breathing stayed even,

  his steps controlled. When the line began to crack, when a gap opened too close for comfort, his hand

  flicked down and came up with steel. A knife left his fingers like a whisper of silver.

  The blade buried itself deep beneath a wing joint, severing tendon and dropping the creature instantly.

  Another lunged from the side, another flash, another throw, this one slicing through its thorax and

  embedding in the dirt beyond. Each knife was calculated, deliberate, retrieved only when the danger

  ebbed.

  He fought with precision, not panic. No wasted movement, no wasted rounds.

  Rixor’s hammer came down again with a grunt, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground. A

  dozen of the creatures crashed down in front of him. “I’m starting to hate flying things!” he roared.

  “Welcome to the club!” Taren shouted back, dropping another three with clean shots through their

  centers.

  A sharp sting hit Bash’s shoulder as one of the swarm grazed him, the tip of a stinger slicing through

  his fatigues. He twisted, firing point-blank, blasting the creature apart before it could recover. Another

  wave surged down from above, a mass of shadows and sound. The air thickened, hot, buzzing,

  suffocating.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The swarm pressed closer, their collective hum turning into a shriek that rattled through bone. Bash’s

  ears rang. His squad tightened formation, closing gaps, every member moving as if tied to the same

  invisible rhythm.

  “Left flank!” Liora shouted.

  Nyra pivoted, rifle snapping toward the call, her shot exploding through a dense knot of wings that had

  broken formation. Calen followed instantly with two arrows, one piercing a head, the other clipping a

  wing and sending another spiraling into the dirt.

  Shock after shock.

  The pulses hit Bash’s chest, faint but sharp. He was barely flinching this time, but gritting his teeth.

  “Minor reactions,” S-C reported in his head. “Essence levels consistent with Tier 1 Common.”

  “Yeah,” he thought grimly. “Barely a tickle.”

  He pushed forward through the haze. For every one that fell, two more filled the gap. The front three

  were covered in fluid and dust, backs pressed together as they swung, stabbed, and crushed through the

  endless motion.

  Rixor took a hit to the arm, staggered, then pivoted with a roar and smashed his hammer in a full arc

  that cleared a five-meter radius. Liora’s blades carved twin paths through the air, glowing faintly with

  reflected light. Darik moved in between them, his short blades stabbing up through abdomens before

  twisting out with practiced precision.

  “Keep it tight!” Bash yelled. “Don’t let them flank!”

  “Trying!” Rixor grunted, ducking just as one of Nyra’s bullets cut through a creature inches above his

  head.

  Calen’s quiver was half-empty now, arrows flying faster, his breathing rough. “Running low!”

  “Make every one count!” Bash shouted back, firing past his shoulder to take out a drone diving from

  above.

  Minutes blurred together, gunfire, shouts, the tearing buzz of wings. The ground beneath them was

  slick with ichor, their boots slipping in it as they kept formation. Bash’s ears rang from the constant

  thunder of Nyra’s rifle and Taren’s pistols.

  Then, slowly, the hum began to thin. The swarm faltered, gaps forming in the mass. Their numbers

  were breaking.

  “Hold!” Bash commanded. “Don’t rush it!”

  They tightened formation again, advancing step by step, clearing the field with methodical precision.

  One by one, the flying bodies dropped, their wingbeats fading into the background.

  When silence finally came, it was sudden, an abrupt, hollow absence.

  Bash lowered his weapon, scanning the battlefield. Only scattered movement remained, injured

  creatures twitching weakly on the ground.

  “Finish them,” he said quietly.

  They moved as a unit, walking through the aftermath, stabbing or shooting anything still alive until the

  field was still once more.

  The plain was carpeted in bodies, hundreds of them, black shells cracked open, wings scattered like

  glass shards under the pale light. The stench of burnt resin hung thick, and the only sound left was their

  breathing.

  Bash exhaled, lowering his weapon. “Clear.”

  The team stood among the wreckage, panting, coated in grime and fragments of chitin, the adrenaline

  slowly bleeding off. Around them, the hum of the swarm finally died, leaving the quiet weight of

  victory behind.

  Rixor dropped to one knee, chest heaving. “Tell me that was all of them.”

  Nyra’s rifle clicked as she reloaded. “All I can see.”

  Taren sank onto a rock, brushing dust from her arm. “I don’t care what they were classified as. That

  was a lot of T1C.”

  Bash was breathing hard too, the faint echo of residual shocks still tingling in his chest.

  “Essence saturation detected,” S-C said softly. “Collective discharge from swarm confirmed.”

  “Felt it,” he replied. “Weaker each time. Manageable.”

  “That aligns with power-type essence. Distribution diluted among many hosts.”

  “Good,” he said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  The group sat in a rough circle, panting, sweat cutting lines through the dust on their faces.

  “Stingers,” Bash said after a moment. “Fragments are the stingers. Start collecting.”

  No one argued. They spread out, moving carefully through the field. Each severed stinger glowed

  faintly when touched, pulsing once before dimming as it entered the containment bag.

  Time blurred as they worked, silent except for the faint hum of the bags sealing each addition.

  When the last stinger was stored, Bash glanced at his display.

  1137 fragments.

  He whistled low. “That’s… a lot.”

  Calen leaned back on his heels. “That’s over a thousand kills.”

  Rixor let out a rough laugh. “And I feel every one of them.”

  Bash opened the mission timer on his watch. 0.81 / 3.00.

  He nodded slowly. “That all took a quarter of the day.”

  “Feels like it,” Taren said, slumping back against her pack.

  “Eat,” Bash ordered quietly. “Hydrate. We rest one hour, then reassess.”

  They didn’t need to be told twice. Rations came out, the sound of wrappers and canteens breaking the

  quiet. The air smelled of metal and dust and faintly of the still-evaporating remains of the swarm.

  After they’d eaten, they set up a minimal camp along the edge of the clearing, light field tents and

  motion sensors in a half-circle.

  “Hour shifts,” Bash said. “I’ll take first.”

  The others nodded, too tired to argue. Within minutes, the camp was silent except for slow, steady

  breathing.

  Bash remained seated, gaze sweeping the field. The ground was already absorbing the bodies, the same

  slow process as before. The black shells sank into the soil, leaving faint ripples of light before fading

  completely.

  “Three battles, three classifications,” he murmured. “Durability, speed, and power.”

  “Confirmed,” S-C said. “All match standard essence categories. Yet none triggered your awakening

  sequence.”

  “So I’m collecting without unlocking.”

  “Yes. It shouldn’t be possible.”

  He sighed. “Add that to the list of mysteries.”

  “Already logged.”

  He opened the map again. Two markers had appeared, one a single-target zone only two klicks away,

  the other, one of the original five, the larger pack-type reading four klicks in the opposite direction.

  He stared at them for a long moment, mind weighing possibilities. Then he glanced back at the field,

  now bare, clean, as if the battle had never happened.

  The planet was swallowing everything.

  Bash’s timer ticked quietly in the corner of his display. 0.83 / 3.00. Not even a full day gone.

  Bash settled against the rock, sidearm resting across his knees. The others were already down

  motionless shapes beneath the dim glow of the fading sky. The field around them was quiet now,

  nothing left but wind moving through the tall grass and the faint shimmer of the distant plains.

  He scanned slowly, eyes tracing every shadow, every flicker of movement that wasn’t there. His

  breathing evened out, heartbeat steadying after the chaos of the fight. The calm was unnatural after the

  swarm’s deafening roar, and that contrast made it harder to trust.

  Minutes passed, maybe more than an hour. Time lost its edges. The world stayed still.

  When his internal timer pulsed, Bash pushed himself to his feet, muscles tight and heavy from fatigue.

  He moved to Rixor, crouched, and gave his shoulder a firm shake.

  Rixor stirred instantly, weeks of conditioning overriding exhaustion. He blinked once, nodded, and

  reached for his hammer.

  “Your turn,” Bash said quietly.

  Rixor grunted acknowledgment and took position near the perimeter, scanning the horizon without

  another word.

  Bash didn’t linger. He dropped back to his bedroll, slid the rifle beside him, and was asleep before his

  head hit the ground.