Bash and Rixor broke off from the group, moving low through the tall grass. The morning light was

  sharp, cutting clean across the open field as they crested a small ridge. From there, they had a clear

  view of the creatures, nearly fifty of them grazing lazily across a shallow basin below.

  The beasts stood tall on long, sturdy legs, shoulders nearly level with Bash’s chest. Their hides gleamed

  with metallic undertones, bronze and tan that caught the sunlight like burnished stone. Massive,

  branching antlers rose from each head, wide as trees and heavy-looking, the ridges pulsing faintly with

  an earthy shimmer every few seconds.

  “Count?” Rixor whispered.

  “Fifty, give or take,” Bash replied. He studied them carefully, eyes narrowing. “Communal herd, from

  the looks of it. Moving like a single unit.”

  Rixor frowned. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning if we spook one, we spook all.”

  They watched for several minutes. The creatures moved in slow rhythm, none straying far from the

  others. No hostility, but no individuality either, every step, every turn of their heads seemed

  synchronized. Bash’s instincts tightened. Herds that moved like that didn’t just defend each other. They

  acted as one.

  S-C’s voice hummed softly in his mind.

  “Data alignment suggests mineral classification, Tier One Common. Low threat individually, but

  collective aggression probability exceeds seventy percent.”

  “Mineral class?” he thought back. “Figures.”

  “Correct. Expect projectile or density-based manipulation.”

  He exhaled quietly and signaled for them to return.

  They regrouped at the base of the ridge. The others had been cleaning weapons and checking gear, but

  their postures straightened as Bash approached.

  “Report?” Taren asked.

  “Fifty confirmed. Not aggressive, but they move in sync,” Bash said. “Flagged them mineral class, Tier

  One Common. That means we go in assuming the herd fights together.”

  Rixor adjusted his hammer across his shoulder. “So… we try to separate one?”

  “That’s the idea,” Bash said. “We pull one out, test behavior. If the rest stay calm, we thin the herd

  slow. If not...” he looked around the circle, “we adapt.”

  No one argued. They’d done this enough to know there was no perfect plan, just controlled chaos.

  They crept closer, using low terrain and a shallow ridge for cover until they were within two hundred

  meters. The herd barely noticed them. Each creature fed in slow, rhythmic motions, tails flicking,

  antlers occasionally clashing softly as they brushed past one another.

  Bash raised a hand. “Calen, left flank. Nyra, right. The rest, you’re on overwatch. We drop one and see

  what happens.”

  Calen drew, his breath steady. The first arrow loosed with a soft hiss, streaking through the air and

  striking deep into the creature’s neck.

  The beast staggered, legs trembling, but didn’t fall.

  Then the ground trembled.

  The nearest grazers lifted their heads. Dozens of eyes turned in unison, glowing faintly gold beneath

  their antlers. A collective snort rolled through the field, a wave of tension snapping into motion.

  “Ah, hell,” Rixor muttered. “That’s not good.”

  The entire herd turned and charged.

  “Form line!” Bash barked.

  They scrambled into position. Rixor, Darik, and Liora braced at the front. Bash and Taren formed the

  midline, while Calen and Nyra took the rear with rifle humming to life.

  The herd came fast. The ground vibrated under their hooves, the low hum of energy rippling through the

  dirt.

  “Contact in five!” Bash shouted.

  When they hit, it was chaos.

  Rixor’s hammer cracked through the first antler, shattering it and dropping the beast mid-charge.

  The pulse hit him, sudden and sharp, cutting through the noise.

  “Essence spike detected,” S-C reported calmly. “Resonance feedback, Tier One Common.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” he thought back, jaw tight. Still nothing unlocking.

  Liora darted in, blades slashing across exposed throats, while Darik spun wide to intercept another.

  Bash and Taren opened fire, bullets punching through dense hide, sparks flashing where rounds

  deflected off hardened surfaces.

  “Eyes and joints!” Bash yelled. “Don’t waste ammo on the torso!”

  Nyra’s shots cut through the haze, precise, but for every creature that dropped, two more filled the gap.

  Their antlers glowed brightly now, light pulsing through them like veins of molten stone. Then, one of

  them reared up and slammed its head downward.

  The earth exploded.

  A spray of dirt and gravel shot into the air, pelting the team. More followed, each beast swinging its

  antlers and launching volleys of soil and rock like shrapnel.

  “Cover!” Bash shouted, ducking behind a ridge as chunks of hardened dirt rained down.

  “They’re slinging the ground at us!” Calen shouted, twisting out of the way of a flying chunk the size

  of his forearm.

  “Mineral manipulation,” Bash said through clenched teeth. “They’re weaponizing terrain!”

  Rixor roared as another charge came in, meeting it head-on. The impact shook him backward but didn’t

  drop him. His hammer came down in a brutal arc, caving the creature’s skull.

  “Durability’s holding,” he grunted, staggering back to his feet.

  “Keep them close!” Bash ordered. “If they spread out, they’ll surround us!”

  The herd pressed in from all sides. Visibility fell to near zero as dust and debris thickened the air. Nyra

  fired blind toward movement, while Taren ducked to reload. Liora and Darik fought in tandem, blades

  flashing until a sudden wave of dirt burst beneath them. Both were thrown backward, crashing to the

  ground hard.

  “Liora! Darik!” Bash shouted. He saw them struggling to move, their limbs pinned by loose rock that

  solidified around their armor like concrete.

  Before he thought, he was already moving.

  He sprinted through the dust, sidearm blazing. Two beasts lunged in his path, he dove low, sliding

  between their legs, grabbed Liora by the collar, and dragged her clear. He grabbed Darik’s shoulder

  next, pulling hard, muscles straining as the air filled with thunder.

  Another wave of dirt exploded behind him. Bash twisted his body, throwing both of them out of the

  blast radius before the pressure slammed into him like a wall.

  The world spun. His armor took most of the hit, but he felt the shock deep in his ribs.

  He hit the ground hard, rolling through debris, coughing. Another jolt slammed into his chest, hard

  enough to make his vision blur for a second. S-C’s voice flickered in his head.

  “Warning, minor contusion, noncritical. You are losing formation control.”

  “No shit,” he muttered, pushing up to one knee.

  He looked back, Rixor was covering him, hammer swinging wide. One of the beasts clipped Rixor’s

  shoulder, sending him stumbling, but he turned the momentum into a counterstrike that broke its neck.

  “Got ‘em!” Rixor bellowed.

  Taren moved in next to him, her sidearm spitting bursts of energy into the thick of the herd. Every shot

  cracked bone or tore through muscle, slowing the tide by inches. She ducked low, sliding next to Bash,

  eyes flashing with urgency.

  “You’re hit!”

  “Fine,” he grunted.

  “Hold still.” She pressed her hands over his side, focus narrowing. A faint gold shimmer spread through

  her palms. The pain dulled, then vanished entirely.

  “Better?”

  “Yeah. Keep that for the others.”

  She nodded and sprinted toward Liora and Darik, who were both half-conscious.

  Bash turned his focus back to the fight.

  Calen’s arrows whistled through the chaos, hitting eyes and soft joints. Every precise shot thinned their

  numbers. Nyra reloaded and began firing again, each round sharp and deliberate.

  They were regaining control, step by step. The creatures had lost formation, breaking into smaller

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  clusters.

  “Now!” Bash yelled. “Group focus, right flank!”

  The five standing fighters, Bash, Rixor, Taren, Nyra, and Calen, poured everything into the push.

  Another pulse tore through him, fainter this time, but constant, like static under his skin. Bullets,

  arrows, and hammer strikes carved a path through the confusion. The earth still erupted in bursts, but

  weaker now, less frequent. The herd’s strength was fading.

  Another few minutes and the chaos began to settle. Rixor crushed the last of them with a heavy

  downward swing. Silence fell, broken only by their breathing. Dust hung low, thick and gray, before

  slowly settling over the field.

  Bash stood there, chest heaving, scanning the field. Bodies everywhere. Broken antlers, torn hides,

  streaks of glowing residue bleeding into the dirt.

  “Status,” he said.

  “Calen-fine,” came the reply.

  “Nyra-clear.”

  “Rixor-sore, not broken.”

  “Taren-working.” She was crouched next to Liora and Darik, both groaning. “They’ll live. Got

  trampled bad, some cracked ribs, fractures. I’ll have them stable soon.”

  Rixor lowered his hammer, wiping blood and dust from his brow. “You pulled both of them out

  yourself, huh?”

  Bash nodded once. “Couldn’t leave them there.”

  Rixor snorted. “Next time, call me first.”

  “You were busy taking hits meant for me,” Bash said.

  The bigger man grinned faintly. “Fair trade.”

  Taren worked for nearly twenty minutes, her hands glowing steadily as she cycled between the two

  wounded Spartors. The air around her shimmered with faint gold, the light pulsing in rhythm with her

  breathing. By the time she sat back, both were awake and moving stiffly.

  “That’s everyone,” she said quietly. “No permanent damage.”

  “Good,” Bash said. “We move as soon as we can walk.”

  “Already walking,” Darik muttered, hauling himself up.

  “Slowly,” Taren countered.

  Rixor exhaled hard, leaning against his hammer. “Fifty of them… that’s one hell of a morning.”

  “Fifty-three,” Calen corrected, counting the remains.

  They began harvesting, working efficiently despite the exhaustion. Each antler fragment glowed faintly

  when cut, soft light fading within seconds. The mineral density made them heavy, solid and crystalline

  near the roots. Bash and Rixor handled the bulk of the work, breaking antlers loose while Calen and

  Nyra bagged them.

  S-C’s voice murmured in Bash’s mind.

  “Thirty-seven confirmed Tier One Common signatures absorbed. Essence resonance consistent. You

  received majority proximity allocation.”

  “Yeah,” he thought grimly. “Felt every one.”

  The faint pulse still lingered in his chest, a steady rhythm now, dull but persistent. He didn’t mention it.

  Not to S-C, not to the others. They’d all taken enough hits for one day.

  By the time they finished collecting, the sun had crossed the sky to early afternoon. The fight, the

  cleanup, the recovery, it had eaten hours. They gathered near the ridge, rehydrating and resting under

  what shade the terrain offered.

  Bash checked his timer, 2.39 of 3.00.

  “A little more than half of a day left,” he said. “We keep moving. Direct route back to the QTP puts us

  there before sundown.

  “Assuming we don’t find another fifty of these things,” Nyra muttered.

  “Let’s not,” Taren said, tightening the strap on her pack. “I’d rather test my healing on small cuts next

  time.”

  They all chuckled tiredly.

  They set off again, following the most direct path toward the QTP. The landscape shifted as they went,

  grassy flats giving way to thin tree lines and uneven terrain.

  No one talked much. The air felt heavy, their steps slower than before.

  A few kilometers later, the trees began to thin, the air carrying a faint metallic hum that made Bash’s

  pulse quicken. The undergrowth broke away into a wide clearing, flat, open, and eerily still.

  The light caught something ahead: a smooth, circular depression in the earth. In its center, faint

  geometric lines pulsed in steady rhythm, white and blue, forming the unmistakable outline of the QTP.

  Rixor exhaled sharply. “Home stretch.”

  Calen lowered his bow, relief flickering across his face. “Didn’t think I’d be this happy to see a portal

  gate.”

  Taren smiled faintly, her tone dry. “You just don’t want to fight anything else.”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  They slowed their pace as they approached the platform. The faint hum of the portal resonated in the air

  like a heartbeat. The ground bore marks of other teams, footprints, drag lines, discarded ration

  wrappers, evidence that they weren’t the first to return.

  Bash glanced at his watch. 2.44/3.00.

  “Right on schedule,” he said quietly. “We set up camp before sundown. Gives us a few hours at sunrise

  if we want one last sweep.”

  Rixor nodded. “Or we just stay alive and let the points stand.”

  No one argued.

  They dropped their packs near the outer rim of the gate, weapons stacked within arm’s reach. The

  afternoon light caught the faint shimmer of the portal’s surface as it cycled between pale blue and

  silver.

  For a while, no one spoke. The breeze carried the soft whine of energy from the gate, blending with the

  sound of their breathing. It wasn’t triumph exactly, but survival, something quieter and heavier that sat

  between exhaustion and satisfaction.

  Bash crouched near his pack, unstrapping one of his knives and wiping the edge clean against a cloth.

  The blade still carried faint residue from the earlier fight, metallic dust that shimmered when it caught

  the light. Across from him, Nyra leaned against her rifle, running diagnostics as the charge cell cycled

  through its cooldown.

  He caught her eye and nodded toward the weapon. “That rifle made a difference out there.”

  She tilted her head. “So did those knives. The imbuement’s cut through more than anything else we’ve

  seen.”

  “Yeah,” Bash said. “Between the two of us, I’d say the balance tipped our way.”

  Rixor grunted from his seat near the heater. “You’re saying we go back out, aren’t you?”

  Bash tapped the side of his wrist display. The holo-map flared to life above his arm. one familiar icon

  blinking softly about a klick away, pulsing orange in the fading light. “Pack signature,” he said. “It’s

  the closest target.”

  Calen lifted his head, brow furrowed. “You’re suggesting a night battle?”

  “Just recon,” Bash said evenly. “We check the terrain, no engagement unless it’s clean. We come back,

  plan it, and hit it first thing at sunrise. If we take it down, we might have enough to push top-tier

  rewards.”

  Liora looked skeptical but didn’t argue. “You really think it’s worth it?”

  Bash nodded. “If those last few fights taught us anything, it’s that the right equipment changes

  everything. The rifles, the knives, gear like that could mean the difference between surviving the next

  portal or dying before we even sync.”

  Taren leaned forward, clasping her hands. “He’s right. Ten pieces for the top teams… that’s not

  something we can shrug off.”

  Rixor exhaled, rolling his shoulder where the healed scar still tingled. “So what’s the vote?”

  Bash looked around the circle. “We call it here and wait for sunrise, or we go out, scout, and come back

  to finish it clean in the morning. Either way, we move as one.”

  One by one, the nods came. Nyra first, then Taren. Calen, Rixor, Darik, Liora, all in agreement.

  “Unanimous,” Bash said quietly. “We go.”

  He rose, tightening the strap on his pack and glancing at the soft glow of the QTP. The hum of the

  portal felt steadier now, like it approved. “Eat, hydrate, and get what rest you can,” he said. “We move

  at dusk. Quick in, quick out.”

  S-C’s voice murmured in his head. “Risk assessment: acceptable. But your pattern of continued

  engagement despite fatigue indicates compulsion.”

  He smirked faintly. “No, it indicates opportunity.”