The durability beast thundered past, so close the air warped around it.

  Bash moved with it, silent, deliberate, slipping behind the lumbering mass as dust erupted around his

  boots.

  Everything slowed.

  The knife left his hand in perfect rotation, spinning end over end, each glint catching the pale light that

  filtered through the chaos. The world muted to a hum. Dust floated like ash in the air. He could hear

  every beat of his heart.

  The predator turned its head, eyes blazing white.

  The glow pulsed once, twice, as though aware of what was coming.

  The knife cut through the haze, trajectory flawless, headed straight for the skull.

  Then the air moved.

  Wings burst outward in a violent shimmer. A summoned bird dove from the den’s mouth, cutting

  through the path of the blade. Bash’s muscles tensed, he could see it, the moment of interception

  approaching, one heartbeat at a time.

  His eyes met the predator’s across the field, white light against human resolve.

  The thing was mocking him, he knew it. Waiting.

  One meter from impact, Bash shifted his focus, wrist flicking almost imperceptibly, his mother’s

  signature throw, the Phantom Throw she’d drilled into him a thousand times before she died.

  The knife dipped at the final instant, sliding under the bird’s wingspan.

  It hit home.

  RazorVein buried itself to the hilt in the predator’s chest.

  A flash, not of light, but of silence.

  Then the glow in its eyes flickered once… and died.

  The bowl fell still.

  Every summoned creature froze where it stood, white eyes dimming, collapsing mid-motion. Rodents

  hit the ground in thuds, birds dropped from the air, the durability beast fell forward lifeless again with a

  deep, final tremor.

  The world went quiet.

  Then came the shock.

  Energy exploded through Bash’s body, hurling him backward like he’d been struck by lightning. His

  limbs seized, every nerve on fire, muscles locking as a surge of white heat ran up his spine. He hit the

  ground hard, convulsing. The beast’s essence link pulsed once more before fading.

  He lay there twitching, breath gone, chest heaving like he’d been drowned. His eyes rolled, vision

  flashing between black and static grey.

  No one saw.

  His team was still under cover, each half-buried beneath the chaos the summoner had unleashed.

  S-C’s voice crackled faintly in his mind. “Confirmed… Tier Two Greater energy absorption. No ability

  unlock detected.”

  He coughed, voice hoarse. “Then give me something good.”

  A pause. Then, flatly:

  “You’re all still alive.”

  Minutes, but felt like hours, passed before the sound of movement returned.

  Liora was first to stir, dragging herself upright with one broken blade still clutched in her hand. Blood

  streaked her face. Darik was beside her, staggering to his knees, his arm hanging uselessly at his side.

  They stumbled toward Rixor, who was sprawled across the dirt, armor shredded, hammer still gripped

  tight. He groaned when they reached him, forcing a grin through split lips.

  “I’m too stubborn to die,” he rasped.

  Across the crater, Taren was a bloody mess, her fatigues in tatters, one arm slick with blood from

  shoulder to wrist. She was kneeling, trembling, hands glowing weakly as she sealed a wound across her

  ribs.

  Each burst of light flickered, unstable, but enough to stop the bleeding.

  Calen was lying across Nyra, shielding her with his own body. His back looked like it had been clawed

  open, flesh exposed through shredded fabric. She was unconscious, breathing shallow. The faint hum of

  her rifle, still active beside her, buzzed low in the dirt.

  Bash rolled onto his side, forcing his lungs to pull in air. Every movement sent a ripple of pain through

  his chest. He blinked through the dust until his vision sharpened.

  Everyone was alive. Barely.

  He pushed himself up, staggering to his feet.

  S-C murmured softly in his head, “Energy field collapsed. All summons inactive. You neutralized the

  controller.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “Felt that.”

  He looked around, the den entrance now quiet, the battlefield littered with broken forms of creatures

  that should never have existed twice.

  “Team status,” he rasped.

  Rixor lifted his head. “Standing. Kind of.”

  Liora grunted. “Leaning.”

  Darik managed a thumbs up.

  Taren raised a blood-covered hand. “Alive.”

  Calen’s voice came from across the crater, rough and hoarse. “Define alive. Nyra’s still breathing, so

  I’ll count that as a win.”

  Bash exhaled slowly, relief cutting through the fatigue. “Good enough.”

  He checked his wrist display - 2.85 / 3.00 days.

  “Abour three hours left,” he said. “Portal’s thirty minutes away if we move slow.”

  No one answered. They didn’t need to. The way they looked said everything, drained, battered, but

  unwilling to quit now.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Bash walked toward the fallen predator. Three beasts lay before it, each with one of his throwing

  knives embedded in them, and another glinted on the ground between them. He bent to retrieve each

  one, wiping the blood off the steel, sliding them back into his belt with the same reverence someone

  might give to a relic.

  The last knife still jutted from the predator’s chest. He yanked it free, twisting slightly, then crouched

  down beside the corpse. The thing’s eyes, once white with power, shimmered faintly now, not light, but

  energy still leaking from within. He pulled his dagger and cut them out, one by one, small glowing orbs

  the size of his thumb, pulsing faintly in his palm.

  Behind him, Rixor groaned. “I’m too tired to be disgusted.”

  Bash didn’t look back. “I’m too tired to care.”

  He slipped the orbs into his pack. “And that,” he added, voice flat, “was the hardest three hundred

  points we’ve earned.”

  He stood, turned toward the team. “Everyone walking?”

  Nods all around. Even Taren, half-slumped against a rock, lifted her chin in weary confirmation.

  S-C spoke quietly.

  “You’ve earned more than three hundred points.”

  Bash frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “The Beast Fragments from every construct are intact.

  He looked back at his team. “Every one of those fragments still counts. I’ll harvest them, you all head

  back to the portal.”

  Liora pushed herself upright, swaying. “We’ll help.”

  Darik nodded. “Yeah. Might as well make it worth it.”

  Rixor laughed weakly. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m watching you work while I sit.”

  Calen groaned, pulling himself to his feet. “Fine. But I’m moving slower than gravity.”

  Nyra stirred, one eye half-open. “If it gets us out of here faster,” she croaked, “I can sit and harvest.”

  Taren managed a faint, bloody smile. “Me too.”

  They worked for over an hour in silence, their movements sluggish but deliberate.

  Rixor and Calen hauled carcasses toward the open ground, piling rodents and rabbits in stacks.

  Nyra and Taren sat against the ridge, using knives to extract fragments, glowing crystalline slivers

  embedded just under the sternum of each beast. Their hands shook from exhaustion, but they didn’t

  stop.

  Bash and the others moved through the field methodically. Every cut released a faint shimmer, small

  motes of light drifting up like fireflies before fading.

  The air smelled of dust and iron from the decaying Essence.

  By the end of it, they’d recovered everything they could, one more durability beast, one more antlered

  mineral, one hundred sixty-three lesser creatures, and the predator itself.

  One hundred sixty-six fragments total for four hundred sixty-seven points.

  Bash crouched, packing the last shard into his bag. “S-C, confirm count.”

  “Confirmed. All Fragments active. Registration complete.”

  He stood slowly, his knees trembling. “Then we’re done here.”

  The walk back to the QTP was silent.

  No one spoke; there was nothing left to say.

  Their footsteps were uneven, some dragging, some limping. Bash carried Nyra’s rifle over his shoulder.

  Rixor’s hammer hung by its strap, scraping faintly against his thigh with each step. Taren moved

  between Darik and Liora, one arm around each of them, using what little healing energy she had left to

  keep them moving.

  They reached the ridge as the midday sun of Kaelith’s shone. The portal shimmered faint blue in the

  distance, its surface rippling like calm water.

  Bash glanced at his watch. 2.98 / 3.00 days.

  “About a half hour,” he murmured. “Let’s end this.”

  One by one, they stepped through.

  The world blinked out, light, sound, gravity, all ripped away in a single breath.

  Darkness folded over them. Then came blinding brightness.

  They hit solid ground.

  The metallic platform beneath them hummed. The air felt sterile, heavy with recycled oxygen and

  machine noise.

  They were back inside the Ark.

  Jouk stood ten meters away, his sharp silhouette framed by the chamber’s white light. His expression

  shifted from inspection to alarm the moment he saw them. “Healers! Now!”

  Energy surged through the air as the healers arrived. They didn’t need tools, only their resonance.

  Hands lifted, light flared. Threads of blue and gold essence arced from their palms, weaving across torn

  armor and shredded flesh. The hum that filled the space wasn’t from machines but from power,

  measured, focused, alive.

  Wounds sealed. Blood evaporated into soft mist. Muscles knitted, breath steadied. Within thirty

  minutes, the team’s groans gave way to silence, exhaustion replacing pain.

  Jouk approached, hands behind his back. His gaze swept over the group, equal parts pride and disbelief.

  “Beast Fragments,” he said.

  Bash reached for his pack and held it out. The others followed.

  Jouk nodded once. “Good. Then report to the Nexus. It’s time for your debrief.”