Bash woke before the lights, his eyes already open when the Ark’s cycle timer pulsed faintly on the

  wall. He didn’t move at first, only stared at the ceiling.

  Well? he thought.

  S-C’s voice came through instantly. I’ve been running resonance analyses all night. The relic’s

  complex, far more than I expected.

  He sat up, sliding the small crystal from the inner pocket of his belt. It shimmered faintly, alive even in

  the dim light. “Define complex.”

  It’s weapon-linked, but not bound, she explained. Passive activation. It enhances weapons through

  resonance reflection, not direct channeling.

  “In English?”

  In short, it's a weapon-enhancing relic. Think of it as an echo trigger. Like what Jouk showed during

  the imbuing demonstration, the after-attack effect.

  Bash turned the relic over in his hand, watching it refract the pale light. “So an aftershock,” he said

  slowly. “An echo strike?”

  Exactly. It’s not weapon-specific, either. Guns, knives, blades, doesn’t matter. You hit something, it

  reacts.

  “That’s… good.”

  There’s more, S-C said, tone thoughtful. It also interacts with incoming damage. I can’t quite decode it

  yet, it’s layered in self-adaptive code, but there’s something about energy absorption and feedback. I’ll

  need field data before I can define it precisely.

  Bash smiled faintly. “You’re saying I’ll have to let things hit me.”

  That, or just keep fighting. Either way, observation’s required.

  He tucked the relic away, snapping the belt compartment closed. “So can I go in and out of portals

  without it showing up?”

  Yes. I can mask its emission signature through portal transfers and Nexus scans. I’m about eighty-five

  percent sure.

  “Eighty-five?”

  You want one hundred? Then stop asking questions while I’m calibrating. The more I learn, the better I

  can make it appear as part of your resonance profile.

  He exhaled. “You’re getting a little cocky.”

  Confidence breeds survival, she said lightly. No, keep it hidden. Don’t show anyone. Not even your

  team. Not even your roommates.

  He fastened his belt, patting the concealed pocket. “Got it.”

  The others stirred gradually. Nyra was the first up, humming under her breath while she tightened the

  seals on her rifle case. Her mood was infectious, even at this hour.

  “Morning,” she said, too cheerful. “Anyone else excited to see what three abilities feels like today?”

  Rixor groaned. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  Taren smirked. “She’s earned it.”

  Nyra shrugged, unable to hide the grin. “Two days ago, nothing. Now? Fire, essence, DoT. I’m on a

  roll.”

  Bash finished sealing his boots, expression unreadable. Rixor glanced over to offer a word of

  encouragement, but froze when he saw the faint smile on Bash’s face, a real one.

  “What’s with you?” Rixor asked. “You look like you just got promoted.”

  Bash glanced up. “Just thinking good things. I’m happy with the way things are going. Sure, no

  abilities yet, but the team’s firing on all cylinders. Our efficiency’s unmatched.”

  Nyra leaned forward, arms crossed, grin widening. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

  He turned toward her. “It was. You’ve got three abilities now, fire, essence, DoT. Learn how to chain

  them with your rifle. If you do that right, you’re a walking artillery unit.”

  Her cheeks flushed faintly. “Guess I’ll take that as motivation.”

  Rixor and Taren exchanged a knowing look, both fighting back a smile. The silence between Bash and

  Nyra lingered a bit too long before Rixor finally broke it.

  “Alright, enough staring contests. Let’s go gear up before the flirting costs us breakfast.”

  Nyra rolled her eyes, laughing, while Bash just shook his head and grabbed his jacket.

  They hit the cafeteria early, running through routine checks while finishing breakfast. Ammunition

  counts, coolant levels, secondary gear diagnostics, everything clean. The air carried that familiar

  metallic tang of oil and thermal paste.

  When the call came, they moved to the portal registration chamber.

  “Squad 09-Kappa,” Bash said.

  “Authorized for portal 091,” replied the attendant drone. “Extraction beacon issued.”

  Bash clipped it to his belt. “Target ability?”

  “Tactical data suggests Thorn alignment,” Taren read from her wrist screen. “Eight percent probability

  across all recorded species.”

  “Not great odds,” Rixor said.

  “Then we’ll just work harder,” Bash replied.

  The portal took them as smoothly as before, white light, disorientation, the long fall.

  They landed in sand.

  The sun was white and merciless, the air bone-dry. The landscape stretched flat and endless in every

  direction. No shade, no cover, only heat waves rolling like liquid glass.

  “Looks like fun,” Calen muttered.

  “Desert biome,” S-C confirmed in Bash’s head. No water, minimal vegetation. Five beast signatures,

  equidistant, three klicks each. One pack, one swarm, three individuals.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Bash opened the map. The icons blinked faintly around their position, a perfect ring.

  “Well,” he said, “who’s feeling lucky enough to pick the right one?”

  Silence.

  He exhaled. “Alright, then we’ll head...”

  Calen cut in. “Toward the swarm. Get it out of the way before we’re too tired. We’ll have to clear them

  all anyway.”

  “Good thinking,” Taren said.

  Calen muttered, “Not like it’s going to benefit me anyway.”

  The others heard. Rixor’s expression soured; Nyra rolled her eyes. Bash said nothing.

  They reached the swarm zone within thirty minutes.

  At first, there was only wind. Then shadows, hundreds of them, moving against the glare of the sun.

  “Harpy-type,” S-C noted. Tier One Greater classification probable. Wind affinity.

  The creatures swooped in wide circles, wings spanning three meters each. Humanoid in shape but

  twisted, clawed hands, taloned feet, and sharp, narrow faces. Their feathers shimmered silver-white

  under the desert sun.

  “No cover,” Taren said flatly. “We fight in the open.”

  “Standard formation,” Bash ordered. “Melee spread five meters. Taren and I thirty meters back. Calen,

  Nyra, take flanks.”

  The team fanned out, lines drawn in the sand.

  The first harpy spotted them and screamed. The sound tore through the air like a blade, and the entire

  flock turned at once, thousands of wings folding into a dive.

  “Wait for range,” Bash called, leveling his pistol. “Then light them up.”

  Calen and Nyra fired first, bolts and bullets cutting into the front ranks. Harpies exploded mid-air in

  bursts of light and dust.

  Both Calen and Bash felt it at once, a mild pulse.

  Wind type confirmed, S-C reported. Tier One Greater.

  Calen laughed. “Finally!”

  Bash just shook his head, reloading in one smooth motion.

  The front wave hit like a storm. The melee trio, Rixor, Liora, and Darik, closed ranks back-to-back.

  Blades and hammer rose and fell in perfect rhythm. Every swing took down another beast.

  Taren fired in steady intervals, her healing pulses rolling across the sand like invisible waves.

  Bash and Nyra stood twenty meteres apart, her behind and to his right, firing in alternating bursts.

  Every shot found a target, feathers and blood filling the air. Calen moved on the left flank, arrows

  streaking through the wind.

  The battlefield was chaos, screams, dust, wings, flashes of light.

  Then Rixor’s voice thundered over comms. “Here comes the boom!”

  He slammed his hammer into the ground. The shockwave erupted outward, tearing a crater through the

  sand. A seismic ripple flattened the entire front line, over four hundred harpies vaporized in an instant.

  The pulse hit Bash like a fist. His body seized; he dropped to a knee, gasping.

  Resonance overload, S-C warned. Stay down until it passes.

  He grit his teeth, forcing himself back up. “I’m good.”

  The battle raged another fifteen minutes, the team in total sync. The remaining harpies fell one by one,

  until the air went still.

  Taren looked around, scanning. “Everyone stable?”

  Rixor wiped sweat from his brow. “Barely got touched. You kept us patched up perfectly.”

  Calen approached with a wide grin. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. I got over four hundred and

  fifty essence from that!”

  Rixor froze. “Four hundred and fifty? Out of that?”

  Nyra frowned. “There had to be at least three thousand.”

  Bash reloaded quietly, saying nothing.

  Rixor scowled. “So you complain about not getting essence in the last few runs because you ‘hang

  back,’ and now you’re proud of being too scared to get close enough to absorb it properly?

  Unbelievable.”

  Calen’s grin faltered. “I...”

  “Save it,” Rixor snapped. “Next time, try doing something besides breathing our air.”

  The silence that followed was thick.

  Bash kept his eyes down. He’s not entirely wrong, he thought.

  True, S-C agreed quietly. But not entirely fair either. Resonance distribution follows a hierarchy, killing

  blow first, highest damage second, position last. You absorbed most of what would’ve reached him

  after those factors settled.

  “Still,” Bash murmured under his breath. “Rixor’s got a point.”

  Maybe, she replied.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Bash murmured.

  The team regrouped, harvesting fragments. The harpies’ tail feathers shimmered faintly with wind

  resonance, glowing blue-green before cooling to dull silver.

  “Count?” Bash asked.

  “Two thousand nine hundred seventy-one,” Taren confirmed.

  S-C spoke in his mind. You absorbed two thousand five hundred fourteen.

  Bash nodded slightly, glancing up as Rixor repeated the number aloud, shaking his head and looking

  straight at Calen.

  Two thousand nine hundred seventy-one total,” he said slowly. “Maybe next time, you’ll step up.”

  He paused, shaking his head, voice lowering but still edged. “What any of us would give for such a

  gift.”

  Calen said nothing.

  The desert wind howled around them, sweeping the feathers into the air like pale ash.