The next morning came quiet and gray.

  The Ark’s lights were still dim, simulating dawn. Bash was already awake, finishing a systems check

  on his gear when the others filtered into the cafeteria. Armor plates clinked softly, the metallic scent of

  solvent and oil mixing with recycled air.

  No one spoke much. Rixor and Calen kept to opposite benches, the same cold silence still sitting

  between them.

  “Ammo topped off,” Nyra said, running a practiced eye across her rifle.

  They went through the motions efficiently, the rhythm of professionals who had done this too many

  times to count.

  When the last check finished, Rixor finally broke the silence. “So,” he said, voice gravel rough, “where

  are we going this time?”

  Bash straightened his belt and looked up. “Portal 415. We’ve got low-probability signatures for Blink

  Step and Still Veil, three percent each.”

  “Three?” Rixor repeated. “That’s it?”

  “Better than nothing,” Bash said.

  Nyra frowned. “How many total abilities are even left?”

  “Counting what we’ve seen?” Bash asked silently. Give me the list, S-C.

  Nine unacquired resonance types remain, she replied inside his mind, tone precise and clinical. Soul

  Rend, Time, Space, Gravity, Blink Step, Still Veil, Reincarnate, Imbuing, and Alchemy. Each carries

  sub-branches across Tier Three potential thresholds, but all remain unclaimed.

  He gave a single nod, outwardly calm. “Nine left,” he said aloud.

  Nyra leaned back slightly, already running the numbers. “So if you unlock four of those, there’s about a

  fifty-fifty chance everything we get after that goes to you.”

  Her tone was casual, but the math hit everyone differently.

  Rixor snorted. “That’s if anything ever unlocks for him.”

  Bash didn’t rise to it. He just nodded once. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “If.”

  Inside, though, he was less convinced than ever. Every pulse, every essence shock, every surge, nothing

  had shifted.

  Probability means nothing, he thought. Luck’s not strategy.

  They geared up and headed for the portal deck. The corridor lights brightened as they approached,

  sterile blue against alloy walls. By now the routine was muscle memory, sign-in, equipment scan,

  extraction beacon handed over.

  “Squad 09-Kappa, authorized for Portal 415,” the console drone recited. “Standard beacon allocation.”

  Bash clipped the warm metal disc to his belt, nodded his thanks, and followed the escort down the

  access hall.

  The chamber for 415 was smaller than most. Fifty portals lined the perimeter, all identical, white,

  vertical ovals of pure light, silent and cold. Bash’s eyes tracked their numbers until they reached the

  correct one.

  “Same as always,” he said.

  Rixor cracked his neck. “Let’s get it done.”

  They stepped through together.

  The sensation hit like always, weightlessness, spinning, a heartbeat of disorientation, but this time it

  was almost familiar. They’d done this enough that their bodies anticipated the vertigo. The ground

  came faster.

  They landed in darkness.

  For a second Bash thought his visor malfunctioned, until the fog thickened and began to move.

  A cold wind carried the smell of wet stone and decay. Massive trees loomed overhead, their trunks

  smooth and dark like polished obsidian. No sunlight pierced the canopy. Instead, faint veins of

  bioluminescent moss traced along roots and stone, pulsing dimly in the haze.

  “Status,” Bash said quietly.

  “All green,” Taren replied. “But ambient light’s barely at six percent. Sensors struggling.”

  S-C’s voice came through, calm and low. Planetary rotation irregular. Local daylight window

  approximately three hours. Remaining cycles occur under low-luminosity atmospheric inversion.

  Recommend enhanced visibility mode.

  The HUD flickered, switching to thermal overlay. The world turned into gradients of blue and orange.

  Bash exhaled slowly. “All right. Everyone online?”

  “Ready,” Nyra said.

  “Let’s move.”

  He brought up the holographic map. Five readings pulsed faintly in the distance, all north, all close,

  five klicks out from the portal.

  “Five signatures,” he said. “All grouped together. Looks like we start north.”

  No one objected. The team formed up and started walking.

  The forest swallowed sound. Every step echoed half a beat later, warped by the fog. Even their

  breathing seemed too loud.

  When they reached the coordinates nearly forty-five minutes later, the terrain changed, trees giving

  way to carved stone terraces and shattered bridges stretching across a fog-filled abyss.

  What remained of a vast city lay before them, a labyrinth of arches, towers, and fallen columns half buried in cloud.

  “Spartor ruins?” Calen asked, voice hushed.

  Negative. Structural design predates Spartor expansion by several centuries. The inhabitants were an

  arena-based civilization, competitive, honor-driven, obsessed with trial by combat. Records indicate

  their cities revolved around colossal coliseums where science and blood sport merged. They engineered

  beasts for spectacle and fought them for glory, until the Spartors annexed the world and wiped them

  out.

  Bash’s fists tightened. Just like they want to do to Earth, he thought bitterly.

  The faint glow of runes flickered beneath their boots, fading when they stepped forward as if reacting

  to their presence.

  “Creepy,” Nyra muttered.

  “Stay sharp,” Bash said. “Fog’s dense. We’ll lose tracking past twenty meters.”

  Auditory mapping unstable, S-C confirmed. The mist responds to movement, light, and sound. Avoid

  sustained illumination.

  They moved quietly into the first district, a wide courtyard drowned in fog, filled with broken pillars

  and shallow reflection pools. The water mirrored everything imperfectly, creating ghost images of walls

  and walkways that didn’t exist.

  “Visibility’s trash,” Taren whispered.

  “Then trust your ears,” Bash said.

  That’s when they heard it, a low growl, distorted by echo, rolling through the mist.

  Something moved between the reflections.

  “Contact?” Rixor asked, hammer rising.

  Bash scanned the haze. “Unknown. Movement at ten o’clock.”

  Then came the sound of claws scraping stone, light, deliberate, too rhythmic to be random.

  The fog rippled.

  Out of it stepped a creature the size of a tiger, sleek and black with faintly translucent fur that refracted

  the dim light into shifting silver streaks. Its wings were folded tight against its back, and for a moment,

  it almost seemed not to exist at all.

  Visual confirmation, S-C said in his mind. Designation: Shade Wing. Alignment probability, Still Veil.

  Stealth predator class. Invisibility through stillness. Motion generates false reflections to mislead

  pursuit. Tracking possible only through physical disturbance.

  The creature moved, and instantly three of it appeared, flickering between reflections like shattered

  glass.

  “Targets multiply when it moves!” Calen shouted.

  “They’re illusions!” Bash called back. “Track the water, that’s where the real one is!”

  The first strike came fast.

  A blur of claws and teeth hit Rixor square in the chest, throwing him backward into a column. The

  impact rang like metal on metal. Sparks flared from his fatigues as he rolled to his feet, swinging his

  hammer wildly, hitting nothing but air.

  Liora slashed through one of the phantoms, it vanished in mist. Another appeared behind her.

  “Where...?” she started, but the question cut off as the real Shade Wing swept past, claws raking across

  her shoulder plate, the impact spinning her sideways. She hit the ground hard, breath leaving her in a

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  pained grunt.

  “Spread out!” Bash yelled. “Keep visual gaps closed!”

  Nyra fired, the rifle’s flash lighting the fog in harsh bursts. “No solid contact! It’s phasing!”

  The creature reappeared ten meters away, wings half-flared, mist streaming off like smoke. Then it

  vanished again.

  Resonance fluctuation detected, S-C’s voice sharpened in his head. Local distortions consistent with

  stealth-field interference.

  Meaning? he asked silently.

  It’s bending light around itself. Only vulnerable during attack sequences.

  “Wait for it to strike!” Bash shouted.

  The fog thickened, coiling low. Then, movement. A blur darted left, then right. Calen turned, loosing

  two quick arrows. One passed through empty fog. The other struck stone.

  “Missed.. damn it!”

  The Shade Wing hit him from the side, claws slicing through his chest plate, knocking him sprawling.

  He rolled just in time to see it vanish again, his armor smoking from the impact.

  “Taren, cover him!” Bash ordered.

  She broke from cover, sliding to Rixor’s side as he struggled to rise. Holstering one pistol, she pressed

  a glowing hand against the torn section of his armor. Golden light flared beneath her palm, tendrils of

  essence snaking through the crack.

  “Hold still,” she muttered, forcing the energy deeper until the smoke faded and the metal cooled.

  “You’re stable, move!”

  Rixor pushed up with a grunt, gripping his hammer.

  Something flickered above them. Nyra looked up. “High!”

  The creature dove, wings extended, silent as death. Bash twisted aside, but its tail caught him mid-turn,

  sending him crashing into a broken wall. The breath was punched from his lungs. His vision flared

  white.

  Vital signs elevated, S-C warned. Don’t black out now, Bash.

  He gritted his teeth, pushing up. “Still here,” he muttered.

  The Shade Wing landed near Taren, wings sweeping in a wide arc. One talon caught her leg, cutting

  deep before Liora intercepted, blade flashing in a counter-strike that tore through one of its wing joints.

  The beast screeched, blindingly loud, its image splitting into three again, two illusions, one real.

  “Too many targets!” Darik shouted, slashing through another phantom. His cleaver passed straight

  through it, leaving trails of mist. He turned just in time to see the real one materialize behind him, its

  claws sinking into his back. He roared, spun, and smashed an elbow into its jaw, driving it back.

  “Everyone hit?” Taren snapped, voice tight with pain.

  “Everyone’s hit!” Bash barked back. “Stay focused!”

  Rixor roared, hammer humming with stored energy. “Come on then! Hit me again!”

  The beast obliged. It slammed into him from behind, claws tearing into his arm. He grunted, blood

  spraying across the stones, but instead of letting go, he locked both arms around its torso, holding tight

  even as it bit into his shoulder.

  “I’ve got it!” he shouted, veins bulging. “Shoot it!”

  Taren fired first, her rounds sizzling against its hide but doing little more than scorch the fur. The beast

  thrashed violently, wings flaring, throwing Rixor off balance. The fog around them lit up with muzzle

  flashes, arrows, and silver streaks from Liora’s blade, all striking the writhing mass.

  Bash moved on instinct. He launched two knives in quick succession, one missed in the chaos, but the

  other embedded deep into the creature’s flank.

  The blade’s edge flared red as Razorvein activated, the hum rising into a shrill metallic whine. The

  weapon twisted from within, grinding through muscle and sinew in a spiraling burst.

  A shimmer of crimson pulsed through the wound, light flashing under the beast’s translucent hide.

  The Shade Wing shrieked, the sound distorted, almost hollow, as if part of it came from every reflection

  at once.

  “Hit confirmed!” he yelled.

  The Shade Wing shrieked, twisting free and vanishing again, but the wound bled freely, droplets

  glinting like liquid mercury as they fell across the stone.

  “There!” Bash pointed. “Track the blood!”

  Nyra dropped to one knee, scanning through the mist. I’ve got eyes on the droplets, she said, tone

  steady but taut.

  She steadied her breathing, the reticle pulsing red as she lined up the shot.

  “Ten seconds,” she murmured.

  The fog shifted. A faint outline, barely there, moved behind Rixor, its shape flickering in and out.

  Then it lunged.

  Nyra squeezed the trigger. The shot cracked through the haze and hit the open wound dead center. The

  Shade Wing convulsed mid-leap, crashing into the ground with a shuddering screech.

  “Now!” Bash barked.

  Rixor staggered upright, fury burning in his eyes “Mine!”

  He brought the hammer down with a bellow, the blow striking the beast square in the chest. The impact

  echoed through the courtyard like a thunderclap. Liora and Darik moved in, blades carving deep into

  the creature’s ribs and neck. Nyra added a final shot through its skull, the round sparking against bone.

  The Shade Wing spasmed, wings flaring wide, then fell still. The air shimmered once more, and then,

  for the first time, it was truly gone.

  Bash stood over the corpse, breathing hard. His heart hammered in his ears.

  Resonance pulse detected, S-C reported. Tier Two Greater, Still Veil classification.

  He exhaled, the ache in his chest fading slowly. Around him, the others gathered, every one of them

  marked by blood, claw gouges, or scorched fabric, but still standing.

  Taren sank down beside Rixor, hands already glowing as she began to mend torn muscle and burned

  skin. The fog closed in again, silent, heavy, and unbroken, save for the fading echo of their breaths.

  He didn’t argue. She crouched beside him, placing a hand over the torn plates. Pale light spread

  outward, sealing minor wounds and restoring color to his skin.

  The others gathered nearby, watching the fog drift slowly back into place.

  “That thing was smart,” Liora said quietly.

  “Too smart,” Calen muttered.

  Nyra exhaled, lowering her rifle. “And invisible. That’s a hell of a combo.”

  Bash wiped blood from his gauntlet and looked back toward the fallen Shade Wing. Its body

  shimmered faintly, already starting to fade.

  They approached carefully. The creature’s body shimmered, dissolving into mist until only one of its

  wings remained, black as shadow, translucent at the edges, faintly pulsing with silver light.

  Bash knelt, grasping the edge of the wing. The moment his fingers touched it, the membrane hardened,

  shrinking rapidly until it was no larger than his palm, the glow dimming to a slow rhythm.

  Still Veil fragment confirmed, S-C said in his mind.

  He slipped it into his pouch and stood. “That’s one down,” he said.

  For the next few minutes, the team rested, quiet except for the soft hum of Taren’s healing field. The

  fog pressed close again, thicker now, whispering faintly around the ruins.

  Nyra checked her ammo counter. “So what’s next?”

  Bash pulled up the map. The remaining four signals pulsed faintly in neighboring sectors, one swarm

  signature and three individual markers, each spaced several klicks apart.

  “Options,” he said. “Swarm to the north, three solos spread around it.”

  Rixor flexed his newly healed hand. “Swarm first. Clear the field.”

  Calen nodded once. “Makes sense. Better to hit numbers while we’re fresh.”

  “Agreed,” Bash said, dismissing the map. He glanced once at the place where the Shade Wing had

  fallen. The mist there was still thick, faint ripples curling upward before fading back into stillness.

  He turned to the team. “Form up. We’re taking the swarm.”