Chapter Sixty-Seven: Mini-Monsters

  His boots crunched on the brittle dirt as Zone Two stretched ahead, the kind of forest that whispered of things that loved the taste of flesh and folly. The trees there, twisted and ancient, stood like silent judges, branches clawing at the sky. He had thought about lingering in Zone Three—where nothing had stirred but the wind. Dead quiet, like the world was holding its breath. Maybe it was a light day. Maybe something worse was coming.

  But no monsters meant no progress. And he needed progress. Grinding wasn’t glamorous, but the world wasn’t going to sit politely while he caught up. It would keep throwing things at him, like a cosmic joke where the punchline was always a blade to the gut.

  The forest loomed. Shadows draped over the land, thick and suffocating. Somewhere in there were the things he needed to fight, to kill, to get stronger. Probably also the things that would eat him alive if he messed up. He adjusted his cloak, the fabric heavy and reassuring, but he knew better than to rely on it for too much. It wouldn’t stop teeth or claws.

  The silence was thicker now, almost tangible, wrapping around him like the cloak itself. He stopped at the edge of the trees, staring into the dark, and for a moment the question slipped into his head unbidden: What the hell am I doing here? His fingers twitched, tugging at the leather strap of his xiphos, the weight of it both comforting and painfully inadequate. Doubt ate at him, small and insistent, like a rat in the walls of his mind.

  And then—there it was.

  A shift. A subtle prickling on the back of his neck, the kind you couldn’t see but damn sure could feel. He pressed himself against a tree, the rough bark biting into his skin, grounding him in the moment as adrenaline surged through his veins. His breath slowed. His eyes darted across the shadows, every movement exaggerated, every twitch of a branch a threat.

  “What in the...” Jace’s voice trailed off, eyes widening as the creature slithered into view. It wasn’t much bigger than a Rottweiler, sure—but it had three heads, and each one of those heads seemed more pissed off than the last. A mini-hydra? Every pair of eyes glinted with a cold hunger, the kind that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with tearing him apart for fun.

  “Good little mini-monster,” Jace muttered, tightening his grip on the sword, feeling the dull pulse of adrenaline wash over him. Jace stepped back, his movements slow and deliberate, but the creature mirrored him, inching closer. It might be smaller than Jace, but it most definitely out-ranked him. “Guess it’s time to see if Twig’s investment pays off.”

  He activated his Shadow Cloak, a shiver of darkness rippling out from his shoulders like a living cape, enveloping him in an inky veil. The added defense wrapped around him, cold and reassuring, as the shadows coiled and tightened with each step.

  The first head lunged, a blur of teeth and scales, and Jace brought his sword up in a hasty block. The impact rang through his arm, but before he could adjust, another head sank its fangs into his forearm. His health bar plunged, sharp red lines slicing into his periphery. He felt his Soul Mend getting to work passively at slowly knitting his skin back together. He also felt a strong pull on his aether.

  He swung his sword in a wide arc, severing one of the creature’s heads with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed, and the stump writhed as if alive, twisting in the air. Hydra. He knew something about hydras and heads—something important, buried somewhere in the recesses of his mind, like a half-remembered scene from an old movie.

  He grunted, blasting the Hydra with his Moonstone Shard. The pulse of energy sent the creature skittering back, but it wasn’t that simple. It never was. As its severed head flopped on the ground, two more sprouted in its place. Hydra physics—because one head was just too easy.

  Right, he thought. Cutting off heads; bad.

  Frustration welled up as Jace hacked at the base of its necks, his movements fueled by desperation rather than finesse. He cut one off, but this time he didn’t make the same mistake.

  He remembered the sting of a shard burst—like being slammed with concentrated fire. In one fluid motion, he channeled dark heat from his moonstone, searing the stump. It worked. The head didn’t grow back, its regeneration snuffed out in a hiss of smoke.

  Jace moved on instinct, sidestepping its next frantic attack. His blade sang as he swung left, then down, his blade biting deep into the Hydra’s scales.

  He struck again straight down the center and the creature split in two, its halves convulsing and twitching as Jace breathed a sigh of relief. But his stomach clenched as the pieces began to stir again. Something worse was happening—tendons stretched, muscles quivered, and the flesh started knitting itself back together. The halves reached for each other, pulling and snapping like grotesque elastic bands.

  “Ooops,” Jace growled through gritted teeth, panic starting to bubble beneath his skin. He blasted the creature with another burst of moonlight, but the light only slowed the regeneration—like trying to stop a flood with a handful of sand.

  His heart pounded in his ears. The thing wasn’t stopping.

  Think! Think! His eyes darted around, desperation crawling in his chest. He spotted a boulder, half-buried in the earth. It was his only chance.

  With a burst of adrenaline, Jace rushed to the rock, his hands slipping against the rough surface as he dug his fingers into the dirt. He heaved, his muscles screaming in protest, but the boulder barely shifted.

  No, no, come on!

  His cloak stirred, shadows rising and twisting, wrapping around the boulder like serpents. They responded to his silent plea, lifting with him, aiding his every motion. Together, they pried the boulder from the ground.

  The Hydra was almost whole again, its heads snapping back into place, eyes gleaming with renewed malice. It looked at him, just in time to give an almost confused oh shit expression before Jace swung the boulder down with everything he had.

  The impact was a loud crunch, the weight of the stone pinning the creature’s still-twitching body to the ground. It spasmed once, twice, then fell still, the heads lolling to the side in defeat.

  Jace stood there, chest heaving, the world spinning with the rush of it all. The quiet returned, thick and heavy, pressing down on him as the adrenaline drained from his veins.

  “Well,” he gasped, wiping a hand across his sweat-soaked brow. “That was... something.”

  You have defeated Mini-Hydra — Bronze Four

  A jolt coursed through Jace as the EXP flooded into him, sparking a flicker of raw energy deep within his core. This time, it felt different—more real, almost visceral in a way he couldn’t quite explain. EXP had never hit him like this before. It was almost as if he was draining it directly from the defeated monster, a soft current of power.

  He wondered if it had always been this way—if his perceptions had simply been too low to notice—or if he was now drawing more energy directly from the defeated creature.

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  Either way, one thing was clear: the longer Jace spent in Terra Mythica, the more he was changing.

  His eyes flicked to his aether bar as it surged upward—not by much, but just enough to catch his attention. Something was stirring beneath the surface of his soul. Something was changing. But what? And if it was for better or worse, Jace couldn’t tell.

  EXP gained from Mini-Hydra, adjusting for Rank Disparity — 675

  The EXP and combat notifications flickered in the corner of Jace’s vision, small and translucent, briefly lighting up before fading back into nothingness. He had finally read a little bit of the User Interface options and found the Less is More mode—cutting out the noise, saving the laundry list of notifications and combat data for later. It was a balance between Ignore All and Full Notifications—a sweet spot that kept the distractions down while still feeding him the crucial details. He wasn’t here for the data dump; he was here for the fight.

  Jace stood over the creature’s twitching remains, chest heaving, his pulse still hammering in his ears. Sweat dripped down his forehead, mingling with the blood and dirt smudged across his skin. The rush of combat was wearing off, leaving him feeling raw, and spent, but not without that familiar buzz—an addictive, electric thrill that settled somewhere between his bones and skin.

  Not bad, he thought, rolling his shoulders. Except—he hadn’t fought that much, had he? So why did he feel like he’d just run a marathon while carrying a boulder uphill?

  His cloak flickered, the shadows that had wrapped around him in the fight now fraying at the edges. With a sigh, Jace checked his aether levels.

  Health; Fine. Not great, but fine.

  He watched it slowly tick upward, mending his wounds at a crawl.

  His aether on the other hand was nearly drained, scraping the bottom of the barrel.

  He let the cloak dissolve, fading like smoke whisked away by the wind, and felt the steady return of his aether as the drain finally eased and he saw it start to recover.

  “Well, that explains it,” he muttered, half to himself. “That cloak’s a glutton.”

  A mental note scribbled itself into the back of his brain: Only use when absolutely necessary. Aether isn’t free, genius. He chuckled to himself, wincing as he rotated his sore arm. The fight had been quick, but the Cloak had drained him faster than expected. Too fast.

  He pressed against the edge of Bronze Two, feeling the pull of Bronze Three just out of reach. His aether strained, stretching, yearning for that next threshold. Something deep within him shifted, a ripple that made him glance instinctively at the System. Right on cue, a notification blinked to life.

  Twilight Guardian Class Specialization Activated

  Use of Class Specialization has triggered the following ability evolutions.

  Soul Tether has evolved and gained a new Aspect.

  The Aspect has formed into its own ability: Soul Bind.

  Soul Bind

  Shadowy ropes manifest from the ground or nearby objects, thin but unyielding, wrapping around your target. These tendrils of darkness latch onto limbs, pulling tight to restrict movement.

  Aether Cost: Variable (depending on target’s strength)

  Soul Sense has evolved and gained a new Aspect.

  The Aspect has formed into its own ability: Soul Step.

  Soul Step

  Harness the twilight between realms, stepping briefly into the Other Realm—a ghostly mirror of the physical world where time bends, slows, and slips. In this shadow world, you’re unseen by mortals, a flicker, a breath lost to the wind. But beware... in this place, other beings dwell.

  Phase through the physical world, moving between places where space twists, reappearing as if the distance never existed. But the deeper you go, the more the shadows crawl, and the longer you stay, the faster your aether drains.

  Note: Abyssal beings, ghouls, and worse things still live there. If you see them, they can see you. Even if you can’t see them, they can see you. They always see you.

  Aether Cost: High (increases rapidly with time spent phased)

  Jace felt the new abilities settle inside him like fresh puzzle pieces clicking into place, their potential rippling just under the surface. The world around him remained unchanged, but he could feel the shift. The boundaries of what he could do had just been pushed wider, darker. He took a breath, feeling the thrill of it all—a new weapon, but also a new danger. The shadows were watching, waiting.

  Jace felt his mind stretch as if the world had given way beneath him, sinking into a vast unknown. There was no whisper, no gradual rise of power. It hit like a gut-punch, knocking the air from his lungs and flooding him with something deeper than strength—control.

  The world around him wavered, outlines flickering between the solid and the spectral. He could feel it now, the rhythm of things unseen, a song that had always been playing, just below hearing. And with this new ability, the melody became clear. He closed his eyes, and with a thought, stepped into the Other Realm.

  Everything went quiet. The world slowed. Time didn’t stop—it just stopped mattering.

  He opened his eyes. The world was there, but it wasn’t. Shadows rippled with life. He tried to breathe, but there was no air to be had. Ghostly figures slithered just out of sight, aware of him in ways no living thing ever could be. His heart hammered in his chest. They see you.

  The ring on his finger thrummed a warning.

  A moment later, Jace reappeared in the physical world, lungs burning from the sudden return of breath. Whatever he had just stepped into, it was both a sanctuary and a graveyard. And it would never be safe. At least, not for long.

  His gaze shifted to the ring on his finger as it hummed, the subtle weight of it suddenly more noticeable. Whatever it had sensed, it thought it was important enough to break its silence and warn him.

  Jace made a mental note to never stay in the Other Realm for long.

  Right—that was draining him too. The White Raven, always there, quietly siphoning off his aether reserves. He flicked his wrist, checking the current status. His lips curled into a lopsided grin.

  He touched the ring lightly with his thumb, feeling the faint hum of energy pulsing through it, an ever-present reminder of the pact he’d made.

  It wasn’t just the fights anymore—it was everything. Every ability, every tool in his arsenal, came at a cost.

  With one last glance at the smoldering corpse of the Hydra, Jace turned away, checking his White Raven Ring for updates.

  Familiar: The White Raven

  Bond: Rank One

  This familiar has been drained over countless ages since the loss of its last master. To fully reawaken, it requires a replenishment of mana.

  10% of your mana will be unavailable until the recovery is complete.

  Mana Replenished: 76,582 out of 7,850,350

  All these abilities—each with its costs, provisos, risks, and fine print—were more than Jace had ever had to juggle. It felt like there was always a catch. Almost every ability came stamped with an invisible warning: Terms and Conditions May Apply.

  Jace stared at the prompt. “I really hope you’re worth it,” he muttered, exhaling slowly. A full year. That’s how long it would take to bring the White Raven back to full strength at the current rate. And that’s if he didn’t use any of it beforehand. He had a gut feeling—one of those quiet instincts—that pushing the Raven too early would be... bad. Like waking something ancient and irritable from a deep slumber.

  He didn’t know why, but the connection he felt—the bond—told him one thing clearly: the White Raven wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  He glanced at his aether reserves. At least that’s ticking up faster than it did a few weeks ago. A small mercy. But still, 10% was having a significant impact.

  His fingers traced the edge of the ring, feeling its cold pulse in response, a dormant thrum like a heart not yet beating. He let the notification fade, a twinge of impatience brewing beneath the surface. The idea of carrying something so powerful, yet so useless for the foreseeable future, was maddening.

  He smirked to himself. “Guess we’re in this for the long haul, aren’t we?”

  Jace moved cautiously through the underbrush, every sense dialed up to eleven. The soft rustle of leaves, the snap of a distant twig—it all hit him like a slap, each sound a reminder that the Hydra was far from the only thing hunting in these woods.

  He exhaled slowly, the weight of his own recklessness settling in. His abilities had always flared up in panic, triggered by fear rather than intention. But he wasn’t a One Star, Novice Reactionaire anymore. He was Bronze Two, an Apprentice Perceptor, edging closer to Bronze Three. Professor Blackwood had warned him—use your power with purpose, let it flow through your senses, not just your instincts.

  “I’ve got to get ahead of this,” he muttered, the frustration in his voice sharper than he intended. His mind reached out, grazing the edge of his abilities, and he focused on anchoring them to his body, to his senses.

  The forest pulsed around him, alive and thrumming with hidden dangers. Every sway of the branches felt deliberate, like the world was watching, waiting. He moved with care, his steps light, eyes scanning the dark tangle of trees. He let the sensations flood him, let the forest breathe through him.

  Then he heard it—a low whisper of scales against leaves. Three mini-Hydras, slightly larger than the last ones, their serpentine bodies weaving through the underbrush like predators on a hunt. Their heads bobbed and hissed, necks craning as they searched, the air heavy with their menace. They hadn’t spotted him yet, but they were close. Too close.