David pushed through the forest with his minions flanking him. To his left walked a rejuvenated warlock, no longer needing flight for mobility, its gait steady and sure. To his right towered a changed wolf, dense black fur swaying in the heated wind, pride in every step. The earth broke beneath the weight of the dense armor hidden under its coat. Its horn cut through low-hanging foliage as it carried a resting human and an undead demon undergoing an evolution nobody could possibly understand.

  When David reached their last camp, he finally rested. He sorted the treasures laid out before him—the sword, the armor, the gauntlets. He'd also retraced his steps on the way back, recovering Rhea's javelins along the way. They lay in a pile beside Cinder's massive demonbone greatsword and his own demonbone spear. And the cursed poison axe sat apart, the one he'd given to his dead thrall, the elite hobgoblin Cinder had so brutally killed on his order.

  What do I do with that thing?

  He'd had to carry it between them during the walk back. Healing meant regeneration, and regeneration probably didn't detoxify poison. So the axe would affect him or any thrall he gave it to. Except Cinder. Poison didn't matter to undead.

  But to be honest... I could use the boost in strength. If I die, it’s all over. There's an ogre waiting. A bunch of psychopathic humans too, people that kill tied up old men for levels.

  The axe only needed him to kill, and David spent practically his entire existence hunting and doing exactly that.

  So without hesitation, he bonded the cursed axe to himself. Pain and strength surged in equal measure. Now he was twice as cursed and twice as boosted.

  I can always let a thrall wield it anyway and keep the boost. Once she finishes doing… whatever’s happening inside that cocoon….

  He'd give it to Cinder to hold until he created his next thrall, then he'd give the axe to that one. If the ogre could unbind itself from a cursed weapon, then so could he. Probably. She tended to kill much more than him anyway, and with way more glee.

  He knelt beside the pile of bones Rhea had gathered from the bone place, the ones she'd been using as makeshift weapons during the fight. They were scattered now, some still clutched in her unconscious grip, others lying where she'd dropped them when she collapsed. He picked through them methodically, gathering each one.

  Can't leave these here.

  He carried them to a newly-opened portal, one leading back to that endless sea of bone, and threw them through one by one. They clattered on the other side, swallowed by the pale landscape. The last thing he needed was one of those immortal bone creatures ending up in this land, killing whatever it could find and evolving with every kill. Using the bones of the creatures it killed. A lost splinter was fine, sure. Harmless. But any bone large enough to get up and walk would start a snowball effect. One creature, maybe. But that one creature could grow infinitely.

  He shuddered. Not from fear exactly. More from the recognition of what that place was. An entire region designed to do just that, to recycle itself into worse and worse things the longer you stayed.

  Seriously. That place was messed up.

  These days, David tended to fight with his spears strapped to his back. He usually carried the cursed spear for its ability to cut phantasmal things, the demonbone spear for its level fifty durability and sharpness—when he needed to cut something too solid—and a long wooden stick he reinforced with demonic energy for when he needed to train. And now he had a long, large magic sword that shot projectile blades.

  I'm starting to look like one of those martial artists in movies. The kind with a dozen weapons strapped on while they fight with a broom handle. The imagery’s imposing, sure. Battle Sense loves the extra layer of psychological torture. His enemies probably found it significantly intimidating, wondering what weapon he’d use next, and how badly that weapon would hurt them.

  He shifted the weight across his shoulders, feeling the balance. When he wasn't actually fighting, it was a little cumbersome.

  "Some kind of pocket space would be nice," he grumbled.

  He couldn't bring himself to feel too bad about it, though. Despite the mess of a day he'd had, and the fact that he was down his most valuable asset—the fanatical one, the very evil one currently wrapped in a cocoon he didn't understand—the troubles he'd faced had at least come with treasures.

  [Name: David Carter

  Level 22

  Demonic Realm: Floor 1/???

  Difficulty: Impossible

  Time left until forced ejection: 4y 354d 8h 46m 23s.

  Primary Class: Locked

  Sub-class: Locked

  Aspects: Oracle of the ?Unknown?

  Strength: 142 (109)

  Dexterity: 9 (7)

  Constitution: 199 (153)

  Mana: 71

  Demonic Energy: 806

  Skills: Battle Sense Lvl 4, Calm Mind Lvl 2, Energy Affinity Lvl 6, Demonic Energy Lvl 4, Demonic Energy Mastery Lvl 11, Portal Magic Lvl 4, Infernal Thrall Lvl 3, Touch of the ?Unknown? Lvl 0, DeathBorn Lvl 3, Soul-Manipulator Lvl 7,

  Free points: 0]

  He had drained seventy-four creatures over the past few days. Their demonic energy gave him two hundred twenty-two stat points. The number was absurd. If anyone else out there had my energy affinity skill, they'd be a fool not to use it on demonic energy. Risk be damned. Transformation into fiendship be damned. It's almost worth the power exchange.

  Demon body had been doing work too. The thirty percent boost to all physical stats added up.

  He had consumed their souls as well. Seventy-four strength. One hundred thirty-three constitution. Then I lost sixty constitution shooting those two soul spears.

  Let's see where that puts me.

  Average human gains one stat per level. Probably starts anywhere from ten to fifty total at level zero. Thanks to my soul skill and energy affinity, I've got the physical stats of someone at level forty-two. With demonic energy circulating, selectively reinforcing, in brief bursts, he could, in theory, match the physical stat strength or speed of a level fifty.

  So why are things like the knight, the stagfiend, the ogre so much stronger than me?

  It had to be their skills.

  It had to be their skills. How high were their skill levels? How many skill perks did they have? He could not dismiss that possibility. Without his skills, he would not have close to a thousand total stats. He would only have about two hundred. If his skills gave him this much, how much more did higher-level beings get from theirs?

  That was a problem. A big one.

  He spotted another issue in his status. Dexterity was woefully behind. His strength had outpaced his speed and accuracy. It was hard to wield weapons with precision anymore. That was why he had been leaning on death bolts, flaming bolts, energy spears. His magic. His stats made weapon wielding inherently dangerous. Battle sense helped, showed him when his fingers would slip, too slow to keep up with his own motion. But honestly, it made him clumsier than he would be otherwise.

  Too clumsy.

  I'm not using battle sense to its best potential. Half the time I'm using it to make sure I don't trip over my own feet or send my weapon flying out of my hands. It had reached a point where all he could do was brutish swings and shooting projectiles. Outside of his magic, his finesse with weapons had dwindled. Only battle sense let him land cruel kills.

  He would have to start spending free stats on dexterity. Every stat until things got better. Just so he could use his spear properly. And his new sword.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  My magic's made up for it in spades. But until I can handle a weapon without a premonition of me stumbling over my own strength and failing to use it, I'll lean heavier on magic.

  Then there was the constitution loss. His body was both living and dead. Head or heart injury meant death. Now he could not afford to take a hit. He did not know how his constitution fared against higher-level beings. Things with skills and levels so high he could only cheat to kill them. For all I know, right now? Compared to them and their high-level stats and higher-level skills, my resistance to impacts is weak as hell.

  He would not take that chance. He had no desire to test that theory.

  Survival isn't about being stupid and reckless. It's about solving problems weeks before they arrive. Selective reinforcement helps, multiplies what I've got—strength, dexterity, endurance. My ability to withstand blows. But now my endurance has taken a massive hit.

  You could not multiply zero. It was not literally zero. But he would have to avoid grievous harm.

  Right now, there was a chance his constitution was so low that even an errant blow from a creature higher than his level could kill him. The ogre could kill him with a simple tap. Even the ogre's humans could, with a wide area strike or blows in the right places.

  I need the armor.

  David strapped the shoulder plate into place. It sat heavy against his collarbone, warm already, settling like it belonged there. He handed the heretic shackle to the warlock.

  "Go find low level creatures. Capture them and drag them back here."

  The warlock nodded and drifted off into the trees.

  Let's see if this works the way I think it will.

  It came back some time later with twenty weakened creatures in a pile. All of them were clearly hit with weakness sigils, the spirits still surging through their bodies. A mix of things. Flying imps around level four. A few errant stagfiends, level seven maybe. Some werebeasts. Nothing impressive. Nothing that could fight back in its current state.

  With the shoulder plate donned, David moved through them one by one. He consumed each creature's soul, killing them as he went. The demon knight's armor responded immediately. The shoulder plate grew, expanded, crawled over him like something alive. Black metal spread across his chest, his arms, his legs. Plates formed and fused. By the time the last creature dropped, he stood in full gothic black plate, looking like a dark knight himself in a way that would make Theo the aspiring dark lord vomit with jealousy.

  Theo would lose his mind. That kid wants to be this so bad.

  The kills didn't grant him a level. The gap was too wide, the creatures too weak for that. But consuming their souls boosted his stats, a few points here and there, and completely repaired the dark knight's armor.

  Good. That's exactly what I needed.

  David flexed his fingers inside the gauntlets. The weight was there, but it distributed well. He felt a little more comfortable now. An extra layer of defense between him and this dangerous world. The armor's regeneration wasn't perfect. Too much of a beating in a short period and it would stop regenerating. That was how its original owner had died—worn down by numbers until the repairs couldn't keep up. But at least now David wouldn't die from a light breeze.

  Progress. Small progress, but progress.

  To the side, his magic wolf Fenrir was practicing. That’s new. It stood in a clearing, concentrating, its massive form rippling with illusion magic. It was trying to use its illusions to change its shape, failing miserably.

  David watched. He could see what Fenrir wanted to project. A small wolf, about waist height, deep black fur glistening, softly glowing eyes, and that dark horn sprouting from its head. A decent illusion. Compact. Manageable.

  But he could also see the real Fenrir underneath. Massive. The size of a house. The illusion flickered and warped, unable to contain the reality beneath it.

  Well. At least it's trying.

  "Keep it up, buddy," David said.

  Fenrir bristled at the encouragement, chest swelling as if it didn't need it. It tried harder to blend the illusion with its own mana, to change its shape. The illusion flickered again. The small wolf image wavered, nearly collapsed, then reformed.

  Progress. Slow progress, but he's working at it. Doesn't want to admit he likes the encouragement, but he's trying.

  Rhea woke up alarmed. She was on her feet before her eyes fully opened, body snapping upright, spine straight, feet planted, hands coming up—already in a battle stance, already ready to fight whatever had been about to kill her in her sleep.

  "What happened?" she demanded. "What—"

  Her voice cut off. Her eyes went distant, reading a panel only she could see. She stared at nothing for a long second. Then she sighed, visibly relaxed, and sat down on the ground.

  David watched her. The transition was instant. From combat-ready to at ease in the space of a breath.

  That reaction wasn't from Earth. That level of instant alertness, the body moving on instinct before you're even fully awake. Like a soldier drilled to stand at attention at a mere word. That wasn't there when we first crash-landed here.

  He remembered those first days. People stumbling around, confused, scared, slow. Not this. Not whatever Rhea just did.

  This place is turning all of us into soldiers.

  Rhea sat on the ground, pressing a hand to her side. “Everything hurts. I’ve got a stitch in my stomach that feels like someone stabbed me, and my legs are cramping so bad I can barely move them.”

  David watched her, his mind a whir of thoughts. Forty minutes of sprinting. Not running—sprinting. Full out, never slowing. Maximum capacity the whole time. Back on Earth, that would’ve been impossible. You’d need months on performance enhancers—illegal, experimental ones—to even come close, and even then you wouldn’t achieve a fraction of the speed or distance they’d just covered.

  The human body isn’t designed for this. The system does weird things to it. Are we even human anymore. If we all took dna tests, what would come up? The thought was neither comforting nor disturbing. David just found himself incredibly curious. If they were no longer human, how would people react when they returned to earth? How would the governments treat them?

  “Welcome to the new world,” he said. “Where the human body does things it definitely wasn’t designed for.”

  Rhea let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but not quite. “Yeah. I noticed.”

  Her gaze drifted to the warlock. She studied it for a long moment, taking in the changes. The chitin plates. The fuller frame. The way it stood straighter now, less like something ancient and frail and more like something that could actually fight. Her face tightened slightly. “It looks different,” she said quietly.

  David just shrugged. He was too tired to explain.

  She looked back at him, searching his face instead of the monster. “Walk me through it. I know the heretic variant was basically dead by the end. But the knight? And the harvester? You were barely standing.”

  David hesitated. “I… ate their souls.”

  Rhea stared at him. Not shocked. Trying to process it. “Okay. When you say that, I need you to be clear. Because that sounds insane.”

  “Not me,” he said quickly. He pointed at Cinder’s cocoon. “My demon did. She absorbed them.”

  Rhea followed his gesture to the dark chrysalis. “And you’re sure that’s what happened?”

  “I’m sure they’re gone,” he said. “And she wasn’t like that before.”

  He looked at the cocoon. “I think it changed her. I didn’t even know Cinder could do that. I didn’t know it was possible. Didn’t know any demon could.”

  Rhea wrapped her arms loosely around herself, still catching her breath. “So she’s in there because she overdid it? Or because this is some kind of evolution?”

  “Looks like it.” He glanced at his undead demon minion’s status panel, scanning for anything new, anything different, anything that might tell him what was happening inside that dark shell. “There’s no explanation. Just a shell and a lot of question marks.”

  She nodded slowly, absorbing that. “And when that thing opens?”

  “I don’t know what’s coming out.”

  A beat of silence.

  “That’s… not great,” she said, rubbing her face with one hand. “We almost died. Again. And now we’re standing next to a mystery cocoon.”

  “Welcome to the new world.”

  Rhea looked at him for a long second, then huffed a tired laugh despite herself. “I really hate it here.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

  He looked back at the cocoon.

  But the armor’s nice, he thought.

  [Name: Cinder

  Level: Calculating…

  Primary Class: Locked

  Demonic Energy: Calculating…

  Skills: [Calculating…], [Locked Lvl 0]]

  A second panel appeared beneath it.

  [You have created an undead deathless revenant, a demon and hybrid of races, a feat the dungeon system refuses to reward you for. Force the system to acknowledge your achievement.

  Lvl ?/100]

  That told him nothing at all, but he’d expected as much. Hope and dread had been sharing space in his chest since the cocoon sealed. There was no shortcut through this part. He would just have to wait and see who—what—she became.

  Rhea didn’t take her eyes off the cocoon. Its surface pulsed faintly, like something breathing wrong. “Are we safe?” she asked quietly. Then, sharper: “With your soul-eating demon.”

  David let out a short laugh, but it didn’t quite land. “Yeah. Cinder would probably rather die than upset me. And she’d definitely kill anyone who suggested she do something I wouldn’t like.” He rubbed the back of his neck, aware of how that sounded. “Brutally.”

  Rhea’s jaw tightened. “That’s not reassuring.”

  He exhaled. “She can’t eat souls without using one of my skills. It’s not something she can just… do.” He glanced at the cocoon, and the confidence in his voice thinned a little. “You’re probably safer next to Cinder than anywhere else in this forest.”

  Rhea finally looked at him. “Really.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “That implies I’m not as safe around you,” she said.

  David shrugged, but there was no humor in it now. “I’m just dangerous to be around.”

  Rhea dropped down onto the ground and stayed there, elbows on her knees, breathing through her mouth. After a while she said, without looking at him, “You think they’re okay?”

  David glanced toward the trees. “At camp?”

  “Yeah. At camp.” She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “It’s been a while.”

  “They can handle a few days without us. Maybe weeks,” he said. It came out ruder than he’d intended.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  He let out a slow breath through his nose. “If something was wrong, I’d know.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. “I’m… worried about them.”

  “I know.”

  A branch creaked somewhere deeper in the forest. They both listened for a second, then let it go.

  He didn’t elaborate right away. He could check. It would take a second to reach through Corbin and make sure everything was still standing. He hesitated, not because he couldn’t—just because once he started keeping constant watch, it would be hard to stop.

  Rhea leaned back on her hands, eyes drifting to the canopy. “You think they’re ready?”

  He considered that. Faces flickered through his mind—Corbin’s steady focus, the others’ mix of stubbornness and fear.

  “They’ll manage,” he said. Not optimistic. Not grim. But factual. “They don’t really have another option.”

  A quiet stretch settled between them. The forest didn’t feel quite as hostile now, but it wasn’t friendly either.

  “Almost time to head back,” David said. His tone was steady, practical. “Take them through for what comes next.”

  Rhea tore her gaze away from the trees and looked at him instead. She studied him a moment longer, then nodded once. “Okay.”

  Another beat passed.

  “Just… check on them soon?” she said, quieter now.

  “I will,” he replied.

  This time, it wasn’t automatic.

  “Give me a day. Then we go.”

  Rhea nodded and pushed herself up with a soft groan. “I’ll give you two.”

  David looked back toward the direction of the his goal, the Ogres camp, then to the west where the group lay, thoughtful.

  Just one day would be enough. A class was so close he could feel it. Just 3 levels away at most. It could occur at any point in the next three kills. Hell, he could capture three creatures and kill one every hour.

  He would ‘class up’ first, then he’d head back to the camp, get them prepared—gather bodies to throw at his growing list of enemies—it was the least they could do. He also planned to have a very interesting use for Evans.