Bullets cracked and two molten suits tried very hard to murder everyone within shouting distance. David watched the grey energy swirl inside their armor, a visible map of design flaws nobody had caught before rollout. He marked the weak points with cold focus, the creatures energy put together by a committee racing a deadline.

  “The one with the swords will kill anyone who gets close,” he stated, his voice flat. “Its left knee is a tangle. The big one’s shield arm is about to fall apart. Hit that. From a distance.”

  The bearded marshal stared at the advancing constructs, then holstered his pistol with a sigh of profound disappointment. “Understood.” The older marshal gestured for the others to spread out.

  Theo tripped, Mara dragged him by the jacket, both too busy staying alive to complain. David never took his eyes off the molten armor—mana held their frames together in twitching seams, a glowing mess of energy duct-taped into the shape of soldiers.

  He ignored the tightness in his chest. People were listening. That was the only good thing. “Mara, Theo, with the older marshal. Throw things at the sword-armor’s legs. Do not get near it. The rest of you, with me and the bearded one.” He decided to call the Marshals ‘Beardy’ and ‘Gandalf,’ figured if the universe could give things official titles like ‘Sword-Wielding Molten Armor,’ he could too. Nobody protested.

  The teams split. Theo and Mara stood began lobbing fuselage scraps. It resembled fetch, if fetch involved terminal velocity and mild screaming.

  They surrounded both armors on all sides, Theo, Mara to the north, the four young men to the south, and the Marshalls to the east, and David to its west, with the armors stuck in the middle of the barrage. They constantly moved, keeping distance—not presenting an easy target.

  David hefted a pair of metal poles. His body felt soft, unqualified. But his sight painted a clear picture of the next few moments. He saw the shield-bearer’s heavy step before it moved, “Now!” he yelled. The four young men launched their scrap. The projectiles hammered the shield arm. The grey energy inside the weakest sections wavering wildly. The arm sagged.

  The older marshal kept the group’s distance from the sword-wielder, his commands keeping them moving while Theo and Mara perfected the art of missing loudly. Their throws were mostly a danger to local wildlife, but they kept the thing’s attention.

  The shield was the immediate obstacle, deflecting everything except pain and panic. The swords were a death sentence. “Again! The arm!” David shouted, staying on the shield-bearer’s flank. He was essentially managing a very destructive construction project.

  The four groups maintained their separation. The marshals provided direction. The younger survivors provided a constant, distracting barrage of wood, rocks, and airplane parts. The site turned into a junkyard orchestra of flying debris. A large stone struck the shield-bearer’s elbow. The impact was solid—it staggered, its shield dipping.

  David saw the opening. He also saw the sword-wielder pivot, and leap forward in a burst of earth, breaking away, its energy flaring toward the older marshal. “Get down!”

  The grey-haired man dropped without protest. A sword blade hissed through the air above him, biting deep into a tree trunk. It stuck there, vibrating.

  In the same instance, the shield-bearer recovered and mimicked the move, bursting in a powerful leap towards the four young men harassing it. It swung its shield in a brutal, horizontal arc. One of the young men stumbled over the uneven ground. The solid edge of the shield met his chest. A wet crack—final. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  In a desperate bid to get away from the two armors quick bursts, everyone stoped throwing projectiles.

  David was already moving, his body a half-second ahead of the shield-bearer’s decision to turn him into a red stain. He wasn’t thinking, he just knew—the thing’s knee was a knot of black, liquid shadow that shivered. A structural suggestion.

  It’s a little weak there, he thought, and drove the metal pole home. The hot metal gave way with a gristly tear, and a plume of that same blood-black fluid erupted into the air. On instinct, David took a sharp breath, pulling the vapor into his lungs. It tasted of ozone and cosmic disappointment. A cold, sharp power flooded his muscles, like chugging liquid nitrogen. The thing’s shield arm was now a glaringly obvious problem, a tangled web of shimmering, furious light.

  He wrenched the pole free, the metal groaning as he bent it with newfound ease. “Let’s unplug this for you" A short, hard arc against the creature’s shield arm, and the energy threads snapped apart with a sound like tiny violins giving up. The shield dropped, slamming into the earth with a finality that was deeply satisfying.

  The shield-bearer was off-balance, disarmed, and frankly, a bit of a mess. David stepped in. Between the helmet and chest pulsed a crawling mass of shadow and colorless flame—the thing's heart, or its warranty, he didn't care. He jammed his second pole into the gap, the metal screaming as he put his back into it, the demonic energy in his veins making the effort feel trivial. He twisted. The energy didn't just disintegrate; it seemed to sigh, then imploded into a miniature vortex of screaming vapor. The armor crumbled into a pile of scorched, inert metal.

  David took another steady breath, the lingering energy a faint static cling in the back of his throat. He felt like he could bench-press a truck. There was probably more he could do with this, some grand, cosmic purpose. For now, making things stop moving was purpose enough.

  One down.

  [You have defeated a Possessed Armor Level 2]

  [LvI 2 ? LV3]

  He grabbed the shield. It was warm and unreasonably heavy, like a door from a supernatural bank vault.

  The remaining armor abandoned its stuck sword and charged the older marshal, who had rolled to the side and attempted to back away, barely scrambling to his feet—its remaining blade was held high as it charged. The bearded marshal reached out to save his companion but knew he was too late, and watched, his pistol still holstered, his expression that of a man watching a vending machine eat his last dollar.

  David hauled the shield up and sprinted, his muscles burned. He saw the sword-armor’s downward chop. He moved into the path, angling the shield overhead. The impact slammed through him, jolting his teeth. It was like being hit by a car that was also a medieval knight.

  He knew the force of the blow would leave the creature exposed. “The head! Now!” David roared, holding the shield against the weight.

  The bearded marshal closed the distance. He held a long, sharp section of the dead ones metal leg. He drove it upwards under the helmet’s rim with his whole weight. The construct shuddered, its sword falling from its grip, and then collapsed into a still heap.

  The older marshal stood up, eyes still on Eli’s body. “Check for other threats. Secure those weapons—”

  David was already moving.

  The order was barely halfway out of the marshal’s mouth when he broke into a brisk, unapologetic beeline for the sword lying in the blood-slick dirt. He wasn’t running, exactly—more like an enthusiastic jog executed by someone who had decided the laws of authority were optional at best.

  If it’s cursed, that’s still better than empty-handed, he thought. Worst case, it whispers evil things to me. Best case, it whispers useful things. Either way, company.

  “Hey, don’t worry,” he said over his shoulder, tone infuriatingly casual. “Just making sure it doesn’t grow legs and leave.”

  The marshals shouted something about protocol and contamination, but David barely heard it. He crouched, studying the blade. It pulsed faintly, like something alive and unimpressed with its new admirer. He liked that about it.

  Everyone wants to be saved. You, though—you just want to be wielded.

  He grinned, teeth flashing under the dying light. “See? We already understand each other. Perfectly unhealthy relationship forming right here.”

  Somewhere behind him, a marshal swore and reached for his sidearm. David ignored it. The world was on fire, demons were eating faces, and here they were arguing about ownership papers.

  If this kills me, he thought, fingers curling around the hilt, at least it’ll be interesting. That’s more than most people get.

  He lifted the sword, and for a brief, terrible moment, it felt like the weapon was lifting him.

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  The bearded marshal looked at the shield in David’s grip and the sword he now picked up from the ground. He gave a single, grim nod. It was the universal signal for ‘I guess we’re doing this now.’

  David leaned on the shield, his breath raw. He looked at the two piles of scrap. More of those things were out there. This was going to be a very tedious way to die.

  The group moved in a loose, nervous cluster. David walked ahead with the others, sword drawn, shield slung close. This section of the forest, if you could call it that, was a miserable collection of weeping, thorny magenta trees. David kept pace with the group, his eyes occasionally flicking to the new addition. Mara walked beside him, a study in controlled tension.

  The two marshals took the lead. The older one, his hair the color of gunmetal, spoke with a voice that had worn out its welcome with enthusiasm long ago. “Name’s Corbin. This is Evans.” He gestured with his thumb at the other marshal, a trimly bearded man who looked like he could run a marathon through a brick wall.

  Evans gave a single, sharp nod. “Stay sharp. More of that walking scrap metal is a guarantee. Watch your footing. Last thing we need is one coming up from behind.”

  Theo, who had somehow ended up with the only other functional sword—a sly bastard—shrugged. “Theo. Was about to start my masters in structural engineering.” He hefted the blade as if calculating its load-bearing capacity.

  The girl with the unsettling green eyes spoke next. “Mara.” She left it at that, but her posture suggested a history of being very, very good at things other people found difficult. David pegged her as a former competitive rock climber or maybe an assassin-in-training who’d taken a wrong turn.

  “David,” he said when the attention swung to him. He offered nothing else. He wasn’t in this; the universe had just forgotten to give him a choice.

  The three other young men were clearly a unit. Their leader, a guy named Henderson, still had the remnants of a wristband stuck to his arm. “We’re from the university,” he said, gesturing to his two friends who looked like they’d been pulled from a mosh pit and dropped into a nightmare. “We were on our way to the Soundscape festival in Manila. Just a vacation.”

  Unfortunate, David thought. So their last moments of normalcy involved in-flight beer and deciding which DJ to see. Now they get to decide which hell-spawn to run from. He kept the observation to himself. For now.

  The tension settled over the group like a fine dust. Corbin’s gaze, cold and pragmatic, landed on the sword in Theo’s hand.

  “That blade shouldn’t be with just one person,” Corbin stated, his voice leaving no room for debate. “You didn’t take down the armor. Evans did. It goes to the group.”

  Theo’s grip on the hilt tightened. Evans, for his part, gave a placating wave and tapped the firearm holstered on his hip. “I’m not exactly unarmed, Corbin. The kid can hold onto it.”

  “It’s not about you being armed,” Corbin countered, his eyes scanning the rest of them. “It’s about fairness. If David hadn’t gotten the kill on that imp, he wouldn’t have a weapon either.”

  David kept his expression neutral. Like hell I wouldn’t have, he thought. I’d have pried it from its dead, scaly claws. Or taken it from someone else. He felt a strong, specific urge to test the sharpness of his own sword against Corbin’s demeanor. However miserable this hellscape was, he was profoundly glad for the strange strength humming in his own veins. The idea of being dependent on a self-important dickhead with a gun just because he was a dickhead with a gun was a special kind of nightmare.

  The debate droned on. Evans played the relaxed mediator. Henderson and his two surviving university friends watched the power struggle with silent, wide-eyed apprehension. It was Mara who finally cut through the stalemate. “What if it stays with him, but he takes the front with you two? He becomes part of the vanguard.”

  David watched the exchange, the seconds stretching into eternity. This is taking too long. For now, the disparities were small—a sword, a few points of strength. But the moment someone gained power that truly dwarfed the others, this fragile truce would shatter. What happened when a man became a walking gun himself? There were no laws here. Only consequences.

  “We’re wasting light,” David said, his voice cutting off the tail end of the discussion. “We follow the tree line. A few hours to scout the immediate area. We have no idea how long the day is here. After that, we cut wood for spears and firewood. We look for rocks. Anything to throw. We can take down the armors from a distance if we’re smart, use my shield. No one else has to die. And we should find more of them. Their weapons are the only way to arm the rest.”

  The suggestion to arm the others felt counterintuitive, but he was thinking several moves ahead. What if they stumbled into something level ten? A meat shield, or at least a loud, distracting chaos, could be the difference between killing it and being killed. And if things got too bad or too stupid, he could always ditch them and make it on his own. “If something forces us back, a fortified position with an armed choke point would be better than coming back to a slaughterhouse.”

  Theo finally caved with a nod so stiff it looked like his neck might crack, securing his place on point and his death-grip on the sword. Corbin’s expression suggested he’d just swallowed something sour. His gaze kept drifting back to the blade.

  “Greedy little bastard,” Corbin muttered under his breath, the words barely audible. “Like his life isn’t enough.”

  I really, David thought with a sudden, serene clarity, would like to see how this man handles a perforated colon.

  They trudged onward for another twenty minutes in a silence so thick you could taste the despair. Then Evans froze, hand shooting up. He knelt, tracing patterns in the foul dirt like a connoisseur of demonic flora.

  “We have tracks,” he whispered, his voice all business. “Big. Walks on two legs. Claws.” He gestured to a nearby tree, its bark raked to shreds. “Tail did that. See the way the bark’s shredded on that tree? This is its home turf. We’re getting closer to where that thing came from.”

  The statement alone was enough to wire everyone’s nerves to a breaking point. Corbin went dead quiet, his avarice instantly replaced by a pure, weaponized focus. David could practically hear the man’s gun whimpering in his vise-like grip.

  In David, however, the confirmation of imminent violence produced a bizarre mental tranquility, like the world had finally stopped screaming and just started humming. Everything clicked into hyper-detailed focus. He felt, against all logic, perfectly calm.

  "Contact, up ahead," David said, his voice unnervingly flat.

  The metallic snick of Evans's safety was immediate, his pistol’s barrel swinging left.

  "Adjust left. By the twisted roots," David corrected, his eyes locked on the shuddering foliage.

  Evans shifted his aim without a word.

  David squeezed his sword, the grip protesting, and raised his shield. From the gloom, two lanky, seven-foot horrors of sinew and spite launched themselves at them. They were all whipcord muscle, scything claws, and a face full of dental nightmares, their spiked tail cracking like a whip. At first glance, they were the same model as the last imp, just with the premium terror package installed.

  The two new imps represented a significant upgrade in quality. One appeared to be part angry shrub, covered in thorns and moving with a rustling menace. The other was a living conflagration, its wiry limbs wreathed in a low, smoldering flame that blackened the air and cast flickering shadows across the redwood trunks. David's new senses helpfully highlighted the thorny one as the main event, its demonic energy pulsing with what felt like personal animosity. He took a moment to decide which problem needed solving first.

  A sharp crack from Evans's sidearm provided a helpful auditory cue.

  The choice was made for him. The one on fire lunged at Theo. The thorned one followed but was a second late. Theo, it seemed, was on both creatures menu.

  David stepped in, swinging his shield in a hard arc that connected solidly with the fiery creature's ribs, stopping it as the thorned one ran past him. The impact felt like slamming a door on a fire hydrant, and a shower of embers sprayed from the thing's body. It snarled, stumbled, but remained decidedly upright, its flames burning a little brighter with its agitation.

  As the imp recovered, David saw Mara from the corner of his eye. She didn't waste energy on a battle cry. As the two marshals moved to support her, she simply hurled a piece of scrap metal with the focused intensity of someone trying to win a carnival game. David appreciated the practicality.

  Theo was managing to keep the thorny imp that had reached him at bay, his sword work defensive and fueled by pure adrenaline.

  Meanwhile, the three university students had bunched up like startled sheep as a third, smaller imp rose, revealing itself from the undergrowth behind them. The situation had become comprehensively surrounded.

  Mara and the two marshals were holding their own. Corbin fired with methodical precision, and Evans was already repositioning. They seemed to have things well in hand.

  David consciously wrote off the students' predicament. Henderson's group would need to learn on the job. His priority was the walking pincushion trying to gut Theo.

  He and Mara exchanged a glance that communicated a simple plan: she would occupy the fiery one, and he would handle the horticultural nightmare.

  He broke away and moved to where Theo was putting on a masterclass in desperate defense.

  From this new vantage point, he watched the thorny imp's assault.

  The creature was being surprisingly deliberate, probing Theo's guard with careful, thorn-studded jabs.

  Several oozing cuts on its hide testified to where Theo's blade had successfully connected.

  Abruptly, the imp abandoned its caution. It charged with a guttural roar, a full-bodied, clumsy rush.

  Theo stumbled, his defense crumbling into a panicked backpedal.

  David noted that the thorns looked exceptionally pointy and unpleasant.

  He closed the distance in two strides and brought his sword down on the imp's attacking limb with a solid thwack.

  The imp's attention instantly pivoted from Theo to David, its gaze now filled with a special kind of rage.

  It swung its other arm in a wild, clawed arc. David dropped under the blow and drove his shoulder into its chest. The creature grunted but barely moved. This called for a more surgical approach.

  Enraged, the imp shrieked. David took a sharp, controlled breath, and the world seemed to slow down just enough to be convenient.

  The imp's shriek cut off into a sound reminiscent of a clogged drain.

  David took one deliberate step forward.

  He executed a clean thrust, his sword piercing the base of the creature's throat.

  He immediately raised his shield, anticipating a violent final act.

  The imp did not cooperate. It stood there, twitching, black fluid gurgling from the wound. It was refusing to die with appropriate speed.

  Seeing an opening, Theo lunged forward and hacked at its legs with a series of messy, effective blows until the creature finally toppled.

  David, seeing it was still twitching, walked over and ended the debate by slamming his sword shard into the back of its skull with a definitive crunch.

  The final notification appeared:

  [You have defeated a Thorned Imp - Level 3].

  [LvI 3 ? LV4]

  David exhaled slowly. He turned to see Mara finishing her own fight with the fiery one. She had maneuvered the fiery imp into a dense patch of ferns, which were now smoking and catching alight. As it thrashed, she darted in and drove her metal shard through its chest. It struggled more, so she stabbed it again, until it let out a hiss like a dying forge and collapsed, its flames extinguishing into smoke.

  [You have defeated a Fire Imp - Level 2].

  He had a feeling this was just the beginning of his new career in supernatural pest control, and the next problem was likely to be even more flammable.