The fiery imp that appeared mid-battle was most definitely dead, David was pretty certain, but it didn’t stop him mentally applauding Mara’s very efficient confirmation, as she delivered a final, sharp stomp to its neck. Henderson and his friends stood panting, clutching their makeshift weapons like they’d just won a particularly violent sporting event.

  David’s attention, however, was already elsewhere. The brief scuffle had been loud, and in his experience, noise in a hostile environment was less an announcement and more a dinner bell. He moved toward the scattered debris of the previous armor, figuring in a place like this, looting was less a crime and more a survival strategy.

  He never reached the scrap metal. A low, grinding sound pulled his gaze to a disturbed patch of earth twenty yards away. The soil bulged, then split open as a single, massive hand clawed its way to the surface. It was followed by a helmeted head and a broad, plated shoulder. This suit of armor was different—larger, its metal glowing a dull, angry red in places as if it had been forged in a shallow grave. It hauled itself upright, one hand gripping a long, brutally simple sword. Its surface was a patchwork of solid, dark metal and softer, molten-looking sections that pulsed with heat.

  Corbin didn’t need to give an order. He and Evans immediately fanned out, creating a firing angle, their sidearms aimed but not yet firing. Their discipline was in clear juxtaposition to the chaotic emergence of the creature.

  The armor’s movements were jerky, unsteady. One of its legs was partially fused together, the molten red metal having cooled into a twisted, solid mass that forced it to shuffle rather than stride. David felt it was a design flaw you could see from a mile away.

  Ignoring the marshals entirely, the construct fixed its hollow gaze on the closest target: Henderson, who was still catching his breath. It let out a grating shriek of metal on metal and lunged, its bad leg dragging a furrow in the dirt.

  Henderson tried to backpedal, but his foot caught on a root. He fell hard on his back, the air rushing from his lungs in a pained gasp. The sword came up, poised for a final, downward thrust.

  The kid was too slow, too off-balance. The outcome was as predictable as it was messy.

  David was already in motion. Rather than running; he flowed into the thing’s path, his own sword deflecting the killing thrust away from Henderson’s chest with a shower of orange sparks. The force of the parry vibrated up his arm, a solid, satisfying jolt.

  The armor’s head swiveled toward him, its empty eye sockets seeming to burn with a newfound focus. All its prior intent vanished, replaced by a singular, silent promise of violence aimed directly at him.

  David didn’t give it the chance to make good on it. As the thing adjusted its grip, he dropped low, the sword whistling over his head. He came up inside its guard and slammed his shield’s edge into its already compromised leg. The sound was less a clang and more a sickening crunch.

  The leg held, but barely. The creature, enraged, began a relentless, hobbling advance, its sword swinging in wide, predictable arcs meant to cleave him in two. It was then that David saw it—a shimmering, concentrated knot of demonic energy pulsed within the construct’s chest, a core of power holding the whole miserable thing together. He took a sharp, deliberate breath, and a thread of that energy, tasting of forge-fire and rage, ripped free from the armor and flooded his system.

  The armor hesitated for a split second, its glow flickering. It looked, for all the world, confused.

  David huffed a breath and took a step forward.

  He didn’t swing for the limbs or the head. He feinted high, and when the thing raised its sword to block, he dropped and thrust his blade deep into the pulsing, molten-red spot on its chest plate.

  The armor froze, a statue of impending ruin.

  Seeing his chance, Theo darted in from the side. David half expected him to try to hack through the metal. But instead, with an engineer’s precision, Theo shoved his own sword into the gap between the creature’s helmet and chest plate, and twisted. There was a sound like a sighing boiler, and the glowing light in its chest died. The armor crumbled into a pile of scorched, inert metal.

  [You have defeated a Possessed Armor Lvl3]

  The world snapped back into focus with the subtlety of a dropped anvil. The smells hit first—blood, ozone, and the distinctly organic scent of a biology that had just been violently un-made. It was a lot.

  David tied his belt around his shields inner handled and strapped it to his back in three quick movements.

  His hearing returned on a delay, serving up the sound of his own ragged breathing and Theo retching his guts out a few feet away. The engineer was having a very bad day.

  David’s attention shifted to Mara and Henderson and saw a smaller imp had arrived during his fight with the armor, possibly attracted to the noise. The imp had apparently failed at its murder attempt. They were still enthusiastically stabbing the small the creature. It seemed a bit like overkill, but then again, he had already praised Mara for her specific brand of overkill, and he wasn't the one who'd had to listen to its screeching.

  "Theo! On your feet!" Mara barked, her voice sharp, but with a tremor she couldn't quite hide. "Are there more of them?"

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  “Y-yeah, over there.” Theo managed a weak head shake, still preoccupied with the state of his own stomach.

  There was a final imp shambling toward them. It was small, and slower than the others, but that meant little to the group who had already lost a member.

  Mara and Theo charged, a furious rush that fought everyone present off-guard.

  As the two assaulted the imp, David performed the necessary admin. He wiped his blade against the grass, clearing it of imps strange parts, and hefted the shield on his back. It was cumbersome, but it allowed him to put more power into his sword swings, using both hands. One had to maintain one's tools.

  He looked up to see the pair beating the hell out of the smaller imp.

  David assessed Mara and Henderson. They were unharmed, if you didn't count the psychological damage, which was probably substantial. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with a kind of furious trauma. They were venting their feelings on a corpse that had long since stopped caring.

  The imp they’d been working on was clearly out of the fight. David approached and gave it a cautious poke with his sword. Nothing. Then the crash came—the comedown, hitting David like a brick. The combat high and stolen energy evaporated, leaving a hollow, shaky exhaustion. The fear, the relief, the sheer, screaming absurdity of it all tried to flood in.

  Stop it. Pull it together. Now. He took a slow, deliberate breath. The panic receded, leaving behind a cold, professional calm.

  He saw Mara turn away, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Everyone was dealing with the new workplace environment in their own way.

  David looked down at the barely-alive, but definitely-dying-or-dead imp. It was lying there, probably wondering where it all went wrong. He ended its existential crisis with a single, efficient thrust.

  A notification popped up, as though encouraging him.

  [You have defeated a Lesser Imp - Level 1]

  It was the universe's way of saying 'well done.' He felt a little more experienced already.

  David stared at the fading text, then, he recalled the notification from the oversized armour he had fought seconds ago, looking at the pile of scrap. "Wait," he said, his voice cutting through the relieved sighs. "That one wasn't even a special type. No fancy title. Just... 'Possessed Armor, Level Three'"

  Theo, wiping demonic grime off his sword, his face slightly shaken, looked over. "Is that bad?"

  "Profoundly," David replied, poking the smoldering metal with his foot. He looked at the others, a genuine, unsettling thought striking him. "If that's what a level three looks like, what's a four? A five?" He shook his head, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "I was hoping for at least a 'Molten Brute' or 'Swordmaster.' This is just unfair. The cosmic horror here has no flair."

  Mara rushed to pick up the armor’s abandoned sword. Corbin holstered his weapon, his expression grim. "Be careful what you wish for."

  "Oh, I am," David said, hefting his shield. The energy he stole from it felt different, in a way he couldn’t explain. And he wanted more.

  David trailed a step behind the air marshals, adjusting the shield strapped to his back. Evans was in front of the group—gun raised, jaw set—scanning the foliage as though the problem of survival could be arrested. Corbin stayed near Mara and Theo, who were too loud for people lost in a deathtrap.

  David’s arm still throbbed from where the last thing’s flaming body had given him an excessive and unnecessary tan. The wound had stopped blistering and started shining faintly. He wasn’t sure if that meant he was healing or mutating. Either way, he preferred it to small talk.

  Corbin turned toward him. “You’re bleeding through your shirt.”

  David looked down. “Fashion choice.”

  The man studied him longer than necessary, eyes flicking from the wound to David’s face. He didn’t look scared. He looked curious. Which was decidedly worse.

  “We still need water,” Corbin said. “Food next. Before nightfall.”

  David blinked up at the three suns. “Define night.”

  The man ignored him, started giving directions to the others like a man who’d read a manual on surviving hijackings but not demonic jungles.

  Corbin stepped away from the others, his movement deliberate, and stopped directly in front of David. The low hum of the strange forest filled the space where conversation should have been.

  “That stunt with the imp,” Corbin said, his voice a low, controlled line. “You think that makes you hot shit. You acted alone. You didn’t signal, you didn’t wait. You put every single passenger in immediate danger by acting on your own. What if it had friends in the trees? You’d have led them right back to us.”

  David looked past Corbin’s shoulder at a tree that seemed to be sweating sap. He brought his gaze back. “It didn’t.”

  “That’s irrelevant. The action is the problem. I can’t have you doing whatever you want. You will follow orders. My orders.”

  David’s expression didn’t change. “Apologies. I must have missed the police academy invite. The mail here is terrible.”

  A muscle in Corbin’s jaw feathered. “This is not a joke. Your disregard will get people killed.”

  “I’ll do what I need to do to survive,” David said, the words even and dry. “If I hadn’t acted, that thing would have recovered. It would have tracked us. Someone would have definitely died.”

  The statement was factually true. The motivation wasn't. In his head, he pictured it. Honestly? If Henderson bought it, my afternoon gets easier. Less whining. More personal space. The group moves faster. It's a net positive with extra gore. He paused. Actually, scratch that. One less body between me and the monsters is a downgrade. Human shields have value. Fine. It's a neutral change with extra gore. He wouldn't have lost sleep over it.

  David watched him try to cope by organizing the chaos—pretending his hand wasn’t trembling with adrenaline like everyone else. Irrational. Controlled. Dangerous. The type who’d start a purge if the water ran out.

  Corbin took a half-step closer, the authority in his frame straining against the absurdity of their setting. “You need to understand the situation. There is a chain of command.”

  David let out a short, quiet breath that wasn’t a laugh. “You need to get your gun out of your ass and look at where we are.” He didn’t raise his hand to gesture. His eyes did it for him, flicking to the crimson-veined foliage, the oppressive triple sunlight. “This isn’t Earth. There’s no chain of command here. It’s life or death. That’s the entire briefing.”

  “Just—“ Corbin looked as though he had more to say but thought better, finally letting it go. “Don’t die.” Corbin exhaled, then turned to brief the others. Mara bit her lip and nodded. Theo waved lazily, holding his sword.

  They walked.

  David counted his steps and his thoughts. His pulse, his strength, his hunger. All green. Except the one blinking red: Threat assessment – Corbin.

  Corbin was still eyeing Theo’s sword, sometimes he looked at Mara’s, too, as though he was questioning his gun’s long term efficacy. Corbin glanced back and raised a palm to slow the pace.

  David glanced at the marshal’s back. He raised his sword in reply, imagining how fast it would sink into the back of that skull. He could do it. Two seconds. Then the gun would be his. David wouldn’t do it. But a man could dream.

  He smiled thinly, resisting the urge to swing his weapon. He settled for picturing it—small victories mattered.

  Corbin turned his head slightly. “What are you thinking, David?”

  David smiled. “Next move.”