David looked at the giant wolf. It needed a name.

  He ran through aggressive, powerful names for wolves and dogs. Cerberus was a mouthful. Some powerful earth-bound dog names, like Titan or Goliath, didn’t fit. Skoll and Hati were Norse wolves who chased the sun and moon, but they were a pair. This was one wolf.

  Fenrir fit.

  The colossal wolf destined to break its bonds during Ragnar?k, kill the god Odin, and help bring about the end of the world. David’s mind supplied the footnote that in every movie, the giant wolf was called Fenrir. Even on Earth, people called their large dogs Fenrir.

  But David was the only one from Earth who actually had a giant wolf of his own. He was likely the only person in any world who had one and knew the name. He had the only real Fenrir in existence.

  He focused the intent at the creature, but then gave it voice. “Fenrir,” he said, the word flat and final in the humid air. “That’s you.”

  The atmosphere in the clearing changed. It was almost imperceptible. He had probably missed it the first time. The pressure shifted, a tangible sense of the world noting and characterizing the act. In his perception, the wolf’s status flickered and updated, the name locking into its essence.

  “Alright, Fenrir,” David said, his tone turning conversational. “Let’s see that illusion skill. Can you make yourself look like a regular imp? You’ll need to copy the energy it gives off, too. The whole package needs to be perfect.”

  The wolf—Fenrir—turned its head. The motion was slow, deliberate, and saturated with a profound, quiet pride. It looked at David with the composed assurance of a primal force that knew its creator. Obedience was present, but it was woven through a bedrock of absolute, confident power.

  The space around the wolf shivered. To David’s sight, the giant physical structure of the wolf remained. But layered perfectly over it was a moving, living image of a common imp—spindly limbs, twitching fingers. The illusion also replicated the precise, chaotic energy signature of a lesser demon. It was a flawless sensory forgery, not a physical change.

  He had kept it living for specific, mechanical reasons. Some creatures, like wargs, could smell the dead. Others would likely be able to see the undead, however faint. If there was anything that could see energy—not souls, but just energy—they would see the death-energy threaded through an undead minion. A living vessel had no such signature. Plus, he wanted to ease the strain on the illusion skill. Not having to hide an undead nature constantly meant the skill’s power could focus entirely on the external deception, making infiltration simpler.

  While its illusion skill level was higher than his, it was less than the Alpha warg he had taken it from. David would need to test the limits of its illusion skill.

  Its size was prohibitive for spying, though. He should have made an undead imp. He knew this. It would have been a better spy in the long run. But compared to a giant wolf, its utility in combat wouldn’t have compared. And someday, David had an entire legion to kill after all.

  And besides, what was better than a giant wolf? Nothing. That’s what.

  He looked at the imp-shaped illusion, considering the massive reality beneath it. “You’ll need to figure out how to make your illusions change more than how things look to others,” David said. “They need to change how things actually are. See if you can find a way to change your shape at will. That’s an order, by the way.”

  The wolf’s reaction was a blend of obedience and a distinct, proud ambition. In its imp form, it seemed to stand a little taller, its gaze sharpening with focused intelligence. It was not merely receiving a task; it was accepting a complex challenge from its creator.

  “Show me what your illusions can do now,” David said. “Push the skill as far as it goes.”

  Eager to demonstrate its prowess, the proud minion obliged. The air around them in the vibrant, heat-soaked forest wavered. Empty shells of illusion—false rocks, copied ferns—snapped into existence around it, extending out about twenty feet. It created a perfect, static bubble of fake environment just large enough to hide itself.

  David measured the area. “That’s it?” he asked, a flat disappointment in his voice. The Level 28 Alpha had transformed the entire clearing. Tens of feet. Maybe more, far beyond David’s range. That thing’s skill had been on another level. His own unique eyes had been the only counter. Without them, the fight would have ended immediately. He would have been royally screwed.

  The wolf seemed to feel the weight of his dissatisfaction. Its illusory form stiffened. Then it tried a different approach. Instead of generating more static shells, it pulled the ambient energy around itself, weaving a thin, coherent veil. It was like draping a perfect cloak of changed energy and false reality over its own energy signature, painting the false image directly onto the cloak’s surface.

  David noted the change. This method didn’t have the same area limit. It wasn’t altering the environment; it was tailoring a disguise for itself. A cloak. Not a domain of illusion. It wasn’t as profound as the Alpha’s total environmental rewrite, but it was a smarter—if much weaker—more sustainable application.

  “Good. Make yourself invisible,” David said to Fenrir. He paused. “No. Make both of us invisible. Extend the veil to cover me.”

  It did. The air around them shivered. To David’s eyes, a wave of demonic energy washed out from the creature, coiling and knotting the ambient energy into a seamless veil that wrapped around them both. It was a corrupting twist, a lie told to the world. Have to figure out how that works later, he thought.

  Now invisible, he allowed a thin, dry smile. “Follow me,” he said, and turned to head back to camp, the giant wolf falling in step beside him.

  As he walked, David practiced using the thrall connection to see through Cinder’s eyes.

  The world split. He saw the forest path, and over it, Cinder’s stationary view from the camp. His demon was a fixed point, a sentinel made of shadow and banked ember. In that overlay, he saw Jamie moving near the fire pit. He saw Rhea, a still silhouette facing the tree line. They were at the camp.

  A few of the others weren’t in the frame. Corbin, Evans, Henderson, and Harris. They were out. Hunting.

  The double vision made his head throb. He let the connection dim.

  Theo was on the ground, hurt bad. Chloe was over him, her hands glowing but shaky, trying to fix the mess. It looked painful. Something from the roaming herds did it. Looks like he almost died. David figured Theo probably didn't use his deflection skill right—didn't get the angle or timing efficient. Probably saw the charge and deflected too late. Or deflected the first beast and didn’t move before the second hit him. Or maybe he made some other mistake in the fight. They weren't rookies anymore—at least, Theo wasn’t. So it wasn't about not trying; he’d screwed up something he should know by now. A misjudgment. Costly.

  Someone got a fire going, roasting the meat from whatever they'd killed. They were using Evans's methods—the skinning, the cuts he'd shown them. One of the groups of the hunters had succeeded. Morale would be stupidly high for a while. Two of David's precious cursed weapons were right where he left them, untouched, floating in a teenage girl’s telekinetic grip.

  That was the only inventory that mattered.

  David cut the demon-sight off. His regular vision returned, back in the forest.

  The vertigo-induced headache from looking through another pair of eyes faded to a throb. Still moving through the forest with his new magic wolf Fenrir—both of them invisible, cloaked in an illusion that fooled everything but touch—he avoided the roaming stagfiends and werebeast parties. He wanted to get back fast. He could have hunted them, quietly. But something else came first. The cursed weapons.

  He studied the illusion as they walked. It wasn’t just pushing energy around. It was deeper. Through the bond, he could feel the skill was part of the wolf’s wiring. Instinctual. Passive, like breathing. A System skill, integrated. Like his own Calm Mind. Or the old Battle Sense. It didn’t require thought; it just was.

  Just like everyone else’s System skills. He couldn’t easily copy it. But he spent the journey watching the process anyway, trying to make his energy do the same, tracing the way his wolf’s bent perception without force. The way the energy twisted under its demonic energy. Understanding the mechanism was the first step, so David never looked away, studying every detail, every second spent trying to replicate it.

  As he walked and practiced, David’s thoughts went back to the fight with the old, dead, Alpha. He turned its final illusion over in his head. It had used the illusion to throw him off balance. To inject a moment of hesitation. It had worked. The final illusion the Level 28 Alpha had shown him had been forest cavern entrance. The ground had been littered with chaotic gravity wells, like landmines. A line of human clothing. A bloodstained hoodie with a Nirvana moth painting.

  The massive ogre’s weapon was there.

  Maybe the ogre kept trophies. Maybe the humans it grabbed were still alive, used as delayed meals or for some other twisted purpose.

  David figured the wolf had shown him a place it linked with power and fear. That place was the ogre’s lair. Its den.

  David knew what it looked like now.

  He would have to find that place. Immediately. Then, once he did, he would level. Investigate its depths. And then?

  He would kill the ogre.

  The split, and David saw a whole lot of ice and melded trees.

  Looks like the pet project of a demented and very angry Gardener, he thought. Then he realised his demon had helped with the construction, and realised he was probably right.

  The wreckage camp wall appeared after the trek back—a ragged circle of ice and roughly melded species of trees. Inside, the mood was peaceful, overconfident. People were talking, laughing behind their barrier. ‘Safe.’

  He stepped through the gap, a mental order making him visible for all to see, Fenrir still invisible and massive beside him, cloaked and unseen. Leaping over the wall soundlessly.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Jamie’s head whipped around. His face lit up with pure relief. "David!" He dropped what he was holding—a piece of cooked meat—and practically sprinted over, his face wide open with relief. "Holy shit, you're alive!"

  Rhea’s eyes locked onto David, her usual blankness replaced by sharp focus. They both hurried over.

  Rhea reached him a step before Jamie did. "You idiot," she said, her voice tight. There was no heat in it, just a raw, frayed relief. Her eyes were shiny. She blinked, hard, and looked away, jaw working.

  She didn't ask for a status report. Her hands came up, not to touch him, but hovering near his shoulders, her eyes scanning him with a terrifying efficiency. "Where are you hurt?" she asked. Her voice was low, almost flat, but it was too quiet, too focused on him alone to be just clinical.

  "I'm not hurt," David said.

  She breathed out, the sound surprisingly soft as she looked back. Her eyes kept moving, tracking down his arm. She was looking for blood, for tears in the fabric, for the slightest hitch in his stance. It wasn't a tactical assessment. It was a search for proof he was lying to spare her the worry.

  She finally met his eyes again. Her gaze held his, searching for something deeper than wounds. For the first time, he saw a faint, weary tension at the corners of her eyes. The mask had a crack. "You were gone too long,"

  “You’re really not dead,” Jamie blurted once more, stopping in front of him. “We thought—after that fight, with the Alpha—we thought that you were dying out there.”

  “I’m fine,” David said.

  “You sure?” Rhea asked, her gaze scanning him. “You were gone for almost an hour.”

  “I’m sure.”

  A single, shallow nod. "Okay." She exhaled, a slow release of breath she seemed to have been holding. "Okay." The crisis was over. Her posture shifted, the protective, forward-leaning urgency melting back into her more familiar alert stance. She glanced at Jamie, then back toward the camp, already transitioning from personal fear back to group logistics. "You should sit. Even if you're not hurt."

  Hey, he thought, the words dry and internal. You know this is all a lie, right? That I’d burn this whole camp to the ground if it meant I walked away? That your fear is for a guy who doesn’t exist?

  Well, of course you don’t. He watched them from the corner of his eye. Rhea, her clinical stillness completely gone, replaced by a sharp, almost violent focus on his well-being. Jamie, his usual noise silenced by a simple, scared relief. They were falling apart with it. The weight of their care was a tangible thing in the air between them.

  It was… touching. Actually touching. A faint, warm pulse against the cold machinery of his mind.

  “What happened?” Jamie pressed. The young fighter moved beside him, his youthful face returning to its default state of energy. "We thought you were dead. Like, actually dead. Rhea made us wait, but Corbin was about to—"

  “Trust me. It’s handled.”

  “That’s all we get?”

  “That’s all there is, kid.” David moved past them, toward the center of camp. The invisible wolf followed.

  Jamie blew out a huge breath, his shoulders slumping. "Okay. Okay, good. Don't do that again, man. Seriously." The bravado was trying to return, but it was shaky. The fear had been real for him, a crack in the hellish survival-world he was trying to live in.

  "Not planning on it," David said. He began walking toward the center of camp. Rhea fell into step beside him, her pace matched to his, already shifting from personal assessment to situational update. Jamie hurried to keep up on his other side, the invisible wolf a silent fourth at his shoulder.

  The warmth of their worry was a foreign country. David walked, Rhea and Jamie close enough to still feel the concern radiating from them as a physical presence.

  Wow, look at them, he thought. They really, really care. Their fear had been real. Especially Rhea. Rhea’s mask broke for a second. Jamie’s act fell apart. It was a fact. It also meant they’d do stupid, risky things to keep him breathing. That was good. It also meant he had a handle on them now. A unspoken lever, if he ever needed to pull it. He tucked the knowledge away. It felt like finding a spare knife in a tight spot. Useful. He liked it.

  The good feeling got cut off by the sound of a familiar, steady gait.

  Corbin stepped into his path. Evans moved with him, stopping just off his partner’s shoulder, his arms crossed, his gaze steady on David. It was a united front.

  “You risked the entire group. Again.” Corbin continued. “You went solo. Again.”

  “You have skills, Carter. I get it.” Corbin’s jaw tightened. “But this isn’t a camping site. Leaving a group is not your call.” Corbin’s voice was flat. Evans gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, his lips a tight line.

  “Rhea follows your lead. She gets hurt, we’re blind. You get killed, we lose a medic,” Corbin finished, his hand resting on his gun.

  David almost smiled. If I’m dead, you’ve been dead for hours. He didn’t say it. He just looked at Corbin, at the angry, scared man taking up space and air. A problem. A thing that needed fixing.

  I could tell you to kneel, David thought, the impulse cold and bright. See how that chain holds up. He let the idea play out for a heartbeat—the shock on Corbin’s face, the violent refusal, the messy, public end it would necessitate. Too loud. Too wasteful.

  The fix came to him, clean and simple. Next good demon soul I rip out, he decided, the strong kind, not the weak stuff… that one’s for you, Marshal. A permanent attitude adjustment.

  “You hunt with a group. We all do. Always a group. That’s the rule we made to keep us safe.” Corbin continued.

  Evans’s voice was low, adding weight without heat. “Sorry David, but he’s right. The rule keeps everyone alive. You bypass it, you risk everyone.”

  David listened. From Corbin’s world—a world of partners and procedures and always having someone watch your back—every word was doctrine. The man was desperately trying to police a nightmare where all his laws were written in ashes. It would have almost been admirable, if it wasn’t the fear-driven, desperate grab for power David suspected it was.

  David looked from one marshal to the other. The block was solid. He stopped, then moved. “I had something to handle.”

  “Carter.” Corbin’s voice cut across the camp chatter. He stopped in front of David, his jaw set. Evans stood a step behind, his face unreadable, but David saw clear reluctance like the man could see things had already derailed. Corbin, however, was all go. “You got a hearing problem? The rule is nobody goes out alone. Nobody. You just vanished. Left your group. Again.”

  David didn’t blink. “The rule’s for them. It doesn’t apply to me.”

  “The hell it doesn’t.” Corbin took a half-step closer.

  David looked past him, toward the tree line, then back. His expression was bored. “Are you done?”

  Corbin blocked his way, Evans at his shoulder beckoning to leave. Corbin ignored his partner. “You don’t go out alone.”

  “Everyone’s safe.” His eyes held Corbin’s, then flicked to Evans. “My methods kept it that way. You don’t have to like them. You just have to live with the results.” David met his stare, his own empty. He took a half-step forward, past the edge of Corbin’s space. “You want to run a camp, run it. You want to lecture me, save your breath.”

  He walked around him. The argument lasted three sentences. Any more was wasted time.

  “If you’ll excuse me. I have resources to manage.”

  David walked over to the young girl, Mia. The cat was curled in her lap, a small, flat-faced Scottish Fold that had belonged to someone in row twelve. That person was gone now—vanished in the initial chaos, likely dead in the forest—which was the same as being dead. The cat had adopted Mia, or she’d adopted it. It didn’t matter. It was a cat. It watched him approach with indifferent, copper-colored eyes.

  Rhea followed him, stopping a few feet back, a calm observer.

  Mia looked up, her arms tightening slightly around the cat. “It’s okay,” David said, his voice low. “Just checking the gear.” He wasn’t talking to the cat.

  He knelt in front of the piece of hull plating where the three weapons lay beside Mia. They were exactly where he’d left them, under her watch and the subtle, telekinetic care both her Rhea used to keep the curses and curious hands away. He stepped closer to the weapons, not to touch the blades, but to wake up the sight behind his eyes.

  He accessed his Oracle Aspect, peering into their nature in a way only he knew he could.

  The world bled of color, sound fading to a distant hum. In his vision, overlaying the physical weapons, three gray, text-filled panels materialized. They were mysterious, blocking out everything else. He read them.

  [Item: Devotional Blood Sword - Cursed

  Tier: Tier 1 Equipment

  Oracle: Consecrated Blade.

  Forged by the Devotion of the Unlit Source, who worship the abyss, believing that before this Hell’s realm ever burned, there was a pressure beneath reality that could have become fire but never did. That unrealized ignition still exists, buried so deeply that it is considered more powerful than any flame. This cursed weapon was forged from pressure that was never allowed to become flame, shaped to consume rather than burn. Each cut draws blood into its metal, where it is compressed and returned as strength to the wielder. As blood is taken, the blade grows sharper and subtly longer, its balance preserved as if the weapon remembers an intended form it has not yet reached. The sword must claim one kill every 24 hours to sustain itself and the strength it grants. If unfed, it drinks from its bearer instead, taking an unpredictable measure of blood. Each successful kill shortens the interval of its hunger, until two deaths every 12 hours are required to prevent it from turning inward.]

  [Item: Devotional Blighted Axe - Cursed

  Tier: First Tier Equipment

  Oracle: Instrument of Sanctified Decay.

  Created for sanctioned execution by the Devotion of the Unlit Source, who worship the abyss, believing that deep within its depths lies an ignition that never began, a force that was denied the chance to become fire. Lost beyond reach, this unrealized Source surpasses all existing flames in power. This axe carries a denial of ending within its edge. Wounds inflicted by it refuse to close, instead festering as blood loss worsens and corruption spreads through the flesh. Each kill strengthens the wielder, converting death into physical power and momentary restoration. The axe’s nature is poisonous to its bearer, a slow internal corruption that progresses continuously. Only through killing can the poison be diluted and converted into strength. Without fresh deaths, the corruption resumes until the bearer fails.]

  [Item: Devotional Wraith Spear

  Tier: First Tier Equipment

  Oracle: Reach Between States.

  Forged by the Devotion of the Unlit Source, who worship the abyss, believing that this Hell’s realm exists not because fire was born, but because the Source was never allowed to begin. The absence of that first ignition created a pressure that shaped the dimension itself. A spear forged in the essence of souls and torment of vengeful spirits, this spear exists slightly out of alignment with the world around it, its form distorted and difficult to follow. It strengthens its wielder and strikes both corporeal and incorporeal targets, passing through boundaries that normally divide substance from absence. Its presence draws the attention of those lost to the afterlife, manifesting as vengeful wraiths that haunt the bearer should the bearer attempt to gain sleep they have forever been barred from. Should the wielder attempt to sleep, these wraiths will manifest, attacking continuously, denying sleep and eroding strength through exhaustion until even the most resilient collapse.]

  David thought about the weapons.

  The Blood Sword makes you stronger. Each cut fed it and fed you back. The curse was thirst: one kill a day. Without it, it drank from you. Each kill made it thirst faster.

  The Poison Axe made you stronger. Its cuts festered and bled. The axe poisoned you, but killing turned that poison into strength. The only way to hold it back was to keep killing.

  The Wraith Spear made you stronger. It moved between realms and could hurt the solid and the unreal. The curse was the wraiths. They would bar rest, a death sentence for any regular person.

  He wanted the spear. The axe was probably stronger, but he thought about giving it to the hob. If it died, he could resurrect it.

  He would be taking the spear no matter what.

  He stood up, the gray panels gone from his eyes.

  Then he thought about the Oracles,

  The story sat in his head now, built from the three Oracle pieces. The Devotion of the Unlit Source.

  ‘Before this Hell’s realm ever burned, there was a pressure beneath reality that could have become fire but never did. That unrealized ignition still exists, buried so deeply that it is considered more powerful than any flame. Deep within its depths lies an ignition that never began, a force that was denied the chance to become fire. Lost beyond reach, this unrealized Source surpasses all existing flames in power. This Hell’s realm exists not because fire was born, but because the Source was never allowed to begin. The absence of that first ignition created a pressure that shaped the dimension itself.’

  The Unlit Source created a whole dimension. That was redirected energy.

  Its power equaled a universe. Maybe more. The abyss held it. That abyss consumed the unknown being, the enemy of all gods and demonic, god-like beings. Maybe that being went into the abyss looking for the Source’s power.

  A religion among monsters.

  A never-fire buried in an abyss that could eat gods. As strong as this dungeon. Probably stronger. If it was true, the Source was powerful as all hell. Literally. Not good or bad. Just a very large, very dangerous fact buried in the history of it all.

  David thought about what it meant. He wondered if it was true. He wondered how powerful that thing—lost in an abyss that could devour gods—actually was.

  He filed it away. Knowing where the power was, even out of reach, was never a waste of time.