Bones waited. He let the stillness settle, watching, listening. Only after ensuring no lingering presence remained did he cautiously approach the slaughter site. The bodies were fresh, still warm with the last remnants of life. As he focused, a sight he had never quite grown used to appeared before him—wisps of pale energy, hovering above the corpses, like fragile echoes of the souls that once inhabited them. Soul Vision had revealed its function in chilling clarity.
“I need to be closer for it to work…” Bones muttered under his breath, realization sinking in. That could’ve been him. One wrong move, one misplaced step, and his mutilated corpse would be among the others. The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
He clenched his fists and made a decision. Relying solely on his own senses wasn’t enough—he needed a way to track his enemies without risking exposure. His spider constructs would serve as his eyes and ears from now on. Skittering, near-invisible scouts to follow the marauders, relay their words, and ensure he never again had to get this close.
With his new plan set in motion, Bones continued trailing the marauders from a safe distance, keeping to the shadows while his spider constructs weaved between them, recording everything. Their conversations were fragmented but revealing—whispers of their destination, the secrecy surrounding their mission, and the importance of what lay ahead.
By the time they finally arrived, Bones saw it—a hidden entrance, carved into the base of a ruined cliffside, masked by layers of magic and deception. A facility. Uncharted. Undiscovered.
The two werewolf leaders, accompanied by a small group of ten subordinates, disappeared into the hidden facility, their figures swallowed by the darkness beyond the entrance. The remaining raiders milled about, their wary eyes scanning the surrounding woods, weapons resting within easy reach.
Bones kept to the shadows, his skeletal frame blending into the gnarled roots and underbrush. He prowled along the perimeter, changing vantage points, seeking any alternative entrance—an air vent, a forgotten tunnel, anything. But there was none. The facility was sealed tight, its only access point under vigilant guard.
His unease deepened. He exhaled through gritted teeth.
Peering through his spider construct, he took stock of his opponents. He had already gauged them once, but after witnessing the leaders transformation firsthand, he felt the need to reassess.
The two leaders were a clear threat—apex predators brimming with controlled violence. Their direct subordinates were undoubtedly dangerous as well, but the rest? They lacked the same presence. Regular fighters, likely mercenaries or low-ranking guild members, like he previously assessed, here for a paycheck rather than an oath of loyalty.
Still, they were many. And he was alone. He weighed his options. Charging in was suicide, even for him. All he could do was wait.
An hour crawled by, thick with suspense. Then, movement—Black Wolf and his party emerged from the facility, their expressions tight with frustration. Even from a distance, Bones could see it: They hadn’t found what they were searching for. The werewolf leader barked orders, his voice carrying over the camp, laced with irritation. The group was mobilizing.
Bones was so focused on observing that he almost didn’t register the faint sound of metal-clad boots approaching from behind him. A sickening sense of impending doom coiled around his spine an instant before—
Crunch.
“What in the hells is this? A spider?” a rough voice muttered in confusion.
A sickly squelch echoed through Bones' mind, followed by a high-pitched screech tearing through his soul link before abruptly cutting off, severing his connection to the construct. The source of this bizarre experience was his spider construct, flattened under the heel of an approaching marauder.
Bones remained still, forcing himself to suppress the rising ire clawing at his insides. He hadn’t even seen who did it.
Without hesitation, he deployed another spider, its tiny frame scuttling toward the enemy just in time to witness the raid group leaving. They left behind a six-man team. Two guards remained stationed at the facility’s entrance, while the remaining four re-entered the underground complex.
Bones’ mind raced.
Should he follow Black Wolf? The parchment Black Wolf received from the Elder Vampire likely contained the locations of multiple facilities. Bones reasoned.
If he hurried, he might be able to cut ahead and locate them first. But it was a gamble. Running blind in search of something that may not even exist was foolish. The research documents—the supposed mission item—were not his priority.
Instead, his gaze fell upon the men left behind.
They wouldn’t have left a squad behind without a reason. There was something inside—something valuable enough to warrant protection. And if that was the case, then there was no need for him to run around chasing clues.
A slow grin curled across his skeletal lips. “The stage is right there, prepared for me, isn’t it?” he mused, a sinister edge lacing his tone.
Yes. He didn’t need to follow the rest. He could pick up their trail later. Right now, there was hunting to do.
Against the two guards, Bones felt no need for subtlety. He met his skittering spider construct halfway, carefully storing it away before striding toward the stationed men with deliberate boldness. His presence did not go unnoticed.
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Both guards tensed, their weapons snapping up in his direction.
“Halt! Who are you? Are you with the other group?” one demanded, his grip tightening around his blade.
The other, more perceptive, narrowed his eyes in realization. “He’s not one of us,” he stated coldly. “Cripple him. Don’t kill. We need answers—like how he found this place.”
A smirk curled their lips as they instinctively spread out, attempting to flank him.
Bones let them, using the opportunity to assess his targets. The first was a level fifty-eight Cutthroat named Lunt, his stance sharp and predatory, eyes flickering with anticipation. The second, a level sixty Ravager named Kormak, had a heavier presence, moving with the confidence of someone who had seen battle.
Despite their numbers and level gap, Bones felt not even a sliver of threat. The fact that he could Identify them at all confirmed his suspicions—weak-willed, vulnerable souls.
And now that they were close, his Soul Vision painted the final picture. Wisps of pale energy pulsed dimly from their cores, lacking the density of the adventurers he had seen slaughtered before.
“Just… weak,” Bones murmured.
His voice was barely above a whisper, but the word struck the air like a hammer blow.
Lunt stiffened. “What the f—”
The bone lance formed in an instant, tearing through the air before he could finish his curse. The impact was devastating. Lunt barely had time to raise his sword before the lance shattered the steel, tore through his chest, and sent him tumbling backward like a broken doll.
Kormak hesitated for a split second before lunging, but that brief moment was all Bones needed. With a flick of his staff, a pulse of unstable energy—Chaos Bolt, lashed out, colliding with the charging man.
The Ravager swung his weapon to intercept, but the spell seeped through, its silent impact washing over him like a void swallowing sound. His body convulsed, veins blackening as his skin darkened. Choking on his last breath, he collapsed, writhing for a few moments before going still.
As the bodies cooled, Bones felt the familiar drain of mana tugging at him. The cost of maintaining Soul Link, controlling the spider, and casting spells was adding up faster than he had expected. Clicking his non-existing tongue in irritation, he turned his focus inward and activated Soul Eater. The wisps of energy detaching from the corpses swirled toward him in hypnotic tendrils before vanishing into his maw. A refreshing surge coursed through his body, restoring a portion of his mana and leaving behind a lingering, invigorating sensation.
He exhaled slowly. This was something he could get used to.
His gaze shifted to Kormak’s body. There was more to be done. Crouching beside the corpse, he searched for valuables, fingers specifically feeling for a storage ring. But there was nothing—no ring, no trinkets, nothing of worth beyond the steel longsword still clutched in Kormak’s stiffening grip. Bones considered taking it for a moment before pulling his hand back. Steel weapons weren’t worth the inventory space anymore.
Turning to Lunt, he found much the same. No ring, no necklace.
“They probably left their valuables at home, wherever that may be.”
His attention lingered on the gaping wound festering in the aftermath of his lance. The darkened, decaying flesh reminded him of injuries caused by his spell—similar to Chaos Bolt’s corruption, though not as severe.
“Is it…” He let the thought trail off as he conjured another lance. The weapon hovered before him, the air around it twisting with an eerie, sickly green hue.
“I see. It makes sense… the mana drawn from me would be tainted.”
He grasped the lance, tightening his hold until it dissolved into smoke, the once-blue mana now carrying a corrupted tint.
Without another glance at the corpses, he turned toward the entrance. He needed to move quickly if he wanted to catch up with the raid group. There were still four men inside—another problem to deal with.
The overgrown stone doors that once sealed the facility had been forced open when Black Wolf entered. Bones paused at the threshold, scanning the interior. Something was interfering with his senses, but he could still make out the staircase leading downward.
Bones descended two stories before reaching the ground floor, where faint voices echoed in the distance. The men were complaining, griping about the importance of their work until a commanding voice silenced them.
"Stop whining. We need to finish this as soon as possible."
The same voice barked another order before moving away, his presence fading as he disappeared down the corridor.
Bones crept closer to the entrance and peered out. A long hallway stretched before him, flanked by rooms on either side, the floor littered with the mutilated bodies of monsters. The work of the raid leaders, no doubt, when they first cleared the facility.
Rats scurried among the corpses, gnawing at the remains, their tiny feet leaving crimson trails across the stone. The air was stale, thick with dust and the lingering scent of blood. The only light came from the men rummaging inside what looked like old workshops.
Bones focused, sifting through their conversation. Amid the idle chatter, he pieced together the essentials: they were cataloging anything of value before regrouping with the others at the second facility. Altogether, there were three locations listed by the vampire—one of which was rumored to be the main complex, the very place where the leading researcher had conducted his twisted experiments to create the werewolves that now roamed the Dark Forest.
So, we’re after the same thing. And they have quite the head start.
Moving cautiously, Bones passed each workshop, stopping at one where the sound of rustling papers and shifting objects caught his attention. He knew the moment he made a move, he would be noticed. There was no time for hesitation.
Staff at the ready, he stepped into the spacious workshop. A raider stood with his back turned, examining an unidentified object. Without a word, Bones raised his staff and cast Chaos Bolt.
A pulse of ominous energy surged forward. The man flinched, sensing something, but by the time he turned, the streaking bolt was already upon him. His agonized screams pierced the silence, sending an alarm through the facility.
Bones wasted no time. Even before his first victim crumpled, he bolted from the room, summoning Skully and Harmony in the same motion. Skully lunged at the next raider just as he stepped into the hallway. The two clashed, and Skully’s claws raked deep gashes across his chest, forcing the man to stumble back into the workshop. Harmony took position at the entrance, arrow nocked, waiting for an opening that came seconds later.
Bones, meanwhile, dashed to the far end of the hallway. More shouts rang out from ahead—others had heard the commotion.
He reached a staircase leading down to a wide chamber where the last two men stood. One, the source of the shouting, was already moving to investigate. The other, further back, was in the midst of a grotesque transformation.
Without losing momentum, Bones summoned a bone storm, creating a dozen bone spikes and releasing them as he stepped into the chamber.
The nearest raider barely had time to react, instinctively raising his arms to shield his upper body, leaving the rest exposed. The werewolf behind him, however, evaded the attack with supernatural agility, his movements unnervingly swift.
