The grand chamber, once a controlled testing ground for workshop products, had erupted into chaos—a cacophony of shouts, snarls, and the crackling surge of magic. The air stank of scorched metal, blood, and the acrid residue of spells gone awry.

  Harmony’s projectiles burst upon impact like miniature storms, their electrical discharges writhing like furious serpents across the chamber floor. The occasional flash of claws clashing against a spear revealed shifting silhouettes—two melee combatants locked in a relentless exchange, their positions constantly changing.

  The raider had sustained injuries from the initial assault, his movements sluggish, his breath ragged. But before Bones could seize the advantage and strike him down, the werewolf intervened. With an almost contemptuous disregard for pain, he threw himself into the fray, his supernatural healing factor working against the tide of damage. At first, it seemed like an effective strategy—until they realized Bones’ magic was different.

  Small puncture wounds, seemingly insignificant, began to fester. Their regenerative abilities faltered, struggling against the corruption seeping into their flesh. Realizing the danger, the two shifted tactics—no longer attempting to endure, but to evade. Bones could see the fear creeping into their movements, the frantic adjustments in their footwork, the unspoken understanding between them: this isn’t normal.

  Desperation drove them forward.

  The werewolf could no longer cover for his companion. In a desperate, last-ditch effort, the raider mustered his remaining strength and lunged forward, slamming into Bones and knocking him aside before staggering toward the exit.

  “Skully, Harmony—handle the werewolf.”

  Bones twisted, regaining his footing, and gave chase. The raider stumbled through the dark hallway, his boots dragging against the stone floor as he struggled to maintain speed. Unlike his companion, he lacked a healing factor. He careened off the walls in uneven strides, leaving smeared streaks of blood along the surface.

  Bones observed with detached curiosity. The man should’ve collapsed already—his will to survive was impressive. But it wouldn’t change the outcome.

  His speed dwindled from a desperate sprint to a feeble walk. Then, as if fate had decided to hasten the inevitable, he tripped over a monster’s corpse and crashed to the ground.

  Bones matched his pace, slowing as he approached, staff raised and ready. The raider coughed, voice hoarse with fear.

  “P-please…” he rasped. “Let me go…”

  Chaos Bolt surged forth in a streak of volatile energy, colliding with the raider's back. The force sent him jerking forward, his final scream lost in the hiss of crackling magic. The smell of scorched flesh filled the corridor.

  Bones turned, retracing his steps back to the chamber, arriving just in time to witness the final moments of the battle. The sight that met him was far from ideal.

  Skully was losing.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The werewolf, despite his worsening wounds, had overpowered the golem and was using him as a punching bag, delivering punishing, relentless blows that sent cracks splintering across Skully’s skeletal frame. Bones could hear the impact of fists meeting enchanted bone, the sheer force rattling through the chamber.

  But Harmony had not been idle. Her movements, resembling lightning streaks, kept her out of the werewolf’s reach and allowed her to move freely. Taking advantage of the werewolf’s single-minded assault, she positioned herself with unnerving patience, her bowstring taut, silver-tipped arrows gleaming in the chamber’s dim light.

  Thwip!

  The first arrow struck his exposed side, embedding deep between his ribs.

  The werewolf howled, jerking back instinctively—just in time for a second arrow to bury itself into his shoulder. His movements faltered, his strikes losing strength. Then came the third arrow, aimed for the knee. It hit its mark, and the beast crumbled onto one leg, unable to keep up his relentless assault.

  Skully, battered but not beaten, seized the opportunity, his skeletal hands locking around the werewolf’s arm with a vice-like grip. The beast snarled, struggling to break free, but Harmony’s arrows had done their work. His body trembled, fighting a losing battle against the silver-laced wounds.

  The transformation began to falter.

  His fur receded, claws retracting as his body forcefully shifted back into human form. What remained was a man—heaving, bloodied, and broken, his once-powerful frame trembling under the weight of his injuries. His silver-inflicted wounds remained open, refusing to heal.

  He lifted his gaze to Bones, his breath hitching in his throat.

  “Who… sent you?” he rasped. His voice was hoarse, a mixture of pain and exhaustion. “Are these summons yours?”

  Bones did not answer.

  Instead, he walked forward, stepping past shattered glass containers, overturned tables, and the wreckage left in the wake of their battle. The dust still drifted lazily from the ceiling, disturbed by the violence of the fight.

  His gaze settled on the fallen werewolf. This one was different from the raiders before.

  Bones had questions, but he also had ways of extracting answers without the need for conversation.

  Without a word, he retrieved Murdok’s golem core and, with an effortless flick of his wrist, tossed it high in an arc.

  The werewolf—Deveres—watched it spin, his tired eyes tracking its trajectory. A flicker of recognition flashed across his face. That flicker turned to confusion, then rage. He understood too late.

  From the core, Murdok emerged, his silver greatsword already mid-swing—an emotionless executioner, delivering an unceremonious judgment. The blade descended in a brutal arc, cleaving through Deveres from shoulder to waist. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc in its wake.

  Deveres shuddered, his mouth opening as if to speak, but only a weak gurgle escaped. His body spasmed, the shock setting in.

  Bones stepped forward, placing a hand upon the dying man's forehead.

  Haunting Touch.

  The last remnants of Deveres’ life unraveled in Bones’ grasp. Images formed and dissolved—bits of knowledge, pieces of memories. He was a level sixty-two subordinate of Black Wolf, which explained the transformation, while the other raiders were merely an addition. Strength-wise, he was on par with Kalus, the vampire Bones had encountered in Valencia. Yet, that battle had been far more difficult than this. The recent changes to chaos affinity had made a difference, Bones concluded. His attacks now bore an ailment humans have difficulty fighting against.

  As Bones released his grasp on the man, the familiar sound of notifications dinged. Before he could dedicate his attention to the status screen, the chamber shook. The side walls that had suffered damage cracked and pieces began to crumble, revealing a hole. Bones stood still, waiting to see the outcome and ready to spring into action if the situation called for it. Seconds passed, and the rumbling settled.

  Bones exhaled, then glanced at the crumbled wall. He approached with caution and stopped in front of the newly formed hole. It was the size of a head, just large enough to stick one’s head into.

  “I don’t think so,” Bones scoffed and shoved the spider construct into the hole. The spider landed on solid ground and started skittering around. Bones, in the meantime, used his link with the spider to sense the layout of the new area.