Harmony glanced his way, then gave a slight nod before turning her attention back to the heaving werewolf. She raised her bow, drawing an arrow that crackled with electricity. The energy radiating from it sent static crawling across the ground.

  Bones had never seen her charge this much power before. Is she really going to finish it in one shot? He had expected her to wear Artus down bit by bit—it should have taken much longer to break through a werewolf’s resilience.

  Even from where he stood, Bones could feel the energy surging around the arrow. As the seconds passed, the pressure condensed into the tip, and for a fleeting moment, he swore Harmony’s slit-like eyes squinted in amusement.

  Then, she fired.

  A streak of pure energy cut through the battlefield, resembling the beams unleashed by the Phantom Prowlers. The attack passed through Artus effortlessly, vanishing into the distance.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the air sizzled. The ground along the arrow’s path was scorched black. Artus remained standing—but only for a breath.

  His head, neck, and part of his shoulder had been completely erased.

  Bones’ mind raced, already considering the tactical applications of such a devastating attack. A fully charged shot took five to six seconds to execute—if he could immobilize an opponent for that long, it would guarantee a clean kill.

  Curious, he checked Harmony’s status. Her soul capacity had dropped to nearly half in mere seconds.

  “Maybe not,” he muttered wryly. As impressive and flashy as her attack was, the cost was too steep for frequent use. At least for now.

  The wisp left behind by Artus shone just as brightly as Deveres’. Though Artus was a level behind, strength-wise, the difference felt negligible. Bones reached out with Soul Eater, ready to consume its essence, only to feel the energy slip through his grasp, leaving him with nothing. His resources were already capped.

  "A shame," he muttered, exhaling in frustration. If only he could channel Soul Eater’s effects into his golems—Skully would have benefited greatly. With a wave of his hand, he stored Harmony away, preparing to leave. But as his foot lifted off the ground, a thought struck him, freezing him mid-step. His jaw clenched as he recalled his initial plan: testing Ethereal Chains on Artus.

  "Tch," agitation crept into his steps as he trudged through the knee-high grass. He had been so caught up in the fight, so focused on the outcome, that he let the opportunity slip past him.

  The return trip gave him time to think, and by the time he neared the second facility, he had made up his mind. After this infiltration, he would end his pursuit. There was no point in pressing forward and risking an encounter with the raid leaders. Even second-tier werewolves had proven to be formidable foes, and he had witnessed firsthand what Garrik was capable of. Then there was Varek—a level higher, stronger, faster. The thought alone was enough to kill any fleeting notion of testing his luck against either of them.

  “If it comes to a fight, I’ll have to make a run for it. The rest, though… they’re fair game,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he settled himself against the base of a tree just a short walk from the guarded facility.

  He had time—at least until they started wondering why Artus hadn't returned. Best to make use of it.

  With a flick of his wrist, he summoned Skully beside him. The golem stood still, silent as ever, his hollow sockets staring forward. Bones hesitated for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.

  “I’ll need you again soon,” he admitted, not expecting a response but feeling the need to say it nonetheless. Then, rolling up his sleeves, he set to work—reshaping, solidifying, and mending the fractures in Skully’s bones. The familiar rhythm of his craft steadied his mind, his fingers moving with precision. As mana pulsed through the marrow of his creation, the thoughts of upcoming battles faded into the background, if only for a moment.

  Minutes passed quickly as Bones finished his work. He had done his best, but some fractures refused to mend, giving Skully a rough, battle-worn look that teetered on the edge of menace. Bones patted him on the shoulder as he walked past. Harmony and Murdok emerged beside him, slipping from the shadows like wraiths.

  “It’s time to go,” he said, his gaze locked on their destination, four hundred meters away.

  The group covered the distance in six minutes, crawling into the undergrowth with a clear line of sight to the building. Four guards stood watch—two hauling the limp corpse of a monster toward a growing pile of bodies, while the other two stood with their backs to the approaching intruders, eyes fixed upward. Bones stilled, his curiosity piqued by what had captured their attention. Then he saw it—a Phantom Prowler, its twisted form shoved through a window. The creature tumbled out and landed with a sickening thud, unmoving.

  “Here’s another one!” yelled Sorel, one of the onlookers.

  The men dragging the carcass groaned. “How many of these damn things are in there?” one asked, wiping his brow with a dirt-streaked sleeve.

  “Just be glad they’re inside and not out here,” Sorel shot back.

  Bones took note of the speaker’s clawed hands.

  He must be the werewolf in charge of guard duty, he reasoned.

  The men were beyond the reach of his Identify skill, and even if they weren’t, he doubted he could extract much beyond their levels. Instead, he relied on his senses. Sorel carried the same pressure as Artus and Devers—around their level, maybe slightly weaker. The others? They were below level sixty, with a significant gap between them and the werewolf.

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  After a brief observation, Bones instructed Skully to circle around, stay on the outskirts, and draw attention. His distraction would be the signal to start the battle. Before Skully left, Bones laid out his expectations. He wanted a clean fight. Skully was to ambush his opponents, using his spear’s reach to keep them at bay and avoid unnecessary risks. Harmony was to conserve energy—her soul capacity was already half-empty. Instead of powerful attacks, she was to focus on quick, debilitating strikes to disrupt enemy movements. Murdok, slow but powerful, was to exploit openings created by the others, landing decisive blows to incapacitate.

  While he gave them simple instructions to start with, Bones decided to participate and coordinate their attacks mid-battle. Testing the new skill was one thing, but he also wanted to experiment with bone manipulation. Ever since Kalus, he had a feeling he could make better use of his intrinsic ability. He had stopped his opponents' movements before—there was no mistaking it. Now he needed to test its limits. How long could he hold someone? How strong was the restraint?

  Skully began his approach, moving skillfully without disturbing the grass. In no time, he was gone, beyond Bones' senses.

  “Amazing,” Bones muttered, impressed. He glanced at Harmony beside him. She met his gaze, and Bones could tell she was judging him for using a stealthy approach. He slowly mouthed what back at her, then mentally warned her to be ready. She was the opening act, and Bones wanted one of the men taken care of right from the start.

  The two guards finished piling the last prowler body and were joining the others when they heard rustling near the building. They stopped mid-step, heads snapping toward the sound. A lurking Phantom Prowler came to mind, and one of them stammered, “T-there! Behind a tree—I saw something move! It’s the prowler…” His voice dipped into uncertainty.

  Sorel heard it too and stepped forward. He had better eyesight and hearing than the others, and he was the only one capable of detecting and fending off the creatures. He braced for an attack—either a pounce from the shadows or a creature slipping past him to strike his men. What he didn’t expect was a short, curling cry from the man beside him.

  Sorel turned just in time to see the man crumple, an arrow buried in his skull. One man down.

  Enraged, he spun toward the source of the shot and let out a low, menacing growl. Harmony stood there, nocking another arrow. Beside her, peeking above the grass, Bones slowly propped himself up.

  “It worked! Well done!” Bones exclaimed.

  Sorel winced. The words struck him like a slap to the face. He bellowed, “Yooouu!” and charged. Bones sprang to his feet, raising his arm. Four semi-transparent chains, tinged with purple, erupted from the ground, binding Sorel’s limbs. The werewolf came to a jarring stop mid-sprint.

  “Release me!” Sorel howled, muscles straining. The chains groaned under the pressure.

  Before they could snap, Bones hurled a golem core. Murdok materialized before the werewolf, greatsword raised. But Sorel was faster. One chain broke, freeing his left arm. He backhanded Murdok, sending him spinning away.

  The two remaining raiders stood frozen, hands fumbling for their weapons. Only when Sorel snarled at them did they spring into action.

  Tweak and Bumble—they were just here to meet the raid party quota. Their job was to follow orders and help The Growlers retrieve research documents. With actual werewolves leading, they hadn’t expected to fight.

  But now they had no choice. Weapons raised, shouting, they charged.

  Tweak ran ahead, oblivious to the shadow leaping at Bumble from behind. Sorel saw it. The second chain snapped, then the third, in quick succession. He was about to break free entirely when a projectile struck his side. Electricity coursed through him, his leg giving out beneath him, still tangled in the last remnants of the chain. He fell to one knee, just in time to see Skully land on Bumble’s back and grab hold of his neck.

  Bumble jerked forward, and Skully, using clawed hands, tore into his neck and wrenched it like a chicken. Blood gushed forth as the body sank to the ground, twitching. Skully rolled on landing and immediately switched targets to Tweak, who was now panicking, saber swinging wildly.

  Suddenly, without knowing why, Tweak’s arm stilled mid-swing. He couldn’t move. For two whole seconds, before Skully's claws slashed across his neck, he stood frozen as his life unraveled before his eyes. He had many regrets—the last being accepting this mission.

  Sorel fully transformed, snarling, muscles bulging as he shattered the final chain. He lunged at Skully. The golem thrust his spear forward, but Sorel sidestepped and caught the shaft just below the tip. With a powerful sweep, he sent Skully flying, crashing into the approaching Murdok.

  Harmony loosed another arrow. It struck Sorel’s leg, sparks crackling on impact. His flesh sizzled, the wound searing like molten iron, yet the werewolf barely faltered. Pain fueled his charge, his amber eyes locked onto the tangled duo ahead. Then, for a fraction of a second, his body jerked to a halt—frozen mid-motion, as if some unseen force had clamped down on his limbs.

  His eyes widened in shock before flicking toward Bones, realization dawning in their depths. Then, abruptly, he twisted toward the facility entrance.

  Bones’ stomach dropped. His momentary advantage shattered.

  “No! Stop him!” he bellowed, panic threading through his voice. If Sorel reached the building, the raiders inside would be alerted—it would be damn near impossible to infiltrate unnoticed.

  Harmony reacted instantly, drawing and loosing another silver-tipped arrow in one fluid motion. The shot struck true, burying deep into Sorel’s lower back. He staggered, a choked snarl escaping his throat, but sheer momentum carried him forward. He slammed into the entrance with a metallic clang, the impact echoing through the overgrown structure.

  Skully and Murdok scrambled after him, Bones and Harmony close behind. Bones braced for the worst—howls of alarm, snarling werewolves, chaos breaking loose.

  Instead, he found Sorel sprawled on the ground.

  Skully’s foot pressed down on his back, pinning him like a trophy. A black steel spear jutted from his upper spine, its dark metal slick with blood. His ankles, grotesquely twisted at unnatural angles, bore Murdok’s handiwork—cracked bones, torn tendons, the creeping decay left by ethereal chains. Blood seeped from a fresh head wound, pooling beneath him.

  For a moment, Bones couldn’t process it. He had been certain he’d failed—that Sorel had made it inside, that the others were already on their way. But the expected alarm never came. No snarling beasts rushed to the entrance.

  Beyond the werewolf’s fallen form, the facility doors loomed, still tightly shut.

  Bones’ gaze snapped toward them, his voice sharp. “What happened?”

  The facility wasn’t hidden like the first—just overgrown, its entrance a solid metal gate. Beyond it, a short lobby led to another set of reinforced doors, now dented from the force of Sorel’s crash.

  Pinned as he was, the werewolf was far from beaten. A guttural growl rumbled from his throat, his breathing steadied, his muscles tensed with raw defiance. Skully’s weight bore down on him, but inch by inch, Sorel was pushing himself up, his battered body refusing to stay down.

  Then, from within the facility, strange noises echoed—thuds, distant shouting, the heavy churn of gears.

  Bones tensed. Whatever was happening inside… had drowned out their entire fight.