When Bones had seen and heard enough, he set the vent cover aside and cautiously poked his head out, scanning the room. The two raiders had their backs turned, rifling through documents.

  "Not it," one muttered, tossing a paper to the ground before snatching another from the desk.

  While they were occupied, Bones silently dropped to the floor.

  He summoned one of the swords he had previously looted, gripping it tightly as he crept toward the nearest raider. Smooth and deliberate, he raised the blade to the man’s neck. At the same time, he turned his other hand toward the second raider, palm outstretched. A lance of bone materialized and shot forward in an instant.

  Bones didn’t bother checking if it hit. He pulled back his sword arm and swung sideways with all his might, aiming to cleave the man’s head in a single stroke.

  But his strength wasn’t enough to finish the job cleanly — not against a second-tier raider. The sword bit deep, lodging halfway through. Blood gushed forth as the force of the strike jerked the raider’s body sideways. He thrashed, scrambling for the edge of the desk, fingers grasping at nothing. His wide, panicked eyes locked onto Bones, who casually stepped back, careful to avoid the blood splattering his robes.

  The other raider met a swift but unremarkable end — the lance pierced straight through his skull, killing him instantly.

  Bones turned toward the corridor, listening intently. He was confident he hadn’t made much noise, but he waited just to be sure. Five seconds passed. No signs of movement. Satisfied, he crouched beside the fallen raiders, picking up one of the scattered papers.

  He skimmed the contents — an unfamiliar language, strange symbols, and formulas beyond his understanding — before letting it slip from his fingers. His gaze swept the room once more. Narrow, horizontal windows lined the upper walls just beneath the ceiling. He had seen them from the outside—they were positioned high on the third floor. That meant he had climbed all the way from the basement through the ventilation shafts.

  There was nothing else of note here. He turned toward the long corridor leading to the next room, where Cornell and Mannis were still occupied.

  Keeping low, he crept forward, preparing to take out the last two raiders. He refrained from using golems as Skully and Harmony were too drained, their soul reserves dangerously low and needed time to recover. Murdok was in slightly better shape, but even he had barely a third of his reserves left. This would have to be done alone.

  The fight that followed was a disaster. After battling werewolves and effortlessly taking down the previous raiders, Bones had underestimated these two. Cornell and Mannis were skilled — and, more importantly, adaptable.

  The stealth approach that had worked so well before failed him now.

  The moment Bones entered the room, Cornell caught movement in his peripheral vision. He reacted instantly, letting out a sharp whistle. Mannis, who had been rummaging through a crate, turned and stepped beside his companion, eyeing the newcomer with quiet scrutiny.

  Bones sighed, shoulders slumping. “What can I say? It worked before.”

  Mannis glanced over Bones’ shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Rodrick and Hetner are dead?"

  He and Cornell exchanged a glance — one of understanding rather than grief. They weren’t particularly saddened by their fallen companions, but the looks they shot Bones were filled with malice as their hands drifted toward their weapons.

  The tension in the room snapped in an instant. Both sides moved simultaneously, but Bones was a fraction slower in casting his spells.

  Cornell wielded an arsenal of throwing weapons, hurling razor-sharp, mana-imbued spikes that riddled Bones’ skeletal frame with tiny punctures. The spikes fizzled into smoke upon impact—except for one. With a flick of his wrist, Cornell recalled it instantly. The spike shot back into his palm, and a grin spread across his face. In a sleight of hand, three more appeared between his fingers.

  Mannis, on the other hand, wielded an exotic chain weapon—one with a weighted end that whistled through the air, forcing Bones to stay on the defensive. Every time the chain struck, it discharged bursts of compressed force, slamming into him with concussive shockwaves.

  The confined space left little room to evade, and Cornell’s relentless spikes corralled Bones into Mannis’ striking range. His usual bone spikes proved ineffective — Mannis’ mastery over his chain allowed him to deflect them with ease. With fluid motions, he spun the weapon into a whirling barrier, batting away every projectile before it could land.

  Adapting quickly, Bones unleashed Chaos Bolts at Mannis, but the chain's rapid sweeps disrupted them, causing bursts of corrupted mana to saturate the room. Against Cornell, Bones retaliated with explosive skull bombs, forcing his opponent into a desperate dance of attack and evasion, where every choice risked being caught in the blast.

  The room trembled with each detonation. Though Cornell and Mannis fought viciously, exhaustion and accumulating injuries chipped away at their endurance. A single misstep, then another—costly mistakes sealed their fate.

  Just as Bones secured his victory, an ominous presence crept into his awareness. His head snapped toward the exit, where the fallen sentinel’s massive frame kept the doors from fully closing. Without hesitation, he dashed toward them. Peering through the narrow gap, he glimpsed movement — Varek had arrived, emerging from behind the bend.

  Bones didn’t even entertain the thought of fighting him. He sprinted back down the corridor and into the previous room, eyes darting for an escape. His gaze locked onto the window. Without hesitation, he rushed at the wall, leaped, and kicked off, propelling himself toward the opening. He forced his way through the thick outer wall and tumbled outside.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The damp earth cushioned his fall. Rain drizzled from the darkening sky as the sun dipped below the horizon. He swayed as he rose to his feet, fractures from the impact mending — but he froze. Another presence materialized behind him.

  He turned just in time to see Garrik stepping out of the facility, still half-transformed into his werewolf form, his lips peeling back in a snarl.

  "So you're the rat scurrying through the vents," Garrik growled.

  Panic flickered through Bones as his jaw slackened slightly. Before he could react, Garrik lunged—his clawed hand spearing deep into Bones' gut.

  “I’ll rip you apart!” he bellowed, swiping violently.

  He expected a spray of blood, viscera spilling onto the ground—but instead, his eyes widened as Bones merely staggered back, a skeletal hand covering what should have been a fatal wound.

  Garrik lifted his hand in confusion. His claws were clean—no blood, no organs spilling onto the ground.

  "What are you?" he demanded.

  Then, something caught his eye — a glimmer. A small, marble-like object reflecting the dim light, resting on the ground. His gaze flicked back to Bones just as Murdok materialized from the object, black steel greatsword raised high.

  Garrik barely had time to react before Murdok brought the weapon down, aiming to cleave him in half. Bones didn’t see what happened next—Murdok’s massive frame blocked his view—but he heard the derisive snort that followed.

  Garrik caught the blade mid-swing. His grip tightened, and cracks spread along the weapon’s surface.

  Behind Murdok, two more figures emerged. One held a bow, an arrow crackling with electricity nocked and ready. The other, standing to his left, wielded a spear in clawed hands, a tail lashing violently behind him.

  Garrik released the blade abruptly and jumped back. Murdok, still forcing downward, lurched forward as his balance failed and crashed to the ground.

  The instant Garrik’s feet touched down, Harmony released her arrow. He saw it coming, tracked its trajectory, then casually flicked it aside. It veered off-course, sizzling past his face, the crackling electricity singing his nostrils.

  To his left, the tip of a spear zoomed in. Garrik ducked low, feeling the weapon slice through the air just above him. Then, with a feral growl, he lunged upward, raking his claws across Skully’s torso, nicking his chin in the process. Skully staggered back, twisting just as another projectile, a bolt of volatile energy, streaked toward Garrik.

  Garrik raised his hand and intercepted the spell. The instant the Chaos Bolt struck his palm, he clenched his fist. The energy erupted outward in a sickly green haze, creeping along the ground and tainting the grass with necrotic energy. But the corruption didn’t spare him either. Decay crawled up his arm—then abruptly halted. His healing factor kicked in, purging the affliction. The skin on his hand reverted to normal.

  “The Necromancer,” he muttered, misinterpreting the situation.

  For a fleeting moment, awe flickered in his eyes, mingled with trepidation as he realized who he was dealing with. Then, cold resolve took over. The mage before him felt weak.

  His thoughts shattered as Murdok charged through the lingering haze, greatsword crashing against his raised arm. No harm was done, but the impact sent Garrik reeling backward.

  Enough.

  Lowering his arm, he locked eyes with Murdok, killing intent bleeding into his gaze.

  Gathering his fingers into a sharp point — just as Varek had done against the sentinel — he pulled his arm back and struck forward. Murdok barely raised his weapon in time to block. Garrik’s claws speared through the black steel with ease, then tore straight into the metal plating fused to Murdok’s rib cage.

  Shock and confusion flashed across Garrik's face as Murdok vanished before his eyes. He lunged forward, dispersing the remnants of the haze, his eyes darting left, right—searching. His face darkened as realization struck. The others were gone. Bones had escaped.

  Even before meeting Garrik, Bones swore to run if he ever came face-to-face with him or Varek. Now that he had, he waited for the perfect moment to slip away. When Garrik dispersed his Chaos Bolt, obscuring the battlefield in necrotic haze, Bones saw his chance. And he shamelessly used Murdok as a distraction. The golem lost his weapon in the process, but Bones was more than willing to make it up to him later.

  Seizing his opportunity, he darted through the undergrowth beside the building, leaping over the bodies of fallen guards. He had no destination in mind—only the burning instinct to put as much distance between himself and Garrik as possible.

  An enraged roar split the night behind him. Bones risked a glance back.

  Garrik fumed, bloodshot eyes blazing, when another figure burst from the facility — a smaller, less imposing werewolf.

  "Tovar!" Garrik barked. "Report to Varek! Tell him I’ve engaged an intruder heading south!"

  Before Tovar could reply or even report the situation inside, Garrik took off.

  The forest blurred around Bones as he wove between the trees. He only slowed when forced to choose a direction, and each time he hesitated, Garrik’s voice cut through the night, growling in pursuit.

  Garrik had no trouble tracking him through the darkened forest. The dusk had settled, and full night would soon follow. Hot on Bones’ tail, he slashed at the air in deadly arcs. Bones didn’t see the attacks — but he felt them — an unseen pressure closing in.

  The trees beside him splintered, deep gouges carved into their bark. Bones recognized the attack instantly — Wind Blades. A technique used by direwolves, but Garrik’s were different. Sharper. Deadlier. Each slash of his claws tore through wood like paper.

  Five minutes into the chase, something changed.

  A thin layer of fog slithered across the forest floor, rippling beneath Bones' feet as if alive. He staggered to a halt, turning in confusion as the white veil thickened, swallowing the trees-swallowing the night.

  "Where did this come from…?" he murmured.

  A Wind Blade tore past him, nicking his shoulder. His tattered clothing split open, revealing a clean cut along his white bone. Bones barely flinched, his gaze locked onto the unnatural fog creeping through the woods.

  He cast a glance behind him and sensed Garrik's silhouette in the mist. The werewolf, too, had stopped.

  Then — without warning — he turned and left.

  Bones narrowed his eyes. Is he leaving? Why?

  Perhaps the fog obscured his vision? No. Garrik had been tracking him with ease this entire time. He knew exactly where Bones was. So why retreat now?

  A sense of unease prickled down his spine. He turned, scrutinizing the thickening mist. He didn’t have a good feeling about this place.

  Meanwhile, Garrik frantically tried to retreat. The fog expanded, engulfing the forest like a tidal wave and no matter which direction he turned, the thick white void stretched endlessly before him.

  Cursing under his breath, he tried again. Each step only deepened his entrapment.

  Wherever he ran, he remained within the confines of this white prison.