Greed was a cold fire in my veins. From my hiding place in the bushes, I watched the unfolding massacre not as a bystander, but as a predator watching two lesser beasts tear each other apart, waiting for the perfect moment to claim the true prize. My eyes were fixed on the Mimic, a living weapon of unparalleled potential. A storm of scenarios raged in my mind, each a calculated path to acquiring him.
What should I do? The first option was the simplest, the most brutal. Let the savages kill them both. Let Rhonda's bloodlust be sated. Then, when they are exhausted and celebrating their victory, my team will descend upon them like wraiths. We would eliminate them all, and I would claim the Mimic's corpse, adding his incredible skill to my army of the dead. The mana harvested from so many bodies would be a significant boost to our power. But a puppet, no matter how skilled, is still just a puppet. It can follow commands, but it cannot think, it cannot strategize, it cannot innovate. It would be a pale echo of the living boy.
The second option was safer. Avoid the fight entirely. Wait for the battle to conclude, for the victors to claim their spoils and leave. Then, I could slip in and collect the Mimic's body. Minimal risk to my team. But it was a passive approach, reliant on chance. What if they destroyed the bodies? What if they lingered? It was an inefficient, unsatisfying path.
Then the third case came to mind, a high risk, high reward gambit that made my heart beat faster. What if I saved him? What if I intervened? A living Mimic, recruited into my team, would be an asset beyond measure. A thinking, adapting wildcard who could learn and deploy any skill he saw. He would be a force multiplier, his value infinitely greater than any mindless puppet. The main drawback was the cost. Summoning my five elite puppets and sustaining them in a prolonged battle requires a significant amount of my own mana. If I run out, I become a liability, and my entire team becomes vulnerable.
Many thoughts flushed through my mind, a rapid-fire calculation of risk versus reward. Meanwhile, in the blood-soaked clearing, the final act was beginning.
Leo and the Mimic stood back to back, a tiny island in a sea of snarling savages. They were both bleeding, their clothes torn, their faces pale with exhaustion and the grim acceptance of their fate. Nine savages remained, led by the towering, axe-wielding Rhonda. They weren't charging anymore. They were circling, enjoying the moment, savoring the kill.
"Look at you now, Leo," Rhonda sneered, her voice a low growl. She hefted her massive axe, its blade stained with the blood of his teammates. "The clever little leader, all alone. Your tricks are done. Your friends are dead."
"They died with more honor than you'll ever know, you brainless animal," Leo spat back, his twin daggers held in a ready, though trembling, grip.
"Honor?" Rhonda let out a booming, ugly laugh. "Honor doesn't get you food. Honor doesn't keep you warm. Killing does. The strong kill the weak. That's the only honor in this forest!"
She gestured with her axe. "Kill the dagger boy first. I want the other one to watch."
Two savages roared and charged. Leo met them head on. He was a whirlwind of motion, his daggers flashing. He used his Warpstep skill, not to escape, but to reposition, appearing behind one of the savages and sinking a blade into his kidney. The savage screamed and stumbled, but the other was already on him, his club swinging. Leo parried, but the force of the blow sent a jarring shock up his arm.
The Mimic, whose name was apparently Kael, was not idle. He had seen Leo's Warpstep. As a third savage charged him, Kael's eyes glowed silver, and he teleported a few feet to the side, the savage's club smashing into empty air. But he couldn't attack. He had no weapon, and the Berserker skill he had copied earlier had faded. He was a library of skills with no way to use them offensively.
Leo, fighting a desperate two versus one battle, was being overwhelmed. A club caught him in the ribs, and he cried out, staggering back.
"Kael, run!" he yelled, his voice strained. "Use the Warpstep! Get out of here!"
"And go where?" Rhonda laughed, blocking any potential escape route. "There's nowhere to run!"
Leo looked at Kael, a final, desperate plan forming in his eyes. "Just go! Tell them… tell them we fought." With a final roar, he ignored the savages in front of him and used his last ounce of strength to Warpstep directly toward Rhonda, his daggers aimed at her throat. It was a suicide charge, a final, desperate attempt to create a diversion.
It was a noble, foolish gesture.
Rhonda, for all her brute force, was a veteran of this forest. She didn't even flinch. She simply swung her axe in a low, brutal arc. Leo appeared out of his teleport directly into the path of the spinning blade. The axe caught him across the stomach, nearly cutting him in two. He let out a choked gasp, his daggers falling from his hands as he crumpled to the ground, his sacrifice buying nothing.
Kael stared in horror at the body of his leader, his last friend. He was alone. Utterly and completely alone, surrounded by nine bloodthirsty killers.
"Now you," Rhonda snarled, turning her attention to him. "The tricky one. I'm going to enjoy this."
She and her remaining eight savages began to close in, a tightening circle of death. Kael stumbled backward, his eyes darting around, looking for a skill, an escape, anything. But there was nothing. Only the leering faces of his executioners.
It was at that moment I made my decision. A living asset of this caliber was worth any risk.
As Rhonda raised her axe for the final blow, a figure suddenly materialized from the shadows behind her. It was tall, broad, and radiated an aura of pure dread. Its form was made of solidified darkness, but it crackled with a faint, crimson light. In its hand, it held a greatsword made of shadow.
Rhonda froze, her killer's instinct screaming at her that something was wrong. She slowly turned around. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw the Juggernaut, the spectral echo of Derek, standing silently behind her.
"What in the hell…?" she breathed.
Before she could finish, four more figures melted out of the darkness, surrounding the entire clearing, cutting off all escape routes for the savages. The Guardian, with its promise of an unbreakable shield. The Deceiver, its form already starting to shimmer and blur. The Anchor, its presence making the very air feel heavy. And the Corruptor, a sickly green mist already beginning to seep from its hunched form.
The nine savages stared, their bloodlust turning to ice-cold terror. The hunters had, in the blink of an eye, become the prey. From the bushes, I stepped out into the moonlight, my face calm, my eyes filled with the cold, calculating greed of a king who had just found a new, priceless jewel for his crown.