The three mercenaries searched the clearing for a solid quarter-hour, their swords glinting faintly in the firelight. Ears pricked, they stared at every weed and bone pile that might conceal danger—but found nothing except the rustling night wind and distant howls of undead creatures.
"Probably just a stray Gray Bone," the yawning mercenary said, sheathing his sword and wiping sweat from his forehead. "This wasteland's full of those useless things. They don't even have the courage to approach a campfire."
"Don't get careless," the sword-polishing mercenary warned, though his tone had relaxed. "There's only three of us. If we run into a Red Bone—or worse, a Battle Bone—we're in trouble."
"Red Bone? Please." The third mercenary sneered, settling back by the fire and grabbing a piece of dry bread. "Last month, I chopped a Red Bone's head off with one swing. Nothing to fear."
Ryan held his breath in the weeds, empty eye sockets fixed on the three men. He remembered their words—they'd fought Red Bones before. But from their relaxed postures, they weren't much stronger than the magic apprentice he'd killed. Confidence stirred in his hollow chest. He quietly adjusted his position, feeling the "power" flowing through him. The bone needle in his palm grew sharper under its nourishment.
The night deepened. The campfire burned low, casting flickering shadows. The mercenaries chatted casually, their voices gradually fading. The boastful one leaned against a dead tree, eyes slowly closing—on the verge of sleep. The other two grew drowsy as well, heads nodding.
This was the moment!
Ryan moved slowly, bone feet stepping lightly on the debris—completely silent. He was a shadow, gliding toward the dozing mercenary. The distance shrank: ten meters, five meters, three...
The mercenary snored softly, head lolling, neck fully exposed. Ryan tensed every fiber, gathered all his "power" into his right arm—and the bone needle extended with a faint shink.
WHOOSH!
Ryan exploded forward, faster than he'd ever moved. Before the dozing mercenary could open his eyes, the razor-sharp needle punched through his throat—trachea and carotid artery severed in one devastating strike. Warm blood sprayed across Ryan's gray bones, painting them crimson.
"Ghhk..." The mercenary gurgled, hands clutching his ruined throat, but blood gushed through his fingers. His body convulsed twice, then collapsed. A wisp of white "power" drifted from him into Ryan's chest, sending a warm current through every bone.
The other two mercenaries jolted awake. They saw their dead comrade—and the blood-soaked Red Bone standing over him. Horror blanched their faces.
"Damn it—a Red Bone!" The cautious one roared, drawing his sword and charging. Rage and panic blazed in his eyes—he'd never imagined a Red Bone would dare ambush them, let alone kill in one blow.
Ryan didn't retreat. He withdrew the needle from the dead man's throat; blood dripped from its tip. He felt stronger now, his reactions sharper. When the mercenary's sword slashed at him, Ryan sidestepped nimbly—the blade missed by a hair.
"Impossible! Red Bones aren't this fast!" Shock twisted the mercenary's face. He swung again, horizontal at Ryan's waist. This time, Ryan didn't dodge—he raised his left arm to block. Bone met steel with a sharp CLANG!
The mercenary felt tremendous force reverberate through his sword; his hand trembled. He stared in disbelief—his blade now bore a small chip. Ryan's bones had hardened after absorbing the magic apprentice and the first mercenary's "power"!
Before the mercenary could recover, Ryan's right hand shot out. The bone needle punched through his chest—straight through the heart. The mercenary's eyes went wide; he crumpled with a thud, body twitching once before stillness. Another wisp of "power" poured into Ryan, lengthening and sharpening his needle.
The last mercenary's legs gave way. He stood frozen, sword in hand, too terrified to attack. He'd just watched two comrades die in seconds—he knew he was no match for this abnormal Red Bone.
"Don't... don't come closer!" He stumbled backward, voice trembling. "I have money—I'll give you all of it! Just let me go!"
Ryan stared at him with hollow eyes. No mercy. In this cruel world, mercy was a luxury. Only killing let him survive; only absorbing "power" let him grow stronger. He took a step forward—bone foot crunching on the ground.
The mercenary screamed in terror, turned, and ran. He sprinted desperately, not daring to look back.
But Ryan was faster. In seconds, he closed the distance, raised his palm—and the needle pierced the back of the mercenary's heart.
The man crashed to the ground, body convulsing. He twisted his head, despair flooding his face: "You... you're not a normal Red Bone... you're a monster..."
Ryan didn't respond. He withdrew the needle, watching the last wisp of "power" drift into him. This time, it was stronger than before—the combined essence of three mercenaries flooded his frame. His bones grew denser. His strength soared.
And his bone needle had changed. No longer just a sharp splinter—it was smoother, deadlier. He could even slightly control its length. This was evolution, driven by "power." Step by step, he was rising from a lowly Red Bone toward something greater.
Ryan stood in the clearing, surveying the three bodies. He searched their pockets, finding gold coins, a waterskin, and a tattered map. Crude symbols marked the parchment—and deep in the undead wasteland, a small red dot labeled "Black Bone Cave."
'Black Bone Cave...'
He didn't know what lay within, but the name radiated a powerful undead aura. Perhaps stronger skeletons dwelt there. Perhaps more "power" sources. Either way, it beat wandering aimlessly.
He stuffed the coins and map into a cloth bag taken from one mercenary, then extinguished the campfire. Darkness reclaimed the clearing as Ryan set off toward the cave marked on the map. His bone footsteps crunched through the wasteland, echoing in the silence.
As he walked, Ryan kept every sense alert. Deeper into the wasteland meant greater danger. But he was no longer the trembling Gray Bone fleeing for his life. He'd killed magic apprentices. He'd killed mercenaries. He'd absorbed their "power" and grown stronger. Ordinary Red Bones and low-level hunters no longer frightened him.
After two hours, the sky paled toward dawn. Morning mist clung to the ground, shrouding bones and weeds. The "power" in the air grew thicker—Ryan could sense other powerful skeletons nearby.
Then—a roar in the distance. Deeper, more powerful than the Battle Bone he'd encountered before. Ryan's non-existent heart lurched. 'This must be something stronger. Maybe a Strong Bone?'
He ducked behind a massive boulder, empty eye sockets fixed on the sound's origin. Through the mist, a towering figure emerged. A skeleton over three meters tall, bones black as obsidian, curved black horns sweeping from its skull. In its hand, a massive bone mace. The crimson light in its eye sockets burned fiercely—this was a Black Bone, a rank above Strong Bone!
Beside the Black Bone stood two Strong Bones and dozens of Battle Bones. They surrounded a group of humans—five Bone Hunters in black leather armor, fighting desperately with sharp weapons. The hunters were skilled, but outnumbered. Blood covered their bodies; they were clearly losing.
"Damn it! Too many undead! We can't hold!" One hunter roared, cleaving a Battle Bone to pieces. But before he could breathe, a Strong Bone lunged forward—its bone fist crushed his chest, shattering ribs.
"Fall back! To the cave!" The hunter leader shouted, slashing back advancing Battle Bones. He glanced at the distant Black Bone, despair twisting his face. They'd come to the Black Bone Cave hunting bone souls—never expecting to find its master at home.
The Black Bone roared, swinging its massive mace as it charged. Inhumanly fast, it reached the leader in seconds. The mace descended—the leader raised his sword to block, but the tremendous force shattered his blade and crushed him into the ground. Blood erupted.
The remaining four hunters fled in terror toward the cave behind them. The Black Bone didn't pursue—it raised its mace and roared, ordering its Strong Bones and Battle Bones to surround the entrance.
Ryan watched silently. The hunters were trapped; soon, the undead would finish them. But he also saw opportunity. After killing the hunters, the undead might be weakened. He could slip in and absorb "power." Even if he couldn't approach the Black Bone, the Strong Bones and Battle Bones' essence would fuel his growth.
He crept closer, hiding behind a bone pile, watching the siege. The undead tightened around the cave entrance. Occasionally a hunter burst out—only to be cut down instantly by Battle Bones. The clash of weapons, roars, and screams echoed through the wasteland, making the dawn even more hellish.
Ryan's hollow eye sockets flickered with faint crimson light. He could feel the "power" of dying hunters and undead drifting in the air—and hunger bloomed in his chest.
This was his chance to grow. He would wait. Wait for the right moment to strike. And take every drop of "power" he could claim.
Because he wanted to become stronger.
To no longer be prey.
But the hunter who dominated this wasteland.