Sam fled. He wasn't

  ignorant of how often this had happened since he arrived in this new world.

  Quentin ran in front of him, rifle dangling across his back. Sam turned halfway

  to see what was chasing them, but there was nothing there, only the impression

  of a presence and the pressing feeling making his legs feel like molten lead.

  Think, Sam. Think! There was nothing to think about, though. The monster didn’t

  have a name, only that it was one of Elyr’s mutated spawns. He slowed down, an

  idea cropping up in his mind. No, more like questions. But the right one. They

  couldn’t keep running anyway; they’d soon meet the blocked wall of the next

  chamber.

  “Quentin!” Sam called,

  turning just before something slammed into him. He fell back, tumbling and then

  turning it into a rough roll. He came to a stop in front of Quentin, his body

  screaming with pain. Whatever it was, it had the strength of the D’Arak Alpha.

  Sam shook his head. He was just tired and exaggerating. Nothing could possibly

  hit like that bastard. He looked up at Quentin, his rifle pulled up, poised to

  shoot what he couldn’t see.

  “I need your rifle,” Sam

  said, standing up with some effort. His ribs hurt. His hips too. But otherwise,

  he was alright. Perhaps his luck was looking up. Quentin stared at him like he

  was stupid. “You want me to kill that thing or not?” Sam asked, pointing to the

  empty passage. Quentin looked from Sam to the passage and pushed the rifle to

  him. Sam took it and cursed. He hadn’t thought of the weight. It weighed a lot

  more than any rifle he’d ever seen or held on Earth. He decided that would be

  the first thing he’d talk to Wexi about when he got back.

  “How are you going to hit

  something you can’t see?” Quentin asked, his fear thick in his voice. Sam

  didn’t blame him. He trembled too, fear leaking into his focus. He cursed,

  pushing Quentin to the left end of the hallway before diving right. He was too late.

  That invisible weight slammed into him. Sam crashed back. The rifle clattered

  on the floor. He scrambled for it, his eyes moving about, trying to catch the

  damn monster.

  “Did you see it?” Sam

  screamed at Quentin, only to see the other man stretching, his face strained as

  though… Sam’s thoughts lagged a moment as realization slammed into him. He

  brought the gun up, holding it as he’d learned too many years and a different

  life ago. He squeezed what he supposed was the trigger and felt a small prick

  on his finger and a flush of weakness as a pool of essence was drawn out of

  him. He staggered, his vision swimming for a moment.

  The shot cracked from the

  rifle, launching Sam back. His aim had been wide off where he’d wanted it to

  hit. A spark joined the rune light briefly, and Sam thought he saw a flicker of

  white. He tried to aim again, but his first shot had accomplished what he

  wanted. Quentin was free, coughing hard. He waved, trying to tell Sam something

  that he understood too late. He felt—like a wave of cold wind—a sudden surge of

  essence before something slammed against the side of his head. The pain came

  fast and overwhelming. Sam was lifted a few inches from the ground. His back

  crashed against the right wall, and he couldn’t bite down on the fresh storm of

  pain spreading over him.

  He heard a low rumble

  like a suppressed growl and that familiar wash of essence overcame him. With

  effort, he rolled left and something slammed down on the space he’d been

  before, stone flying from hard ground. A small crater remained when Sam glanced

  at it. One of Quentin’s lights flickered, its energy near its end. Sam caught

  that brief flicker of white again. This time he’d been staring at the right

  place. It was there, but not as massive as he’d expected. Or perhaps he’d not

  seen enough of it. He threw himself at what he’d seen but his hands slid off

  slick fur. That confused him, but he punched down repeatedly until whatever

  monster it was shoved him off.

  Sam didn’t relent. There

  was no time, and from what he’d experienced so far, this monster’s core ability

  was its invisibility and strength. If it had anything else, it would have used

  it. He found the rifle and rushed for it, scrambling to bring it up to fire. He

  steeled himself for that rush of depleted essence. He pressed the trigger and

  pushed forward against the force of the shot. A sharp pain in his shoulder made

  him hiss, but this time he heard the growl he’d expected. He squeezed the

  trigger again, but nothing happened. He cursed.

  “The rune stone has to

  cool down,” Quentin said, but Sam wasn’t listening. He tossed the rifle to

  Quentin and ran for his spear. He felt the chill of the monster’s proximity and

  halted, bracing himself for impact. A large paw tried to crush him, but he held

  it up, a sharp drag in his right shoulder pulled a scream out of him, but he

  shoved the paw away and punched with his left hand. The monster struck him from

  the right. Light danced about his vision. One of Quentin’s rune lights turned

  off, and the flicker danced into view again, but Sam fell back, crumpling.

  Exhaustion pressed hard on him, and he was bleeding from a cut to the side of

  his head.

  “A…bove.” His voice was

  weak, but he quickly realized two things. One, his fatigue was easing, and the

  light was why he’d been able to see it before. It was not completely invisible.

  Once again, Sam wondered what kind of person Elyr had been. Above him, Quentin’s

  gun oozed a spray of fire in the general direction of the invisible monster. It

  roared, its rage coming from everywhere, crashing into Sam’s head.

  Sam knew the fire

  wouldn’t work. There was something about the monster’s fur. He pushed himself

  up, trying to search for his spear while Quentin kept it busy.

  “Quentin,” Sam called,

  his heart racing with a mix of fear, excitement, and worry. He found his spear

  and used it to pull himself up. “Quentin, turn the lights off and back on.”

  Quentin ignored him, too

  busy waving his gun about, fire blackening the stones. Sam groaned, pushing

  himself forward. Essence was doing a little to soothe his pain, but it couldn’t

  heal wounds, and the gash on his head was a constant source of agony. Luckily

  it wasn’t deep. His legs shook slightly, but he could walk. Now close, he

  called Quentin again. “It becomes visible briefly if the lights switch around.”

  Quentin’s fire sputtered

  and stopped. The rifle’s rune stone needed to absorb ambient essence to work

  again. He pointed up at the lights. They didn’t light and luckily Quentin

  didn’t argue. The lights all went off and the passage was thrown into absolute

  darkness for a moment. Sam caught the flash a little far from them, but it was

  brief. The beast blended with the darkness again. The orbs flared to life and

  Sam saw it again, but it was charging at them silently, as if nothing was

  there.

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  “Again!” Sam called, his

  fingers tight around the shaft of his spear. The light vanished and the furry

  monster came into view for a second, and Sam saw it lunge for them. Sam

  stumbled forward, his spear heaved up and his legs spread to distribute the weight.

  The lights came back on and he saw it flash again, and he thrust up. He

  grunted, biting through the pain from his twisted wrists. His shoulder felt

  even worse. But he was sure he’d thrust the spear into it. He didn’t push it

  all the way through, but it was good enough. His spear hung in the air in front

  of them, as if it floated. It moved away from him, and Sam heard the low whine.

  It was trying to retreat, but there was no way he’d let it do that.

  “Quentin,” Sam said,

  slowly walking to the left wall to lean against it. His legs shook under him,

  and he felt nauseous. He let himself slide down, using the wall as support to

  ease himself to the floor. ”You should probably finish it. Or it will run away.”

  Sam closed his eyes,

  willing his heartbeat to slow to a calm patter. He was tired. He ached all over

  and he was sure this was as far as he could go. His shoulder was cramped, and

  there was no way he was fighting with his wrists aching. He turned toward the

  darkness behind them. And those bastards never came. Were they ever following

  us? He turned to Quentin when he realized he hadn’t heard the shot. But the

  other man was standing in front of him with the gun stretched out to him. Sam

  stared at him, unsure what was happening.

  “You need it more than I

  do,” Quentin said, not looking at him. “You look ready to fall over, which

  means this is your kill.” Sam exhaled. His EoM count was almost complete. And

  he was sure completing this quest would take him over the count limit. He took

  the rifle from Quentin. And took the man’s outstretched arm. Quentin pulled him

  up, cursing about how heavy he was, which made Sam smile.

  “You won’t tell the

  others that I beat you and took your kill, yes?” Sam asked, and Quentin hissed,

  which made Sam laugh. He felt a thousand tiny pricks when he tried to walk on

  his own, so Quentin supported him. They moved slowly. There was no need to rush,

  the creature crept slowly. It whimpered, like a scared dog.

  Sam brought the gun

  up and aimed. He prepared himself for the initial gulp of essence the rifle

  collected, and when he stumbled in the aftermath, Quentin groaned under his

  weight, steadying him before the rifle fired. The monster roared, a mix of

  despair and rage. The spear lurched forward, and Sam felt that familiar chill

  brush his face. He marked where he saw the mass of the furry head and fired. It

  was on complete assumption, so when the spear jutting out of the beast stopped,

  Sam sighed, relief flushing through him, bringing the worst of the pain to the

  fore. He moaned, shaking like a weathered plant. He pushed off Quentin and

  collapsed against the wall. His shoulder hurt, it felt like a sea of lava

  bubbled there, and every pop was a series of fresh agony.

  Sam shivered, unable to

  push it down. He folded into himself, cursing as the pain lashed at him from

  inside. He heard footsteps, the echo distant one moment and loud as a bang in

  his ears the next. Voices came to him, smothered, unclear. He felt hands touch

  his shoulder and slapped them away. Someone swore at him, and then hands held

  him down. Quentin was whispering something. Sam's heart raced in panic. They

  want to kill me? I shouldn’t have trusted that damn snot! Please, please. I’ll

  leave Cragforge. Fear burrowed into him. But all they did was hold him. The

  wave of horror reached a peak where his thoughts vanished, and he was left with

  only a stream of endless white noise. His blurry vision was completely black.

  He opened them to find light, faces peering down at him. Vale’s head was large

  and close. The man’s scowl was different, his eyes wide and worried. Sam

  wondered if he was dreaming, and then someone spoke.

  “Should I fix it now? It

  might be better to do it while he is still reeling from the haze of his

  advancement.”

  Sam frowned. He turned

  toward the direction the voice had come from, and just as he was about to

  speak, his shoulder moved roughly, and a scalpel-sharp pain made him howl, his

  top half pushing against the collective strength of four men. Vale placed a hand

  on Sam’s chest and pushed him down as easily as holding paper with a

  paperweight. His heart fired rapidly in his chest, his breath coming short and

  labored. He held Vale’s eyes.

  “He has been doing this

  all this time?” Someone asked, the voice familiar but filtering through the

  liquid black creeping around the edges of his vision. Sam let it take him. He

  closed his eyes and slept.

  Sam woke up to Quentin’s

  light. There were two orbs left. He sat up slowly. His wrists still hurt, and

  his shoulder was a little sore. He had a lot of cuts and scrapes, but nothing

  serious. He wasn’t sure about the state of his feet, but he was too stunned to

  try. Vale was staring at him, and Quentin sat next to him. The scowl was still

  on Vale’s face, making Sam doubt he’d ever seen the man worried. Perhaps he’d

  hallucinated that part. He pulled himself away from the others, still confused

  about what was going on.

  “You don’t know how to

  control the essence surge,” Vale said, his voice cold and hard. He stood up,

  towering over Sam. “You could have killed yourself with that rough handling of

  advancement. No, it is a miracle you are not dead already.”

  “He did almost die,”

  Quentin muttered, standing up. Everyone else looked solemn, as though they’d

  seen him die moments ago. Sam groaned, trying to stand up. He felt lightheaded,

  but that only lasted for a moment. Quentin held him up. Sam whispered his thanks,

  still trying not to look at Vale or the others on the other side of the

  hallway.

  “We are going back,” Vale

  said. “You can’t do anything else, and I don’t care if you have not attained

  the required level for whatever Wexi wants you to achieve. I can’t have you

  dying on me. I’d rather one of the angry Forgers do it instead.”

  “That’s foul, Vale…sir,”

  Quentin said, not looking at the larger man. Vale glared at him but said

  nothing. Quentin, however, wasn’t done. “Killing him won’t bring anyone back.

  And he wasn’t those…” his voice broke, and Sam felt him shake. “They were doing

  their job, just as you are.”

  “Yes,” Vale said, his

  eyes settling on Quentin before moving to Sam. “And I say we are done here.” He

  walked into the darkness, and the others followed him. Sam stayed silent, a new

  realization worming its way to him. He ignored the system notification, instead

  whirling on Quentin, who was trying to walk past him.

  “Did you lose anyone on

  that canyon top?” Sam asked. Quentin froze, his hand sliding off Sam’s arm

  slowly. Sam felt a hollowness tear into him. He had spent the past few hours

  with him and he’d sensed nothing.

  “My brother, Ilaz,”

  Quentin said, and before Sam could say anything else, Quentin pushed past him,

  joining Vale and the others. The trip back was silent and uncomfortable. Sam

  didn’t know what to say, and no one spoke to him. The warmth was gone, replaced

  by a murky awkwardness.