Zeke crouched behind a ruined and crumbling wall, hoping to remain unseen. It was a tall order, considering that there were at least a hundred harpies swooping around the expansive square. Most were little different from the ones he’d already fought, but scattered throughout the crowd of monstrous, avian humanoids were a few that were bigger, stronger, and higher leveled. The harpies weren’t the subject of his interest, though. Instead, his gaze was focused on the giant creature that seemed to be guarding a mostly intact building.

The bear wasn’t much bigger than a typical grizzly, but it radiated a palpable sense of power that Zeke could feel even a hundred yards away. Despite its obvious strength, it was also fighting a losing battle against the flock of harpies. Every couple of seconds, one would swoop in and rake its claws across its thick hide, sending a spray of blood flying against the building’s walls. One or two such wounds were easily ignored, but it was obvious that the battle had been raging for quite some time, because the bear’s pelt was matted with congealed and drying blood.

But the bear remained steadfast, completely unwilling to move from its position in front of the door. It also gave as good as it got, often paying back the harpies with a powerful swipe of its own. But there were hundreds of attackers, and against such a numerous foe, it did little good.

For a solid ten minutes, Zeke watched, transfixed by the battle playing out before him. There was a big part of his mind that wanted to anthropomorphize the monsters, assigning roles like “good guy” and “bad guy”. And given its status as the obvious underdog, the bear was definitely playing the part of hero in Zeke’s mind. Certainly, he knew that neither fit those designations – they were beasts, after all – but that didn’t stop his thoughts from running along with the notion.

Idly, he wondered if he should help, but he quickly discarded the idea. If he went down there, mace swinging, both the harpies and the bear would probably turn on him. And even with as capable as he’d become, Zeke had no illusions about surviving something like that.

Slowly but surely, the harpies whittled the bear down. Its swings became less frequent, its movements more lethargic. But it didn’t give up. It didn’t try to run away. Nor did it attempt to take the battle to its enemies.

Because it was guarding something.

Was it some kind of treasure, perhaps?

Despite spending more than two years in the troll caves and another few weeks traversing the wilderness, Zeke didn’t really know how the new world worked. Was it like a game, where he’d have to fight some sort of boss in order to find treasures? Or was it more organic than that? Perhaps the bear was just what it appeared to be – an unlucky animal that had run afoul of the wrong sort of monsters.

But Zeke couldn’t escape the notion that he was missing something important. So, he resolved to stick around until he figured out just what was tugging on his mind. After all, he was far from the fighting, and if circumstances demanded it, he could escape with little difficulty. The harpies were dangerous monsters, but they weren’t the most intelligent of creatures, regardless of their partially humanoid appearance.

Finally, after a few more minutes, Zeke found what he sought, when the bear shifted, and he caught sight of another, much smaller pile of fur. Was it a mate, perhaps? A fallen comrade? Zeke couldn’t tell, but the discovery further cemented his inclination to side with the giant bear.

Then, in sudden rush, a pair of the bigger, more dangerous harpies cut through the air with lightning speed. Their wicked talons flashed, and the bear roared in pain and defiance as the pair of harpies cut into something vital. Suddenly, blood gushed out of the bear’s side, pooling on the remnants of a cobbled street. Heroically, the bear remained standing, but it looked like it was on its last leg.

Perhaps it was because Zeke had been on the receiving end of such punishment. After all, he’d been forced to fight an entire city’s worth of trolls. Or maybe it was a sense of fair play that objected to the harpies dominating the bear via sheer numbers. Or it could have been that, after having a few run-ins with the harpies himself, Zeke very clearly remembered the feeling of those sharp talons. Whatever the case, Zeke soon found himself moving.

He didn’t think about how stupid it was. Nor did he hesitate. Instead, Zeke summoned his mace, Voromir, from his tattoo and swiftly closed the hundred-yard gap between him and the closest harpy. It never even knew Zeke was there before its brains were splattered all over the cobbles. But Zeke wasn’t done. So long as he had the element of surprise, he would kill as many of the harpies as he could.

Quickly, he mowed through another handful of the hideous creatures before the frenzied flock of harpies began to take note. Zeke activated [Leech Strike], then continued his slaughter. Four harpies. Then ten. Then twenty. He was a whirlwind of blunt force trauma as he steadily destroyed the lesser harpies.

And it felt good.

Not just because he could finally let loose and go on a mass rampage. That played a bigger part in his enjoyment than he wanted to acknowledge; he’d become very well acquainted with death and carnage during his time in the caves, and Zeke could admit, at least to himself, that he enjoyed the feelings that came with slaughtering his foes. However, his enjoyment was twofold, owing at least as much to the steady stream of experience gathering in his core. He could feel it filling up, bit by bit, and soon, he knew he would reach level ten. And finally, after building up the battle between the heroic bear and the devious harpies in his mind, Zeke felt a certain satisfaction, like he was on the side of justice.

It was silly. He knew that. But at the end of the day, he’d chosen his side, and he felt in the bottom of his heart that he was right.

Finally, he broke through a clump of harpies to find himself standing face-to-face with the bear. And it was worse off than he expected.

Though they’d been hidden by its thick fur and considerable distance, Zeke could now see the jagged grooves that had been carved into its flesh. Barely a single inch of the bear was without matted blood, and Zeke could see that it was favoring its front, left paw. In addition, flecks of red-tinted foam coated its snout, like it had been coughing up blood.

But looking past that, Zeke could see the fire in the bear’s eyes. It wasn’t fighting for its own survival. Instead, it battled for something far more important. And now that Zeke was close enough, he could see precisely what drove the bear to such lengths.

Behind it, lying on its side, was a tiny bear cub. It was no bigger than a small dog. Maybe twenty pounds, if that. And though Zeke could see the thing’s chest moving with its labored breaths, it was grievously wounded, its own pool of blood big enough to mingle with its mother’s. Just past that ball of bloody fur were three more cubs, though none of them still breathed.

Fire erupted in Zeke’s side as an enterprising harpy took advantage of his brief pause to rake its talons across his ribs. He quickly spun around, his mace arcing out to destroy the monster. When it connected, Zeke was rewarded with the sound of multiple broken bones and an explosion of feathers. He must’ve ruptured some of its internal organs, because he immediately gained another stream of experience as it succumbed to death.

Zeke’s arrival attracted the attention of the rest of the harpies, and many of them diverted their efforts in his direction. He gritted his teeth as the effect of [Leech Strike] did its work and began to heal the wound along his ribs as he began to defend himself.

Though Zeke preferred a more the more aggressive tactic of taking the fight to his enemies, he’d been forced onto his back foot enough that the shift in strategy happened completely naturally, and soon, he found himself backed against the stone wall of the building and fighting shoulder to shoulder with the bear. He knew it was dangerous. The creature was a powerful monster. But Zeke had seen a glimmer of intelligence in the thing’s eyes, and he trusted that it would see his help for what it was.

Besides, Zeke hadn’t come across anything that could kill him yet. Sure, if he stood still and let them do it, the harpies could probably manage. But so long as he remained capable of defending himself, Zeke felt confident that he could at least survive long enough to run away. The bear was clearly more powerful than the harpies, but Zeke was certain that it wasn’t as strong as the troll warlord had been. So, Zeke decided to take a chance and trust the bear to recognize the situation.

Luckily, it did just that, and over the next few minutes, the pair of them slaughtered one harpy after the next. The smaller ones, called Harpy Screechers, were little more than cannon fodder, and generally, it only took one swing from Voromir or a swipe from the bear’s claw to kill them. At most, if the thing was especially quick and managed to dodge most of the blow, it took two. However, the bigger ones, called Harpy Matriarchs, were a few levels higher and exponentially more powerful. Alone, even they weren’t much of a threat. The only problem was that they were never, ever alone.

A Harpy Matriarch swooped in, its talons aiming at Zeke’s face. He shifted to his left, swinging his mace. Before he could complete the attack, though, a pair of Harpy Screechers dove from above. There was no time to dodge, so Zeke had no choice but to eat the attacks. The swooping matriarch cackled with glee. Or maybe it was just a birdcall. But it certainly sounded like mocking laughter.

Zeke narrowed his eyes.

He needed to be smarter. But more than that, he knew he’d have to make some sacrifices.

So, when the next matriarch tried the same move, Zeke let it come. Its talons ripped into his shoulder, tearing a good chunk of muscle out before it flapped its wings and shot away. Predictably, a trio of screechers came in a split second later, thinking he would be distracted. Zeke was waiting for it, though. Ignoring the not-insignificant pain in his shoulder, Zeke’s mace sang as it cut through the air. One down. Then two. The third tried to abort its dive, but it was too late. An overhand swing of Zeke’s mace sent it crashing bonelessly to the ground.

Since gaining [Leech Strike], Zeke had discovered a few things about how it worked. First was that the amount of vitality it injected into him was based on how much damage he did. So, the harder he swung, the more it healed. And Zeke could swing very, very hard. The second thing he’d learned was that when he did so, the steady stream of mana that kept the ability active spiked. Theoretically, if he hit hard enough and often enough, he could exhaust his mana completely. However, because of his extremely high stats and the relatively small cost of the skill, Zeke never even came close to that. So, effectively, so long as he could keep fighting, he was functionally invincible.

Or that’s what he thought, at least. The troll warlord had certainly pushed him to his limit. But that was because, with a single blow, it could’ve obliterated a good portion of Zeke’s body – not dissimilar to what Zeke was doing to the harpies. But with foes like the bird-like humanoids that relied on speed and agility? He was uniquely suited for fighting them.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Zeke wasn’t sure if it was just that he hadn’t been wounded much during his trek through the swamp, or if there was something about those sharp claws that made it hurt more, but regardless of what caused it, it was agonizing. Still, Zeke was well-schooled in ignoring pain, and with an effort of will, he shunted it off to an isolated corner of his mind.

On an on, Zeke fought a seemingly endless stream of harpies. He killed screechers. He dispatched matriarchs. But still, they came. Eventually, Zeke slipped into that well-worn battle trance where nothing existed but him, his weapon, and his enemies. There were no fancy tactics. No ingenious plans. He simply swung when appropriate, dodged when he could, and took the attacks he could handle. Soon, he was covered in just as much blood as his animal compatriot, though a quick glance told him that she didn’t have healing capabilities on par with his.

If Zeke had shown up earlier, perhaps the bear could have made a go of it. But by the time he had arrived to lend his aid, it had taken too many hits. It had accumulated too many wounds. The result was that it could only defend itself from about a quarter of the attacks, which only made the wounds pile up even more quickly.

Zeke was about to do something drastic when a deafening screech filled the air. Strangely, the gathered harpies screamed in response, furiously beating their wings as they backed away. No more attacks came. Zeke stood there, his breath coming in gulps. He glanced toward the bear, whose limbs were trembling. Its eyes were barely open, and the pool of blood beneath it had grown even wider.

“Hang in there,” Zeke muttered, his voice hoarse from disuse. The bear was clearly not encouraged, and it threw its head back with an arrogant snort that sent blood-tinged foam flying through the air.

The screech came again, this time from much closer. Zeke looked up to see a huge shape streaking down from the sky. He only had a brief second to use his identification skill on the creature:

Harpy Queen – Level 20

“Shit,” he spat.

And then the thing was on top of them, its foot-long claws digging into the bear’s thick hide. Its wingspan was at least twenty feet, and its body was nearly the size of a full-grown human. More, instead of the shapeless, bird-like torso of its subjects, the queen had a feminine form covered in thick, grey feathers.

As Zeke sprang into motion, he caught a glimpse of the creature’s eyes. Its face was almost entirely human, but its eyes were wholly alien, and they sparkled with unrepentant menace. This was a cruel creature, Zeke had no doubt. And he had no qualms about ending it.

Unfortunately, his ability couldn’t quite match up with his aspirations, because he soon found himself sailing across the square, bowling over harpies in his path. His shoulder popped out of joint, and he picked up a handful of broken bones as well. The thing wasn’t just fast. It was incredibly strong, too. Not quite on the level of the warlord, but it made up for it in sheer velocity.

Zeke was up in an instant, carving his way through the flock of harpies. His wounds healed rapidly as his fury as well as his martial path lent weight to his blows. His bear companion roared its defiance and pain, but Zeke could see that it was losing the battle. The Harpy Queen was simply too quick, and it was strong enough to make quick work of the bear’s hide. However, the bear wasn’t without power of its own, and it managed to land a couple of shots of its own. The most damaging of which was a vicious swipe to the queen’s delicate wing. It crumpled, its hollow bones cracking audibly as it fell from the air. But even bound to the ground, the thing was wickedly fast, and it clearly had plenty of experience fighting on foot. The bear reared onto her hindlegs, roaring her fury.

Just before Zeke made it back, his heart seized in his chest as he saw the harpy’s talon flash toward the bear’s neck. Fur, meat, and a gout of blood flew through the air, and the bear’s roars became a pitiful gurgle. Even as its blood flowed out in what felt like gallons, it made a valiant effort to hold its ground. But it didn’t have the strength, and it ended up stumbling drunkenly to the ground.

The Harpy Queen tilted her head to the sky and cackled in apparent glee. Zeke’s mace, powered by every ounce of his strength, took her at the base of the skull. The queen was strong and fast, but it wasn’t very durable. So, the result was predictable.

The lower half of the queen’s skull, along with a sizable portion of its spine, were shattered, and it dropped in an instant. Zeke wasted no time swinging his mace again. And again. Three times. Four. He kept swinging until the thing’s entire head was reduced to mush. Then, gulping air, he wheeled around and roared at the remaining harpies. In the back of his mind, he realized that he’d gained his much-sought-after level, but he ignored it.

Zeke would never know if they fled because they had just seen their queen killed, or if it was because of his monstrous countenance. But it only took them a second before the air was filled with flapping wings as the monsters took to the skies.

He stood there for a long moment, his shoulders heaving with every breath. Then, he turned back to the bear who’d so valiantly fought beside him. It was already dead.

He howled in grief and rage.

Zeke had no idea why the bear’s death hit him so hard. Maybe it was because he’d finally found something he didn’t want to kill and hadn’t tried to kill him in return. Or perhaps he’d gotten too caught up in the narrative he’d written in his head. It might have even been a simple refusal to accept the loss. He’d never been good at losing, after all.

Either way, seeing the dead bear lying before him, Zeke felt an unparalleled sense of loss. If only he hadn’t sat back and watched for so long, he could have made a difference. He could’ve saved the damned thing.

He didn’t know if he was more angry, sad, or both, but he definitely felt some combination of the two. And he’d have probably stood there for even longer if he didn’t hear a soft mewling coming from within the ruined building.

The cub!

Zeke quickly abandoned the bear’s body and found the cub within. It was even smaller than he’d first thought, and it was just about as pitiful as anything he’d ever seen. A series of wicked lacerations trailed along its side, deep enough that Zeke could see the white of the creature’s ribs.

His heart ached for the animal, but what could he do? Zeke wasn’t a healer. Perhaps he could clean it, but would that make any difference? He had no bandages. No needle and thread. Even if he did, he didn’t know how to sew a wound shut. And what about the blood the cub had already lost?

Zeke slammed his hand on the ground in frustration. He couldn’t save the animal’s mother, so what made him think he could save the cub? He was just a killer, like the troll warlord had implied. Even the monsters recognized him for what he was.

If only [Leech Strike] healed others, all he’d have to do would be to find a few monsters, and the bear cub would be fine.

Wait…

He’d gotten level ten, hadn’t he? Perhaps there was another skill available that would help him. Quickly, Zeke opened the appropriate sub-menu, and sure enough, he found what he was looking for:

[Mark of Companionship] (G) – A hero’s greatest strength comes from his allies. Place a rune on your companions and they will share a portion of your benefits. Upgradable.

Though there were a few other attractive options, Zeke didn’t hesitate to choose [Mark of Companionship]. It wasn’t just for the bear cub, either, though that was the immediate benefit. Instead, he was thinking about the eventuality of encountering other people. It was one thing to lose his briefly allied bear companion. It was something else entirely to lose a human comrade. And with the power of his [Leech Strike], he thought he could make quite a difference in keeping other people alive.

But for now, he would put the rune on the bear cub and go find a few more harpies to kill. However, when he tried to do so, Zeke got a very frustrating alert:

Warning: You cannot use beneficial skills on non-sapient creatures.

As soon as the mark – which was just another complicated rune – contacted the bear cub, it had dissipated into nothingness. Zeke frowned. Well, that just wasn’t going to work at all. Using his artisan’s path, Zeke summoned the image of the rune in his mind. It was even more complex than the familiar [Leech Strike], but he could see some similarities. Through study and the innate understanding of runes granted by his artisan path, Zeke had also determined what a few of the symbols did. So, it didn’t take him long to find the symbol that kept him from using the skill on the cub. But finding it was the easy part, wasn’t it? What was he supposed to do now?

Another pitiful whine pierced through his concentration. He didn’t have time! The creature was dying, and if he didn’t do something soon, he’d be too late. Again. Just like he had been with the cub’s mother.

It didn’t take Zeke long to make up his mind to forge ahead. Sure, he didn’t really know what he was doing. Nor did he think it would work. But he had to do something. Otherwise, he’d never be able to live with himself. So, he closed his eyes and felt the offending symbol.

Like all runes, it was constructed of pure mana. So, wouldn’t it be easy to simply destroy it? Then, he could do what he needed to do, right? It wasn’t so different than when he unraveled the curses. In fact, it might even be easier, because he didn’t have to destroy the entire rune. Just a tiny piece.

So, without any further hesitation, Zeke cast the mark, using his not-inconsiderable willpower to hold it in place just above the bear cub’s skin. Then, he went to work on the appropriate symbol, unraveling it thread by thread. Contrary to what he expected, though, it was exponentially more difficult than dissipating one of the troll curses. The curses were like houses of cards – a single gust, and they’d come crashing down. The rune associated with the Mark of Companionship, however, was like a brick wall, and the only way to get the desired result was to chip away at the appropriate spot. On top of that, the more he chipped away, the more difficult it was to hold the thing in place.

But Zeke persisted, the simple refusal to surrender perched in his mind.

Eventually, Zeke managed to dislodge the last bit of the symbol, then, with a shove, pushed it into the bear cub. Zeke held his breath as it settled into place.

And nothing happened.

Then, suddenly, a sharp spike of agony went through his entire mind. He screamed in mingled pain and terror, but it didn’t matter. He had obviously made a huge mistake, and now he had to pay the price.