For a split second, Zeke was certain he was dying. After everything he’d gone through, he had finally gone too far. How could he have been so stupid as to think that he knew what he was doing? Runes weren’t just incredibly complex; they were intricate, multi-faceted whorls of pure power, each bit dependent on the others. Simply burning one glyph out of the design was more likely to see the whole thing collapse than to create the desired result. And through the sharp, stabbing pain in his mind, Zeke could see that was precisely what was happening.

Without that one symbol, the entirety of the rune flexed and vibrated like it wanted to unravel into motes of useless, stray mana. And if that happened, Zeke could intuit that it wouldn’t turn out well for him. There would be a significant backlash, and one which threatened his very survival.

In a lot of ways, it wasn’t so different from the curses with which he’d been forced to become so intimately familiar, really. The scale was inflated, but the mechanics were much the same. And when he’d unraveled those curses, he’d been forced to endure an incredible blanket of mental strain that smothered his willpower. Trying to alter the Mark of Companionship was similar in that respect, though the pressure was far more overwhelming – not least because it was accompanied by both physical pain and significant mental anguish.

The physical pain was located just behind his eyes, and it felt like someone repeatedly jabbing an ice pick into his brain. That, by itself, was agonizing enough that it precluded any ability to think, much less concentrate on something so delicate as keeping the Mark of Companionship from dissipating. On top of that was a psychological torture he’d never experienced.

One second, he was trying to deal with the purely physical portion of the backlash, and the next, he was inundated by a deluge of memories, all from the perspective of the dying bear cub. They were blurry and indistinct, but in that moment, Zeke understood the creature lying before him in way he couldn’t really explain. He knew its history. He knew its emotions. He knew its identity in an incredibly intimate way. For that split second, Zeke was the cub who’d just seen its mother and siblings massacred by the vicious harpies. He felt the monsters’ ripping claws as they tore through his undeveloped body. He experienced the cub’s confusion, then sorrow when he saw his mother finally breathe her last breath. And finally, he felt the cub’s fear when he saw the strange, two-legged creature bending over it.

Zeke let out a pained howl of pure emotion, and he very nearly succumbed to that flood of memories and emotions and let himself be washed away. If that happened, he would die. Even underneath all the pain, he knew that as surely as he’d ever known anything else. Perhaps his body would keep going, but any semblance of humanity would be gone, never to return.

And Zeke couldn’t let that happen. He’d come too far, and he’d already suffered too much – falling here was not something he could accept. So, he summoned every last ounce of willpower he possessed and pushed against that deluge of emotions.

Kneeling beside the bear cub, he was dimly aware of his own body. His every muscle flexed, and his fingernails dug into his palms. Tears flowed down his dirty cheeks, mingling with harpy blood and dirt as he fought for his very humanity.

By that point, Zeke was well-versed in fighting for his life. He’d been doing just that for more than two years, and, by necessity, he’d become an expert on survival. However, there was a marked difference between fighting a troll and wrestling with something as ephemeral as another creature’s intrusive identity. But there was a very important commonality – they both required significant willpower. A simple refusal to give in that, ever since he’d woken up at the bottom of those troll caves, Zeke had epitomized.

Leveraging every bit of that stubborn refusal to lose, Zeke fought against the tide of the bear’s identity, lashing out with everything he had. It did little, other than to exhaust his mental faculties. After all, you can’t fight the ocean, can you? You can only plant your feet and endure.

So, seeing how ineffectual his wild attacks were, Zeke adjusted his strategy. He wouldn’t be a warrior. He would be a rock; sure, the bear’s identity would wear him down, perhaps even to the smallest piece. But so long as something – even a tiny grain of sand – remained, he would persevere.

Slowly, bit by bit, the pressure lessened, and the tide began to wane. Suddenly, Zeke could feel bits of his own identity receding alongside the bear cub’s. He grasped at them, but they were too small, and they were moving far too quickly for him to recapture. So, he had no choice but to watch as little pieces of his mind latched onto the cub’s identity. In addition, a steady stream of his mana suffused that tide, taking with it some indefinable part of Zeke’s soul.

Finally, the flow petered out, and the pain faded, leaving a panting Zeke kneeling beside the wounded bear. And as soon as that last drop of mana and the two mingled identities dissipated, a notification flashed before Zeke’s eyes.

Beastmaster – You have created a Soul Bond with another creature. + 3 All Stats

A second later, another flashed:

Savant – Create a unique rune without the benefit of an Artisan Class. +5 Str, Agi, Dex, End, Vit. + 10 Int. +15 Wis. +5% Wis.

Zeke stared at the pair of achievements in confusion. The second wasn’t that surprising, if he thought about it in any depth. After all, he had set out to change the rune resulting from the activation of Mark of Companionship, so it stood to reason that he’d created something new. However, the first really shocked him.

Only a couple of seconds after Zeke had read the notifications, a mass of information flooded his mind. Some of it was associated with the bear cub. He could read the creature’s mood, and he could tell how it was injured. On top of that, he thought that, with a little bit of focus, he could even communicate with the animal. He didn’t think he could hold detailed conversations with it, but basic commands seemed well within the purview of the Soul Bond. Whether that was due to the nature of the bond itself, or if it was because of the infantile nature of the beast, Zeke couldn’t be sure.

On top of that, Zeke could intuit something of how the bond worked. The skill it had been based upon, [Mark of Companionship] allowed the recipient of the mark to share experience and benefit from Zeke’s skills, and it seemed that that had been unchanged. However, whereas [Mark of Companionship] was a temporary skill that required a constant stream of mana, the Soul Bond was permanent. Basically, Soul Bond worked like a beefed-up, permanent version of the skill. On top of that, it was the solution to the problem at hand. If he concentrated, he could funnel the vitality that came from the skill [Leech Strike] into the bear, healing its wounds. Zeke wasn’t certain how he knew how everything worked, but he chalked it up to the Framework giving him the ability to use the tools he’d earned.

It wasn’t precisely what Zeke had wanted to accomplish. In fact, it so far exceeded his expectations that he hadn’t even known such a thing as a Soul Bond was possible. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t happy with how it had worked out. Despite the pain and the fact that he’d very nearly had his identity washed away, he now had the ability to save the bear cub.

But he would have to hurry, because in the time that had passed since he initiated the Soul Bond, the bear cub’s condition had continued to worsen. So, he scooped the animal into his arms, gathered his mace, and rose to his feet. And it was agonizing. His muscles, stiff from constant contraction, protested every movement. But he could deal with pain – especially when he knew that his bear companion was dealing with so much worse.

Zeke wasn’t sure exactly how the Soul Bond worked, but he suspected that if he let the creature die, there would be consequences. On top of that, the pair were now connected in a way Zeke couldn’t fathom or adequately describe. It was like their existences had mingled and their souls had twined around one another. Their bond was inextricable, and Zeke equated the bear cub’s survival with his own. If the cub were to succumb, he would probably survive, but there was a part of him that would perish right alongside the creature. More than mere self-service, though, there was a deep empathetic connection between them that necessitated Zeke’s help. It was past not wanting to see it die. Zeke needed for the animal to live.

So, with that in mind, Zeke activated [Leech Strike] and set out to hunt harpies. Part of it was simple necessity. They were the most pervasive monsters in the area, and there were plenty of them around that Zeke could use his skill to heal his bound companion. But there was another part born of hate emanating from the half-conscious bear in his arms. The cub had seen the harpies steadily rip its mother to shreds, and it desperately wanted revenge for the heinous act.

Maybe Zeke did, too. After all, even before initiating the Soul Bond, he had felt a connection with the cub’s mother. They’d fought side-by-side as allies. And Zeke had felt a kinship with the proud animal. So, his own desires mingled with the muddled impressions he felt from the cub, and in that respect, they were of one mind.

Even though the sun had begun to set, Zeke wasted no time, striding past the scattered corpses of the harpies he and the bear cub’s mother had already slain. Instead, he followed in the direction he’d seen them all flee, hoping that he could find their nests. For while healing the cub was his primary goal, he also wanted to eradicate the horrible creatures that had caused so much grief.

As he stalked through the ruins, Zeke wasn’t unaware of his hypocrisy. After all, he had far more blood on his hands than the harpies did. But even before creating the Soul Bond, he had chosen his side.

Suddenly, a telltale screech assaulted his ears, announcing the arrival of a pair of Harpy Screechers. For someone with less endurance, the aural attack might have been debilitating, but for Zeke, it was only an annoyance. His mace, having adjusted its weight for his one-handed grip, sang as it swept towards the harpies. The first screecher never even knew what hit it as the mace ripped through its torso, sending a spray of rib fragments, gore, and intestines flying through air. The rest of its body soon followed, the momentum of the ferocious attack sending it smashing into a ruined wall. To its credit, the half-standing wall only shuddered, a testament to the quality of its original construction. The harpy wasn’t so lucky, and the sound of its bones shattering all at once joined its fellow’s cry.

Immediately, Zeke felt the vitality of [Leech Strike] flow through him, and he breathed a sigh of relief when a bit of it siphoned off towards the bear cub. It wasn’t enough to heal his newly bound companion, but it was enough to at least stave off death. More than that, it confirmed his ability to save the creature – a discovery that lessened the dreadful weight of responsibility that had settled across his shoulders.

That was all Zeke needed to spur him forward, and he quickly dispatched the other screecher with practiced ease.

Over the next hour, as dusk settled into night, Zeke stalked through the ruins, killing any harpy he could find. Each of the slain monsters injected a bit of vitality into the bear cub, and with every passing minute, it healed a little. Even so, its wounds had been dire, and it would take far more to ensure its survival. So, he pushed on, driven as much by his need to heal his new companion as by the bloodlust born of his desire for vengeance against the hateful and hated harpies.

By midnight, Zeke was forced to admit that the density of the harpies was growing with every step. He’d lost count of how many he had killed, but he knew he’d eclipsed the century mark, and by quite a bit. But his bloodlust still hadn’t been sated. Perhaps it never would be.

To Zeke, killing had come surprisingly easy. Even back in the cave system, he hadn’t been bothered by reaping the lives of so many trolls. In fact, he hadn’t felt much at all. They were monsters, sure, but they were also at least nominally intelligent creatures. The same could be said for the harpies. However, Zeke felt no pity for them. No empathy.

Perhaps some part of him had died in those caves, so long ago. Or maybe he was so tuned into his own survival that he hadn’t had the luxury of pondering such moral quandaries. Either way, he spared no thought for the fact that he’d already committed one genocide within the cave systems, and he was well on his way to committing another against the harpies.

After all, they were the enemy. And he didn’t have the time nor the inclination to empathize with his enemies. So, Zeke didn’t rest until, just before dawn, he found precisely what he’d been looking for.

He crouched beside a mostly intact building, studying the scene laid out in front of him. The harpies had clearly lived in the ruined city for quite some time, evidenced by the fact that they’d built hundreds of nests in the square in front of him. The square itself was a little bigger than a football field, with an enormous, dry fountain in the center. The statues in the middle of the fountain were so eroded that Zeke could only discern that the subjects were humanoid in shape; all other details had fallen to the ravages of time. Other, smaller fountains dotted the square, giving Zeke a vague impression of just how impressive the square must have been, once upon a time.

The remnants of tall buildings, looking as if they’d been knocked down by artillery fire rather than simple erosion, lined the square. And in those buildings, Zeke saw hundreds, if not thousands, of harpies. Most were the comparatively harmless screechers, but there were quite a few matriarchs there as well. In addition, Zeke saw a few even larger figures that could’ve given the queen a run for her money.

But there were also smaller, less humanoid creatures fluttering around. Zeke quickly identified them as juvenile harpies. Zeke was reminded of his earliest days within the troll cave, when he’d been forced to kill the troll larvae. And while he wasn’t eager to revisit his infant-killing past, he knew that these smaller creatures wouldn’t hesitate to attack him. After all, they were monsters. That was what they did.

Besides, he still had vengeance to seek.

So, Zeke pushed himself back to his feet and strode forward, entirely willing to do what was necessary.