The world around Stick was fire. His lungs burned, his throat scorched, and his skin prickled from the sheer force of the explosion. Blinding white light swallowed his vision. The ground beneath him crumbled, rocked by the raw energy of the blast. The ground cracked beneath him, rocked by the blast. He reached out—grabbing at nothing—as the earth crumbled away.

  Then, silence.

  Miraculously, he was alive. They all were.

  His vision swam as the brightness faded, revealing the smoldering wreckage of the forest. In its place, a smoking crater stretched before them, steam hissing from shattered ground. A figure strode into view, golden and white robes flowing.

  “Why did you stop?!” the man bellowed, his elegant features twisted in frustration. “I had to use a cooldown for no reason, you brain-dead donkey!”

  The knight snapped back, “It’s not my fault that three idiots are running around here!”

  No time for arguing.

  A deep, guttural rumble tore through the air. The ground shook beneath them. The clearing trembled as something massive rose from the devastation.

  Stick’s breath hitched.

  A demon-minotaur… thing loomed over the treetops, a nightmare made flesh, its immense form blending into the decayed hues of the dead forest. A force of nature, ancient and terrible, draped in what looked like tattered remnants of its own grotesque past. Its bark-like hide twisted over thick muscles, as if the forest itself had birthed it from the deepest shadows. Two curved horns framed its broad head like twisted branches of a nightmare tree. Sunken, ember-like eyes locked onto Stick. Prey.

  How many hits would it take to bring something like that down? What the hell is that?

  A black glow gathered in the beast’s maw, pulsing like a heart about to burst.

  The robed man flicked his staff. A golden shield erupted before him.

  Stick’s health bar plunged. Where green had been, only the tiniest sliver remained—the rest, grayed out.

  “RUN!” the magician ordered.

  “You three!” the armored man barked as he took off. “To Maria over there!”

  Stick turned. Across the battlefield, a silver-gold armored figure waved them over. His heart skipped a beat. General Solo?

  Big Man didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Stick and Hirohiro by their collars and hauled them up the ruined earth. The moment they reached solid ground, they ran. No second thoughts. No slowing down. Just sprinting for cover near the woman called Maria.

  “Take cover behind the rock!” she commanded. “And don’t move!”

  “Incoming!” the robed magician shouted.

  A black laser fired from the minotaur’s mouth, engulfing the knight in darkness. Stick barely had time to duck before the air roared around him again. His heartbeat slammed in his ears.

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  When the attack finally ceased, Stick, unlike Hirohiro, dared to look. His breath caught.

  The knight was still alive. Not just alive—already climbing out of the crater, unfazed. Then, he broke into a sprint. He’s superhuman.

  “Panzer! We’re moving over to Route 3!” Maria’s voice rang out.

  “Yes, oh tempest of my heart!” Panzer called back, abruptly shifting directions from east to west.

  Maria charged, greatsword in hand, cutting straight toward the minotaur. “We’ve got three noobs behind Rock 5. Do not approach and use different cover. Ranged formation C!”

  More figures burst from the trees onto the battlefield. Weapons flashed. Magic crackled. The battlefield erupted into chaos.

  Stick watched, breathless, as the attack unfolded. The minotaur thundered forward, leaving behind trails of purple fog and acidic splashes with each thunderous step, but the fighters weaved through them like dancers. Firebolts and arcane missiles slammed into the beast. Arrows whistled through the air, some dripping with poison, while armored warriors lunged forward, slashing into its thick hide with swords burning blue with enchantments. But through it all, the monster’s glowing eyes stayed locked on Panzer. What the fuck is going on?

  Maria barely slowed as she barked orders. The magician in white ran beside her for a brief moment, exchanging a few hurried words before peeling away toward the ranged fighters. The battle shifted like clockwork. A new formation emerged as they split around the fog and acid, reforming on the right flank. Maria orchestrated the chaotic battlefield with ease.

  “Keep your head down!” Hirohiro grabbed Stick’s tunic, forcing him lower behind the rock. “This is a raid!”

  A raid?

  It sounded so awesome that Stick had to keep looking.

  At the very back of the raiding group, two warriors sprinted out of the forest, chased by… something. Or at least what used to be something. Mutated creatures, barely human, twitched and jerked after them. Their rusted weapons clattered uselessly at their sides.

  The magician flicked his staff again, casting a golden shield over the fleeing warriors before retreating back to the main force. But the warriors—dressed in black combat garbs and hoods—weren’t attacking. Why aren’t they fighting? They have the shield.

  One leaped over an acid puddle—but landed wrong.

  Shit!

  Stick started to rise, instincts screaming to help. Big Man yanked him back.

  “Stop!” Stick protested. “He’s in trouble!”

  “Are you insane? We’re underleveled!” Hirohiro snapped.

  Dammit!

  Stick looked back in time to see the mutated creatures blindly charge after the downed warrior. The second warrior appeared from nowhere, striking the creatures from behind, sending them tumbling into the acid pit. The moment they fell, both warriors vanished, already setting up for the next ambush.

  Hirohiro dared peeking over the rock.

  “They’re lunatics,” he whispered. “Their Assassins pull the adds.”

  Stick didn’t take his eyes off them. “Sorry, what?”

  “Assassins are the most fragile class,” Hirohiro said. “They shouldn’t aggro anything. They could die.”

  “Really?” Stick whispered, awe creeping into his voice.

  Too fast to get hit. Too smart to be caught.

  The Assassins repeated the maneuver, switching roles seamlessly. Always one step ahead. The creatures rose from the acid—each time weaker. The Assassins never let them close.

  Something ignited in Stick’s chest. How fucking cool is that?

  Minutes later, the battlefield fell silent. The last of the creatures disappeared over the hill. The group waited a few tense moments, expecting more warriors and monsters to appear from the woods, but none came. The black fog dissipated. The acid burned out. They could breathe again.

  “Did you see that?!” Stick practically shouted. “That was incredible!”

  “I saw my life flash before my eyes,” Hirohiro wheezed.

  “The Assassins! The mages! That immortal Panzer guy?” Stick flared up. “Is this what every raid is like?!”

  Without warning, Hirohiro slapped Stick’s shoulder. “We could have died, you know? I told you that we shouldn’t have come here.”

  “You shouldn’t have indeed,” a voice cut through the air.

  They froze.

  Maria emerged from behind the rock, helmet tucked under her arm. Dark eyes fixed on them.

  Hirohiro immediately dropped to his knees. “We are terribly sorry, Miss Leonhard!”

  Stick’s heart skipped a beat. Leonhard?

  Stick’s mind reeled. Of course. They had made it to the North Strip. And standing before them was none other than the leader of [B4] itself—Maria Leonhard.

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