The charge happened too fast for Jake to process, let alone prevent.

  One moment Rikk was positioned properly, spear ready, part of a coordinated ambush. The next he was screaming and running, breaking formation, destroying everything the professionals had set up. Pure impulse born from overconfidence and desperate need to prove himself.

  STOP! Jake screamed internally, trying to send the thought through their connection. STOP THIS IS WRONG STOP STOP STOP!

  But Rikk couldn't hear. The young gremlin's consciousness was flooded with certainty. The blessing had saved them from orcs. The blessing made him special. The spirits wanted him to succeed. This was his moment. His glory. His chance to prove he wasn't Small-Spear anymore.

  "FOR VILLAGE! FOR MOTHER!"

  The war cry echoed through the swamp. The professionals were screaming too, breaking their own positions, trying to reach Rikk before disaster struck. But they were too far, positioned for ambush not rescue, and Rikk was already committed.

  The bear turned toward the noise. Not fast. Not alarmed. Just mildly interested in the small creature charging with spear raised and belief in divine protection that didn't exist.

  Jake experienced the bear's reaction through Rikk's perception. Confusion, almost. Like the massive predator couldn't quite believe something so small was attacking so directly. The bear had fought before. Had scars from real challenges. This wasn't that. This was just annoying.

  The bear's paw came up casually. Not even a real strike. Just swatting. The kind of motion you'd use on an insect that wouldn't stop buzzing.

  Eight hundred pounds of muscle and bone moving with deceptive speed. The paw was massive, claws extended, traveling in an arc that would intersect with Rikk's charging path in exactly the wrong way.

  Rikk saw it coming. His eyes widened. For a fraction of a second, the certainty cracked. Understanding trying to surface. This is wrong. This is bad. I made mistake.

  Too late.

  The impact was absolute.

  Jake experienced it from inside as the paw connected with Rikk's chest. Not a glancing blow. Direct hit. Full force of casual dismissal from something that outweighed the young gremlin by seven hundred pounds.

  The sound was wrong. Wet crunching that shouldn't come from living bodies. Three ribs shattering simultaneously, bone fragmenting, sharp edges punching inward. One fragment punctured the lung. Jake felt the sudden rush of air into chest cavity where it didn't belong, blood flooding in behind it.

  The world spun. Rikk's body airborne, flying backward from impact force. Ten feet. Fifteen. Time stretched wrong, too fast and too slow simultaneously.

  Then the tree.

  Rikk's back slammed into the trunk with force that drove remaining air from his lungs. More ribs breaking. Different pattern. Compression fractures from behind while the front was still trying to process the first trauma. The spine compressed, neural pathways disrupted, signals fragmenting.

  Collapse. Body hitting ground. Unable to breathe. Unable to move. Pain beyond anything Rikk had ever experienced flooding every nerve.

  And Jake, experiencing it all from inside, felt the young gremlin's consciousness starting to shut down. Shock trying to protect the mind from damage the body couldn't escape.

  No, Jake thought with sudden desperate clarity. No, you don't get to check out. Stay with me. STAY.

  He dove into the neural damage, assessing frantically. The disrupted pathways from spinal compression. The fragmenting signals from broken ribs. The catastrophic failure happening in the chest cavity as blood filled space meant for air.

  The lung was punctured. Collapsing. Each attempt to breathe pulled blood into airways instead of air. Drowning from inside. The diaphragm was trying to work but the signals weren't arriving correctly, spinal trauma interfering with autonomic functions.

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  Jake started patching. Not carefully. Not precisely. Just desperately trying to keep critical systems functioning. He mimicked the destroyed neural connections, creating temporary bridges where bone fragments had severed pathways. Found the diaphragm control and puppeted it directly, forcing breath despite the damaged lung.

  One breath. Blood and air mixing wrong but some oxygen getting through. Rikk's consciousness flickering, trying to fade, Jake holding it active through sheer will.

  Another breath. The good lung was working. Focus there. Let the damaged one collapse fully, work with what's functional. Compensate. Adapt. Keep the brain oxygenated.

  The pain signals were overwhelming. Jake couldn't block them, didn't have the capability, but he could route them. Shunt them to less critical processing areas. Let Rikk's consciousness experience pain without letting it shut everything down.

  Motor control was failing. The spinal compression had disrupted too many connections. Jake patched frantically, holding pathways together that wanted to fragment. Keeping arms and legs responsive enough to move if necessary.

  Stay together, Jake demanded. Stay functional. I need you alive.

  Through Rikk's blurred vision, Jake saw the real hunt happening.

  The professionals had abandoned the ambush, moved to direct engagement. But they weren't charging recklessly. They were executing proper strategy even in chaos.

  Vrek and Grish flanking from opposite sides. Coordinated strikes at the bear's rear legs. Hamstringing. Professional hunters knew you didn't fight strength directly. You disabled it. Made the prey unable to use its advantages.

  Zikka's arrows coming from above. Not killing shots. Harassment. Distraction. Keeping the bear's attention divided. Making it choose between threats.

  Nix moving in after the hamstring strikes landed. Spear thrust at exposed flank while the bear turned to address other attackers. Efficient. Brutal. Taking advantage of every opening.

  The bear was huge and strong but the professionals were experienced. They'd hunted dangerous prey before. Knew how to wear it down. How to strike and retreat. How to coordinate without speaking.

  The bear roared, swiped, connected with Grish. The hunter's leg opened in three parallel gashes. Deep. Serious. But Grish rolled with the impact, got distance, applied pressure to the wound immediately. Still functional. Still in the fight.

  The bear tried to charge Vrek but the hamstrung leg gave out. The massive predator stumbled, exposed its neck for half a second. Vrek's spear punched through. Not deep enough to kill immediately but deep enough to matter.

  Blood spraying. The bear thrashing. More strikes from multiple angles. Wearing it down. Patient violence. Professional execution.

  The bear died hard. Took minutes that felt like hours. But it died. Finally going still. Massive body settling into the mud. Apex predator brought down by coordinated intelligence and experience.

  This was how you hunted dangerous prey. Not solo charges. Not reckless glory-seeking. Coordination. Strategy. Patience.

  Everything Rikk had ignored.

  Vrek was first to reach where Rikk had fallen. The scarred hunter knelt, assessed the damage with professional eye. His expression was complicated. Relief that Rikk was still breathing mixed with anger at the stupidity that had nearly killed them all.

  "You idiot," Vrek said quietly. Not shouting. Just stating fact. "You brave, stupid idiot."

  Rikk tried to respond. Coughed instead. Blood spraying from his mouth, flecking Vrek's face. The hunter didn't flinch. Just turned Rikk's head to the side so he wouldn't choke.

  "Don't talk. Don't move. Just breathe. We get you home."

  Jake was burning through energy maintaining critical functions. Every patched neural pathway required active effort to hold together. Every breath needed conscious control. The autonomic systems were too damaged to run themselves. Jake was essentially puppeting a broken body, keeping it functional through constant intervention.

  This is bad, Jake acknowledged. This is really bad.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The damage from the bear was compounding the neural degeneration from his feeding. Pathways that were already weakening from consumption were now shattered from trauma. Jake had to rebuild while simultaneously maintaining. It was taking everything he had.

  And he couldn't feed to replenish energy. Needed every bit of consciousness focused on keeping Rikk alive. No room for consumption. No opportunity for the addiction that was screaming for satisfaction.

  Grish limped over, his own leg bleeding heavily but wrapped now with torn cloth. He looked at Rikk and shook his head. "Should be dead. Spirit-blessing only thing keep alive. Lucky. Very lucky."

  They made a stretcher from branches and vine. Tied it together professionally. Loaded Rikk carefully, trying not to jostle broken ribs. Grish climbed onto a second stretcher, his leg too damaged for walking.

  "Bear corpse stay," Vrek decided. "Send party tomorrow with more gremlins. Bring back then. Now we move fast. Get wounded to healer."

  They left the massive corpse where it fell. Proof of successful hunt but secondary to getting injured gremlins home alive. Zikka and Nix carried Rikk's stretcher. Vrek carried Grish's alone, his strength sufficient despite the burden.

  The journey back was agony.

  Every movement jostled broken ribs. Every breath pulled blood into airways. Rikk faded in and out of consciousness, the pain and blood loss making awareness difficult. Jake forced him to stay present enough to breathe, to respond to basic stimuli, to not slip into shock that would shut everything down.

  Slow it down, Jake thought, trying to reduce Rikk's metabolic rate. Conserve energy. Breathe slower. Heart rate lower. Just enough to stay alive but not waste resources on consciousness.

  It was crude but it helped. Rikk's body settled into lower function. Not quite unconscious but not fully aware either. Twilight state that reduced suffering while maintaining minimal vitality.

  Jake monitored everything desperately. Blood pressure. Oxygen levels. Neural activity. The balance between too much function and too little. Walking the edge between life and death because falling either direction meant failure.

  Hours passed. The sun dropped toward evening. The stretcher-bearers moved steadily but carefully. Professional hunters knew how to carry wounded. Kept movement smooth. Avoided obstacles that would jar. Made the journey as easy as possible given circumstances.

  Rikk's consciousness surfaced occasionally. Brief moments of awareness mixed with pain and confusion. Jake felt each one through their connection.

  What happen? Why hurt? Spirit was suppose to protect. Did something wrong? Failed somehow? Not worthy?

  The thoughts were fragmentary, confused, searching for explanation that made sense. Rikk couldn't grasp that recklessness had consequences. That divine protection didn't exist. That the blessing wasn't safety, just power. Power he'd used stupidly.

  Jake couldn't explain. Could only maintain function and hope they reached the village before the damage became irreparable.

  Mucksnout Hollow appeared as darkness settled. The blue-glowing fungi provided soft illumination. Gremlins were gathering for evening meal when the hunting party emerged from the swamp.

  Initial reaction was celebration. The bear had been killed. The threat was ended. Success deserved acknowledgment.

  Then they saw the stretchers. Saw Rikk's broken body. Saw Grish's torn leg. Saw the blood.

  Celebration died immediately. Replaced by concern and whispered questions and the sudden scramble to help.

  "Get Grikk!" Someone shouted. "Get healer! Now!"

  The old male healer emerged from his warren quickly despite his age. He was smaller than average, hunched from years of work, but his hands were steady and his eyes sharp. He examined Rikk first, Grish second, prioritizing by severity.

  "Three rib broken," Grikk muttered, probing Rikk's chest carefully. "One lung hole-in-it. Is bad. Very bad." He looked up at Vrek. "How still alive?"

  "Spirit-blessing," Vrek answered simply. "Keep him breathing when should be dead."

  Grikk nodded slowly, accepting the explanation because no other made sense. He began treatment immediately. Wrapping the ribs tightly to stabilize them. Creating poultice for the external bruising. Mixing bitter medicine for pain and inflammation.

  "You rest," Grikk said to Rikk firmly. "No move. No hunt. No nothing. Just heal. Body need time to fix. Spirit-blessing help but body still do work. Understand?"

  Rikk managed a weak nod. The pain medicine was already working, dulling the worst of it. Making breathing slightly easier.

  "Lucky," Grikk continued. "Very lucky. Should be dead. Spirit protect strong. But next time, maybe not so lucky. Yes?"

  Another nod. Rikk's consciousness was fading now, the medicine and exhaustion pulling him toward sleep.

  The village's attitude had shifted. Jake felt it through Rikk's peripheral awareness. The whispers. The looks. The tone.

  "He charge alone? At bear? That stupid."

  "Spirit-blessing not make invincible. Make him forget that."

  "Is reckless. Cost him almost life. Cost Grish injury."

  "From hero to fool in one day."

  The glory from the shadow-cat kill was fading. Being replaced by concern and disappointment and the cautionary tale implications. Rikk had gone from blessed scout to reckless idiot in the span of hours. The village's respect was evaporating like morning mist.

  Vessa came that evening. Sat beside where Rikk rested in the healing warren. She held his hand silently for long minutes. Her expression was complicated. Concern mixed with disappointment mixed with something that looked like pity.

  "You alive," she said finally. Quiet. Gentle. "Is good. Very good."

  But the admiration was gone. The impressed interest from the tracking session had vanished. Replaced by the kind of look you give someone who can't be trusted with their own safety. Someone who needs watching. Protection. Pity.

  Rikk felt it through his pain-dulled consciousness. Understood what the tone meant. What the look meant. He'd impressed her before. Now he'd disappointed her. Proven himself reckless instead of capable. Foolish instead of blessed.

  She squeezed his hand once more. "Rest. Heal. Be more careful." Then she left. Quickly. Like staying was uncomfortable. Like looking at him hurt.

  Rikk's heartbreak bled through their connection. This was worse than the physical pain. Worse than broken ribs and punctured lung. He'd had Vessa's attention. Her respect. Her interest. And he'd thrown it away with one stupid decision.

  The pain medicine pulled him toward sleep but the emotional agony kept him partially aware. Processing. Trying to understand.

  Spirit protect me. Was suppose to protect. Why this happen? What did wrong? Not worthy? Failed somehow?

  The thoughts circled uselessly. Rikk couldn't grasp that recklessness had natural consequences. That divine protection was myth. That the blessing wasn't guarantee of success, just tools he'd used poorly.

  Jake experienced it all through their connection. The confusion. The shame. The desperate attempt to make sense of failure when you believed you were chosen.

  I gave you power but not wisdom, Jake thought toward Rikk who couldn't hear. Made you capable but couldn't make you smart. Can't protect you from your own decisions.

  The guilt was uncomfortable. Jake had accidentally convinced Rikk the blessing was divine protection. Had created the warm glow that Rikk interpreted as spiritual approval. Had given abilities without context or warning about their limitations.

  Not my fault he charged the bear, Jake argued with himself. That was his choice. His stupidity.

  But the guilt remained anyway. Rikk was young. Desperate to prove himself. Given power he didn't understand. And Jake had done nothing to correct the misunderstanding. Had let Rikk believe in protection that didn't exist.

  The energy expenditure was catastrophic. Jake had burned through reserves maintaining Rikk during the journey home. Now he needed to continue maintaining critical functions while the body healed. Weeks of active intervention. Constant puppeting of damaged systems.

  And he couldn't feed to replenish. The addiction was screaming, demanding satisfaction, insisting that Rikk's rich memories would taste incredible and restore energy and satisfy the hunger.

  But feeding meant consuming neurons. Meant creating more damage on top of trauma. Meant potentially killing Rikk faster than healing could save him.

  Control it, Jake demanded of himself. Don't feed. Can't feed. Need all energy for repairs.

  The hunger didn't care about logic. It wanted what it wanted. Intelligent consciousness. Complex memories. The rush that made everything else worthwhile.

  Jake fought it. Barely. The addiction was getting worse with each host. Harder to resist. More demanding.

  Outside the healing warren, the village settled into evening routine. Quiet conversations. Children being put to bed. The day's events being discussed and analyzed and turned into stories that would be told for years.

  Tikk's shadow passed by the entrance. Paused. The old shaman studying where Rikk rested with eyes that saw too much.

  Jake felt her magical perception probing again. Gentle. Careful. Testing the blessing now that Rikk was injured and vulnerable. Trying to understand what kept the young gremlin alive when he should be dead.

  She couldn't see Jake clearly. Too much interference, too many competing life signs from insects and microorganisms. But she knew something was there. Something powerful. Something she wanted.

  The shaman moved on after long moments. Not attacking. Not interfering. Just watching. Waiting. Patient predator recognizing that injured prey needed time before harvest.

  She's waiting, Jake realized. Waiting for the right moment. For me to be vulnerable or for Rikk to be weak enough that she can try extraction.

  And I'm running out of time to decide what to do about her.

  The night deepened. Rikk finally slipped into real sleep, the pain medicine and exhaustion overcoming everything. His breathing was shallow but steady. The wrapped ribs stable. The healing process beginning.

  Jake monitored vitals constantly. Maintained the neural patches holding critical pathways together. Burned energy he didn't have to keep everything functional.

  They were both on borrowed time now. The neural degeneration from feeding was accelerating. The trauma damage was compounding it. Every day would be harder. Every hour requiring more intervention.

  How long? Jake calculated, reviewing the damage patterns. Two weeks maybe before the degeneration becomes critical. Maybe less if something else goes wrong.

  Maybe more if I can avoid feeding. If I can maintain discipline. If the addiction doesn't win.

  The village was quiet outside. The swamp breathing its eternal rhythms. Predators hunting. Prey hiding. The cycle continuing regardless of individual suffering.

  And Jake, nested in a broken gremlin's damaged mind, accepted what came next with exhausted resignation.

  Weeks of desperate maintenance. Fighting addiction while burning through energy. Watching Rikk heal physically while dying neurologically. Experiencing the young gremlin's shame and confusion and heartbreak while being unable to explain or comfort.

  This is different, Jake acknowledged. With the panther I felt its death. With Rikk I'm feeling his life. His suffering. His emotional destruction.

  And I can't stop any of it.

  Rikk's dreams were troubled. Fragments of bear attacks and Vessa's disappointed eyes and mother's voice saying "be careful, little one" mixed with pain and confusion and the desperate need to understand why the spirits had abandoned him.

  And Jake rode along in those dreams, maintaining function, fighting hunger, counting down to inevitable death while keeping the host alive as long as possible.

  Because that's what parasites did.

  Even when it hurt.

  Especially when it hurt.

  The warm glow of the "blessing" flickered weakly in Rikk's sleeping consciousness. Divine protection that had failed. Spiritual approval that had led to disaster. Comfort that was actually curse.

  And Jake, source of all of it, settled into the long vigil of maintaining a dying host while dreading every moment that brought them closer to the end.

  Just keep livin', he thought.

  Even when living was suffering.

  Even when survival meant prolonging pain.

  Even when the only comfort he could offer was the lie of a blessing that had never been real.

  - - -

  End of Chapter 15