The mountain trembled.

  A roar rolled out of the cave like thunder in a drum, shaking the trees and sending a cascade of dust down the rocks. From the dark, something enormous moved. It was too big, too heavy. Then, the beast stepped into the light.

  A bear.

  No — a monster.

  Its fur was matted with moss and old scars. Arrows and bones clung to it like trophies. Its eyes burned gold in the dim light, and its breath steamed through broken teeth.

  [Dire Bear – Level 8]

  Barrett’s feral grin spread slowly. He cracked his neck and rested his machete against his shoulder.

  “Everyone, get behind me! You’re about to learn the cost of being a real man.”

  The others stumbled back. All except Lance.

  The blonde boy stayed where he was, jaw tight, axe raised.

  Barrett caught his eye and nodded once. Respect.

  The bear roared and charged.

  It didn’t run, but fell forward in great pounding strides, the way an avalanche falls down a mountain. Every step made the ground jump. Trees shuddered. Pebbles danced down the slope.

  Its target wasn’t Barrett.

  Granny froze mid-step, her eyes wide as the bear pounded towards her.

  Barrett moved before he could think. He sprinted, shoulder-slamming into the beast’s flank with everything he had. The impact rattled his ribs. Pain shot through his arm. But it was enough to knock the creature’s aim wide.

  “Listen up, dirtbag,” he grunted, breath hot and ragged. “I’m your opponent.”

  “So cool, Mister Donovan!” Pippy cheered from behind.

  “Yea that was kick ass!” Lance yelled.

  “Heh, you like that, eh?” Barrett started to turn—

  A mistake.

  The paw hit like a wrecking ball. The claws raked deep, tearing through his shirt and carving hot lines of blood across his chest.

  “Sweet mother of Liberty and Justice!” he bellowed, stumbling back, clutching his ribs.

  The bear lunged, jaws wide. Barrett braced for teeth—

  Then the creature shrieked, spinning in rage.

  Behind it, Lance had appeared from nowhere. His stealth shimmered, flickering off as he drove his axe deep into its hind leg.

  “Atta boy!” Barrett roared—just before the bear’s backhand caught Lance full-on. The boy flew into a tree with a sickening thud.

  “Lance!” Granny shouted.

  The bear wheeled again, foam dripping from its jaws, eyes wild with pain.

  Barrett wiped blood from his lip and squared his stance. His chest burned. His breath came sharp and heavy. He adjusted his grip on the machete, peering at the beast over the rim of his cracked shades.

  “Round two, you bastard.” He spat.

  “Mister Donovan!” Pippy’s voice rang out behind him.

  “Get back!” he barked.

  “I can help!”

  The bear’s paw came again, but slower. Sound warped. The air itself thickened. Barrett could see the paw’s motion frame by frame, each claw dragging through the air as if it were moving underwater.

  He blinked and turned. Pippy stood behind him, trembling, her eyes glowing gold, sweat rolling down her face.

  “That…was you?”

  She nodded once, breath shuddering.

  Barrett grinned through blood and adrenaline. “Then let’s make it count.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He ducked under the bear’s swipe, rolled forward, and drove his machete upward into its ribs. The steel bit deep, fresh blood spraying across his arm. He didn’t stop. He ran alongside it, ripping a smoking gash the entire length of its side.

  The bear roared so loudly it made the mountain shake.

  Barrett roared right back, voice raw. “You wanna dance, let’s dance!”

  The monster staggered, then turned toward Lance again. The boy lay groaning at the base of the tree.

  “Arthur!” Barrett yelled. “Grab him! Move!”

  Arthur stood frozen, eyes wide, legs shaking. He couldn’t.

  “Arthur!” Barrett bellowed again. Nothing. The boy was locked in fear.

  Barrett clenched his teeth. “Pip, I need a boost!”

  Pippy stumbled forward and pressed her glowing hands to his back, releasing the full extent of her skill.

  Golden light exploded around him.

  Time snapped apart.

  The roar became a long, low rumble. The bear’s movement stretched into a crawl. Barrett could feel his heart pounding like cannon fire.

  He sprinted.

  He tore across the dirt, faster than his own thoughts. The wind stung his face, every step leaving cracks in the earth behind him.

  He dropped low, sliding across the mud. The machete flashed upward beneath the bear’s body, slicing deep into its gut.

  The smell of blood and fur was overwhelming.

  The beast staggered, limbs trembling, before collapsing in a quake that knocked pine needles from the trees.

  Silence.

  For a heartbeat, nothing but the hiss of cooling blood.

  Then Lance groaned. “Th-thank you, Coach.”

  Barrett panted, chest heaving. He tried to wipe his face but only smeared more blood.

  “I don’t wanna hear that crap,” he said, voice hoarse. “On this team, we get each other’s backs. No thanks needed.”

  He checked his notifications.

  [You have slain a Dire Bear]

  [LEVEL UP!]

  Congratulations, you are now Level 4.

  Free Points Available: 3

  Barrett laughed weakly, half from relief, half from disbelief.

  He looked at his team:

  Granny was walking over to check on Lance.

  Pippy, barely standing, was about to pass out.

  Lance, bloodied but alive, grinned through the pain.

  And Arthur slumped against the tree, head bowed.

  Barrett dragged himself upright and planted the machete tip in the dirt.

  “Team Donovan,” he said between ragged breaths, “not bad for a day’s work.”

  The mountain wind carried the words away, but the pride on his face remained as a monument to his team’s deeds.

  —

  The bear’s corpse still steamed behind them, its blood soaking slowly into the earth. The air smelled of iron and wet fur. Somewhere in the trees, the first flies were already gathering.

  Granny knelt among them, her palms glowing gold as she closed cuts and knit skin.

  Barrett leaned back against a boulder, ribs bound tight under torn cloth, cigar stub clenched between his teeth. His ribs hurt when he chuckled, but he did it anyway. Pippy sat beside him, hair tangled and dark with grime.

  He gave her a slow, deliberate nod. The kind warriors give each other when words get in the way.

  “Yes, Mister Donovan?” she asked.

  “Don’t ‘yes, Mister Donovan’ me, kid. That was a grim and manly nod.”

  “Oh!” She scrunched her face into a mock scowl and grunted, giving him the most exaggerated nod she could manage.

  Barrett sighed. “Keep practicing. You’ll get there someday.”

  Across the clearing, Granny’s light faded from Lance’s shoulder. The boy tested his arm, then looked to Barrett and nodded once. A proper nod. Barrett nodded back, proud.

  The warmth faded when his gaze drifted toward the edge of the clearing. Arthur sat alone beneath a crooked pine, knees drawn tight, staring at the ground.

  —

  Barrett walked up to the boy sitting beneath the crooked pine and leaned against the same trunk. The bark was cold through his bandages. For a long moment, he just stared at the horizon, letting the wind fill the silence.

  Arthur flinched as Barrett approached.

  “Relax,” Barrett said quietly. “I’m not here to yell at you.”

  The boy looked up, wary.

  “When I was your age,” Barrett began, eyes still on the distance, “I got into it with a kid at the bus stop. He punched me square in the face. Bloodied me good.”

  Arthur’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”

  “Came home and told my grandpa.” Barrett’s grin was bitter. “You know what the old man did?”

  Arthur shook his head.

  “He whooped my ass and called me a weenie.”

  Arthur blinked. “He—what?”

  “Yep.” Barrett chuckled. “And he kept calling me that for years. Never let it go.”

  “Did that…turn you into a real man?” Arthur asked.

  Barrett smirked. “Hell no. Turned me into a weenie. I figured if the old bastard said it, it must be true.”

  He slammed a hand against the tree, the sound sharp in the quiet clearing, and looked down at Arthur with a rare fire in his eyes.

  “But here’s the thing, kid. As long as you’re part of my crew, you’re not a weenie. You’re a badass. Just one who had an off day.”

  Arthur’s throat tightened. His eyes glistened. “Coach…”

  Barrett’s grin returned, wide and wolfish. “That’s more like it. Now get your ass back to the team. We’ve got more fights ahead.”

  “R-right away, Coach!” Arthur scrambled to his feet and jogged back toward the fire, head high.

  Barrett watched him go, smiling faintly. The wind stirred the branches above, carrying away the last of the word.

  “Damn right, Coach,” he murmured to himself.

  —

  Barrett stepped into the cave, machete raised, the echo of his boots bouncing off stone walls. The others lingered outside, their voices fading under the low hum of dripping water.

  The entrance narrowed like a throat, forcing him to stoop, but then it opened wide into a cavern so vast it could have swallowed a cathedral. Stalactites hung like teeth, slick with condensation. Sunlight filtered through cracks in the ceiling, painting golden streaks across the floor.

  Barrett whistled low.

  At the center of the chamber, sitting on a mound of rock and dried moss, was a heavy iron-banded chest.

  He approached slowly, boots crunching on scattered bones and bits of fur. “Alright,” he muttered to himself, “let’s see if you’re worth almost getting mauled.”

  With a grunt, he heaved the lid open. Dust burst out in a glittering puff. Inside sat a small red gem pulsing faintly, the color of a dying ember.

  A faint ding echoed in his head.

  [You have received a Common Skill Stone]

  (This stone grants experience when absorbed.)

  Barrett turned the gem over in his hand, the glow reflecting in his mirrored shades. “Not bad,” he said.

  He slipped it into his pocket and started back toward the light. The air grew warmer as he neared the entrance. He could hear the team’s voices again.

  Then, cutting through them all, he heard another, a familiar voice calling his name.

  He froze.

  That voice.

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Well, well, looks like things are finally looking up.”