The outlands

Unlike anything Dante had known, the Outlands weren't just dangerous—they were alive with hatred.

The moment they stepped out of the teleportation portal, Dante stumbled, falling to one knee as if the very air had weight. He gasped, but breathing was a chore. The atmosphere was dense, laced with a foulness that clung to his lungs like tar. It wasn't like the city's filtered air. No... this was something else. Something cruel.

He coughed violently, clutching his chest as a bitter, smoky taste coated his tongue. His stomach twisted, still disoriented from the teleportation jump. His body felt like it was sinking into the earth, he felt heavy and sluggish as sweat pooled at his brow despite the cold wind that swept over the terrain.

"So this... is the Outlands," Dante murmured, his voice barely audible. His eyes were wide with wonder and fear.

Around him, the land was a graveyard of life. The trees stood like skeletons—blackened, scorched, some still faintly smoldering. The cracked earth was pitted with massive craters and lined with veins of dark crystal. Somewhere far off, a deep, guttural roar echoed—long and slow, like a beast warning any who dared trespass.

Grent gave a grunt. "Don't worry, kid. You'll get used to it." His voice was rough, but not unkind.

Dante looked up at the older man, forcing a nod. His heart was racing. He'd trained for this. He'd prepared mentally but now that he was actually here, he could only feel vulnerable,this... this was something else.

"Form up," Rykel's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "We're after Chiropteerlings. Just them. Nothing else. We're in the outer region, so we shouldn't run into anything too nasty—but if we do, we handle it smart. Grent, you'll be our vanguard."

Grent's arms began to thicken and dull, turning to stone before their eyes. It was only now that Dante remembered the system message—titan blood. He could harden his body like a fortress.

"So that's what that meant," Dante whispered to himself, his eyes fixated on Grent's transformation. Back when he had used his appraisal on the group, the system had told him that Grent had an ability called [Titan's blood] but he had no way of finding out what it could do but now he understood.

"Lyssa, you'll scout ahead. Distraction and redirection only. You're not permitted to start a fight without my consent. You see something we don't want to fight—you signal, and you run. No heroics involved, we aren't the MC of some stupid light novel."

"Pfft. When have I ever?" Lyssa smirked, flipping her magnetized dagger with a playful flick before vanishing into the smoke ahead like a wraith.

"Kaela, Dante—you're with me. Stay close behind Grent. Formation stays tight, no unnecessary chatter. Let instincts guide you."

Kaela didn't say a word. She just nodded once, already hovering a few stones lazily behind her with her telekinesis. Her bow was strapped across her back, a cluster of iron-tipped arrows ready at her hip.

They began moving...silent and efficient like gears in a well-oiled machine. Dante found himself trying to mimic their steps, his boots crunching against the charred soil, his heart thumping with every distant howl that his ears managed to pick up.

Hours passed.

And yet, no sign of the Chiropteerlings. Just silence. Just emptiness.

Dante's legs ached. The pack on his back felt heavier with each step, straps digging into his shoulders. Still, he said nothing.

But Rykel noticed this.

"Here." The man reached over and pulled the bag off his back in one swift motion.

Dante frowned. "I can carry it."

"Don't be too formal." Rykel smiled faintly, his voice softer than before. "There's no shame in helping a teammate. I need you up and ready to go when things go south."

Dante blinked. Something strange tugged at his chest. It wasn't warmth. Not quite. Not pain either. Just... something unfamiliar.

"I had a brother once," Rykel continued quietly as they walked side by side. "The outlands took him away from me. It was my fault though" Rykel paused momentarily and Dante could feel the sorrow in his voice "I was cocky. Thought I could handle things I just couldn't. That's why I don't take chances anymore."

Dante glanced up at him, unsure of what to say.

"Met Grent a couple years later," Rykel added. "Pulled him out of a cave-in. Lyssa was a thief—damn, she nearly slit my throat the first night we met. And Kaela? She saved me from a Neva sink. We've earned each other's trust."

Trust.

Dante swallowed hard. That word sat heavy in his mind. It was something he had come to disregard.

Just as Rykel was about to continue...

The finally came—a sharp whistle cutting clean through the silence.

Lyssa.

Rykel's expression changed in an instant. Calm faded. Precision took over. "Move."

They sprinted through the ash-covered brush until they came upon a wide clearing—where the Chiropteerlings feasted on a massive carcass, their veined wings twitching as they clawed into flesh with jagged teeth.

Dozens of them.

Lyssa was already in motion after receiving the order from Rykel, her daggers dancing in red arcs, glinting in the dim haze before returning magnetically to her hands. She didn't aim to kill—just distract, draw their attention away.

Grent charged forward with a roar, his arms crashing down like siege hammers, pulverizing bones and wings alike.

Kaela didn't draw her bow—instead, she lifted shards of rock and hurled them at terrifying speeds, striking creatures mid-flight with brutal accuracy.

Rykel phased through the chaos, warping in and out of the ground like a ghost, striking necks and skulls with ruthless efficiency.

But even then—they didn't underestimate. Traps had been laid. Stones carved with glowing Neva runes detonated beneath the creatures' feet, scattering them. A perimeter of redirected force fields kept the battle contained. These weren't low-tier adventurers—they were experienced, clever, and coordinated.

Dante watched from behind the fight, stunned. The precision. The brutality. It was terrifying... and beautiful.

He waited, just as told, until the last Chiropteerling fell. Its body collapsed near his boots, a fractured core rolling free.

Dante hesitated, then stepped forward to retrieve it—finally, a chance to contribute, he had felt so useless as he was unable to help out in the fight.

"Hey!" Grent barked, snapping him out of it. "Bag boys don't touch the loot."

Dante blinked. "Huh?"

Kaela turned slowly, her expression cold and thick "You still don't get it, do you?"

The shift in tone was instant.

"You were never supposed to leave the Outlands," her voice similar to that of ice.

His breath hitched slightly.

Lyssa walked past him with blood dripping from her dagger. She licked it lazily. "Bag boys always want a cut."

"...and surprisingly, we're to greedy to lend them that cut" Grent exploded in laughter.

"Thought you were clever," Rykel said, stepping toward him, his smile now twisted. "You wanted money so badly, you never asked why a squad like ours needed someone like you."

Grent cracked his knuckles, grinning widely. "Should we tell him now?"

"Don't waste your breath," Kaela muttered, he smirk turning into something demonic, she was savoring the taste of his death even before it came "He's already dead."

Dante took a step back.

[Host is advised to run.]

His legs moved before the words even registered. He turned and sprinted.

Branches whipped past his face. The wind howled. His breath came in ragged gasps.

"You're not getting away, kid!" Rykel's voice roared behind him.

A blur passed beside him—Rykel phasing again. Dante dove left, narrowly avoiding a blow that shattered a tree trunk.

Grent's roar echoed behind, and Kaela's stones rained down from above, exploding branches around him.

His feet slipped.

The ground vanished.

He fell, crashing through roots and rocks, tumbling into a hidden ravine. The world spun, then went still.

He couldn't move.

Above him, shadows leaned over the edge.

"Not worth the effort," Lyssa said, twirling her dagger.

"Let the rats eat him," Kaela replied, and they were gone.

Dante lay there, barely breathing, his heart broken more than his bones. His vision blurred but he fought with everything he had to stay awake.

Going unconscious now was the worst thinyhw could do now, that would only mean death for him. He pushed himself up slowly, his fist clenching into a fist; he couldn't believe how stupid he had been to feel even the slightest of trust towards those maniacs...

He had trusted them, but before he could dwell more on his misery...

Footsteps.

No...skittering.

He turned his head slowly, his eyes trembling as fear claimed them

Glowing red eyes. Dozens of them.

His heart beat began to rise to an abnormal level, his stomach twisting into something he couldn't even explain, he felt scared... Very very scared.

Bow the creatures had come into view...

Rats. Not normal rats. Twisted, Neva-hungry things with exposed muscle and cracked teeth, their teeths gnawing at him Luke that had found an easy meal.

All he had left was a single dagger given to him by Grent.

And a reason to live.

"AHH, fuck it"