Barter and Blood

The group stared at Emric like he was something half-feral. Dirt-caked and blood-smeared, eyes sharp beneath a cracked HUD visor. One sleeve torn. His weapon—his once-faithful repeater—was hanging useless by his belt, casing scorched and barrel warped.

"You took down three Lungers solo with that thing?" the sniper girl asked, adjusting her grip on a matte black rifle. Her voice was clipped, coastal accent cutting through the tension.

Emric shrugged. "Two and a half. Third one slipped on his friend's guts. Lucky shot."

A ripple of laughter passed through the group, the tension easing slightly. But only slightly. In the Gauntlet, friendliness was always conditional. Every face wore calculation behind it. You were either an asset, or a future point drop.

"I'm Emric," he said, raising his hands, palms open. "Solo runner. Unattached."

The sniper lowered her rifle a fraction. "Kestrel. This is Roan, Tammel, and Brin. We're currently operating under truce conditions. You screw us—we don't hesitate."

"Understood," Emric said. "I'm not here to tag along. I'm here to barter."

Roan stepped forward—leader by posture, not vote. His jaw was square, his eyes like slits. "You're bleeding. Your weapon's toast. What could you possibly barter?"

"I've got map overlays. Micro-drone cycles. Weak point records. And a clean kill ratio that speaks for itself. You give me distance coverage,"—he pointed at Kestrel—"and I'll keep us alive long enough for the rest of you to catch up in points."

Brin, silent until now, let out a low whistle. "Talks like a Cognivore."

"I'm not," Emric said. "But I study fast."

Kestrel tossed her rifle toward him. Emric caught it, surprised at the balance and weight. "One job," she said. "We're heading east. A flooded zone— Mirecoil nesting ground. You help us clear it? Rifle's yours."

Emric smiled. "Deal."

---

The flooded sector was worse than advertised.

Shattered rooftops dipped into murky water. Oil slicks distorted reflections. Floating crates bobbed like forgotten corpses. It smelled like rust and rot and old coding.

"This is your play," Roan said. "We're just here to stay alive."

Emric nodded and slung the rifle. The mag-locked scope was scratched, but functional. Kinetic barrel, tuned trigger—customized academy prototype. The kind only elite cadets got for field tests.

He scanned ahead.

[Threats Detected – Pattern Blur: Aquatic Drift / Burrow Type]

He motioned silently. Two fingers—left flank. E-tier proximity.

They fanned out.

The water rippled.

A long, eel-like shape breached the surface—translucent hide, four mandibles spiraling outward like a turbine of bone.

[E-Tier Identified: Mirecoil – Aquatic Class]

Emric took the shot.

Boom—straight through the mouth. Black mist geysered out the back.

[+5 Points: Emric Vale]

"You're hired," Kestrel muttered.

Two more breached, slithering toward Brin.

Emric fired again, nailed one mid-arc. The other slipped under, vanished.

"Lost visual!" he called, scanning.

Then—bursting from behind, it lunged at Tammel.

Roan moved to intercept but slipped.

Emric dove, shoved Tammel clear, and fired upward from his back.

Boom. Direct hit. But the rifle clunked—empty.

[+5 Points: Emric Vale]

Tammel coughed, shaken. "I thought I was dead."

"You were," Emric said. "You're welcome."

Kestrel approached. "Keep the rifle. You made it sing."

They found shelter inside a gutted substation. Emric leaned against a busted panel, pulling water from his backup pack. His HUD pinged.

[Points Update]

Kills: 59 F-tier | 15 E-tier

Total: 134 points

Rank: #76

--

They moved again—into another alley.

Emric was looser now. The team let him take the lead. He tagged weak points, made quick calls, and racked up another eight F-tier kills with clean sniper shots. Witty comments flew like bullets:

"Heads up!" boom

"Your mouth opened first—bad strategy." boom

"Duck season." boom

Brin laughed. Even Roan cracked a grin. Kestrel just smirked and stayed close.

But Emric felt it—the edge returning. The instincts that made him him.

Being solo had sharpened him.

Being with others let him wield that edge with purpose.

They entered a collapsed museum next.

Columns shattered. Taxidermy creatures twisted into simulations. Half the walls moved. Everything creaked like it had a heartbeat.

Then came the ambush.

Eight Gutterlings. One E-tier Slagwolf.

Kestrel called a warning—too late.

The Gutterlings swarmed from both sides. Brin was dragged down. Roan fought with a dagger, back to back with Tammel. Emric took the high ground, marking, coordinating.

Two down. Three more surged.

He fired three rapid shots—took down two. Third one caught his leg.

The rifle clicked.

No more charges.

He jammed the barrel into the wolf's mouth and fired the backup spark cell—

BOOM.

The wolf's jaw exploded.

But so did the rifle.

Barrel split. Scope gone. Mag-housing twisted into slag.

Emric tumbled backward, coughing smoke.

[+5 Points: Emric Vale]

Kestrel got the last kill.

The museum fell silent.

Roan limped. Brin had a fractured arm. Emric lay on his back, staring at the ruined ceiling.

"Good gun," he muttered.

Kestrel stood over him. "You wrecked it."

"I regret nothing."

He checked his HUD.

[Points Update]

Kills: 71 F-tier | 18 E-tier

Total: 148 Points

New Rank: #61

A low rumble echoed through the museum's collapsed west wing—dull at first, then deep enough to vibrate the floor. Everyone froze.

Emric sat up, tasting blood in the back of his throat. "That… wasn't ambient."

Kestrel aimed into the darkness. "Something is coming."

Roan swore. "Nothing in the scans."

Emric squinted at his HUD. The drone input had dropped to static. Scrambled.

"Jamming field," he muttered. "Or something with resonance bleed. Big."

The rubble parted.

It wasn't that big.

But it felt wrong.

A wide, quadrupedal thing crawled over the shattered display cases. Slick skin armored in clumps of crystallized meat. Its head twisted backward, then righted itself with a series of wet cracks. Three eye sockets, none blinking.

[E-Tier Variant: Shardhowler]

[Subtype: Resonant-Disruptor Class]

[Special Note: Causes tactical drone interference. Emits pulse howl.]

"Down!" Emric yelled.

Too late.

The thing's mouth opened like a shattered speaker grill—and it screamed.

Sound crashed across them like a wall. Emric's vision pixelated. His eardrums buzzed with input lag. HUD went full static.

Tammel dropped to one knee, clutching his head. Brin collapsed outright, unconscious.

Roan swung his dagger—but the creature tail-whipped him into a fallen column.

Kestrel fired her last two pistol shots—both missed wide.

Emric blinked, disoriented, then crawled toward his pack.

No rifle. Just a busted backup spark knife and one last mine charge.

"You got a plan?" Kestrel shouted through the noise.

Emric shoved the mine against a broken marble bust. "Yeah. Pray it's still curious."

He stood, knife in hand, baiting the creature with erratic movement—wounded predator behavior. It turned toward him, tracking with those mismatched eyes.

"Come on," he whispered. "Come say hello."

The Shardhowler lunged.

Emric dove back. The mine detonated.

The explosion rocked the remains of the exhibit hall. Glass rained down like needles. The Shardhowler screeched, back legs blown off. It dragged itself forward—still alive.

Kestrel pulled Brin to safety. Roan groaned, trying to rise.

Emric forced himself upright, limping forward with the spark knife. The thing howled again—shorter this time, wheezing, distorted.

It snapped at him.

He dodged left, rolled over a dislodged display plaque, and buried the knife in its throat.

The blade sparked once.

Then twice.

The creature convulsed—and went still.

[+5 Points: Emric Vale]

Emric staggered back and dropped onto a pile of cracked fossil tiles.

Kestrel was the first to speak.

"I think I hate museums now."

Roan coughed and laughed. "We all owe you drinks."

Emric winced and sat up. "Make it a new weapon."

He checked his HUD.

[Points Update – Emric Vale]

[Kills: 71 F-tier | 19 E-tier]

[Total Points: 153]

[New Rank: #59]

As he caught his breath, a soft chime echoed in his HUD.

New Movement Detected – Nearby Sector Transition

Then another alert.

[Subject: Malric Dane]

Then he checked the rankings—

[Status: Rank 80 – 126 pts]

Emric blinked. His smirk faded.

He realized that Malric was definitely hiding himself before, which didn't sit well with him.

Kestrel noticed his look. "Problem?"

Emric shook his head, slow.

"No. Just… someone I thought I left behind."

He stood again, dragging his sore leg forward.

"I need a new gun."