As the dust settled, the battlefield lay cloaked in a haunting quiet. Bloodied and battered, the group stood together, their breaths ragged, their weapons hanging limply at their sides. Victory was theirs, though it felt fragile—raw and hollow, like a flame flickering against the wind.

  Lorcan wiped blood from his brow, his muscles trembling. He glanced at the others: the woman with the bat gripping her weapon tightly, her knuckles white, and the man with the chain crouched low, breathing like a wounded beast.

  Before he could speak, a strange sound broke the silence—a faint, insistent . It seemed to echo from nowhere and everywhere at once, faint at first, then louder.

  “What now?” Lorcan muttered, his voice rasping like dry leaves.

  The sound grew sharper, resonating through the night like the tolling of an otherworldly bell. Then, it came—a voice, cold and melodic, laced with a strange authority that made the hairs on James’s neck stand on end.

  “CONGRATULATIONS.

  The word cut through the air, reverberating in their bones. It wasn’t a voice they recognized—it wasn’t human. It was something else, something vast and unfeeling.

  “YOU HAVE DEFEATED THE FIRST WAVE. REWARD: ACCESS TO YOUR STATUS SHEETS.

  The words hung in the air like a verdict, their weight undeniable. James froze, his pulse hammering in his ears. Around him, the others exchanged wary glances, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

  “What is this?” the man with the chain growled, rising to his feet, his chain rattling as it coiled around his forearm. His gaze swept the battlefield, looking for the source of the voice, but there was nothing—only the emptiness of the night.

  Lorcan opened his mouth to respond, but a flicker of light stopped him short. It shimmered in the air before him, faint at first, like the ghost of a flame. Then it sharpened, solidifying into a translucent screen—a window of glowing text hanging impossibly in the space before his eyes.

  STATUS SHEET: Lorcan Hawthorne

  Level:

  Ether:

  Class:

  Achievements:

  LP:

  Grace:

  Might:

  Lifeforce:

  Will:

  Durability:

  Soul:

  Unassigned Points:

  Lorcan stared, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. The screen was impossibly clear, each detail etched with eerie precision. It was like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.

  “What the…” he whispered, his voice trailing off. He turned to the others, who were staring into empty space as if seeing the same thing. The woman with the bat reached out hesitantly, her fingers passing through the air.

  “Is this real?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and fear.

  The man with the chain growled low in his throat. “Looks like some kinda game interface.” He waved a hand through his own translucent screen, his expression dark. “Status sheets, they said? This can’t be happening.”

  Lorcan’s heart pounded as the screen shifted, the words glowing faintly in the darkness. He could feel it now—something beneath the surface, a presence watching, measuring. The voice returned, unyielding in its cold clarity.

  “YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY SURVIVED THE FIRST WAVE OF THE FAE INVASION. FUTURE WAVES WILL FOLLOW. PREPARE FOR THE SECOND WAVE. YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES.

  The message was clear, yet it offered no comfort. Lorcanclenched his fists, his knuckles aching. He looked to the others, searching for answers in their faces, but they were as lost as he was. The woman with the bat stared at her screen, her lips moving silently as if reading through her stats. The man with the chain shook his head, muttering curses under his breath.

  “This… this doesn’t make sense,” Lorcan said, his voice firmer now. “Why us? Why this?”

  No one answered. The battlefield felt colder somehow, the weight of the system’s words pressing down on them all.

  The woman with the bat straightened, her expression hardening. “If this is what we’re dealing with, we don’t have a choice. We fight or we die.”

  Lorcan nodded, though unease coiled in his chest. The battle against the Monarch was over, but the war—the

  war—was only beginning. The system had made its intentions clear. They were players now, whether they liked it or not.

  He examined the scepter in his hand, its weight somehow both familiar and alien. The warm, pulsing energy within the golden shaft buzzed against his skin, alive and almost sentient. Despite the exhaustion coursing through him, a flicker of awe lit in his chest.

  It wasn’t just a weapon; it was a link to something else. He could feel it humming in his hands, threads of magic flowing into his very being. This scepter held more than just raw power—it held answers.

  “Maybe I can figure out how this thing works,” he muttered, turning it over to examine the intricate carvings on its surface. Each jagged edge of the tooth-studded shaft seemed to glint in the faint light, almost daring him to unlock its secrets.

  But before he could delve further, the translucent screen before him blinked to life once more, brighter and sharper this time. The cold, melodic voice returned, slicing through the air with unsettling precision.

  “WARNING. ITEM ‘TOOTH FAIRY MONARCH SCEPTER’ IS UNAUTHORIZED FOR USE DURING A WAVE.”

  Lorcan blinked, his grip tightening instinctively. “Unauthorized? What are you talking about?”

  The scepter pulsed violently in response, the energy within it shifting from warmth to an almost searing heat. He gasped, yanking his hand away just as the golden shaft began to glow, its radiance blinding.

  “CONFISCATION IN PROGRESS.”

  “No! Wait!” Lorcan shouted, reaching for the scepter as it began to shimmer, its form dissolving into particles of golden light. He lunged forward, his fingers brushing its surface, but it was like grasping at smoke. In seconds, the weapon was gone, the glowing dust dissipating into the air.

  “What the-?” he growled, his voice rising in frustration. “I fought for that! I—”

  The system interrupted, its dispassionate tone cutting him off.

  “ITEM HAS BEEN PLACED IN SYSTEM SHOP. COMPENSATION PROVIDED.”

  Lorcan’s screen shifted, the text updating with an audible chime:

  +10 POINTS TO LOWEST ATTRIBUTE: WILL

  He stared at the screen, his anger momentarily giving way to confusion. His Will

  “Compensation? That’s it? You just the thing I almost died for and toss me a few points?” His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles aching from the tension.

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  The system, of course, didn’t answer.

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered, running a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “What’s next? You gonna ‘confiscate’ my shoes if they’re too powerful?”

  The woman with the bat approached, her steps cautious but steady. She wiped the blade against her jeans, smearing blood into the fabric, and gestured to Lorcan. “What happened? You looked like you were about to blow something up, and now you’re just yelling at thin air.”

  “They took the scepter,” Lorcan replied bitterly, motioning to the empty space where it had disappeared. “Said it was ‘unauthorized’ or some crap. Then they gave me some points like that’s supposed to make up for it.”

  She frowned, glancing at her own screen. “Points? Huh. I got some too, but…” Her voice trailed off, her expression sharpening. “Wait. Does that mean we’re getting stat boosts for fighting these things?”

  “Apparently,” Lorcan said, his tone flat. “But it’s not worth losing the one thing that might’ve given us an actual edge.” He shook his head, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “It’s like this whole system is set up to keep us just barely surviving.”

  The man with the chain joined them, his face grim. “Barely surviving’s better than the alternative. Don’t waste time whining about what we don’t have. We need to focus on what we do.”

  Lorcan glared at him but said nothing. The man was right, even if he hated to admit it.

  “NEXT WAVE IN NINE MINUTES.”

  The system’s cold pronouncement hung in his mind- only nine minutes until the next wave. They needed to move fast.

  As his eyes scanned the remaining fighters, he realized that for all their collective effort, they were still strangers. They had fought side by side, but they hadn’t spoken, hadn’t coordinated beyond the desperate instincts of survival. If they were going to make it through whatever came next, that had to change.

  He cleared his throat and stepped forward, forcing himself to stand straighter despite the ache in his muscles. “We need to work together if we’re gonna survive this. We don’t have time to waste. I’m Lorcan.”

  The woman with the bat stepped forward first. She was dark-skinned and well-muscled, like someone who took their workouts seriously. Her grip on the weapon was firm, her posture unyielding. She wiped a streak of blood off her cheek with the back of her hand, her dark eyes sharp and unwavering.

  “Amira,” she said, her voice steady but low. “I was a personal trainer before… all this.” She gestured toward the battlefield with a slight tilt of her chin. Her short, choppy hair framed her face, and her wiry frame spoke to years of disciplined physical training. “Guess it paid off.”

  The woman with the broken bottle was next. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, gripping the jagged glass like it was an extension of herself. Her face was streaked with dirt and blood, but there was a quiet intensity in her hazel eyes.

  “I’m Rachel,” she said, brushing a strand of curly, sweat-matted hair out of her face. “I’m an EMT.” Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, like she was trying to hold back emotions she didn’t have time to process.

  Lorcan was surprised. He would not have thought an EMT could fight so viciously. Rachel had really gone to town on those fairies with that bottle. It just went to show not to judge people by their jobs. He gave her a grim smile. “Might be more use than you think, Rachel. Glad you’re here.”

  The man with the pipe let out a low chuckle, his voice rough like gravel. He had broad shoulders and calloused hands, his body bearing the wear of years of hard labor. His stained, torn hoodie did little to conceal his solid frame.

  “Name’s Marcus,” he said, resting the metal pipe against his shoulder. His expression was serious, but there was a flicker of humor in his dark brown eyes. “I’m a construction worker. Guess all those years swinging hammers came in handy.”

  “Guess so,” Lorcan said, nodding.

  The man with the shotgun leaned against the overturned car nearby, his hands gripping the weapon tightly. His sandy blond hair was damp with sweat, and his green eyes darted nervously across the battlefield. He looked young—mid-twenties, maybe—and the way he held the gun spoke more of fear than confidence.

  “Evan,” he said, his voice shaky. “I, uh… I work at a sporting goods store. Or did. This was all I could grab on my way out.” He held up the shotgun, then glanced at Lorcan, his expression uncertain. “I’m not great at this, but I’ll try to help.”

  Lorcan gave him a reassuring nod. “You’re doing fine, Evan. We all are.”

  Finally, the man with the chain stepped forward. His imposing frame seemed to fill the space around him, his movements deliberate and heavy. His face was lined with age and experience, his graying beard giving him a rugged, no-nonsense appearance.

  “Victor,” he said simply, his deep voice carrying authority. “Used to run security at a nightclub. This isn’t my first fight.” He flexed his hands, the heavy chain wrapped around his forearm rattling softly. “But it’s the first time the stakes were this high.”

  Lorcan met his gaze and gave a firm nod. “Victor. Got it.” He turned to the group as a whole, his tone steady. “We’ve all been through hell tonight, but we’re still standing. That counts for something. If we stick together, we have a shot at surviving whatever comes next.”

  Amira stepped forward, her bat resting on her shoulder. “I say we regroup and figure out a plan. These… things… are organized. If we’re not, we’re dead.”

  “Agreed,” Rachel said, her voice firm. “We’ve got five minutes. Let’s not waste them.”

  The group exchanged grim nods, their exhaustion momentarily pushed aside by the urgency of the situation. Lorcan looked at each of them in turn, silently committing their names and faces to memory.

  “Alright, let’s figure out what we’re working with. The system’s giving us points to spend, but we need to know what each stat means before we start throwing them around.”

  Amira leaned on her bat, glancing at her own translucent screen. “It’s pretty obvious what some of them are. Strength—or ‘Might,’ I guess—probably affects how hard we hit things.”

  Rachel nodded, her gaze flicking over her sheet. “Durability is probably how much damage we can take, right? Like how much punishment our bodies can handle.”

  “Grace is probably speed,” Marcus chimed in, resting the pipe across his knees. “You know, agility. Makes sense if we’re dodging those creepy fairies.”

  “Yeah, but what about the weird ones?” Evan asked, adjusting his grip on his shotgun. His nervous energy was palpable, his foot tapping against the ground. “Like… ‘Soul’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Victor rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful. “Could be tied to magic. Those fairies were throwing spells around like confetti, and the scepter Lorcan had definitely felt like it was tied to something… deeper.”

  “That tracks,” Rachel said. “Soul could be a measure of how much magic we can use—or maybe how much we can resist.” She glanced at the rest of the group. “And Will? Any ideas?”

  Lorcan frowned, his mind working through the possibilities. “Will might be mental resilience. Like, how well we can keep it together when everything’s going to hell.” He thought about how the system had boosted his Will stat after confiscating the scepter. “I mean, I felt… steadier after it went up. Like I could think more clearly.”

  Evan perked up slightly. “That could be huge. If we’re freaking out less, we’ll make better decisions in a fight.”

  Victor crossed his arms, his gaze sharp. “Lifeforce is the odd one out. It’s probably health, but it might be tied to stamina, too. If you can’t keep moving, you’re as good as dead.”

  Amira tilted her head, her brow furrowed. “So, we’ve got Might for strength, Grace for speed, Durability for defense, Lifeforce for stamina or health, Soul for magic, and Will for mental toughness. That covers a lot, but… how do we know where to put our points?”

  “I think it depends on what we’re good at,” Lorcan said. “We can’t all do the same thing. Some of us need to focus on hitting hard, others on dodging or tanking hits. If we spread out, we’ll cover more ground.”

  “Agreed,” Victor said. He gestured to the group. “I’ve got plenty of experience holding the line. If I boost Durability and Lifeforce, I can take hits so you all can focus on taking these things down.”

  “I’m going for Grace,” Amira said, smirking. “Speed’s always been my thing, and if I can move faster than those fairies, I’ll have the edge.”

  Marcus tapped his pipe against the ground thoughtfully. “Might and Durability for me. I can’t dodge for crap, but if I can hit harder and stay standing longer, I’ll do some serious damage.”

  Rachel studied her screen in silence for a moment before speaking. “I’ll put some points into Will and Soul. If Soul is tied to magic, we’ll need someone who can figure that out—fast. And if Will helps with keeping our heads in the game, that’s just as important.”

  Evan looked uncertain, his eyes darting between the others. “I… don’t know what to focus on. I’m not good with stuff like this.”

  Lorcan gave him a reassuring nod. “Start with what feels right. You’ve got a gun, so maybe focus on Grace for aiming and moving faster. If you’re worried about getting hit, you might want to add some points to Durability as well.”

  “Alright,” Evan said, though his voice still wavered. “I’ll… try that.”

  Lorcan glanced at his own sheet, the glowing text still hovering in front of him. His stats were balanced enough, but his Will stat now stood out, thanks to the system’s boost.

  “I’ll focus on Grace and Might,” Lorcan said. “I’ll need to stay quick and steady.”

  The others nodded, their expressions grim but determined.

  “Alright,” Victor said, his deep voice carrying authority. “Let’s spend these points and get ready. Whatever’s coming next, we’ll face it together.”

  Lorcan took a deep breath and selected his upgrades, feeling a strange warmth ripple through his body as the system accepted his choices. Around him, the others did the same, their screens glowing faintly as they made their decisions.

  STATUS SHEET: Lorcan Hawthorne

  Level:

  Ether:

  Class:

  Achievements:

  LP:

  Grace:

  Might:

  Lifeforce:

  Will:

  Durability:

  Soul:

  Unassigned Points:

  It wasn’t much but hopefully it would be enough to make a difference.