The Ganshka tribe was deep in its daily rhythm.
Crude huts of wood and grass circled the clearing.
Adults sharpened bone tools and skinned the remains of a recent hunt.
Their young darted between the structures, shrill voices cutting through the morning air.
“Open fire,” Ashan said quietly.
Swish. Swish. Swish.
Three arrows struck home.
At the same instant, Damara, Imla, and the two support members released [Combat Bolts].
Four streaks of dark-blue energy slammed into the tribesmen at the perimeter.
Chaos erupted.
Ashan’s hand dropped.
Dris and Roderic surged forward, swords drawn, while arrows continued to rain from the rear.
Dris flooded his body with prana and swung in a brutal horizontal arc.
A Ganshka’s head left its shoulders, tumbling into the dirt.
Gnash! Gnash! Gnash!
Shrill cries filled the clearing as the tribe retaliated with crude daggers and bone spears.
Dris and Roderic moved in practised kiriyas, blades carving through gaps, Ashan silently marked.
Ashan’s eyes swirled grayish-white.
Weak points bloomed across his vision.
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Imla and Damara fought back-to-back, spears flashing as they pierced tendons and throats. Archers neutralized the Ganshka bowmen with ruthless efficiency.
Women screamed. Children fled into the huts.
Five Ganshka at the far edge of the clearing began chanting in unison.
Greenish orbs formed in front of them.
“Casters!” Roderic barked.
The projectiles screamed forward.
Roderic parried and dragged a Ganshka into the path of one orb.
It exploded against living flesh. Dris twisted aside, a claw grazing his chin.
“Bastard!”
Imla and Damara rolled clear.
Ashan was already gone.
***
[Viksana: Conceal]
His presence vanished.
Dris snarled an incantation.
𝔖𝔞𝔯𝔲𝔤 𝔢𝔨𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥!
Tiger-striped fur rippled across his body.
The transformation stole a heartbeat.
Gnash!
A Ganshka lunged.
Dris blocked, then tore forward with his new claws, crushing skull and brain matter in a single savage motion.
“Where’s Ashan?” Roderic shouted, cutting down another attacker.
No answer.
Blood slicked the clearing.
The five casters began another chant.
Ashan reappeared behind them.
Steel flashed.
One head fell.
The others spun in shock.
Any aggressive action breaks concealment, Ashan noted coldly.
𝔙𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔲𝔩 𝔃𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔨!
A dark-brown [Elemental Bolt: Prithvi] crushed one caster into the ground. Ashan followed with a [Traya Vetra], the blade punching through a chest.
Two remained.
Green orbs formed—
Ashan was already moving.
[Viksana: Foresee]
He stepped where they would miss, stomped a fallen Ganshka’s chest, and ended it with a downward slash.
Huff.
“Yo, leader!” Dris called, blood coating his grin. “Need help?”
Ashan surveyed the clearing.
Silence.
Only bodies remained.
Two Ganshka survivors knelt near the huts, shaking.
One tried to speak. “Gnash—spare—”
An arrow pinned its skull.
The second fell an instant later.
Ballio lowered his bow, breathing hard. “Did we… get them?”
“All fighters,” Dris said.
Roderic pointed at the huts. “Not all of them.”
Children wailed.
“Tch. Annoying,” Damara muttered.
“We succeeded,” Imla said calmly. “No losses. Orders?”
Ashan studied his team. Bloody. Shaken. Alive.
“Gather vestiges,” he said. “We leave.”
Ballio hesitated. “Can’t we… leave them?”
Dris scoffed. “Why waste mercy on them?”
“They’re not Sadhakas,” Ballio argued. “They’re no threat.”
“No threat now,” Imla snapped. “Can you promise they won’t hunt us later?”
“But that’ll take years!”
“Will it?” Damara asked flatly.
Silence.
Ashan closed his eyes briefly.
“Ballio,” he said. “We are weak.”
Ballio stiffened.
“The weak cannot afford morality. Principles require strength to defend them.”
Ashan met his gaze. “And never forget who your allies are.”
Something settled inside Ballio.
“…Then why lead us?” he asked. “If survival is all that matters… why bother saving anyone?”
Ashan didn’t answer.
Dris chuckled softly.
“Because nothing’s pure. Not good. Not evil.”
His grin widened. “Just gray.”
The clearing smelled of blood.
No one argued.