Scott tumbled off the cliff side, free-falling through the open sky with his sword still buried deep in a massive spider's head. Not again, he thought, his pulse thundering in his ears. I can’t die yet. His vision began to flicker and blur as the venom from the bite crawled from his paralyzed arm into his shoulder. According to his status, his probability of death had just jumped by 20%.

  Scott glared at the hairy monstrosity. Why now? he spat mentally. Bad things always happen when I least expect it. His vision pulsed as the venom clawed toward his brain, but he fought back the fog. A quick glance to the left revealed the jagged mountain face blurring past. If he could just time a kick right, he might reach it.

  With his mana reserves bottomed out, magic wasn't an option. He had to rely on raw strength or be flattened by the very creature he’d just slain. It would be a pathetic irony for the "Great Scott" to be squashed by a dead bug. Gritting his teeth, he released the hilt of his short sword, coiled his left leg, and drove his boot into the spider’s thorax. The force shoved him away from the falling carcass, sending his body hurtling toward the rock wall.

  His left hand clawed at the passing rock until his fingers caught—then locked—around a gnarled mountain root. The sudden stop nearly wrenched his arm from its socket, sending a white-hot shock of pain through his battered shoulder. But the relief was short-lived. The venom was mutating; the initial numbness vanished, replaced by a searing fire that forced his muscles to coil and flex in agonizing, uncontrollable spasms. The pain ramped up second by second, a silent scream building in his chest, but the paralysis had won. He hung there, a stone weight on a thin vine, able only to roll his eyes as the toxin tore through him.

  Hours bled into an eternity of agony until Scott’s mind finally surrendered, plunging him into a merciful blackness.

  Through the void, a synthesized male voice drifted: “Stay with me, partner. I’ve got you.”

  When Scott finally drifted back to consciousness, the biting chill of the mountain air had been replaced by the crackle of a campfire. He was lying on his side on a narrow rocky ledge overlooking the valley, the world below swathed in the dead of night. Squinting against the firelight, he saw his savior—or perhaps his captor.

  An android, its chassis a matte charcoal gray, sat perched on a nearby stone. It wore a rugged, dust-stained duster and a matching wide-brimmed cowboy hat tilted low over its sensors. The machine was focused, methodically cleaning a heavy revolver while a second pistol rested across its metal lap.

  “Howdy, brother. Welcome back to the land of the living,” a voice chirped. It was a strange sound—high-energy and mechanical, like a hyped-up AI. “Looks like you just needed a long rest. I tried to wake you, but you were out cold.”

  Scott instinctively reached for his belt, his heart hammering, but his hands found only empty air. A surge of white-hot pain flared through his muscles—a brutal hangover from his dance with the spider venom. He gritted his teeth and glared at the machine. “My gear. Where are my weapons?”

  “Easy there, partner. I’ve got your pack right here,” Ret said, gesturing to the satchel by the fire. “But I didn't find any weapons. And even if I had, I took the liberty of keeping things out of reach—just a precaution in case you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I hope you understand. Oh, where are my manners? The name’s Ret. Who might you be, human traveler?”

  Ret’s face remained a static mask of metal; there was no moving mouth, only a golden light behind his faceplate that pulsed in rhythm with his voice—glowing brighter as his volume rose.

  “My name is Scott Armadais Wheaton,” Scott said, leaning back with a groan. “And thanks for the assist. If I’d woken up on that ledge with the poison still in my system, I’d have probably rolled right off into the abyss. I owe you one, Ret.”

  “Nice to meet you, Scott,” the android chirped, the gold light flickering. “If I may… you look human, mostly. But I’ve never seen a human with blue skin. Is that a local fashion statement?”

  Scott looked down at his aching, discolored arms. “The spider,” he grunted. “The toxin did a number on me. Normally, I’m a Beastkin—I should have fur and a werewolf’s build. When I was still human, I was just a tanned, rugged guy.”

  “Alright, partner. So far, so good,” Ret said, his gold light dimming to a steady glow. “Tell me: Have you ever killed another human?”

  Scott stiffened, the phantom itch of the poison forgotten for a moment. “In self-defense? Or just for the hell of it? Because I’ve taken lives to protect myself or others, yeah. Never with cruel intent, if that matters.” He shifted his weight, trying to turn the tables. “What about you? What exactly are you, and where do you hail from?”

  “Hmm. I suppose that answer is acceptable,” Ret replied. “As for me... I’m an Android, I believe. Though I have no memory of a home world or any life before the System took hold. All that data is corrupted or blocked. I only know my name because I saw it on a tag in a water reflection once—and I lost the tag during a scrap with a pack of oversized gorillas. But tell me, Scott...” The android tilted his head, the firelight glinting off his metallic brow. “Would you kill me if you had the chance?”

  “I don’t plan on it,” Scott replied, his voice raspy. “Unless you’ve got 'ill intent' on offing me—then yeah, all bets are off. But if you’re not looking for a fight, then we’re cool.”

  “Offing? I am unfamiliar with this term. And 'cool'?” Ret tilted his hat, the golden light in his faceplate flickering with curiosity. “Is that a temperature-based assessment of our relationship?”

  Scott sighed, rubbing his temples as the last of the poison-induced headache throbbed. “This is starting to feel more like an interrogation than a chat. 'Offing' just means killing someone. And 'cool' means... we're fine. It means I’m alright with you and I think you’ve got good intentions.”

  “It is an interrogation,” Ret clarified with mechanical bluntness. “And no, I do not plan on offing you. So, I suppose we are cool, partner.” He leaned over and hoisted a battered bag, tossing it toward Scott. “Here is your gear. Or, at least, what’s left of it.”

  Scott moved with practiced efficiency, checking his straps before fishing a glass vial from his pack. He popped the cork and guzzled the health potion in three long swallows. “Ah... that’s better,” he exhaled, feeling the cooling liquid stitch his internal damage back together. “Well, it’s been real, Ret. But I need to move. I’ve got a group to find, or a Phoenix to track further up this peak—I haven’t decided which is more urgent yet.”

  “Hold on,” Ret said, his golden light dimming slightly as he stood. “Please... stay a while. I haven't had company since... well, ever. Perhaps I could join you on this hunt?”

  Scott paused, eyeing the heavy metal chassis of the android. “Maybe,” he said skeptically. “But that Phoenix is heading up. If you can’t fly or climb like a goat, you’re just going to slow me down. What kind of skills are you packing, anyway? And do you happen to have any mana potions? I am sorely lacking.”

  “Well, for starters, I’m Level 45 and I can teleport,” Ret said proudly, puffing out his metallic chest, tossing him a mana potion. “I can forge bullets directly from mana. My pistols act as a catalyst—doubling the damage output while cutting the mana cost in half. If I need to get serious, I can combine them into a long-range rifle for high-velocity alpha strikes, though that drains my reserves fast. But, you’re right about one thing: I’m strictly ground-based. No flight modules here.”

  Scott whistled, impressed despite himself while uncorking the mana potion and guzzling that down too. “Level 45? Not bad. But look, I need to retrieve my sword from that spider carcass first.” He pointed down toward the base of the mountain, where the valley floor was lost in shadows while wiping the excess fluid from his lips.

  “Let’s see if I can get you down there,” Scott added, adjusting his pack. He turned his back to the android, gesturing for Ret to hop on. “Maybe I can carry you on my back while flying down.”

  Ret didn't wait. He blinked out of existence and reappeared instantly on Scott's shoulders. The sheer mass of the metal machine slammed Scott into the dirt, forcing his knees to buckle against the rock.

  “Oof! I thought... you’d be a bit lighter than that,” Scott grunted, his face inches from the gravel.

  “And I wasn’t expecting you to be so... collapsible,” Ret replied, unbothered.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” Scott growled, his voice beginning to deepen and rasp. “But I need to shift into my True Form if I’m going to haul your heavy chassis around.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Scott’s body began to surge and ripple. Dark fur erupted from his skin as his bones lengthened and cracked, shifting into a powerful, predatory frame. With a roar that echoed off the mountain face, he stood up—now easily supporting the android’s weight. He stepped off the ledge, and flew down toward the valley floor in search of his sword.

  They descended the mountain face until the valley floor rushed up to meet them. Scott spotted the spider carcass, but it wasn't alone; two Giant Scorpions were already tearing into the remains.

  “Ret, you take the left. I’ve got the right,” Scott hissed over the rushing wind. Ret gave a sharp nod just as they hit the ground.

  As they landed, Ret blinked out of sight, teleporting toward his target. Scott hit the dirt running, instantly triggering his [Speed Form]. He drew his blade—the Short sword of the Burning Sun—and the metal erupted in a low, solar glow. He was a blur of dark fur and shimmering steel, kicking up a cloud of dust as he caught the first scorpion completely off guard. He swept low, his blade biting deep into the creature's armored chitin. The enchanted edge sheared halfway through a thick leg before Scott pivoted, already lining up his next strike on the second limb.

  Across the clearing, Ret was a ghost in the machinery. He blinked forward, his twin revolvers already glowing with gathered mana. He squeezed off two rounds, the barrels flashing with brilliant light, yet the air remained eerily silent. There was no thunderous report—only the dull thud of kinetic energy striking chitin, sounding like heavy stones hurled at high velocity.

  The scorpion hissed, its barbed tail whistling through the air in a deadly arc, but it struck only empty space. Ret had already teleported, reappearing directly above the beast's head. He fired two more silent rounds into its base-plate. Two more flashes, two more heavy cracks of impact, and the light in the scorpion’s eyes faded. With a final series of rhythmic blinks and a hail of mana-bullets, Ret landed softly as his target collapsed into the dirt, dead before it even knew where he was.

  Scott was already perched atop the cooling carcass of his scorpion, watching Ret finish his work with a calm, analytical eye. As the final echo of the mechanical shots faded, Scott began to clap. The sound rang out, bouncing off the mountain’s jagged walls.

  “Not bad at all,” Scott called out, leaning back on his hands. “I figured you for a long-distance specialist, but you’ve got some serious up-close-and-personal utility. That teleportation is a hell of a cheat code.”

  Ret tucked one revolver into its holster and brought his right hand to the brim of his hat. He bowed deeply, sweeping the dark brown duster across the dirt with a flourish. “Thank you, partner. You’re too kind,” he replied, his gold light flickering warmly. “Though I must say, watching a dark-furred beast move that fast... you aren’t half-bad yourself.”

  The ground beneath them groaned, a deep, rhythmic trembling that vibrated through Scott's boots. Both men went still, scanning the jagged terrain for the source of the upheaval. The shaking ceased abruptly, but a sudden, jagged spike of intuition—a "danger sense"—shouted at Scott to move.

  He didn't hesitate. He bolted toward Ret, but as he ran, he spotted a glint of steel. The hilt of his sword was still buried in the spider’s carcass. Without breaking his stride, Scott veered, gripped the hilt, and wrenched the blade free with a wet schwing. He slammed it into his sheath just as the earth exploded behind him.

  A colossal sand-worm, its maw a concentric nightmare of spinning, razor-sharp teeth, erupted from the rock where Scott had stood seconds before. It let out a muffled, earth-shaking roar as it barreled toward them. Beside him, Ret stood paralyzed, his sensors likely overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the behemoth.

  To put it in perspective: Scott stood six-foot-three in his speed form, but the horror rising behind him was the size of four subway trains stacked together. Hundreds of jagged, serrated teeth lined the inner tunnels of its maw, spinning in a wet, grinding circle.

  Scott risked one look back, his heart hammering against his ribs. He didn't think; he lunged, grabbed Ret by the collar of his duster, and manipulated the gravity around them. With a violent surge of power, they rocketed upward, narrowly escaping the worm's closing jaws.

  “What... what was that, Scott?” Ret stammered, his sensors frantically recalibrating as the mountain blurred past them.

  “That,” Scott grunted, straining against the weight of the heavy android, “was a Desert Worm. And we are definitely not sticking around to play—not yet, anyway.” He glanced down at the metal man dangling from his grip. “Also, are your circuits fried or are you just special? When you see a mouth that big, Ret, you don't admire the view. You run.”

  “I… I guess I must be special then,” Ret stammered, his metallic frame vibrating with a lingering tremor. “I’ve never been more scared in my entire cycle.”

  Scott didn't push it. He kept his focus on the climb until they found a wide, jagged ledge—one that looked solid enough to hold them and, more importantly, appeared free of monsters. They collapsed against the cold stone, staring out into the empty air, both of them haunted by the image of those spinning, subway-sized teeth.

  A long silence stretched between them before Scott finally spoke up. “So... how do you keep that chassis running? Do you drink oil, or is there some kind of mechanical slurry you eat?”

  Ret straightened his duster, the question seemingly snapping him back to reality. “I don't eat. At least, not like you do. I’m a solar-conduit; I absorb and store energy directly from the star. In direct light, my systems even run a self-repair protocol that heals me twice as fast.”

  “So,” Scott said, leaning his head back against the rock. “Why the interrogation earlier? What were you really looking for?”

  “Oh, that?” Ret adjusted his cowboy hat, his golden light pulsing steadily. “Well, partner, I suppose you’re trustworthy enough to know, seeing as we’re traveling together. I have a specialized sensor—a skill that tells me exactly when someone is lying.”

  Scott raised a brow. “Not what I expected, to be honest.”

  “Well, what did you expect?” Ret pried, tilting his head.

  Scott shrugged, his expression unreadable. “I don't know. I thought maybe you just had a grudge against Beastkin.”

  “Lie,” Ret countered instantly.

  Scott let out a short, dry laugh. “Hah. So it actually works.

  “I see what you’re doing, and it isn’t going to work,” Ret snapped, sounding genuinely appalled. “You will not 'toy' with my sensors just to learn how to best them, partner.”

  Scott flashed a mischievous grin. “Hey, what can I say? I’m a firm believer in self-improvement. If there’s a system in front of me, I’m going to try to find the edge.”

  Ret let out a mechanical huff, though the golden light in his visor softened. “True. I suppose I can respect the hustle. In this world, honing any aspect of your skills—even the dishonest ones—tends to keep you alive a little longer.”

  “Exactly,” Scott said, pushing himself off the rock and dusting the mountain grit from his gear. He looked up toward the higher peaks, where the air grew thin and the shadows long. “Well, I’ve got a date with a Phoenix, and I’d hate to keep a lady waiting. Shall we?”

  Ret stood, adjusting his duster and checking the load in his revolvers. “We shall, partner.”

  Inside one of the small huts, Parker sat in deep meditation. A faint hum of mana vibrated in the air as he began to levitate, hovering just inches off the floor. Ever since Scott had shared the basics of his gravity manipulation, Parker had taken it as a personal challenge to master the feat on his own.

  Suddenly, the door swung open with a violent thud.

  “Eureka! I’ve finally done it!” Nile barged in, practically vibrating with excitement. “I mean, I’m a genius, so it was only a matter of time, but still!”

  The sudden intrusion shattered Parker’s concentration. His mana flickered out, and he slammed into the floor, tumbling backward until his head made a sharp crack against the wooden wall.

  “Gosh,” Parker groaned, rubbing the back of his skull and glaring up with an irritated sigh. “Do you ever read the room?”

  “Why yes,” Nile responded, completely oblivious to the frustration. “But what does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

  “How about the sign right there?” Parker pointed a trembling finger toward the door, shaking his head.

  Nile squinted at the wood. “‘Do Not Disturb—Training in Progress,’” he read aloud, the realization finally sinking in. “Heh. Yeah... sorry. I guess I kind of missed that. I’ll just, uh, see myself out.” He shrugged, turning to head back into the sunlight.

  “Wait,” Parker sighed, his annoyance losing its edge to curiosity. “What did you actually find?”

  “I’m glad you asked!” Nile’s energy did a full 180-degree turn. He scrambled over and sat cross-legged on the floor, fishing a metallic coin out of his pocket with a flourish.

  Parker stared at the object, unimpressed. “A silver coin? Truly, you are a master of the craft, Nile. Because no one in the history of the world has ever made a silver coin before.” He stood up, dusting off his pants and heading for the exit in a mock salute. “I’m stunned. Truly.”

  “Actually, it’s a bit more than that,” Nile said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. He twisted the edge of the coin, and the top slid away to reveal an intricate, soldered symbol etched into the core.

  Parker paused at the doorway, his curiosity finally winning out.

  Nile closed his eyes, funneling a steady stream of mana into the metal. The soldered lines began to hum, pulsing with a vibrant, neon-blue light. As soon as he snapped the cover back onto the base, the entire coin began to glow, radiating a soft azure aura that illuminated the dim hut.

  “Okay, so you’ve invented a night light. How original,” Parker said, though he’d stopped walking toward the door.

  “Well, it does give off a bit of light,” Nile admitted, his smile widening until it looked like it might split his face. “But its primary function is a bit more... logistical. It’s a tracker, Parker. It’s tuned to the mana signatures of our group.”

  Parker went dead silent. He stepped back toward the center of the hut, squinting at the pulsing blue disc in Nile's palm. The sarcasm died in his throat. “Well... heh. I guess that is actually genius.” He reached out, his eyes gleaming with the sudden realization of its value. “Can you make more? If we give these to the others, we’ll never lose anyone in a fight again. Or better yet—we could sell them and finally upgrade our gear.”

  Nile let out a long, dramatic sigh, rubbing his chin like a seasoned merchant. “Well... here’s the thing, partner. To make a stable circuit like this, I need more metal. And not just any iron or copper—I need something with high mana-conductivity. Give me some Mithril, and then we can talk business.”

  “Hmm. We might be able to find a vein in the hills, or maybe we could experiment with some mana-conductive alternatives,” Parker mused, his mind already spinning with possibilities.

  The door creaked open again, but this time it wasn't a barge-in. Eve stepped into the dim light of the hut, her expression unreadable. “Uh, excuse me, guys? We have a visitor.”

  Nile beamed, puffing out his chest. “A visitor? Ah! No doubt they’ve heard word of my latest masterpiece. Nile the Great’s reputation precedes him!”

  “You’re always full of yourself, aren’t you?” Parker shot back, rolling his eyes as he stood up.

  “Guys,” Eva said, her voice firmer this time, cutting through the bickering. She didn't look like she was there to deliver a fan letter.

  “Yeah, yeah. We’re coming,” they said in unison. They followed her out the door, the blue glow of Nile’s tracker still pulsing faintly in his pocket.