I Siphon the Dead to Become the Strongest

The forest was quiet for a moment, save for the faint rustle of leaves and the distant, fading snarls of the retreating wolf pack below. Then, a new sound: a soft, wet sniffing. It came from roughly forty yards to their east, just beyond a curtain of hanging vines.

A single Fulminar Wolf, perhaps separated from the main group or acting as a scout, emerged into a small clearing. Its nose twitched, raised to the air, trying to catch the lingering scent of humans and metal.

THWIP.

It was a sound so sharp and clean it seemed to cut the air. A single arrow, fletched with dark feathers, crossed the distance in a blink. Its tip, coated in a deep, glistening violet sheen, buried itself in the wolf’s stomach with a sickening shhhuck of parting flesh.

The wolf let out a sharp, explosive YIPE of surprise and pain, more shock than agony. Then, it froze. Not in fear, but in a sudden, total paralysis. A spiderweb of inky black veins radiated out from the wound, spreading under its grey fur like spilled ink on paper. The neurotoxin worked with terrifying speed, locking muscles, seizing nerves. The creature stood rigid, its eyes wide with a trapped, panicked intelligence. It had less than three minutes before the paralysis would fade, but it wouldn’t need them.

Two more arrows followed the first. Not in a panicked volley, but in a timed, rhythmic cadence.

Thwip. Thwip.

One punched through the base of the wolf’s neck, severing the spine. The next pierced its eye socket, burrowing deep into the brain. There was no dramatic death throes, no final howl. The creature simply collapsed where it stood, a heap of fur and fading malice.

From the dense curtain of leaves where Ethan, Germaine, and Jay were hidden, the entire sequence had lasted less than four seconds. It was less a fight and more a surgical removal.

Jay, perched on a slightly higher branch, made no sound. He simply extended his hand, the compact grapnel launcher on his wrist giving a soft click-hiss. A thin, high-tensile line shot out, its clawed tip clamping onto the wolf’s hind leg with a soft clack. A gentle tug, and the corpse slid smoothly across the forest floor, disappearing into the undergrowth before being lifted silently up into the canopy and deposited beside him on the platform.

He knelt, his movements economical and quiet. With a few deft tugs, he recovered the three arrows from the cooling body, wiping the tips clean on a cloth with the care of a curator handling artifacts. He then began the swift, practiced process of field-dressing the kill, his earlier words about ”viable cuts” now being demonstrated with chilling proficiency.

Ethan, who had watched the entire display with his jaw metaphorically hanging open behind his visor, finally found his voice. It was a small, awed sound.

“Well, that… was a lot more ‘sudden and terrifying’ than I was expecting.”

Germaine wasn’t pondering mysteries. She was staring at Jay, her professional composure shattered into pure disbelief. “Are you seriously telling me you’re only a C-Rank? That was… that was surgical.”

Jay didn’t look up from his work. He lifted a section of clean, red meat and slid it into a shimmering storage window—his item box. ”No,” he said, his voice as flat and calm as still water. ”I’m not. There are people far more talented. What I’m doing is just the basics. You survive long enough, you figure out what works. Talking, running, waving a big sword... it’s all just extra noise. This”—he gestured vaguely at the gutted wolf, the recovered arrows, the hidden platform—”is just... not dying.”

His tone wasn’t robotic. It was profoundly weary, as if explaining himself was the most exhausting part of the entire, lethal process. He wasn’t a soldier; he was a pragmatist who had pared existence down to its most efficient, and often most brutal, components.

Ethan nodded slowly, another grand, meaningless philosophy blooming in his mind. ”Ah, I see. It’s the ’Less Talk, More Stalk’ school of thought. Action as the purest form of communication. The arrow says what words cannot: ’Please stop breathing in my general direction.’ Profound.”

Jay paused in his butchering, closed his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath. It was unclear if he was centering himself or praying for a different, quieter timeline.

A few minutes later, Jay had finished. The last few edible cuts of the Fulminar Wolf vanished into his storage window. Nearby, the inedible remains had been tossed into a deep thicket far below. He cleaned his santoku knife on a square of treated leather, wiped his hands on a separate cloth, and the entire grisly procedure was over with the neat finality of a chef finishing prep for the evening’s service.

Ethan, who had been watching with a mixture of horror and fascination, finally broke the quiet.

“So!” he announced, clapping his gauntleted hands together with a soft clang. “Teamwork, yeah?” He raised his index and middle fingers on both hands, holding them up and wiggling them in what he presumably thought was a universal sign for ‘partnership.’ “That’s the move. You, me, Mount Bustmore over there. We go out there, make some noise, and systematically reduce the local monster population to zero. Fewer monsters means the Gate gets bored and packs up, right? Basic math. We’re doing a public service, really.”

Germaine just stared at him, her brow furrowed in deep, professional confusion. His logic seemed so earnest, and yet so utterly, catastrophically wrong.

Jay didn’t sigh this time. He just stared at Ethan, his brown eyes behind his bangs narrowing slightly, as if trying to determine the exact species of fungus that had taken root in his brain.

“Are you really a C-Ranker?” Jay asked, his voice flat and low.

Ethan’s helmet tilted. “Yes? Of course? Do I look like a budget Iron Man cosplay to you?” His internal monologue, however, was screaming a different tune. Goddamn it, play it cool, you magnificent fraud. Smile and nod. One slip and you’ll spend the rest of your life in a Guild blacksite explaining how you faked your way into this metal onesie.

Jay finished wiping his knife, sheathed it, and finally met Ethan’s visor with a look of profound, weary clarity.

“This Gate will not disappear by killing regular monsters,” he stated, each word spoken with the deliberate pace of someone explaining gravity to a particularly dense pigeon. “You should know this. E and D-Rank Gates are unstable. Kill enough, they collapse. C-Rank and above… they’re anchors. You could slay ten thousand wolves in this forest, and this tear in the world would stay right where it is, humming along. The only way to make it close is to cut the string holding it here. You have to defeat the Bosses. The specific ones tied to the Gate’s core.”

He gestured vaguely around them. “This Gate has changed three times since it stabilized at C-Rank. First, it was a forest swamp. Then, for a week, it was a short, brutal desert. Now, this. The terrain shifts, the monsters change. But as long as the Alpha and the Warlord are breathing, the Gate stays. It’s their presence that gives it shape. You don’t hunt the flock to kill the shepherd. You cut off the head of the shepherd, and the flock… well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Ethan listened, his earlier bravado deflating like a punctured balloon. In his head, a single, stunned thought echoed. Huh. Well, that’s a first. Nobody mentioned the whole ‘indestructible monster dimension’ clause in the fine print.

He slumped against the tree trunk, the metal of his armor scraping on bark. “So what you’re saying is,” he summarized, his voice dripping with lazy, sarcastic resignation, “my brilliantly simple plan of ‘punch everything until the problem goes away’ is, in fact, useless. I was ready to be a glorified pest controller, and you’re telling me I signed up for a goddamn dual-boss raid. Fantastic. My afternoon just got significantly more lethal.”

Jay gave a single, barely perceptible nod. “You hunt the head. Not the body. Everything else is just background noise.” He looked from Ethan’s slumped form to Germaine’s serious face. “The question isn’t how many monsters you can kill. The question is which head you want to try cutting off first.”

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Sooooo far we’ve finally reached Chapter 40! Dangggg! 🎉

Huge thanks to everyone who’s been reading and sticking around, even if most of you are lurking in the shadows like stealth-specced hunters too shy to comment! I see the view counts though, and I appreciate every single one of you.

Quick question for the silent crowd: I’m working on designing some new abilities for side characters coming up. If you’ve got any cool, badass, or straight-up chaotic skill concepts you’d like to see in action, drop them in the comments! Help me stock up the arsenal.

See you all in the next chapter!