"Hahhh..." Arthas let out a light, weary sigh that didn't match the explosive violence of his next move.
He didn't just step out; he became a blur. Leveraging his Speed, he bypassed Tom and Christy before they could even blink. In a burst of motion that kicked up a cloud of dried leaves, he appeared directly behind Kenny. His left arm snaked around the boy's chest while his right hand pressed the black obsidian blade against the youth's trembling throat.
"Stay put if you don't want to die," Arthas whispered into Kenny's ear. His voice was like a cold draft in a tomb, devoid of malice, but heavy with the promise of consequence.
"What the—?" Tom gasped, his eyes widening in shock. He was a big man, built like a wall, but his reflexes were calibrated for humans, not whatever Arthas was becoming. He instinctively raised a heavy collapsible baton, his knuckles white.
"Fast," the red-haired lady muttered. Her posture shifted instantly, her center of gravity dropping into a lethal, battle-ready stance. Her golden eyes narrowed, and with a soft whoosh, a swirling orb of orange flame manifested in the palm of her hand, illuminating the dark woods with a hellish glow.
"Let him go!" Christy shrieked. Her face was flushed with panic as she pulled a sharpened stone, a primitive shiv from her belt and charged recklessly toward Arthas.
"Wait!" Tom barked, his voice booming with authority as he reached out and snagged Christy by the shoulder, yanking her back before she could run into the meat grinder.
Arthas didn't wait for a conversation. He leapt backward, dragging the paralyzed Kenny with him in a smooth, retreating arc. A second later, the spot where he had been standing was incinerated. A ball of fire slammed into the earth, erupting in a localized blast that carved a small crater and sent a plume of acrid smoke into the air.
"What in the hell..." Arthas's thoughts raced. This wasn't just survival skills; this was magic. His grip tightened on Kenny, the edge of his dagger drawing a thin, bead-like line of crimson blood on the boy's neck.
"Well, it seems you're not half bad," the red-haired lady said, stepping forward through the smoke. The fireball in her hand pulsed like a miniature sun.
Arthas remained silent, his red eyes darting between the three threats. He finally took stock of them. Kenny was a mess, brown hair matted with sweat, eyes wide with the raw horror of a civilian who had realized he was nothing more than a shield. Christy was the emotional core, her blonde hair messy, her green jacket stained. Tom, in his tattered cop's uniform, was the steady hand.
But the woman, Morrigan, was the apex. Her red hair was like a banner of war, and her golden eyes held a predatory curiosity.
"Those are mine," Arthas said, nodding toward the sled and the spider.
"I know," Morrigan replied simply.
A heavy silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the crackle of the dying fire in the crater.
"Let him go!" Christy shouted again, her voice cracking. Both Arthas and Morrigan ignored her, their gazes locked in a silent evaluation.
"You're good," Morrigan complimented, her voice smooth but dangerous.
"You too," Arthas replied, his eyes flickering to the fire on her palm. "Hard to argue with a human flamethrower."
"Why don't you let him go so we can talk this out like civilized players?" she suggested, though the fireball didn't dim.
"I can't really do that while you're holding a miniature star in your hand," Arthas countered.
Morrigan let out a short, dry chuckle. "Fair enough." She closed her fist, and the flames died out instantly, leaving only the smell of ozone. "I'm Morrigan."
"Arthas," he replied, finally releasing his grip on Kenny. The boy collapsed to his knees, gasping for air and clutching his neck.
"We don't have the luxury to be picky right now." Tom muttered, "We got off on the wrong foot. I'm Tom," the older man said, stepping forward. He retracted his baton and offered a hand. Arthas stared at the calloused palm for a long beat, calculating the risk, before taking it. Tom's grip was firm.
"You seem to be heading somewhere," Tom noted, glancing at the map pinned to a nearby tree. "Toward the Market, perhaps?"
"Yes," Arthas said, his voice regaining its stoic edge.
"We're headed there as well," Morrigan said, her golden eyes scanning the shadows. "Mind joining us?"
Arthas paused. His internal monologue was a battlefield of its own. Numbers mean survival chances. They have a mage and a veteran. But more people means more noise, more ego, and more targets. Then again, I'm injured. My HP is sitting at 40/66. I need a buffer.
Seeing his hesitation, Morrigan turned to walk away. "Mr. Tom, let's move. The smell of all this blood will attract more than just spiders soon."
"So, what do you say, kid?" Tom asked, his blue eyes showing a genuine, weary concern. "The more, the better in this hellhole."
"Fine," Arthas replied, sheathing his dagger.
"Great. This is Kennedy, we call him Kenny and Christina," Tom introduced the others.
Christy glared at Arthas, helping Kenny to his feet. They clearly weren't as ready to forgive the "hostage" situation as the elders were. Arthas ignored the stares. He walked over to the blue spider corpse, and with his Strength, he hoisted the massive creature with surprising ease, dragging it toward his makeshift sled.
"So you joined us," Morrigan said, falling into step beside him.
"Temporarily," he replied.
"Then there's no use for that sled," she said. "It's a drag. Christy!"
"No, no, no! I'm not taking his stuff! He's a jerk!" Christy protested, crossing her arms.
"Christy," Morrigan said, her voice dropping into a low, terrifying warning tone.
"Fine!" the girl snapped. She walked over to the sled, touching the wood under Arthas's watchful, suspicious eyes. In a sudden flash of white light, the sled, the five goblins, and the weapons disappeared into thin air.
Arthas's hand went back to his dagger instinctively. "What was that?"
"My innate skill," Christy grumbled, not looking at him. "Inventory Space. I can store things in a pocket dimension. It has a weight limit, but your dead runts aren't hitting it yet."
"Is that so?" Arthas relaxed his posture slightly. "Thanks. Anyway."
As the group began to move through the charcoal-colored trees toward the river, Arthas stayed at the rear, his red eyes scanning the perimeter. He was part of a team now, but in a world of seven hundred thousand zones and only a hundred survivors per map, he knew the "team" was a luxury that might not survive the first sunset.