Chapter 20: The Call to Action

  The glow from the Soul Crystals still lingered on the polished arena floor, fading like echoes of a battle now passed. Back in the Crit Happens guild suite, the team lounged in various states of rest — bruised, bandaged, or just basking in the afterglow of a good fight.

  Kael sat cross-legged on the back of the couch, stringing his bow. “You know,” he said, tightening a rune-thread, “I honestly thought the kid would fold after the first round.”

  “He didn’t,” Lana replied from her seat on the floor, still sharpening her spear. “Took every hit like it was a test. Kept coming.”

  Mika, perched near a glowing health basin, dipped a cloth in warm soulwater and dabbed at a scratch on her arm. “He’s all instincts and guts. No polish, no precision. But I’ve seen worse. Way worse.”

  “His shield work’s raw, but that Water Pistol trick’s got potential,” Gorran added, resting his massive arms on the table. “Still think he bruised my rib with that bash. Never thought I’d say that about a Level 15.”

  Valen stood at the large display screen, watching silent replays of the sparring sessions. He let them loop: Dillion’s dodges, the way he used fog like a cloak, his desperate but creative combinations.

  “He learns in the middle of the fight,” Valen finally said. “That’s rare. Even rarer? He listens. Every adjustment, every breath — he’s trying to solve the fight like a puzzle.”

  Kael tilted his head. “You thinking about bumping him from probation already?”

  “Not yet,” Valen said. “But I’m watching.”

  A moment of silence settled over the suite.

  Then Mika spoke, her voice casual but certain. “He reminds me of you.”

  Valen chuckled. “He’s louder.”

  “And wetter,” Gorran added.

  Everyone laughed.

  But beneath the humor, the shift was undeniable.

  Just then, the doors to the suite opened.

  Dillion stepped in, slightly flushed, brushing dust off his sleeve. He looked like he’d just finished another round of drills.

  Before he could say a word, a loud clack-clack-clack of boots echoed behind him — an Eden clerk in sleek black and silver uniform came rushing in, holding a glowing scroll in one hand and a datapad in the other.

  “Emergency!” she shouted, short of breath. “There’s a Named Beast sighting—right outside the capital!”

  Everyone in the room went still.

  “A Minotaur-class,” she continued, trying to catch her breath. “Massive hammer, heavily armored. It’s tearing through groups near the Temple Ruins—no pattern to its movement, just raw destruction. Our last visual reported thirty-seven confirmed knockouts and climbing.”

  Valen’s eyes narrowed.

  “No other top guilds in the region,” the clerk added. “You’re the only active A-tier party registered at the Capital Outpost. We need you on-site—now.”

  Kael stood immediately, slinging his bow across his back. “Named Beast duty, huh? And here I thought today was going to be boring.”

  Lana’s spear gleamed as she spun it once in her hand. “I’ve been itching for something real.”

  Valen didn’t even hesitate. He turned to the others.

  “Gear up,” he said. “We leave in five.”

  Dillion blinked. “Wait. You’re taking me with you?”

  Valen’s eyes found his.

  “You’re one of us now, aren’t you?”

  The sun hung low behind the shattered spires of the Temple Ruins, casting jagged shadows over broken columns and moss-covered stone. The wind whispered through the empty archways, carrying the distant sounds of screaming — and something heavier.

  Boom.

  The sound echoed through the ruins like a war drum.

  Boom.

  Another.

  The party from Crit Happens crouched atop a crumbling ridge overlooking a wide-open courtyard half-swallowed by fog and vines. From their vantage, they had a perfect view of the chaos unfolding below.

  And in the center of it all… the Beast.

  The Minotaur stood at nearly three meters tall, its body a fusion of fur, metal, and raw soul energy. Its arms were like tree trunks, but it was the hammer that drew the eye — a war maul as big as Dillion, carved with glowing crimson runes, each strike sending shockwaves through the earth.

  Below them, a six-player party — geared, organized, clearly experienced — was trying to hold formation. A tank had just lunged in with a shield barrier, a mage casting radiant chains to bind the creature’s arms.

  “Looks like they’ve got a plan,” Gorran murmured.

  CRACK.

  The hammer dropped. The tank shattered — his shield splintered like glass as he was launched fifty feet into a temple wall.

  “Correction,” Kael said. “Had a plan.”

  Lana clicked her tongue. “That’s a Named Beast, alright.”

  The Minotaur roared, a sound so deep it made Dillion’s ribs vibrate. It charged the next fighter with terrifying speed, and the courtyard lit up with soul-fire and desperate defense spells.

  Mika whispered, “Kill count’s probably at forty by now.”

  Valen watched in silence, eyes tracking every movement of the beast — the timing of its swings, the rhythm of its aggression, the way it dragged one foot behind the other, slightly slower on its left side.

  He finally spoke: “It’s not mindless. Watch the pacing… it’s baiting them.”

  Kael adjusted his bowstring. “So what’s the play, boss?”

  Valen turned to his team, green Soul Gem pulsing faintly at his chest.

  “We wait. Let the party below wear it down. As soon as it starts to overextend, we move in — coordinated strike, full focus on the legs. Bring it to the ground.”

  His gaze locked onto Dillion.

  “You ready to get your name on something serious?”

  Dillion swallowed, heart pounding.

  He nodded.

  “Im ready.”

  Dillion crouched near the edge of the ridge, the Temple Ruins sprawling out beneath them like a battlefield frozen in time. From up here, the chaos looked like a cinematic loop — players scrambling, the Minotaur thundering, spells flashing. But what struck Dillion most was the calm around Crit Happens.

  No panic. No wasted motion. Just quiet readiness.

  Valen stood in the center, arms crossed, studying the battlefield like it was a chessboard.

  Kael knelt nearby, checking the fletching on his arrows. “Wind’s cutting left to right. I’ll shift high ground once it turns its back.”

  Lana spun her spear once, then planted it into the stone beside her. “I take the first strike. Pull aggro hard, fast. Mika—”

  “—already queued a heal chain,” Mika said, flipping through her SoulPad. “But if you overextend again, I’m letting you bleed.”

  Lana grinned. “Can’t wait.”

  Gorran cracked his knuckles and slung a massive soul-infused tower shield onto his back. “I’ll hold the front. When it charges, I stop it. Period.”

  Valen nodded. “Kael, cover lanes. Mika, priority on Lana and Gorran. I’ll control the windfield — keep its hammer arm off balance. Dillion…”

  Dillion snapped to attention.

  Valen gave him a small smile. “You stick with me. Watch. Listen. Strike only when the moment’s right.”

  Dillion nodded slowly, still trying to process how fluid it all was. No yelling. No debate. Just roles, synergy, and confidence.

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  “This is what a top guild looks like,” he murmured.

  Mika glanced sideways. “We hear that a lot.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lana added. “You’ll stop being impressed once we start yelling at each other mid-fight.”

  Kael stood, knocking an arrow. “Ready?”

  Valen exhaled. The wind shifted.

  “Move.”

  The party below had crumbled — two left standing, barely.

  The Minotaur reared back to crush them both with a single overhead blow.

  FWOOOSH—

  A gale of green wind sliced across the battlefield. The hammer strike veered wide, knocked off course.

  Valen landed first, boots skidding through the dust, arm raised, wind spinning around him in a sharp spiral.

  “Engage!”

  Gorran dropped like a meteor, shield-first, slamming into the beast’s leg and rooting it in place with a thunderous crash. Lana darted in, spear jabbing upward in a flash of red light. Chains of damage numbers exploded around the impact point.

  Kael's arrows began to rain down, each one glowing with green Soulfire, disrupting the beast’s balance with precise, punishing shots.

  Mika, standing at the perimeter, channeled healing runes in the air, every gesture elegant and exact — the lifeline that held the front together.

  And Dillion?

  Dillion hung back with Valen, shield up, orbs of water swirling at his fingertips.

  His moment was coming.

  And this time, he wouldn't miss it.

  Dillion moved along the edges of the chaos like a shadow behind a storm.

  While Crit Happens clashed up close, he ran tight, calculated arcs around the field — firing water bullets with pinpoint timing. Each orb cracked against the Minotaur’s hide, drawing just enough attention to keep it off balance without stealing aggro. It wasn’t powerful... but it was sharp. Constant. Disruptive.

  “Good pressure, Water Gun!” Kael called, loosing a trio of arrows that pinned the beast’s shoulder mid-turn.

  Lana’s spear whirled in streaks of red light as she drove it into the Minotaur’s thigh, twisting just enough to slow a stomp meant for Gorran.

  Mika’s voice rang out like a thread of calm through the noise. “Gorran — reinforce. Valen, I’ve got your back.”

  Dillion could see it now — the rhythm of a real team. Each piece moving like part of a machine. Each decision feeding the next.

  He leapt over a broken pillar, sliding behind a slab of stone, and fired another orb into the beast’s eye.

  CRACK!

  The Minotaur roared and staggered — they were winning.

  Mika’s healing circles flared brighter. Lana pressed forward. Valen’s wind arced violently against the creature’s legs, forcing it to stumble again. Even Gorran’s laughter rang out through the clash as he deflected a swing that would’ve crushed a lesser tank.

  But then—

  it shifted.

  The beast let out a low, guttural growl — one that reverberated through the ruins like distant thunder.

  Its massive frame twisted, muscles bulging unnaturally. Its hammer pulsed with dark red light — not from strength, but from magic.

  “Something’s wrong!” Mika shouted.

  Too late.

  The Minotaur spun with unnatural speed and caught Gorran full-force in the chest with the flat of its glowing hammer. The impact echoed like a gong, and Gorran went flying — crashing through a wall of the ruins and disappearing in a cloud of stone and dust.

  “GORRAN!” Lana yelled.

  Before anyone could respond, the Minotaur reared back on two hooves and let out a deafening, magical ROAR — a pulse of corrupted soul energy rippling out like a shockwave.

  Valen dropped to one knee, clutching his head, his winds faltering.

  Lana froze mid-strike, her body stiffening as if gravity had suddenly turned to stone.

  Even Kael staggered, forced back behind cover.

  Only Dillion, just far enough outside the radius, was spared.

  He skidded to a stop behind a broken column, eyes wide as the dust began to settle.

  The beast turned toward him — hammer dragging across the stone, blood steaming from its breath.

  Everything had changed.

  And Dillion was the only one still moving.

  The Minotaur’s nostrils flared as it sniffed the air, dark magic steaming off its thick hide.

  Its eyes locked onto Mika.

  She stood in the open, hands trembling as she began to trace glowing runes in the air — the first signs of a cleanse spell. Her voice was steady, but her body was barely upright. She was trying to save them all.

  The beast snarled.

  And then it charged.

  “No—!” Dillion's voice barely broke through the roar of crumbling stone as the Minotaur lunged, its hammer rising like a thundercloud ready to fall.

  Mika didn’t flinch. She just kept chanting.

  But before the hammer could crash down—

  CLANG!

  A shield — his shield — slammed into place above her.

  The full weight of the Minotaur’s enchanted hammer crashed against it with a seismic blast. Stone shattered beneath Dillion’s feet, the sheer force knocking him into the ground like a tent peg driven by a god.

  Pain exploded through his arms, his spine. Every bone screamed. But he held.

  He held.

  For a moment, it was just the sound of his breathing and the grinding teeth of the Minotaur pressing down.

  Then, with a grunt, Dillion pushed off, using the smoke and debris to conjure a rolling cloud of Fog. The mist exploded around them in a thick spiral, cloaking Mika and himself from view.

  “Hang on!” he gasped, grabbing her by the waist.

  She didn’t resist.

  Together, they vanished into the Fog, slipping through a crack in the ruins and rolling behind a half-fallen column.

  Mika’s breath was ragged, but her hands were glowing now, symbols of purification forming around her wrists.

  “That was... stupid,” she muttered, already channeling. “Thanks.”

  Dillion gave a crooked smile through the pain. “You’re welcome.”

  With a burst of holy light, the Cleanse activated, racing outward like a wave of clarity.

  Across the battlefield, the fog began to lift — not from Dillion’s magic, but from Mika’s spell. The haze of the beast’s stun shattered like glass.

  Valen coughed and stood. Lana cracked her neck and reached for her spear. Kael whistled, already notching another arrow.

  The party was back.

  And Dillion — bruised, battered, aching — still stood, shield in hand.

  Valen’s boots scraped across the stone as he surged forward, green energy spiraling around his limbs.

  “Formation Echo!” he barked.

  Lana didn’t need another word. She was already moving, her spear igniting in crimson flame as she flanked the beast from the opposite side.

  “Come on, you overgrown steak!” she shouted, her spear whistling through the air as she struck — once, twice — each blow carving a molten line across the Minotaur’s armored hide.

  Valen matched her pace, weaving between its strikes, his body a blur of wind-charged motion. His movements were sharp and practiced, and then—

  Whhhhiiiiiirrr—SHHHHHK!

  The Stormblade erupted from his palm, slicing through the air with its signature scream. He slashed upward across the beast’s shoulder, green energy trailing behind like a comet’s tail.

  The Minotaur stumbled, caught off guard by the renewed assault.

  From the backline, Dillion moved constantly, circling wide, ducking between columns. His Water Pistol skill flared over and over — small bursts of water pressure launching with pinpoint force. He timed each shot between Valen and Lana’s attacks, aiming for the joints, the knees, the eyes — anywhere that gave them a moment’s edge.

  Mika’s voice echoed from the far end of the ruins.

  “The big guy’s back!”

  A deep roar thundered in response.

  From the shattered rubble where he had been thrown, Gorran burst forth, blood streaked down his cheek, his armor cracked, but his eyes blazing with fury.

  “You idiots better not finish without me!” he bellowed, hoisting a massive warhammer with one hand.

  The Minotaur turned just in time to see Gorran leap off a broken pillar — hammer overhead — and come crashing down like an avalanche.

  BOOM.

  The ground quaked. Dust and rock exploded upward.

  The Minotaur reeled, stunned by the force of the blow.

  Valen didn’t hesitate. “NOW!”

  Crit Happens converged, each member falling into perfect rhythm — spear, arrows, magic, steel — and Dillion’s relentless streams of water guiding each movement like a conductor behind the scenes.

  The tide had shifted.

  The Named Beast had finally met a real fight.

  The beast roared in rage and desperation, wounded but still thrashing — a wild storm of muscle and fury. Blood soaked the stone floor. Its hammer was gone, shattered. But its claws, teeth, and hate remained.

  Valen's eyes narrowed. His chest rose and fell with exertion.

  “Ten seconds.”

  He looked to his team. “Hold him. I’ll end this.”

  Kael was already moving, scaling a broken column like a shadow. “On it!” he called, loosing two arrows mid-air.

  Twang. Twang.

  Both arrows struck true, embedding into the Minotaur’s face — one in the brow, the other square in the eye. The beast howled and staggered.

  “Try walkin’ with this, freak,” Lana growled, charging low. Her spear plunged into the beast’s leg, twisting between sinew and bone. The Minotaur buckled on one knee.

  Gorran was next — a mountain of muscle — barreling forward and grabbing the beast’s right arm just as it raised it to strike.

  “Got you now, you ugly cow!” he shouted, teeth gritted, legs digging into the earth to hold the limb steady.

  Mika stood behind them all, eyes glowing with warm, golden light.

  “Reinforce!” she cried, her spell washing over the team in a shimmering wave of protection and speed. Dillion felt it surge through him like lightning in his veins.

  Valen stood tall at the edge of the arena, wind screaming around him as his blade began to form. Green light gathered, whirling tighter, faster — his Stormblade shining like a meteor waiting to fall.

  The Minotaur, half-blind and pinned, saw Valen coming — and threw its free arm forward, aiming to crush the wind swordsman before he could strike.

  But then—

  “Shield Guard!”

  Dillion’s voice rang out like a war horn.

  He dove in front of Valen, shield raised high.

  BOOOOOM.

  The Minotaur’s swing landed with a deafening crash — slamming into Dillion’s shield, forcing him to his knees. The ground beneath him cracked, his arms trembled, but he held firm.

  A moment’s breath.

  That was all Valen needed.

  He leapt past Dillion with a gust of air, his blade humming with power.

  SHHHHHK—KRAAAASH!

  The Stormblade sliced clean through, a streak of brilliant green cutting the beast in two from shoulder to hip. The Minotaur froze — then let out one last breath like a dying mountain.

  And fell.

  Thud.

  Silence.

  Dust settled.

  The only sound was Dillion’s heavy breathing and Valen’s blade dissolving into wind.

  The fight was over.

  The ruined courtyard of the temple steamed with fading magic and the blood of battle. Cracked stone, shattered weapons, and glowing fragments of the beast’s Soul Gem scattered the floor like broken glass. The Minotaur’s body had already begun to dissolve — a Named Beast’s final curse, fading back into Sora like smoke on the wind.

  Valen exhaled, sheathing his sword with a swirl of air. “Status check.”

  “Still breathing,” Lana muttered, yanking her spear from the corpse’s leg and wiping it clean. “Barely.”

  “Arrows spent,” Kael added, dropping down from a half-collapsed column. “Worth it.”

  Mika stood beside Gorran, channeling a slow healing spell into his shoulder. “He’s bruised like fruit but fine. You good, big guy?”

  Gorran grunted, flexing one arm. “I’ve had worse. But damn... that thing hit like a runaway wagon.”

  All eyes shifted toward Dillion.

  He stood near the broken edge of the courtyard, shield still raised, breathing hard. His armor was cracked, his knees trembling — but he hadn’t fallen. Not when it mattered.

  Kael gave a low whistle. “Okay... credit where it’s due. That was a hell of a block, Water Gun.”

  Lana crossed her arms, nodding with quiet respect. “You stepped in. Not many would.”

  Mika tilted her head, a small smile on her lips. “Not bad for the new guy.”

  Valen walked over, his expression unreadable. Then he held out a hand.

  Dillion blinked — then reached out and shook it.

  Valen gave a sharp nod. “You’re not just riding luck anymore.”

  There was a pause.

  Then Kael grinned and clapped Dillion hard on the back. “Good job, Water Gun.”

  The name stuck — again — but this time, it didn’t sting. It sparked laughter.

  Even Lana chuckled, shaking her head. “Guess the squirt’s got pressure behind him.”

  Gorran let out a booming laugh and gave Dillion a thump that nearly buckled his knees. Mika smiled, brushing some dust from his shoulder before Kael added, “Don’t let it go to your head, rookie.”

  Valen smirked, turning toward the temple’s exit. “Alright, enough celebrating. We’ve got reporting to do — and I’m starving. Let’s head back.”

  The team began filing out, shoulders lighter, steps easier.

  Dillion followed, bruised and breathless — but smiling like someone who’d finally found his place.