"Can you not scream like that?" Henry clutched his chest. "Damn near made me slip and fall!"
"Ah, my bad. Keep doing your thing," Skinny Pete said, rubbing the back of his head, clearly embarrassed.
Then his eyes slid toward the beat-up, gray-white Dire Eagle that was still clamped in Nugget's beak. There was a gleam in his eyes now—calculating, interested.
"Hey, Henry. What tier you think this thing is?"
"Do you even have to ask?" Henry replied without looking up. "It pushed Nugget to the brink of death. Gotta be Tier 9 for sure."
"Mm," Pete nodded slowly, mind churning with possibilities.
Controlling three Tier 9 mutant beasts used to be a stretch. But now it felt kinda easy.
Four might be doable.
And an aerial beast? Way more valuable than a groundbound one.
He glanced back toward where the team was still locked in combat. If he managed to bring this eagle under control, he'd have not one, but two flying mounts. That would double the speed on rescue operations.
