The scent marker's pungent smell filled the air.
Arden ran north, checking his weapons as he moved.
Two hours. Two kilometers. Unknown number of monsters attracted by the marker.
Just another day in hell.
The first attack came within five minutes.
Three goblins burst from the underbrush, drawn by the scent.
Arden didn't slow down.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three shots. Three bodies.
He kept running.
Conserve ammunition. Save grenades for large groups. Keep moving.
More howls echoed through the forest.
Closer now.
A pack of razormaws materialized ahead—six of them, blocking his path.
Can't go around. No time.
Arden threw a flash grenade into their midst.
BANG!
Brilliant light erupted. The razormaws yelped, temporarily blinded.
He charged through their broken formation, sword flashing.
Slash! Pivot! Strike!
Two down before they recovered.
The remaining four turned on him with coordinated fury.
This is going to hurt.
He engaged them in close quarters—ducking, weaving, striking whenever openings appeared.
His sword found throats. His knife found eyes.
Within thirty seconds, all six razormaws were dead.
But Arden was bleeding from a dozen shallow cuts.
Keep moving. Patch wounds later.
Fifteen minutes into the run, he encountered something unexpected.
The forest ahead was completely silent.
No birds. No insects. No ambient noise at all.
That's wrong. Silence in the forest means predator.
Big predator.
Arden slowed, scanning the shadows between trees.
Nothing.
But the feeling of being watched intensified.
He took another step forward.
The shadow moved.
Not his shadow—a different one, sliding across the ground like liquid darkness.
What the hell—
It rose from the earth, coalescing into a vaguely humanoid form.
Tall. Impossibly thin. No facial features except two gleaming red eyes that burned with malevolent intelligence.
Long, blade-like appendages extended from where arms should be.
The creature made no sound.
It didn't need to.
Arden's instincts—honed by years of combat—screamed danger.
Move!
He threw himself sideways as the creature lunged.
Those blade-arms sliced through the space where he'd been standing, cutting through a tree trunk like it was paper.
The tree fell with a thunderous crash.
Too fast. Too strong. This isn't a normal monster.
The shadow creature turned its eyeless face toward him.
Then it simply... vanished.
Not retreated.
Vanished into nothing.
Invisibility? Teleportation? What—
Pain exploded across his back.
Arden stumbled forward, feeling blood soak through his armor.
Behind me. It was behind me.
He spun, sword ready.
Nothing.
Just empty forest.
Then movement in his peripheral vision—another shadow sliding across the ground.
It's hunting me.
And I can't see it until it attacks.
Arden's mind shifted into tactical analysis mode.
Assess the threat. Identify capabilities. Find weaknesses.
Capability 1: Phase-shifting. Can move between material and immaterial states.
Capability 2: Extreme speed when material. Faster than anything I've faced.
Capability 3: Blade appendages. Armor-piercing. Can cut through trees.
Capability 4: Intelligence. It's not just attacking randomly. It's hunting strategically.
He circled slowly, keeping his back to a large boulder.
Can't let it get behind me again.
Another shadow ripple.
Arden fired three times at it.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The bullets passed through—hitting nothing but air.
Immaterial state. Physical attacks don't work when it's phased.
The creature materialized directly in front of him.
Those red eyes burned with what looked like amusement.
It's playing with me.
The blade-arms came down in a cross-slash.
Arden rolled sideways, feeling one blade graze his armor.
SCREECH!
The metal held, but barely.
If that had been a direct hit, I'd be dead.
He came up firing.
BANG! BANG!
One shot missed. One connected.
The creature shrieked—that horrible, wrong sound—and phased out again.
So I can hurt it when it's material. But I have to hit it in that brief window.
Problem: It phases out faster than I can aim.
I need to predict when it'll materialize. Force it into a position where it HAS to be material.
Arden pulled out a smoke grenade.
If I can't see it, I'll create conditions where it can't see me either.
Make it fight on my terms.
HISS!
Dense smoke filled the area.
Arden dropped to a crouch, listening.
Shadow creatures rely on visual hunting. Smoke disrupts that.
But they also have enhanced senses. It can probably still track me through sound or movement.
A ripple in the smoke—too subtle to be wind.
Arden fired at it.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A screech erupted.
Hit!
But the creature was already moving, circling through the smoke.
Arden's tactical mind continued calculating.
Ammunition: Eight rounds remaining in the pistol. Two magazines in reserve.
Grenades: One flash, two smoke, one mana disruptor.
Physical condition: Multiple lacerations, bleeding moderately, stamina at 60%.
Enemy condition: Wounded but still highly mobile. Rage is building—it's getting more aggressive.
Tactical assessment: I cannot win this fight through direct combat.
The creature is faster, stronger, and has abilities I can't counter.
Survival probability if I continue current approach: Less than 20%.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
I'm going to lose.
This thing is going to kill me.
Unless I change something fundamental about how I'm fighting.
The creature materialized behind him again.
Arden spun, but too slow.
Those blade-arms caught him across the chest.
SLASH!
His armor cracked. Blood sprayed.
The impact threw him backward into a tree.
THUD!
Pain exploded through his ribs.
Fractured. Definitely fractured.
He tried to stand.
His legs wouldn't cooperate.
The shadow creature advanced slowly now.
No more phasing.
No more games.
It knew he was beaten.
Those red eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
This is it. This is how I die.
Again.
Failed to survive past my death flag. Failed to prevent disasters. Failed everything.
Blood trickled down his face, into his eyes, across his mouth.
He could taste copper and defeat.
The creature raised its blade-arms for the killing strike.
And something in Arden's mind... shifted.
A memory.
Not from this life.
From before.
---
Iraq. Forward Operating Base. Three months before the IED.
Captain Marcus Chen sat with his squad in the rec room.
Specialist Rodriguez. Corporal Kim. Private First Class Martinez.
They were talking about dreams. About what they'd do if they survived.
"I'm gonna open a restaurant," Rodriguez said. "Best tacos in California."
"I'm going into law enforcement," Kim added. "Make detective in five years."
"What about you, Cap?" Martinez asked. "What's the dream?"
Marcus had laughed. "This is going to sound stupid."
"Come on, sir. We won't judge."
"I want to be a writer. Maybe a poet. Something creative."
The squad had stared.
"You? Poetry?" Rodriguez looked incredulous.
"I like words. The way they fit together. The way they can capture something that action can't." Marcus had shrugged. "Told you it was stupid."
"It's not stupid," Martinez said quietly. "It's human. We all need something beautiful to hold onto in this hell."
Later that night, Marcus had written his first poem.
It was terrible.
But it was his.
The memory faded.
----
Arden—no, Marcus—no, both of them—looked up at the shadow creature.
And smiled.
Blood on his teeth. Death approaching.
But smiling.
I wanted to be a poet once.
Guess it's time to see if I still remember how.
He started laughing—a sound that was half-sob, half-genuine amusement.
The shadow creature paused, confused.
Arden forced himself to his feet.
His ribs screamed. His legs shook.
But he stood.
"You know what's funny?" he said, voice rough. "I was going to die in a game. Then I was going to die in my novel. Now I'm going to die in reality."
The creature tilted its head, those red eyes burning.
"But before I do..."
Arden raised his sword with trembling hands.
"Let me tell you a poem. About devils. And the fools who hunt them."
He began to recite, his voice growing stronger with each word.
Words that came from somewhere deep—not from his novel, not from his past life, but from the strange space between them where Marcus Chen and Arden Valekrest merged into something new.
"I walked through shadow, blade in hand,
Through forests dark where demons stand.
The devil's eyes burned crimson red,
While all around me, hope lay dead."
The creature lunged.
Arden sidestepped—barely, running on instinct and spite.
"My armor cracked, my blood ran free,
The shadow danced in mockery.
It whispered soft: 'Your death is near,'
But I replied: 'I know no fear.'"
He was moving now, not running, but circling.
Finding rhythm in the words.
Finding strength in the cadence.
"For I have died a thousand ways,
Through countless nights and endless days.
This flesh may fail, this bone may break,
But my soul endures for honor's sake."
The shadow creature attacked again.
This time, Arden was ready.
Not faster. Not stronger.
Just... present.
Completely present in the moment.
His sword met those blade-arms.
CLANG!
The impact rattled his bones.
But he held.
"So come, dark devil, test my will,
Come see if death can break me still.
I'll stand though heaven turns away,
I'll fight until my final day!"
Something was happening.
His mana—normally ice-element from the Valekrest bloodline—was responding to the words.
Flowing in patterns he'd never used before.
Creating... something.
"And when at last my body falls,
When shadow claims me, darkness calls,
Remember this: I did not yield,
I was a warrior on the field!"
The mana crystallized.
Not into ice.
Into pure energy that flowed through his sword, his body, his very existence.
The shadow creature sensed something wrong.
It tried to phase out.
Too late.
Arden moved with speed that shouldn't be possible from his broken body.
One strike.
Perfect.
Precise.
Inevitable.
His sword pierced the creature's core—not where the heart should be, but where the essence was.
The place where shadow became solid.
"I slew the devil at the gate,
Refused to bow before my fate.
Upon its corpse, my poem complete—
I am the warrior death can't beat!"
The shadow creature shrieked.
That horrible, wrong sound that made reality shudder.
Then it dissolved.
Not slowly.
Instantly.
Black mist erupted outward, then collapsed inward to a single point.
A core.
Pitch black, with red fire flickering in its depths.
Arden caught it as it fell.
Then collapsed to his knees, the adrenaline finally fading.
What... what just happened?
His mana felt different. Changed somehow.
Like the poem had... done something.
I shouldn't have won. The tactical assessment was clear. Less than 20% survival probability.
But the poem... the words...
They created a moment. A space where probability didn't matter.
Where willpower became reality.
He looked at the Shadow Devil core in his hand.
Then at his sword, which was glowing faintly with residual energy.
"Poem of the Devil Slayer."
That's what I'll call it.
My first original creation in this world.
Born from desperation, memory, and the refusal to die quietly.
Arden laughed again—softer this time, more genuine.
"I wanted to be a poet," he whispered to the empty forest. "Guess I finally am."
He allowed himself thirty seconds to rest.
Then forced himself to stand.
Still being timed. Still have to reach the rendezvous point.
Can't waste time celebrating survival.
Arden stored the Shadow Devil core carefully and started moving north again.
Every step was agony.
His ribs grated. His wounds reopened with movement.
But he kept going.
Forty minutes left. One kilometer to go.
I can make it.
I have to.
The remaining distance was a blur of pain and determination.
He encountered three more monster groups.
Dispatched them with mechanical efficiency.
No poetry this time.
Just violence.
By the time he reached the designated rendezvous point, he was more blood than boy.
But he'd made it.
One hour, fifty-three minutes.
Seven minutes early.
The three rangers were waiting.
Voss was sitting on a rock, looking completely relaxed. He had a small fire going and was roasting field rations over the flames.
Then he saw Arden.
The theatrical demeanor vanished.
"Shit."
All three rangers moved at once.
Riza caught Arden as his legs gave out. "Multiple severe injuries. Possible internal bleeding. Fractured ribs. He should be dead."
"But he's not," Voss said, his voice unusually serious. "Which means he's tougher than he looks."
"Or stupider," Markus added, but there was respect in his tone.
Arden managed a bloody smile. "Made it. Seven minutes early."
"You insane bastard," Voss said, but he was grinning. "What did you fight?"
"Shadow Devil."
All three rangers froze.
"Show me the core."
Arden pulled it out with trembling hands.
Voss stared at it for a long moment.
"That's impossible. Shadow Devils are extinct."
"Apparently not."
"How did you kill it? These things are apex predators. You're twelve."
"Poem."
"What?"
"I recited a poem. My mana responded. Created an opening." Arden's vision was starting to blur. "Called it... Devil Slayer."
Voss looked at him with an expression that was equal parts amazement and concern.
"You started reciting and improvised poetry in the middle of fighting an extinct apex predator and your mana responded to it?"
"Yeah."
"That's..." Voss started laughing—genuinely, fully. "That's the most ranger thing I've ever heard! Riza! Are you hearing this?!"
"I'm hearing it, sir. I'm also watching him bleed out. Medical attention. Now."
"Right, right." But Voss's eyes were gleaming. "Kid, when you're healed? We're testing that poem-mana interaction. That's... that could be something special."
He pulled out his flask and took a long drink.
"Shadow Devil killed at twelve. Poetry that channels mana. Arrived seven minutes early despite everything."
Voss looked at Riza and Markus.
"We're certifying him. Full ranger qualification. Youngest in Northern Command history."
"Sir—"
"No debate. This kid just proved he's more capable than half our veteran rangers." Voss turned back to Arden. "Welcome to the rangers, kid. You've earned it."
"Thanks," Arden managed.
Then passed out.
He woke briefly during the journey back.
Markus was carrying him—easily, like he weighed nothing.
Voss was walking ahead, gesturing animatedly.
"...fire and shadow! Think about the tactical applications! I create chaos and draw attention, he operates from stealth! Plus his combat poetry thing! We could coordinate attacks through verse! How dramatic is that?!"
"Captain, you're supposed to focus on tactical effectiveness, not dramatic potential."
"I'm focusing on BOTH! We'll be legends! The greatest ranger duo in frontier history! The bards will sing songs about us!"
"Sir, he's twelve."
"He killed a Shadow Devil with POETRY! Age is irrelevant!"
Arden smiled despite the pain.
Definitely going to be complicated.
But also... kind of perfect.