The forest at night was not the romantic, moonlit woodland described in bards' tales. It was a cold, jagged obstacle course designed to kill things that didn't belong there.

​And Reed definitely didn't belong there.

​He stumbled over a root, his boots scuffing heavily against the dirt. He didn't just trip; he nearly collapsed. A wave of nausea rolled through him, deeper than physical sickness. It felt like his blood was turning into static.

​[WARNING: OUT OF RANGE]

Connection to Core: Severed.

Status: Battery Mode.

Mana Bleed: -1 MP / 10 Minutes.

Current Mana: 14 / 150.

​"You are noisy," Kaelen stated, not looking back.

​She was ten paces ahead, moving with an infuriating, silent grace. Despite wearing forty pounds of Silverite plate armor, she made less noise than a stalking cat. She had wrapped her grey wool cloak tight, hiding the gleam of her metal, effectively becoming a shadow.

​"I am… leaking," Reed wheezed, pushing himself off a pine tree. The bark felt rough and alien under his hand. Inside the dungeon, the stone felt like his skin. Here, the world was just dead matter.

​"Leaking?" Kaelen stopped. She turned, her eyes scanning him in the darkness.

​"Mana bleed," Reed explained, clutching his chest where the Necrotic Crystal had been absorbed. The ache there was a cold void. "Avatars are projections. I'm a hard-light hologram running on a battery. If I stay out here too long… I dissolve."

​Kaelen frowned. She walked back to him, her expression clinical.

​"The Restoration Draught I gave you in the Foundry. Did it not stabilize you?"

​"It gave me fifteen mana," Reed said, checking his HUD. "I'm down to fourteen. It's fuel, Kaelen. I'm burning it just to exist. Walking costs mana. Breathing costs mana."

​"Then we must be efficient," Kaelen said, her voice hard but her eyes calculating. "Two miles to the bridge. At your current rate of decay, you have roughly two hours before you destabilize."

​"Plenty of time," Reed lied, pushing himself upright. "Let's go."

​They moved out again. The silence of the forest was oppressive. Without the hum of the dungeon in his head, Reed felt deaf. He realized how much he relied on the constant, subconscious feedback from his monsters—Grika's manic energy, Seraphine's warmth, Riva's chaotic thoughts.

​Here, he was just a man in the woods with a woman who wanted to arrest him.

​"The Ghost," Kaelen said abruptly, breaking the silence.

​Reed stiffened. "Elara."

​"You called it 'Protocol Zero'," Kaelen said. "You invited a Banshee, a creature of pure, chaotic grief into your soul matrix. And you survived."

​"It was a desperate measure," Reed said carefully, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

​"It was madness," Kaelen countered. "I have seen Paladins attempt to channel spirits of the Light and burn out their nervous systems in seconds. You channeled a spirit of the Dark. And yet… you are not insane."

​She slowed her pace slightly, allowing him to walk beside her.

​"Why?"

​Reed hesitated. He could lie. But he was too tired, and his mana was too low to maintain a complex deception.

​"Because she's lonely," Reed said honestly. "And so am I."

​Kaelen blinked. She looked taken aback, as if she had expected a lecture on necromantic theory, not feelings.

​"Loneliness," she repeated, testing the word like it was a trap. "You bonded via… emotional resonance?"

​"Dungeons are empty places, Inquisitor. Banshees are empty souls. We… fit."

​Kaelen stared at him for a long moment. Then, she shook her head, turning back to the path.

​"You are a strange heretic, Reed. You humanize monsters. It will be your undoing."

​"It hasn't killed me yet."

​"Yet," Kaelen emphasized. "Move. Your mana is dropping."

​The Boneyard

​Half a mile later, the smell hit them.

​It wasn't the rot of the undead. It was the copper tang of fresh blood.

​Kaelen drew her sword, the steel hissing softly against the scabbard. She didn't light it; she kept the blade dark to maintain stealth.

​"Ambush site," she whispered.

​They crept forward into a small clearing.

​It was a massacre. A group of four adventurers, likely a low-level party hoping to raid Reed's dungeon, had been caught in the open. They lay scattered in the grass, their armor rent by massive, crushing blows.

​"Siegebreakers," Reed noted, looking at a crushed shield. "They walked right through them."

​Kaelen knelt beside a fallen cleric, checking for a pulse. She closed the woman's eyes and murmured a silent prayer.

​"Civilians," Kaelen said, her voice tight with anger. "The Necropolis kills indiscriminately."

​Reed, however, was looking at something else. He walked over to the body of what looked like a Rogue.

​He tried to open his [System Inventory]. A red error message flashed.

​[ERROR: MANA LOW]

Dimensional Storage Offline.

To Access Inventory: 5 Mana Required.

​"Damn it," Reed cursed. He couldn't access his stored weapons. He couldn't access his food. He was locked out of his own pockets.

​He knelt down and began unbuckling the dead Rogue's pack with his hands.

​Kaelen stood up, horrified. "What are you doing?"

​"Looting," Reed said, pulling a dagger from the dead man's belt. "I can't use my inventory, Inquisitor. I'm locked out. I have a rusty sword and fourteen mana points that are draining by the second. I need physical gear."

​"That is grave robbery!" Kaelen hissed. "Show some respect!"

​"Respect won't kill a Siegebreaker," Reed countered, dumping the contents of the backpack onto the grass. "These guys don't need it anymore. We do."

​He sifted through the items desperately.

​Rations (Stale) - Good, he was starving.

​Rope (50ft) - Essential.

​Healing Potion (Minor) x1 - Lifesaver.

​Dagger (Steel) - Better than his rusty one.

​"Garbage," Reed muttered, pocketing the potion. He checked the Mage's body next.

​He found a scroll case. He popped it open.

​[ITEM IDENTIFIED]

Scroll of Grease (Tier 1)

Quantity: 3

Effect: Coats a 10x10 area in slippery magical oil.

Activation Cost: 0 Mana (Pre-charged).

​"Grease," Reed said, grinning. A plan began to form. "Okay. We can work with grease."

​He pocketed the scrolls. Then, he spotted a pouch on the Mage's belt. It looked heavy. It was made of purple velvet with gold stitching.

​"Jackpot," Reed whispered. "Bag of Holding."

​He grabbed the pouch. If he couldn't use his system inventory, a physical magic bag was the next best thing.

​Immediately, a smell hit him. It smelled like a gym sock stuffed with onions and left in the sun for a week.

​"Ugh!" Reed gagged, holding the bag at arm's length. "What the hell?"

​[ITEM IDENTIFIED]

Bag of Holding (Defective/Cursed)

Capacity: 500 lbs.

Curse: The Bag of Stench. Anything placed inside smells permanently of garlic and mildew.

Note: That explains why the Mage died alone.

​"It smells like a goblin's armpit," Kaelen judged, wrinkling her perfect nose. "Leave it."

​"It's a dimensional storage unit," Reed argued, tying the stinky bag to his belt. "I'm keeping it. I can put rocks in it."

​"Why would you want a bag of smelly rocks?"

​"Ammo," Reed said, picking up a heavy river stone and shoving it into the bag. "I can't cast spells, Kaelen. I need something to throw. Don't judge my loadout."

​He stood up, shoving the healing potion into his pocket. He offered the steel dagger to Kaelen.

​"Backup weapon?"

​Kaelen looked at the looted knife with disdain. "I have my blade. And my faith."

​"Suit yourself. I'm taking the rope, too."

​Reed coiled the rope over his shoulder. He looked like a scavenger—dirty, carrying a stinking bag, armed with dead men's tools, and fading fast.

​[MANA ALERT]

Current Mana: 12 / 150.

​Kaelen looked at him. She didn't scold him this time. She just looked… concerned.

​"You look pale, Asset," she said quietly.

​"I'm fine," Reed lied, swaying slightly. "Just... low battery."

​"The river is close," Kaelen said, gesturing for him to follow. "We must hurry. Before you disappear completely."

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