"Crap, crap, crap!" I yelled.

"What?" Jessie shouted from the other side of the door.

I shook my head and focused on the hatchling. It was writhing in agony, thrashing hard enough to scrape its soft, fragile scales free on the bathroom cabinet and bathtub side. But all that was physical pain; it'd be able to fix it with Health later.

My main concern was what was happening inside the monster.

My Mana pool was pretty much tapped out. I had enough to summon the Stormsteel rapier and kill the Lightfeather Hatchling, but only just. If I stayed committed to forming the Familiar Bond, I'd lose that safety net. But if I didn't do something, the monster was going to die anyway. Its core was gone, and my replacement core was ablaze.

"Screw it," I said. Then I poured the rest of my Mana into it, this time as a driving, targeted monsoon. The rainfall covered the nascent core, quenching the fire bit by bit until, while the old tree burned, the new core locked into place.

"What now?" I asked.

Jessie didn't hesitate. "Now, all you have to do is enter its mental space and make contact. That should be easy enough, but once you're there, I won't be able to talk to you. You need to form a connection between your core and the familiar's. It's not going to be mind control. More like an emotional sharing link or something. The book Ellen sent me is hard to understand, sorry. But once you've done that, you'll have Familiar Bond. At least, according to these pictures, you will."

"Thanks, Jessie," I said.

There was a pause from the other side of the door. "You're welcome, Kade. And don't forget, I'm naming it when you're done!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I took a deep breath and thought about how to enter the monster's mental space—then steeled myself and dove into its core.

Suffering.

Death.

Pain.

Predation

For as long as it could remember, the Lightfeather Hatchling had known only those things. Had only cared about those three things—and about being freed from its warm prison so it could cause them. Its very existence in this world was a sign that its single, driving purpose would be fulfilled, and fulfilled soon.

There was usually only one creature near its hard, sweltering prison. It would go away, then return. Occasionally, it touched the shell. That left warm spots behind, and the hatchling wanted only to rip into them, tear its way free, and kill the creature that created warm spots on its shell. It would be the first to die—and it would happen sooner than anyone knew. The hatchling hammered at its stone-hard prison, trying to build the strength to be free.

It took time. So much time. The Lightfeather Hatchling had no concept of that, though. It only knew that it had to kill, and that until it was free, it couldn't.

Then, on one of its thrashing, flailing attempts, it made headway. And light poured into the shell.

The hatchling paused, exhausted.

This time, the creature grabbed it. The hatchling felt itself jostled, then dropped into something. A roaring filled its ears—it would have screeched in defiance and anger if it could, but it couldn't. Then. Heat. So much heat, everywhere. All around it, except for four squares in a line in front of it. Those were cold.

Then more jostling. The roaring stopped. And a few minutes later, the Lightfeather Hatchling was free.

Free…and exhausted.

There were two hot creatures—a big one, up front, and a smaller one behind it. The big one exuded power. It would be the first to die. Then, the hatchling would feast on it and the smaller, weaker one. It would grow stronger. And it would find more prey.

That was, after all, its purpose.

And then, it was attacked.

The attack was swift, unrelenting. The hatchling tried to escape. It succeeded for a moment. Lashed out in fury and hatred. Was captured again. Something battered against it, but not a physical battering. This one hit its core, and the hatchling's defenses shook. It screeched. Tried to fight back.

Then…fire inside.

It was dying. Dying without fulfilling its purpose. Without killing, without causing pain, and without growth. All was agony. All was pain. There was nothing but those two—no killing, no growth, no freedom.

The pain stopped. And a presence revealed itself.

"Kade," the presence said. And for the first time in its existence, the Lightfeather Hatchling felt something besides the drive to kill.

I encountered my first schoolyard enemy when I was in third grade.

Other boys had wanted to fight before then, but those were just squabbles over toys, or who was going to play with who, or getting a better spot in line for the slide. Even then, I'd known they weren't important. Worth fighting for? Absolutely. But not worth getting angry about. Not worth the furious violence I knew I had in me, even then.

But Thomas—Tommy—was different.

Tommy didn't have any interest in being first in line. He didn't care about who played with him—not that anyone wanted to. He only cared about one thing, and that was hurting my classmates. Not me. He must have seen that I was a tough nut to crack.

I did everything right. Instead of confronting him, I went to the teachers. And they tried to get him to stop. They really did. I didn't hold that against them.

But they failed. Tommy didn't stop. He only got more clever about tormenting my classmates.

So I had to do something myself.

It was my first real fight. I didn't know what I was doing, and neither did Tommy. By the time the teachers got there to pull him off of me, I was covered in red punch marks that were already on their way to bruising, and he had a black eye. I'd only landed one good hit, but it had been a good one.

The next day, he was at it again. And I got three good hits in.

Four fights and two weeks later, I won.

I had to win three more times before Tommy figured out how things were. Eventually, though, he realized that I was just as angry and violent as he was, and that I wouldn't stop any more than he would. One of us was going to have to back down. And in the end, it was Tommy.

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Dad had started teaching me discipline after that. How to control myself. How to take that anger and violence and turn them into something productive. But learning that was a long process, and there were more schoolyard enemies to fight in the meantime. So, even as I learned, I kept getting in fights, pitting my willpower and willingness to be hurt against theirs, and coming out on top.

After all of that, the Lightfeather Hatchling was almost pathetically easy to beat. It was just another schoolyard bully, and while it might've been stronger than any I'd fought on the playground, it wasn't stronger than me. And, equally importantly, its heart wasn't in it. Not anymore.

As I stepped into its mental space, I realized just what I'd accomplished by removing the core.

It wasn't in tatters or destroyed. Instead, the hatchling's mind felt purposeless. It—and I—knew that its purpose should be to hurt, to kill, to murder like every other portal monster. That was what they did. That was all they did. Sometimes, they did it through brute force. Other times, through magic or subterfuge. But they were all killers.

Not the Lightfeather Hatchling. Not anymore. It had no purpose. And it desperately needed one.

I tried giving it one, core to core. "Your purpose is to fight other monsters." "Your purpose is to assist me." "Your purpose is to explore portal worlds with me." On and on. But none of them stuck. The first one—about fighting monsters—was close, but even varying it didn't work. None of the purposes I could come up with worked for the Lightfeather Hatchling. And until I had one that worked for both of us, the bond wouldn't be complete. I had no evidence for that. But it felt right, so I believed it.

This wasn't about its purpose, I realized. This was about our purpose. Jessie hadn't explained that well at all. Or maybe Ellen's pics had been incomplete. Either way, the Lightfeather Hatchling and I had to share a purpose to share a bond.

So, what did I care about? Why was I fighting?

Both questions, as it turned out, were easy to answer.

The second one, though, led back to the first. I was fighting to get stronger. I had to get stronger. Not just because there were monsters and portals out there that I couldn't even scratch. Because I'd made a promise to Dad.

And that was the answer to the first. I'd promised Dad I'd take care of Jessie, keep her safe, and make him proud. And I couldn't do that if I wasn't strong enough. That was my purpose. My reason.

It was why I'd fought Tommy and the other bullies. It was why I'd fought the Gemini Demon. And it was why I'd keep fighting until there wasn't anything left to fight.

Would it be enough for the Lightfeather Hatchling? There was only one way to find out. I spoke both of them into the monster's mental space and tried to connect our cores. "I'm fighting to get stronger, so I can protect the people I care about."

And to my surprise, it worked.

Skill Learned: Familiar Bond

The powerful believe they can fight any foe alone—and win. The truly strong, however, know that having an ally to watch their back ensures they won't lose. An animal familiar can provide additional support, early warnings of danger, and the resources necessary to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Creates an emotional bond between you and a single animal, which becomes your familiar.

Upgrade Effects: 1. Each rank increases the Mana, Stamina, and Health of your familiar. 2. Each rank increases the strength of your bond.

I opened my eyes. Shockingly, the bathroom wasn't as badly off as I expected; the Lightfeather Hatchling didn't have claws to scrape with, so the tub and cabinet were scuffed but relatively intact. I took a deep breath and let go of the monster.

It didn't move for a minute. Then its wings slowly unfurled, and I cleared my throat. "I'm going to let someone in, and you're going to behave. Understand?" At the same time, I tested the emotional bond, pouring images of my sister, the feeling of calm, and the instinct to not move into my familiar's mind. Then I waited.

It didn't move, save to raise its head and stare at the door.

"I guess I'll take that as a yes," I said. I readied myself to jump on the hatchling the moment it tried something. Then I unlocked the door. "Jessie, you can come on in."

The door opened. My sister squealed like a pig in the mud. Then she rushed the serpent.

I braced myself. But it didn't move. Jessie reached out and stroked it behind the head, where its ears would be. It flattened against the ground and hissed menacingly, and I sent an image of myself and a wall of anger toward it. It took a few seconds, but the Lightfeather Hatchling stopped hissing and—though it clearly didn't enjoy the attention—let it happen.

After a minute or two, I decided that my familiar probably wasn't going to kill and eat Jessie, and left for my room. My egg was getting close to hatching, and I wanted eyes on it until Ellen got back. If I had to, I'd kill it. She'd almost certainly hate me for it, but I couldn't have a rogue monster in my apartment, and we didn't have any other way to get it under control.

The gunmetal gray egg was, in fact, close to hatching, but not as close as Ellen's off-silver one had been. I had no idea for sure, but I estimated she had hours before we had a real problem.

Kade: It's done. I'll tell you what's different when you get back.

Kade: I'll hold down the fort as long as I can. But hurry.

Ellen: On my way to a portal. Full team, E-Rank, will try to clear fast and get back to you. Thanks for the cover.

Kade: No problem.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed back to the bathroom to check on Jessie and the Lightfeather Hatchling. As I got close, Jessie said something that made my jaw drop.

"I was right! Cheddar's going to be the perfect name for you!"

Ellen shut her phone off, breathing a sigh of relief, and ducked into the blue portal in front of her. She'd gotten lucky twice this afternoon. It was only a matter of time before Karma reared its head and messed her up for it.

On the other hand, she was delving a dungeon in heels, a black cocktail dress, and battle robes, so there was an argument to be made that Karma owed her instead. Ha. Owed her. "You've got to stop thinking like that, Ellen," she said to herself. "No one owes you anything, and you don't owe anyone, either."

It was hard, though. For all that Ellen hated the idea of being in debt, she almost certainly did owe Kade something. He'd just bailed her out—at a lot of personal risk to his sister. Ellen would have to apologize for that, figure out how to make it up to Kade, and follow through. She did owe him that much.

It was a Warren. That was good news; Warren portal worlds were usually full of enemies, but the team she'd managed to sixth-wheel onto was built for it. They ran together: an archer, two fighters, a tank, and a healer, of all things. A ridiculous amount of sustained damage. She was just there to melt the boss, like a mage should be.

Not that she wouldn't burn her Mana down to fifty percent to speed this run up.

The tank and fighters headed down the tunnel, slammed into the first hairy, pustule-covered troglodytes, and blood began to fill the tunnel, splashing against both stalagmites and makeshift wood-and-bone barricades as the team got to work. Ellen poured her Mana into a Shadow Box and laid it across the small swarm.

The faster they could clear, the sooner she'd get back to Kade—and to the last egg. She just hoped it'd be fast enough.

Carter's team was still out of commission.

Both of them were.

He had half a dozen text messages from Deborah that he was ignoring; right now, he was walking the old, rusted train tracks out by Surprise. No one lived this close to the 303 Wall. Not unless they had to. And that made it his favorite place to come and think.

Lizzie was out of the hospital. She probably wasn't going to be delving any time soon, though. Even for someone like her, with the resources at her disposal and a delver's healing rate, a full femur shatter was serious. Coupled with her other wounds, the rehabilitation process had gone from hard to brutal. He'd visited her every couple of days, and she'd never once blamed him for what had happened in that supposedly-easy E-Rank dungeon. But then again, she hadn't had to.

And then there was Terri, the tank from Carter's second team. He didn't give a damn about the mage or the strikers—he'd figured out why they were there, and it wasn't to be part of a team. They were there to carry out…something. He couldn't quite bring himself to think it, much less say it out loud.

But Terri hadn't deserved to have her full spinal cord severed. She was looking at another month or two before she was back on her feet. And that was only if the funds for a complete nerve repair didn't dry up.

And that was Carter's problem.

There were only three common factors in both fucking disasters. One was him. One was that delver with the lightning sword, Kade.

And one was Deborah.

He couldn't bail on her, though. She'd gotten him into this mess, but she was also putting up the B-Rank cores to get both Terri and Lizzie on their feet and delving again. Carter couldn't mess that up for them. But he couldn't keep working with her, either.

Kade had been right. Carter was poison. And so was Deborah. They were meant for each other.

So, Carter walked the railroad tracks, staring at the black wall against the star-covered sky, and at the starless one behind him. Phoenix's lights burned bright against the gloom and the monsters out there.

The light's color shifted from orange-white to green, and he reached for his bow as a portal opened up a hundred yards from him. He stared for a moment. Then he sent a text message on the Roadrunners' chat.

Carter Lewis, D-Rank: I have a D-Rank portal in Surprise. Location: 303, northeast of Grand. Near the old church. Requesting guild back-up.

As he sent it, he couldn't help but notice twenty other messages from Roadrunner delvers, all saying the exact same thing: they had portals of their own, and they needed help.

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