Mischief slithers through the tall grass, each step a whisper against the earth.
The dark elves have no idea.
He could feel their presence beyond the wall, the vibrations of their movent against the timber, their hushed voices whispering commands. They are on edge.
They should be.
When he reaches the palisade, he moves slowly. thodically. Every claw digs into the wood with precision as he ascends the fifteen-foot wall in total silence.
Above him, a lone dark elf walks his patrols. Unaware. Oblivious.
Mischief waits. He counts his steps.
One… two… three…
Now.
His massive paw strikes fast and silent, claws sliding into flesh with effortless ease. The elf doesn’t even have ti to scream before he is yanked from the wall out of sight
Mischief drops down with the body crushing the elfs chest for good asure. He waits tight to the palisade wall, tail flicking slightly in anticipation. There are no heightened movents or sounds of alarm.
Satisfied his first kill goes unnoticed he moves pinned to the outer wall defenses, fur brushing softly against the rough logs. Finally he reaches his next victim.
Just as Mischief is about to crest the wall and claim his target, the enemy shouts a na. Likely noticing the other guard missing.
“Carigan!? Get your lazy ass back to the wall!” Mischief hesitates.
Then attacks.
“Argghh!” The dark elf shouts right before Mischief is able to sink his dagger length claws into his chest.
You have killed level 23 Dark Elf Ranger. Level up
It isn’t a clean kill, shouts of alarm ring out in the fortress. He would have to reset before his next attack. He drops from the wall and bounds from the fortress to the concealnt of the thick forest.
That’s fine, they are in no hurry. It was the bandits who should be feeling pressed. As Mischief enters the trees he considers his strange friend.
Laytons plan to play the ga of attrition plays well into Mischief's strengths.
He trusts Layton. More than that—he admires him.
That realization unsettles him. Trust. Admiration. Loyalty. These are not the thoughts of an animal.
They are the thoughts of sothing more. Mischief felt a click in his mind.
And then, in an instant—the system confirms it.
The notification flashes before his eyes.
Congratulations! You have reached level 25, your first major milestone.
You are now eligible for class evolution.
Mischief freezes. A wave of awareness washes over him, a sensation unlike anything he had ever felt.
For the first ti, he could feel his mind expanding. No. Not just expanding. Changing.
The voice spoke of a new evolution to his class? Mischief pulls up his choices, scanning each one.
Emberclaw Predator: Fire-based attacks, brute force, burning effects. No. Too crude. Too loud.
Silent Hunter: Precision, bleeding attacks, surgical efficiency. Tempting, but limited.
Erebos Shadowborn (Progenitor): Telepathy. Shadows. Influence.
His eyes narrow.
He knows what to choose. But he would wait for his selection until he was back with Layton.
He bounded to where they had made camp deep in the trees.
Layton was sitting next to a small fire.
Mischief grins.
And then, for the first ti, he speaks into the mind of his friend.
"Hello, Layton."
-
I watch as Mischief’s fur begins to change before my eyes.
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At first, it was just a dark splotch, bleeding through his coat like ink on water. Then it pulses, spreading—not like fur darkening, but like the shadows themselves were claiming him.
The air felt different. Not colder. Not heavier. Just… aware.
The flickering firelight doesn’t touch him the sa way anymore. The places where the shadows ended before? They stretched now, bending ever so slightly toward him, as if they knew sothing had changed.
Or maybe I was imagining it.
When it was over, Mischief stood before , his fur now a sleek, abyssal black, darker than anything I had ever seen.
I exhale. Damn.
Mischief looked straight-up badass.
Before I can speak, a voice enters my mind.
“Hello, Layton.”
I stiffen. My breath hitching—not a full panic, but an instant, instinctive reaction. My mind knows what had just happened, but my body needs an extra second to catch up.
I look at Mischief. He was watching , expectant.
"Mischief?" I said aloud, just to confirm.
His mouth curls slightly—not quite a smirk, not quite a snarl.
“What do you think?”
I blink. My mind caught up, and I let out a short laugh. "I think you sound like a teenage Bond villain."
“I don’t know what that ans, but it sounds dangerous.” His tone held the faintest trace of amusent. "It’s good to finally be heard.”
“Layton… thank you." He bows his head towards . "I’ve wanted to tell you that for a long ti now."
And just like that, sothing clicks inside .
All this ti, I had talked to him—asked him questions, guessed at his thoughts, filled in the silence with my own assumptions. But now?
Now I know.
Now there is no more guessing, no more filling in gaps. Mischief isn’t just my companion—he is…always has been–his own being, with his own voice, his own thoughts.
I had always known he was intelligent. He clearly understood the words I spoke. It was just so one sided. This is different.
The realization feels a little strange. Not bad, more like...exciting. Maybe a little scary, now I will know what my friend really thinks of . This is going to be different.
And permanent. I smile.
But beneath that smile, sothing else stirs.
Because if this was his voice, if this is who he really is, then that ans…
All the tis I had spoken to him, assuming he could understand . Now there is no more doubt.
Through every battle. Through every loss. Through every reckless plan I dragged us into.
He stayed by my side faithfully. The late nights just him and I where I explained my fears, my hopes and dreams.
Not because he had to. Not because of so system chanic.
But because he chose to.
I swallow, the weight of it settling in my chest.
Mischief had never been just a pet, never been just a creature bound by instinct. He was a living breathing THINKING being. And a friend. One who had, for so reason, decided I was worth following.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
"Without you, I never would have made it this far.”
“I would’ve died–alone–fighting chaos spawn.” The thought occurs to that I was only in that situation because he tackled into it but I just chuckle at it.
“You’ve been a good friend." I step forward, resting a hand on his massive shoulder. Then, I grin. "Now, about this new look—if you weren’t terrifying before, you definitely are now."
Mischief lets out a low, pleased rumble. Then just as before he uses telepathy to speak directly into my mind. It manifests as a thought almost, but in a low purring rumble. He sounds so young but his intelligence is startling.
"I must be tied to my evolution.” He examines his own fur.
“When I reached level 25 I gained several class evolutions— I chose Erebos Shadowborn.” He sits looking at . “It was the only class that included telepathy.”
Still roughly the sa size he looks like a massive panther now but even darker fur. The way Mischief sat shoulders set, he seems proud of the new changes.
“The change is impressive. Does it co with other changes?” I ask while still appraising my friend's upgrade.
“It cos with a massive stat boost per level, nearly double. Plus two skills.”
“Nearly double!? You already are a nace. What are the skills?” I assu one must have to do with telepathy.
“The skill that gives telepathy is called Whispers of the Abyss, I don’t fully understand it. The other is Shadow Step, a movent skill using shadows.”
The skills both fit the new look like a glove, a dark black glove. “You are amazing my friend. Any ideas on the color change?”
He simply shrugs “It might have to do with the 'Progenitor' title. Or just the fact that my class is based around darkness?
"Erebos Shadowborn?" I mused. "Yeah, that definitely fits the whole 'dark and mysterious' vibe. But wait—you’re a Progenitor? Does that an your class is unique? Like, sothing others could follow?"
"I wish I knew," Mischief admits. "For now, I know as little as you."
I cross my arms, thinking. "Well, one thing we do know is that class evolutions happen at level 25."
That gives pause.
Pretty much every bandit we fought so far had been hovering right on the cusp of level 25. If evolutions triggered at that threshold…
Then the bandit leader might have already evolved.
Mischief’s ear twitches. "I’ve seen you make that face before. You normally make that face when you want to give you my kills"
"What!?" I ask innocently, holding up my hands.
"The sa one you had when you decided to solo fight the goblin."
Okay, fair.
But this is an opportunity.
"Mischief, have you been getting stat-boosting titles for doing different things?"
His ears perk up slightly. "I have several, yes."
"So what if…" I lean forward, eyes glinting. "What if there’s a title for taking down an evolved class before evolving yourself?”
Mischief hesitates. "If the leader is higher than level 25…" He trails off, his expression darkening.
"Then his boost would be even greater," I finished.
Mischief stares at . He didn’t like where this was going. “You want to get the title I missed out on?”
That is his take away? Not that I might get myself killed? He is jealous that I might get a title that he missed? It’s funny how similarly we think, that would be my exact sa thought.
I clap a hand on his shoulder. "Don’t dwell on it. We’ve probably missed out on tons of titles already. We can’t get them all. But what do you think—can I take down soone who evolved if I’m only level 22?"
Mischief is silent for a mont.
Then, finally: "If it were anyone else, I’d say no. But you?" He gives a long look. "I think you could. But not with all the other bandits around."
Good point. If I am going to do this, it needs to be one-on-one.
And then, I have an idea.
I turn to Mischief, smirking. "How about we make a deal?”
Mischief snorts as if he knew this was coming.
“You handle the bandits. I’ll handle the bandit faction leader?"
Mischief regards with narrow eyes. "You want to take all of them?"
"Think of it as a test run for the new model," I tease. "You get to try out your new skills, and I get a shot at a major title. Win-win. I’ll just hang back and practice my swordplay while you do your thing."
Mischief considers it.
Then, finally, he lets out a low, approving growl. "It sounds like a fair trade to ."
I grin. "Then we have a deal."
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