My Overpowered Bunny Girls

The morning after the fall of the Obsidian Keep came with a grey sky.

Nathan woke in a TCA field camp a few miles from the fortress, wrapped in a standard-issue thermal blanket with his three summons in their small forms curled around him. Mirko was pressed against his chest, her green fur warm and soft. Kuro was a black shape near his shoulder, her breathing slow and steady. Shiro had claimed the space near his head, her orange-red fur bright against the grey blanket.

For a long moment, he simply lay there, listening to the quiet. The constant rumble of collapsing Towers had faded during the night. The sky, visible through the tent’s open flap, was still red, but the color had softened... more ember than blood. The Cleansing in the eastern sector was over, or close enough.

Valerie’s voice crackled through his comm crystal, sharp and alert despite the early hour. "Cross. Wake your party. Briefing in ten minutes."

Nathan sat up, gently disentangling himself from his summons. Mirko made a small, disgruntled sound and shifted to her bunny form, hopping onto his shoulder with practiced ease. Kuro followed, settling into her usual spot on his other shoulder. Shiro perched on his head with dignity.

"Briefing," Nathan said quietly. "Let’s go."

The party assembled in the command tent. Valerie stood at the central holoscreen, her TUFF GRANNY mug conspicuously absent, her expression grim. Helena was beside her, the Thunderbird perched on the tent’s central pole and crackling with subdued static. Garrett, Dillon, and Elise filed in behind Nathan, their summons materializing around them—Red’s wool soft but ready, Cloudy coiled around Dillon’s shoulders, the Frost Golem’s crystalline body still regenerating.

"Good work at the Keep," Valerie began. "Clamour’s in TCA custody, and he’s been remarkably forthcoming. The eastern sector’s command structure is shattered. We’ve confirmed at least thirty operatives captured or killed, and the Towers in this region are stabilizing. The Cleansing isn’t over, but it’s been blunted."

She paused, which made Nathan feel the weight of what was coming.

"But Clamour was just a sector commander. A pawn. The Court’s real leadership—the one pulling the strings—is still out there. And Clamour’s testimony has given us a name."

The holoscreen shifted, displaying a blurry image: a figure in a dark suit with red seams, his face obscured by shadow. The image had been captured from a distance, grainy and indistinct, but there was something unmistakably menacing about the silhouette.

"Darius Fester." Valerie said. "Special Class: Dominator. S-Rank Summon: Oblivion Drake. He’s the leader of the Nemesis Court, or at least its most powerful active member. Clamour referred to him only as ’the Lord.’ He’s been directing the Cleansing from somewhere outside the eastern sector, and he’s the one who gave the order to target your party specifically."

Nathan stared at the image. Darius Fester. The man behind the Court.

"Where is he now?" Nathan asked.

"We don’t know. Clamour didn’t know apparently, the one Chamber they normally did meet had been deserted after we got info from him about it and raided it. But the TCA’s been tracking Court movements across the other sectors, and there’s a pattern emerging. Fester isn’t just directing the Cleansing. He’s moving from sector to sector, overseeing the operations personally. He was spotted near the western front two days ago, and there are reports of a massive draconic summon sighted over the northern wastes."

"The Oblivion Drake," Elise said quietly.

"Yes. It’s been seen at multiple collapse sites, but never for long. Fester is testing our response times it seems, mapping our deployments. He’s looking for weaknesses." Valerie’s sharp eyes found Nathan’s.

The briefing continued, but Nathan’s mind was elsewhere. Darius Fester. A Dominator who could command Tower monsters. An S-Rank Oblivion Drake. The man behind the Cleansing, the man who served the Shepherd, the man who had marked Nathan’s party for death.

---

The party spent the next two days supporting the TCA’s containment efforts. The eastern sector was stabilizing, but pockets of resistance remained—isolated Court cells, mutated creatures that had escaped the Keep’s fall, desperate operatives who refused to surrender. Nathan’s party moved from village to village, clearing the remnants of the eastern operation. The work was grim but necessary, and the constant activity kept Nathan’s mind off the shadow of Darius Fester.

On the third day, they received a report that changed everything.

"Cross." Valerie’s voice was tight. "We’ve found something. A Court supply cache in the northern foothills. It’s abandoned, but there are documents. Maps. Communication logs. And something else, some sort of a... ritual site. Clamour’s testimony mentioned a "mutation ritual" the Court uses to enhance their summons. We think we’ve found where they were conducting them."

Nathan’s party moved north. The foothills were a desolate stretch of grey rock and ash, the ruins of an old mining town scattered across the slopes. The Court’s cache was hidden in a collapsed mine shaft, a makeshift laboratory filled with equipment Nathan didn’t recognize, vats of dark liquid, and the remains of failed mutation experiments. The stench of corruption hung in the air.

But it was the ritual site that drew their attention. A circular chamber carved into the rock, its walls covered in the same runes Nathan had seen in the Whispering Dark... mutation sigils, pulsing with residual dark energy. At the center, a stone altar stained with blood.

"This is where they were doing it," Garrett said quietly. "Twisting their summons into those... things."

Elise was examining the runes, her expression tight with disgust. "The magic is still active. Faint, but active. They were using this site recently... days ago, maybe less."

Kuro materialized beside Nathan, her dark eyes scanning the chamber. ’There is something else. A presence. Some magic mixed with the mutation sigils. I can feel it in the shadows.’

Mirko’s ears flattened. "This place is wrong. It makes my head ache... like the mural in Drak’thar, but darker. Like the voice in the portal."

Nathan’s [Hunter’s Insight] flared, scanning the chamber for threats. "Stay alert. If this site is still active, the Court might still be using it."

The words had barely left his mouth when the chamber’s runes flared to life.

Dark light erupted from the walls, pulsing with the same sickly rhythm as the Court’s mutation magic. The stone altar cracked. The air grew cold. And from the shadows, they came—not operatives, but something worse. Mutated summons, their bodies twisted beyond recognition, their eyes burning with mindless fury. They had been left behind as guardians, and the party’s presence had triggered them.

"Guys!" Nathan called. "Defensive formation!"

The battle was fierce but brief. The mutated guardians were powerful, but they were mindless, driven by the residual magic rather than any true intelligence. Nathan’s party cut through them with the same coordinated efficiency they’d shown at the Keep. Mirko’s Dragon’s Fang blazed. Kuro’s daggers flashed. Shiro’s fists shattered bone and corruption. Garrett’s Volcan erupted. Dillon’s Thunder Edge crackled. Elise’s Glacial Lance froze the survivors.

When the last guardian dissolved, the chamber fell silent.

But the runes were still glowing. And at the center of the chamber, the altar was pulsing, a slow rhythmic beat that matched the corruption in the walls.

"This site is still connected to something," Elise said. "Or someone. The magic is being directed... controlled from a distance."

Nathan approached the altar. The bloodstains were fresh. The runes were warm. And carved into the stone, partially obscured by a layer of dark residue, was a message:

"You’ve been busy, Bunny King. I’ve been watching. The Shepherd sends his regards. I’ll be seeing you soon."

No signature. But Nathan knew. The tone, the arrogance, the intimate awareness of his movements... it could only be one person.

"Darius Fester," he said quietly. "He knew we’d come."

The runes flared one final time, and then the chamber went dark.

---

The party emerged from the mine shaft into the grey afternoon, their expressions grim. The message was clear: Fester was toying with them, leaving breadcrumbs, setting traps, testing their responses. He was a strategist, and he had been one step ahead of them the entire time.

"We need to move," Nathan said. "This site is compromised. If Fester left that message, he knows we’re here. He might be watching us right now."

"Agreed," Elise said. "The TCA needs to see this. The ritual site, the documents—all of it. If we can figure out how the mutation magic works, we can counter it."

The party turned toward the extraction point—a TCA transport waiting at the edge of the foothills. The walk was silent, the weight of Fester’s message pressing down on them. Nathan’s summons were in their small forms, their presences alert through the link. The sky was still red, and the wind carried the faint smell of corruption from the mine behind them.

They were halfway to the transport when Nathan’s [Hunter’s Insight] screamed a warning.

"Guys! Above us!"

At this moment, the sky tore open.

A massive shape descended from the clouds: serpentine, spectral, its scales jet black, its eyes eerie voids.

The Oblivion Drake.

It was bigger than Nathan had imagined, hundreds of feet from snout to tail, its body wreathed in shadows that moved like living things. The air around it grew cold enough to frost the ground, and the red sky dimmed as if the creature were absorbing the light itself.

And on its back, standing with the casual confidence of a predator surveying his territory, was a figure in a dark suit with red seams. His face was still obscured, but Nathan could feel the weight of his gaze: patient, amused, and utterly without mercy.

"Nathan Cross." The voice echoed through the foothills, calm and cold and terrifyingly familiar. "I’ve been waiting to meet you."

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