My Overpowered Bunny Girls

The town of Emberbrook looked beautiful in the evening light.

Smithy remembered it clearly. The setting sun shone through the smoke rising from the chimneys. Children laughed in the streets, and the smell of fresh bread filled the air. Golden fields stretched to the south, while green hills covered the north.

His house stood at the edge of town. It was small, made of wood and stone, but it was their home. Mara had planted bright flowers beside the door and cared for them as carefully as she cared for their children.

Tomas was six. Lena was four.

They were having dinner when the sirens suddenly started.

The old Tower in the hills—a Mid-Class Tower that had been stable for decades—had collapsed.

Monsters were pouring out.

Ember Hounds. Cinder Bats. A massive wave of ash and fire.

The town panicked. Smithy grabbed Mara’s hand. Grabbed Tomas and Lena. Ran toward the evacuation point on the northern road.

But the monsters were faster.

He remembered the Climbers. They had been passing through Emberbrook on their way to a different Tower—a party of four, their ranks ranging from F to D. They had weapons. They had summons. They had power. And when the Hounds came, they ran.

Not all of them. One of them—a young woman with a D-Rank summon, a Stone Wolf—turned to fight. She bought time for a dozen villagers to escape. She died for it. Smithy never learned her name.

But the others—the F-Rank archer, the D-Rank swordsman, the C-Rank mage—they ran. They ran past the burning houses. Past the screaming families. Past Smithy’s own home, where Mara was trapped under a collapsed beam, where Tomas and Lena were crying for their father to help them.

Smithy watched a D-Rank Climber sprint past his burning house while Mara screamed for help from inside. He watched a C-Rank mage flee toward the hills while Tomas was dragged down by an Ember Hound. He watched his family die because the people with the power to save them chose not to.

He survived. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why. But he survived.

And in the ashes of Emberbrook, as the smoke rose from the ruins of everything he had ever loved, a figure in a dark suit approached him. Pale eyes. A calm, understanding voice.

"The weak failed you. The strong fled. But the strong don’t have to be this way. The strong can be better. The strong can build a world where no one has to watch their family die because of a coward’s fear."

The figure extended a hand.

"Join me."

That was the day Smithy joined the Nemesis Court.

---

The debriefing room was small and cold—a converted supply tent with a single table, two chairs, and a glowing mana-lamp that cast harsh shadows across the walls. Smithy sat on one side of the table, his grey robes still torn and dust-caked from the battle in the foothills. His Void Eel was coiled at his feet, its incorporeal body phasing restlessly through the floor. He looked exhausted—a man who had been running for years and had only just stopped.

Valerie sat across from him, her TUFF GRANNY mug conspicuously absent, her sharp eyes fixed on his face. Boris was nowhere to be seen—the Guild Master had left him outside, perhaps to make the interrogation feel less threatening, perhaps because she wanted Smithy to understand that she didn’t need her summon to be dangerous.

Nathan stood near the tent’s entrance, arms crossed, Moonlight resting against his shoulder. Elise was beside him, her expression unreadable. The rest of the party—Garrett, Dillon, Mirko, Kuro, Shiro—were arranged around the tent’s perimeter, their presences a silent pressure against the walls. They had saved Smithy’s life at the foothills, but that didn’t make him one of them. Not yet.

"Why did you join the Court, Smithy?" Valerie’s voice was sharp, cutting through the silence. "What made you believe in their cause?"

Smithy was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was raw—not with exhaustion, but with something older. Something that had been festering for years.

"My family died in a Tower Collapse. Emberbrook. Six years ago."

He didn’t look up.

"My wife. My children. A Mid-Class Tower became unstable, and monsters flooded the valley. The Climbers who could have saved them—the ones who were strong enough to fight—ran away. I watched them run while my wife burned. While my children were torn apart."

His hands tightened around the table.

"Fester found me in the ruins. He told me the world was broken. That the weak were cowards and the strong had failed them. He offered me a place in his new world. A world where the strong would protect the weak. Where Climbers would stand and fight instead of running away."

Smithy gave a bitter laugh.

"I believed him. For years, I believed him. I thought the Cleansing was meant to test people. I thought the weak deserved to die. I thought the strong would take over and build a better world."

He looked down.

"I was wrong."

Elise spoke softly.

"What changed your mind?"

Smithy looked at her. His eyes were tired and haunted.

"The Cleansing. It isn’t about protecting anyone. It isn’t about building a better world. It’s about power. Fester doesn’t care about the villages. He doesn’t care about the weak. He only cares about control."

He paused.

"The Cleansing is just a way for him to gain more power. And the Shepherd..."

He stopped and shook his head.

"The Shepherd feeds on it. The death. The chaos. The corruption. Fester thinks he’s building a new world, but he’s really feeding something ancient and hungry."

His voice became quieter.

"I was a fool for not seeing it sooner."

---

The interrogation shifted from personal history to actionable intelligence.

Smithy gave them everything. The locations of the Court’s remaining command cells in the western and northern sectors. The names of mid-level operatives who might be turned or captured. The supply routes the Court used to move operatives and mutated summons between collapse sites. The patterns Fester followed when he traveled—how he moved, where he’d been spotted, what Towers he was planning to hit next.

It was gold. The kind of intelligence that could save thousands of lives, if the TCA could act on it fast enough.

But the most valuable things Smithy shared were Fester’s weaknesses.

"The Dominator’s Range. Fester’s control over his legion has a limited range." Smithy traced invisible lines on the table. "The corrupted summons aren’t independent—they’re extensions of his will. If you push him too far from his forces, they lose coordination. Some of them will flee. Some will turn on each other. They’re unstable without his guidance."

"The Oblivion Drake’s Anchor." His voice dropped, becoming almost reverent with fear. "The Drake is not a normal summon. It’s bound to Fester by a ritual—not a natural bond. It’s ancient, far older than the Court, far older than the Towers, maybe. Disrupt the ritual, and the Drake weakens. I don’t know the details of the ritual—Fester keeps it secret even from his most trusted operatives—but I know it exists. And I know it’s vulnerable."

"The Mutation Magic." He met Nathan’s eyes. "The Court’s corrupted summons are powerful but unstable. They can be overloaded. The mutation sigils—the runes you saw in the Whispering Dark, in the mine—they’re the key. If you disrupt the sigils, the dark energy turns against them. They self-destruct. I’ve seen it happen."

Valerie leaned forward. "Can you show us where these sigils are used? Where the mutation rituals are conducted?"

"Some of them. I know the eastern sites—the mine you already found, a few others. The western sites are more heavily guarded, but I can point you in the right direction."

"This is good," Valerie said quietly. "This is very good. With this intel, we can counter the Court’s remaining operations. We can stop the Cleansing before it spreads further."

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