My Overpowered Bunny Girls

Nathan sat alone in the guild’s common room long before dawn. In the heavy, suffocating dark, his status panel hung in the air like a quiet accusation written in glowing blue light.

[Name: Nathan Cross]

[Class: Archer]

[Level: 46]

[Magic Aptitude (MA): F-Grade++]

The plus signs were a hollow comfort. It didn’t matter how many Towers they conquered or how many levels he accrued; the F-Rank remained an immovable wall. The Capacitor strapped to his wrist hummed with its stored energy. The Leyline Ring on his finger pulsed, working tirelessly to replenish what he spent. Moonlight rested across his knees, a B-Rank masterpiece forged from the spoils of their victories.

But it was all just scaffolding. Armor plated over a foundation that could never truly bear the weight.

He felt it in the marrow of his bones during every fight. The split-second hesitation before a shot, calculating if he could afford the mana cost. Against the Iron Legionnaire, he had nearly run dry. The Capacitor had barely saved him against the Matriarch. By the time the Empress fell, he had been running on fumes and sheer willpower. He was leaning heavier on Mirko and Kuro. Relying more on Elise, Dillon, and Garrett.

That was what a party was for. A leader’s job was to delegate, to trust, to distribute the burden. But as they closed in on Drak’thar and the looming shadow of the Court, a cold dread coiled in his gut. Will it be enough?

With a swipe of his hand, he banished the panel. The room fell back into darkness, except for the pale, bruised light of early morning seeping through the observatory’s glass dome.

You are brooding loud enough to wake the dead, Mirko observed through their link. She sat on the armrest beside him in her rabbit form, her pink eyes fixed on him with that unnerving, quiet intensity she reserved for his lowest moments.

"I’m thinking."

You are brooding while thinking. It is your signature move, something you hadn’t done in a while. You should have it patented.

Despite the weight on his chest, the corner of his mouth twitched. "Brooding with Intent. Pending approval."

Is it the mana ceiling again?

"You know it is."

I feel it through the bond, she said softly, hopping onto his shoulder. Her warm fur pressed against his neck, a grounding presence in the quiet room. The frustration. The fear that you are insufficient. But you are enough. The F-Rank is merely a statistic, Master. Your strategies, your command, your absolute refusal to yield, these cannot be quantified. They are what make you our Summoner.

The green ball is correct, Kuro chimed in. The black bunny was a seamless silhouette against the windowsill, her dark eyes tracking the sunrise. A limitation is just a puzzle to be solved. You have constructed a party that compensates for your structural flaws and weaponizes your strengths. That is not a failure of power. That is the essence of leadership.

Nathan looked between his two summons. His partners. His family. "You two are getting dangerously good at pep talks."

I learned from the best, Mirko declared. Myself. I am a phenomenal teacher.

You are a barely adequate teacher, Kuro corrected smoothly. Your methods consist mostly of yelling.

Volume ensures retention, little shadow!

Nathan pushed himself to his feet, a faint twinge in his ribs the only lingering reminder of the Verdant Empress. "Come on. Valerie’s briefing is in an hour. Fifth Tower. One left after that. We’re almost at the finish line."

He had no idea how wrong he was.

The briefing room was steeped in the warm, golden light of morning. Garrett was already seated, Volcan propped casually against his chair while Red dozed at his feet. Dillon nursed a steaming mug of coffee, occasionally flinching as Cloudy—coiled around his neck—snapped lazy sparks at passing dust motes. Near the window, Elise was reviewing a map, the shifting aurora light of her new circlet casting soft colors across her face.

Valerie strode in, clutching a thick dossier and her battered mug that read TUFF GRANNY. "Alright, listen up. Tower of the Shifting Sands. High Class. Five floors. Located in the southern wastelands—"

CREAKKK-BAAM!.

The heavy oak doors slammed open.

Helena stood in the threshold. Her Thunderbird was violently agitated, its feathers puffed and crackling with erratic static. Helena’s face was stunned. The cool, impenetrable composure she always wore had vanished, entirely replaced by raw, unadulterated fear.

"Valerie," she choked out, her voice tight. "It’s Ashwick. The Tower of Ash. It’s collapsed."

The temperature in the room plummeted.

Nathan felt the words strike him like a physical blow. The Tower of Ash. The Tower they had bled for. The Tower they had meticulously S-Ranked and stabilized. The Tower that cast its long shadow over Marta’s inn, where a Pyre Wyrm scale hung proudly above the bar.

Garrett was on his feet in an instant, his chair clattering to the floor. "What? That’s impossible. We cleared it, the mana stabilize."

"Something forced a destabilization," Helena said, her knuckles white as she gripped the doorframe. "The TCA is reporting a catastrophic structural failure. A full collapse. The containment field is gone, and monsters are flooding out, and Ashwick is directly in the flood path."

"They’re a village of three hundred people," Nathan said. His voice was deathly quiet, hollowed out by a sudden, freezing rage. "No Climbers. No garrison. They have a stone well and an innkeeper."

Dillon was already strapping his katana to his hip. "Marta. Is she—"

"We don’t know. Comms are entirely down." Helena’s voice shook. "The TCA is scrambling a heavy containment squad, but they are hours away. The collapse happened twenty minutes ago. Ashwick has been fighting for its life for twenty minutes."

Valerie didn’t hesitate. "I’m mobilizing the guild. Anyone with a combat class—"

"We are going." Nathan’s voice cut through the room like shattered glass. "Now."

He didn’t wait for a response. He was already moving, striding down the corridor. Mirko shifted into her armored humanoid form in a flash of light at his right. Kuro melted from the shadows at his left. The rest of the party fell into step behind him without a single word. Dillon’s boots cracked with static. Garrett’s mace pulsed with heat. Elise gripped Aurora’s Heart, the crystal blazing to life.

"Nathan." Valerie’s voice caught him just before the exit. "The Tower of Ash was stable. This wasn’t a natural fracture. You know what this means."

Nathan stopped. He looked back at the Guildmaster, his eyes dark. "I know. The Court."

"Clamour," Elise whispered, the realization dawning on her face.

"Marta took us in," Garrett growled, his knuckles straining against Volcan’s leather grip. "She fed us. She believed in us when we were broken. If they touched her—"

"They die," Nathan finished coldly. "Let’s move."

The guild transport tore through the outer regions, the engine redlining as they bypassed traffic laws and paved roads alike. The landscape outside the armored windows blurred into a smear of ruined cities and rocky foothills. Inside the cabin, the silence was absolute.

Every mind was anchored to the same memory. The smell of rich stew. The hum of the broken AC unit. The weary, knowing smile of an innkeeper who had handed them a lifeline when they were drowning. ’You came back. That’s the hard part.’

When the Tower of Ash finally crested the horizon, Nathan’s blood ran cold.

The once-proud black spire was shattered. A jagged fissure split its side, and the crimson mana veins that usually pulsed with a steady rhythm were now thrashing, bleeding a chaotic, strobing light into the sky. A suffocating pillar of thick, oily smoke blotted out the sun. At the base of the ruins, a tide of volcanic horrors poured across the earth—Ember Hounds with jaws of dripping slag, Cinder Bats leaving trails of raining sparks, and massive Magma Serpents carving through the soil as if it were water.

This is a perversion of magic, Kuro hissed through the link, her tone laced with rare disgust. The mana signature is deeply corrupted. This was a forced detonation.

The Court, Mirko added, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. They chose this Tower specifically. They knew it was ours. They knew who lived in its shadow. This is a message.

Then we deliver the reply.

The transport slammed to a halt at the ridge. Below them, Ashwick was burning.

Roofs were caved in. The central square was a chaotic battlefield of fleeing villagers and hunting monsters. The ancient stone well had been crushed into gravel beneath the weight of a Magma Serpent. Plumes of black smoke poured from the shattered windows of Marta’s inn. The southern fields were nothing but scorched earth.

And there, standing squarely in front of the ruined inn, was Marta.

Her grey hair was singed and wild. Her apron was soaked in ash and blood. But she was standing her ground, gripping a massive, iron fireplace poker in both hands. An Ember Hound lunged for her throat; she pivoted, driving the heavy iron across its skull with a sickening crack, sending the beast skidding into the dirt. A Cinder Bat swooped from the smoke, and she ducked beneath the inn’s collapsed awning, letting the creature violently detonate against the stone wall behind her.

"She’s alive," Garrett breathed, the tension breaking in his chest.

"She’s been holding the line," Dillon said, awe bleeding into his voice. "For twenty minutes. With a piece of scrap iron."

Nathan drew Moonlight. The Tyrant’s Eye swirled to life, breathing a cool, silver mist into the stifling, ash-choked air. "We clear the streets. We save the people. And we make the Court bleed for this."

He looked at his team. They were primed, a weapon drawn tight and ready to snap. Mirko stood tall, her D-Rank sword catching the firelight. Kuro crouched low, daggers whispering in the dark. Dillon’s Storm Striders hissed, Cloudy coiled and ready to strike. Garrett hefted Volcan, Red’s wool snapping into heavy, impenetrable plates. Elise stood tall, the absolute frost of her Frost Golem behind her pushing back the blistering heat.

"No extraction, not like we can..." Nathan ordered. "No retreat. We don’t leave until every last monster is ash. And when the smoke clears, we hunt down whoever ordered this."

He stepped out of the transport. The oppressive heat of the burning village washed over him, the exact same suffocating heat he had faced inside the Tower all those weeks ago. But today, there were no levels to gain. There was no glory to chase.

Today, they fought for Marta and the rest of the villagers.

"Marta!" Nathan’s voice tore through the roar of the flames as they sprinted down the ridge. "We’re here! Hold the line!"

The old innkeeper spun around. Her weathered face, masked in soot and exhaustion, broke into a fierce, breathless grin.

"Took you long enough, Bunny King!" she hollered over the din, hefting her bloodied poker. "I’ve been keeping your spot at the bar warm!"

"Keep it warm a minute longer!" Nathan yelled back, pulling a heavy draw on the bowstring. "We’ve got some trash to take out."

He released the arrow. The silver light pierced the smoke, and the battle for Ashwick began.