My stats are getting out of hand.

Two hours of sleep, and I feel like I’ve had a full eight. My club feels like a toy in my hands.

And my agility? I haven’t even pushed it yet. I feel invincible.

Let’s hope this wave gives me a reason to.

Stage 2 – Wave 5 Boss Variant Has Begun.

At the far end of the clearing, something shimmers. For the first time, I actually see how the monsters spawn.

A ripple in the air. A distortion, bending reality like heat on pavement. Then, it steps through.

And it’s huge.

That invincible feeling? Fading. Fast…

A hundred yards away, a towering creature lumbers from the tree line. It looks like someone twisted a moose into a four-legged gremlin.

Rough, scaly hide plates its chest. Matted fur clumps along its massive shoulders.

Its tree-trunk club drags along the ground, the low grinding rumbling in my bones.

My stomach twists. This is a huge shift from the first waves.

Every step it takes sends a tremor through the clearing. I glance at Mischief.

He’s locked in on this new challenge. I try and follow his lead. It isn’t easy. His tail flicks. I take it as a sign that he’s nervous also. It’s probably not true but it still helps. A little.

I exhale, steeling myself. “Barrier.” A soft pulse of mana. The translucent shield wraps around us both.

It should make me feel safer. It doesn’t.

Then, the creature stops. Before, charging in felt easy. Natural. Now? My grip is clammy. My club feels heavier than it should.

Even from this distance, its size is staggering. Nearly nine feet tall.

Unlike the smaller Chaos Spawn, it doesn’t charge.

Instead, it opens its mouth. And speaks? Not words. No sounds I recognize.

Instead, a rapid, high-pitched stream of gibberish. Like someone fast-forwarded a nightmare and cranked the volume. Then, it raises one knotted finger.

And points directly at me. My blood runs cold.

This thing isn’t brainless like the small gremlins.

Mischief stiffens. His ears pin back. He takes a slow step closer, his body half-crouched.

I swear his fur bristles.

“…Mischief?” I whisper. “Any clue what it’s saying?”

A single nod. “Friendly?” I ask, hoping. Maybe begging.

His tail lashes once. Hard. Then he shakes his head.

My dad had a saying. “If you have something to do, but you're scared. Do it scared.”

I guess this ones for you Dad.

-

THE BATTLE BEGINS

I tighten my grip on my club. Considering the best plan of attack. It’s big and looks strong. Weakness? Rotation speed.

“Since you can understand me, are you willing to work together on this?” He already looks ready to spring into action. My question gives him pause. Good enough.

“I doubt that attacking head on would end well for us. But I think we are faster. If we surround it from front and back we can play the long game. Whittle it down. What do you think?”

His tail swings, muscles tense. Uhh.. so yes?

“Great. I’m thinking you can circle around and harass it from the rear while I do my best to cause trouble from the front. Agree?”

Mischief lowers ready to attack.

How has this cat gone from natural basic instincts to grasping complex battle tactics? Fine, maybe not that complex, but still.

There’s no time to question how a cat got this intelligent.

We move, putting our plan into effect. I cast barrier for us both.

Why isn’t it attacking? The gremlins swarmed me. This one…. its like its waiting for me to move first.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Mischief takes a wide berth while I close in. The monster eyes Mischief but then snaps back to me as I approach.

Up close, it’s even worse—the reek of rotting leaves and wet fur makes my eyes sting.

It doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. It’s still waiting. I’m close now, is it just going to let me smack it?

Then, finally. It moves. Too fast.

Shit.

I throw myself sideways, barely registering the movement before—

BOOM. The club crashes down, shattering the earth.

The momentum of my dive carries me to my feet and I readjust, trying to create distance before another attack.

I stare. If I’d been even a second slower…. My pulse begins to pick up.

I tighten my grip. My palms are slick with sweat as the creature growls in frustration, its bulk twisting to follow me.

IT’S ALREADY RECOVERED FROM ITS MASSIVE SWING.

A SHAKY EXHALE ESCAPES MY LIPS. NO TIME TO FREEZE UP NOW.

FROM THE CORNER OF MY EYE, I SPOT MISCHIEF, CROUCHED LOW, TAIL LASHING WITH ANTICIPATION.

“COME ON.” I MUTTER, GRITTING MY TEETH. FEAR COILS IN MY GUT, BUT I FORCE IT DOWN.

IF I WANT TO SURVIVE, I NEED TO KEEP MOVING. JUST LIKE WE PLANNED, THE CENTAUR-BRUTE STAYS ZEROED IN ON ME, GIVING MISCHIEF AN OPENING.

HE TAKES IT. A SMOOTH LEAP, AND MISCHIEF’S POWERFUL JAWS CLAMP ONTO THE MONSTER’S BACK RIGHT LEG.

HIS TEETH SINK DEEP. THE CENTAUR SCREECHES, THRASHING WILDLY—THEN ITS LEG LASHES OUT.

THE ATTACK IS TOO FAST. A BLUR OF MOTION. A SICKENING CRACK.

MISCHIEF YELPS—SHARP, PAINED, TOO LOUD. THEN HE’S AIRBORNE.

MY HEART LURCHES AS HE FLIES TWENTY-FIVE FEET THROUGH THE AIR BEFORE CRASHING DOWN.

THE GLOWING OUTLINE OF MY WEAK BARRIER FLICKERS—THEN FAILS.

THE KICK OVERWHELMED MY SPELL. GASHES RIP ACROSS MISCHIEF’S HINDQUARTERS.

IF BARRIER HADN’T BEEN THERE? THAT BLOW MIGHT’VE KILLED HIM OUTRIGHT.

I REACT ON INSTINCT, WEAVING SPELLS FASTER THAN I CAN THINK. WEAK HEAL. WEAK HEAL. REGEN. ANOTHER BARRIER.

BY THE TIME MISCHIEF HITS THE GROUND, HE’S ALREADY GLOWING FAINTLY WITH HEALING MAGIC.

HIS BODY TWISTS MIDAIR—BARELY CONTROLLING THE FALL. HE SLAMS DOWN, STAGGERS, THEN BOLTS AWAY.

BLOOD STAINING HIS FUR IS A STARK REMINDER OF WHAT I HAD ALREADY LEARNED:

ONE MISSTEP, AND HE’S DEAD

THE CENTAURS FOCUS SHIFTS TO MISCHIEF. ITS HIND LEGS ARE INJURED, BUT STILL MOBILE.

I CAN CHANGE THAT. WITH THE CENTAUR NO LONGER PAYING ATTENTION TO ME, I RUSH FORWARD, CLUB RAISED, TARGETING THE WEAKENED LEG.

MY HERCULEAN SWING CONNECTS.

THWACK.

A SHUDDERING IMPACT SHOOTS UP MY ARMS, LIKE SLAMMING A BAT INTO SOLID CONCRETE.

THE CENTAUR'S LEG BUCKLES. IT STAGGERS—STRUGGLING TO STAY UPRIGHT. A SHARP SNAP ECHOES THROUGH THE CLEARING. SOMETHING JUST BROKE. ITS BACK LEGS ARE USELESS, NOW SUPPORTED ONLY WITH THE FRONT.

A SURGE OF PRIDE FLOODS ME. I’M STRONG. STRONG ENOUGH TO BREAK—

THE CLUB RISES OVERHEAD. NOT MINE.

I GLANCE UP, REALIZING MY MISTAKE. I’M TOO CLOSE.

STILL, NO WAY IT CAN HIT ME AT THIS ANGLE—EXCEPT, IT DOESN’T AIM AT ME.

IT SLAMS THE CLUB INTO THE GROUND. THE WORLD ERUPTS.

A SHOCKWAVE BLASTS OUTWARD, SENDING ME FLYING.

FOR A SPLIT SECOND, WEAK BARRIER HOLDS—THEN SHATTERS.

ROCK SHRAPNEL SLICES THROUGH THE AIR, TEARING INTO MY EXPOSED SKIN.

MY LEATHER JACKET ABSORBS MOST OF THE DAMAGE, BUT SHARP STONES SLAM INTO MY ARMS AND LEGS.

I BARELY HAVE TIME TO SHIELD MY HEAD. THEN I HIT THE GROUND, TUMBLING END OVER END.

BY THE TIME I FINALLY STOP, I’M IN A BROKEN HEAP, THIRTY FEET FROM WHERE I STARTED. PAIN LANCES THROUGH ME.

STATUS CHECK: NOT GOOD

DIZZY AND HALF-PANICKED, I FORCE MY STATUS SCREEN OPEN.

HP: 21/53 (NEGATIVE EFFECTS: DISORIENTED, BLEEDING)

MP: 24/69

A CHILL GRIPS MY CHEST. TWENTY-ONE HP?

ANOTHER HIT LIKE THAT AND I’M DONE. MY ARMS SHAKE, BUT I FORCE MYSELF TO FOCUS.

I HAVE ENOUGH MP FOR TWO WEAK HEALS. FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE MY STATS SOARED, I CAST THEM ON MYSELF.

THE RUSH BLINDSIDES ME. WARMTH FLOODS MY BODY. PAIN VANISHES INSTANTLY.

I BLINK, STUNNED, AS MY HP SPIKES STRAIGHT BACK TO FULL.

NO MP LEFT. NO DO-OVERS. IF I GET HIT AGAIN—I'M DEAD.

EXHALING SHARPLY, I PROCESS THE ROLLERCOASTER OF PAIN AND RELIEF.

SECONDS AGO, MY LUNGS FELT CRUSHED. NOW? ENERGY HUMS THROUGH ME.

BUT MY MP IS DOWN TO FOUR. NO MORE BARRIER. IF I GET HIT AGAIN, THERE WON’T BE A SECOND MIRACLE.

I STAGGER TO MY FEET, MUSCLES SCREAMING IN PROTEST. THE CENTAUR HEAVES, ITS RUINED LEGS TWITCHING USELESSLY, FORCING IT ONTO ITS FORELIMBS IN A LOPSIDED, DESPERATE CRAWL.

IT HUFFS SHALLOW BREATHS, HALF-PINNED BY ITS OWN INJURIES. THE CENTAUR IS FAILING. BLEEDING. DYING. AND YET, I CAN’T SHAKE THE FEELING THAT IF IT HAD LED WITH THAT SHOCKWAVE—I’D ALREADY BE DEAD.

I SPOT MISCHIEF. EACH SWIPE OF HIS PAW CARVES DEEP, JAGGED WOUNDS, SPECTRAL CLAWS TRAILING BEHIND LIKE AFTERIMAGES. BLOOD SPATTERS THICK ACROSS THE DIRT, POOLING FAST.

THE CENTAUR SWINGS SLUGGISHLY TO BLOCK, BUT MISCHIEF IS FASTER. CLAWS RIP THROUGH FLESH BEFORE ITS WEAPON EVEN COMES CLOSE.

FOR A SPLIT SECOND, I ALMOST PITY IT—THEN I REMEMBER THE CRATER IT NEARLY BURIED ME IN.

I SPRINT FORWARD. VAULT. MY BOOTS SLAM INTO ITS BACK—LEGS COILED LIKE A SPRING. THE CLUB HOWLS THROUGH THE AIR—THEN I HAMMER IT DOWN, SPLITTING BONE WITH A SICKENING, MEATY CRUNCH.

CRACK.

BONE SPLINTERS BENEATH THE IMPACT. SO DOES MY CLUB.

THE CENTAUR COLLAPSES. MOMENTUM YANKS—THEN THE GROUND VANISHES BENEATH ME.

----------------------------------------

THE LEVEL-UP HITS MID-FALL

YOU HAVE KILLED LEVEL 15 CHAOS SPAWN CHAMPION.

YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!

THE WORDS REGISTER A HEARTBEAT BEFORE I SLAM HEADFIRST INTO THE DIRT.

MY EARS RING. STARS EXPLODE IN MY VISION.

BUT THROUGH THE HAZE, I GRIN. LEVELED UP.

MEANS I’M STILL ALIVE TO CELEBRATE. I HAUL MYSELF UP FROM THE DIRT, GRIMACING AT HOW OFTEN THIS IS HAPPENING.

“NEW RULE: FEET STAY ON THE GROUND.” I MUTTER, BRUSHING OFF MY BATTERED LEATHER JACKET.