The forest whispered in the cool night air, a symphony of rustling leaves and distant howls. Malric crouched beneath a thicket of brambles, his hollow sockets fixed on the clearing ahead. There, illuminated by fragmented moonlight, stood the direwolf. Its massive form was cloaked in fur so dark it seemed to devour the light. The creature’s movements were slow but deliberate, each step carrying an air of primal authority.

Malric watched with the patience of the dead, studying the predator. A scar ran across its muzzle, and its rear left leg betrayed a slight limp. Wounded, perhaps? Or a scar of survival? Either way, it meant the beast had fought and won countless battles before. Its eyes, glowing faintly yellow in the dark, swept the clearing, alert and predatory.

He stayed perfectly still, blending with the shadows, careful not to disturb the undergrowth. Attacking head-on would be suicide. The beast was raw muscle and instinct, and a frontal assault would only serve to test the limits of his skeletal endurance—something he preferred not to gamble.

The wolf sniffed the air, its head lifting slightly. It knew something was amiss. Malric tightened his grip on the jagged branch he had plucked earlier, a weapon as much as a tool. His bones tensed, readying for the moment when he would strike. But in the quiet depths of his mind, a voice whispered caution. He wasn’t alive, not bound by the same urgency or fear as this creature. He could wait, and it would not tire him.

Yet, his waiting was cut short. The direwolf’s head snapped in his direction, its lips curling to reveal jagged teeth. It charged, a blur of shadow and fury.

The impact was explosive, throwing Malric back through a brittle thicket. The branches tore at his cloak, exposing the stark whiteness of his ribs. The direwolf was on him before he could rise, its powerful jaws clamping down on his shoulder.

Crack.

A shard of bone splintered free, but Malric twisted sharply, forcing the wolf’s jaws to release him. He scrambled backward as the beast lunged again, its claws raking across his chest. He raised his arm to deflect, but the strike sent him staggering into a nearby tree.

The creature wasn’t just large; it was fast. Every movement was precise, unrelenting, and driven by primal fury. It pressed its advantage, charging again with a feral growl. Malric ducked low, sliding out of the way as the wolf’s bulk collided with the tree behind him.

This wasn’t working.

His usual tactics relied on surprise, overwhelming his prey before they could react. But the direwolf’s sharp senses and sheer power had turned the tables. His skeletal frame, so resistant to pain and damage, was buckling under the beast’s assault.

But pain didn’t matter. Not to him.

As the wolf turned to charge again, Malric shifted his stance. This time, he let it come, drawing it in like a spider luring a fly. The wolf leaped, its claws outstretched, jaws snapping, and Malric moved. He twisted his body, letting the beast’s weight carry it past him. His bony hands shot out, grasping the wolf’s injured hind leg and wrenching it sideways.

The direwolf yelped, the sound sharp and almost pitiful. Its momentum faltered, and for the first time, Malric pressed his advantage. He drove forward, slamming the blunt end of the branch into its side. The beast retaliated with a clawed swipe, tearing his cloak to ribbons and leaving a jagged crack across his ribcage.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Malric didn’t relent.

The wolf spun, lunging again, but its injured leg betrayed it. Malric dodged, his skeletal movements unnervingly precise, and landed a crushing blow to the creature’s flank. The wolf stumbled, and Malric closed the distance.

With both hands, he seized its neck, ignoring its thrashing claws and snapping teeth. His grip tightened, unyielding, as the beast’s growls turned to choked whines. He twisted sharply, and the wolf’s body fell limp.

Chapter 21: The Direwolf’s Legacy

Section 1: The Aftermath of Victory

Malric crouched over the direwolf’s carcass, the forest silent save for the faint rustle of wind through the trees. His bony fingers traced the creature’s lifeless frame, exploring the hard ridges of its skeletal structure beneath the torn flesh. The wolf had been a worthy adversary, its ferocity and strength still palpable even in death.

The fight had pushed him to his limits, a reminder of his fragility despite his undead resilience. His ribs ached from the wolf’s battering strikes, the fractured edges grinding together like a cruel mockery of life. One of his hand bones had cracked, splitting under the strain of gripping the wolf’s thick pelt. These flaws needed addressing.

He glanced at the wolf’s massive forelimbs, their bones thick and tapered with predatory efficiency. These will do nicely, he thought. Its ribs, strong and unyielding, promised better protection than the brittle pieces he currently bore.

Malric dragged the carcass into the shadows, away from prying eyes that might stumble upon his work. Here, under the dim canopy, he began his grim task.

With careful precision, Malric set to work dismantling the direwolf’s skeleton. His sharp fingers served as tools, prying apart tendons and slicing through sinew. The bones came free one by one, each piece handled with an almost reverent focus.

The wolf’s forelimbs were the first to go, their claws still sharp and unyielding despite the creature’s demise. He placed them aside, envisioning how they might strengthen his own grip. Its ribs followed, removed with delicate care to preserve their structure. The pelvis and tailbone were next, their sturdy build hinting at the agility and balance they might lend to his form.

Finally, he reached the skull. The beast’s cranium was thick and well-protected, a natural shield against the world. Malric debated reinforcing his own head with fragments of it, though he knew the added weight could prove a hindrance.

He weighed his options, each piece promising new strengths but carrying its own drawbacks.

Forelimbs: Strength and claws, but a loss of fine dexterity.

Ribs: Durability, though at the cost of agility.

Pelvis and tailbone: Stability and mobility, yet the added bulk might reduce his speed.

Skull fragments: Protection, though his balance would suffer.

Malric’s hollow eyes flared briefly with faint light. I can’t take everything, he reasoned. I must choose carefully.

In the dim, cool shadows of the forest, Malric knelt amid the scattered bones of the direwolf. He set aside his own cracked forelimb, splintered ribs, and worn spine segments, each piece a testament to the slow decay of his original form.

His gaze lingered on the discarded pieces, a faint sense of disappointment settling in his chest. These bones, once a source of pride, now seemed pitiful compared to the robust, predatory frame of the direwolf.

“This is what I started with?” he muttered to himself, his voice a rasp of bone against bone. “Weak. Fragile. Pathetic.”

With a low growl of determination, he began replacing the broken remnants of his skeleton with the wolf’s superior parts.

First, he worked on his hands. The process was slow and painful, the grinding of bone against bone echoing in the still forest. He wove the wolf’s clawed forelimbs into his skeletal frame, feeling them click into place with unnatural precision. As they fused, he flexed his new fingers, their sharp tips glinting faintly. The strength was undeniable, but his movements felt heavier, less precise.

Next came his ribs. He detached the fragile bones from his torso, laying them aside with disgust. The wolf’s ribs were larger, thicker, and far more resilient. Malric pressed them into his chest cavity, his Bonecrafting skill coaxing them to bind with his spine. A sharp ache ran through his frame as they settled, but the increased durability was worth it. He tapped his chest experimentally, satisfied with the dull, solid thud that followed.

Finally, he replaced portions of his lower spine and tailbone. The wolf’s pelvic structure fit awkwardly at first, but with some adjustment, it fused seamlessly. As he stood to test the new addition, he noticed an immediate improvement in his balance and footing. His movements felt grounded, more stable, though his turning radius was slightly diminished.

Malric stood amidst the remains of the direwolf, his new form casting a shadow both familiar and foreign. The discarded bones of his former self lay scattered at his feet, reminders of his humble beginnings. He had evolved once more, but at a cost.

His clawed hands flexed, the wolf’s primal strength coursing through them, though the loss of precision nagged at the edges of his mind. His ribs felt like armor, yet his movements were less fluid. Balance had improved, but agility had suffered.

He glanced back at the wolf’s hollow carcass, its flesh draped loosely over the skeleton he had taken. For a moment, he wondered if he had taken too much, if he was losing the careful balance he had cultivated.

No matter, he thought. This is what it takes to survive.

The moonlight pierced the canopy, glinting off his reinforced form as he moved deeper into the forest. Shadows clung to him like a second skin, and the night seemed to grow colder in his wake.

Malric smiled, a jagged crack splitting his lipless face. The hunt was far from over.