The clearing stretched wide before Malric, a quiet sanctuary in the heart of the forest. Shafts of moonlight pierced through the canopy, illuminating the skeleton as he stood motionless, his clawed hands extended before him. He flexed them experimentally, watching the reinforced digits move with a mixture of satisfaction and irritation. The direwolf’s claws had added a savage edge to his arsenal, but their bulk made precise movements clumsy. He reached for a pebble on the ground, only for his claws to scrape noisily against the stone, sending it skittering across the dirt.

Malric straightened, his jaw clenching in frustration. He swiped his claws against the nearest tree, the impact sending splinters flying. The clean gash in the bark spoke to the raw power of his modifications, but power without control was a weakness.

He pivoted on his enhanced legs, testing his balance. A cautious step forward turned into a sprint, his body a blur of pale bone and tattered cloak as he darted through the clearing. He was faster, stronger—but each stride felt heavier, less fluid. He adjusted mid-run, compensating for the added weight in his frame, but the motion lacked grace.

Malric came to a halt, glaring down at his hands as if blaming them for his shortcomings. He flexed his clawed fingers again, the moonlight catching on their sharp tips. I am no longer bound by the limitations of flesh, he reminded himself. Adaptation is survival. Evolution is power.

But even as he reassured himself, a flicker of doubt gnawed at his thoughts. His changes, while powerful, edged him further from the humans he sought to deceive. For every strength he gained, he lost something else—a subtle reminder that his existence straddled the line between monster and manipulator.

The stillness of the forest gave way to subtle signs of life as Malric resumed his hunt. His skeletal feet moved soundlessly over the undergrowth, his enhanced senses attuned to every rustle and snap around him. He wasn’t simply searching for prey—he was searching for perfection, for something to refine his form.

A deep groove etched into a tree trunk caught his attention. Malric crouched low, his empty sockets scanning the forest floor. The soft impression of hoof prints pressed into the mud, large and irregular, led away from the clearing. Nearby, tufts of coarse hair clung to the bark.

Boar, he deduced, his mind racing. The animal would be strong, its bones thick and durable. Its tusks alone could provide additional utility or serve as reinforcement.

Malric followed the trail deeper into the forest, weaving through dense underbrush. The prints grew fresher, and soon he heard it—a low, guttural snort accompanied by the sound of foliage being torn apart. He slowed his pace, every movement calculated.

Through the trees, he saw it. The boar was immense, its hulking frame covered in scars from battles long past. Its tusks curved wickedly, glinting faintly in the dappled light. It grazed near a patch of shrubs, tearing through the vegetation with single-minded ferocity.

Malric froze, his skeletal frame blending into the shadows of the forest. He watched the boar for several minutes, studying its movements. The beast’s head swayed rhythmically as it tore at the undergrowth, its ears twitching at every distant sound. Its bulk radiated strength, and Malric noted the sheer power in its legs as it shifted its weight.

Not a creature to underestimate, he thought, recalling the direwolf’s savage strength. Unlike the wolf, this boar seemed less agile but compensated with raw, unrelenting force.

Malric’s mind raced with possibilities. A direct attack could prove fatal if the boar charged before he struck a decisive blow. But patience had always been his ally. He noted the terrain, the dense shrubbery that limited the boar’s movement and the patches of loose dirt where it might lose traction.

Ambush, then retreat. Draw it into disadvantageous ground, he planned. He tightened his grip on the underbrush to steady himself, his claws puncturing the wood effortlessly. Despite his calculated demeanor, his excitement mounted. The promise of new strength was tantalizing.

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Minutes passed as he waited for the perfect moment. The boar snorted, oblivious to the predator lurking in the shadows. Its massive form turned slightly, exposing its flank as it rooted around for another meal.

Malric’s claws flexed as he prepared to strike. He shifted his weight, coiling his reinforced legs like springs. The boar’s snorts filled the clearing, its head dipping lower to the ground.

Now.

Malric lunged from the shadows, his skeletal frame a blur of motion. The boar’s head snapped up at the last second, its beady eyes wide with alarm. It let out a guttural roar and spun to meet him, but Malric was already closing the gap, his claws aimed at its flank.

The first strike was an error—a miscalculation borne of overconfidence. Malric's claws raked the boar’s flank, drawing thick rivulets of blood, but his aim had been slightly off, missing the artery he intended to sever. The beast squealed in pain, its cry echoing through the forest like a war horn. It reared back, fury igniting in its dark, beady eyes, before launching forward with a charge that carried the full weight of its massive body.

Malric sidestepped at the last moment, or so he thought. One of the boar's tusks grazed his side with the force of a battering ram, cracking several ribs on impact and sending him skidding across the damp forest floor. He felt the fractured bones within him shift uneasily, a cold sensation crawling up his spine—not pain, not exactly, but a hollow reminder of his own fragility.

The boar turned, pawing the ground as it prepared for another charge.

Malric pulled himself upright, his skeletal form rattling faintly as he assessed the damage. A shard of his ribcage jutted awkwardly, its jagged edge scraping against his interior with every movement. He cursed internally, his thoughts a furious swirl of hatred for the living beast before him.

The second exchange was no more forgiving. Malric tried to capitalize on the boar's reckless aggression, darting in to strike at its legs, but the beast was deceptively fast for its size. A cloven hoof lashed out as it turned, slamming into Malric's left arm with a sickening crunch. Bone splintered beneath the impact, and his arm hung uselessly at his side.

Still, Malric pressed on, his undead nature granting him resilience where a living creature might falter. The boar was a relentless force, but it lacked the precision of his cunning mind. Malric feigned retreat, leading the beast toward a dense patch of uneven ground littered with tree roots and stones.

As the boar barreled after him, its heavy frame stumbled over the treacherous terrain. Its footing faltered, giving Malric the opening he needed. He lunged forward, his good arm aiming for the back of the boar’s neck, his claws sinking deep into its flesh. The creature thrashed wildly, nearly dislodging him, but Malric held firm, his grip fueled by a combination of hatred and necessity.

The boar’s strength began to wane as blood poured from its wounds, staining the forest floor. Malric’s persistence had paid off, but the cost was significant. His fractured ribs and shattered arm left him slower, his movements lacking the fluidity they once had. Each step was calculated, deliberate, as he sought to finish the fight.

The boar lashed out one last time, its tusks grazing Malric's leg and throwing him off balance. He toppled backward, and the beast seized the opportunity to charge again, its final gambit a desperate attempt to crush him beneath its weight.

But Malric had anticipated this. With a feral determination, he rolled to the side at the last moment, using his good arm to thrust his claws deep into the boar’s throat as it passed. The creature collapsed with a choked cry, its massive body finally succumbing to its injuries.

Malric rose unsteadily, his bones creaking in protest. The forest was silent now, save for the sound of his rattling breath—or the faint mimicry of it—as he stared down at the lifeless beast.

Malric knelt beside the boar, his skeletal fingers probing its thick hide. The bones beneath were dense, sturdy, their potential evident even at a glance. He studied the tusks, their sharp curves glinting faintly in the dim light filtering through the canopy.

But his gaze lingered on his own broken body. His shattered arm dangled uselessly, fragments of bone protruding like cruel reminders of his earlier missteps. His cracked ribs ached with every motion, the gaps where bone should have been leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

“Pathetic,” he muttered to himself, his voice a dry rasp. His body—the one he had so painstakingly crafted—was flawed, unworthy. The boar had exposed his weaknesses, and now he had the chance to correct them.

He set to work disassembling the creature with methodical precision. The tusks were first, pried free and set aside. He examined its leg bones next, considering their density and durability. His mind churned with possibilities: reinforced limbs, perhaps, or plating for his vulnerable ribs. He couldn’t afford another failure like this.

Then came the task of addressing his own injuries. He pulled his shattered arm free with a sharp tug, discarding the broken pieces like useless scraps. The boar’s leg bone was a near-perfect fit, its structure far superior to his previous makeshift appendage. He carefully integrated it, the faint glow of his necromantic energy fusing it into place.

His ribs required more work, each fragment removed and replaced with parts of the boar’s sturdy frame. He worked slowly, ensuring each connection was secure, his hatred for the living fueling his determination. By the time he was finished, his form was stronger, more robust—a reflection of the lesson the boar had taught him.

As the last bone snapped into place, Malric stood, testing his new body. His movements were heavier, his form bulkier, but the added durability was worth the slight loss in agility. He flexed his new arm, the strength behind it palpable, and allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction.

The forest around him was silent once more, the air thick with the scent of blood and decay. Malric stepped into the shadows, his skeletal figure blending into the darkness. His glowing eyes narrowed as he considered his next move.

He was far from finished.