Diving out the way of a slash as it tore into the flora covered road below, Brock steadied himself and spun in position, loosing his searing chain knife at the wounded Gargoyle gunning for his life. Helplessly, it slashed across the beast’s face, only earning a small, ineffective scar along its growling stone visage.

Damnit…

At this point in time, Brock had been embroiled in combat for over two hours, having managed to progress to the second last of the Gargoyles, the level of his current opponent sitting at a menacing 26. Each and every battle had been a pitched one so far, only growing more difficult with each wave. Though, like his enemies had been growing in strength, Brock too had been honing his fighting skills, slowly gaining an edge over their steady increase in levels, if only by a small amount.

And although he had won every fight until now, his body was far from unscathed. From what he could tell, Brock thought his body looked to be more blood and wounds than unblemished flesh. A large gouge had been torn out from his thigh, exposing the ivory bone beneath, and his left side had suffered a brutal dog bite, bleeding freely despite the handy work of his high Vitality.

While his Stats were working overtime to keep him alive and in the best condition possible, ever so slowly, he was weakening. The blood loss hadn’t reached dangerous levels yet, though it wouldn’t be far off now, and he found repeatedly that his wounded leg would neglect to respond to the commands of his brain, creating seconds of delays in movement, just enough to get him further wounded.

It was a slight realisation, but Brock had concluded that his body was sluggishly reversing the effects of South’s Augment as he fought, the continuous influxes of energy seeming to help readjust his body as they escaped through his pores. It wasn’t having much of an effect currently, but over time, it would serve to remove the odd sense of dissonance he felt between all his limbs.

Gritting his teeth, Brock blocked a powerful slash with the flat of his blade, the mere Strength behind it sending him skidding back a few meters. The beast granted him no respite as it bounded forward immediately after, and its prey weaved around a chomp, slicing his empowered blade down the length of the beast’s back, his other hand following as he released a flamethrower like stream of his Augment to scorch the Gargoyle’s carved open insides.

“Just… die…” he choked out in between pants, “…please.”

His original technique had seen a marked decrease in usefulness as the monster’s levels grew, first with the fact he couldn’t put his hand in their mouths without risking the significant chance of having his hand bitten off, and second with their exteriors, the fleshy insides having become tougher and more resilient to his flames.

That wasn’t to say it wasn’t still the most effective attack he had against the monsters, but it was becoming less and less reliable as time passed.

Dodging another ravenous chomp, Brock delivered a sharp kick to the monster’s side and knocked it off balance, allowing him to glance warily at the temple. He wasn’t sure if the Alpha would follow the seemingly wave combat like set up that the Gargoyles adhered to, but he knew he would see soon, as the rate the temple was sucking in energy had seen a gradual spike in gluttony, currently sitting at almost double the amount slurped up with each second.

I gotta hurry this up.

The beast quickly recovered and assaulted Brock once more, much to his annoyance. While at first, he had been animated, and oddly found himself enjoying teasing a beast that couldn’t tease back, Brock now didn’t have the energy or time to spare for monologuing, being forced to devote the entirety of his attention to the task at hand.

A clawed paw from the left, then a follow up from the right, then a powerful chomp, Brock found himself put on the back foot as he became unable to shift the fight into his own rhythm, the uncaring and unpredictable behaviour of the beast forcing its opponent into the defensive, lest he suffer an attack that totally cripples him before the big fight ahead.

“Shit…”

Hissing out a breath as he narrowly avoided a lunging bite, Brock used the opening presented to him and the air sang as his blade shot downward, slamming upon the Gargoyle’s forehead like a meteor. With a screech, his blade shaved off a considerable portion of its head and even drew some of its signature silver mud-blood, but it refrained from doing anything fatal.

The beast seemed to take no notice of his attack and immediately primed itself to bite upon him again. Brock hit the floor as its teeth soared overhead a second later, and he rolled to the side, grasping both his blade and the beginning of the violet chain as he used it to catch one of its feet and trip it over, the stone body hitting the floor with a hollow thud. There we go.

Through his tooth and nail combat with the Gargoyles, Brock had soon been forced to realise that his knife was only half the weapon. It was called a chain knife, not simply a knife, and he promptly took it upon himself to begin to use it to the height of its potential. Which, as of current, mostly involved use as improvised tripping traps. Though, the chain had also been used last minute to block a small slew of attacks and done so admirably.

Utilising the moment of inactivity as the beast tried to comprehend what had happened with its simple mind, Brock skittered over and dug all ten of his fingers into the large gash he had carved out before, the crack instantly beginning to glow with molten energy as his Augment surged through his fingertips and ravaged the beast’s insides.

It wasn’t enough to kill it outright, as the creature soon shook him off and forced him to back away, but the scorching heat soon made the beast collapse, smoke streaming out from both the offending injury and its gaping jaws. Sighing, Brock wiped the sweat and blood from his forehead and turned to face the final Gargoyle as it shook itself to life, a pair of red eyes flaring to prominence and meeting his own.

“Let’s do this. Come on buddy.”

Brock hissed out a breath and readied himself as the beast leisurely made its way down the stairs. It wasn’t in any rush it seemed, already confident in finishing off the wounded individual before it. The office worker’s eyes widened, however, not in realisation, but fear as a hulking arm reached out through the entrance of the temple and plucked the Gargoyle from its place on the stairs a few meters away.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

It was only now that he noticed the ambient sucking of energy had halted. In its place, a pervasive power stormed through the air, whispering of a higher power and the hidden secrets of evolution. A sickening crunch resounded within the temple of wood and flora soon after the Gargoyle disappeared into its depths, and Brock held his knife tightly in a close guard, his knuckles white.

What… the… fuck…

Before he could brace himself, the makeshift structure burst into a hurricane of splinters, sawdust, and rampant energies, obscuring Brock’s vision and forcing him to shield his face with an arm, small chunks of wood blowing past him and slashing at his already grievously injured body. Out from the source of the explosion, a gargantuan greatsword spun high through the air, before finally thudding into the earth several meters away, forming a small crater around it from the sheer weight of the impact.

A sword?

Parsing apart the cloud pervading the entire area, Brock made out a silhouette as it stood tall on two digitigrade legs, its back hunched forward and head ending in a pronounced snout. Just by looking from a dozen or so meters away, Brock could safely say it was only a few meters smaller than South, though the pressure it emitted far exceeded that of the ape.

The breath abruptly caught in his throat as the beast turned to face him, a quadrio of glowing crimson eyes flashing through the smoke and directly meeting his own. They held none of the hunger or savage hatred that he had seen from the other monsters he had encountered, only an idle curiosity and the desire for battle.

“You… are not meant to be here for another week…” it was slurred and bestial, but Brock clearly heard it.

The monster had fucking spoken.

His face recoiled in shock, and Brock could only watch as the massive beast waved an arm and dispelled the cloud of dust instantaneously, openly revealing the hunched form of a werewolf, its fur a gluttonous black in contrast to East’s pearly white. Its frame was studded with tight muscles, giving it a lean but undoubtedly powerful appearance. Its arms ended in clawed fingers, reminiscent of a human hand, and Brock was certain any one of those claws were sharp enough to bisect him with but a single swipe.

“Tell me human…” It began, rolling its shoulders as it regarded Brock coolly, “why are you here?”

Brock controlled his breathing as it began to increase in pace, but seeing as West’s name hadn’t appeared above his head - the voice being clearly masculine - Brock calmed knowing that he didn’t yet wish to engage him. Though, that alone was a blaring alarm bell going off in his brain.

“I… the System left me here. I’m… I’m not really sure why…” He spoke quietly, unable to keep himself from stuttering a few times. Slowly, Brock began walking backwards.

West prowled out from the ruined remains of the temple, and Brock finally was able to vaguely sense the pulses of energy flowing through what seemed to be pathways, before disappearing as it entered his chest. Brock couldn’t be certain, but the Alpha seemed to have an Ascendancy or something at least adjacent to it, if that’s really where the energy was going.

The werewolf, unaware of the inner turmoil the human before it was feeling, chuckled as it reached out a hand and grasped the leather-wrapped hilt of its blade, the lengths of it dulled and rusted by time, “Yes. The Brood-Mother has always been… enigmatic in her ways.”

He hefted the truck-sized greatsword over his shoulder, “Harsh even.”

Brock snorted humorously. Harsh would be a gross understatement. But Brood-Mother? Is that what the System is to monsters?

Saying no more, West surveyed the corpses of his followers scattered over the area, idly wiping the crumbs of stone and silver blood sticking to the bristling furs of his mouth. A cold sweat ran down Brock’s forehead, though it seemed to be a mix of fear at the Alpha’s anticipated reaction and fear that the conversation would end early.

West might have been a cannibalistic monster, but Brock was almost brought to tears by the presence of another intelligent being, human or not. He had been alone for so long, yet now there was someone. He found it was a strange indulgence to enjoy the sound of the beast’s voice. A voice.

Seemingly uncaring of the death around him, the Alpha continued to walk toward Brock, its eyes settling on his own once more, “…You’ve met my sister, Agkn, I assume?”

Brock racked his brain for an ‘Agkn’ but came up empty. He was about to shake his head when he remembered East, the white wolf. The one that had exploded across the road. “I… I uhhhh. Nope. Just nope. I haven’t seen her.”

At this current moment, Brock wanted to die. Though, he supposed he was going to soon anyway. West tilted his head slowly, “I can sense her Ascent assimilated as part of your own, though it is muted. You killed her?”

Brock didn’t answer and took a few more steps back fearfully. West seemed unfazed, and merely shook his head as a small vial of luminous iridescent fluid flickered into existence in his free hand. Brock finally noticed the dull silver ring slipped upon the beast’s finger, “A fool, she was. Poor Agkn.”

West chucked the vial of fluid in Brock’s direction, and he desperately scrambled to catch it safely in his hands, succeeding and holding it tightly as he viewed the liquid within. It seemed to be brimming with pure energy, “Take this. It will heal you. We are destined to fight, and it is the deepest dishonour to fight the ending of another’s battle.”

The werewolf gestured to the corpses littered around them.

Hesitantly, Brock brought the vial to his face, removing the small crystal stopper wedged at the end with the flick of his thumb. Up close, as the scents of the liquid within wafted up Brock’s nose, his eyes almost went wide at the way merely smelling the fluid sent waves of healing energies through his pathways, subtly assisting his Vitality as it worked.

Wait… what the hell am I doing?

Brock paused mid-way through beginning to pour the potion into his mouth as he wondered about how trustworthy West seemed to be. Though, the man quickly scoffed and discarded the thought. With the state he was in, the Alpha could have slain him effortlessly, and he certainly wouldn’t need underhanded tricks to do so.

Oddly enough, he sounded like an all-around good bloke, valuing honour and respecting that of his opponent above all else. It was a little bit of an outdated outlook, but Brock somewhat admired the beast for it, nonetheless.

He wasn’t given much more time to think, however, as he finished chugging the fluid and a boundless surge of energy exploded through his pathways, causing his body to heal at a visible rate. The wounded flesh of his body knitted together and his muscles regrew and connected in thin strands. It even lessened the apparentness of a multitude of his scars, helping them fade slightly and not stand out as much.

Though, the most awe-inspiring feat of the fluid wasn’t the insane rate of healing it inspired nor the raw power of the energy as it flowed through him, unable to be slowly tainted to the crimson colour that seemed to be the native type in his body. No, it was the seemingly endless power that ceaselessly pervaded through every cell, muscle, and organ, empowering him to heights he had previously only dreamed of despite being in the realm of the superhuman already.

Right now, he felt truly unstoppable.

[You have consumed a Vial of Combat. All injuries have been healed. All stats have been doubled. The effect of regeneration has been doubled. Current effects will expire in 1 hour.]

West placed a second hand on the long hilt of his sword and barred his fangs in a cruel approximation of a grin, “Let’s begin.”

Above him, a name flickered into existence.

[F] West, Son of the Sword (LVL 42)