Del was awake in an instant, Misty’s urgent warning slamming through his mind like a jolt of ice water. He didn’t hesitate, moving before thought could catch up—grabbing his leathers, yanking them on in a rush as he reached for his sword belt and bandolier.
“Elara, up,” he hissed, shaking her shoulder.
She stirred with a sharp inhale, instinctively alert, her body tensing beneath the blanket. But as her sleep-hazed mind caught up to the urgency in his voice, she was already moving.
Del didn’t wait. He shoved aside the tent flap, the cool night air hitting his skin as he stepped out, sword already sliding free of its sheath.
Behind him, he heard the rustling of hurried movement—Elara dressing fast, the soft scrape of leather and fabric as she armed herself. He knew she’d be right behind him.
The night outside was alive with tension.
Then came the sound—low, resonant, and unmistakable.
A howl, deep and primal, carried through the dark like a creeping frost, its echoes swallowed by the surrounding trees.
A second voice joined the first. Then another.
Within seconds, a chorus of howls rippled through the night, the eerie symphony of hunters calling to one another, announcing their claim on the land. Misty hadn’t woken them for nothing.
Del’s jaw tightened. He snatched a thick log from the fire’s edge and hurled it onto the embers, sending a cascade of sparks skyward. Flames licked hungrily at the fresh fuel, brightening the immediate area, but beyond the fire’s glow, the blackness remained impenetrable.
“Stay close to the tents—watch Naomi,” he instructed Elara, his voice low but firm.
Elara gave a sharp nod, positioning herself near the entrance to Naomi’s tent, bow raised, her expression grimly determined.
Del turned his attention to the trees, the weight of his sword reassuring in his grip. In his other hand, he held one of his venom-coated daggers, its wicked edge glinting in the firelight.
A sudden yelp of pain broke through the night—sharp, pained, and distinctly animal.
His pulse kicked up a notch.
Misty.
He spun in the direction of the sound, scanning the shifting shadows beyond the firelight’s reach. Elara’s bowstring thrummed, sending an arrow zipping into the darkness. A rustle of movement. A low snarl.
Then he saw them.
A pair of yellow eyes gleamed in the underbrush, followed by another set just behind. Shapes slinked forward, sleek and low, their muscles coiled beneath thick pelts of shadowed fur.
Del’s stomach tensed as the first creature emerged fully into the firelight.
It was a wolf—but not quite. The proportions were wrong. Its limbs were too long, too lean, built for unnatural agility. Its coat was thick and dark, the fur along its spine bristling with an aggressive charge. When it bared its teeth, a row of needle-sharp fangs gleamed, slick with saliva.
A single word pulsed into his mind.
‘Identify.’
Ashfang: Beast, young male.
Level: 3.
Pack hunter, nocturnal.
Strengths: Aggressive, agile.
Weaknesses: Cowardly.
Attacks: Bite, rend.
Skill: Howl.
Lore: Ashfangs are territorial pack hunters normally active at night. They will often hunt down and overwhelm weaker prey to take back to the den. The howl can be used to summon packmates. If presented with superior strength, they will often run away.
The wolf-like creature was fast—too fast.
It lunged without hesitation, a blur of fur and muscle. Del barely had time to lift his sword before it was on him, claws raking toward his midsection.
He twisted, bringing his blade down in a vicious arc. Steel met flesh, and a spray of blood splattered across the dirt as the ashfang yelped and veered away, its momentum carrying it past him.
Another shadow launched from the side—silent and swift.
Del reacted on instinct, slashing with his dagger. The blade connected mid-leap, parting flesh, and the beast hit the ground with a yelp, tumbling into the dirt.
‘Too close.’
Before Del could steady himself, the first ashfang was already recovering, its yellow eyes locking onto him with renewed hunger. A snarl curled its lips, and this time, it circled him warily, learning.
Pack hunters. They didn’t fight fair.
Elara’s bowstring thrummed again. Another arrow cut through the air, burying itself into the brush where a third ashfang lurked.
Del didn’t have time to see if it hit its mark—his opponent lunged again.
He met it head-on.
This time, instead of dodging, he stepped into the attack, blade swinging. The ashfang barely had time to react before Del’s sword cleaved deep into its shoulder. A strangled yelp escaped its throat, and its legs buckled, collapsing under its own weight.
Del drove his dagger into its neck, twisting the blade. The creature spasmed, let out a final wheezing growl, then went still.
A new scent hit his nose—something rancid, like old, festering meat.
He turned sharply just in time to see the second ashfang—wounded but still standing—charging him with unsteady but determined steps. It swayed, its breath ragged, but hunger burned in its eyes.
Something was wrong with this one.
Its lips peeled back in a snarl, and as it opened its mouth, he caught a glimpse of blackened gums, of something festering deep within.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
‘That’s not normal.’
The thing stank of sickness, its movements erratic but violent. Del didn’t hesitate.
He met it mid-charge, pivoting to the side and bringing his sword down in a merciless strike. The steel bit deep, slicing clean through its leg. The beast tumbled with a pained screech, hitting the ground in a heap of writhing limbs.
Del didn’t give it a chance to rise.
With a swift motion, he brought his blade down in a final, decisive stroke—severing its head from its body.
The battlefield was chaos.
Misty moved like a phantom, claws sunk deep into the flanks of another ashfang, her lithe form twisting as she raked its hide open with feral efficiency. The creature shrieked and bucked, but she clung on, her golden eyes alight with predatory fire.
Elara was a blur of motion, loosing arrows in rapid succession, her face set in a mask of cold focus. Each shot was precise, aimed for weak points—throats, shoulders, eyes.
But the pack was still coming.
Then Del saw it.
A figure, larger than the rest, stalking toward him from the trees.
Its movements were deliberate, unhurried. It carried itself with a presence that exuded dominance, an unspoken understanding that it did not need to rush.
Then it stopped.
Fifty feet away, it sat back on its haunches, sniffing the air.
Del met its gaze, and an unsettling awareness settled in his gut.
This one was different.
‘Identify.’
Ashfang: Beast, Alpha male.
Level: 5.
Pack leader, nocturnal.
Strengths: Aggressive, agile.
Weaknesses: Unknown.
Attacks: Bite, rend.
Special Attack: Hunter’s Gaze.
Skill: Howl.
Lore: Ashfangs are territorial pack hunters normally active at night. They will often hunt down and overwhelm weaker prey to take back to the den. The howl can be used to summon packmates. If presented with superior strength, they will often run away.
Its yellow eyes locked onto his.
And something changed.
A cold, piercing sensation drilled into Del’s skull—sharp, invasive, like ice needles stabbing through his mind. His breath hitched, his muscles froze, and for the first time in the fight, his body refused to obey.
His world shrank to those eyes.
He saw everything in excruciating detail—the quiver of the beast’s whiskers, the slow, calculated rise and fall of its chest, the gleam of its saliva-coated fangs.
He could hear Elara shouting, could sense movement around him, but it felt distant, muffled—like sound warped through water.
He couldn’t move.
Something primal, something ancient, anchored him in place.
The beast charged.
Its body was a streak of black against the night, claws gouging the earth as it closed the distance.
This was it.
Something inside him screamed—raw, furious, desperate to break free.
Elara’s voice pierced through the haze.
“Del!”
A second voice—harsher, inside his own mind—roared.
‘MOVE, YOU USELESS FUCKING BASTARD!’
The grip shattered.
Del wrenched himself free from the beast’s gaze, throwing himself sideways an instant before it struck. A searing pain lanced through his hip as claws raked across his side, but he was alive.
And now, he was angry.
He landed hard, rolling to his feet just as the beast skidded to a stop, spinning back toward him with a furious snarl.
Blood dripped from its claws.
Its eyes narrowed.
Del raised his sword, his grip tightening.
This fight wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.
The ashfang Alpha paced sideways, its body coiled with barely restrained energy. Even with an arrow buried in its shoulder and a fresh wound from Del’s sword, it showed no hesitation. Its yellow eyes gleamed with intelligence—calculating, reassessing.
It knew now that Del wasn’t easy prey.
But that didn’t mean it was backing down.
A low growl rumbled from its throat, resonating through the ground like the prelude to an earthquake. Then, with a burst of speed that defied its size, it leapt forward again.
Del was ready.
He ducked low and to the side, feeling the rush of air as its massive frame sailed past him. His sword lashed out, scoring another deep gash across its flank, but the beast barely flinched. It twisted mid-stride, claws digging deep into the dirt, propelling itself into another charge.
This time, Del had no room to dodge.
The impact was like being hit by a battering ram. A wall of muscle and fur slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs. His back hit the ground hard, a shock of pain lancing through his spine as he struggled to bring his sword up.
The Alpha was already on him.
Its fangs snapped inches from his face, hot breath flooding his senses with the rancid stench of blood and decay. He barely got his arm up in time, the beast’s massive jaws closing around his forearm instead of his throat.
Pain exploded through his body.
It felt like his bones might snap under the crushing pressure.
Gritting his teeth, he let go of his sword with his free hand and reached for his last venom dagger. His fingers found the hilt just as the Alpha twisted its head, yanking him roughly across the ground.
‘Do it now!’ His mind screamed
With a desperate snarl of effort, Del wrenched the dagger free and drove it straight into the beast’s exposed throat.
The reaction was immediate.
The Alpha released him with a choking snarl, staggering back as the poison took hold. The veins beneath its dark fur pulsed, the lethal venom spreading fast.
But it wasn’t dead. Not yet.
Del scrambled to his feet, arm throbbing, blood dripping from deep puncture wounds. He barely had time to register Elara’s voice before another arrow streaked past him—hitting the Alpha square in the chest.
It let out a strangled roar, staggering back, but still, it didn’t fall.
A blur of fur and claws shot from the side.
Misty.
The cat hit the Alpha’s back like a bolt of lightning, her claws burying deep into the wounded flesh. She tore at the beast with a vicious efficiency, sinking her teeth into the soft tissue of its neck, her entire body thrashing as she ripped.
The Alpha howled—louder than any cry before.
The sound sent a ripple of movement through the trees.
Del barely had time to notice the retreating figures of the remaining ashfangs, their glowing eyes vanishing into the night.
The pack was breaking.
But the Alpha?
It refused.
With a final, violent effort, the beast threw itself backward, slamming its massive body into the ground in an attempt to dislodge Misty.
It worked.
Misty was flung through the air, twisting mid-flight to land on her feet, but the force of the impact still left her momentarily stunned.
The Alpha turned to her.
Its lips curled back in a snarl, blood dripping from its mangled throat. Even half-dead, its sheer presence exuded power, the aura of a creature that had never known fear.
Del moved without thinking.
His sword was somewhere on the ground, but that didn’t matter.
The dagger was still in his grip.
He surged forward, every muscle screaming in protest. The Alpha sensed him coming, but it was too slow this time—its injuries, the poison, the sheer force of everything they’d thrown at it had finally taken their toll.
Del tackled the beast in a brutal, desperate motion, driving his entire weight behind the blade.
It sank in to the hilt.
A wet, gurgling sound rasped from the Alpha’s throat. Its body convulsed once—twice—then finally, its massive frame went slack.
It hit the ground with a heavy thud, dust rising around them.
For a long, breathless moment, there was only silence.
Del remained on his knees, hands still gripping the dagger buried deep in the beast’s flesh. His chest heaved, his body trembling with exertion.
A sharp, familiar voice cut through the stillness.
“Del!”
Elara was there in an instant, gripping his shoulder, her gaze sweeping over him, assessing injuries.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, frowning at his arm.
Del exhaled shakily, finally releasing his grip on the dagger.
“I’ll live,” he muttered.
His body protested as he pushed himself upright, his limbs stiff and aching. The firelight flickered over the battlefield—dark fur, blood-stained dirt, and the remains of the carnage surrounding them.
A soft rustle drew his attention.
Misty.
The cat sat a few paces away, her tail flicking idly, golden eyes locked onto him. There was no concern in her gaze, no pity—just quiet satisfaction.
‘About time you finished it.’
Del let out a breathless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face.
Elara turned, scanning the treeline. “They’re gone.”
He followed her gaze. The forest was silent once more.
The pack had fled.
The fight was over.
The realisation hit all at once—the sheer weight of what had just happened. His body felt like it had been trampled, every nerve raw with exhaustion. But beneath that, something deeper stirred.
Victory.
He looked down at the fallen Alpha, at the blood still pooling beneath it.
Then, with a sigh of satisfaction, a flickering message pulsed into his vision.
[Congratulations. You have killed 7 Ashfangs. Experience gained.]
[Congratulations. You have killed Ashfang Alpha. Experience gained.]
[You have progressed on your primary Cuvat: Survive. Points added.]