"That's right. You're the asshole who stole my money and left me stranded on the remote part of an island, in a foreign country no less," Dexter said.

"No!" the conman yelled. "You have the wrong person." He managed to reach back up with his hand and found a secure grip after gaining a renewed source of adrenaline. Apparently, a bout with death would do that to you.

"Is that so?" Dexter said, tapping his chin.

"Yes!" As the man looked back at Dexter, who hadn't moved, he squeezed his eyes shut, pleading. It surprised Dexter when he saw a single tear fall, catching a ray of sunlight. "You have to understand. My wife, she's pregnant. We're having a daughter and I needed…"

"Wow, I'm impressed," Dexter said, ignoring the heartfelt pretense. He had read the guy long ago, and had been warned about the locals preying on tourists. It wasn't something unusual after all. No, the reason Dexter took his time wasn't about the money. He simply needed a distraction. The wolven goats were much larger than their counterparts further up the mountain.

Their hooves had fully transformed into claws, and foam accumulated in their jaws as massive canines chomped in a rapid succession, hoping to get the first bite of their meal. If one of them were an elite, he was going to have to separate it from the pack. He just had to figure out which one, before they considered him an easier target than the one they had been chasing.

"Please! I'm about to fall!"

"Yeah, just wiggle a little for me, will ya?"

"Are you insane!?"

The question caused Dexter to laugh as he removed his guitar, searching through a pile of stones. But instead of brushing it off, he actually considered it.

"Actually, yes. Or at least, I think I was. Hating your job for so long would do that to you." Ah, this rock should do the trick.

Genuine sobs made their way to his ears as the conman thought he would be left to die. "What would Jesus do?" he sniffed, unable to stop the snot falling from his nose.

"I don't know," Dexter said, "but it looks like you're on your way to meet him. Why don't you ask him yourself?" There!

As Dexter spotted the alpha—defining it by its ferocity and unique fur pattern, rather than size and bulk—he unshackled the sword he looted, ready to toss it over. "Hey," he cut the guy off from screaming, "if you want help, you're going to have to help me, help you."

The sword clanged a good distance away from the beasts, but it was within the man's reach. He would have to find courage and accept the current paradigm shift. Adaption was the key to survival.

Ignoring the following outburst, Dexter concentrated on his palm, where a stream of azure light rippled over the fist sized stone. He clenched his muscles, using his newfound strength, and hurled the rock. It careened through the air, missing its mark entirely. Shit, I'm no better than a Stormtrooper. Picking another rock, Dexter hurled it a second time, nearly hitting the person he was attempting to save.

"What the hell! Are you trying to kill me!?"

"Sorry," he called back. Damn that was the best one.

By now he had alerted the weregoats—named by his newest suspicion—to his presence, but they ignored his attempts like he was a fly.

"Very well," Dexter said, choosing an even larger stone. He wound up his last throw, releasing more of the azure light. "Third time's the charm."

The statement rang true as he struck the alpha weregoat in the head, damn near cracking its eye socket. "Strike!"

The surprise attack had gained him the beast's undivided attention, and it split from the other five weregoats, launching with speed far surpassing what Dexter had accounted for.

As it charged, the spiked horns on its head duplicated, bearing a sanguine hunger.

"Fuck…"

Dexter's legs rapidly fell in motion to retreat, but the exit had closed upon engagement. Gritting his teeth, he met the beast head on, pushing his blade to go faster.

Six bloody spear tips rivaled his own, as the weregoat lowered its head. The ethereal horns were shorter but no less sharper. They scored Dexter's arm as he struck, leaving a burning sensation racing through the limb.

A gasp escaped his mouth, making notice of the weregoat's siphon ability. Blood flowed out of the open wound, staining his armor, yet his grip tightened even further as he struck again, taking advantage of the opening.

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His skill with the spear couldn't even be considered as such, but it was beyond easy for him to simply stick the beast with the pointy end. And as he did just that, thrusting with mad desperation, the polearm was the only thing that distanced him from the beasts chomping maw. Keeping him safe from harm as he dealt damage, pushing his spear to bite into the charging beast.

Pulling the spear back, Dexter avoided losing it to a double clawed slash, but he managed to extend it further at the last second, predicting a nasty headbutt. The spearhead glanced off the side of the weregoats face, taking a chunk out of its cheek. Blood coated the fleshy bit stuck to the spear, but rather than flicking it away, Dexter called on Iron Shroud, planning to exploit the weak point he just opened up.

But as his legs firmed and his new strength pushed the blade with extreme focus, the beast released a roar of frustration that threatened Dexter's ear drums. He was forced back, met by a foul odor that tinged the spittle flying about, but his spear once again fell into position, becoming the wall that took the charge head on.

The perfect defense was a strong offense, and Dexter avoided contact by remaining on the attack. His spear bit deep into the hide of the weregoat, while the wings on the spearhead held the beast back from causing him harm. The distance stayed between four and five feet. It was a line that he couldn't cross, as it meant the forfeit of his weapon. His life.

A simple stick with a pointy end, Dexter thought, mesmerized at his ability to defend and attack. At that moment, he realized humanity had discovered the best weapon long ago. Any improvement on the tool simply amplified its greatest benefits. After all, what was a gun, besides an arrow, besides a spear? As long as he kept his distance and remained on the attack, he would survive. It was only a matter of time.

"Alright, I can do this," Dexter reassured himself. But after ripping open the weregoat's shoulder with the help of Iron Shroud, the weregoat howled and its pack members answered its call. "Damnit."

Dexter's stomach churned as he saw the conman still clinging to the mountain side, an abandoned sword, and four were creatures that raced towards him. All thoughts of victory and hope dashed away in that moment, leaving irritation and anger in their wake. He was stupid for trying to help, and he was stupid for believing he could lure away one of the beasts. The similarity to video games had once again blindsided him.

A grim laughter bubbled up as Dexter chastised himself, now pointing his spear at each of the wolven goats that stepped closer, encircling him. He got distracted by their bloody maws the closer they came, and tried to calm his breath. But the thought of being eaten alive was simply too hard to shake even without adrenaline racing through his veins.

A sense of injustice fell over him, and he wanted to yell at the coward who he dared help, but there was no point in wasting energy, so Dexter readied his spear, eyeing the smallest weregoat. The sooner he decreased their numbers, the sooner he would regain control.

Two heartbeats passed before he attacked, but the wolven goats were faster. As if on cue, they all rushed him, a rehearsed strategy ingrained in their DNA. However, Dexter's spear immediately leapt into action, taking the attention off him for the briefest of seconds. In that moment he slashed with a wide arc, quickly moving to place the beasts in front of him.

The quick thinking had worked, but the smallest weregoat acted without thought, charging forward and taking a slash that cut into its eye. Dexter kicked the weregoat's snout, following up with a stab to its gut, and turned just in time to slash another weregoat. But it had fled, making room for the weregoat that was next in line.

Moving to the side, he thrust forward with extra force but just like last time the wolven goat avoided his attack, allowing a third to snap at his heels. Dexter grimaced from the bite, but it was quick, leaving a mark that barely pierced the surface of his greaves.

The next weregoat lunged forward with the same tactic, yet this time its claws ripped through his chest armor and into his torso. The pain actually blinded Dexter, stinging like an angry paper cut. It took all the willpower he had to not lower his weapon and check if his guts were spilling out. He could only push through the pain and lash out.

Dexter's counterattack launched as he side stepped a new set of claws meant to flay skin, jumping with his enhanced stats to avoid a charging pair of spiked horns. But the weregoats mad rush wasn't so easy to avoid, and they increased the pressure, seeking to whittle him down by diverting his attention. Centering his focus on one, had them all at his back.

"Ahhh!" Dexter screamed as his spear became a club, hitting nothing but air.

Any opportunity to firm his stance and thrust forward with a true strike, was eaten away as the beasts harassed him from each side. Anytime he avoided a set of horns and fangs, he found himself inching towards another set. As a result, the wolven goats grew eager to take the minor strikes that landed, consuming the distance he placed between himself with each passing second. If he wanted to succeed, he had to read the weregoats rhythm and strike harder than ever before, making every hit count.

The problem was that amplifying Iron Shroud doubled his energy drain, and he only had three of the blue ration bars stored on his person. Once they were out, his spear would lose its ability, and he'd have a harder time matching the weregoats speed.

Jumping back to avoid a clawed slash, Dexter turned to see the sanguine horns of the alpha weregoat return, forming like a demonic crown. The ability had left a lingering burning sensation in his arm, and as it charged up, his wound flared. He felt himself being drained, and red mist flowed out of his wound like a moth to flame. He had dreaded being hit by the ability again, but as it turned out, he didn't need to. The beast could siphon him from a distance, and it planned to do just that while its pack caged him in.

It was now or never.

The thought came with a sense of dread, laced by a hint of déjà vu. His bones shuddered, ready to rekindle the dance with death as if he had experienced it a thousand times. Where the sensation came from, he hadn't a clue. But there was no time to think. Gritting his teeth, Dexter tossed away caution and charged past the four weregoats. He had lost enough blood, there was no way he would sit still while more was drained from him.

Grasping hold of his energy like he would a guitar, Dexter strummed the cords of his vitality. The first beast that tried to intersect him got smacked with the butt-end of the spear, and Iron Shroud rippled over the weapon like the beat of a drum. It reset the spear's haste ability, but as the ability reactivated with a new coat of paint, Dexter reached the red weregoat and the spear blurred, shaving off an entire horn.

[ Iron Shroud proficiency has increased! ]