Hope continued his patrol through the forest, his senses sharpened as he searched for any signs of the shadow panther. The forest, dense with undergrowth and hidden dangers, seemed alive with the presence of countless beasts, but there was nothing that stood out as the panther’s trail. Every clue he found—scratches on trees, claw marks on the ground—turned out to be the work of lesser beasts, not the elusive creature he sought.

He took a deep breath, his mind beginning to race. Where could the shadow panther be? he thought. He knew the creature’s nature—silent, elusive, and capable of vanishing into the shadows at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t likely to reveal itself openly in the forest. Hope considered his options.

There were three main places where the panther could be hiding: a cavern, on tree branches, or in an underground crevice. Since he hadn’t spotted any signs of the panther in the open forest, those were the only possibilities left. He quickly dismissed the idea of it being in the trees—the panther’s affinity for shadows made it more suited for hidden spaces. It must be in one of the nearby caverns.

Determined, Hope set out toward the nearest mountains. The jagged peaks loomed in the distance, cutting into the sky, and the wind carried the faint scent of danger, but also the promise of discovery. He circled the foot of the mountains, eyes scanning the landscape for any sign of a cavern entrance. The hours passed, and Hope found several potential caves, but each one was barren. The bones of lesser beasts littered the ground, but no sign of the panther.

Hope pressed on, moving toward a second mountain, searching more meticulously this time. As he investigated yet another cavern, all he found were the remains of beasts, their skeletons long picked clean by scavengers. Some of the bones were those of humans, too—pale, brittle remains that spoke of long-forgotten explorers who had met their end in these forsaken places. Hope couldn’t help but shudder at the thought, but he knew better than to dwell on the grisly sights. The panther could be close.

Finally, he arrived at another cavern. This one seemed promising—its entrance hidden behind a tangle of thick roots and vines, barely visible unless one knew where to look. His heart raced as he approached, every sense on high alert. There was no sound at first, no indication of the panther’s presence. Hope hesitated for a moment before stepping cautiously inside. The air grew cooler, thick with the scent of earth and dampness.

He could hear the faint sound of breathing in the stillness—rhythmic, slow, like the snoring of a great beast. His heart beat faster. This had to be it. The shadow panther was here.

Hope moved forward, careful not to make a sound. The snoring grew louder as he advanced, until, at last, he saw it: a large, sleek black panther sprawled lazily on the ground, its belly rising and falling with each deep breath. It was probably 4 meters long, on the smaller side of rank 4 beasts. The panther seemed oblivious to Hope’s presence, but he knew that wouldn’t last long. The creature’s senses were far more attuned than a human’s, and the slightest disturbance would trigger its awareness.

Sure enough, as Hope closed the distance, the panther’s eyes shot open. Its pupils, narrow and predatory, locked onto Hope. In an instant, the panther was on its feet, muscles coiling like springs, ready to strike.

Hope didn’t hesitate. He unsheathed his sword in a single fluid motion, the blade gleaming in the dim light of the cavern. The thrill of battle surged through him—he could feel it in his bones, a rush that came with every step closer to the edge of death. The panther studied him, its gaze calculating. It knew it was facing no ordinary opponent.

The panther made the first move. With a low growl, it lunged at Hope, claws outstretched, aiming for his throat. Hope sidestepped, his sword slashing through the air in a wide arc, but the panther was already gone, vanishing into the shadows, moving with a speed that defied belief.

Heart racing, Hope braced for the next attack. The panther circled him, its eyes glinting with malice. It was fast, agile, and intelligent. Hope could feel its instinctual learning as it adjusted to his movements. This battle was about more than survival—it was about growth. He had faced many enemies before, but none as skilled nor as dangerous as this.

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The panther attacked again, faster this time. Its claws slashed toward his chest, but Hope twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the blow. The panther’s speed was incredible, Hope’s reflexes weren’t slow either. He parried with his sword, the blade clashing with the panther’s claws in a shower of sparks. The impact rattled his arms, but he didn’t falter. His movements were precise, fluid.

The panther’s rhythm became apparent. It wasn’t just instinct—it was intelligence. The panther was reading him, adjusting its tactics. And Hope realized he was doing the same. His sword became an extension of his will, moving with purpose, guided by an instinct that surged from deep within.

With each strike, his movements grew more confident, more deliberate. The sword, once a simple tool of battle, was beginning to resonate with his soul. Each swing felt lighter, yet there was a power behind it that he hadn’t known he could wield.

The panther’s claws came at him again, swift and deadly, its movements like liquid shadows. The beast wasn’t just fast—it was relentless. The darkness around it seemed alive, shifting and twisting with its every motion. Hope could feel the oppressive weight of it, a power that seemed to bend the cavern to the panther’s will. It wasn’t just a predator—it was a force of nature.

Hope’s heart hammered in his chest, but his grip on his sword tightened. The blade felt heavy in his hand, slick with sweat and trembling from exertion. Focus, he told himself, gritting his teeth. If I falter, I die.

The panther lunged, claws outstretched, and Hope sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike. The air whistled as the claws slashed past him, carving deep gouges into the stone wall behind him. He retaliated, swinging his sword in a wide arc, aiming for the panther’s side.

But the beast was faster. It twisted midair, its sleek body moving with an unnatural grace, and the blade barely grazed its fur. The panther landed silently, its glowing eyes locking onto him, brimming with malice.

Hope’s breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling as he tried to keep up with the panther’s relentless assault. The beast moved like a shadow, darting in and out of the dim light. His thoughts raced. It’s not just its strength... It’s the darkness. It’s using it. Every shadow is its ally. How am I supposed to fight something like this?

The answer came in the form of desperation. Hope surged forward, meeting the panther’s next attack head-on. His blade came down in a calculated strike, not aiming for speed, but precision. This time, it connected.

The panther let out a guttural roar as the sword sliced into its side, a deep gash opening in its sleek, black fur. Blood sprayed from the wound, splattering across the cavern floor and staining Hope’s boots. The beast staggered back, its movements momentarily faltering.

Hope didn’t feel relief—only a fleeting sense of grim satisfaction. His chest heaved as he steadied himself, his fingers trembling on the hilt of his sword. The panther’s blood mingled with the dampness of the cavern, the metallic scent filling the air. But the beast wasn’t finished.

It lunged again, this time with an enraged ferocity that made Hope’s stomach twist. He raised his sword, but the panther’s claws struck first, raking across his side. The pain was blinding, sharp and immediate, tearing a cry from his throat as he stumbled back.

Blood poured from the wound, hot and sticky, soaking through his clothes. The fire of pain spread through his body, making his legs wobble beneath him. Hope gritted his teeth, clutching his side, his fingers slick with blood. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he tried to steady himself.

Is this it? The thought clawed at the edges of his mind. Is this where I die?

But then he looked at the panther. It was circling him now, slower than before. The wound he’d inflicted was deep, its blood dripping steadily onto the ground. The beast’s glowing eyes burned with fury, but its movements had lost some of their sharpness.

Hope wiped the sweat from his brow, smearing blood across his face. He could feel his strength waning, the cavern spinning slightly as the blood loss took its toll. But he refused to fall.

I can’t stop. If I stop now, everything ends.

The panther lunged again, and Hope met it with everything he had left. His sword clashed against its claws, the impact reverberating up his arm. He screamed through the pain, through the exhaustion, through the fear. This was no longer a fight for victory—it was a fight to survive.

The blade found its mark once more, slicing through the panther’s shoulder. Blood sprayed, hot and thick, coating his arms and the ground around him. The beast roared in agony, its legs buckling beneath it.

Hope stood over the panther, his chest heaving, his body trembling. Blood dripped from his side, his vision blurring. The cavern was silent now, save for the panther’s labored breathing and his own ragged gasps.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. The beast was down, but it wasn’t finished.

And neither was he.