The wolves were hot on their heels, their snarls growing louder as the horses’ rhythmic gallop began to falter. The scent of blood in the air had driven the pack into a frenzy, fuelling their relentless pursuit. Stick risked a glance back, his heart pounding as he saw the wolves closing in, their eyes gleaming with hunger.
“Where are you going?” Smith shouted over the wind.
“Change of plans,” Stick replied, his voice rough with determination. “We’re heading straight for the stables.”
Smith quickly checked the horse’s wound, grimacing at the sight of the deep gash oozing blood. He looked back at Stick, a hint of admiration in his eyes.
“Quick thinking,” he said with an approving nod.
Stick couldn’t help but smirk. It was decided way before that but still…
Without warning, Smith lifted his arm, the blood spraying wildly in the air, leaving a crimson trail in the snow behind them.
“What the hell are you doing?” Stick yelled, eyes wide with shock.
“The pack’s too big!” Smith shouted back. “I have to keep them from splitting up!”
“You’ll bleed out! You have to cover that wound!”
“Eyes to the front, Recruit!” Smith’s tone was harsh, a command that left no room for argument.
Stick bristled at the term, but he knew better than to argue. Seeing the wolves snapping at the air for the blood, he realised Smith was right. The former Goblin Hunter knew these beasts too well. Turning his attention back to the front, Stick’s eyes widened as he finally spotted the stables in the distance. Relief flooded through him, but it was short-lived. A guard stood at the entrance, his face contorting in fear as he spotted the two riders with the ravenous wolves on their heels.
“Hey! What’s with that fire?” the guard yelled, panic lacing his voice.
Stick and Smith didn’t slow down. They barrelled past the guard, crashing the gates of the stables open. The horse beneath them collapsed in exhaustion, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a painful heap.
“Stop right there!” the guard ordered, his voice trembling.
“No time!” Smith barked. “Get a move on! He’ll hold them off!”
Shaking off the pain, Stick scrambled to his feet and fumbled with the gate to the stables. Inside, the horses were in a frenzy, their terrified whinnies echoing off the wooden walls. The guard outside fought desperately to hold off the wolves, but some slipped past him, their snarls filling the air as they descended on the fallen horse. Stick’s heart clenched as he heard the sickening sounds of flesh being torn apart. There was no time for remorse. He yanked open the nearest pen, but the startled horse shot out, knocking him flat on his back before galloping outside—straight into the waiting jaws of the wolves. Stick felt bile rise in his throat, but before he could react, Smith grabbed him by the arm, his grip strong despite the blood soaking his rags.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
“Get up! No time to lose!”
Stick hoisted himself up, feeling the warmth of Smith’s blood seep into his clothes. The air around them was filled with the chaotic noise of shouting, screaming, and the dying cries of horses. They moved quickly, freeing each horse one by one, leaving bloody handprints on the wooden gates as they went. Eighteen horses bolted outside, Stick counted, only to be met with a gruesome fate. Stick’s mind was numb with horror, but he kept moving, kept counting. When they reached the last two horses, Smith acted fast, barring the entrance they’d come through, leaving only the far exit open.
Stick caught on immediately. “That way they can’t run out.”
But then, loud bangs echoed from the barred gate, sending a jolt of fear through both of them. Whoever was on the other side, wolves or Players, was not going to be friendly. Each grabbed a horse, preparing to make their escape. Smith positioned himself at the gate, ready to open it.
“You go first!” Smith ordered, his voice tense.
Stick hesitated, his eyes flicking to Smith’s injured arm. “But your arm—”
“No time for discussions!”
Suddenly, the other side of the barn went eerily quiet, a silence that chilled Stick to the bone. He swallowed hard.
“Alright,” he said, steeling himself. “Open it.”
Smith flung the gate open, and Stick’s heart plummeted as he saw who stood on the other side. It was the Baron’s personal bodyguard himself: Stamos, the Lvl 50 Player. Stick and Smith were stopped dead in their tracks. The man’s heavy steps echoed ominously in the stables, his armour splattered with bright red blood, just like the last time Stick had seen him.
“There you are!” Stamos boomed. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Stick’s mouth went dry. “Why are you here? How did you know?”
“You were running late on your Initiation,” Stamos said mockingly. “I was worried sick. Thought I’d search for you by horse.”
The battleaxe in Stamos’s hand gleamed menacingly as he raised it, blocking the only path to escape.
“Stick, get out! Now!” Smith yelled, his voice cracking with desperation.
Before Stick could react, Smith lunged at Stamos, grabbing hold of the battleaxe with all his strength.
image [https://i.imgur.com/VswHjdb.jpeg]
“What are you doing?” Stick shouted, panic rising in his chest.
“There’ll be more if you don’t leave!” Smith grunted, struggling to keep Stamos at bay.
Stamos growled in frustration, straining to break free from Smith’s grip. “You little…”
“But the second horse—” Stick began, but his words were cut off as a wave of Dire Wolves poured in behind Stamos, their eyes blazing with bloodlust.
“The Lords need a horse! Just go! Get! Get!” Smith screamed, his voice raw.
Stick hesitated for only a moment before he kicked his horse into motion, riding past the chaotic struggle between the slave and the Player. From the corner of his eye, he saw Smith stumble and fall, the blood loss taking its final toll. The wolves were on him in an instant, their jaws snapping hungrily. As Stick rode away, the cacophony of dying horses, howling wolves, and Smith’s agonised screams filled his ears. He fought to stay in the saddle as the world blurred around him, the cold wind biting at his face as he descended the hill, leaving the nightmare behind.