The alpha lowered its head towards Sterling, its eyes narrowing, assessing the motionless figure sprawled among the crushed underbrush. It watched for signs of life, the rise and fall of breath, the twitch of a limb—anything to determine whether the armored slayer was still a threat. But there was no movement. Dead, perhaps. The alpha knew that this creature's armor made it impossible to digest, and the alpha settled for giving it a quick execution with its long talon, aiming to sink it between gaps in its armor. The alpha lifted its legs ready to strike until it heard one of its cronies squeal.
Velos saw no time to hesitate. He had slid down, gripping the crossbow with his trembling fingers, then aimed and fired at the very last Darau square in the neck. By the time the alpha had turned around, the tranquilizer had already done its work, sending the twitching young darau into a long slumber.
The alpha shifted its focus, turning towards the boy—Velos. The alpha’s instincts flared, its mind calculating—in an instant—the risks, the losses. More than half of its pack lay dead or dying, already meat for passing scavengers. Under normal circumstances, the alpha would retreat, recognizing the danger in continuing a fight already lost. A rival would capitalize on this weakened state, and survival depended on knowing when to retreat.
But these weren’t rivals. These were hairless apes—weak in isolation, but incredibly coordinated. The alpha couldn’t risk allowing one of them to escape and bring reinforcements from their own pack. The alpha had already dispatched the larger, more dangerous one. Now it would finish the job.
Velos tossed aside the crossbow, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. He grabbed his sword and shield, assuming a defensive stance like his trainers had advised. Hours upon hours spent learning how to block, how to parry, how to anticipate the enemy’s moves. But this wasn’t practice. This was death staring him down, and death took the form of a beast twice his size, with talons like spears and a maw that dripped with hunger.
The alpha tested him first. A quick, snapping bite aimed for his torso. Velos barely managed to lift the shield in time, but the alpha was fast—faster than it should have been for its size. A second bite came, then a third, each one swifter than the last. Velos staggered under the barrage, his muscles strained from blocking each attack.
Then came the misstep.
Velos lifted his shield, anticipating another quick strike—but the alpha shifted tactics. Its jaws clamped down on the shield itself, teeth puncturing the metal and locking tight. For a moment, Velos tried to pull back, to wrench it free, but the beast’s strength was beyond his own.
With a bone-rattling roar, the alpha flung him skyward.
The world spun in a blur of dirt and sky. Velos felt weightless for a second—then the ground hit him with incredible force. Pain exploded in his ribs, the air punched out from his lungs. A single massive talon pinning him in place, grinding sparks against the shield right above his torso. He was pinned beneath the beast’s weight. His right hand flailed uselessly, gripping the hilt of his sword as he tried to strike at the creature's head, but the angle was wrong. His blows glanced off its tough scales, doing little more than angering it further.
The alpha pressed down harder, the smaller digits of its claws piercing through the leather of Velos’ armor, sinking into his flesh. Hot blood trickled from the wounds, and he cried out, gritting his teeth against the pain. The shield was the only thing keeping him from being impaled completely.
The alpha’s jaws hovered just above him, its breath hot and rancid. Velos could see the creature’s teeth, long and razor-sharp, each one designed to tear flesh and snap bone. A single bite would be enough to kill an ordinary slayer—rip them apart in seconds.
But Sterling was no ordinary slayer.
From behind, a low rumble of movement stirred the blood-soaked earth. The alpha hesitated for the briefest of moments, its instincts suddenly on high alert. Its head whipped around just in time to see Sterling—battered, bloodied, but very much alive—charging at full force. With a bellow that echoed across the clearing, the blade of his axe caught light as he swung it in a brutal arc. A sickening crunch resounded as the blade struck a deep gash on the alpha’s side.
The beast roared in pain, staggering back, blood pouring from the deep wound. Velos was freed, and the alpha was distracted, focusing solely on the battered Sterling who came charging still. Sterling didn’t give it the chance to retaliate. His next strike came faster, slamming into the creature’s leg with enough force to make the alpha stumble. It wasn’t enough to bring it down, but it was enough to make it bleed. This was not the calculated, predatory beast that had led the pack—it was now on the defensive, sensing the shift in the battle.
The alpha had thought Velos was easy pickings and a way to tie up loose ends, but its dominance had been challenged now that Sterling was in the fray once more. Now, survival was all that mattered. This was no longer about dominance or feeding. This was about staying alive.
With a low growl, it turned and bolted, retreating into the dense forest. Its powerful legs tore through the underbrush, branches snapping in its wake. Sterling stood for a moment, stunned by the abrupt retreat, but the haze of battle still clouded his thoughts. In his mind, a retreat wasn’t an option; the fight wasn’t over. His hands gripped the axe tighter, and without a word, he sprinted after the creature.
Velos, still gripping his shield and panting heavily, watched as Sterling took off. His immediate thought was to stop, to regroup—they had what they came for. The smaller Darau was tranquilized and ready for capture. But Sterling was already gone, his pride driving him to finish what had been started.
Velos considered calling out, pulling Sterling back from his reckless pursuit, but he knew better. Sterling wasn’t the type to let a target escape, especially one that had already wounded his pride. There was no stopping him now. Sighing, Velos realized he’d have to follow—and fast.
Velos quickly sheathed his sword and grabbed his crossbow. He fumbled through his quiver, searching for the right bolt. His fingers closed around the one with the capture net—one last shot. Slinging the quiver over his shoulder, he set off after them, his legs moving faster than he thought possible. He was faster than Sterling, sure, but still no match for the alpha's speed. He would need to act quickly and find the perfect moment to strike.
The forest grew darker, the trees closing in around them. Velos leapt over fallen logs and ducked beneath low branches. Velos ran, the injuries he sustained growing numb from adrenaline. The distance between him and the alpha shortened with every drip of his blood. Ahead, Sterling was gaining ground too, his axe held in a white-knuckled grip, eyes fixed on the retreating figure.
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And then Velos saw it—a small clearing up ahead. His eyes darted to the ground, where the pit trap lay hidden beneath a cover of leaves and branches. He’d set it hours ago, hoping to catch smaller Darau. Now, it would catch much bigger quarry.
Positioning and timing was essential.
He raised the crossbow, his breath steadying despite the adrenaline rushing through him. The alpha’s massive frame surged forward, and just as it began to cross over the pit, Velos fired. The bolt flew true, arcing perfectly towards the beast. In mid-air, it exploded, releasing a net woven from strong fiber and barbed wire.
The beast let out a roar, stumbling as the barbed wire tangled it, sending it crashing forward. Its powerful legs clawed at the ground, trying to break free, but the damage was done. The alpha collapsed into the pit trap with a loud crash, pinned and immobilized.
Velos skidded to a stop, adrenaline surging through him. “Sterling! Now!”
Sterling didn’t hesitate. With a savage cry, he lunged forward, his two-handed axe gleaming in the dim light of the forest. With a mighty swing, Sterling’s axe came down, the blade cleaving clean through the alpha’s neck.
One strike. One clean, brutal swing, and the alpha’s head rolled to the forest floor.
For a while, the world went silent.
Velos and Sterling stood there, mouth agape as the blood of the alpha soaked into the ground. The sound of night crickets were drowned out by the sound of their heartbeats as the adrenaline began to die down. "Did we really...?" Velos started, glancing over at his partner. Sterling, wide-eyed beneath his helmet, nodded slowly. They did.
Velos wanted to mention how impossible the task should have been. Any ordinary team of slayers wouldn’t have stood a chance against something like this. But he swallowed those words, because the answer was already clear: it wasn’t luck, or even skill—it was Sterling. His strength, his resilience, were beyond anything Velos had ever witnessed. There was something monstrous in the power Sterling wielded, something unnatural in the way he fought.
Breaking the silence, Velos asked the question hanging over both of them, "You think the Division's going to be happy about us killing an alpha Darau that wasn't even part of the quest?"
Sterling shrugged, his voice hoarse with fatigue. "Don't know. But even if they don’t care, we just pulled off a fucking miracle." As the adrenaline began to fade, Sterling's legs wobbled, and he stumbled forward.
Velos reached out, offering support. "Let me treat your injuries," he said, noticing the blood dripping from Sterling's armor.
"I'm fine," Sterling muttered, stubbornly pushing himself upright. "We need to get the unconscious Darau back to camp, drag the alpha’s head too. Proof of what we did."
Velos nodded, though he could see the exhaustion setting into Sterling’s every step. He tied the unconscious Darau with rope, while Sterling, though wounded, slung both the body and the severed head of the alpha over his back. But the weight proved too much, and his bravado faltered. Sterling stumbled again, this time unable to hide his pain.
“We should rest,” Velos suggested firmly. “Go back to the wagon, make a fire, heal up. No sense in dying out here after that fight.” Sterling finally relented, too tired to argue.
When they reached the wagon, Velos knelt beside Sterling, who still refused to remove his helmet, and began treating his wounds. From his bag, Velos pulled out a rudimentary medical kit he’d carried since his journey began. His hands moved with practiced precision—cleaning the cuts, stitching the deeper gashes, and wrapping bandages around the areas where armor had failed.
Sterling winced as Velos tightened the last bandage. His grin crept back into his face as he muttered, "Is there anything you can’t do?"
Velos didn’t answer immediately, his hands stilling for a moment. There was nothing in the question but a tired attempt at humor, and yet, something about it clung to him. He merely shook his head, but his mind wandered. No matter how precise his stitching, how quick his hands, he knew—deep down—that there was a limit. He could never fight like that. Probably not in this lifetime. He kept silent and focused on the injuries, allowing the wounds of battle and the stench of severed flesh to answer for him.
After finishing the last stitch, Velos stood back. Sterling glanced up at him, "Get some sleep," he muttered. "You've earned it."
Velos, exhausted from the day's battles, didn’t argue. He settled down beside the fire, the forest around them eerily calm, and closed his eyes.
—
Velos awoke to the dim glow of the dying campfire and the rancid stench of decaying Darau flesh. The air was thick with the odor, and the surrounding forest still bore the silence of the night, save for the occasional crackle of embers. His body felt stiff, the exhaustion from the fight still lingering in his muscle. They hadn't camped far from where the alpha Darau had been killed. The carcass was likely still nearby, unclaimed by any scavengers yet.
Rising from his bedroll, Velos blinked at the empty space beside him. Sterling was nowhere near the campfire. That was somewhat worrying, considering Sterling would be the one capable of fending off predators on his own. Nevertheless, Velos decided they needed to talk. It wasn’t just about what they had done—killing an alpha Darau—but the way Sterling had thrown himself into its jaws so recklessly, to protect him. He wanted to thank him, to ask how someone could fight with such terrifying strength. How Sterling became the slayer he was.
As Velos stretched and started walking, his eyes caught a glimmer of something metallic through the trees. Armor. Sterling’s armor, lying discarded on the ground. He moved closer, confused. The entire set was there—helmet and all—left behind like an afterthought. The sight sent a trickle of sweat down his brow. Sterling never took off his armor.
He crept closer, stepping lightly over the fallen leaves, following the faint trail of footprints that led away from the armor. The air grew colder around him as he walked, his mind racing with all the things that could go wrong. Did they get intercepted by bandits?
When he reached the clearing, his heart felt like it wanted to drop.
A figure crouched over the torn-open carcass of a Darau, hunched and grotesque. Its skin was scaled, ridged with monstrous features, more creature than man. The thing was feasting, tearing raw flesh from the body, blood dripping from its hands as it shoved the raw meat into its mouth. Velos froze, his breath caught in his throat. If he didn't know any better, he'd have mistaken this figure as a monster straight out of a nightmare, a man-eating spirit of obscure legends. But then the figure turned slightly, gaze landing on Velos.
Amber eyes. Sharp teeth.
It was Sterling.
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Slayer's Notes
Property of Velos Rendhal
Medical Supplies and Wound Care
Most slayers learn how to patch themselves up from the moment they step into the Division. First aid is the baseline, but only once you reach the level of a one-mark slayer do you gain access to the real luxuries: elixirs. They’re miraculous in a way—potions that accelerate the body’s natural healing process by days or even weeks. A bone that might take months to heal can be mended in a fraction of the time. I’ve seen them work. A teammate once took a near-fatal hit to the chest. After downing one of those, he was back on his feet, ready to fight in hours.
I don’t have access to them yet. Those elixirs are expensive, rationed for the higher ranks, but I can’t help but wonder how they’re made. There’s some alchemy at work—an art I’d love to study someday, if I ever get the chance. Maybe once I’ve proven myself, I’ll get to see their creation firsthand. Until then, I rely on the basics: sutures, salves, and a needle that’s seen better days.