If nothing else, the trek through the forest helped Cole practice his magic.

It was the end of the first day after they had departed the lake, and they had already encountered four more wolves. One loner almost immediately after leaving, a dou just before noon, and now, at the beginning of sunset, a single of the dire variety.

The smith swung his claymore in an elaborate dance, twirling and leveraging in a beautiful but deadly set of steps. Mary had spent too much of her mana throughout the day, and without Cole's insane regeneration she still only had dregs. Seeing as the wisps of mist were the focal point of how she had decided to fight so far, she was essentially out of commission. Mana exhaustion was a bitch, and Mary had been under its effects for hours. The Merchant was watching the fight warily from the edge of the clearing, not going to get engaged unless it was necessary to save her own life.

The wolf had been clipped by the flame portion of a forcefire blast early on in the fight, and its tail was essentially just a scorch mark hanging limply behind the beast. Since then, it had heavily relied on mobility, darting around to become a harder target. The red light that was the species' staple was omnipresent around its legs unless it was fully committed to an attack.

There was a lull in the fight as the smith and the Monster circled each other, and Cole took the moment to check on his mana reserves. They were at about half, but dropping below a fifth would be the beginning of mana exhaustion, which would ruin him in a close combat fight.

He guided some of it towards his sword, just enough of a trickle to keep the rune going. He wouldn't be getting anything close to an unmovable object, but at least the blade wouldn't shatter in his hands. An additional sixth of the magical current was drawn up for his latest attack.

It was similar to a forcefire blast, but only used the kinetic portion of the mana. Instead of wasting a bunch of mana only to knock over the wolf still circling across the clearing, he released the blast behind him as he charged forward. The boost almost sent him tumbling across the forest floor, but instead launched him at the Monster at speeds that exceeded even its own.

His claymore came down awkwardly, as still in the air after being flung by force magic wasn't the best spot to swing a sword from. But still, claymores were weapons that excelled at using momentum. The blade bit deep into the beast's side, prompting a howl of pain. Its flank had been facing him as it circled, so stuck as it was with a massive blade lodged into it, the wolf was in a very unfavorable position.

Its snout whirled around, jaws desperately reaching for his arm. A small orb of force took a moment to collect behind Cole's right elbow, before bursting and sending his first flying into the Moster's face. His fist wasn't as strong as his sword, but the red light was still just trying to pull the blade out of its side, so neither of them came away from that exchange without pain. He withdrew his sword and blood came rushing out of the wound, dying the ground red for just a moment or two before the red light-flesh solidified.

The Monster stumbled to its feet in obvious pain, and the smith could tell it wouldn't last long. Surprisingly, instead of attempting a last desperate rush like Cole expected, it pulled the red light of its power away from its side. Even as the wound began to weep buckets of blood, the wolf gathered the light around its throat and unleashed an impossibly loud howl.

The sound was a terrible thing, full of hunger and rage and bloodlust. The wolf collapsed to the ground mere moments after its howl ended, but the sound and feeling lingered. The echo was like a spike driving into his brain, burning and piercing through his mind. Perhaps the wolf had a mind affinity. Perhaps its last breaths let it unlock a well of power within itself. Perhaps it just had a great set of lungs. The smith would never find out. He had bigger problems.

Because the howl had received replies.

Dozens of wails sprung up in the distance. They didn't have the mind-burning effects or the impossible volume of the first, but together the sound of so many beasts inspired an entirely new kind of terror. How many of those Monsters were dire wolves instead of mundane? How many were there in total? Were any of them a step beyond dire?

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Even in the confines of his own mind, Cole should not have asked that question. Because sadly for him, he received an answer.

This howl was singular, unaided by its brethren. It didn't have the mental damage or eardrum-shattering qualities of the first, nor was it the discordant symphony of the replies. But there was something in the noise. Mana. The sound carried with it a weak shockwave of mana, following the sound and infusing the howl with the power of its creator.

Not all mana was created equal. From Cole's own nascent study of forcefire, he knew this. His affinity outshone everything but the enchantments in the Pocket Forge, and his mana regeneration was proof that the smith and his magic were essentially magnets for ambient mana. This howl didn't have the quality of forcefire. It had an edge of affinity to it. Maybe two. But there was so much of it.

The shockwave was weak. The smith's magic hadn't even responded, and there was no effect on the physical world. But that shockwave had originated from a howl that sounded like it was at least half a mile away. If it had been a perfect circle and reached as far as it did with whatever made it at the epicenter, then a monstrous amount of mana had just been poured into what amounted to an intimidation play. Just how strong was something that could waste that much mana?

And if all of the howls were monstrous, the roar that followed was demonic.

It was the bellow of a giant, a rebuttal to the howl that had attempted to claim the forest as its own. It was an earthy sound, like a stadium of fans cheering on their favored team, screaming, shouting, and singing in a cacophony that broke the term noise. Cole saw trees shudder, great flocks of birds far larger than they should be take flight, and for a single moment after the roar, there was utter silence. No howls shrieked back, no birds chirped in fright, and no leaves or branches dared to rustle in the wind.

This noise had a shockwave too. The final howl had a small amount of mana all throughout it, but the magical energy was only there. It saturated the sound but had no affinity or intent to make it do anything. It was terrifying due to whatever had created it, not by its lonesome.

The shockwave of the roar likely had even less mana than the howl. Barely a wisp of essence, though it had sounded further in origin. But it had affinity. It had intent. Earth. Destruction. A rumble went through the ground, sending up a small fog of dirt and dust, choking the air as the silence gave way to the sound of churning earth and shaking branches. The earth beneath Cole's feet felt like it was trying to swallow him, and he distantly heard Mary hitting the ground at the edge of the clearing.

As the dust settled, the sounds of wolves returned. Whooping barks and snarls echoed through the trees, and two sets of what sounded like footsteps were pounding toward them, one alarmingly close. A second, smaller roar sounded again, without the earthquake-inducing mana. A third set of thunderous steps joined the cacophony, and the more distant of the first two paused for a moment before growing quieter as it rushed at the roar's creator.

Mary stumbled to her feet, and Cole braced his blade and gathered the dregs of mana still in his body. There was still one set of steps rushing towards the brush towards them, and would probably be joined soon by even more wolves.

His muscles tensed as the bushes at the far end of the clearing rustled. Mary warily pointed her spear at the vegetation. The leaves parted slowly as something within charged through them, revealing a menacing, terrifying... boy scout?

He wasn't wearing any uniform or badges, but that was the best description Cole could give the man. He was obviously an adult but was a bit on the shorter side. Blonde hair and blue eyes poked out of a face that somehow had both a jaw that could be used to chisel marble and a little bit of baby fat on the cheeks. His hair had a few twigs in it, but still somehow looked like could earn him the starring role in any romance movie. His skin looked smooth but rugged at the same time, with nary a scar or birthmark to blemish it.

His outfit was the definition of business casual. A green collared shirt with the logo of a regional home goods store. A set of khaki pants slightly marred by dirt and grass stains. And a somehow pristine pair of black dress shoes. How the hell had he been running through a forest in dress shoes?

His face had such an exaggerated look of terror that it would have fit in on the set of a summer camp horror movie. His hair was blowing in a breeze that the smith was certain hadn't been there a few moments ago, and apart from a few deep breaths, there was no sign of his mad dash on his face.

He somehow fit the vibes of both boy scout and teen drama actor. If Cole had seen him on the street, he would have silently wondered about the likelihood of the man being a fellow celebrity and moved on.

Instead, he was drawn to a different conclusion. The man's arms looked subtly muscled, in the way that only came of true work and labor. His face had terror, but no childish innocence. Scared, but rightfully so. He had heard terrifying howls and likely the sound of the earlier fight, but chose to rush and find any survivors instead of dashing in the other direction. And finally, the man's right hand had a bruise across the knuckles that perfectly fit to a wolf's face. Cole had seen this man before—the portal-user.

A warrior. A warrior who had a question.

"Which one of you just sent the entire forest into a murderous rage?"