The sun had set, and night had quietly fallen. I sat perched on top of the tree for what felt like hours, long enough that I couldn't tell if Vincent was still hidden beneath the vines and bushes below. I had to trust him, at least for now. A man over five centuries old against a fresh beginner like me—complaining wouldn't help, even if he didn't have a rune at the moment. In truth, I was the fortunate one to have crossed paths with him.

I imagined him sitting alone in the graveyard, unnoticed by those who passed through, uncaring for their presence. A self-imposed punishment for a battle he had lost—one that should have been his victory. I hadn't seen his Thornveil yet, but after witnessing what he could do even without it, I could only imagine the kind of power it held. And if such a force had been subdued by the king...

I paused, my thoughts drifting. Riptide. What kind of unimaginable power must Riptide possess? My hand slipped into my pocket, feeling the familiar shape of the rune still resting there. If only I could unlock its full potential.

Then, I recalled the old man's words: "The power is within ourselves. The rune only amplifies it."

I let go of the rune, pulling both hands free. I held them out in front of me, focusing. I pictured the sensation of lightning surging through my veins, starting from my heart and streaming towards my fingertips. I concentrated until—

Pfff—a soft sound, like air escaping. I snapped my eyes open, expecting the thrill of success, but instead, my heart sank into surprise and concern.

There, just beneath me, a beast stirred, rustling through the vines and leaves the old man had set as a barrier.

I almost slipped from the tree, but the beast didn't seem to notice. My gaze shifted to the spot where the old man was hidden, tension creeping into every fiber of my body. I squinted at the creature, trying to make it out in the dim moonlight. Shadows draped over its form, but the moon provided just enough light to catch glimpses of it as it moved.

Its frame was massive, its sleek muscles rippling beneath a coat of dark fur that seemed almost too silent for its size. As it prowled forward, I caught sight of something sharp glinting atop its head—horns, long and jagged, curving back menacingly. The beast's tail flicked in slow, deliberate motions, revealing its coiled strength, and its heavy paws padded across the ground, making barely a sound. From the size, the silhouette, and the way it moved, there was no mistaking it... it had to be one of those. A horned tiger alright.

I glanced toward the old man's hiding spot. He didn't seem to be making a move. The traps—were they even working? In this darkness, I couldn't tell.

The beast crept toward the bait—a dead rat, its eyes glinting with primal hunger. My pulse quickened. When was I supposed to act? The old man hadn't given me any signal. Should I wait for him to make the first move? Suddenly, a sharp snap broke the silence. The beast froze. My heart skipped. The vines had snapped beneath its weight. It took a confused step backward, but in doing so, one of its legs became entangled in the old man's traps—vines coiling tightly around its limb.

The creature let out a low growl, jerking back, thrashing, desperate to free itself. For a moment, it seemed stuck, helpless. But then, with a violent tug, the vines began to give. My eyes widened as the beast, more enraged than ever, tore itself free, breaking through the trap in an instant.

With terrifying speed, it charged toward the bait. Its muscles surged, and in a blur of motion, the massive body was hurtling forward, fangs bared and horns gleaming.

But just before it could reach the dead rat, the old man sprang from his camouflaged hiding place, rising up from the bushes like a ghost. His hands moved quickly, pulling a hidden vine, and in an instant, a large net sprung into the air, snapping into place with precision. The beast ran straight into it, thrashing wildly as it became tangled in the netting, its furious roars echoing through the night.

"Nowww!" the old man shouted.

Without hesitation, I jumped from the tree, adrenaline coursing through me. My body was drenched in sweat, but I didn't stop. I grabbed the spear he had given me from the ground, my hands trembling but firm. I sprinted toward the struggling tiger, knowing this was my moment to act.

The tiger's eyes locked onto me, and its struggles grew more frantic, more desperate. Every muscle in its body tensed, thrashing with renewed force. My grip tightened around the spear. My mind raced—should I throw it, or thrust it in once I got close? I chose the latter, bracing myself for the confrontation.

But then, in a swift and terrifying motion, the beast stilled for a brief moment. Its horns, sharp and lethal, hooked onto the vines. With a quick, powerful jerk, it tore through the net, shredding the trap as if it were nothing.

"Down!" the old man's voice cut through the chaos.

Instinct took over, and I ducked just as something whizzed above me. The old man had thrown several small, sharp objects—thorns, I realized—at the beast. A few missed their mark, but a couple found their target, embedding themselves shallowly into the tiger's thick hide. It wasn't enough to wound, but the poison... that could change the tide.

The beast faltered, its movements sluggish for a split second. It was all the opening I needed.

I charged forward, spear in hand, aiming for the side of the tiger's body where its ribs were most exposed. But just as I closed the distance, the tiger lunged back with incredible speed, its sheer size and power nearly overwhelming me. The spear grazed its fur but didn't sink in, the tip skidding off the beast's hide as if I had struck stone.

The tiger roared, spinning around, its horned head swinging dangerously close. I barely dodged, feeling the rush of air as the horn cut through where I had been standing. The old man was quick, darting forward and snapping another vine trap in place, trying to slow it down.

But the tiger was relentless. It shook off the effects of the poison faster than we had anticipated, its rage driving it forward. Its claws slashed at the ground, tearing through dirt and foliage, while its sharp, glowing eyes darted between me and the old man.

"Keep moving!" the old man shouted, circling around the tiger, his hands weaving intricate gestures as more vines sprang from the earth, trying to tangle the creature again. I moved in, trying to thrust the spear once more, but the tiger anticipated my move. It twisted its body, and with a heavy swipe of its massive paw, knocked me off balance. I stumbled back, my spear just barely staying in my grasp.

The old man flung another set of thorns at the beast, this time hitting its hind leg. The tiger hesitated, its body convulsing slightly as the poison began to take more effect. But it was still far from defeated.

I steadied myself, heart pounding, as the tiger glared at me with wild, feral eyes. Each second felt like an eternity, the tension between us palpable. The old man and I exchanged glances. We needed to end this, and fast.

"Go for the legs!" he barked.

I nodded, refocusing my aim. We weren't just fighting a beast—we were battling time itself, and with every moment the tiger grew more dangerous.

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But something terrible happened. Something I dearly wished to not occur.

I took a step forward and froze. The old man's face mirrored my shock, wide-eyed and terrified. Just behind the horned tiger, another creature emerged from the shadows—bigger, much bigger. Its eyes glowed red, piercing through the night. My body tensed, muscles locked in place as the tiger turned its head to face the approaching monster. It glanced between us and the creature, then seemed to realize what we already knew: it had no chance against what was behind it. With a low growl, the tiger turned to face the greater threat.

The air around the creature was suffocating, thick with an oppressive force that seemed to drain the courage from me. Each step it took made the ground tremble slightly, and the very atmosphere felt heavier, as if the weight of its presence alone was enough to crush hope. The stench of raw power radiated from it, mixing with the earth and the cold night air, filling my lungs with dread. Its sheer size—towering at nearly four meters—made the horned tiger look like a mere pest in comparison.

It was a Diremaw, a beast of this world known for its brutality, nearly a D-tier monster. In comparison, the horned tiger barely registered as an F-tier at best. The tiger, realizing it was cornered, growled defensively, but the Diremaw didn't even flinch. Its massive form moved closer, slow and deliberate, as if it knew that nothing here could challenge it.

The tiger had no choice. It lunged at the Diremaw, claws out, fangs bared. But with a casual swipe of its massive, clawed paw, the bear sent the tiger flying through the air like a rag doll. The beast's shriek pierced the night as it slammed into a tree and collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

The Diremaw then turned its gaze toward us. My blood ran cold. The spear slipped from my hands, clattering uselessly to the ground. If humans were ranked among the monsters, a runed human would be D-tier, just like this monster. And I didn't even have my rune active. The Diremaw hadn't come for the horned tiger—it had come for us.

"Run!" the old man screamed.

He didn't need to tell me twice. I spun around and bolted, but just as I did, my leg caught on something, sending me crashing to the ground. My heart stopped. One of the old man's vine traps had caught my ankle.

"Vincent!" I yelled, panic surging through me.

But the old man didn't respond. He was standing his ground, facing the Diremaw alone. I fumbled for the spear, desperately trying to cut through the vines binding me. My gaze flicked between the vines and the scene unfolding before me.

The Diremaw towered over Vincent, who threw a handful of thorns at the creature, but they bounced off its thick hide like pebbles. He dashed to the side, avoiding a massive swipe of the bear's paw, but he was too slow. The Diremaw's next blow landed solidly, knocking him backward. He rolled to his feet, blood trickling down his head, but he was already faltering.

With every attack, the Diremaw grew more ferocious. It swiped again, catching Vincent in the side. He stumbled, blood dripping from his guts and legs, but still, he fought on, refusing to fall. The beast's sheer size and strength made Vincent's efforts seem futile—like a mouse fighting a lion.

I finally snapped the vine holding my leg and scrambled to my feet, ready to run. But just as I started to dash away, something fell from my pocket. I stopped. It was my rune.

I stared at it for what felt like an eternity. The stone felt impossibly heavy in my hand. My mind raced. I had dragged Vincent into this fight. What kind of person would I be if I ran now? What would I become if I abandoned someone who had fought for me?

I looked back at the fight. The old man was barely standing, blood pouring from his wounds, his breaths ragged. With a roar, the Diremaw slammed him to the ground, his body hitting the dirt with a sickening thud. He coughed up blood, yet through it all, he smiled—his lips curved in a small, defiant grin as though, in that moment, he had already won. He thought I had escaped, that his sacrifice meant something.

The Diremaw approached slowly, savoring its victory. Vincent stood on trembling legs, facing the beast with blood streaming down his face, yet still, he smiled. "Now I may die fighting for something," he whispered, almost as if to himself.

I stood there, frozen, my hand clenched around the rune. I remembered those who had once abandoned me, leaving me to fend for myself. Was I going to become like them, running at the first sign of danger? I thought about the old man, his quiet resolve, the way he had fought despite knowing the odds. He had chosen to stand and fight, not for himself, but for me.

I clenched my jaw, my heart pounding in my chest. No. I couldn't run. Not this time.

This was my battle, not his.

I raised my eyes, determination hardening within me. The old man wasn't going to die here. Not alone. Not like this.

I threw the rune at the Diremaw. Its monstrous head snapped in the direction of the raw power it sensed, its massive body tensing as it roared, confused by the sudden presence of such strength. But the rune was small, lost in the dirt beneath its claws, hidden from its greedy search. Frustrated, the Diremaw growled, its eyes scanning the ground, but it couldn't find the source of the power.

I didn't wait. I ran to stand in front of the old man, whose face was a pale mask of disbelief, blood still dripping from his wounds. His breath was ragged, and for a moment, he seemed dazed, as if he couldn't comprehend what was happening.

I raised the spear, pointing its sharpened tip at the Diremaw. The beast turned its glowing red eyes on me, and for a heartbeat, we stared at each other, locked in a silent standoff. Its eyes blazed with primal fury, the light of a predator that knew it had the upper hand. My eyes, though, burned with something else—something desperate, raw, and filled with the tears of everything I had endured, everything I had lost.

The old man finally stirred, his weak voice filled with confusion. "Boy?" he rasped, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Why... why haven't you run?"

I swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like the sky itself had descended. My voice, though trembling, carried an edge of determination. "If I can't even face a beast like this," I said, my breath heavy with fear and resolve, "what chance do I have in the levels beyond? If I run now, my rune will abandon me... I'll abandon myself. I've been abandoned before. I won't do it again. Not now. Not ever."

The old man's face twisted into a strange expression, part confusion, part awe. His bloodshot eyes softened, and for a fleeting second, it almost looked like he was about to cry. Then, a strange sound escaped him—a soft, sad laugh, mingled with tears and blood.

The Diremaw snarled, its massive body lumbering toward us, its eyes gleaming with cruel delight. It was as though the beast understood we were at its mercy, and it was savoring the moment, playing with its food.

"Can you still fight, old man?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. "If we're going to die here, can you at least give me something to work with in your final moments?"

The old man coughed, a harsh, wet sound, but then, to my surprise, he laughed. It started as a gentle chuckle, then grew into a booming, hearty laugh, echoing across the dark woods.

"You're amusing, boy—very amusing," he said, his voice growing weaker but filled with an odd delight. "I knew when I found you, you were different from the others... not like the strangers I've seen come and go, every day, every year, every century." He coughed again, blood staining his lips, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed. "Hahaha... ha... ahhh, this is exhilarating. It's almost like that day, when I fought that arrogant king. Oh, I can feel it! I can feel the rush like it was yesterday!"

I stared at him, bewildered, wondering if the pain and the blood loss had finally driven him mad. "What... are you talking about?" I asked, exasperated. "Focus! I can't have you losing your mind right now!"

The old man's eyes glinted, and for a brief, terrifying moment, the Diremaw's lips curled into what could only be described as a smile. "It's playing with its food," the old man muttered darkly. "It knows we're unarmed—no runes to protect us. It thinks it's invincible now."

The Diremaw began to stalk toward us, closing the distance. Each step it took felt like the ground itself was shuddering, and the sheer weight of its presence grew unbearable.

The old man looked at me, his face softening. "Sorry, boy," he said. "I never even asked your name."

I hesitated for a moment before responding. "Eldric," I said, gripping the spear tighter. "Call me Eldric, gramps."

"Gramps, huh?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "I might look like an old man, but I'm only forty-eight in my world. I haven't shaved for centuries, that's all."

I shot him a look of disbelief. "We can talk about that later. Do you have any plan? Any traps left?"

Vincent smiled, his eyes gleaming with a mad glint as he slowly pushed me aside, stepping forward to confront the bear head-on. "Sorry for getting us into this mess, boy. How ironic, isn't it?" He raised his arms, as if welcoming the coming storm, his voice rising with a strange energy, both calm and defiant.

Then, his voice dropped, steady and low, and he spoke as if reciting something from deep within his soul:

"Though skies may darken,

And beasts may come,

My blade is weak, but my heart grows strong.

In the shadow's maw, I shall not kneel,

For tonight, I fight...

Come, my dear Thornveil."

As he spoke the final words, his eyes seemed to shine with an otherworldly light, and a pulse of energy rippled through the air. The Diremaw hesitated for a split second, sensing something had shifted. The old man, despite his frail body, was no longer standing alone. He had become a force of something far greater than himself.

This was our final stand. The moment was upon us.