The night howler's eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling from its throat. It took a menacing step forward, its massive paws leaving deep imprints in the soft earth. The lesser night tooths, still shaking off their stupor, began to circle warily, awaiting their alpha's command.
"Boy!" Hugo's voice carried from the retreating group. "Don't you dare die here!"
Glancing at the officer, Elysian's grin widened. "Wouldn't dream of it, Captain."
Seizing the moment of distraction, the night howler let out a bone-chilling roar and charged.
"Boy, watch out!" Hugo shouted in horror as he saw the monster's massive claw descending towards the young noble. But before the blow could land, Elysian vanished. A figure cloaked in darkness suddenly appeared to the left, his knife embedded in a night tooth's skull. "Who?" Hugo muttered in surprise, thinking someone new had entered the fray. But as he caught sight of the familiar knife, he realized it was still Elysian, now dressed in some unknown, shifting attire.
"Captain, we need to get out of here, now," Osric said urgently, shaking the officer. "This is our chance. My master has their attention."
Hugo turned to see a surprisingly calm and composed Osric. "You're right," he nodded before addressing the soldiers. "Men, this is our chance. Move faster! If I see anyone lagging behind, I'll f*cking skin you alive!"
As his men responded to the command, Hugo turned back to Osric. "Tell me, did you know about this?"
"Know about what?" Osric asked, feigning ignorance.
"That goddamned weapon of his. And that cloak—it's moving as if it's alive," Hugo muttered rapidly, overcome with a mix of emotions.
"Captain, we don't have time for this," Osric sighed, reluctant to reveal secrets that weren't his to share. "Ask my master after he returns."
Though Hugo was reluctant to drop the subject, the urgent screams of his retreating men reminded him of their priorities. He nodded, turning to bark more orders, organizing their escape with renewed focus.
Osric breathed out in relief, his gaze returning to Elysian, who was now fully engaged with the night howler. He felt a large hand pat his shoulder comfortingly and turned to see Bran, who was also watching their young lord.
"Don't worry, the young master will return alive," Bran muttered, his voice filled with unwavering confidence.
"I know," Osric nodded, grateful but a little surprised that the older boy was the one offering comfort when it was usually the other way around.
As they retreated, the sounds of battle grew more intense behind them. Elysian moved with impossible speed and grace, BloodShade leaving trails of crimson and shadow in its wake. Night tooths fell in droves, their bodies dropping like flies.
The night howler, recognizing Elysian as the true threat, focused its attacks with intensity. Their clash was a spectacle of power against finesse. The air itself seemed to ripple with each devastating strike from the beast, while Elysian moved with fluid motion, evading each attack. Instead, he wove through the sea of night tooths, using them as living shields against their master's onslaught.
Hugo, leading the desperate retreat, couldn't help but steal glances over his shoulder at the battle unfolding behind them. What he witnessed would haunt his dreams for years to come: a mere boy, wreathed in living shadows, dancing a deadly waltz with a force of nature itself. Each movement was precise, calculated, yet carried an otherworldly grace that seemed almost impossible for a human to achieve.
As they pressed on towards Grimwatch, the soldiers' fear of the night tooths gradually transformed into a complex mixture of awe and trepidation toward their young lord. Whispers rippled through the ranks, speculation growing with each passing moment about Elysian and how powerful he had become.
The night wore on, filled with the distant sounds of battle that slowly faded into the darkness. Hugo pushed his men to their limits, knowing that every step taken was another step further from death's grasp. Yet even as they fled, his principles gnawed at him, eating him alive. He found solace only in knowing that his decision might save the most lives. It was this understanding that gave him the strength to press forward, even against his wounded pride.
Elysian harbored no illusions about his chances against the night howler, especially considering the countless night tooths under its command. He wasn't arrogant enough to fancy himself the reincarnation of some hero from ancient legends. No—he knew his limitations clearly, understood exactly what needed to be done, and this clarity gave him an unwavering confidence in his movements. His focus remained singular: conserve energy, survive, and buy time for the others to escape.
Just as he had done with the local thugs in Ironspire, Elysian transformed the battlefield into his own. He weaved through the night tooths with deadly efficiency, using them as unwitting barriers against their rampaging master. His movements followed an intricate pattern, always circling either right or left, denying the night howler any rhythm to its attacks. Through it all, his blade found its mark on any creature unfortunate enough to come within reach, each strike deadly and efficient.
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It was nothing short of a massacre, but not by Elysian's hand alone. The night howler, in its relentless pursuit, killed countless of its own. Unlike the thugs of Ironspire, however, the beast showed no reluctance for the fallen night tooths. To it, they were nothing more than expendable pawns, weeds to be culled in pursuit of its true prey.
Elysian savored this battle with unexpected relish. How could he not, when his opponent was doing most of the work for him? He merely needed to guide the beast like a puppet on strings, and it followed blindly, as predictable as a trained hound. This just proved a timeless truth: no matter how intelligent a creature might be, whether human or eldron, if you struck at their pride and twisted their arrogance just right, even the most brilliant beings could be reduced to mindless beasts, consumed by their own rage.
And that's exactly what Elysian did. He ran and weaved, causing destruction as much as he could. The havoc that followed—the havoc—was a sight to behold.
"Is that the best you can do, you fucking mutt?" Elysian taunted, his laughter ringing through the night air as he pranced about like some entitled noble with nothing better to do than torment his inferiors. "You're as slow as shit!"
The night howler's fury raged at the boy's mockery, its reason shattered as it fell for such obvious bait. It roared and clawed and snapped its massive jaws, but instead of catching the insufferable young noble, its attacks found only its own. The night tooths died in waves and droves, yet still they came, loyal to a fault—even to their doom they strode. Their devotions were tragic to behold.
Elysian moved to his own beat while systematically disrupting his enemy's tempo. This deadly dance continued, and with each passing moment, his chances of survival grew stronger. He would not be a mere bait, holding the horde at bay while others escaped. Instead, he was delivering a devastating blow to his enemy's forces, turning their own strength against them.
But as the saying goes, even fools learn—and from mistakes, wisdom grows.
Without warning, the night howler halted its frenzied assault. Its eyes still blazed with a wrath that could incinerate a man's soul, yet it stood perfectly still, watching—and commanding its night tooths to maintain their relentless pursuit.
Like before, the beast returned to its role as observer and commander, orchestrating its forces from behind the scenes. Unfortunately for Elysian, reason had seeped back into the creature's thick skull. This sobering development served as a stark reminder—an eldron was never to be underestimated for long.
The young noble's smirk faded as the gravity of his new situation sank in. His strategic advantage had shifted, and now he would need to contend with totally different circumstances. Before, he had a sound and effective strategy—letting the night howler exhaust itself while he conserved his own. Now, the tables have turned. He found himself expending precious energy, fighting and evading while the beast merely watched, patiently biding its time. The disadvantage of his situation wasn't lost on him.
And Elysian wasn’t the only one who noticed. The night howler seemed to calm down, enjoying itself watching his ceaseless struggle.
Yet despite this shift in his predicament, nothing had changed. Elysian did not need to eliminate every night tooth or even confront the night howler—he simply needed to hold their attention long enough for the soldiers to escape, all while keeping himself alive. A simple goal complicated by increasingly difficult circumstances.
The battle had evolved into a peculiar stalemate. The night howler seemed content to direct its forces from afar, though this wasn't entirely by choice. It had learned that directly engaging Elysian would only result in a futile chase, wasting precious energy with nothing to show for it. So instead, it watched as Elysian was forced to fight, the young noble carefully limiting his movements to conserve what energy he could, trying to maintain the same level of efficiency he had earlier.
As time lost meaning in his deadly dance, Elysian rediscovered something unexpected—a strange, hypnotic quality to combat. Despite the blood, the shrieks, and the constant presence of death, he found an odd serenity as he lost himself in the slaughter. It was then that fragments of his previous life began to surface—memories of a time when death was as routine as breathing, when combat was the only constant in an ever-changing world.
And here he was again, in this new life, falling into the same familiar patterns. These memories, which he hadn't expected to be comforting, washed over him with surprising warmth. Against the backdrop of a full moon hanging in the cold night sky, Elysian moved like death himself, his shadow dancing across the damp ground now littered with the bodies of fallen night tooths.
The moonlight caught the edge of BloodShade, casting brief, crimson arcs through the darkness as he moved. Each strike was efficient, practiced—the memory of countless battles bleeding through from one life into the next. The spear sang through the air, claiming swaths of night tooths with every swing, their bodies crumpling into the shadows. Above, the night howler's glowing eyes glowered at his every movement, perhaps recognizing something familiar in the way the boy reveled in the carnage.
The cold air grew thick with the metallic tang of blood and the musty stench of wet fur. Yet Elysian continued his deadly dance, each movement lethal, each strike brought death. His weapons curved and stabbed through the darkness, leaving only silence in its wake.
But no matter how many night tooths fell to his blade, their numbers seemed endless. At first, confusion clouded his mind—surely he had killed enough to thin their numbers. Instead, the horde only grew. The blood-soaked air had become a beacon, drawing more of the creatures from the surrounding darkness. This revelation did not bode well for him. His space to maneuver had shrunk dangerously, forcing him to use Shadowstep multiple times already. Though BloodShade's abilities didn't drain his own aura, each use depleted a precious resource he might need in desperate situations.
Watching the slaughter, the night howler finally acknowledged that this was no ordinary human. Despite his youth, Elysian's age bore no bearing to the danger he posed—he moved like a warrior who had walked with death through countless battles. This earned him the night howler's respect. But should Elysian be grateful?
Nothing good ever came from earning one foe's regard; it merely meant they would no longer hold back. As if to confirm this dark truth, a thick fog began creeping across the battlefield, slowly enveloping everything in its cold embrace. Elysian released a weary groan before sighing in resignation. He knew that death approaches. One wrong move, she would drag him down to his doom.