Jack shot off a quick Identify that let him know he was fighting a half elf with a Class called Vanguard. That was all he had time to see before his opponent's body tensed, a low growl of power rumbling in his throat. A sudden surge of energy crackled around him as he activated a skill—one that sent a shudder through Jack’s gut. The warrior’s movements became sharper, his strength magnified and his speed increased drastically. A Vanguard Class Skill, Jack realized grimly.

Gritting his teeth, Jack had no choice but to respond in kind. He reached deep within, summoning his own reserves of power. "Soulrage," he muttered, his veins igniting with raw energy. His body pulsed with newfound strength, his senses sharpening to an almost painful degree. But it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

With a second breath, he activated Ironsoul Aura. A shimmering field of hardened energy surrounded him, reinforcing his body against the brutal strikes he knew were coming. Now, at least, he had a chance. His native Agility was enough to keep up with the half elf and his magnified Strength and protection now matched his opponent.

Now that they were on equal footing Jack’s mind flashed back to the Monkey King’s lessons. "Armor means nothing if you know where to strike," the old trickster had once told him, balancing effortlessly atop a stone pillar. "Joints, gaps, weak points—find them, exploit them. And if that fails? Make them move. The more they move, the more mistakes they make." His master had always emphasized movement—never meeting force with force, but rather redirecting and exploiting the smallest weaknesses. Against an opponent in heavy armor, brute strength wouldn’t be enough.

Jack tightened his grip on Aetherspire. It was time to put those lessons to the test.

His enemy lunged again, the warhammer a blur of motion as it swung in a brutal downward arc. Jack sidestepped, feeling the wind rush past as the hammer cratered the earth where he had stood moments before. Dust and debris kicked up from the impact, obscuring vision for an instant—but Jack was already moving.

He surged forward, his spear darting toward the gap between the warrior’s shoulder plates. But his opponent was fast—faster than someone in heavy armor had any right to be. The Vanguard Skill still empowered him, and he twisted just enough to deflect the attack with a gauntleted forearm before retaliating with a brutal backhand swing.

Jack barely ducked in time. Even with Soulrage heightening his reflexes and Ironsoul Aura dulling the impact, he couldn’t afford to take a direct hit. He needed to shift the momentum.

The Monkey King’s voice echoed in his memory: "The bigger they are, the harder they fall—but only if you pull the right strings."

Jack adjusted his stance, adopting a looser grip on Aetherspire. He needed to make his opponent overcommit—to force an opening he could exploit. Feinting a thrust toward the warrior’s chest, he quickly shifted his attack mid-motion, sweeping the spear low toward the knee joint in his armor.

The warrior reacted instinctively, stepping back to avoid the strike. There. Jack pressed forward, not giving him time to reset his stance. He struck again—this time aiming for the elbow, forcing his opponent to raise his arm defensively. Then he twisted, pivoting into a spinning strike aimed at the side of his helmet.

The hammer-wielder barely managed to block, but Jack wasn’t done. He dropped low and swept his leg at his enemy’s ankle, forcing him to shift his balance again. The armor made it difficult for the warrior to recover quickly, and Jack seized the opportunity.

Aetherspire hummed with energy as Jack lunged, aiming for the narrow gap beneath the breastplate. His spear shot forward—

But the warrior roared, his strength surging again. With an almost impossible reaction speed, he twisted, using the shaft of his warhammer to knock Aetherspire’s strike off-course. Then he countered, slamming his free hand into Jack’s chest with enough force to send him flying backward.

Jack hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact. He coughed, feeling the aftershock of the blow even through Ironsoul Aura. His opponent had nearly broken through his defenses. He couldn’t afford to let this fight drag on.

The Vanguard warrior was already charging, his hammer raised high.

Jack barely dodged in time, rolling to the side as the weapon slammed into the dirt where he had stood a second before, kicking up a small explosion of soil and rock.

“Too slow,” the warrior taunted.

Jack ignored him. His mana reserves were nearly depleted, but just enough had regenerated for one more trick. Spinning Aetherspire in his hands, he surged forward. The warrior lifted his hammer to block, but Jack didn’t aim directly for him. Instead, he channeled his remaining mana into the spear’s crystalline tip as he spoke a spell and released it in a sudden burst.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

A flash of flame exploded between them, forcing the warrior to stumble back, momentarily blinded. Jack took the opening, driving Aetherspire’s shaft into his opponent’s side. The strike hit true, and the warrior grunted in pain as Jack followed up with a quick, sharp kick to his wounded ribs, forcing him to stagger further back.

Jack raised his spear for another attack, but a sudden surge of dizziness washed over him. His mana was gone. He had used everything.

The warrior wiped the blood from his lips and chuckled darkly. “Not bad, kid,” he admitted, adjusting his stance. “But now you’re running on fumes.”

Jack’s grip on Aetherspire tightened. His body screamed for rest, but he pushed the exhaustion aside. He had to stay on his feet. He spared a quick glance around the battlefield. The fight had broken into chaotic, individual duels. To his left, Lyla and the red-robed mage were locked in a furious battle of fire and water. Steam hissed into the air as Lyla’s flames clashed against her opponent’s conjured waves, neither willing to give ground. Further away, the jaguar warrior had fully embraced his bestial transformation, muscles bulging and eyes glowing a savage yellow as he lunged at Goldeyes. The two beasts collided in a blur of claws and teeth, snarls and roars filling the air.

And then there was Monsoon.

Jack barely had time to see the massive, blue-tinged wolf dart between the three slavering undead hounds, his movements as fluid as the tide, striking with the relentless force of crashing waves. His lupine form weaved between the beasts, dodging their snapping jaws with effortless agility. For a moment, it seemed as though he was winning, as though his speed and power would be enough to tear through the rotting beasts.

But then the pale elf finished his spell. A wave of sickly green light pulsed outward, washing over the three undead hounds. Instantly, the creatures seized, their snarling abruptly cut off as if their bodies had turned to stone. Their rotting flesh convulsed violently, limbs twisting and contorting as if something inside them was breaking free. The stench of decay intensified, becoming nearly unbearable, thick with the foul scent of necrotic energy and something deeper, something older—an abomination beyond simple death.

Monsoon skidded to a halt, his hackles raised. A deep, guttural growl rumbled in his throat, his instincts screaming danger.

And then the horror truly began.

The three hounds lurched toward each other, their bodies drawn together by unseen forces. Bones cracked and shattered, flesh stretched and melted like wax, fusing them into a single grotesque form. Their spines twisted, vertebrae snapping and reforming as their ribcages burst open, merging into a mass of writhing tendrils of rotted muscle. Their heads, still snarling, did not vanish but instead stretched grotesquely, their necks elongating and intertwining like tangled roots. Eyes bulged and multiplied across their warped skulls, some spilling from their sockets only to be absorbed elsewhere in the writhing flesh.

A sickening squelch filled the air as extra limbs sprouted from the abomination’s shifting mass—eight legs, some formed from the fused bones of multiple creatures, now carried the monstrous body forward with an unnatural, skittering gait. The three heads did not move in unison; each snarled independently, snapping at the air, their drooling maws brimming with jagged, uneven fangs. Thick ropes of necrotic saliva dripped from their lips, sizzling where they struck the earth.

Monsoon took a step back, his ears pinned against his skull. Even for him, a creature bound to the power of the waves, something about this thing felt inherently wrong—as though it was not just undead, but something that should never have existed at all.

Faraun’s smirk widened, his pale fingers adjusting the folds of his robe with a casual air. "A simple beast like you could never comprehend the true depths of necromantic mastery," he mused. He gestured lazily toward the monstrosity. "Show him."

The abomination lunged.

Monsoon barely had time to react as the eight-legged horror crashed into him, its combined strength more than double what the three separate hounds had possessed. Its weight was staggering, like being caught in the undertow of a massive wave. One set of jaws clamped down on his flank, sinking rotten teeth into his flesh, while another lunged for his throat. With a furious snarl, Monsoon twisted his body, his powerful muscles surging as he wrenched himself free, blood spattering against the dirt.

But the abomination was relentless. It was fast—unnaturally fast for something so grotesque. Its extra limbs allowed it to shift direction abruptly, lurching toward him again. Monsoon leapt back, but a third head snapped at his hind leg, its fangs barely missing him by an inch.

The necromancer chuckled, his amusement growing. "Yes... struggle all you like. It makes no difference."

Nearby, another battle raged.

Lyla and the red-robed mage circled each other, their spells colliding in dazzling bursts of elemental fury. Lyla’s water magic surged in spiraling torrents, each wave crashing against her opponent’s searing flames. Steam billowed around them, turning the battlefield into a shifting haze of heat and mist.

“You fight well,” the red-robed woman admitted, her voice smooth yet tinged with irritation. “But you rely too much on brute force.”

Lyla’s eyes narrowed. “And you rely too much on your mouth.”

She thrust her staff forward, summoning a new surge of water. The fire mage countered with a searing explosion, sending a wall of flames roaring forth to meet the attack.

The resulting clash sent a shockwave outward, droplets of water flash-boiling into steam. But Lyla wasn’t finished.

She had angled her spell so that the moisture had soaked the ground in front of her opponent. Now the damp earth beneath their feet trembled as thorned vines erupted from the ground, twisting toward the fire mage like a nest of serpents. The woman’s eyes widened slightly in surprise before she conjured another burst of flame, attempting to incinerate them before they could reach her.

But Lyla had prepared for this.

Her vines were saturated with moisture, reinforced against flame. They twisted through the air, undeterred by the fire, lashing toward the mage with razor-sharp barbs. The woman barely managed to leap backward, but not before a single thorned lash scraped across her forearm, drawing blood.

She hissed, eyes flickering with irritation. “You’re becoming a nuisance.”

Lyla grinned. “Only just now?”

The fire mage swept her hands outward, calling forth a circle of embers that hovered in the air around her. The air itself wavered from the heat, and Lyla could feel the shift—the battle was about to escalate.