Flashes of light danced through the night. A display of smaller and larger illuminations.

The first visual spectacle that greeted my eyes was a charred clearing. The lush greenery had suddenly bowed out, allowing the skeletal remains of charred trees to take center stage.

The transition was abrupt.

Leaving behind solemn sentinels, their bark-blackened forms told the story of a fiery past.

The air, thick with the scent of burnt wood, intermingled with an unfamiliar aroma that hinted at …ozone? Something new lingered in the air, and the mana density seemed to spike.

As I cautiously approached the charred scene, an ensemble of new sounds reached my ears – the rending of teeth and the tearing of flesh. Shuffling of small footsteps.

The mystery was unveiled as my eyes settled on the scene before me.

A group of monsters, resembling grotesquely deformed goblins, feasted upon the lifeless carcass of a white vixen. Monsters, twisted creatures numbered dozens or so. A macabre feast.

Deformed. Grotesque. Contorted and emaciated bodies. Mottled, sickly skin clung tightly to their skeletal frames.

Elongated and distorted limbs, dagger-like claws from their spindly fingers. Dripping. Oozing.

Skeletal faces. Bulbous, milky eyes peered out of sunken sockets. Needle-like teeth, grinning in delight as they dug into the tender flesh of white vixen.

My first reaction wasn't what I expected. Fear was too farfetched, and disgust at their vile appearance seemed appropriate.

But what I felt was a familiar sensation.

There they were, feasting on the fallen magical beast like a bunch of gourmet goblins, utterly oblivious to the impending doom creeping up on them.

Off guard, no sense of survival – they were as foolish as the tales described. Little pretenders masquerading as predators.

Feasting openly, reveling in their grotesque banquet, they plunged their claws into the vixen's flesh, tearing it off her bones with fervor.

Butterflies in my stomach fluttered as I peeked at their backs. Turned. Unaware. Ahh, perfect.

My knees met the ground, and my hands gravitated to my belt, where the recently acquired daggers rested.

One by one, I laid them out before me – four in total, a recent indulgence I couldn't resist.

A bowie knife, now affectionately named Mr. Bow. Creative. I know.

A black Karambit, a long and slender Misericorde, and finally, a straight-bladed dirk.

My fingers reached for Mr. Bow, mesmerized. Ahh, sharp, so very sharp. Close to my cheek, I cradled it like a cherished pet.

Who's Momma's little baby?

You are, Mr. Bow. Yes, you are.

Who’s gonna hunt these little monsties for Momma?

Yay! You would Mr. Bow.

Something stirred inside me. The moonlight took on a crimson tint.

****

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

[Fleet Footed Sprint]

Like a shadow in the night, I darted forward, dagger in hand.

Silent. Swift. Deadly.

The first monster approached. A wicked grin spread across my face as the sharp edge of Mr. Bow met the exposed neck of the creature.

[Lethal Precision]

Smooth as butter, the blade glided through its neck. Warm blood splattered, a sensation of rejuvenation filling me, but I paid it no mind. One down.

The others began to realize something was amiss, but not before another head went rolling.

I wasn't overly concerned; the only overwhelming thing about them was their hideous appearance, not their might.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I had already classified them as prey.

Lambs to the slaughter, blissfully unaware.

Watch them scatter, abandoning their grotesque feast to charge at me.

Small giggles echoed in the charred clearing as I charged at them.

Little prey, with their slow, wobbly claws – pitiful, how very pitiful.

They too charged, but it was futile. [Keen Perception] alerted me to a claw coming from the left. A quick sidestep, a dodge, and I caught the disgusting hand of one of these monsters.

[Lethal Precision]

A satisfying crunch as the bones in its hand gave way. A shrill cry, promptly silenced by my blade.

Head severed.

They came in droves. Head back. To the forest. Lure them.

They were half my size. Nowhere near as fast as me. I stepped back. They followed. Angry. Shrill cries echoed.

I climbed a nearby tree. Silent. Akin to a spider.

Fingers danced, casting [Twilight Veil]. What little illumination the moonlight provided was taken away, replaced by sheer darkness. Ahh, a vision honed to the darkness. It watched them, hapless souls who never thought to look up.

I dropped down.

Another head flew.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

In the frenzy, I reveled.

Laughter—mad, deranged.

It was a drunken sensation of letting go, embracing the fundamental nature of the wilderness. Prey were meant to be hunted.

More goblins came, and more died. Decapitated, and killed before even given a chance to cry their last. However, as I hunted the last of them, a peculiar sensation lingered.

Boredom.

They offered nothing. Why couldn't they be more efficient? Their numbers were enough to overwhelm me, yet they mindlessly threw their necks at my blade.

But I wasn't letting that thought hold for much longer.

The monsters were ranked, going from F-class to S-class.

The higher the class, the more monstrous and intelligent they were.

The ones I slew were F-class. F for "Frighteningly Feeble," I supposed. The bottom of the barrel, the deformed toddlers with claws, the ones that couldn't even pass "Monsters 101."

With the final one dispatched, I moved back to the charred clearing.

***

Sorrow. It tugged at my heartstrings. As I laid my eyes on the once beautiful giant vixen.

A majestic form. Now a lifeless silhouette. Marred by cruelty. Marched by malevolence.

A vacant gaze. A reflection. Of emptiness of life. Of betrayed purity. Of extinguished beauty.

The once pristine white fur, now marred by blood and decay. Each tuft of fur, dulled and stained.

Ahh, how the very earth cradled her in a tender grief.

Uncertain of the source of my sorrow, it felt almost instinctive, as if a shared kinship bound me to the fallen giant vixen.

This sentiment stood in stark contrast to the hatred I harbored upon encountering monsters.

In the world of the novel, magical beasts were pristine and untarnished beings, sometimes possessing intelligence surpassing that of humans.

As I sat on my knees, my hands gently weaving through her once-pristine mane, the sorrow deepened.

Taking a moment to recenter myself, I grappled with a flood of emotions. The adrenaline and thrill of the hunt still pulsed through me, juxtaposed against the wired, rejuvenating feeling from slaying monsters. And now, the unexpected sorrow of losing this seemingly unknown vixen weighed heavily on me.

Barely five minutes had passed since my arrival, yet I found myself lingering there, cradling the mane of the giant vixen.

All of my emotions heightened to extremes, my heart raced in tandem with them.

Inhaled. Exhaled. Began with answers. What I gleaned.

The vixen lying here had been a magical beast, its life extinguished for some time now.

A Thunderquill Fox, if memory served me right. The charred remnants surrounding me. A testament, to her prowess.

The goblins, reveling in their gruesome feast, couldn't have been the architects of her demise.

Their feeble abilities ruled out any possibility of defeating such a formidable creature. This only deepened the mystery, pointing to the presence of a high-ranking monster, or perhaps more.

The audacity of those weak and repulsive goblins openly indulging in the feast raised alarming questions about the true nature of what was happening.

My guard had to remain steadfast; the echoes of battle persisted in the background.

A reminder to keep moving.

Stay focused, Eli. Focus.

With that thought, I rose, stealing one last glance at the fallen vixen.

My blade still clutched tightly, [Keen Perception] active.

[Fleet Footed Sprint]

I moved once again.