They were the true beasts of this world—merciless, greedy, and driven by cruelty.
Draven stepped ahead, slowly drawing his sword with one hand. The air felt sharper now, like the world itself was holding its breath.
Monica didn't move.
But her voice was steady.
"Cain, close your eyes."
Her tone wasn't panicked. It was calm. Controlled. But I felt it—that tension building behind her words.
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
My legs were locked in place. My breathing was shallow, rising too fast. This wasn't a game or some test.
This was real.
Draven didn't speak. He didn't wait.
His sword flashed.
The first bandit dropped.
Then the second.
It happened too fast for me to even process. A blur of movement, a line of red, a thud on the ground.
Monica stood like a wall in front of me. She didn't flinch. Didn't draw her dagger. Her hand just hovered near it, steady as ever, eyes flicking to Draven now and then—but never once looking afraid.
I couldn't stop watching.
This was the first time I'd seen it. Real swordsmanship—not something you read about. Not something from training manuals. This was something else entirely.
Instinct. Precision. Silence.
It wasn't loud like in the movies. There were no dramatic yells. No clashing of blades.
Just fast, efficient violence.
Steel meeting flesh.
Boots shifting on dirt.
Short gasps. Ragged breath.
The bandits weren't amateurs—but they were nothing compared to him.
They circled, trying to overwhelm him with numbers.
He didn't back down.
He stepped into them, one move at a time.
No wasted swings.
No hesitation.
Draven didn't fight to show off. He wasn't the type to shout or brag.
He just… executed.
By the time I realized I'd been holding my breath, it was already over.
The last bandit hit the ground.
Silence.
"…Is it done?" I muttered, not even thinking about the words as they left my mouth.
Draven didn't respond at first. His sword was still low, still dripping.
He turned back toward us, scanning the treeline.
"They're all down," he said. Then after a beat, his voice hardened. "We move. Now. Before more trouble finds us."
But I felt it.
Something was wrong.
The forest wasn't quiet.
Not like before.
It was still. Too still. But it wasn't peaceful.
It was watching.
Snap.
A branch cracked somewhere deeper in the trees.
Monica tensed.
"…Stay behind me," she said without hesitation, one hand already near her dagger.
Draven didn't say a word. His eyes locked forward.
Then—movement.
Out from the treeline, a figure crawled into view.
It wasn't human.
Its limbs were twisted and bent wrong, moving like a beast on all fours. Skin like blackened bark stretched over its frame. Veins pulsing with something dark and unnatural.
Its claws dragged against the dirt, leaving steaming trails as it crept closer.
Then—
Another.
This one thinner, faster. It darted between trees, stopping just at the edge of the clearing. Its head twitched, tilting at angles no living thing should. It didn't blink. Just stared.
And then—
Above us.
Wings.
A third creature perched high on a branch, wings stretched wide and jagged, casting a shadow across the clearing. Its mouth split open into a crooked smile, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
None of us moved.
My heart was pounding in my ears.
"…What are those?" I whispered, barely hearing my own voice.
Draven didn't answer.
He stepped forward again, blade rising.
"They're not bandits," he said quietly.
His eyes didn't leave the monsters.
"They're worse."