The hounds lunge at me again.
I swing the katana in front of me, slicing through fur and muscle. Blood sprays across my face. No time to breathe—another comes from the side. I raise my other hand, a burst of flame erupting from my palm, catching it mid-leap. It yelps and crashes into the dirt, burning.
I jump—just in time. A hound slides beneath where I stood, jaws snapping. I twist midair and hurl a fireball down at its back.
A snarl.
Another leap.
Another strike.
There's no pause. No time to think. No time to plan.
Fifteen of them. All at once. Their claws scrape the ground, jaws wide, eyes gleaming with bloodlust. I'm surrounded, barely keeping them at bay—one strike, one dodge, one burst of fire at a time.
My muscles scream. My lungs burn.
But I keep moving.
Because he's still watching.
The leader—the C-rank hound—stands on the ridge, eyes locked on mine. Not attacking. Not moving. Just… watching.
Waiting.
Waiting for me to break.
Waiting for the pack to wear me down.
Waiting for the moment I falter—so he can finish what the others start.
And I don't know how much longer I can hold out.
I don't know how long I've been fighting.
Blood coats my hands, my face, the ground beneath me. I can't tell what's mine and what's theirs anymore.
Fifteen hounds came for me.
Only three remain.
The rest? Torn apart. Slashed open. Their bodies litter the dirt—ripped guts, twitching limbs, jaws frozen mid-snarl. My blade carved through them, one after another. Deep gashes split open fur and muscle. Steam rises from their spilled insides. The stench of iron and rot chokes the air.
Another one lunges from the side.
I duck low—too tired to think, only reacting—and drive my katana across its belly. The blade slides through flesh like wet paper. Intestines spill out in a wet, slapping sound, spraying across my legs and chest. I don't flinch. I don't even blink.
It twitches. Gurgles. Dies.
The second hound charges behind me. I raise a shaking hand and release a blast of flame. It howls, skin blackening, fur igniting as it crashes backward in a burning heap.
I don't wait. I leap forward—toward the third one.
It snarls, trying to dodge. Too slow.
I drive my katana into its skull. Bone cracks. Blood gushes down the blade and splatters my arms as I push it deeper, until its body goes limp.
I pant.
One left.
The last one—burned but alive—is already rising. Smoke trails from its back, and its eyes are wild. But I move first. My body screams at me to stop, but I don't.
I slash across its neck. The wound is deep. Almost to the spine.
Its head lolls. Blood pours like a fountain. It collapses without a sound.
Silence.
Only one remains now.
The leader.
The C-rank hound.
He hasn't moved.
He just… watches. From the ridge above, eyes locked on mine. Eyes that aren't like the others—there's intelligence in them. Malice. Patience.
He saw everything.
He let me butcher his pack.
And now, he's waiting.
Waiting for me to break.
Waiting for the blood loss to slow me down.
For my legs to give out.
For my breathing to hitch and falter.
I'm drenched in gore. My arms tremble. My vision swims.
But I raise my blade again.
Because I'm not dead yet.
He moves silently toward me now.
The bastard knows.
Knows I'm tired. Wounded. Slower.
This is his moment—and he's going to take it.
He begins circling me, slow and patient, eyes locked on mine.
He saw me slaughter his pack. Fifteen hounds torn apart, their guts painting the dirt, their blood still steaming on my blade. And yet… he doesn't hesitate. No fear. Only focus. A predator watching another predator bleed.
Then—he lunges.
I slash forward, fast and sharp, but he twists mid-air, landing just out of reach.
Another jump—this time from the side. I swing again, but he dodges like smoke.
I conjure fire in my left hand and hurl it straight at him.
He leaps left—exactly what I expected.
My blade's already in motion, cleaving through the space he's about to enter—
Clang!
His claws clash with my sword, a screech of steel and bone. The impact rattles my arms and throws my weapon back. Before I can steady myself, he dives in again.
I react—
My foot snaps up in a brutal kick aimed at his jaw.
But he swerves, dodging, then snaps his jaws around my leg mid-air.
AGH!
Pain erupts like fire through my thigh. His teeth sink deep, tearing flesh.
I scream—and react without thinking.
Flames explode from my palm, directly into his face.
He lets go with a snarl and leaps back, eyes narrow, skin scorched but not burned through.
The fire's not strong enough to kill him.
But strong enough to make him cautious.
He circles again.
And I—
I'm bleeding, shaking, barely standing.
I grip my katana tighter and charge forward.
He leaps toward me with a snarl, claws flashing.
Steel meets fang. Fire bursts.
Punches. Slashes. Kicks. I throw everything I have at him.
But it's not enough.
Each sword strike only leaves shallow gashes.
My flames barely scorch his hide.
He's fast—too fast. Strong.
His rank is higher than mine.
My attacks are starting to slow.
Pain claws up my leg where he bit me earlier. Blood trickles down, soaking my pants.
My right leg trembles—I can barely stand on it.
My left arm hangs limp, teeth marks still fresh and raw.
I'm battered.
Wounded.
Barely standing.
He watches me with pure fury in his eyes, pacing slowly—calculated, cautious.
He's hurt too.
Not deeply, but enough to feel it.
Enough to make him angry.
We stare each other down—
Two beasts soaked in blood.
One desperate.
One relentless.
Then, without warning, he lunges again.
I dodge—barely.
He slashes.
I parry.
His claws rip across my chest. I stumble back.
My vision blurs.
My body screams in pain.
But I hold my blade up, teeth clenched, heart still burning.
I should've died already.
It was a miracle I survived the hounds.
But him?
This beast...
He's a different story.
And I'm running out of miracles.
Note: My contract application for this novel was rejected.
I don't think I can reapply for a contract with it, so I'm considering deleting this version and starting fresh with a new one.