The new creature moved differently—faster, sharper. Its attacks came quicker, its leaps higher. Finn could barely keep up, his body, already exhausted from the previous fight, aching with every motion.
A swipe of claws passed within a hair's breadth of his neck—he twisted aside at the very last moment, feeling the air whistle past his ear. The beast did not relent, twisting mid-leap to strike again and again.
Each duel was a trial. The next creature was heavier, its limbs thicker, its strikes heavier. Its claws gouged deep furrows into the arena floor, each step echoing with a hollow thunder.
Finn learned to use their strength against them—dodging just so, forcing their claws to sink into walls or ground. Precious seconds while they pulled free gave him a chance to breathe or strike back.
Another monster was shorter than the rest, but impossibly flexible. It twisted like a serpent, attacking from impossible angles, forcing Finn to spin constantly. Once he had to drop flat onto his back to avoid a killing blow, and immediately roll aside to escape the finishing strike.
The next appeared without pause. Taller than the others, with elongated limbs, it lashed out from greater distance. Finn earned several new scratches before he understood how to counter it.
The day stretched endlessly. One beast after another emerged, each with its own quirks, each demanding a new approach. One was blindingly fast, another shockingly resilient, a third fought with almost animal cunning.
Finn's muscles burned, his breath ragged, sweat stinging his eyes. Yet he kept fighting. Each time a creature dissolved back into the tree, he restored his weapon and braced for the next foe.
One new beast moved in jerks, like a puppet in the hands of a mad puppeteer. Its attacks were nearly impossible to predict, but Finn taught himself to read the tiniest signals—a faint tremor in its limbs, the subtle tightening of wooden sinew.
The next was the most dangerous yet—it learned as it fought, adapting to his style, mimicking his own movements. Finn earned a deep gash in his thigh when it suddenly turned one of his own techniques against him.
The sun dipped low, its rays piercing through the crystals in the cavern ceiling, painting the arena in shades of crimson. Finn had long lost count of his opponents. Each fight blurred into the next, each victory harder than the last.
But something had changed within him. Movements that once were clumsy grew sharp, efficient.
The new beast struck with a flurry of lightning blows. Finn slipped past the first, ducked under the second, spun away from the third. His movements had become a dance—a dangerous, deadly dance on the edge of human limits.
By midday came a monster whose strikes left deep cracks in the arena walls. Each miss sent splinters raining down to the floor.
The next was a nightmare—it could stretch its limbs into long wooden whips. Finn took several painful lashes before discovering how to make it snare itself in its own extended arms.
Another appeared, moving in jolts as though skipping between points in space. One instant it was before him, the next behind. Only raw instinct saved Finn, his body reacting before his mind could register the threat.
The next opponent was the largest yet—a hulking mass of wooden fibers. Its movements were slow, but every blow carried crushing power. Finn couldn't meet it head-on; instead, he turned its weight against it, forcing it to stumble and lose balance.
With each new enemy, Finn felt something shifting inside. It was as though the entire day was a vast step toward his true goal. His movements flowed smoother, his reactions grew sharper, his instincts keener.
The next creature climbed the walls and ceiling, moving with blinding speed. Finn learned to read the faint quiver of wooden fibers under its claws, predicting its trajectory before the strike.
Another could partially dissolve, turning half-transparent. Its attacks were almost invisible, but Finn spotted the faint glow of sap in its veins, striking at just the right moment.
The next felt nearly intelligent—it feinted, tried to lure him, even showed signs of tactical thought. This battle was more like chess than combat, every move carrying the weight of a fatal risk.
As the day waned, the final monster appeared. It was the sum of all the others—swift as lightning, strong as a storm, cunning as a fox. Finn was spent, his arms trembling, yet something within him refused to yield.
This last battle was the hardest. The beast attacked without pause, giving him no breath, no reprieve. It used every trick he had seen that day, weaving them into lethal sequences.
The sun was nearly gone when Finn struck his final blow. The last creature dissolved like the rest, sinking into the arena floor. The boy stood, leaning heavily on his sword, legs shaking with fatigue. But in his eyes burned satisfaction—he was, without question, pleased with the outcome.
Slowly, Finn set the wooden sword back on its stand. The weapon that had served him faithfully through the endless day of trials dissolved softly, unraveling into slender fibers. He reached for a niche in the wall, retrieving his book—an old tome in a worn leather binding, covered with strange symbols.
His sore muscles protested with every step, his mind echoing with one thought—the cool water of the baths. He still remembered his first immersion when he had only just arrived in this wondrous settlement. The crystal-clear water had seemed a miracle to a boy who had never known such luxury.
Clutching the book tightly to his chest, Finn made his way to the arena's exit. The heavy doors opened slowly, releasing him into the evening air of the settlement. But instead of the usual solitude, he was met by Eva—the leader who ruled this place.