The growl rolled through the trees like thunder trapped beneath the earth.
Michael froze, instincts pulling him backward before his brain even caught up.
From the brush, the creature stepped out.
No... not a creature.
Three.
Their bodies were lean and muscled, like wolves—but longer, bonier. Gray fur stretched too tightly over thin limbs that ended in claws, not paws. Their heads twitched unnaturally, like they didn't quite know how to be alive. And their eyes—
Glowed green.
Unblinking. Focused.
Michael tightened his grip on the sword. It still hummed, but no new whisper came. No fancy technique. No "Form Two." Just cold steel and colder nerves.
"Alright," he muttered. "Three on one. That's fair."
The middle wolf lunged.
Fast.
Michael sidestepped, barely, and slashed low. The blade tore through flesh, but not bone. The creature skidded past him, yelping, its hind leg limping.
The other two didn't hesitate. They attacked as one.
Claws raked his shoulder. A fang grazed his forearm. Michael dropped to the dirt, rolled under one's leap, and drove the sword upward—straight through its ribcage.
THUNK.
It spasmed violently, then collapsed.
He didn't get a chance to breathe.
The third was already airborne.
Michael raised the sword, but too late. Its jaws clamped down on his left arm—hard. Pain exploded behind his eyes. He screamed, spun, and slammed the hilt into the wolf's skull again and again until it let go.
Blood soaked his sleeve. His fingers were numb.
The wolf circled again.
The first—the one he'd wounded—was limping back into position.
Two left. One arm barely working. And the sword growing heavy.
Michael's breath came in sharp, broken pulls.
"You gonna help me?" he whispered to the blade. "Or are we dying here?"
Nothing.
No glow. No whisper. No instinct.
Only his heartbeat—and the slow shuffle of predators testing the edge of his will.
He swallowed hard.
And charged first.
It was messy.
He didn't dodge so much as fall forward. His boot struck a tree root. The sword flailed, wide and clumsy—and caught the neck of the limping one. Blood sprayed across his chest.
Then claws found his back. He fell face-first into the dirt.
The last wolf landed on top of him.
Jaws snapped for his throat.
Michael grabbed its neck with his good hand, screaming through the pain as it tore into his shoulder. He twisted. Rolled. The blade was under him, somewhere—
His fingers found the hilt.
"DRAW OF IRON—!"
The blade surged.
Not bright. Not loud. Just fast.
He pulled it free and rammed it upward, straight through the wolf's belly.
It shrieked—an awful, human-like cry—and fell still.
Silence returned.
Michael lay there, gasping, bloodied and broken, staring up at the branches above. The sword rested across his chest, heavy as a mountain.
"What... kind of world is this?"
The blade didn't answer.
But something else did.
DING.
A faint sound. Like glass ringing.
Michael blinked.
Words appeared before his eyes—floating, silver and flickering.
⸢Resonance Achieved: Echo of Steel – Phase I Unlocked⸥
— Pain threshold exceeded
— Instinct activated under duress
— Form confirmed
⸢First Resonance Milestone Complete⸥
🞂 Sword Memory 3%
🞂 New Form Unlocked: Form II – Binding Edge
🞂 Passive Skill Gained: Iron Will (minor resistance to mental disruption)
Then the words vanished.
Michael blinked again. His breath slowed. His wounds didn't stop hurting—but somehow, the world felt… sharper.
"So… that's how it works?"
He smiled, faint and bitter.
"Then I just need to survive long enough to remember everything you forgot."
✦ ✦ ✦
Far above, inside a mirrored hall of floating tomes, a masked figure snapped their eyes open.
"Blade resonance detected."
"That's impossible," hissed a second voice. "The sword trials are all sealed."
"Apparently not."
A name appeared in the crystal map before them:
Michael – Unmarked, Non-core, Status: Active
The masked figure narrowed their eyes.
"Hunt him. Before the old world wakes up again."