The forest grew crueler with each step deeper into its heart.
Zed learned this truth with blood on his skin and mud on his boots. Dawn bled across the treeline in pale gold, casting the world in mist and silence, and already his body screamed with pain. Bruises mottled his arms, gashes stung along his ribs, his knuckles were raw from striking too many times. But he pressed on, stoic as his father, unwilling to bend beneath the weight of exhaustion.
Beside him, the Zombie shambled, slack-jawed and vacant-eyed. It was slow, clumsy, still half-rotten, but its presence meant survival. It devoured what Zed brought down, leeching essence from blood and bone, strengthening bit by bit. For days now, that had been their cycle: Zed fought, bled, nearly broke—and the creature ate.
Their next prey found them before they found it.
A rustling broke the underbrush ahead, low growls building into a rattling laugh. The Emberfang Hyena emerged from the brush, fur mottled with patches of ember-glow. Heat rippled from its body, its tongue lolling, drool dripping to the soil and sizzling where it struck. Its eyes glowed hungry red.
Zed tightened his grip on the quarterstaff in his hands. Daggers were too short for something with a jaw like that. He circled, boots sinking into damp soil, his breath steady despite the racing of his heart.
The hyena darted low, jaws snapping at his thigh. He twisted, wood cracking against its snout. The blow rang, sharp and hollow, but the beast only snarled louder, saliva spraying. It lunged again, faster, its ember-glow flaring hotter. Zed leapt aside, the heat licking his arm as its fangs snapped empty air.
He struck the staff down again and again, each time rattling bone, each time stepping back before the creature could rake claws across his legs. His shoulders ached, arms numbing. Then his boot caught on a root—he stumbled.
The hyena seized the chance. It lunged, a red blur, teeth wide to crush his neck.
The trapline snapped. Rope tightened across its hind leg, yanking it sideways. The beast crashed to the ground with a yelp, tangled.
"Now!" Zed barked through clenched teeth.
The Zombie lurched forward, not graceful, but purposeful. It clawed across the hyena's flank, rending glowing fur, tearing skin. The beast shrieked, rolling, dragging the Zombie with it. Zed drove his staff down across its throat, pinning it, his muscles screaming.
The Zombie tore again. Flesh ripped. The ember-glow dimmed. At last, the beast twitched once and lay still.
Zed sagged against the staff, sweat pouring, chest heaving. Blood dripped from a cut across his cheek where one fang had grazed him. He pried the glowing fang from its jaw, slipping it into his pouch. Then, with practiced hands, he split open its chest cavity and pulled free the Beast Crystal, still faintly glowing with inner heat.
One down. Too many to go.
The next day, frost clung to the ground though the sun stood high. The Frosthorn Elk loomed in the glade, its coat pale as snow, antlers glittering with frozen crystals. Mist steamed from its nostrils, and when it pawed the earth, frost bloomed where the hoof struck.
Zed swallowed hard, knives flashing in each hand.
The elk charged. The earth shook beneath its thunder. Zed sprinted sideways, the antlers slashing the air where he'd stood. He rolled, blades snapping across its flank—blood spilled, freezing into shards on his arms.
The beast bellowed, steam hissing, turning with terrifying grace. Its antlers crashed against a tree, splintering wood, frost blasting across the clearing. Zed's shoulder numbed, his skin burning with cold.
He dashed forward anyway, slicing tendons, cutting shallow but enough to slow. The elk reared, antlers stabbing down like spears. He twisted, the sharp points tearing a shallow groove along his ribs. Pain burst white.
He roped one antler, planting his heels, letting momentum drag him up onto its back. The elk bucked wildly, thrashing, but his daggers plunged again and again into its shoulders. Hot blood steamed in the cold air, showering him.
The Zombie lurched beneath, clawing at its legs. The elk's cry faltered, its buckling limbs collapsing. Together, they dragged it down until its head fell, antlers crashing into the earth.
Zed rolled free, gasping, hands shaking. His arms were laced with frostburn. He hacked shards of antler loose, the bone brittle and glittering. Then he carved into the carcass until he found the icy-blue Beast Crystal at its heart, the cold gem burning his palm.
Another victory. Another scar.
By the cliffs, silence reigned. Then the shadows shifted, and the Duskwraith Ape appeared. It towered, gray fur bristling, violet eyes burning like twin lanterns. It struck its fists against the stone, cracking rock.
Zed's throat went dry. His daggers glinted, his nunchaku heavy at his hip.
The ape roared, lunged, its clawed hand smashing the earth where he'd stood. Dirt and stone exploded upward. Zed rolled aside, sliced its calf. Barely a scratch.
Its arm swept wide. He ducked too slow—pain ripped through his ribs as he was hurled across the ground. The world spun, breath gone.
He staggered up, chest screaming. The ape came again, shadow blotting the sun. He dashed toward the cliff face, the beast pounding after him. Its weight trembled the ground. He darted aside at the last instant, and the boulder he had weakened earlier tumbled loose, crashing onto the ape's shoulder.
It stumbled, roaring in pain.
Zed struck with his nunchaku, wood slamming again and again into its knee. Bone cracked under the relentless blows. The ape dropped, howling, and the Zombie leapt. It clawed across its chest, digging deep.
The ape's massive hand seized the Zombie by the throat, slamming it into the dirt. Zed screamed, lunged, daggers stabbing into its ribs, into its chest. Blood spurted hot, the violet glow of its eyes dimming.
At last it collapsed, shuddering, breath rattling to silence.
Zed dropped beside it, body trembling, ribs likely broken. He dug his blade into its chest, prying free the violet Beast Crystal that pulsed faintly. His hands shook. His vision swam.
That night, the tether burned hot. Zed's body blazed with Asura's Breath, his dantian pulsing wider, his veins burning. His strength surged, runes pulsing like molten light across his meridians.
He had broken through.
Before, his runic capacity had measured at one-hundred and fifty. Now, it roared to three hundred, doubling in potency, filling his veins until he thought they might burst. His body hardened, his blood boiled, and the air around him seemed to shift with pressure.
And the Zombie convulsed. Flesh cracked, bones reshaped, the rotten frame knitting into something straighter, stronger. Its back straightened, eyes glowed bright red, claws gleamed like knives. Its fangs lengthened, sharper and more human-like. The awkward shamble was gone—its limbs coordinated, precise, able to move with the speed of a trained man.
When it rose again, it was no longer the stumbling husk.
The Ghoul stood before him.
For the first time, Zed allowed himself the shadow of a smile. He had a partner now.
The days bled together after that.
With the Ghoul at his side, hunting changed. No longer did he bear all the burden—he fought, trapped, distracted, and the Ghoul struck with fangs and claws. Together they tore down prey. Boars fell. Wolves fell. Panthers, serpents, bears—all bled beneath them. Three, four, five beasts a day.
Each night, Zed sat cross-legged, body bruised, lungs on fire. Asura's Breath dragged air through him like molten steel, breaking him, remaking him. His cultivation crept higher, his strength doubled, his endurance thickened. But with it came weariness. Days without true rest, nights with only shallow sleep. His eyes grew heavy, his body stiff.
Still, he pressed forward.
Until one dusk, battered and muddle-headed, he strayed.
He should have checked the map. He should have marked the trees. Instead, he stumbled into silence. Not the silence of rest—but the silence of death. The air grew heavy. No cicadas sang. No birds stirred.
Silver eyes gleamed between the trees.
The Nightstalker Wolf stepped into the clearing.
It was vast, fur blacker than midnight, body rippling with lean muscle. Its eyes glowed pale silver, unblinking, piercing. Its fangs gleamed ivory, long enough to pierce through a man's chest. It padded forward without sound, as though the earth itself feared to betray its steps.
Zed's heart hammered. His body was slow, dulled by exhaustion, but instinct screamed. He raised his daggers.
The wolf blurred. One heartbeat it was there; the next, its fangs snapped where his throat had been. He twisted, barely escaping. Its paw raked across his chest—pain flared, flesh split, blood soaking his tunic. He stumbled back, gasping.
The wolf circled, silent, deliberate. Then it lunged again.
Zed ducked low, rolled, daggers flashing, cutting shallow across its shoulder. Black blood sprayed, but the beast barely noticed. Its jaws clamped his arm. Bone cracked. He screamed, stabbing into its skull. The dagger snapped, half buried in its head.
The wolf flung him aside. He slammed into a tree, ribs breaking, blood bubbling from his mouth. The world spun. His body screamed to give up.
The wolf padded closer, eyes cold, steps silent. Death in fur and fangs.
Zed forced himself upright. Breath rattled. His vision blurred. But he inhaled.
Asura's Breath tore through him, harsher than ever, shredding lungs, burning veins. His body cracked under it—but the spiral blazed brighter. His dantian flared, his meridians widened, his strength exploded in fire and agony.
He roared, hurling himself at the beast. The last dagger plunged into its chest. Fangs ripped across his side, tearing flesh. He screamed, driving the blade deeper, twisting. The wolf howled, thrashing. Blood geysered.
With a final cry, Zed drove the dagger into its heart.
The wolf convulsed, its eyes dimmed, and it collapsed, shaking the ground.
Zed sagged over its body, his own blood pouring out. The forest spun. Darkness pressed in. He gasped, forcing Asura's Breath again, not to train but to live. His body broke—and broke through.
The tether snapped alight. The Ghoul convulsed, its form warping, skin knitting pale and whole. Its frame straightened, movements fluid, speed tenfold sharper. Its red eyes burned bright, its presence no longer that of a monster but of a predator cloaked in human guise.
The Vampire Apprentice stood over him.
Zed collapsed against the wolf's corpse, vision dimming, lips curling into a bloodied grin.
He had won.
Barely.
And for the first time, he felt it—trash no longer.