The two beasts circled, golden eyes burning in the night, claws scraping against asphalt.
The world narrowed to roars and blood.
The poisoned cat staggered, blood bubbling from its wounds, but its eyes still burned, golden and savage. The fresh one prowled behind it, sleek and uninjured, every ripple of muscle screaming lethal intent. Two predators. One boy with a dagger.
Charles's lungs burned as if the air itself had turned to fire. His ribs ached, his side leaked blood, and yet—he was still standing. The Venomfang dagger felt heavy in his grip, but the glow of his stat panel still hovered faintly in his mind.
He had points. Twelve unspent.
He thought of Marco's words: Alone, you'll be meat for the next monster.
Maybe. But he wasn't the same as when the sky bled. He refused to be.
The panel flickered into his vision.
He willed the points into place.
> [Unassigned Points: 12 → 0]
+4 Strength
+5 Stamina
+3 Agility
A surge ripped through him, flooding muscle and bone. His arms tensed, veins bulging. His chest eased, breath drawing deeper despite the ache. The world shifted—not slowed like before, but clear, sharp, as if every twitch of the lions' muscles had its own rhythm he could almost predict.
The poisoned lion lunged first, fury overriding its failing body. Its claws scythed toward him, it seem to want to end him itself, if it was because it feared that the other one would get him first or simply for revenge against the one that had put it in such a state, he didn't know.
Charles met it head on, with his newly increased agility, the poison and the creatures predictable attack pattern, it was easy, relatively of course.
He ducked under, speed carrying him just past the arc, and drove the dagger across its ribs in a horizontal slash. Blood spilled, spraying across his forearm. The lion roared and spun, but Charles was already moving, pivoting low and cutting another line across its thigh. Not too deep, but enough to make it hiss, its golden eyes narrowing with fresh hatred.
It staggered. Not dead. Not close. But weaker, slower. He grinned,
The second lion moved.
Its pounce was faster, cleaner, claws carving a crater where Charles had stood a heartbeat before. He rolled, his boots screeching across loose gravel, and scrambled upright just as the beast's tail lashed. It clipped his side, sending him stumbling. Pain flared white-hot, but his legs held.
"Too close," he hissed, blood on his teeth.
Both predators circled him now—one limping, one still full of vigor, their low roars overlapping like thunder.
Charles's chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. His hand shook for a heartbeat… then steadied. Five hours ago he'd been a student with nothing but a pipe. Now, his speed was enough to blur, his strength enough to drive a dagger through bone. He wasn't invincible. Not yet. But he wasn't weak anymore.
But still this wasn't going be easy, that he knew " I'm going to have to kill one of them first."
The poisoned lion charged again. Charles sidestepped, blade cutting another line across its shoulder, widening an older wound. Red blood gushed. Its movement faltered further. Poison was gnawing at it from the inside, and every shallow slash helped.
The fresh lion saw a chance. With a guttural roar, it barreled forward, trying to end things before its partner collapsed. Its bulk crashed into Charles, claws raking his chest.
Pain tore through him. His shirt shredded, skin split. He was thrown against a cracked wall, the breath knocked out of him. He slid down, gasping, blood streaking his chest.
The lion stalked closer, jaws wide, hot breath reeking of copper.
Charles forced himself to stand. His legs trembled. His vision blurred. But he raised the dagger anyway.
"I'm… not prey," he rasped.
The beast lunged.
Charles dove to the side, barely clearing its jaws, and slashed upward. The blade cut along its cheek, shallow but stinging. The lion howled, spinning, tail smashing through the wall where he'd been. Dust and concrete rained down.
Charles coughed hard, lungs screaming, but his body kept moving. His new ener gy carried him. Every dodge felt instinctive, sharpened by his boosted agility. He was faster but only just. The lion's claws still nicked him, shallow cuts that stung like fire.
Minutes bled together in a haze of claws, roars, and desperate slashes. Charles never stopped moving—stab, retreat, roll, slash, retreat. His body screamed, his stamina draining, but each cut left the poisoned lion weaker. He had decided to finish it first, its steps faltered, its roars cracked, its breathing ragged as it got weaker.
The fresh one was still strong. Still dangerous. But Charles noticed it—every time he pressed too close, the poisoned one tried to pounce as well, but stumbled, slower, sluggish. He was whittling it down.
His ribs burned. His lungs begged him to stop. His legs felt like lead. But he couldn't stop. If he stopped, he was dead.
At last, the chance he had been waiting for appeared, the poisoned lion faltered mid-swipe. Its paw scraped the ground, its massive frame trembling. Charles lunged, driving the dagger deep into its neck. The blade sank to the hilt. blood sprayed hot against his face.
The lion thrashed once, then collapsed with a rattling roar, its blood spilling into the cracked pavement.
Charles yanked the dagger free, chest heaving, vision spinning. His whole body shook, sweat and blood dripping from him.
One down.
[You have slain Feral Cat - Level 14]
[+4 Strength +6 Agility +2 Health]
The second lion roared, fury echoing down the ruined street. Its golden eyes burned hotter, fixed on him. Fresh. Untouched. Hungry.
Charles wiped his face with the back of his wrist, blood smearing across his skin. His arm trembled, but his grip on the dagger didn't loosen.
He had slain a lion-sized aberration, poisoned and battered though it was. His body screamed, but his blood thrummed with something else.
Pride. Defiance. The taste of growth.
He faced the fresh lion, lips curling into a smile.
"Your turn," he muttered as he pointed his dagger at it.