The first lion collapsed with a strangled roar, blood pooling black and steaming at Charles's feet. His dagger dripped, his arms trembled, and every muscle in his body screamed. But still—he stood.
The panel flickered before his eyes:
> [You have slain Feral Cat — Level 14]
[+4 Strength +6 Agility +2 Health]
[Level Up!]
[Unassigned Points: 2]
Charles blinked sweat out of his eyes, staring at the glowing numbers. His whole body screamed, every cut burning, every breath a knife. The second lion's roar echoed, closer now.
Two points. Not much—but added with the new four, should be enough, it had to be.
His mind flashed back to the last exchange. He hadn't been weak. He was fast enough, just barely. But every strike lacked weight. Every slash had cut shallow, never enough to break through. If he wanted to survive this fresh beast, he needed more than speed. He needed to end it.
"Strength," he muttered.
> [Unassigned Points: 2→ 0]
[+2 Strength]
The rush tore through him instantly. His muscles swelled, veins alight with fire. The dagger suddenly felt like a claw, an extension of his arm, begging to be swung.
Charles grinned through blood and sweat, voice low, steady.
"Round two."
The second lion prowled forward, golden eyes gleaming like twin suns in the crimson gloom. Its mane bristled, each hair sharp as needles, and its muscles shifted under sleek, unbroken flesh. This one wasn't weakened. This one wasn't poisoned. This one was whole.
Charles raised his dagger, the weight heavy in his hand. His knuckles whitened around the hilt.
The lion lowered itself, claws digging furrows in the cracked pavement, tail flicking side to side in a slow, measured rhythm. It was studying him. Assessing him, the death of its ally had probably made it more cautious.
Charles's throat tightened. His body was faster, stronger, tougher than before. His blood hummed with powerful vigor. But even with the boost, he was sure, he could feel it, "its definitely stronger than the other one."
The lion moved.
A blur of muscle and claws. It covered the distance in a heartbeat, jaws yawning wide.
Charles twisted aside, barely. The wind of its passing scraped his skin raw, the pavement splitting where its claws struck. His heart lurched against his ribs. Too close.
He slashed as it passed, dagger biting into its flank. The blade cut shallow, but drew blood—a spray of hot, copper-stinking blood splattered the street.
The lion roared, a sound that rattled his teeth, and spun with terrifying speed. Its tail lashed, catching his leg, sending him sprawling across the cracked asphalt. He rolled, coughing dust, and scrambled upright just as the beast charged again.
Its claws arced down, towards his head, it looked unstoppable.
Charles raised his dagger to block. The blow slammed into the blade, jarring his arm to the shoulder. Pain spiked white-hot, but he twisted with the force, letting it carry him sideways instead of down. He staggered, ribs flaring with agony.
The lion came again, relentless.
Swipe. Dodge. Bite. Roll. Tail. Duck.
Each exchange shaved away his stamina. His lungs burned, his vision blurred, his legs felt heavy. The poisoned one had cost him too much, and this monster wasn't giving him an inch.
Think. Don't just swing. Think.
Charles forced his focus sharper, the same instinct that came to him during the fight against the corrupted rat returned. He watched the way its muscles coiled before it lunged, the twitch of its shoulders before each swipe. Its rhythm. Its pattern.
And in those patterns—he found slivers of space.
The next time it lunged, he slipped past its strike and slashed along its ribs. The time after, he ducked low, carving a shallow cut into its hind leg. Little wounds, not enough to stop it. But enough to bleed it. Enough to poison it, weaken and slow it.
The lion snarled, blood dripping from half a dozen new cuts. Its golden eyes burned brighter, fury building with every shallow wound.
Charles's arms ached, his chest screamed, but his mind sharpened. Each dodge was closer, tighter, more deliberate. He wasn't faster than the lion—but he was learning to read it, to turn half-seconds into survival.
Then it made a mistake, whether because of the poison, impatience or just frustration that such a weak thing was given it a hard time, it didn't matter, it made a mistake and Charles noticed and exploited it.
It lunged too wide, claws scraping asphalt as its weight carried forward. Charles darted inside its guard, driving the Venomfang dagger up beneath its jaw. The blade punched through flesh, blood spraying hot across his face.
The lion howled, thrashing. Charles ripped the blade free, slashing again across its throat. Not deep enough. Not killing blows. But the poison licked into the wounds, venom working in its bloodstream.
The beast staggered, roaring louder, claws flailing. One swipe caught him across the chest, shallow but enough to send him crashing into a broken lamppost. He gasped, blood flooding his mouth, his vision swimming.
But when he staggered up again, dagger still clenched, the lion was slower. Its breathing heavier. Its golden eyes dimming.
The poison was working.
Charles spat blood, lips curling into something between a grin and a snarl.
"Not so invincible now, are you?"
The lion roared again, but its legs trembled as it charged. Charles sidestepped, driving the dagger across its ribs. He cut again, and again, a blur of slashes that left green-tinged wounds across its hide. The beast slowed further, stumbling as blood spilled black across the pavement.
At last, it sagged to its knees, breath ragged, chest heaving.
Charles circled, dagger steady, every step measured despite the shaking in his arms. His chest rose and fell like a furnace, his vision dim around the edges.
But his hand was iron.
He lunged, driving the blade deep into its throat. The lion convulsed, roared one last time, and fell.
The street went silent again.
Charles stood above the corpse, dagger dripping, his body swaying like a reed in the wind. His chest burned, his ribs screamed, his skin split and bleeding—but his eyes still burned with fire.
The panel flickered.
> [You have slain Feral Cat — Level 16]
[+5 Strength +5 Agility +5 Health]
[Level Up!]
[Unassigned Points: 2]
Charles stared at the words, chest heaving, blood dripping down his arm. For a long moment, he couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
Then he laughed. Hoarse. Ragged. Wild.
"…I did it." He yelled not caring if any beast tracked him down.
Unbeknownst to Charles, high above, on the jagged roof of a half-demolished building, a figure sat casually, legs dangling over the edge. Cloaked in shadow, the silhouette leaned forward, eyes glinting faintly in the crimson haze of the sky.
They had been watching from the very first roar.
And now, as Charles laughed breathlessly at his own survival, the figure tilted their head, lips curling into something sharp.
"How interesting," the stranger whispered into the night.