Aibell whimpers behind you, but she is alive. That is what matters. The raider tries to curl in on himself, but your grip on his tunic holds him steady. His face is twisted in pain and terror, but there is no pity in your eyes, no hesitation in your body.
A swift, brutal motion—a fist to the temple. He slumps, eyes rolling back. You release him, and he collapses in a heap. His chest still rises and falls, but he is no longer a threat. You do not linger to see if he remains alive.
Aibell is watching you. Her throat is a mess of blood, but she is standing. Her eyes are wide, her face streaked with soot and tears. She looks at the raider on the ground, then back to you.
"Thank you," she whispers. She speaks hoarsely, the words fragile as the last ember of a dying fire. She wipes at her face, smearing the dirt and blood. Her hands are shaking.
You nod once. The raider's body goes still beneath you, the last wheeze of air leaving his lungs as your knee presses into his ribs. Aibell's words hover in the smoke-filled air, but you don't have time to respond before a new sound cuts through the chaos.
Claws scrape against charred wood.
Aibell's head snaps up, her bloodied fingers flying to her mouth. "No," she breathes, her voice breaking.
A figure emerges from behind a burning hut—tall, shoulders hunched forward, his face a mask of human features stretched too thin over something bestial. His fingers end in blackened claws, and his eyes reflect the firelight like a wolf's.
w_run
"What do you want?"I ask as I look at him
You look at the man. Your voice is flat, devoid of the tremor you feel in your own limbs.
He doesn't answer with words. A low growl rumbles in his chest, a sound no human throat should make. His head cocks to the side, his neck popping with the motion. Behind him, more shadows detach from the burning wreckage of the village. You count three, then four. They move with an unsettling, predatory grace, circling wide to flank you and Aibell. Their forms are human, but wrong—too lean, moving on the balls of their feet, fingers curled like talons.
"The Way of the Beast sends its regards, thief." I smirk "well you forgot that I'm a swords woman that The Way of Beast hates" You lunge forward with the strifeblade, and the first wolf-man meets your charge with a snarl. His body contorts mid-motion, limbs twisting unnaturally as he tries to match your speed. Your blade carves a shallow gash across his ribs, but he doesn't flinch—his blood hisses where it hits the ground, steam rising from the corrupted wound.
The others close in. You spin, cutting at the second attacker, but he ducks under your swing with impossible flexibility. His claws rake across your back. The pain is immediate and deep, the wounds burning like they've been salted. I bite my lip and suppressed the pain and continue fighting with a high blaze of energy and motivation. Suddenly another attacker came and help me fight them, I stop , confused looking at them that's when I saw Xanther ( my long lost best friend ), Sophie and Mika helping me The world tilts sideways for a heartbeat. You recognize that stride, the way Xanther moves—like he's already decided how the fight will go before his feet touch the ground. Sophie's daggers flash in the firelight, quick and precise. Mika doesn't even need to draw a weapon; his fists crack against bone with the same rhythm as your blade.