The wolf lunged.
Arthur dived right.
Not fast enough.
Claws raked across his ribs. Three lines of fire carved through skin and muscle. The force of the impact spun him like a top. His back slammed into a tree trunk. Bark bit into his spine, scraping against the fresh wounds.
Blood bloomed hot beneath his torn tunic, spreading fast.
The wolf landed in a spray of dead leaves. Its head whipped around. Those green eyes—glowing, wrong, hungry—locked onto him.
It didn't circle. Didn't posture. Just charged again.
Move!
Arthur threw himself sideways. His ankle buckled under him. Pain shot up his leg like lightning in reverse. He hit the ground hard and rolled through a mess of dirt and rotting leaves. He came up on his knees, gasping.
The wolf was already there.
Jaws snapped shut inches from his face. He could count the teeth—rows of them, each one like a serrated blade. The breath that washed over him reeked of spoiled meat and something chemical. Something that made his eyes water.
Arthur's hand came up on pure instinct. Mana surged through his channels—wild, bucking, refusing to obey. The mathematical formula flashed through his mind, but panic shredded the pattern into pieces. The spell came out malformed.
Lightning crackled weakly from his palm. Pathetic sparks that wouldn't have hurt a housecat.
It fizzled against the wolf's snout like a dying firefly.
The creature didn't even blink.
Shit shit shit—
Arthur scrambled backwards on his hands and knees. His palm landed on something sharp. Glass? No—a rock, jagged edges cutting into his skin. He grabbed it without thinking and hurled it at the wolf's face with everything he had.
The rock bounced off the creature's skull with a hollow thunk.
Might as well have thrown a pillow.
The wolf's lips peeled back. Too far. The jaw was dislocated or broken, hanging at an angle that made Arthur's stomach turn. That smile. That horrible, horrible smile.
Then it pounced.
Arthur tried to dodge. His body knew the motion—Arthur's training buried in muscle memory. But Oscar's mind was too slow, still catching up.
The wolf's weight hit him like a collapsing wall.
They went down together. Arthur's back slammed into the earth hard enough to crack his teeth together. The air exploded from his lungs. For a second, he couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
Claws punched into his shoulder. Through fabric. Through skin. Grinding against bone.
The scream that tore from Arthur's throat was animal. Primal.
The wolf's head descended. Jaws opening impossibly wide. Aiming for his throat.
Arthur got his forearm up.
Teeth clamped down. Not on his neck. On his arm. Pressure like a vice. The fabric of his sleeve was all that stood between fangs and flesh. He felt it start to tear. Felt the individual threads snapping one by one.
No, no, NO—
Mana. He still had mana. Still had spells. His free hand shoved between them, pressed flat against the wolf's chest. He could feel its heartbeat—rapid, irregular, wrong.
The formula. Focus. FOCUS.
Numbers and patterns crystallised in his mind.
Lightning Bolt.
The spell erupted point-blank.
Yellow lightning exploded in the space between them. The wolf's entire body went rigid. Every muscle locked. Its jaws sprang open. Released his arm.
Arthur shoved with everything he had.
The wolf tumbled off him. It hit the ground three feet away in a tangle of limbs, electricity still crackling across its matted fur.
Arthur rolled. Came to his feet. His ankle screamed bloody murder, but held. Barely. He caught himself against a tree, bark rough under his palm.
Gasping. Bleeding. His ribs were molten metal. His shoulder felt like someone had hammered railroad spikes through it.
The wolf was already getting up.
How? HOW?
Arthur could see the damage now. Really see it. Three long gashes were carved across the wolf's side, edges crusted with old blood gone black. A chunk of its hind leg is just gone—muscle torn away to expose white bone beneath matted fur. Its ear hung by a thread of skin, flopping with each movement.
The original Arthur had done that. Had fought this thing with a sword. Had hurt it.
Had died anyway.
The wolf should be dead. Should have bled out hours ago in some dark corner of the forest.
But it was standing. Limping. Still coming.
Still trying to finish what it started.
It's already dead, Arthur realised. It just hasn't figured it out yet.
The wolf moved forward. Each step hesitant. The injured right leg couldn't take its full weight. It compensated, shifting its balance, but the weakness was there.
Weakness.
Arthur's eyes tracked the limp. The favouring. The way the wolf had to pivot wider to keep weight off the bad leg.
The wolf charged.
Arthur moved left. The wolf tried to turn. The bad leg slowed it. Just a fraction of a second.
Enough.
Arthur kept moving. Circling. Forcing the wolf to pivot on its wounded side.
It snarled—a sound like metal tearing. Lunged.
Arthur ducked behind a tree.
Jaws snapped on empty air. The wolf's momentum carried it past. It skidded in the dirt, claws leaving furrows in the earth. Turned.
Arthur was already moving. He grabbed a rock from the ground. The size of his fist. Heavy. Solid. Edges sharp enough to cut.
The wolf came at him again.
Arthur waited. Counted heartbeats. Let it get close.
Closer.
Now.
He threw.
The rock caught the wolf's mangled ear. The one hanging by a thread. Direct hit.
The creature flinched. Actually flinched. Its charge broke. Momentum lost.
Arthur's hand came up. Mana is flowing smoother now. Not easy. Not natural. But functional. The formula clicking into place like puzzle pieces.
"Lightning Bolt!"
Yellow electricity screamed across the space between them. Blinding. The air itself crackled and burned.
It caught the wolf in its wounded side. Right where the old injuries gaped open. Right where flesh was already torn and raw.
The wolf's legs gave out. It crashed into the dirt face-first. Its whole body convulsed. Smoke rose from burnt flesh and fur. The smell of ozone mixed with cooked meat.
Arthur didn't wait to see if it would get up again.
He charged.
Every step sent pain lancing through his ankle. His ribs ground together with each breath. Blood ran down his arm, his side, and his leg. Dripping onto dead leaves. Leaving a trail.
He didn't care.
The wolf tried to rise. Got its front legs under it. Head lifting.
Arthur's boot caught it in the ribs.
Right where the lightning had struck. Right where the old wounds wept dark fluid.
The impact drove the air from the wolf's lungs in a wet whoosh.
It went down again. Harder this time. Limbs splaying.
Arthur dropped on top of it. Knees pinning its shoulders to the ground. His hand found another rock. Bigger than the first. Jagged edges. Still warm from sitting in moonlight.
The wolf's jaws snapped at him. Missing by inches. Foam and blood flew from its mouth. Its claws raked his legs, his sides. New lines of pain were added to the collection.
Arthur brought the rock down.
It connected with the wolf's skull. The sound was wet. Wrong. A crack like breaking pottery.
The wolf thrashed beneath him. Violent. Desperate.
Arthur brought the rock down again.
Crack.
Again.
Crack.
The wolf's movements got weaker. Uncoordinated. Its green eyes found his. Wide. Panicked. There was no intelligence left there. No recognition. Just animal terror.
Just pain.
"Just die," Arthur gasped. His voice came out cracked. Raw. "Just die already, you ugly piece of—"
He brought the rock down again.
And again.
"Stay. Down."
The wolf's final sound wasn't a growl or a snarl or anything that belonged to a living thing. Just a wet, rattling exhale. Air leaving a body that would never draw breath again.
Then nothing.
Silence crashed down like a physical weight.
Arthur stayed there. Kneeling on top of the corpse. Rock still clutched in his white-knuckled grip. His chest heaving. Gasping for air that tasted like copper and ozone.
Waiting.
Waiting for it to move.
It didn't.
Seconds crawled past. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
The wolf was dead.
Really dead.
Arthur's fingers uncurled. The rock tumbled from his hand. It hit the dirt beside the wolf's ruined head with a dull, final thud.
He looked down at himself.
Blood. Everywhere.
Soaked through his tunic until the fabric clung to his skin like a second layer. Running down his arms in rivulets. Pooled in the hollow of his collarbones. Splattered across his face—he could taste it in his mouth. Iron and salt.
He couldn't tell where the wolf's blood ended and his own began. Couldn't tell which cuts were his and which belonged to the thing crushed beneath him.
The adrenaline started to fade.
Like a dam breaking, pain rushed in to fill the void.
His ribs. God, his ribs. Each breath felt like someone was driving nails between them. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His ankle was a ball of fire. Every scratch, every gouge, every torn piece of skin screaming for attention all at once in a chorus of agony.
Arthur tried to stand. Got his legs under him. Made it halfway up before they gave out like cut strings.
He collapsed sideways off the wolf's corpse. Hit the ground. Couldn't find the strength to roll over. Couldn't find the strength to do anything but lie there.
Relief washed over him. Pure. Overwhelming. So intense it almost hurt.
I'm alive.
He'd survived. Against a corrupted monster. In a body he barely understood. With spells he'd only successfully cast because Arthur's muscle memory had done the heavy lifting.
He was alive.
Then the other feeling hit.
Dread.
Cold and heavy. Settling in his chest like a stone dropped into dark water.
This was real. All of it. The corruption. The monsters. The blood and pain and terror.
This world was going to try to kill him. Over and over. Every single day.
And he'd just barely survived the weakest thing in it.
Arthur's vision started to blur. Darkness creeping in from the edges like a stain spreading. His body had nothing left. No strength. No adrenaline. No desperate reserves to draw from.
Just rest, he thought distantly. Just for a minute. Rest for one minute.
His eyes slipped closed.
The forest went quiet around him. Wind in the leaves. The distant sound of running water. Nothing else.
And Arthur knew nothing at all.