Fenrir
I awoke with a start, senses tingling like static under my skin. My body moved before thought, snapping upright in one fluid motion as my eyes swept my surroundings. Every instinct in me screamed to be alert.
And then I saw it.
Standing just beyond the clearing, half-shrouded in mist and moonlight, was a massive wolf. Its silver-white coat shimmered under the pale light, and its eyes gleamed with an ancient, chilling intelligence.
Moon-Touched Direwolf.
The first beast I'd ever seen in this strange and dangerous realm.
My muscles coiled with tension. I instinctively lowered myself into a combat stance, energy pooling in my limbs. I had no weapons. Only my fists, my resolve, and the wild instincts I'd honed in this godforsaken land.
Then it spoke.
"Calm yourself."
Its voice was low, resonant—like gravel ground under moonlight. Ancient, powerful. Intelligent.
My breath hitched. My body remained taut, nerves screaming with anticipation, but I didn't move.
"Why are you here?" I asked, voice firm, eyes narrowing.
"You need not worry," it said calmly. "I do not intend to harm you. And besides… if I had wanted to, would you have been able to stop me?"
I didn't answer immediately. My mind, though hardened by years of struggle, reeled at the sheer pressure that radiated from the beast. My body relaxed, just enough to breathe properly.
"…Sigh."
I circled back toward my makeshift camp—nothing but a small fire pit, a few stones, and the shell of a tree I called a bed. Sitting down, I watched the wolf warily.
"Then you're here for something?" I asked.
"Well, yes… and no," it replied, settling down with a regal grace that seemed out of place for something that could snap trees with a paw.
"Well, human—"
"My name is Erik," I cut in, calmer now.
The wolf's lips pulled into something resembling a smile.
"Well then, Erik. You may call me Moon. That is what the others once called me."
I gave a nod. "Moon, huh?"
A brief silence passed between us. The fire cracked softly.
"To get back to the point," I began again, "why are you really here?"
Moon tilted his head slightly. "It was not my intention to intrude. It's just… I have not seen a human in a long time."
"How long?" I asked, raising a brow.
Moon's answer was immediate. "Around 100,000 years."
"…Holy shit," I muttered. "You're hella old."
Moon chuckled, the sound rumbling through the trees. "Indeed I am, Erik."
I leaned forward, interest piqued. "Since you've been around that long, I want to ask you something."
"Go on."
"You've met other humans before. How strong were they? Compared to now, I mean."
Moon's eyes gleamed with something like nostalgia. "They were strong—very strong. But the world was different back then. The beasts were… weaker. Younger. The mana in the realm hadn't matured. If you were here 100,000 years ago, you might have reached the third level with your current strength. Back then, the strongest humans could challenge the Beast Kings and sometimes win."
My jaw tensed.
"How long did it take them to get that powerful?" I asked, the words escaping with urgency.
"Nearly 1,000 years, give or take. But keep in mind—the weakest Beast King now rivals the strongest of that age. The realm has evolved. It's alive… and it remembers."
I fell into silence.
This realm… was harsher than I ever could've imagined.
Year ten
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
The earth shuddered under the force of my fists. Each strike crashed into the monstrous bear's skull, shaking the air with thunderclaps.
"Hagh… hahh…"
My breath came in heaving gulps, sweat mixing with blood as I staggered back. The bear finally collapsed with a thunderous crash, its mountainous body twitching once before lying still.
"Finally dead," I muttered, wiping blood from my lips.
I slung the massive corpse over my shoulders and began the long trek back to my base.
Ten years.
Ten brutal, agonizing years since that first encounter with Moon.
After that day, I made a vow—to survive, and then to thrive. To become strong enough to rewrite my destiny. Moon had given me knowledge, and I used every shred of it.
That first week was hell. Every encounter is a gamble. Every breath a borrowed one.
It didn't take long for me to realize I was woefully unprepared. My stamina would drain after a single fight, and my mana—if not used with caution—left me unconscious for hours. That downtime could've cost me my life more than once.
I decided to use the System's shop during a period of forced rest. With hundreds of thousands of points scraped from my missions and achievements, I bought two passive skills:
Skill Acquired (Passive): Mana RegenerationSkill Acquired (Passive): Stamina Regeneration
I maxed them both out immediately. That same day, I hunted five beasts. From that moment on, I never stopped moving.
My base was still just a glorified cave, but I didn't care. It kept the rain off and gave me a place to collapse.
I dropped the bear's body and headed to the river nearby. The water was icy and fresh. I stripped, stepping into its cleansing embrace, letting the blood and dirt wash off.
As I bent over the water, I caught my reflection and stared.
I barely recognized myself.
Ten years ago, when my dragon slaying magic had reached level ten, I went through a metamorphosis that lasted 3 hours. Now… I stood 6'7", built from pain and perseverance. Not bulky, but dense—muscles packed tight like coiled springs. My eyes were still the same shade of ocean blue, but now they glowed faintly with latent power. My hair, once short and dark, had grown into a wild, golden-brown mane that tumbled down to my shoulders like a lion's.
Scars lined my torso. Each one told a story. A lesson.
I looked into my own eyes.
"Just a little more…" I whispered. "Just a little more before I can finally get my happy ending."
My hands clenched tight.
For me.
For Hiccup.
For Dad.
For Merida.
I would not die here.
Not until I had earned the right to live free.
Whoosh.
I lunged at Fenrir, the King of Wolves, my blade slicing through the thick air like a whisper of death. His sharp eyes flicked to me instantly. With a blur of motion, he twisted his body and dodged, skidding across the frosted earth. He turned toward me and bared his teeth in a jagged grin — a silent acknowledgment. A challenge.
Then, without hesitation, he charged.
His massive form closed the distance in a heartbeat. His claws gleamed with savage intent as they arced downward, ready to shred. But I had already read his movements, anticipated the strike before his muscles even twitched. I pivoted lightly to the side, avoiding the blow with practiced ease. My foot pressed into the dirt, my body flowing like water around his attack.
It's been one hundred years since I was thrust into this brutal realm. A century of solitude, of clawing my way through the food chain, of learning the system and mastering it. Only now, after all this time, do I face my first true monarch — the weakest of the beast kings. Even so, Fenrier is no joke. But neither am I.
Every day for the past hundred years, I have hunted. Not rested. Not faltered. Not once. My enemies evolved, so I evolved faster. The limits of my body were torn apart and rebuilt over and over again, my strength forged in blood and fire. I no longer remember the face I once had, or the name I was born with. All that remains is power — and purpose.
Now, all my stats have surged past the threshold of 50. All but one.
Stats
Strength: 53
Defense: 54
Dexterity: 52
Stamina: 54
Intelligence: 30
Magic: 55
This battle will be my first true test — not just of skill, but of everything I've become.
Fenrier snarled, and I smiled back.
Let's begin.
I landed a solid blow, my blade biting into thick muscle. The beast—Fenrier—let out a piercing howl that split the stillness of the forest. It staggered back, wounded and wary, but I didn't let up. I was already closing in.
Before it could recover, I launched into a relentless barrage—swing after swing, each strike faster than the last. Steel clashed against hide, sparks flying. One well-placed slash tore a deep, jagged line across its flank, and blood sprayed like a fan across the battlefield.
That was when Fenrier's demeanor changed.
Its snarling stopped. Its ears flattened. The game was over—it understood now that I wasn't prey.
It shifted into a low, guarded stance. Cautious. Calculating. Desperate.
But it was too late for that.
I had studied this beast for close to a century. I knew its every habit, every weakness. I had prepared for this moment with the cold patience of a hunter born in fire. My stats weren't just higher—they were high enough to be overwhelming. I made sure of it. In this world, a single point of difference can be life or death.
One point decides whether you're devoured—or the one doing the devouring.
I was not about to be devoured.
I began to circle the beast, slow and steady, eyes locked on its every twitch. No opening. None that I could see. So I made one.
With a sharp motion, I slammed my palm into the earth. A ring of fire erupted around Fenrier, the ground cracking and flaring to life as flames roared up, boxing it in. Heat shimmered in the air, casting long, warping shadows between us.
It flinched, just for a second—and that was enough.
I darted forward, using the swirling fire as cover. My blade struck from an unexpected angle, sinking deep into its side. It howled—louder this time, wilder, more wounded. Its blood sizzled as it splashed into the flames.
I prepared to follow through, but something changed. Its eyes began to glow—an eerie, supernatural gleam. Then came the howl.
A deep, guttural roar thundered from its throat, echoing across the mountains like a death knell. I froze.
And then I heard them.
Howls. Dozens of them. No—hundreds.
Growing louder.
Closer.
I turned my gaze back to Fenrier. It was grinning now—teeth bared, eyes alight with the cruel glee of something that thought it had turned the tables. It believed it had won.
I clenched my fists, wrestling with the urge to retreat. But no—unless one of the incoming wolves was on Fenrier's level, they were nothing more than kindling. Besides... I hadn't even tapped into my true strength yet.
I hadn't used my Fire Dragon Slaying Magic.
I raised my broken sword and charged, heat rippling off my skin like a mirage. Fenrier's grin faltered, then collapsed into stunned disbelief. It didn't expect me to come at it—not now.
I dashed forward at full speed, faster than its reflexes could track. It reacted the only way it could—by lunging and clamping down on my sword.
Snap.
The steel shattered in its maw.
"Fuck!" I snarled. "That was my last blade."
But I didn't stop. I pivoted behind it, grabbing the broken hilt and jamming the jagged end into one of its hind legs. The beast shrieked, collapsing onto one side.
And then... the forest shook.
They had arrived.
The pack emerged from the trees—dozens of snarling wolves, eyes glinting in the firelight. But I didn't flinch.
I scanned them quickly—none of them held Fenrier's power. None even came close.
I smiled.
The air ignited around me as flames surged from my core. The temperature soared. Trees caught fire in an instant, turning to ash with barely a whisper.
I had been honing my Fire Dragon Slaying Magic with every hunt—sharpening it, mastering it, pushing it to its limits. Now, it had finally reached Level 19. Just one step away from the next metamorphosis.
You might think that sounds low, but this isn't an ordinary skill. I can't use upgrade cards on it—not a single one. And it demands a hundred times more experience than any standard ability.
Every level has been earned in blood and flame.
I let the flames build to their peak. Then I let them loose.
A tidal wave of fire engulfed the clearing, roaring across the forest like a wrathful storm. Screams filled the night—short, sharp, and silenced within seconds.
When the blaze cleared, only a dozen wolves still stood, trembling, their fur singed and patchy.
They ran.
I didn't let them get far.
With a single flash step, I appeared in front of them, unleashed another blast, and turned them to ash.
Silence fell.
I turned back to the battlefield—but Fenrier was gone.
Gone, but not for long.
I smiled.
"It's time to hunt," I whispered into the scorched wind.
Fenrier's Perspective
The wind shifted. I scented death.
Not the frail, pitiful kind I'd smelt a thousand times from trembling prey. No — this was colder. Sharper. Like steel soaked in blood. Like fire choked with ash. Like something that had forgotten how to die.
Something was here.
I turned before the whisper of its blade reached me. My muscles screamed in protest, old wounds barking like echoes through bone—but I moved. Fast. Faster than any of my kind should be allowed to. The strike sliced through air, so close I felt the wind peel fur from flesh.
Our eyes met.
He did not flinch.
Neither did I.
I knew that scent. I had tracked it along the edge of my territory for decades. Always there—watching, waiting. A ghost that left no tracks, no sound. The silence that came before his strike was as familiar as the cold bite of winter. He thought himself predator.
And perhaps once, he was.
But now he stood before Fenrier — first of the Beast Kings, the one who conquered the Northern Wastes and drank the blood of titans. I am no prey. I am the King of Wolves.
So I charged.
My claws came down with the weight of mountains behind them, the force of a century's worth of kills. But he was already gone. He moved like wind wrapped in flame, fluid and precise. He slid past my blow, ghosting behind me. I twisted, snapping, but he was reading me—every twitch, every breath. He knew my tells. He had studied me.
And I realized—he'd been watching me for a long, long time.
Still, I had power. Strength earned through blood, fang, and fire. My kind had lived and died beneath my howl. I had stood against monsters and emerged with their bones between my teeth.
I struck again. And again.
But he was stronger. Faster.
I felt it in the way he parried. In the way his blade met my hide without fear. Too many of his kind had fallen to feed his rise, and now he wielded their deaths like a weapon.
Pain.
White-hot. Sudden.
His blade bit deep into my flank—piercing where no weapon had for decades. I staggered, breath catching. I howled—not in pain, not yet—but in fury. The sound shook the trees. The forest answered.
But he didn't back down.
He came faster.
Each blow was deliberate. No wild strikes, no wasted motion. He wasn't fighting me. He was dissecting me. Measured. Studied. Like a scholar carving open a corpse to learn its secrets.
Then came the fire.
It erupted around me, a wall of flame too fast to escape. Heat clawed at my lungs. I spun, but he was already inside the circle. Already moving. Already striking. My blood steamed as it spilled.
And still he came.
This was no prey. This was no man. This was something ancient and hungry. Something that saw me not as a threat—
But as food.
I stepped back, hind leg trembling. Fear crept in. A new fear. One I hadn't known since I was a pup lost in the shadow of my first moon.
I'd faced monsters. I'd led them. But this… this was something else. Something carved from hate and fire and unrelenting will.
I needed numbers.
I called.
A howl from deep in my chest—older than language. A sound that cracked through the canopy, rolled across valleys. My kin would hear. My pack. My children. They would come.
And they did.
I saw the flicker of hesitation in him—just for a moment—as hundreds of voices joined mine. Snarls and growls rose like a tide. The trees shook with their fury.
I grinned.
He wasn't the only one who could plan.
But then—
He smiled.
Not in amusement. In revelation.
Heat built behind him. But it wasn't fire. It wasn't magic. I looked at him and saw—
A dragon.
Not of flesh. Not of scale. But an image. A vision burned into the air behind him, wings spread wide, mouth open in a roar that echoed through my soul.
I had only seen such power once before—
Balerion, the King of Dragons. The strongest of the Beast Kings.
But now… his image resonated in this thing. This man. This monster.
The ground cracked. The trees withered. My fur rose in protest. Something wrong poured from him, something ancient and vile. A furnace of rage and will.
He shot forward like a comet. I lunged in desperation. My jaws snapped shut around steel—only for it to shatter in my mouth.
A trap.
Pain exploded in my leg. I collapsed. Blood poured freely now. My strength bled with it.
The pack arrived. My sons, my brothers. Warriors born of fang and hunts. They surrounded him.
But it was too late.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't even see them.
He burned them.
The clearing became a furnace. Fire danced like it had a soul of its own, leaping from wolf to wolf, setting fur alight, devouring bone. Screams rang out. Then silence.
He did not pause.
He did not mourn.
The last survivors tried to flee. He caught them.
All of them.
And then it was quiet.
I ran.
As fast as I could, my mangled hind leg dragging. Fear gripped me like chains. I knew he would not let me go—
But I had to try.
"I want to live."
Ten minutes later.
My breath came in ragged gasps. I scanned every shadow, every shift in the leaves. For a moment, I thought I had escaped.
Then I felt it—danger.
I leapt, just as a wave of flame scorched the ground where I'd stood.
I turned.
He was there.
Still coming.
He charged—
Too fast.
Too strong.
I tried to flee, to create distance. But he didn't let me. He struck. Again. And again. And again.
Until I lay broken in a crater of his making.
I blinked through blood. A flicker of hope sparked—maybe this was the end. Maybe this was mercy.
Then I felt his hands on my jaw. One on the top. One on the bottom.
I looked into his face.
There was no man there. Only a grin—wide, mad, cruel.
I screamed—high, shrill, a sound that no wolf should ever make.
"Gagh… no—please, no."
Crack.
RIP.
…