Neil crouched low behind the ridge, holding his breath.
Below him, in the shallow valley, the wildhog crashed through the brush with thunderous urgency. Its green aura flared around it, vibrant and unstable. The creature moved like pure muscle and desperation, tusks cleaving through ferns and small trees as it tried to escape.
Behind it, the wolf.
Fast. Silent. Deadly.
Its lean body sliced through the undergrowth like a blade. The yellow energy dancing around it had changed since Neil first saw it—more fluid now, jagged like lightning. It was completely locked in on its prey.
Neil didn't move. Didn't blink. He prayed the wolf wouldn't look up. Wouldn't smell him.
He didn't want to be seen.
His heart pounded in his ears.
It wasn't like the fear he felt in the Trial Grounds. This was something else. Something colder. More immediate. He didn't know if he could survive a fight with that thing.
The clash unfolded in front of him.
The wolf lunged, landing a shallow bite to the hog's flank. The hog shrieked and surged forward. Its green aura burst outward in panic.
A second strike—claws along the back leg. The hog stumbled but kept running.
Then the wolf leapt again, this time onto the hog's back, biting and clawing. The hog slammed into a tree with a bone-rattling crack. The wolf tumbled free, unfazed.
They clashed once more.
Fangs found the neck.
The hog's legs gave out, and it collapsed in a heap of flesh and breathless stillness.
Neil stared.
The vibrant green aura dulled in an instant, turning into a soft, colorless gray. Still present, but no longer alive. Its motion faded, but something remained. A hum, a presence. Not quite seen—felt.
Neil understood instinctively: the creature was dead.
And then the wolf looked up.
Its eyes met his.
And in that moment, the predator's aura flared pale red, flickering like fire through dry grass.
Neil's stomach dropped. Cold sweat slid down his neck.
The wolf had seen him.
It began to move—fast.
Panic surged. He stood, backing away, hand reaching for the broken sword on his back. His limbs moved without thought, every muscle tight with tension.
It's coming for me.
The wolf scaled the ridge in seconds.
Neil drew the blade, stepping back. The wolf leapt, and he barely dodged aside, slashing as it passed.
Metal kissed flesh—just barely. A shallow cut on the wolf's side. It landed, growled, spun.
The second charge was faster.
This time, Neil raised his sword to block—but he was too slow to dodge the claws.
Pain.
Hot, tearing pain across his left arm as the claws raked from shoulder to elbow, slicing clean through skin. Blood burst from the wound. He gritted his teeth and stepped into the attack, using the opening to swing the sword.
He caught the wolf along the ribs, drawing a deeper wound—but the effort left him open.
The wolf's paw slammed into the hilt, sending the blade flying into the underbrush.
Neil staggered back.
The wolf growled, blood dripping from its side. Its pale red aura pulsed violently now.
Neil raised his fists, bleeding, breathing hard.
The fear was still there—but distant now.
Everything else faded.
The pain.
The wound.
The forest.
Even time.
His mind went quiet. Clear.
The wolf lunged.
Neil stepped into the attack. He didn't think. Didn't plan. He just moved.
As the wolf opened its jaws, Neil twisted his body and drove his fist into its skull.
The impact rang through his bones. A brutal, final crack.
The wolf's head caved inward under the blow, its red aura flaring—then vanishing completely.
It collapsed mid-air, limp, lifeless.
Neil stumbled back, panting. His fist throbbed. The cut on his arm burned.
He looked down at the wolf's body.
Its aura had faded into that same dull gray, but the energy around it still lingered—stronger than the hog's. It wasn't visual. Not really. The fluctuations didn't move like color or light. They pulsed through him, like sound without noise, or warmth without heat.
It wasn't sight. Not exactly. Not just that.
He could feel it—deep in his chest, as if through the Core itself.
The hog's energy had been gentler. Softer. This one felt… turbulent. Raw.
He exhaled, finally letting the tension go.
He was still alive.
His arm ached. His shirt was torn and soaked in blood. His breath came in short bursts. His sword was gone—he didn't even know where.
But he was still standing.
The fear that had gripped him now slipped away, leaving only the quiet, shaking relief of someone who had faced death and—barely—walked away.
He looked at his fist again.
It tingled faintly.
He hadn't just hit the wolf.
He had channeled something. Pushed the Core's energy into his body—through his arm, into the strike.
He hadn't known he could do that.
But now he did.