Erel's sword finally connected with something vital in the prowler's anatomy, his blade punching through what might have been its chest cavity. Dark fluid sprayed across the concrete, and the creature let out a sound that was part growl, part scream, and entirely unnatural. Its red eyes stayed locked on him even as it collapsed, lips pulling back to reveal teeth that would rival those of a shark.
He pulled his blade free, and the prowler finally went still. These things didn't die easily, but they did die.
The moment the creature's scream echoed through the corridors, Erel knew he was in trouble. His tattoo blazed with fresh warnings as his Eternal Survivor ability picked up the sound of answering calls from deeper in the stadium, howls of a pack that had just lost one of their own.
'Well, shit.'
The sounds that followed made his skin crawl. Snarls and growls echoed from multiple directions, the scrape of claws on concrete and the wet sound of something large moving through spaces that were too small for it.
Erel shifted his Adaptive Ouroboros, the scale patterns flowing from his sword arm to his legs as he prepared to move. The sounds were getting closer, and they weren't coming from just one direction. The prowlers were spreading out, following instincts honed by whatever nightmare had spawned them.
He started moving toward what he hoped was a more defensible position, but the sounds were multiplying around him. Growls from ahead, the scratch of claws from behind, and something that sounded like heavy breathing from the walls themselves. The pack was closing in, driven by a hunger that made them bold and a rage that made them reckless.
The first pair appeared at the far end of the corridor. These things moved like predators, low to the ground, muscles coiled for speed, eyes never leaving their target.
Their heads were too large, their limbs too long, and when they opened their mouths, the sounds that emerged belonged to no earthly creature. One of them pawed at the ground, leaving gouges in the concrete, while the other threw back its head and howled, a sound that made every instinct Erel possessed scream at him to run.
But he couldn't run, because more growling was coming from behind him. When he glanced back, he saw another pair of prowlers padding down the corridor. They weren't rushing; they knew he was trapped, and they were taking their time to position themselves properly.
Above him, something heavy scraped across metal, and plaster dust rained down. At least one more was moving through the ceiling space, probably looking for the perfect moment to drop onto his position.
'Five, maybe six. All hungry, all pissed off, and all thinking I smell like dinner.'
As soon as Erel decided to engage with the ones on the back first, his Cycle of Rebirth activated automatically. The vision hit him with brutal clarity; he saw himself trying to fight through the prowlers behind him, his sword work clean and efficient against the first one. But the moment he engaged, the pair in front would charge, and the ceiling would explode open as another creature dropped directly onto his back. He watched himself go down under the weight of teeth and claws, his screams mixing with their feeding growls until everything went black.
The vision snapped back to the present, leaving him with the metallic taste of fear and absolute certainty about what would happen if he tried to fight his way out through brute force.
Steeling his beating heart and wiping the sweat that had trickled down his forehead after just experiencing a horrific death, Erel took a deep breath to compose himself.
Instead of engaging the prowlers, Erel did something they weren't expecting: he attacked the environment itself. His sword hand, still enhanced by his Adaptive Ouroboros, sliced the blade through the corroded wall beside him. The blade met resistance, but the corruption had weakened the stadium's structure, which allowed the blade to cut through
The prowlers' advance faltered as Erel disappeared through the improvised hole. He heard frustrated snarls and the sound of claws scrambling against stone as they tried to follow, but the opening was too small for their large frames.
Erel found himself in what had once been a maintenance corridor, though the corruption from the vines had transformed it into something dark and unsettling. The walls pulse with veins of that black substance. The air was thick and humid, with a murky smell wafting through the space.
The corridor was narrow enough that the prowlers couldn't surround him, and the uncertain lighting would also now work in his favour.
Hearing the prowlers bank against the hole he created in frantic bashes, he readied his stance to intercept them.
The first prowler came through the breach like a cannonball, chunks of concrete still falling from its shoulders. It hit the ground running; red eyes fixed on him with the single-minded focus of a predator that had found its prey. Its lips were pulled back in a permanent snarl, and when it opened its mouth, strings of saliva connected its oversized fangs.
It attacked the moment it was near, launching itself through the air with enough force to drive them both to the ground if it connected. But Erel was ready for it. He pivoted hard left, letting the prowler's momentum carry it past him while his sword found the gap between its ribs.
Erel had to do nothing, as momentum did the rest; the blade slid home with a wet resistance that was nothing like cutting through armour or even flesh. It felt more like stabbing into something that was half-liquid, half-muscle. The prowler screamed, not a howl this time, but a sound of pure rage and pain.
But even with steel buried in what should have been vital organs, the creature twisted with impossible flexibility. Its spine bent in ways that would have crippled any normal animal as it brought its claws around in a swipe aimed at his throat.
Erel's Adaptive Ouroboros flowed across his chest just in time, the scale patterns deflecting claws that would have opened his jugular. Sparks flew where razor-sharp talons met his tattoo, and he felt the impact like hammer blows against his ribs.
The prowler didn't pause to assess the damage; it just kept attacking with the relentless hunger of something that had never known defeat. Its claws came from multiple angles, each swipe followed immediately by another, forcing Erel into a defensive pattern that left him no room to counterattack.
But he could see what the creature couldn't; it was burning through energy at an unsustainable rate. Foam was gathering at the corners of its mouth, and its breathing was becoming labored. Whatever endurance it possessed had limits.
Erel weathered the storm of claws, letting his armour absorb damage while he waited for the prowler to overextend. When it finally happened, a wild swipe that left its flank exposed, his sword found its heart. The creature collapsed mid-attack, its legs giving out as whatever force animated it finally failed.
Dark blood pooled around the dissolving corpse, steaming slightly in the humid air. But Erel could already hear movement through the walls, the other prowlers were finding alternate routes, using their knowledge of the corrupted building to flank his position.
The sound came from above first, claws scraping against metal as something large forced its way through the ceiling panels. Then the panel gave way, and the second prowler dropped into the corridor with enough force to crack the concrete floor.
When it attacked, every movement was deliberate and controlled. Its claws targeted specific points, the gaps in his armour, the angles where his sword couldn't effectively parry. Erel found himself being systematically dismantled by an opponent that seemed to understand his capabilities better than he did.
His Adaptive Ouroboros flowed frantically across his body, the scale patterns shifting to reinforce whatever the prowler was targeting. But the creature adapted its approach each time, finding new vulnerabilities as quickly as he could address the old ones.
There was also his stamina. Taking on two prowlers head-on earlier had really tested the limits of his endurance. Each breath that he now drew was laboured, and he could feel his strength wavering, his swings growing slower and limper.
'Need to end this… Fast.'
Instead of trying to match the prowler in an endless struggle, Erel decided to do something unpredictable. He deliberately overextended on a thrust, leaving his left side apparently vulnerable to a devastating counterattack.
The prowler's eyes lit up with satisfaction as it saw the opening. It launched itself at his exposed flank with the same eager hunger that had driven the first one.
But soon he realised that following his plans would lead to his certain death. His Cycle of Rebirth was reactivated for the second time, burning more of his precious flux reserves to see exactly how it would play out. The death-vision showed him the prowler's claws punching through the gap in his armour, tearing through muscle and bone to reach his lung. He would have maybe twenty seconds before blood loss claimed him.
The vision also showed him the creature's exact positioning during the attack, the moment when it would be completely committed to the strike. Armed with that knowledge, he could turn the prowler's intelligence against it.
Rather than changing the approach entirely, Erel simply shifted at the last possible second, his enhanced speed carrying him just out of the creature's reach while his sword found the soft tissue beneath its jaw. The prowler's momentum did the rest, driving the blade deep into its throat as its own attack carried it past his position.
It hit the ground hard, dark blood fountaining from the wound as it thrashed in its death throes. The sounds it made were heartbreaking, not the roars of a monster, but the whimpers of a dying animal. For a moment, Erel almost felt sorry for it.
Then he heard more growling from the corridor ahead, and the feeling passed.
The remaining prowlers had learned from their packmates' deaths. When they came, they came together. Three of them emerged from different access points simultaneously, surrounding him in the narrow corridor.
Erel's flux reserves were running low from the double use of his Cycle of Rebirth. As was his stamina, his arms yearned for rest, his lungs burning with exhaustion. Whatever happened next, he'd have to handle it without the benefit of the Cycle of Rebirth and come out at the top despite his sorry state.
The prowlers began their attack with feints, each one testing a different aspect of his defences. When he turned to face one, another would dart in from his blind spot, forcing him to constantly shift position. They weren't trying to kill him quickly; they were wearing him down, driving him towards a corner, letting exhaustion do most of the work for them.
His Adaptive Ouroboros shifted for defence, but even that had limits. The prowlers' claws found gaps between the scales, leaving burning tracks across his arms and legs. Each wound was shallow but painful.
But Erel had advantages that the prowlers didn't expect. His training with Lyra had included such scenarios. The key was to disrupt their coordination without trying to match their individual capabilities.
Taking a step away from defence, Erel dived into the battle headfirst.
His sword work became deliberately chaotic, abandoning the clean techniques he'd been taught in favour of wild, unpredictable movements. Instead of trying to defend against their coordinated attacks, he introduced randomness into the engagement.
The effect was immediate. The prowlers' pack instincts failed to predict his attacks. When faced with someone who deliberately acted irrationally, their coordination began to break down.
One prowler hesitated when he should have attacked, confused by a sword movement that served no tactical purpose. Another overextended when his erratic footwork created an opening that shouldn't have existed. Within seconds, their careful pack tactics had devolved into a confused melee.
Erel exploited the confusion ruthlessly. His blade found the first prowler's spine while it was still trying to figure out why he'd suddenly started fighting like a madman. The second fell when its packmate's thrashing knocked it off balance at exactly the wrong moment.
The final prowler, now alone and facing an opponent who had just killed two of its packmates, did something that surprised him; it backed down. The creature's aggressive posture shifted to something more defensive as it realised it was outmatched. For a moment, they stared at each other across the blood-soaked corridor.
Then the prowler's survival instincts overrode its pack loyalty, and it turned to flee.
Erel couldn't let it escape. His sword caught the fleeing creature between the shoulder blades, dropping it before it could reach the nearest exit.
The corridor fell silent except for the sound of his own laboured breathing and the sweat dripping from his matted hair. Dark blood pooled around the four dissolving corpses in the narrow corridor, steaming in the humid air. But through the floor, he could feel vibrations that suggested something much larger was moving in the depths below.
His flux reserves were seriously depleted from the double use of his Cycle of Rebirth, and he was bleeding from a dozen minor wounds. But he was alive, and the immediate threat had been dealt with.
Erel began moving deeper into the stadium's looking for Lyra. It was time to strike the kin.
The hunt was far from over, but the first phase was complete. Six prowlers down, and Erel was still breathing. Not bad for a night that had started with him having serious doubts about his own survival chances.