The fight became a terrifying duet, a call and response played out in the claustrophobic dark. The Jag-Wolf was the lead instrument, its power a percussive, explosive force. Kael was the frantic counter-melody, a desperate attempt to survive the onslaught.
He scrambled deeper into the cave, away from the entrance and the all-consuming roar of the Shard-Storm. The absolute darkness was both his curse and his only shield. The only sources of light were the six glowing orbs of the Jag-Wolf's eyes, a constellation of hungry malice that bobbed and weaved through the blackness as it stalked him. He used the cave's natural architecture, the stalagmites and rock formations he could feel but not see, as temporary cover, a blind man's desperate dance.
The Jag-Wolf was impossibly fast for its size. Its heavy body, which should have been clumsy and loud, moved with a silent, fluid grace. The scraping of its claws was deliberate, a tool to unnerve him, not a byproduct of its movement. It stalked him with a predator's patience, its low growls turning into a series of deep, resonating hums. They were hunting songs, vibrations that seemed to press in on him from all sides, designed to confuse and disorient its prey.
It lunged again, a black shape detaching from the greater blackness. Kael threw himself to the side, his shoulder colliding painfully with a pillar of cold stone. He heard the now-familiar CRUNCH as the stalagmite he had been hiding behind just a second before ceased to exist, its matter violently undone by the creature's resonant bite. The air filled with the dust of pulverized rock.
Amidst the terror, a single, critical observation pierced through Kael's panic. The Jag-Wolf had to make physical contact. Its devastating power was delivered only through its fangs. This was his one, slim advantage. His own power, his Dissonance, worked at a distance. He didn't have to touch the beast to hurt it.
The knowledge was a sliver of light in the oppressive dark. He wasn't just prey. He could fight back.
The cave was not a flat arena. As the Jag-Wolf circled, its six eyes glowing, Kael looked up into the absolute blackness above. He couldn't see the ceiling, but he knew from the echoes and the feel of the air that it was high and likely uneven, covered in the same stalactites that littered the floor. He decided to alter the battlefield.
He waited for the creature to pause, its head cocked as it tried to pinpoint his location. He focused, not on the beast itself, but on the ceiling directly above it. He gathered his dissonance, not into a scream, but a sharp, focused hum. He unleashed it upwards.
There was a series of sharp cracking sounds from above, and then a shower of smaller, fist-sized stalactites rained down. He hadn't brought down the whole ceiling, just shaken loose the weakest growths. The stony projectiles clattered harmlessly off the Jag-Wolf's thick obsidian armor plates, but the unexpected assault from above startled it. It let out a surprised, furious roar, giving Kael precious seconds to scramble to a new position behind a thick cluster of rock formations.
He had its attention. He had proven he was more than just cowering meat.
Kael knew a direct attack on the creature's main body would be suicide. Its obsidian hide was thick, non-resonant, designed by nature to be resistant to the very forces it wielded. He needed a weak point. He remembered the image from that first spark of light: the interlocking plates of its armor. What about the joints? The places where the plates had to meet, where there must be a softer, more flexible crystalline structure to allow for movement. The armpits, the neck, the hips. Those were the targets.
He needed to create an opening. He needed light.
His hands shaking, he fumbled for his fire-starting kit again. He had to draw the creature in, make it commit. He struck the stones together, once, twice, and on the third try, another brief, brilliant shower of sparks lit the cave.
The Jag-Wolf was closer than he thought. It used the moment of light to charge. Kael was ready. He didn't run. He held his ground.
He let the creature get terrifyingly close, close enough to smell the musky scent of its hide, close enough to see the hungry light in its six eyes. It reared up on its hind legs, preparing for a decisive, crushing bite from above, its massive form eclipsing the darkness.
In that instant, its front legs left the ground, and for a fraction of a second, its underbelly and the crucial joints where its legs connected to its torso were exposed.
It was the opening he needed.
Kael didn't scream. He didn't have time. He poured all his power into a single, piercing lance of pure dissonance, a silent, focused needle of sound. He aimed it with absolute precision at the creature's front left leg joint.
He didn't just hear the result. He felt it. A sharp, resonant SNAP that echoed not in the cave, but deep inside his own skull.
The Jag-Wolf's triumphant roar died in its throat, replaced by a sound of pure, unadulterated pain and rage. Its lunge faltered. Its front left leg, the joint shattered internally, buckled. It collapsed forward, its massive weight crashing to the stone floor with a tremendous boom.
It was wounded. But it was far from defeated.
It pushed itself up, its injured leg dragging uselessly. It turned its head, and the six glowing eyes fixed on him with a new intensity. The cold, predatory intelligence was gone, replaced by a burning, furious hatred. He had hurt it. He had maimed it. He had proven he was not just prey; he was a rival. And the Jag-Wolf was now ready to eradicate him, to shatter him into a fine dust that would mingle with the floor of its violated den.