The beast still waited outside. It prowled before the cave mouth, tail dragging furrows into the earth, jagged scales dripping with mana-soaked ichor. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed, hunting for the bloodied scent of prey.
He pressed his back against the cave wall, chest heaving. Behind him, the three survivors huddled: the woman shielding the child, the man pale with blood loss. Their wide eyes told him everything—if the guardian entered, it would be over.
"If it sees them, they're dead," the gauntlet whispered, voice taut.
"Then it sees me."
He stepped out into the night.
The guardian's head snapped toward him instantly. A guttural roar shook the trees, and it charged. The ground cracked beneath its weight, each stride a quake.
He leapt forward to meet it, the gauntlet already morphing into twin blades. Sparks erupted as steel met scale; the impact rattled his bones. He spun, carving shallow wounds into its flank, but the beast retaliated with a swipe that hurled him across the clearing. Pain ripped through his ribs.
Still, he rose.
Tonfa-forms snapped into place, catching the next blow. The barrier generator flared once, dim, and shattered. The sheer force tossed him like a ragdoll, blood splattering the dirt.
"You can't take this for long!" the gauntlet cried.
"I just need fifteen minutes," he gasped, staggering upright.
The fight became a storm.
He dove under its claws, blades singing arcs of steel. He slammed hammer-form into its jaw, the impact echoing like thunder. He fired bolt after bolt from crossbow and gun forms, the rounds sparking against its armored hide. Every strike slowed it, drew its attention, forced it to lash at him instead of turning toward the cave.
The minutes bled together in agony. His arms grew heavier with each morph, lungs burning, mana draining. Claws raked his side, blood pouring. Its tail slammed into his shoulder—bone cracked. Still, he pushed forward, forcing every ounce of strength into movement, refusing to fall.
At last, his vision blurred. The beast loomed over him, breath hot and fetid, eyes burning with killing intent. He raised the gauntlet one final time.
"Don't—" the gauntlet's voice wavered, afraid.
"Fill it. To the brim."
The weapon morphed into gun-form, runes flaring wildly. He poured every last drop of mana into the chamber. The glow grew blinding, the gauntlet vibrating violently, on the edge of tearing itself apart.
The guardian lunged.
He pulled the trigger.
The world split in light and sound. The blast tore across the clearing, a torrent of pure mana that slammed into the beast's chest. Scales shattered. Flesh seared. The guardian howled, collapsing into the dirt, smoking and bleeding heavily.
But when the light faded, the gauntlet was gone—shattered along his arm, fragments smoking, useless.
He collapsed beside it, blood soaking the earth. His vision darkened, consciousness slipping.
The guardian writhed in pain, too wounded to finish him, retreating into the trees with a roar of rage.
And as silence fell, the survivors emerged from the cave—alive only because one man refused to let the monster see them.