Chapter Nine: The Hunt
Stepping outside the café, Seth brushed past the collapsed doorway. The wood no had long since rotted away, nothing more than dust and splinters crunching underfoot.
The street lay in ruin, silent but for the whisper of wind weaving through hollowed-out windows. Then—movement.
To his right, two wolves stepped into view, emerging from behind the wreckage. Their hulking frames swayed with each stride, their gray fur matted, jaws hanging open as they sniffed at the air. They were the same ones he heard earlier but currently they haven't seen him yet.
Seth bent down, picked up a handful of stones, and tossed them. The clatter echoed. Both wolves turned at once, their heads snapping toward him. A low growl rumbled from their throats.
One bounded forward immediately, the other hung back, loosing a reverberating howl before charging to join its mate.
Seth's lips curved into a grin. Excitement thrummed in his veins.
With a thought, the One Sword appeared in his hand. The blade caught the sunlight, gleaming black. And then—he felt it.
The effect of the trait. Even while restricted.
His grip shifted into a natural stance. His feet adjusted without conscious thought. His shoulders angled, his core tightened. It was as if the sword had always belonged there, like his body had been molded for it.
The first wolf lunged. Seth sidestepped smoothly, his sword arcing down in a single clean swing. The beast's head left its shoulders in midair, tumbling away as the body skidded across the ground before lying still.
The second wolf lunged for his side. Seth spun, his left fist snapping forward. Bone crunched. The wolf flew back faster than it had come, its head caved in against the ground.
An orb of light floated free from the severed wolf, drifting into Seth's chest. A sharp notification rang in his head. He ignored it, gaze settling on the mangled beast that still twitched on the ground.
So fragile. Too fragile.
This wasn't instinct-driven flailing anymore. This was precision. He no longer fought to survive with instinct—he fought with intent. He could….. feel the guiding force directing his swing until it felt natural.
And he liked it.
Seth ended the second wolf with another punch. Its skull shattered like brittle wood, another orb slipping into him.
His physical strength now was nothing to scoff at.
He crouched by the corpses, dug into their heads, and pulled free two faintly glowing cores. Absorbing them, he felt his inner flow grow denser, his panel flickering.
SATURATION: 9%.
He straightened and kept walking. He needed more prey.
What followed was a blur of blood and steel.
A horned lizard, no bigger than a cat but fast enough to blur, streaked toward him. Its horn gleamed with an unnatural sheen in the sun. Seth barely slipped aside the first time, but on the second leap his trait guided him—his wrist flicked just right, and his blade sheared the beast in two.
[You have consumed the soul of a Level 4 Initiate Being: +0.4 SP.]
A spider the size of a hound. A giant bee that dove like an arrow. A chameleon whose ambush failed by a hair. Wolves, lizards, more beasts drawn by the scent of battle or found along the way.
Each fight ended quicker than the last. His stance shifted, his strikes grew sharper, his body and the blade moving as one. With his trait as a guide, he was progressing fast on the part of sword mastery.
One by one, he cut them down.
And with every core absorbed, the glow beneath his navel grew heavier, brighter.
SATURATION: 93%.
Now he stood still.
Ahead of him, crouched low on all fours, was a creature unlike the others.
It looked almost like a cat—if cats were the size of leopards, with matted fur black as soot and eyes burning crimson. Its shoulders bunched with coiled muscle, its claws digging furrows into the cracked pavement.
The aura it exuded pressed against him like a physical weight. Far stronger than the wolves. Stronger than the apes.
The red-eyed beast growled low, lips curling back to reveal gleaming fangs.
Seth gripped his sword tighter, grin spreading once more.
The two locked eyes.
A staring contest. Predator against predator.
And then—silence, save for the sound of his own heartbeat, quickening in his ears.