Ah, there’s a certain quaintness to pain, isn’t there? The way it creeps into your mind, settles in like an unwelco guest. But here’s the rub — reach a certain threshold, and it starts to dull, droning away in the background like a distant hum.
Perhaps because one has sunk to depths of pain so abysmal, it outstretches even the gloomiest imaginings. Now, I’ve always wondered why monsters — those unsparing creatures — seem so unaffected by the sting of it all. Turns out, the answer’s plain. I’ve felt it too, just like every other monster. In every skirmish, every bout of mutation. We’re all so familiar with suffering that when agony sidles up, it hardly breaks our stride.
And that stride? Oh, it’s always a vicious one. Rather like mine, in this very mont. Now, I’d my doubts about whether my technique’s phase would let slip through this oddly enchanted cage they thought suitable for the likes of . But as it happens, there was no need for worry — I ghosted right past it, so seamlessly that not one of them noticed, wrapped up as they were in their own chatter and rrint.
My skills were already fused by the ti this Tharen guy and his crew managed to catch . But I’d clocked they had so sort of divinator guiding them. Couldn’t let my ace slip out of the bag then, could I? Finally got eyes on the one I reckoned was the divinator, and that little hunch was confird quick enough. Heard enough of their chatter to make it plain as day.
Then, of course, things went and got complicated. More faces, more elves. Couldn’t go charging in, not just yet. Escaping would be easy, if that was my aim. But did I want to? Not after all the humiliation these miserable scum had put through. He had the nerve, the cheek to trample over ! ?! That loathso wretch DARED!
I swallowed the fury simring inside — a cool head, that’s what I needed. Let them off easy? Not bloody likely. A coward, I was no longer. They’d pay, every last one. And by Thalador, this Tharen will rue the day he thought to soil my scales with his filthy boots.
Once I deed we were nicely isolated, I activated my technique. I felt every sense tuned to its purpose, thrumming with a deeper knowledge. The essence of elusiveness, taken to its very extre. A specter, an apparition. No cage could hold , no wall could bar .
Even after becoming a monster and gaining magic, this technique was the first thing that gave a true glimpse into the abyss of power.
I let instinct guide , and the cage was no more. My body sifted like sand, slipping through unseen.
I stayed calm, focused. But first, there was stamina to monitor. My gaze flickered to my stats screen as my eyes adjusted, lenses shifting but still pinned on the Elven vermin. One point of stamina per three seconds — I’d be able to hold this form for about 4.5 minutes.
A plan settled in my mind as I stood there, watching these Elves, my slitted eyes narrowing with a quiet, simring fury. First order of business — take out the blasted mage. One of them was bound to notice my absence soon enough, but not until I’d put this little sche into motion. Step one: make so distance. Four rapid dashes, and I’d gained enough ground to avoid any detection of my mana buildup.
The runes sparked to life, swirling as I poured mana in, skirting the edge of what my veins could take — no intention of overdoing it this ti. But, of course, the mage’s brow furrowed the second he felt it. Monts later, he was shouting, and the others spun around, eyes widening at my empty cage. But by now, I’d nearly finished charging.
The runes thrumd with a full twenty mana — eight, eight, and four into the triad. Potent, imnsely so. This was a safe point. Raw mana alone was enough to make my spells four tis stronger, forced by brute force.
I set my sights on the mage, his eyes wide at the crackling runes hovering by my claws. “LIGHTNING BOLT!” I roared, voice drowned by clap of thunder.
He’d co prepared, apparently; the staff in his hand triggered a wall of earth, leaping up to shield him from the bolt. Earth, of course, was no fan of lightning. But I’d forced so much mana through, the bolt punched clean through the wall, then splintered through his barrier. The impact wasn’t as deadly as I’d hoped, but enough to knock him off his feet, sending him sprawling. Not quite finished, though. Tsk.
I never thought this fight would be easy. But the cold, steady burn of fury driving onward was plenty. The battle had begun.
The mont they caught sight of , it was Tharen who boiled over first, his face going crimson with fury. What, did he really believe sheer rage could best a bit of cleverness? I sneered, baring my fangs in a mocking grin. With no more delay, both warriors sprang into action—Tharen leading the charge, wielding that ice-wreathed blade of his, glistening with lethal sharpness. Certainly not sothing I fancied taking a hit from. And the seething anger on his face as he advanced suggested he’d no qualms about breaking to pieces this ti.
Yet, for all their bluster, they moved as one, closing the gap with eerie synchrony. I saw their strikes long before they reached ; my heightened perception charted every shift. One quick dash, and I phased through them, leaving their swings biting at empty air. If they were shocked, they hid it well. Their attacks ca relentless, forcing to stay nimble, dodging and weaving, while all the while I let my technique settle in, learning its rhythms and nuances. I darted left, then right, my form flickering, distortion rippling around in a blur. But I couldn’t afford to be reckless—I needed to bide my ti, feel out their next move.
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The chill in the air thickened as ice mana surged around , the temperature plumting as they invoked their technique in earnest. Then, without warning, it struck. Each swing they’d made seed to coalesce, the very air around filling with a cage of slicing, icy arcs.
I sensed the slashes flaring in my perception just in ti. No sense staying put, after all—I was no caged beast. A single dash with perfect timing, and I slipped cleanly through the attack, though a nick on my hind leg bit at like a paper cut. No matter. I zeroed in on the second Elven pest, his eyes widening as he realised I’d escaped his frozen web. Too late.
My claws lashed out, one poised for his torso while the other stayed ready as a feint, masked by the shimring distortion around . He raised his sword to block, but the movent was off, my strike slipping past his defense. He shrieked—a glorious sound—as my claws ripped through his leather armour, digging deep enough to draw a satisfying scream. But that was just the opening act. My Echo lashed out after, tearing through his ribcage. More screams, fervent and shrill, ringing out like music to my ears.
“YOU FOUL CREATURE!” Tharen’s furious cry split the air, seething through the clearing.
I had to dodge quick—these fellows weren’t amateurs, and a follow-up attack would only leave wide open. Tharen’s blade was on in a flash. My gaze darted between them, catching a glint of green as the other warrior downed a healing potion. Tch. Bloody cockroaches.
In the background, the earth mage planted himself, likely chugging a potion of his own, now hurling volleys of stone shards and jagged earth spikes to funnel right into Tharen’s reach. But my senses were heightened well beyond the ordinary; each shard, every spike, I danced around them with ease, slipping through the tiniest gaps like water trickling through clenched fingers. Where gaps didn’t exist, I phased right through, untouchable.
Tharen lunged, his frosty blade cutting a deadly diagonal arc. I ducked low, feeling its frigid edge slice through the air just above my horns. In one swift motion, I sprung up, twisting to dodge a spike of earth that erupted exactly where I’d been a heartbeat before. The other warrior, back on his feet and charging from the right, swung high, but I wove past, gliding through their assault like smoke through a keyhole.
Seizing an opening, I struck out. My claws raked across his shoulder as I zipped by, the echo tearing into his armor, his shoulder sagging as he stumbled. The fury in his eyes flared as he steadied himself, another healing potion already in hand.
The mage barked an incantation, and a stone ring shot up around , blocking every exit. But I wasn’t about to be boxed in. My stamina was ticking down fast—less than a minute had passed, but all this dodging had been for naught. Phasing out was an option, but I knew I needed to change tactics. I had to slip out of sight, let the forest work its magic as my cover.
I leapt skyward, wings unfurling just enough to lift over the stone ring, then dove into a dense underbrush below. Tharen muttered sothing in Elven as they regrouped. I circled back, keeping low and out of the mage’s line of sight. It was the second warrior who first spotted , jabbing a finger in my direction. Tharen charged, though the mage hesitated, unsure where to aim. Perfect.
I dodged Tharen’s furious strikes, lunging for his legs. Everywhere he aid to block, my claws found sowhere else to strike, slipping around his defences like a whisper of death.
"Damn the coin—you’re long past due for a dirt nap, YOU FILTHY BEAST!” He surged forward again, blade iced over, aiming straight for my chest. I sidestepped, quick as a blink, letting his own blind rage do the work for . Oh, the sweet delight of fury and folly; his first blunder, courtesy of yours truly.
With a flick of my tail, I hooked his ankle, sending him teetering. A fleeting wobble—but enough. My claws flashed across his torso, leaving a nice, neat line. His face contorted in agony, and the echo followed—a ripping reverberation enough to coax a scream and a drop of his guard as he clasped at the wound, his ice-blade flickering like a candle in the wind. I seized the opportunity, aiming low at his belt where those ridiculous potions dangled. Tharen’s eyes flared in panic as I shredded it; bottles spilled, smashed, and their precious contents mingled with the dirt. The echo slashed a deeper cut across his side, a taste of my good work.
The mage wasn’t daft, though. He flung his hand up, summoning a stony deluge to rain down. I darted, twisted mid-leap to evade the worst of it, though one shard clipped my wing, a shock of pain making hiss. No matter—I stayed locked in. Tharen was down, so it was high ti I paid the others a visit. The mage and their divinator sidekick were up first. The divinator? Hardly a worry; battle wasn’t his scene, poor sod. But letting him scarper? Not in the cards, I’m afraid. I landed low, rolled up, and dashed forward, slipping under the second warrior’s frosty swipe, straight at the mage. No Tharen to coddle him now.
Four mana charged into my fire gland, ready to torch this hapless lot. Oh, the warrior’s astonishnt— Couldn’t quite fathom I could breathe fire as well, even after he’d seen it! Simpletons. I aid for his belt, naturally; those lovely healing elixirs needed warming up. No better way to ruin their day than turning them into a simring ss.
Another dash and I was on the mage. No shield to hide behind, just bare flesh waiting for a proper lesson. Claws clamped around his wrist, the staff dropped, and I didn’t give him the chance to squeak before I buried my teeth in his throat. The divinator’s scream ca next, and as I turned, bloodied grin in place, I tore through him with a single bound.
The second warrior wailed at the sight of his friends’ demise. Before he knew it, I was upon him, montum carrying my swipe into his torso. Flesh parted like ripe fruit, and an echo followed as his innards spilled. With a twisted smile, I added a ‘kiss,’ tearing his jaw from his face, his scream still hanging in the air.
A swift jab to his throat and silence fell, blessedly final.
Tharen, poor Tharen, seed sowhat recovered now, frozen in horror at the grim display before him. A chuckle bubbled up in my throat, swelling into a full-bodied, gravelly laugh. Oh, the shock! The heartbreak! The absolute emptiness in his eyes.
I scooped up his mate’s corpse, took a nice bite from his ear, and spat. “Ghastly taste, that. Suits the company, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Tharen?”
His face twisted, furious at first, then fell as realisation dawned. “What? Never heard a beast speak so proper?”
I had a few things to pry out of him before his visit to my digestive tract. He wouldn’t tell willingly, but never fear—I’ve always been rather skilled at drawing out confessions.
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