They weren’t fourth‑rank creatures, not yet at least. They were third‑rank, more or less self‑aware. Beefed up by the moon, but above all by an animal intelligence born of excessive absorption of essence corrupted by negative energy. They moved as though they understood what danger was, what the Guardian was.
And for the first ti, they hesitated.
They lingered just outside the circle. Their heads tilted slightly, as if sizing up the space, searching for blind spots. One of them sidestepped, its claws sinking into the sticky ground in a fluid, precise motion...
The Guardian flicked his wrist.
That was enough.
The blade sliced the air with the sa thodical slowness. It traced a perfect arc following the curve of the creature’s flank. But this ti the blow wasn’t clean.
The beast pulled back just in ti.
Not enough to avoid the strike, but enough to deflect it. The cut gouged deep, spraying a fountain of dark blood, yet the creature leapt back with a guttural snarl. It limped, but it stayed on its feet.
And in that roar there was sothing else.
As if answering its own pain and taunting the Guardian.
Elisa straightened slightly, her gaze locking on the wounded creature.
"She dodged it," she murmured.
"Not completely," Dylan replied softly. "But she understood. She’s not just a beast after all."
A second monster appeared, then a third. They didn’t attack together. They circled, approaching in arcs like wolves. Their skin bore signs of multiple mutations: overlong claws, visible ribs, red veins pulsing beneath the surface.
One of them didn’t wait long and sprang forward.
This ti the Guardian raised his left arm—the one he’d never used before. A bare hand, no sword. He opened it.
The air folded.
The creature was stopped mid‑leap, its body shattered against an invisible wall without a word, without a whimper. It collapsed like a dislocated puppet.
Yet the others saw.
And despite their fear, despite that display of power, none of them backed down. Their hunger mattered more than their own lives.
Good for them if the Guardian was powerful—they still wanted to test him, taste his flesh, gorge on his anima gems.
Dylan reluctantly took a step back.
"They’ll lose patience eventually," he said. "They’re not acting like a pack anymore."
"I don’t think so," Elisa replied. "They seem more interested in figuring him out, finding a way through."
He glanced at Maggie, still at the center, brow slick with sweat, eyelids closed. An anima gem still glowed between her fingers. Around her, other shards lay empty, shattered, drained of their light.
Despite the tension, despite the blood, she remained seated, absorbing, as if nothing else mattered.
"We don’t have much ti," Dylan murmured.
Even the mist itself seed to thicken around the circle, as if trying to hold at bay what even the Guardian could no longer contain indefinitely.
But sothing was approaching.
Sothing older, heavier, more... awakened.
And it wasn’t the Demon, not yet.
——
The crack of bones as the monster slamd into the invisible air‑wall echoed like a sinister warning. Yet the sll of dark blood and the sudden death of one of their own did not break the resolve of those still standing.
On the contrary. The wounded creature’s guttural snarl seed to act as a signal. A flicker of primitive understanding, terrifyingly effective, passed through their bloodshot eyes.
They all stepped back in perfect unison, beyond the imdiate reach of the Guardian’s slow but fatal blade. But this wasn’t a retreat—it was recalibration. Their heads turned, no longer just toward the Guardian but toward Maggie, seated in the center, ravenously absorbing the gems’ essence. The flickering glow of the anima gem in her hand seed to draw them in, an obsession stronger than the fear of death.
"They’re shifting targets," Elisa murmured, her dagger sliding silently from its sheath. Her eyes tracked the monsters’ feline movents.
"Too smart to just rush him," Dylan agreed, knuckles whitening on his weapon’s haft. "They’re probing for a weakness. Maggie..."
As if on cue, the three remaining creatures—the wounded one hobbling but determined, and two others with grotesquely long claws—spread out. They no longer just circled the Guardian; they lurked around the entire periter, testing the invisible boundary the thickening mist seed to reinforce but also, perhaps, testing the Guardian’s limits. Their shadows, warped and nacing, cut across the moonlit haze.
One of them, the smallest but uncannily fluid in movent, crept dangerously close to the circle’s edge on the side opposite the Guardian. It sniffed the air, its black tongue flicking over its fangs. The Guardian rely turned his head but kept his stance. The threat was electric, suspended in the viscous air.
Then the wounded beast seized its chance. Exploiting the Guardian’s diverted attention, it lunged diagonally, not at the Guardian but toward the space between him and Elisa, aiming squarely for Maggie. A low, triumphant growl, equal parts pain and defiance, tore from its throat.
The Guardian reacted with terrifying precision. His right arm, holding the sword, barely flickered. But his left arm, which had once stilled the air, rose again, palm open toward the assailant. The air before it darkened, ready to solidify.
But the third creature, lurking near Dylan, pounced. Not at the Guardian, not at Maggie but at Dylan. In one blazing, calculated strike, it aid to distract, to create chaos.
"DYLAN!" Elisa scread, rushing forward, dagger flashing for an interception.
For the first ti the Guardian hesitated for the blink of an eye. Should he contain the strike toward Maggie or shield Dylan from the ambush? In that infinitesimal mont the wounded beast, with a triumphant bellow, crossed the line the Guardian’s left arm couldn’t seal in ti. It dove, hobbling but swift, straight for Maggie, claws outstretched for a lethal blow, black drool dripping from its jaws.
Elisa’s blood ran cold. Dylan, engaged in parrying the third creature’s claws with a tallic clang, was helpless to intervene. The wounded beast’s triumphant snarl turned into a bestial grin as it closed in on the unsuspecting woman lost in her absorption.
And at that precise mont, when those claws were just a ter from Maggie’s skull, the ground trembled.
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