Blood of the Beast God

Chapter 03: The Hungry Wolves

A gamble.

That’s what it all came down to. Kaelen was literally betting his life on whether a few burning sticks could scare off the wolves circling in the dark.

It could go one of two ways. Either the beasts snapped, their bloodlust boiling over until they ripped him apart, or fear got the better of them and they slunk back into the night. Fifty–fifty. Heads or tails.

Those odds were enough for him. Nothing in this world was ever certain—never a hundred percent. He knew that much already. And with half the chance tilted in his favor, Kaelen tightened his jaw and committed.

His gaze stayed fixed on the glowing eyes in the dark. Four wolves, circling, patient. He knew full well he wasn’t strong enough to face them all at once. Not yet.

The burning sticks arced red through the air, hissing as they fell—but not one connected. He wasn’t trained for this. No special talent for throwing, no uncanny precision. His movements were smooth enough, practiced even, but the wolves slipped away with ease. His eyes narrowed.

The gap between someone like him and a seasoned fighter was more than just numbers on a sheet. Attributes mattered, yes, but so did skill—real, honed talent. If he’d been blessed with even the slightest knack for throwing, one of those sticks would have hit. His technique wasn’t the issue. His limits were.

Then the night split with a howl.

The pack cried louder, sharper, their hunger bleeding into the sound. For a breath, hope flared in Kaelen’s chest. One wolf’s gaze flicked nervously toward the bonfire. With a low whine, it turned tail and vanished into the starless dark.

One gone. Three left.

Better, but hardly safe. The fire was already burning low, eating itself to ash. The three wolves that remained prowled restlessly, their eerie green eyes flashing like lanterns in the night.

Kaelen stopped tossing sticks. He knew the truth of it: the first strike has power, the second loses bite, the third is nothing. He had never planned to chase them all away. Just thin the numbers. Push one off the field and make the fight survivable.

If he pressed too hard, he risked something worse. Wolves could break, yes, but they could also change. Mutate. He didn’t want that. Facing three wolves was bad enough. Facing one warped, twisted thing after exhausting his strength? That was suicide.

This was Glory’s Grace, after all. A game-world, yes, but its rules had teeth. Even a small mutation—a wolf with +3 Strength or +2 Agility—would tip the scales beyond his reach.

Patience, then. He could endure the pain stabbing his chest. The more time passed, the more their frenzy would fade.

His fingers brushed the linen wraps across his ribs. The wound still burned, but his body—data or flesh, whatever it really was—was tougher than it looked. A normal man would be crumpled in the dirt. Here, it had cost him a single point across his attributes. Painful, but manageable.

Above him, the stars were fading. The Milky Way washed thin. Pale light brushed the horizon. The night was ending, but the battle wasn’t.

When the last burning stick slipped from his fingers, the wolves lost their hesitation. They surged forward at once. Agile shadows, rushing in. One leapt, springing high with terrifying grace.

Its jaws gaped wide, teeth glinting like knives. Claws curled, ready to tear. Death itself came flying at him.

Kaelen didn’t flinch. He knew wolves. Fast, always fast. Glory’s Grace had taught him that much. They were creatures of Agility. Speed in every motion—running, striking, reacting.

That’s why he had already moved, pressing himself into the corner of his makeshift camp. Back braced against a log, flanks protected by the crude barricade. One direction left open: straight ahead. If a wolf wanted him, it had to come from the front.

And one-on-one? Barehanded, he could manage that.

The stench of its breath washed over him as it lunged. Kaelen thrust out both hands. He wasn’t faster, but he didn’t need to be. He’d walked through this moment in his mind again and again. His strike was prepared. Theirs was instinct. Strength against recklessness.

The Trial of Death only spawned level-one monsters. Nothing stronger should exist here.

And this wolf—this wasn’t even a true level one. He could see it. Its Agility couldn’t be higher than five. Four wolves together had been too much, but one?

A grin tugged at his lips.

Instead of dodging, Kaelen lunged forward, seizing its forelegs mid-leap. He roared, swinging with all his strength. The wolf’s body smashed into a log with a bone-rattling crack.

Something warm and wet splattered across his chest. Not water. Blood.

A jagged stump on the log had split the beast’s hide, tearing a gash nearly two inches long. Red streaked through its brown fur, dripping down the wood.

But he didn’t stop. Wounded prey was prey still. Wolves didn’t die from one hit. He swung again, slamming its body into the logs like a hammer.

This time, the creature didn’t fall.

It roared—a guttural, soul-shaking sound that stabbed his ears. Its green eyes flared red. A pale aura flared across its body, thick and unnatural.

The wolf had mutated.

Strength surged. Speed spiked. Kaelen felt it in the way it wrenched free, crashing to the dirt and scrambling upright. This wasn’t the same fight anymore.

But he didn’t give it the chance. He stepped in, fist like iron, and brought it down on the wolf’s skull.

The blow landed with brutal force. The beast froze, dazed. The head was its strongest point and its weakest—hard to break, but vital. Kaelen had found the opening.

One strike. That was all he needed.

He followed with another. And another. His fists hammered down like rain in a storm. Flesh split. Blood sprayed. The proud creature’s head crumpled under the onslaught, turning to ruin.

At last, the wolf sagged with a final whimper, its body slack. Dead.

Panting, Kaelen let himself collapse back against the logs, his body trembling, his chest heaving. Through the gaps in the wood, he saw it—the dawn breaking, painting the world in gold.

Victory.

They were only wolves, small foes in the vastness of this strange world. But to him, it was everything. His first fight in Glory’s Grace. His first trial.

Life and death. And he had survived.

Satisfaction—quiet, heavy, and real—settled in his heart.