Rise Of The Monster Slayer

Chapter 8: Ascension

The blaring warning from his newly acquired Predator’s Instinct was the only thing that saved his life.

The passive skill didn't just alert his mind; it violently seized his central nervous system with a freezing, paralyzing grip. The sky fractured into absolute blackness as a colossal pressure crashed over the twisting woods.

Aren didn't look up to identify the threat. He didn't waste a precious millisecond trying to assess the massive shadow plummeting directly toward his tree. Driven by the terrifying rush of adrenaline flooding his mutated veins, he simply threw himself outward, launching his body blindly into the freezing night air.

While in free fall, he triggered Shadow Burst, radically altering his trajectory. He propelled himself horizontally toward a neighboring cluster of dense, thorny oaks, sailing across the fifty-foot gap like a fired cannonball.

A fraction of a second later, the massive ironwood tree he had been resting in simply ceased to exist.

A colossal set of razor-sharp talons, smashed into the thick trunk. The impact sounded like a powder keg detonating. The ancient, iron-hard tree was instantly splintered into thousands of deadly, jagged wooden shrapnel pieces, raining destruction down upon the forest floor.

Aren crashed violently through the dense canopy of the neighboring oak tree. He completely ignored the thick, bioluminescent thorns tearing deep gouges into his boiled leather tunic and skin, allowing the branches to break his fall before he dropped heavily to the muddy forest floor. He immediately rolled into the deep, suffocating shadow of a massive, moss-covered boulder and looked up into the sky.

Circling back up into the bruised purple clouds was a Shadow-Rook.

It was a terrifying avian monster, a Class-C aerial threat that possessed a wingspan wide enough to cast a shadow over an entire city block. Its feathers weren't made of keratin; they were overlapping plates of dark, tempered steel that ground against each other with a horrific, metallic shrieking sound. Its massive eyes burned with a sickly, concentrated yellow light, searching the rubble below for the prey it had just missed.

The colossal bird let out a metallic screech that sent violent tremors through the bedrock and rattled his newly hardened teeth. Angry that it had missed its midnight snack, the massive creature banked sharply away, its steel wings slicing through the thick clouds as it headed back toward the higher, jagged peaks of the Wasteland mountains.

Aren stayed perfectly still, his back pressed hard against the cold stone of the boulder, until the massive bird was completely out of sight and the metallic grinding of its wings faded into the wind.

He let out a slow, shaking breath, sliding down the rock until he was sitting in the mud.

The intense, addictive euphoria of his recent hunts vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, sobering, an utterly terrifying reality. He had become arrogant. Killing Razor-Boars and Lesser Wolves with his bare hands and crude weapons had made him feel invincible. The Evolution System had given him power he had never dreamed of, but the Shadow-Rook was a harsh, undeniable reminder of his actual place in the food chain.

He was stronger than a normal human, yes. But the Wasteland was home to primordial monsters that could effortlessly level cities and crush ironwood trees like dry twigs. To a creature like the Shadow-Rook, Aren’s Level 3 stats meant absolutely nothing. He was just a worm crawling in the mud.

If he wanted to survive out here—if he truly wanted to return to the glittering white walls of Asteria, make Captain Darius pay for his cowardly betrayal, and protect Lily—being merely "strong" wasn't going to be enough.

He needed to become terrifying. He needed to evolve.

"One more core," Aren muttered to himself, his voice completely devoid of fear, replaced instead by a cold, calculating determination. He gripped the hilts of his jagged bone daggers. "I just need one more."

He spent the entirety of the next day pushing his limits, venturing much deeper into the Twisting Woods. The environment grew noticeably more hostile and oppressive with every mile he walked. The air here was heavy, smelling sharply of ozone and rotting meat. The thorny underbrush grew so thick it blotted out the sky, plunging the forest into a state of perpetual, suffocating twilight.

His Predator's Instinct hummed constantly at the base of his skull, an invaluable radar that helped him navigate safely around the marked territories of monsters that were currently far too powerful for him to fight.

By nightfall, he finally found exactly what he was looking for.

Using his Shadow Vision, he picked up a faint, glowing trail of neon red heat signatures. He tracked the trail for two miles, moving with the silent, terrifying grace of a seasoned predator, until he reached a small, rocky clearing surrounded by steep, muddy embankments.

Resting in the center of the clearing was a pack of four Lesser Shadow Wolves. They were lounging in the dirt, lazily gnawing on the massive, cracked femurs of an unknown creature.

Aren didn't rush in. He analyzed the pack. Four wolves were dangerous, but manageable if he utilized the element of surprise. He needed to secure the largest one—the pack leader—first.

He slowly scaled the trunk of a massive oak tree overlooking the clearing. His Agility allowed him to climb without making a single sound, his boots finding perfect purchase on the slick bark. He crept through the dense canopy, positioning himself on a thick branch directly over the largest wolf of the pack.

He slowly drew two of his crude bone daggers. The blades were stained with the dried, dark blood of his previous kills.

His heart beat in a slow, rhythmic, highly controlled cadence. He only needed one core to trigger Phase 2 of his metamorphosis. The system had promised extreme biological restructuring once he hit the ten-core milestone. The key to his survival in this nightmare world was resting directly below him.

He tightened his grip on his weapons. He shifted his weight, preparing to let go of the branch and drop silently like a stone toward the unsuspecting pack leader below.

He was ten feet away from dropping. Five feet. His muscles coiled tight, ready to unleash a lethal Shadow Burst the second his boots touched the mud.

A deafening, unnatural roar shook the very bedrock of the Wasteland.

It wasn't a roar of anger, or a territorial challenge. It was a roar of absolute, primal, world-ending terror. The sheer decibel level hit like a concussive shockwave, stripping the surrounding trees bare and sent a violent tremor through the oak branch Aren was crouching on.

The pack of Lesser Wolves beneath Aren completely ignored the human hovering above them. They didn't bare their fangs. They didn't look for a fight. They scattered in absolute, blinding panic, whining pathetically like beaten pups as they abandoned their den and sprinted wildly into the thorny woods, desperate to escape whatever had just made that terrifying sound.

Aren froze on the branch, his daggers raised, his Predator's Instinct screaming at him so loudly it gave him a blinding migraine. The clearing below him was completely empty.

He slowly, agonizingly turned his head toward the deep woods to his left.

Fifty yards away, the massive, shadow-drenched trunk of an ancient tree violently snapped in half. The heavy timber crashed to the ground, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and debris that washed over the clearing.

Stepping slowly through the ruined tree line, its massive, heavy paws sinking deep into the mud, was the Shadow Wolf Alpha.

It was the exact same Class-B beast that had slaughtered the Vanguard recruits and left Aren for dead in the collapsed gorge days ago. The beast's jagged pelt cracked with latent magical energy, and a localized aura of absolute darkness clung to its massive frame.

The Alpha stopped in the center of the clearing. Slowly, the giant beast tilted its massive head upward.

it's unnatural stare bore down through the suffocating canopy, pinning him in place.