“NOOOOOOOO!
HELP ME…!”
Stark’s
desperate cries echoed across the desert as he sprinted through the
loose sand. Behind him, a swirling cloud of dust marked a beast’s
pursuit. He glanced over his shoulder and screamed again.
The
desert Stilo was gaining on him, its eyes fixed on him. Stark
recognized the beast—it was the same kind Krul used to roast for
meals.
“You
never told me they breathe <b>fucking
FIRE!</b>”
he shouted.
Suddenly,
the Stilo unleashed a torrent of flames. Stark dove to the side,
feeling the searing heat sting his back. The sand behind him hissed
but Stark kept running.
Above
him, Krul hovered effortlessly using his wings. He smirked, a plate
of roasted meat in one hand.
“Use
that sword and kill the Stilo!” Krul said while munching on the
roast meat with an amused smirk.
“Easy
for you to say! You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Stark
shouted back.
Krul
chuckled, taking another bite of his meal. “Consider
it a practical lesson.”
Over
time, Krul incorporated basic swordsmanship into Stark’s
routine, only after he had mastered the cave runs and bodyweight
exercises.
The
results were striking. His muscles now defined and lean. His hair
patchy grew back thick.
Stark
had grown taller, his posture no longer hunched but upright.
But
all the drills in the world hadn’t
prepared him for a fire-breathing Stilo charging at full speed.
<b>THUD.</b>
Stark
collided face-first with an invisible wall, the impact sending him
stumbling backward. He groaned, rubbing his forehead, but before he
could gather his bearings, the Stilo charged. Its head rammed into
his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He collapsed to the ground,
gasping, clutching his gut.
The
beast stepped back, its chest heaving as it prepared to unleash the
fire breath.
“Get
up,” Krul’s voice rang out.
A
faint purple glow encased the Stilo, freezing it in place. Krul
hovered nearby, his outstretched hand glowing purple. He had isolated
this stretch of the desert, trapping Stark with the beast.
“No
running this time, Human Child” Krul added, smirking.
Stark
staggered to his feet, wincing as pain filled his bruised abdomen.
His grip tightened on his sword, sweat dripping. He cautiously
stepped out, his gaze fixed on the beast.
“Good
luck,” Krul smirked, releasing the Stilo from his hold.
The
beast roared and unleashed a blazing stream of fire. Stark dove to
the side, the heat grazing his arm as the sand hissed. The Stilo
charged again, swift.
<i>I
can</i><i>’t
face it head-on. Think.</i>
He
sidestepped, swinging his blade as the beast lunged. His strike
missed, plunging into the sand instead. The Stilo wheeled around,
spitting flames that forced Stark to roll away, barely escaping.
“You
damn beast,” Stark muttered through gritted teeth.
The
Stilo charged again before Stark could fully rise. He barely had time
to lift his sword in defense. The beast’s
head slammed into the blade, sending him hurtling into the loose
sand.
“Ugh…”
Stark groaned, coughing and spitting grains of sand. His arms
trembled from the impact, his grip on the sword weak but somehow
intact.
“Good
defense,” Krul’s voice called out. “Now get up and aim for its
weak points.”
“Weak
points?” Stark yelled, glaring at Krul. “Does it even <i>have</i>
any?”
“Find
them,” Krul replied, his smirk widening.
“You
senile old devil…” Stark muttered under his breath, tightening
his grip on the sword.
He
forced himself to his feet.
The
next moments were a blur. The Stilo rammed into him repeatedly,
tossing him like a rag doll. He swung his sword wildly, hitting
nothing but empty air. By the time the world faded to black, his body
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Stark’s
eyes fluttered open to the familiar dusty ceiling of the cave, fully
recovered and rested due to Krul’s magic.
He
sat up slowly, glancing around. Krul sat nearby, in a chair,
engrossed in a book.
“How
was your first fight, child?” Krul asked without looking up.
Stark
rubbed his forehead, glaring at him. “What
the hell was that? Why did you make me fight a fire-breathing
monster?”
Krul
finally glanced at him, puzzled. “What
do you mean? Stilo is the weakest beast in the region.”
“Huh?
<i>That</i><i>’s</i>
the weakest?”
“Of
course,” Krul said, turning a page in his book.
Stark
groaned, leaning back against the wall. “What
about the bone-eaters?”
“The
normal ones?” Krul asked casually.
“Both,”
Stark
still had nightmares about the Elder bone-eater. Its sinister smile
haunted his sleep, . Every morning, he woke drenched in cold sweat,
his chest heaving as if the beasts were still looking for him.
“Normal
bone-eaters are low-level monsters,” Krul began. “But Elders?
They range from mid to high-level.”
“There’s
a difference?” Stark asked curiously.
Krul
nodded. “Yes.
The longer an Elder survives, the stronger and smarter it becomes.
Decades of survival allow it to evolve into something far more
dangerous—an Ancient.”
Stark’s
brow furrowed. “An Ancient… Is it that terrifying?”
“Terrifying
doesn’t cover it.”
“Is
it huge?” Stark asked, imagining a towering beast.
Krul
shook his head. “No,
child. That’s the most unsettling part. Ancients look eerily
similar to Elders. But even an army of Elders wouldn’t be able to
touch one.”
Stark
hesitated, then asked, “Is
it stronger than you?”
Krul
scoffed. “A
mere beast cannot compare to me,” he said with a haughty smirk.
“Then
how do you tell the difference?”
“Their
eyes,” he said, “While an Elder’s eyes are scarlet, an
Ancient’s are a deep purple.”
“We’ll
have another go at the Stilo in the evening,” Krul said casually.
Stark
didn’t
argue. He simply nodded.
The
fights replayed in his mind, each mistake looping endlessly. The only
thing he had truly learned was the basics—slashing, dodging, and
footwork. His swordsmanship was raw, unrefined.
<i>Its
movements are repetitive</i><i>…
I think.</i>
Despite
the fear crawling under his skin, Stark had made it a point to
observe the beast carefully during their last encounter.
<i>I
can do this.</i>
Hours
later, he stood once more, face-to-face with the Stilo. This time, it
was larger—its body strewn with thick fur. Its glowing eyes locked
onto him with a predatory look.
Krul
hovered above, isolating the place from outside interference.
Stark
gripped his sword and studied the beast.
“Show
me what you’ve learned,” he called out, before releasing the
beast.
The
Stilo charged, its claws digging into the sand as it closed the
distance in a blur
Stark
held his ground, gripping his sword tightly.
He
steeled himself to face the beast head-on.
Running
would only waste time and energy. Instead, he stepped aside ,
narrowly avoiding the beast’s
charge.
The
Stilo spun with unnatural agility, unleashing flames. Stark dove,
rolling across the sand and rising to his feet swiftly. His heart
pounded, but his grip on the sword steadied.
The
beast prepared to charge again. Sensing the opportunity. He lunged
forward.
His
sword punched through the air aimed squarely at the creature’s
head.
<i>This
is it.</i>
<b>CLANG</b>
The
sword deflected off the Stilo’s
head. The beast flicked its snout upward, sending Stark flying like a
rag doll.
<i>Huh?</i>
The world spun around him as he shot through the air. <i>Fuck,
I—.</i>
He
landed hard on his shoulder but used the momentum to roll, ending in
a low crouch.
<i>Its
hide is fucking hard.</i>
The
Stilo turned, preparing to charge again. Its movements were
predictable, allowing Stark to dodge easily. But no matter how many
times he evaded, he couldn’t
land a meaningful hit.
Swinging
at its side, his sword struck and recoiled with a strong vibration
that rattled his bones.
<i>Does
it even have weak spots? It</i><i>’s
like I’m swinging at a huge chunk of metal.</i>
Stark
kept his focus on the beast. This time, as the Stilo charged, it
stopped abruptly mid-sprint, anticipating his dodge, and unleashed
it’s
signature breath of flames.
“Fuck!”
Stark raised his sword and arms to shield himself, stumbling
backward.
Pain
surged through him as the searing flames hit at his exposed skin.
His
arms burned and trembled, his grip barely holding onto the sword. His
reddened skin throbbed from the stinging heat, yet his resolve didn’t
falter.
“I
can still do this…” he muttered, the words spilling out like
chant.
The
beast opened its mouth to unleash flames, and Stark jumped back just
in time. The flames scorched the sand, but he could feel the heat
pinching at his skin.
<i>Wait...
its mouth.</i>
Stark
darted to the side as the Stilo charged again, missing its mark.
Frustrated, the beast turned to its flames. Stark’s
sharp eyes followed its movements, sweat dripping from his forehead.
The heat poked at his skin like a thousand needles.
<i>Just
like I thought. </i>
He
lunged straight at the Stilo, weaving slightly to throw it off. As
the beast opened its mouth to breathe fire, Stark stepped sharply to
the side and thrust his blade into the gaping mouth.
The
flames grazed his side, burning his skin, but Stark pressed on. With
a scream of rage, his blade pierced the tender flesh inside the
Stilo’s
mouth.
The
beast screeched in agony, shaking its head violently. Stark was
thrown through the air and landed hard in the sand.
<i>Yes,
a hit</i><i>…
finally.</i>
He
spat blood from his mouth and clutched his aching body, battered from
the impact and the burns. His sword was still in his grip,
miraculously intact.
The
Stilo stood back on its hind legs, blood pouring from its mouth.
That’s
when Stark saw it: the soft underbelly, unprotected by the fur and
shell covering the rest of its body.
<i>This
is my chance. </i>
Ignoring
the pain, he charged forward. His sword swung in a powerful arc,
passing through the exposed flesh like butter. The underbelly spat
out a sea of blood and organs as the beast let out a agonizing
screech.
But
Stark wasn’t
done.
Using
the momentum, he pivoted on his heel and drove his sword forward,
impaling the beast through its belly.
With
a final screech, the Stilo collapsed onto its back, lifeless, taking
Stark’s
sword with it.
He
stood there, clutching his bruised shoulder, adrenaline surging
through him.
<i>I
did it.</i>
His
lips curled into a victorious grin. With a surge of emotion, he
screamed, “YES!
I DID IT!”