The fox's jaws came closer, sharp teeth glinting in the pale light of the tundra, the snow swirling violently around them. Aurel's mind raced, but his body felt like lead—every muscle drained, every movement too slow. His Sixth Sense blared, the soundless alarm screaming in the back of his mind, but it wasn't enough. He could see the fangs descending toward his throat, feel the rush of cold air from the fox's breath.
This is it...
For a brief moment, time seemed to stretch—every second dragging out endlessly, like the world had tilted into slow motion. The fox's eyes gleamed with hunger, its mouth wide open, and Aurel knew, with a chilling certainty, that the next instant would be his last.
Then, something inside him shifted. A deep, visceral click—as if a switch had flipped somewhere deep within his body, buried in the very core of his being.
Adapt.
The word wasn't a conscious thought—it was pure instinct. Aurel's body knew what to do, even if his mind hadn't caught up yet.
The fox's fangs touched his throat.
There was no more time. In that moment, Adaptability roared to life, working faster than it ever had before. It tore through his body like a lightning storm, surging through every cell, every bone, every fiber. Pain—unimaginable, excruciating pain—exploded inside him, spreading from his core to his limbs, burning like molten metal being poured into his veins.
Aurel's back arched against the snow, his jaw clenched so tight it felt like his teeth might shatter. His muscles screamed, his nerves firing uncontrollably, and his skin prickled with an unnatural sensation, like a thousand tiny needles stabbing into him all at once.
And then, something changed.
His body... transformed.
A metallic sheen spread across his skin, glinting under the soft glow of the frozen tundra. It coated him entirely—his muscles, his bones, even the smallest strands of hair. It wasn't armor, exactly. It was his own flesh—hardened, reshaped into something far beyond what it had been.
The fox's jaws clamped down on his throat with deadly force.
The sound of snapping teeth echoed through the air, followed by a sharp, pained yelp. The fox reared back, confusion and fear flickering in its cold blue eyes as its teeth shattered against Aurel's neck. Tiny fragments of broken fangs scattered across the snow.
It stumbled back, snarling, but the snarl was edged with panic now. Blood dripped from its mouth, staining the snow below it.
Aurel lay there, his metallic body unmoving, his eyes staring blankly at the sky. Every part of him felt heavy, impossibly dense, like he had become a statue carved from steel. The fox growled, backing away slowly, its sharp instincts warning it that something had changed—something dangerous.
And then, with a frustrated whimper, the fox turned and fled, its two tails flicking behind it as it disappeared into the swirling snow.
Silence fell over the tundra once more, broken only by the distant howl of the wind.
Aurel lay still in the snow, his mind swimming in a fog of pain and exhaustion. He tried to move—his fingers, his legs, anything—but nothing responded. His body refused to obey him, the metallic sheen locking his limbs in place like iron restraints.
What... what just happened?
His breath came in short, shallow bursts, fogging the air above him. Even breathing felt strange—his lungs expanded and contracted with mechanical precision, the metallic coating around his chest moving like gears turning inside a machine.
It wasn't just his skin. Every part of him—his muscles, his bones, his nerves—had transformed into something cold, hard, unyielding. His body had adapted, but this time, it had gone too far.
It only acted to survive.
Aurel grimaced, the realization settling over him like a weight. Adaptability wasn't concerned with comfort or convenience. When it sensed a threat—when death was certain—it evolved in the most efficient way possible. And in this case, it had turned him into living metal.
The transformation had saved his life, but it had taken everything from him. He couldn't move. He couldn't fight. His limbs were locked in place, stiff and unresponsive.
Aurel's mind raced as he struggled to think through the situation. He knew he couldn't stay like this—not in the middle of the Frostbound Expanse.
He tried again to move, but his body refused to respond. It was as though every joint, every muscle had been welded shut. Panic bubbled at the edges of his mind, but he forced it down, breathing slowly, steadily.
Adaptability will sort this out... he told himself. It has to.
But there was no telling how long it would take. The transformation had been sudden, desperate, and it hadn't accounted for the aftermath. His body had adapted to survive the fox's attack, but it hadn't yet figured out how to function normally again.
Aurel lay in the snow, staring up at the bleak, cloud-covered sky. His heart pounded steadily in his chest—an odd comfort, knowing that at least his body hadn't given out entirely.
The cold wind blew across his metallic skin, but he didn't feel it. The temperature didn't matter anymore. Heat and cold were meaningless when your body was made of steel.
He closed his eyes, frustration gnawing at him. This was a setback—one he hadn't anticipated. But he knew he had to be patient. Adaptability had saved him, and now it just needed time to recalibrate. He had survived the impossible, after all.
The fox had fled, its shattered fangs proof that even the most dangerous beasts in this Realm weren't invincible.
I'll get through this, Aurel thought, gritting his teeth. I always do.
And so he lay there, still as a statue, waiting for the next adaptation to take hold—waiting for his body to figure out how to move again.