Arthur gritted his teeth as the etching knife slipped in his hand, leaving an unsightly scratch across the metal sheet. He stared at the ruined attempt, then at the growing pile of discarded pieces by his feet. Frustration boiled over, and he flung the metal into the corner of the room, where it clanged loudly against the stone wall.
"Damn it!" he growled, slamming the knife down onto the workbench. "This shouldn't be this hard!"
He leaned against the table, rubbing his temples. The Aegis rune had consumed days of effort, each attempt more maddening than the last. He knew he was close—he could feel it—but something always went wrong. His lines were either too shallow, too deep, or just a hair off the proper curve.
"Ancient magic, my ass," he muttered to himself. "More like ancient headaches."
The golden amulet around his neck felt cool against his skin as he tried to steady his breathing. The amulet had been a strange comfort since he found it, though its purpose remained a mystery. Arthur tugged at the cord absently as he considered his next move.
The ruins outside were quiet, the only sound was the faint whistling of the wind through the crumbled stone. He glanced at his pile of failed attempts, debating whether to try again or call it a night. His fingers drummed against the workbench as he tried to muster the patience to give it another go.
Before he could decide, a searing heat flared against his chest. Arthur yelped, gripping the amulet through his tunic. The metal burned hot against his palm, glowing faintly as though alive.
"What the—?" he began, but the sound of a low, guttural growl cut him off.
Arthur froze, his blood running cold. Slowly, he let the amulet fall back against his chest and turned his gaze toward the collapsed entryway of the tower.
The growl came again, deep and resonant, carrying with it the unmistakable weight of something massive. Arthur crouched instinctively, his hand darting to one of the throwing knives strapped to his belt. His ears strained to pick up the sound again.
The wind carried the noise of crunching snow—deliberate, heavy steps.
Arthur's grip tightened on the knife as he reached for his greatsword with his other hand. Its familiar weight was reassuring, but his pulse hammered in his ears. He had faced beasts like this before, but never alone.
A massive shape moved into the faint light filtering through the tower's broken walls. Arthur's breath caught as the monster he recognized as an Ironclaw Behemoth emerged, its iron-like scales gleaming faintly in the pale glow. Its amber eyes locked onto him, and the beast let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the floor.
Arthur muttered a curse under his breath. "Of all the things that could show up..."
The Behemoth sniffed the air, its massive claws scraping against the stone as it stepped further into the ruins. Arthur darted to the side, his boots silent on the cold stone. He slipped one of his knives from its sheath and hurled it at the creature's flank.
The blade struck the Behemoth, but it bounced harmlessly off its armored hide. The beast snarled, its head snapping toward Arthur as it charged.
Arthur barely managed to dodge, the creature's claws tearing through the stone where he'd just stood. Shards of rock flew in all directions, and Arthur felt the impact rattle through the ground.
"Great. Just what I needed, a walking fortress," Arthur said, his voice tight with adrenaline.
He rolled to his feet, drawing his flaming sword. His fingers traced the fire rune, and the blade ignited with a satisfying whoosh. The Behemoth turned toward him again, its eyes narrowing at the sudden light.
"Let's see how tough you are against this," Arthur said, lunging forward.
The flaming blade slashed across the Behemoth's foreleg, leaving a scorched mark and drawing a roar of pain. Black blood oozed from the wound, thick and foul-smelling.
The beast retaliated with a swipe of its massive claws. Arthur ducked, feeling the rush of air as the claws passed inches from his head. He countered with another swing of the flaming sword, aiming for the creature's exposed underbelly.
The Behemoth roared again, its movements becoming more erratic. Arthur sidestepped another charge, drawing the beast further into the ruins. He needed to stay nimble, to exploit its slow recovery between attacks.
"You're big," Arthur said, panting as he kept his distance. "But you're slow."
The Behemoth lunged, its jaws snapping dangerously close. Arthur dropped to a knee and slashed upward with the flaming sword, catching the beast across its snout. The fire seared its flesh, and the creature howled, shaking its massive head.
Arthur used the momentary opening to grab his greatsword. The heavier blade felt reassuring in his hands, and he knew it was his best chance at a decisive blow.
The Behemoth, wounded and furious, charged one final time. Arthur planted his feet, gripping the greatsword with both hands. He waited until the last possible moment before stepping to the side and swinging with all his strength.
The blade connected with the beast's neck, slicing deep into its iron-like scales. The impact reverberated through Arthur's arms, but he didn't stop. He drove the blade deeper, twisting as the Behemoth let out a final, agonized roar.
The creature collapsed, its massive body slamming into the ground. Dust and snow billowed into the air, and for a moment, all was still.
Arthur stood over the fallen beast, his chest heaving. His arms trembled from the effort, and blood trickled from a shallow cut on his cheek. He let the greatsword fall to the ground with a dull thud and sank to his knees, exhaustion washing over him.
"That was too close," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
He looked down at the amulet hanging against his chest. It had cooled, its glow fading into nothingness. Arthur frowned, turning it over in his hands.
"You warned me," he said softly, though the amulet offered no answers. "Guess I owe you one."
He glanced back at the Behemoth's lifeless form. The fight had been brutal, but it wasn't the first time he'd faced something like this. He thought of the team he'd fought alongside during his last encounter with an Ironclaw Behemoth. Back then, he'd relied on others to survive. This time, it had been just him.
Arthur pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his muscles protested. He sheathed his flaming sword and slung the greatsword over his back. The ruins were quiet again, but the battle had left its mark, on the stone, on the snow, and on him.
Arthur's gaze swept over the creature's form, and something clicked in his mind.
He grinned.
"Well, damn, that's some serious material," he muttered to himself, already sizing up the beast's claws and thick fur. The sharp, massive claws would make excellent weapons—daggers, maybe even a spear. And the fur? That could be turned into some heavy armor.
"Yeah, I could work with this," he said with a nod, already picturing how he'd shape the claws into weapons and turn the fur into something he could wear. The idea sparked something inside him—he was already thinking about runes, too. Runes for durability, runes for strength. He could use this. He could really use this.
With a final look at the Behemoth's massive body, Arthur sheathed his sword and crouched, inspecting the beast's claws. "Hell, it's like a walking blacksmith's dream," he muttered, already planning how he'd harvest the materials.
He glanced around the ruins, his excitement growing. He didn't need to waste any more time. The fight was over, but the real work was just beginning. Armor, weapons, runes—he'd be covered in them all. The more he gathered, the stronger he'd get.
As he began to strip the claws from the beast's massive paws, Arthur couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "Time to make something useful out of this mess," he said. It was just another step toward his goal, getting armed, armored, and ready for whatever else Ashlynd had in store.