Under the cover of twilight, the retrieval team set out. Lysa led the way, her movements silent and assured. Aelric followed closely, with Elysia, Kane, Duran, Gerrick, and two others—Mira and Joss—bringing up the rear.
As they neared the ambush site, the air grew heavier. A putrid stench—a mixture of blood, rot, and something feral—hung thick around them. The forest floor was littered with remains: bones stripped clean, shredded flesh, and mangled bodies. The Howlfangs had left nothing untouched. Flies buzzed in clouds, and the ground was slick with congealed blood.
Kane swallowed hard, his knuckles whitening around the hilt of his dagger. "By the gods," he murmured.
The group moved carefully, stepping over bodies and searching for salvageable weapons. Duran pried a dented sword from a corpse's stiff grip, while Mira retrieved a battered shield. Aelric found a quiver of arrows, its contents miraculously intact, and passed it to Joss.
"You're scaring me," Kane said to Duran with a nervous laugh. "You act like this is just another day."
Duran glanced at him. "Worrying won't save you. Action will."
Kane blinked, then nodded, his admiration for Duran clear. "Right. Got it."
Aelric couldn't help but notice the unspoken confidence Duran inspired. If anyone seemed invincible, it was him.
Behind them, Gerrick lingered, his steps slower than the rest. His eyes darted nervously toward the surrounding shadows, his grip on his hammer loose. Elysia noticed him hesitate by a fallen tree, fumbling with something in his pack before quickly tucking it away.
"What are you doing?" she asked sharply, stepping closer.
Gerrick looked up, his face tightening into a forced grin. "Just… checking my supplies," he said. His voice carried a brittle edge, his movements too deliberate as he hoisted his pack higher on his shoulders. "We're going into the belly of the beast, after all."
Elysia's sharp eyes narrowed. "Then stay focused. We don't have time for distractions."
"Right," he muttered, avoiding her gaze as he fell back into line.
The group worked swiftly, their movements efficient despite the grim scene. As they gathered the last of the usable weapons, Aelric glanced around, his instincts tingling. Something felt... off. He shook it off, attributing it to the macabre surroundings.
As they retreated into the forest, their pace brisk but quiet, none of them noticed the faint glint of molten eyes watching from the darkness. A shadow shifted among the trees, silent and patient, following their every step.
The group returned to the cave under the cover of darkness, their haul modest but vital. Aelric's mind remained uneasy, the nagging feeling from the battlefield lingering.
Elysia approached as he stowed the weapons. "Everything go smoothly?" she asked, her tone light but her gaze searching.
"For now," Aelric replied. "But I don't trust our luck to hold."
Elysia hesitated, glancing toward Gerrick, who stood apart from the others, his back to the group as he cleaned his hammer. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Gerrick's been acting strange. He was fumbling with something out there. It looked… off."
Aelric frowned, his gaze drifting toward Gerrick. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know," Elysia admitted. "But whatever it was, he didn't want me to see it. Keep an eye on him."
Aelric nodded, filing her words away.
The older man's usual bravado seemed absent, replaced by a strange stillness. His fingers tapped idly against the hilt of his hammer, a rhythmic movement that stopped abruptly when he caught Aelric looking.
"What's on your mind, boy?" Gerrick asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
"Just thinking about tomorrow," Aelric replied evenly, not breaking eye contact. "We'll need every weapon ready."
Gerrick nodded once, shifting his hammer slightly. "Aye. Well, I'll be ready." His tone held no hesitation, but there was something in the way he shifted his weight, like a man eager to end the conversation.
The moment passed quickly, the group's chatter picking up again, but Aelric's unease lingered. He couldn't put his finger on it—Gerrick's silence, his evasive demeanor, or the way he seemed just slightly out of step with the others. It was nothing concrete, just a feeling, but it gnawed at the back of his mind.
His gaze drifted towards Varik's group and as always, they kept to themselves. Though they acted as usual, here was a sense of nervousness to their movements.
Suddenly, Varik locked eyes with Aelric and grinned—a cold, knowing smile. Before Aelric could process the implication, a low, menacing growl echoed from the darkness beyond the camp.
He sprang to his feet. "Howlfangs!" he shouted, drawing his sword.
But the warning came too late. The Howlfangs burst from the shadows, eyes glowing, jaws snapping.
Kane froze as the massive Howlfang leapt toward him, its molten eyes locked onto his throat. Time seemed to slow as he stared into the beast's gaping maw, rows of fangs glinting in the firelight. The sound of its growl was deafening, drowning out every other thought except one: This is it.
Then, through the chaos, he heard it—a shout, sharp and commanding: "Firebolt!"
A streak of blazing flame tore through the air, its heat searing Kane's skin as it passed. The Howlfang didn't even have time to react.
The bolt struck its chest, erupting in a violent explosion that hurled it backward. Flames engulfed its body, the acrid scent of burnt fur and flesh filling the air. The battlefield stilled for a heartbeat.
Even the other Howlfangs hesitated, their molten eyes flickering as if sensing the shift in power.
A warm sensation flooded Aelric's chest, and a glowing screen flickered before his eyes:
[Loyaltly gained]
[Mark of Loyalty activating...]
"What… was that?" Kane whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at the smoldering remains.
"That's an Art," Mira said softly, her voice filled with equal parts awe and disbelief. "A real Art."
"Not now!" Aelric snapped, his voice cutting through their momentary awe like a blade. "Back to the line! Focus!"
The command jolted Kane from his stupor. He scrambled to his feet, gripping his dagger tightly, and joined the defenders surging toward the cave's narrow chokepoint.
The camp exploded into action. Men and women scrambled for swords, spears, anything they could use to defend themselves. Aelric and Elysia rushed toward the cave entrance, the narrow chokepoint their best chance at holding off the onslaught.
"Form a line!" Aelric commanded as they reached the entrance. "Don't let them break through!"
The Howlfangs came in waves, their snarls deafening. Aelric met the first beast head-on, his sword slicing through muscle and bone. Beside him, Elysia wielded her chain with lethal precision, each swing felling another attacker.
System messages flashed before Aelric's eyes:
[You have slain a Lesser Howlfang.]
[You have slain a Lesser Howlfang.]
….
But for every one he slay, another one was in it's place. The creatures seemed endless, pouring in from all sides. The defenders fought fiercely, but exhaustion began to take its toll. Cuts and bites marred their bodies, their movements slowing.
Aelric felt the fiery energy of his mana core pulse within him. He focused, letting the heat build in his chest before surging through his arm.
"Firebolt!" he shouted, unleashing another streak of flame. It struck a Howlfang clawing at the barricade, incinerating it instantly. The force of the blast sent nearby beasts recoiling, their snarls turning to pained howls.
The defenders rallied, driven by the spectacle of Aelric's magic. "Keep pushing!" Duran shouted, his hammer crashing into the side of another beast. "Don't let up!"
"Aelric, how many more can you cast?" Elysia asked, her chain whipping through the air to hold off another attacker.
"Not enough," he replied through the burning exhaustion. The fire still burned within him, but it dimmed with each strike.
Aelric fired again, the heat searing the air as the Firebolt found its target. A second beast crumpled under the attack, its charred body collapsing in a heap. The group pushed forward, each strike buying precious seconds of survival.
But after the fifth Firebolt, Aelric's mana core sputtered, the fiery energy within him draining away. He staggered slightly, gripping his sword tighter as he forced himself to focus. "No more Firebolts," he muttered under his breath.
The Howlfangs pressed harder, their snarls filling the air. A young man—a prisoner whose name Aelric hadn't learned—was yanked from the line, his scream piercing the night before the beasts dragged him into the shadows. A woman near the barricade fell beneath a Howlfang's weight, her desperate cries silenced by the sickening crunch of teeth.
"Hold the line!" Aelric shouted, his voice hoarse but unyielding.
"We can't hold them!" someone cried.
The line began to waver as the relentless Howlfangs pushed harder, their snarls rising in intensity.
A massive Howlfang broke through, its claws scattering weapons and defenders alike. Aelric's heart sank as he saw the gap widening, the line on the verge of collapse.
Suddenly, a roar cut through the chaos—not from a beast, but from Duran.
The stoic man surged forward, hammer in hand, slamming it into the Howlfang with bone-crushing force. The beast yelped and crumpled, but more swarmed to fill the gap. Duran stood firm, his hulking frame a wall against the tide.
"Fall back!" Aelric shouted. "Duran, we'll hold together—"
"No," Duran interrupted, his voice steady despite the chaos. He didn't turn, his hammer already swinging into another beast's side. "I never had a home, boy. Not a real one." He paused only to catch his breath, his shoulders heaving. "But you do and I pray you make it back."
"Duran!" Aelric tried to push forward, but the sheer number of beasts forced him back. The man gave a faint, almost wistful smile before charging into the fray, his hammer rising and falling like a thunderclap.
Aelric could only watch as Duran disappeared beneath the Howlfangs. Even as they tore into him, he fought on, his hammer swinging with relentless fury. Each strike bought precious seconds, holding the line long enough for the others to regroup.
His final roar echoed through the battlefield: "Hold the line!"
One by one, the Howlfangs fell. The survivors fought with everything they had, driven by desperation and the will to live. Finally, the last beast lay dead, and silence fell over the battlefield.
Aelric stood amid the carnage, chest heaving, blood—both his own and the Howlfangs'—dripping from his sword. The smell of death was thick in the air.
A message hovered before his eyes:
[Quest Progress: 90/100 Howlfangs slain.]
It was immediately established by another message:
[Mark of Loyalty ready to activate. Accept Kane's fealty to complete the bond]