Bryce charged in, stone creeping up both arms like spreading armor.
As the nearest Spinehound looked up from its meal, Bryce slammed his fist down like a hammer.
The hound's torso crumpled in an instant, crushed beneath the weight of his full strength.
Blood sprayed, and the other Spinehounds snapped to attention.
"Hey ugly!" Bryce shouted, slamming his hardened arms together. "Come get me!"
That was the signal.
Emma flicked open the striker built into her wrist device. A flame sparked to life, no bigger than a lighter at first. But as she extended her hand, it began to whip and twist—shaped by her control into a spiraling arc of fire.
She swept her arm, and the flame curved forward, a whip of fire slicing across the front line of hounds.
Then Kane stepped in.
His staff hummed faintly as he muttered an incantation under his breath. Wind surged forward, invisible but focused—fueling Emma's fire like oxygen to a blaze.
The flame doubled in intensity, stretching longer, faster. It swept low like a burning tide, catching two Spinehounds in the legs and sending them tumbling back, their hides smoking.
She laughed—maniacal, loud, unbothered.
"She always like this?" I asked, eyebrows raised.
Bryce chuckled. "Yeah... she gets a little rough when she's in the zone."
And then—a flicker.
A shadow passed behind her.
Emma jerked forward. Her flame vanished. Her body lifted slightly, then stilled.
A massive creature stood behind her—a Spinehound, but not like the others.
It was sleek. Muscular. Built for silence, not brute force. No bony armor like its packmates.
Just a single, sharpened spine-blade that stretched from its skull down to its tail like a sword buried in its back.
And that blade was now jutting clean through Emma's chest.
Her fire died with her.
Her body slid off the creature's blade. Crumpled. Still.
"Emma!!" Bryce roared.
He dropped his hardening, rushing toward her—but the moment he exposed himself, another hound took advantage.
It leapt from the brush, landing on his back and sinking its claws deep. Blood splashed, and Bryce crashed to the ground.
Kane reacted fast, wind whipping around him as he stumbled backward, keeping the enemy at bay.
And me?
I watched as everything unraveled.
In seconds, our formation was broken. Our backline was gone. Our tank was bleeding.
Bryce was forced to re-harden his body, the stone coating creeping back over his skin.
He swung wide to keep the pack at bay, but he was clearly on borrowed time. Each strike chipped more of his stone, and beneath it, blood kept flowing.
The hounds were relentless, and even stone cracked under pressure.
Kane glanced at me, then smiled.
Without a word, he blasted a gust of wind beneath his feet and launched himself up onto a tree branch, out of reach.
"Did that guy just... smile?" I muttered. My brain clicked into motion, pieces falling into place. He missed a hulking beast but spotted a whole pack from far off?
No more caution.
"Fuck this."
I stopped holding back.
I vanished from their sight in a blur of motion. The first Spinehound lunged—and met my fist. It didn't just fall. It exploded, bone and blood scattering like shrapnel.
Another snapped at my side. I twisted, dodging by a hair, then brought my elbow down into its skull with the sound of a collapsing melon. It dropped instantly.
The others tried to circle. I welcomed it.
I blitzed forward, smashing through their formation. One was sent flying with a punch to the ribs. Another had its spine shattered by a spinning heel kick.
One lunged for my throat—but its teeth shattered the moment they touched my skin.
I grabbed it by the neck, spun, and slammed it into another mid-charge. The crack of bones echoed as both dropped in a heap, motionless.
The last one hesitated.
I didn't.
I lunged and drove my fist straight through its chest.
Only one remained.
The big one.
It was still watching me, but something had changed. The look in its eyes—that cold calculation from before—was gone.
Now, it took a step back.
The blade on its back twitched. Muscles tensed. It roared once—not a challenge, but desperation—and charged.
I didn't move.
Its spine-blade sliced through my sleeve and left a shallow cut across my arm.
I met it head-on and swung.
My fist slammed into its abdomen with a brutal crack. The force lifted it off its feet. Its eyes widened as its ribs crumpled inward.
It landed hard.
Still breathing.
But not for long.
It groaned, trying to rise. I stepped forward, reached down—and grabbed the base of its blade.
With a snarl, I planted my foot on its chest and pulled.
The spine-blade tore free with a sickening crack of splitting bone and ripping sinew. Blood poured out beneath it as the monster let out one final, broken howl.
Then it stopped moving.