Chapter 295: Change of Tactics
The pack came all at once.
For the first few heartbeats, even Kael could not keep the rhythm clean.
The clearing became claws, fur, teeth, moonlight, and noise. Werewolves moved over one another with the violent coordination of creatures that had hunted together for years. One came low for his legs, another high for his throat, a third from behind with claws aimed at the seam between helmet and shoulder. Kael ducked beneath the first swipe, turned his shoulder away from the second, and drove his fist into the ribs of the third hard enough to send it stumbling back. Before he could finish that one, two more entered the opening and forced him to retreat.
He took one down with a short punch to the jaw.
Another with a kick that folded its knee backward.
But killing or crippling one created space for another to enter. The normal wolves were not individually terrifying compared to the named ones, but there were too many angles. Too many bodies. Too many ways for one mistake to become a wound. Kael twisted away from a bite and felt air move near his cheek. He stepped back from a claw and nearly planted his foot where the Elder’s shadow had already begun to move.
Then the Mother struck.
She was not strong like the Butcher had been, nor overwhelming like the One Eyed Red. She was lean, precise, and fast enough that even the minimap only gave Kael a warning, not a solution. She slipped between two werewolves as if their bodies were curtains, her long claws passing under one’s arm and over another’s shoulder. Kael turned to answer, but she was already at his back.
Her claws raked across him.
Stone kept the attack from opening him fully, but the force still drove him forward. The hardened layer over his body sparked beneath the impact, cracks spreading through the protection before sealing again with a heavy drain on his internal energy. Kael spun to retaliate, fist already chambered, but the Elder moved.
The old werewolf swooped in low.
A claw hooked across the back of Kael’s foot, not trying to sever it entirely, but to damage balance. Stone stopped the limb from being shredded, yet the strike still bit deep enough to make his footing falter. Kael slammed one hand against the ground and used the motion to roll away before three more wolves could fall on him.
He came up in a crouch.
A wolf lunged.
Kael punched it in the snout and felt bone collapse under the gauntlet.
Another came from the right. He shifted, took the claw along his protected forearm, then drove an elbow into its throat. A third jumped over the falling body, jaws open. Kael met it with a rising knee and heard teeth crack, but the Mother was already moving again, circling wide for another opening, while the Elder watched his feet, his breath, his weight.
The Stone rune held.
Then began to crumble.
Not literally at first. It was not armor breaking from the outside, but pressure failing from within. Every claw that should have torn him open instead forced Stone to spend more energy. Every bite that scraped against his hardened skin became another draw. Every time he braced against a strike that would have opened his ribs, he felt the cost pull deeper into him. Stone was excellent when used at the right moment. Keeping it active under a swarm was a different matter.
A claw finally found a shallow line under the edge of his armor.
Blood came out.
Only a small amount.
The pack smelled it immediately.
The clearing changed again.
Their excitement sharpened into something almost ecstatic. Several werewolves howled, not because he was weak, but because the hunt had produced blood. Their eyes brightened. Their movements became bolder. The Mother’s tongue dragged across her teeth. The Hunter, still in his transformed yellow and silver mane, watched with growing delight.
Kael exhaled.
"Guess I can’t afford to play too much."
He tapped two fingers against the back of his arm.
The rune sequence shifted.
Fire went out.
Heft came alive.
Darkness answered.
Exploit Weakness and Execrate followed.
For one terrible second, the draw on his internal energy felt like something had opened its mouth inside his bones and begun drinking. He had layered runes before. He understood cost. This was different. Heft and Darkness together were heavy. Execrate wanted more from the inside. Exploit Weakness sharpened perception until every enemy became a map of places to ruin. Stone still lingered in his body, straining under the pressure of the pack. The combined pull made his vision dip for half a breath.
That half breath nearly cost him his face.
A werewolf’s claw came straight for the T-shaped opening of his helmet.
Kael barely raised his head in time. The strike hit the Spartan helm instead, scraping across the reinforced metal with a shriek. Stone hardened the point of impact just enough that the blow bounced off rather than caving the helmet inward. His neck still snapped slightly to the side from the force.
His eyes refocused.
The world changed.
Weakness points revealed themselves across the werewolves like marks painted under their skin. Hearts. Ribs. Livers. Snouts. Tendons behind the knees. Throats. Old scars. Soft gaps between muscle and bone. Places where one strike could become more than a strike. Execrate crawled through his intent, eager to mark flaws and worsen them. Exploit Weakness showed him where to touch.
The problem was time.
He needed to hit too many of them at once. If he struck one, maybe two, the rest would tear into him before the effect could matter. If the timing broke, the opening would disappear. The pack had surrounded him too tightly, and the named wolves were already adjusting to his breathing.
So Kael jumped.
The werewolves moved with him.
For a heartbeat, they thought he had made a mistake. It was obvious from the way their bodies coiled beneath him. Whatever went up had to come down. They only needed to wait below and receive him with claws, teeth, and moon-strengthened bodies. The clearing filled with eager red eyes turning upward.
Kael did not simply jump to escape.
He pointed his left arm down.
His right hand locked around the forearm to steady it.
Darkness gathered. Nothingness gathered.
A gigantic ball of devouring black formed at his palm, dense and wrong, a hole in the shape of an attack. Heft dragged on it, giving the shot weight it should not have had, turning the release into something that made Kael’s shoulder strain before it even fired. The werewolves below realized their mistake an instant too late. Yes, he would come down. But that only mattered if they were still alive, or at least still standing, to receive him.