Book 3: Chapter 4: Glass Fangs

  The day and following night had been quiet, which was suspicious in itself. In Alex’s experience, nights were rarely quiet unless something was about to go catastrophically wrong. The only sounds were the occasional crackle from the dying campfires and the deep, rhythmic snoring of the draft lizards, who were occasionally outdone by the roaring sound of Doran’s slumber, periodically through the night.

  Tom-Tom was curled up under his pot helmet, muttering in his sleep. Garret had taken up watch duty, occasionally poking the fire with the seriousness of a man who thought this fire contained the answers to life itself, and he needed to find the center of it. Alex leaned against a wagon wheel, half-asleep, half-alert, because in this world, being fully asleep usually meant rapidly becoming fully dead. And then the world decided to scream.

  A howl split the night, so piercing it felt like it stabbed Alex violently through both ears at once. The draft beasts screamed in response, rousing their handlers. Garret dropped the stick into the fire, giving up his treasure hunt. Tom-Tom immediately sat up and yelled, “I not stealing food this time! It was not Tom-Tom!”

  From the treeline, they came; sleek, glass-fanged shapes which slowly moved and glinted under the bare moonlight, the sparkle of their teeth and fur giving an impression like someone had smashed a carefully crafted crystal sculpture, and decided to weaponize the pieces. Their bodies shimmered with crystal shards that caught the light as they darted between the trees and bushes, their movements unnervingly precise.

  “Glassfang Jackals!” Someone screamed, because the obvious always needed to be announced in these situations.

  The first wave hit like a storm of glittery knives. Razor sharp shards shot from their fur as they leapt, each crystal fragment heard humming with an eerie vibration. One embedded itself into the side of a wagon, slicing through the wood and crippling the vehicle, like a mafia boss going for kneecaps with a hammer.

  Chaos bloomed everywhere around him. To his left, merchants dove under wagons, clutching bags of trade goods with all the desperation of men who knew they’d rather die than explain to their boss why they lost the spice shipment. Mercenaries scrambled to form a defense, blades flashing in the firelight.

  Kate’s blade ignited with a hiss, fire dancing along the edge as she charged straight into the fray, cutting down the first jackal that lunged her way. Holly moved in a blur, her sword flashing silver as she vanished into the wind, reappearing behind a jackal with its head already separated from its body. Eric met one head-on, muscles surging with aether; the jackal collided with his fist, earning it a lightning bolt to its head, and promptly reconsidered its life choices. As in, reconsidered continuing life entirely.

  Garret slammed his shield into the ground, holding a line against two of the beasts, and grunting through clenched teeth. “You know,” he shouted over the chaos, “I was just starting to like this trip!”

  Alex grinned despite himself, energy flaring in his veins as he stepped forward. The crystal-studded predators kept coming, howls and glass shards filling the night. And they were fast.

  One landed atop a wagon before anyone could shout, the glass plating along its spine cracking open with the motion and launching a volley of razor-thin shards down like nature’s cruelest splinters. Another slammed into a mercenary’s shield, the weight behind its pounce far greater than its size should have allowed.

  Alex was already moving, fists clenched and an aura of aether building around his body in a dark hue. Devon rolled behind a crate, shouting over his shoulder as he pulled out enchanted object after enchant object. “Why are all the monsters in this world made of knives!?”

  “No time, just kill!” Kate barked, blade already glowing with another aetheric charge.

  The clearing erupted into chaos.

  Henry drove a jackal straight into the dirt with a swing of his halberd, the beast snarling as it twisted mid-air to snap at him. Liquid -like aether flowed along Henry’s arms as he dropped the creature, then followed with a huge explosion of water that both cratered the ground beneath and the beast’s skull at once.

  “You good?” Cole shouted, sending out chunks of sharp crystal as he smashed through a second beast with a precise sweep of his warhammer.

  “Better now,” Henry grunted, shifting his stance.

  Nearby, Sarson moved like a blur, he kept his shield slung over his back and instead attack with his dual curved blades, carving clean fiery arcs as he danced between three of the jackals. He didn’t hit hard, but he hit fast, and each movement forced the creatures to reorient. They hissed, their glass-tipped tails lashing like scorpion stingers.

  Lance and Peter fought back to back, Lance deflecting strikes with wide, sweeping counters while Peter’s glaive flickered with light, that danced about like holograms. They weren’t showy, but their timing was nearly perfect. Whenever a jackal leapt to attack one of them, the other struck it midair.

  Behind the line, Myrae and Allie worked in near silence, light flaring from their hands as they rushed from one fighter to the next. Myrae’s healing magic shimmered with a pale blue color, Allie’s with a warmer amber glow. Between the two of them, bleeding wounds sealed, and bone-deep fatigue lightened by just enough to keep the many fighters standing.

  But even with the spells and strength of the mercenaries, the pressure was building.

  The dark aura of the [Demon Asura Style] was already rolling along his body as he entered the first stance to the path of Asura. A jackal was running at him, the creature the size of a large dog, fangs made of glittering crystal, and jagged spires running down its back.

  As it came within range, he slipped to the side, dodging the echoing snip! of the beast’s bite, before slamming a fist into its side where he assumed its ribs to be. His fist met hard packed flesh and launched the beast back a few feet. He didn’t let it rest, keeping up the pressure, rushing the creature while it tried to recover by sending a barrage of strikes along its body.

  Obby highlighted the trajectory paths for him to follow in order to avoid impaling himself on the crystal protrusions of its form. He highlighted the sharp protrusions in a different color, as if Alex couldn’t plainly see them already.

  It took a few blows before the internal damage, and the corruption energy of his [Burning Strike]s, finally compounded enough for the creature to die. He got his first kill notification in some days as the jackal wheezed its last breath, the air leaving its body like a shaky windchime.

  A note of appreciation for the sheer number of experience points crossed his mind before he swiped the notification away. There were more of the beasts to kill, and right now they were swarming the caravan, causing obscene amounts of havoc.

  Dust and grass flew into the air from underfoot as he accelerated off finding a new target, which he dispatched the same way he had the first; a careful beat down of fists aimed at its exposed sides and head. He repeated this a few more times, killing jackal each time, before he paused to asses his surroundings.

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  Alex watched through his [Aether Sight], filtering the battlefield into layers of aether essence, motion, and Obby’s image overlays. This fight was unlike the warfront of Terraxum, the Glassfangs didn’t fight like mages. They didn’t use martial styles, or special forms, no spells or enchantments. They were pure instinct and violence, and yet, he saw a few which had a difference in the way they moved, how they attacked, they carried a presence.

  Early Gaseous stage Arcane Beasts. He realized, and there was more than one.

  Obby floated just behind him in his lanky eldritch body, projecting a calm despite the panic in the clearing. “That one,” he said, nodding toward a jackal pinning a shield mage beneath its weight, “is Gaseous stage. So is that one. And that one over there with the glowing tail.”

  Alex frowned. But we’ve got liquid stage Adept mages. Why do they still feel stronger? They are weaker than the Rune-Spined Wolf we took down, and we weren’t even all Adepts yet when we fought it. Shit, I was still Gaseous stage myself.

  “That wolf was was a best-case scenario for you. It was further along in cultivation, sure, but remember, its aether gathering was a modified human enchantment. It was corrupting and weakening the potency of its core as much as helping it, so it was weaker than any arcane beast of the same level. Plus, it was already heavily injured by the Chieftain and other Kobolds. At peak condition, that beast would have wiped the floor with all of you in short order.” Obby explained.

  Alex thought back to that fight, remembering the sluggish movement of the creatures body. The beast was fast and strong, but looking back now, he could realize how the wolf was in terrible condition. It was barely able to fight, running on feral instinct and sheer will to survive. He also thought of the siege beasts that they had fought at the warfront, realizing they had all been peak Mortal Tier, or just barely Adept Tier beasts at best.

  They were formidable, but they had been beaten into domestication by the armies of both sides. Utilized for war because they were the ones weak enough to be controlled in such a way, not because they were strong. He thought about someone trying to tame and use the strange beast that he and the others had spotted in the forest while cleaning up the Forest Badger Hive. He shuddered at the idea of someone trying to control it in a battle, the sheer amount of death it would cause.

  It was impossible for Alex to know how strong the thing had been, as he didn’t have his [Aether Sight] back then, but with what he knew now… It was Magus Tier, easily. Probably just watching us out of amusement. Just, infants crawling along in the dirt. Are Arcane Beasts really this much more powerful than Mages? Have our understandings of this been warped so hard due to how lucky we have been? How can these creatures be so… strong?

  “Because The System is fair,” Obby replied matter-of-factly, like he was simply reading off a recipe. “Beasts don’t get martial arts. They can’t wear gear or armor. They don’t cast spells the same way, or with the same potency as sentient species mages either. So the Heavens compensate.”

  With better cores?

  “Nope,” Obby said. “With steroids.”

  In Alex’s vision, Obby highlighted a jackal that hurled itself through a mercenary’s barrier spell like its name was Kyle and the barrier was a slab of drywall. “Beasts at the same stage as mages have wildly better physical stats. Better reflexes, durability, strength, everything short of spellcasting. Remember how I said Orks have better physical stats than humans? Think of that, but cranked up to eleven.”

  Alex grimaced as the jackal kept running. And the Orks are probably already a balancing correction on the System’s part.

  “Exactly! Imagine Orks made out of diamond-glass and caffeine. That’s what you’re dealing with.”

  Alex dodged sideways to avoid a spray of crystal projectiles and slammed a fist into the skull of the attacking Jackal, causing it to stagger back. It felt like punching sheer diamond, even with his fully refined strength stat.

  It took four or five more exchanges of Alex narrowly avoiding razor sharp attacks and barraging the Glassfang Jackal in the head before it’s defenses gave way and he was able to crush it’s skull, receiving a System Notification.

  Yeah, they’re tough bastards for sure.

  A long sigh escaped his lips, and Alex tweaked his wrist, trying to work out a jarring pain he’d earned for his trouble against the jackal. He eventually looked around the battlefield, finding a lot of the creatures had already been killed by now. The Mortal Tier beasts still gave quite a bit of trouble, but were no match when ganged up on. He could see the last of them already headed towards death. The Adept beasts on the other hand, held their own quite well. A mercenary team was slowly beating down one of the beasts, using their numbers to distract and attack at the same time. That beast, too, was destined for death.

  Another was already heavily injured, facing off a pair of attackers who Alex recognized as the leader of the third mercenary team, and one of his followers. The two of them appeared to have a rather strong combination of spells and skills that made the jackal’s heightened speed a vulnerability and a weakness, rather than a strength.

  So, he turned to watch one fight in particular, Ghrukk’s: The Ork stood mid-clearing, halberd blazing with overlapping layers of fire and shadow, facing down one of the larger Adept jackals. It was sleek and jagged, like someone had designed a murder-dog in a crystal shop, and then given it a violent personality.

  Their clash was raw force, having no finesse or subtlety. Glass-like earth slammed into burning darkness, and shockwaves rippled from each impact. The jackal was faster than the Ork, more agile. Its movements almost impossible to read even with Alex paying attention. But Ghrukk fought like a beast all his own, countering each slash with explosive retaliation. He grinned the whole time, a maddened gleam in his eye. And yet…

  Alex’s heart dropped half an inch lower in his chest. Even now, Ghrukk was slowly being pushed back. Every clash shaved a little more ground off his footing. Every dodge came a split second later than the one before... he was tiring.

  There’s gonna be a tipping point. Alex saw it in the aether, the flow of ambient energy surrounding the two of them. The raw stat difference between the two tweaking the probability of victory in the jackal’s favor. He clenched his teeth tighter as the fight dragged on, second by second. When that tipping point came, no amount of fire, fury, or pride on Ghrukk’s side, was going to stop it. Not unless someone else stepped in.

  If the Ork noticed this fact, he didn’t show it. Ghrukk fought like a tornado wrapped in fire, and decorated with wisps of shadowy gossamer. The massive Ork stood his ground in the shattered clearing, dark-fire aether roiling around his form in thick, violent pulses. His halberd glowed red-hot at the blade, then darkened toward the shaft like it had been dipped handle first in the void itself.

  The Ork grinned wide, tusks gleaming in the flickering firelight. “Come, little mutt. Let's see how sharp your teeth really are.”

  The jackal obliged.

  It lunged with unnatural speed, and its mouth opened impossibly wide, rows of transparent fangs snapping toward Ghrukk’s thick throat. Too fast, it was far too fast compared to the Ork. In Alex’s vision, the moment slowed.

  A flash of azure-blue light slammed into the jackal’s side like a cannonball blast. It screeched a high, crystalline scream, and tumbled sideways just as a second blow came from the left, a spinning kick, followed by a brutal downward swing of a fist that erupted with a flash of concussive force.

  The beast crumpled with a final burst of light, its body breaking apart into pieces of glimmering shards that rained down like snow. It was left a crumpled husk in a small crater the size of a grave.

  Alex landed beside the corpse in a smooth crouch, energy from his [Vita-Surge Cloak] flickered a moment then faded away, the aura of the Demon Asura stayed, but it was now slightly subdued. His eyes scanned for the next threat, but the immediate area had gone still.

  And then—

  “You stole my kill.” The words weren’t shouted, there was no scream of rage or huge child-like tantrum. The words were growled, low and guttural, vibrating in the air like thunder.

  Alex turned slowly. Ghrukk stood frozen, halberd still raised, a twitch in one eye and fire crawling across his skin like it was alive yet didn’t know what to do with itself now that it wasn’t being thrown at a target.

  “I had it.” Ghrukk’s lip curled. “I had it.”

  Alex shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me. Looked more like it had you.”

  A long silence stretched between them. Ghrukk finally grunted, and the dark-fire aura around him pulsed in erratic waves. His team, positioned just beyond the scorched grass, exchanged tense glances, but none dared step in.

  “You don’t steal another warrior’s kill,” Ghrukk spat. He was now rising in volume. “That’s mine. That’s pride. That’s the fight!”

  Alex starred back at him, brow raised. He didn’t realize this guy would be so upset about someone saving his life. “It was about to tear out your throat and chew your face off.”

  “You think I care about my face!? That was my beast. My kill. You want to prove something, human, prove it in fair combat. Not by striking like a coward from the side.” Ghrukk barked, slamming the butt of his halberd into the ground so hard it cracked. “

  Alex’s gaze narrowed. This was beginning to be a problem.

  Garret, from somewhere behind a burning wagon, muttered, “Aaand here we go.”

  Zach didn’t bother looking up from where he was wrapping a bandage around his arm, three Glassfang jackal corpses already laid out in front of him. “Bet five dollars on Alex.”

  “That’s stupid. We don’t use dollars here anymore.” Henry said.

  Holly leaned over to Henry and whispered, “This was already destined to happen. Just let them get it over with.”

  Alex took a step forward, firelight reflecting off his eyes with a shimmer of azure aether, giving his gaze a purple tint. He hadn’t been planning to fight anyone in the caravan, but he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. “Fine. You want a fight? Name the rules.”

  Ghrukk grinned, his smile a visage of blood and tusk. All pride, and fury.

  “Rule one,” he said, stepping into the circle of scorched earth where he and jackal had been fighting, “Don’t die.”