The Three-star wolf, or their alpha, was a solid stone in his observation. A fresh drizzle of snowflakes came, as they always do. Dancing down from up high; often melting on contact with the camouflaged fur. The alpha’s head swayed, to the companion with the hole at his underbelly, to the other with a crushed tomato for a skull.

Grisla let out a mirthless chuckle, he knew full well of what’s swimming underneath. A rage so hot, you’d want to explode, right? But that’s not you, you’re controlled, calm… whilst you drown in the magma of unexpressed anger, Grisla thought. His options were at an end, the only things left were a scant two of his talisman-wrapped knives. Gihren’s sword? Just a metal paperweight, Grisla was too inexperienced to wield such a thing, not with his life hanging.

Grisla raised an eyebrow while meeting his foe’s stare.

  I see it. There’s a flame inside those eyes, he’s got intelligence without a doubt. The same trick won’t work again.

The wolf put on a head tilt at his prey’s new behavior—the human dropped his guard, his neck open for the taking. A dismal smile painted. The boy had given up, death will claim him, but not so soon. Revenge first; hunger later. Weak thing killed pack. Weak thing must suffer, weak thing dies screaming until I release him. I go, the Three-star’s body shot out of a cannon, trampling snow and plants hidden within. His prey was slower than anything he’d seen in years out in these wilds.

Unsure whether to call it luck for a bite, or a curse for what it had cost him. Fat pickings were hard to kill, those cultivators and their strange abilities. On the upside if successful it would further along their evolution—the beast equivalent to cultivation. Should a Shade Beast keep consuming there conceivably be no limit to what they could achieve. Though it was gamble if whoever they encountered on was weak, strong, or too strong. Low level creatures like a Three-star had not the intelligence or strong spiritual sense to detect and filter their pickings, so the only way to tell is on an approach.

Human run again? More running… again. Tiresome, the Three-star was on him in seconds, but the prey did an about-face, and two of his branches for arms lashed out. Three-star was prepared to dodge another one of those pesky metal flies to his face, but none of them whistled in the air towards him. Strange, but beneath his notice. The prey treated it as a worthless effort too, as he returned right back to clinging for his life through the snow. Three-star kept up the chase—till his nose met a brick wall.

Three-star snarled. Do not understand. Was not hit, upon closer inspection, the shimmer of a wall clear as air answered him. Two knives, both embedded in the trees for a makeshift gate. Idea. Nibble, and nibble human to the last bite. Slow. Agony. Three-star and his body weight shattered the glasslike wall in one ram. In the moments passed, the prey had ran like it was his last.

  Know terrain. River ahead. Strong current. Quickly end it.

The boy’s scent of ginger and evergreens was a unicorn here. Three-star’s pack had known of his presence before the prey settled. Ginger was his personal; evergreens was a marker for the cultivators who presided near this region. It wafted out, clinging to everything he passed, if Three-star was in the right state of mind, there would be no difficulty in “allowing” his escape, to wherever he thinks he’s running to, following the trail later, and finish the prey as he sleeps. What a true predator would do.

Three-star is not a predator now. He’s a slaughterer.

On that thought, Three-star leaped. Gliding on air, letting the snowflakes melt into oblivion inside his mouth, fangs landing at its destination, and with his weight behind it, the outclassed boy had no choice but to submit. Hearing his cries and tasting his blood, Three-star’s bloodlust was at a burn. Struggle as you’d like, no chance. Weakling.

This prey resisted, as all others do when a mountain is sitting on their back, unfortunately for him, the harder he struggled, the harder Three-star’s incisors will drill in. His four limbs and their cub-like force on the end of them served no purpose as they smacked at Three-star in futility just as he and his pack did versus the tricks. How about now, then? Blood on his tongue, Three-star had a peculiar conundrum land on his desk, Humans and cores like beast. Strong energy fills blood. This one… blood is just blood. No good taste. Diseased?

A thought of this concern had a consideration come to light, should this human be diseased, it would be at risk to tear him apart and consume, let alone taste blood. Three-star relaxed his hold on the prey’s shoulder.

Then a sharp pain came on his flank. A yelp escaped Three-star’s maw, and when he looked there was a metal thing—a sword, pushing into his hide by the child’s reverse-grip. Prey should lament their weakness, not fight against the inevitable! The stab wasn’t deep, the boy was too weak to make a serious injury in one strike, however if he made it past the first and best line of defense for a Shade Beast wolf—the hide, it would be disastrous, for there was no such protection for his organs, regardless of how much prey he eats. The final straw that broke the camel’s back, as the wolf thought.

  No more thinking! You die! You die! You die!

Three-star released the shoulder to chomp at the neck, a clamp brought down with all his might will decapitate the boy without friction. Though, the prey resisted again. Same sword went from his hide to guard the neck, too fast an action for Three-star to notice, as a result the sword happened to be the one thing he couldn’t break with force. Sharp, maybe even further ahead than his fangs, for they opened wounds when his gums and lips met the blade. Causing a slow drip on the prey’s back.

When trying to wrestle it out of his grip, every twitch was a lesson in agony. Both boy and wolf screamed—the wolf threatened to not only take the arm out of its socket, but tear it off his torso if it included the blade, the boy’s death grip forced him into lacerating every inch of flesh the sword touched while fighting for control of it. A wider smile was opened on the wolf’s ends, that’s for sure. Eventually, the blood added a new status of slipperiness to the equation, furthering the complication.

Impulsive fury made the wolf release him, and to no surprise, the prey stayed down, coloring the white red. The prey coughed, turned his side, squealing as he did, and pathetically flopped over, foolishly allowing gravity’s assistance in the bleeding.

Three-star preferred not to have his jaw look unhinged in another struggle with the boy. His mouth wasn’t his only weapon—four limbs, four claws. Three-star wanted this assault to be the last, he called up his bestial pride, his right to dominate over the weak, in his zealous pounce. The prey has sacrificed to get this far, and it wounded the creature’s honor to realize he was making a sacrifice himself—mouth meets blade, claws do the rest. To devise some scheme was shame he’d never known the feeling of. Once was enough, never again.

As he expected, the boy lifted his slender fang to meet his own. Locking up as before with neither side willing to concede, but Three-star sneered. One fang versus many! Claws I possess, weaker than weak like you lack!

Like raking the droppings of fall, Three-wolf made trenches, to dig them deeper, and deeper, and deeper, and deeper. All while his prey howled in indescribable pain. Dirt—no, flesh came up in ribbons messier than the clothes he wore. And with every breath, the arm strength of the boy weakened. Then, with a glee, Three-star noticed the arm’s strength went limp, and so the sword flew to a distance impossible to reach for him.

From the joint to the tip of his paws were matted in his victim’s fluids. Small pieces of skin and muscle clung to the ends; he’ll lick them out later. The boy’s eyes couldn’t hold a glance, to anything specific, gazing to the endless sky and infinity above.

Victorious. Three-star wanted to treasure this moment by finishing what he had started. The lances of pain danced on his mouth as he opened his maw for the last time. He didn’t care, for the boy was a moment’s away from dying on his own. But securing the kill, feeling the life escape from his prey’s flesh—their end? He wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. The famished creature dived in.

Only to bite on metal again.

  Slender fang? How?! Not close!

It didn’t slice his mouth on contact, though, and the metal tasted in no way dissimilar to his own blood. A little worse, in thought. A medallion only a few fractions bigger than an oyster halted the killing blow. Three-star’s eye flicked to a direction, and the sword laid in the snow undisturbed.

And, from below the wolf, a voice, “Can’t… say I planned this, but… I’ll… take the opportunity. Thanks, medallion, or amulet, or… whatever.” The prey’s useless hand, not the one used to hold the sword, but the other which slapped at him hilariously, now, with a hawk’s ferocity from strength he didn’t have, clasped on the wolf’s chest. “This… is a last resort, the last of the last. The idea of me doing this to anyone… but you brought this on yourself,” The human whispered.

Three-star’s instinct for danger screeched at him. But it was too late.

  Out of his lips, a weak shout, “Reverse.”

The wolf’s vision blurred. His lungs spasmed uncontrollably. Had he not a sliver of attention left, Three-star would have toppled over to his prey’s side. But with every ounce of power in him, he disengaged himself away from the unknown. Watching, observing.

  Prey… dangerous!

Even after the distance, it felt as if twenty years had passed in him. Three-star’s body sagged to a side, and every breath was taken after a marathon.

“Did you know…? Jadewater Hands is not the real name of this technique.” He coughed. “It doesn’t have a name, least, one that my mother wouldn’t tell me yet. So in its place I filled it in with something made up.”

“Heh, despite what everyone knows about me, even of what father knows about me. There’s one, one secret to myself that nobody knows. Besides mother, of course. Normally, there isn’t a way for me to heal wounds especially at my level without pills or medical aid. I can, with my ‘healing’ talent. That’s the best lie and cover mother could have for me.”

  The boy lifted his head to flash a bloody sneer, “Hurts to breathe, doesn’t it? Maybe even move. That’s because your heart has been reduced in age by ten years. I bet that’s around the time you took to advance to the level you are now. So, how does it feel supporting a Three-star body with a One-star heart?”

At the fingertips of the prey’s hand, a soft light glowed. “I don’t heal things… I change their state in time so to speak. Negation, acceleration, or…” the boy winced for attempting to smile wider, “Deceleration of matter. Pretty neat, right? Mother forbid me from using it in such a sinister manner, and I can agree with her reasons. But… rules are made to be broken, especially in this case, wouldn’t you say? Despite its usefulness, sadly, again the requirements for such a thing are too much for my little core to handle. Should thank your nearly literal dog’s luck! If I had my way, you’d be aged forty years.”

“I’ve… lost too much blood here. Death is where I go, but… there’s no chance you’re going to take me apart as you’d like!” He spat.

“No idea if you can understand me, and I doubt you’re that advanced for it. Should you come at me… again, you’ll end up not dying here, but dying in the next encounter whether it be tomorrow, or next week. Your heart can’t keep up with what your body demands, and the body can’t be utilized by a weak heart. Something’s got to give, and it’ll be both if you exert yourself.” Grisla took a breath, “Last chance to take the high road.”

Three-star did a half-snarl, half-whine when it came for it to snap back in reply. He inched forward once, then had an immediate stumble to the floor. Places the wolf didn’t know could hurt did. An inhale was a taking in of needles, and an exhale was wringing himself dry.

  Hunt… over. Rest required.

The wolf limped over, and the boy had his hand held out, committed to taking his enemy with him. Instead, he held an arm’s berth away from the human trickster as he passed, eyes scanning the wounds. There wasn’t much time left for him in this world. It was unfortunate, to leave such a vexation to die this way. Can’t be helped.

In the long night that came, Three-star shot a final glance to the foe, now in the midst of a burial beneath the falling snow, to become part of the land, nourishment for the trees alive, and recompense for the trees he’d fallen. Every breath taken was a reminder of that battle, even after Three-star departed long ago for a haven.

When Three-star sat on a new perch, a far distance from his pack’s home, a thought crossed his head.

  Prey won’t die. Because prey is mine. Not allowed to die, until I find you again.