Chapter 6: The Storm
Clouds swallowed the golden light by late afternoon. They rolled in from the north like a living bruise, heavy and purple-black, swallowing the sky one bite at a time. Wind rose in sudden gusts, rattling the tarp I had spent hours securing. Leaves whipped through the clearing, slapping against stone.
Thunder growled, low and distant at first, then closer. The air thickened with the smell of ozone and wet earth.
I stood on the third floor, eyes fixed west. The forest had gone unnaturally quiet. No birds. No rustles. Even the wind seemed to pause between breaths. The silhouette had not reappeared since last night, but I felt it out there. Watching. Waiting for the storm to mask its approach. I checked my setup one final time.
Fire banked low on the ground floor, covered with a flat stone to preserve embers. Rope coiled and tied securely to the strongest beam, one end looped around my waist. Both knives at my belt: Torv's short iron on the right, the longer backup on the left. Hammer in hand, head scarred from repairs but heavy enough to crack bone.
Then the rain came. Not a shower. A wall. Water slammed into the tower like a physical blow. Wind screamed through every gap I had not sealed. The tarp flapped violently, nails groaning. I climbed onto the roof edge and wrestled it down, hammering fresh nails by feel more than sight. Rain stung my face. Soaked the tunic instantly. Cold seeped into bones.
Lightning cracked overhead. For one white instant the entire western woods lit up. The beast was there.
Half a mile out now. Standing at the edge of a clearing it had carved itself. Taller than a bear on hind legs. Shoulders too wide for any natural frame. Limbs jointed wrong, bending backward then forward again. Fur black and matted with rain. Head lowered, sniffing the ground with deliberate sweeps.
Another flash. It looked straight at the tower. Thunder followed, shaking stone dust from the walls. I dropped below the parapet. Heart was pumping hard against ribs. No health bar. No aggro indicator. Just raw predator and me. Minutes crawled. Rain pounded. Wind howled.
I risked another glance. It was moving. Not charging. Circling. Slow, patient steps that covered ground faster than physics should allow. Testing approaches. Learning how the storm changed scents and sounds.
Smart. Too smart. I descended to the second floor and wedged the broken door shut with braced timber. Added a second beam across it. Not fortress-strong, but better than nothing.
Back on the third floor, I waited. Lightning again. Closer. The beast had halved the distance. It moved upright now, almost human in posture, but elongated. Arms too long. Claws dragging furrows even through mud.
Rain sheeted sideways. Visibility dropped to fifty yards. Then I heard it over the roar. A low chuffing. Like wet laughter, or heavy breathing. It was at the clearing's edge. Thirty yards. I gripped the rope. Plan simple: if it climbed, drop to ground floor, bar the door, pray stone held.
Another flash. Gone. I scanned frantically. Left. Right. Nothing but rain and swaying trunks. Too quiet. A scrape below. Stone on stone. Deliberate. I leaned over the inner edge, peering down the spiral stairs into shadow. Two yellow eyes stared up from the second floor darkness. It had entered while I watched the front. Silent under the storm's cover. Claws clicked on granite as it started up. Slow. Testing each step like I had.
I drew both knives. No room to run outside. No time to rappel in this wind. Just the third floor, flimsy tarp, and me. It rounded the final turn and stepped into dim light. Up close it was nightmare made flesh.
Wolf-sized head on a body crossed between bear and something primate. Jaws lined with uneven fangs, some broken, some too long. Fur slick black, scarred with old silver lines that glowed faintly when lightning flashed. Claws like sickle blades. Three forward toes per foot. The tracks matched perfectly.
It studied me the way a butcher studies a carcass. No text. No boss title. No highlighted weak points. Just predator and prey.
It lunged. I threw the hammer. It struck between the eyes with a wet crunch. The beast shook its head, snarled, momentum barely slowed. I dove sideways. Claws raked stone where I had stood, showering sparks and granite chips. The swipe tore a furrow deep enough to expose fresh rock. I rolled, came up slashing. The longer knife scored along its foreleg. Shallow cut. Black blood welled but did not pour.
It backhanded me. World exploded in pain. I flew sideways, hit the wall hard. Breath whooshed out. One knife clattered away across wet stone. Vision blurred. It advanced. I scrambled on all fours. Fingers closed on the lost knife just as claws whistled overhead.I rolled under the swipe, stabbed upward into its belly. Blade sank deep. Hot blood poured over my hand. It roared. Sound like tearing metal. Wrenched free and swiped again. I ducked. The blow caught my shoulder, spun me. Pain flared white-hot. I staggered toward the roof edge.
It followed. Tarp tore under my boots. I fell through up to the waist, legs dangling inside the tower. The beast pounced. I kicked out desperately. Boot connected with its jaw. Bought a second. It recovered, jaws wide. Lightning lit us both. Then something sang through the rain. An arrow buried itself in the creature's neck with a meaty thunk.
It roared, spun toward the forest. Second arrow. High in the shoulder, fletching buried to the shaft. Third in the ribs, cracking bone. The beast staggered. Blood mixed with rain, black rivers down its fur. It snarled once more, yellow eyes promising return. Then leaped from the tower roof into the storm. Crash of branches. Gone. I lay half-through the ruined tarp, rain hitting my face. Shoulder throbbing. Ribs screaming. Blood, mine and its, warm and cold. Footsteps on the stairs. Light. Quick. Unafraid.
A figure appeared at the broken roof edge. Short black hair plastered flat. Ranger cloak soaked dark. Bow still half-raised, another arrow nocked but not drawn.
Lira.
She lowered the bow slowly. Eyes wide, taking in the blood, the torn tarp, me.
"You know," she called over the dying wind, "when I said I owed you a proper goodbye, this really isn't what I meant."
I tried to laugh. It came out a wheeze. Pain lanced my side. She crossed the roof carefully, knelt, offering a hand. I took it. Her grip was strong. She hauled me fully onto the stone. Together we limped down the stairs, away from the storm's roar. The beast was wounded. But alive. And the hunt was far from over.
Text flickered faintly as we reached the ground floor:
Deed recorded: First blood drawn against a Corrupted Apex Predator.
Skill unlocked: Basic Knife Fighting (Active).
Affinity progressed: Wild (Moderate to Significant).
Title gained: Marked by the Storm.
The words faded. I collapsed near the hearth. Lira rebuilt the fire with quick, practiced movements. Warmth returned slowly. The storm raged on outside. But inside the tower, for the first time since arriving in Aetheria, I was not alone.
*****
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