Hael walked until the sun climbed high enough to pierce the canopy in thin, slanted blades.
His legs burned. His stomach twisted with a hunger sharper than any wound.
He had not eaten since the night before the massacre—only the bitter healing potion hours ago. Water he had found at a small stream, cupped in shaking hands, but food…
There was nothing.
The Shadowvein Wilds gave nothing easily.
Berries he recognized from childhood hunts hung on low bushes, but they were out of reach across a tangle of thorns. Nuts lay scattered under oaks, yet every time he bent to gather them, dizziness threatened to drop him.
He was still too weak.
The realization settled cold in his gut.
He leaned against a tree, breathing hard, sweat cooling on his skin despite the growing warmth of the day.
The forest was alive around him—birds calling, insects droning, leaves whispering in the breeze. Somewhere deeper, something larger crashed through underbrush and went still.
He had to eat.
Or he would not last another night.
Hael closed his eyes.
The chill was still there—faint now, but waiting.
He reached for it.
Not desperate this time.
Just… necessary.
The shadows between the trees stirred, thinning slightly around him, as if listening.
He opened his eyes.
And took another step forward—this time, toward survival.
Hael stood beneath the oak, staring up at the clusters of hard-shelled nuts hanging just out of reach. His stomach cramped again—a sharp, insistent twist that made him double over for a moment.
He couldn't climb. Not with his side still tender, not with his arms shaking from exhaustion.
But he had the Void Grasp now.
He straightened slowly, wiping sweat from his brow.
The branch was high, but not impossible.
He focused on a single nut—small, brown, nestled in green leaves.
The chill stirred in his chest, familiar now. Not strong. Not easy. But there.
He reached for it.
The shadow beneath the nut darkened.
His hand stayed at his side.
But invisible fingers closed around the nut.
It jerked free with a soft snap of stem.
The nut dropped—straight into his waiting palm.
Hael stared at it, breathing hard. Strain tugged at his temples, but less than before.
One.
He did it again. And again.
Nuts rained down—clunking softly onto the leaves around his feet. Not perfect—some missed, rolling away into underbrush. One branch cracked too hard and sent a shower of leaves.
But he gathered eight. Enough.
Nearby bushes held dark berries he recognized from childhood—tart, but safe.
He used void grasp once more—careful this time, gentler.
Berries plucked themselves from thorns, floating unsteadily through the air to land in his cupped hands.
A few crushed, staining his fingers purple.
But most made it.
Hael sat against the oak trunk, legs crossed, and ate.
Slowly.
The nuts were hard; he cracked them between rocks. The berries burst sharp and sweet on his tongue.
It wasn't much.
But the cramping eased.
The hollow ache quieted, just a little.
For the first time since the manor, his body felt something other than pain and loss.
He leaned his head back against the bark, eyes half-closed.
The forest was peaceful in the midday light. Birds called overhead. Sunlight dappled the ground.
He almost let himself rest.
Then he heard a rustling.
Leaves crunched softly. Branches shifted.
Hael froze, half a berry still in his fingers.
The rustling stopped.
Silence. Then it started again—closer.
His heart began to pound. The unknow was the most terrifying thing.
The crimson letters flashed urgently in his vision.
[Bloodlust detected.]
He dropped the berry.
And reached for the chill inside him once more. He got on guard.
He scanned the underbrush, heart pounding. Leaves swayed gently in the breeze, but nothing moved.
He turned slowly, eyes straining into every shadow between the trees.
"Where…?" he whispered, voice barely audible.
Then the bushes to his left parted—slow, deliberate.
A creature stepped out.
It resembled a dog at first glance—lean, low to the ground, built for pursuit. But where a dog would have four legs, this thing had six, the extra pair sprouting awkwardly from its shoulders like an afterthought of nature gone wrong. Its fur was dull gray, matted and patchy, as if it had never seen proper light. Elongated teeth protruded from its jaws in uneven rows, yellowed and sharp, dripping thin strands of saliva. No tail—just a blunt, scarred stump.
Hael's breath caught.
He knew what it was. He had heard stories of these things from the old hunters back home.
A Hexhound.
In the Shadowvein Wilds, they were whispered about around campfires: corrupted predators born from the deepest corruption. The extra limbs gave them unnatural balance and speed on uneven ground. They hunted silently, in packs when possible, drawn to blood and fear like moths to flame. Few who met one alone lived to tell of it.
The Hexhound lowered its head, six legs splayed wide, muscles rippling under scarred hide. Its eyes—milky white, no pupils—fixed on Hael with cold, predatory certainty.
A low rumble built in its throat—not quite a growl, more a wet clicking, as if its jaw didn't fit right.
Hael's hand tightened around the empty vial still in his grip.
The letters flashed again.
[Threat identified: Lesser Abomination – Hexhound]
[Eliminate the target or you will die.]
Hael froze. The system's voice was cold. He has to kill this thing or he will die.
He had no weapon. No strength.
But the thing was already moving—slow, circling, testing.
Hael backed up a step, bark scraping his shoulders.
The Hexhound matched it, head low, teeth bared.
He had nowhere to run.
And for the first time since the takeover, the chill inside him answered before he even called it.
***
The Hexhound lowered its head, six legs splayed wide, muscles rippling under scarred hide. Its eyes—milky white, no pupils—fixed on Hael with cold, predatory certainty.
A low rumble built in its throat—not quite a growl, more a wet clicking, as if its jaw didn't fit right.
Hael backed up a step, bark scraping his shoulders.
The creature's nostrils flared. It smelled the blood—old and new—on him.
Its body tensed. Then it frenzied.
The change was instant. Muscles bulged. Eyes rolled back. A guttural snarl tore from its throat as it launched forward—faster than anything that size should move, six legs pounding the earth in a blur.
Hael threw himself sideways, rolling desperately across leaves. Teeth snapped shut inches from his leg.
He scrambled up, heart hammering, back against a tree.
The Hexhound skidded, turned—already charging again, foam flecking its jaws.
Shadow Step.
The chill surged—clumsy, panicked.
He flickered sideways, only a few feet. Landed off-balance, stumbling.
The Hexhound adjusted mid-charge, slamming into the tree where he'd been. Bark exploded. It shook its head, snarling, frenzy unbroken.
Hael ran—three steps—before it was on him again.
He dove, shoulder hitting dirt hard. Teeth raked his calf—hot fire.
He screamed, kicking wildly. His boot connected with the creature's snout. It recoiled for a heartbeat.
The frenzy was fading—panting now, legs trembling.
Hael dragged himself behind a fallen log, blood pouring from his leg.
The Hexhound staggered, disoriented—frenzy spent.
Its sides heaved.
Hael didn't wait.
Void Grasp.
He reached—not at the body, but at a front leg.
Shadows coiled, clamped.
The limb twisted with a sickening crack.
The Hexhound howled in pain.
It lunged again, slower, dragging the broken leg.
Hael rolled away, gasping. He activated Shadow Step and appeared behind it.
He activated Void Grasp again—on the throat this time.
The shadows tightened.
The creature thrashed, six legs clawing air, broken one flailing uselessly.
Hael held on—strain burning in his head, vision tunneling.
Come on! Die already!
He didn't let go. Not until the thrashing slowed. Finally the creature stopped.
The Hexhound collapsed, milky eyes staring blankly.
Hael released the grasp and fell to his knees beside it, chest heaving, blood soaking the leaves beneath him.
His leg was torn open. His side had reopened. His head pounded like it would split.
He had won. Barely.
Hael sighed and stayed on his knees beside the dead Hexhound, chest heaving, blood dripping steadily from his torn calf and shoulder. The creature's milky eyes stared blankly at the canopy above. Its broken leg lay twisted at an unnatural angle.
He had won.
But it didn't feel like winning.
Every breath hurt. His vision swam at the edges. The world tilted when he tried to stand.
He stayed down.
The crimson letters appeared at last—steady, unfeeling.
[Lesser Abomination eliminated.]
[Level 1 → Level 2]
[+1 Abyssal Affinity]
Hael stared at the words.
Level 2.
Just one.
He almost laughed—a weak, cracked sound that turned into a cough.
One level.
For all that.
For nearly dying.
He pressed a hand to his bleeding calf, wincing. The pain was sharp.The creature's teeth had gone deep.
But he was alive.
And something inside him felt… different.
Not stronger, exactly.
Just a little more attuned to the dark.
The chill lingered in his chest, quieter now.
No mention of Corruption appeared this time.
Hael exhaled shakily.
He looked at the Hexhound's body. Then at his blood-soaked hands.
He had killed it. With nothing but shadows. And desperation.
The forest remained silent around him.
Watching.
He pushed himself to his feet—slow, swaying, every movement agony.
But he stood.
One step away from the corpse.
Then another.
The path continued.
Then the letters returned—brighter this time, almost expectant.
[First blood milestone achieved.]
[Reward granted: Weapon]