Jabari had no time to concern himself with the ordinary wolf fleeing into the shadows. With a genuine magical beast approaching, devoting anything less than his full attention would be courting death.
He had heard tales of such creatures whispered in the slums – myths spoken in hushed tones around flickering fires. Magical beasts were said to be living disasters, nightmares incarnate. Even the weakest among them could, it was claimed, annihilate the entire slum district without effort.
When he once spoke to Aziz about them, his Master had assured him that while formidable, magical beasts were no greater threat than a Beast-Warrior or Mage. One day, he'd face them without fear.
But that day was not today.
For the Jabari of today, the mere pressure emanating from the creature was like a mountain pressing down on his chest, each breath drawn with effort.
Pain pulsed through his left shoulder, but he pushed it aside. His eyes never left the beast – a monstrous wolf, sleek and silver-furred, its eyes gleaming with a frightful intelligence. He didn't dare blink, didn't dare breathe too deeply. His fingers wrapped tighter around his glaive, muscles trembling with readiness. The battle to come would test everything he had.
He knew that, in theory, a student who had not yet become a Beast-Warrior stood no chance against a magical beast. It was suicide. But Jabari was no ordinary student. With his strength, honed skill, and the latent might of his bloodline, he believed he could claw out a chance – however slim.
The wolf halted just beyond ten metres, its muzzle curled into something resembling a grin.
'Is this thing toying with me?' Jabari thought, watching the beast's tail swish back and forth like a feline teasing prey.
There was no time to hesitate. Every second he delayed gave the beast more control over the encounter. Jabari surged forward like a loosed arrow, channelling the momentum into a deadly thrust of his glaive.
The wolf darted back effortlessly, its movement fluid, almost lazy. It stared at him with a gleam in its eye, like it was enjoying the hunt.
Jabari paused, sweat trailing down his brow, a solemn frown on his face.
Between the gnawing ache in his shoulder and the weight of fear pressing down on his thoughts, his opening strike had lacked the precision he demanded of himself. But he wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop.
He launched himself again, glaive flashing like a spear of moonlight, jabbing, stabbing, pressing the attack with every ounce of speed his body could muster.
Yet the wolf danced through it all – unfazed, untouchable.
Jabari's eyes could track it easily enough, but his body couldn't keep up. His limbs lagged behind his will, each movement a beat too slow.
The realisation settled over him like ice: the wolf was toying with him.
Every dodge, every flick of its tail, every bounding leap – it was all part of a cruel game. And Jabari was the toy.
Fatigue crept into his limbs like poison. His strikes grew sluggish, the edge dulled by exhaustion. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his eyes lost their fire, dimming like a dying ember.
The wolf slowed its movement, stepping closer, head tilted, its gaze oddly curious – disappointed, even.
Jabari wavered on his feet, teeth clenched in defiance. He wouldn't collapse. Not yet.
The beast halted barely a metre away, as though inviting him to strike once more. But Jabari could barely lift his weapon by that point.
Then the wolf raised its snout to the heavens and let loose a proud, echoing howl – an announcement of its triumph to the moon above.
But even as the sound reverberated through the trees, something in Jabari snapped back into place.
The fire in his eyes reignited.
"DIE!" he roared, voice raw with defiance.
He surged forward, glaive flashing in a sweeping arc, aiming to cleave the arrogant beast in two.
Despite being caught off guard, the wolf's reflexes proved monstrous. With agility that defied belief, it twisted through the air, vaulting above the sweeping glaive in a single fluid motion. Then, as if mocking Jabari, it planted a paw upon the flat of the blade mid-flight and launched itself backwards, out of reach for its human opponent. But Jabari's grin only widened.
His mind drifted back to a brutal training session with Aziz from just over a month ago.
"With regards to the [Cloudy Demon Style], the thing I'm most proud of isn't actually the improvement in muscular efficiency," Aziz had said, eyes gleaming with pride, "nor the slight boost to your speed and strength...
No, the thing I'm most proud of is this…"
Without warning, Aziz vanished.
Jabari hadn't even had time to blink. One moment his Master stood before him, the next, he felt the sting of pain as a single hair was plucked from the back of his head.
Before Jabari could even begin turning around, though, Aziz was already back where he started – as though he'd never moved – a faint smirk playing on his lips as he flicked the strand away.
"This is one of the few actual techniques granted by mastery over the [Cloudy Demon Style]," he explained, arms folded. "It's called the [Burst Step]."
Now, back in the present, the wolf hung suspended mid-air, and Jabari's fiendish smile deepened. The beast was in a vulnerable state – no solid footing, no room to manoeuvre.
He loosened every muscle in his body, letting go of tension, then ignited only the necessary fibres – legs and core coiling like a compressed spring.
The world seemed to freeze.
Then Jabari vanished.
A sonic thrum tore through the air as he reappeared beneath the airborne wolf, his body propelled by an explosive burst of speed – a feat no ordinary mortal should be capable of.
Only now did the wolf recognise the danger.
Its eyes widened in stunned disbelief as Jabari closed the distance, his glaive thrust forward with the force and grace of a shooting star.
But just as the tip neared the wolf's exposed throat, a sudden blast of wind surged from the creature's horn. The bullet of wind struck with pinpoint precision, knocking the glaive from Jabari's hands and sending it spinning into the underbrush.
'Dammit! I was so close!' Jabari raged inwardly, every part of him protesting as he fought against the crushing wave of exhaustion crashing over him.
The strain of fighting with his life on the line for so long was already immense. His bloodline ability had drained him to the dregs, and now he'd forced out the [Burst Step] – a technique he could barely use even when well-rested.
Now, on the edge of collapse, he teetered dangerously.
Most would have given up then and there. After all his effort, all his struggle, the beast remained virtually untouched. But not Jabari.
He couldn't afford to fall.
His limbs were shaking, his lungs burning, and every heartbeat felt like a thunderclap echoing through his skull. His vision blurred, the edges darkening, the centre spinning. Still, he forced himself to stand.
Inayah...
Her face flickered through his mind. The thought of what might become of her if he failed here was more terrifying than the wolf itself.
His body swayed like a tree battered by the storm, his feet dragging beneath him. His eyelids drooped lower and lower, but he clung to consciousness with raw determination.
He couldn't see it, but the wolf had paused mid-step, eyes narrowed in surprise. It studied him – not with the playfulness from before, but something far more wary.
Jabari didn't need his eyes to know the beast was moving again.
He could feel it.
Each of the wolf's steps was slow, deliberate, heavy with caution. The pressure in the air grew with each pace, pressing harder against his battered body.
Despite appearing fragile, the boy before it had shown a ferocity that demanded respect.
This time, the wolf would not underestimate him.
As an apex predator in the wild, the wolf had rarely – if ever – faced a true threat to its life. Jabari's last strike, though, despite failing to land, had rattled it to the core.
Whether it was his speed, precision, or the raw power of his last strike, it had pierced through its pride and shaken its instincts.
Its crystalline horn, once radiant with elemental energy, now shimmered faintly – dimmed and fractured, drained of its might. Whatever technique it had used to deflect Jabari's glaive had cost it dearly. The good news? It could no longer fire wind bullets. The bad news? Jabari was in no condition to take advantage of that particular fact.
When the beast reached within a metre, it halted, sniffing the air with narrowed eyes. Then, ever so slowly, it began circling behind him like a phantom in the night.
Jabari strained every cell in his body, trying to draw power from anywhere – his spirit, his bloodline, his will – but he was running on fumes. His limbs were unresponsive, trembling under his own weight.
From behind, the wolf watched with sharp focus, as though trying to pierce through illusion and deceit. It had already been fooled once. It wouldn't be again.
Only when Jabari finally collapsed to his knees, shoulders sagging and glaive long lost, did the wolf accept that he was spent.
"FUCK!" Jabari roared, breath tearing from his lungs in jagged bursts. He couldn't see the beast behind him – but he heard it.
A deep, guttural growl. The rush of air from a bounding leap.
His heart lurched as his ears caught the wolf launching itself at him, fangs bared and aimed at the nape of his neck. Desperation flooded him. He screamed at his body to move, to roll, to do something.
Nothing.
Muscles refused to respond. Blood pounded in his ears. The world slowed to a crawl as the inevitable loomed just inches away.
Then-
WHOOSH!
A thunderous gust of wind accompanied a brutal cleave through the air.
A titanic battle axe, gleaming and immense, crashed into the wolf with devastating force, splitting it down the middle. Its body hit the ground in two twitching halves, lifeless.
Jabari blinked. His brain couldn't process what had just occurred.
"Huh… What happened?!" he muttered weakly, still hunched over, his body tensed for an attack that never came.
Footsteps thundered behind him, followed by a gruff, commanding voice.
"Open your mouth!"
Before Jabari could register the command, a strong hand seized his jaw, and something was shoved down his throat – bitter, gritty, and utterly unpleasant.
He gagged, barely conscious enough to resist.
But the voice gave no room for protest.
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