The wolf lunged, claws throwing up sparks as they scraped the stone floor. Fin barely managed a clumsy dive to the side, his shoulder slamming into the unforgiving wall. A sharp jolt shot down his arm.
'Ow.'
Definitely gonna feel that later. He scrambled up, legs feeling strangely heavy, just as the wolf spun, jaws snapping shut with a loud clack.
He took a wild swing with the dagger—and yeah, missed by a country mile. The wolf's claws sliced through the air, way too close to his chest for comfort. He stumbled backward, tripping over his own damn feet like a newborn giraffe.
Laughter, muffled but definitely there, echoed from outside the sealed door. Red Hair, had to be. "Hear that? Slum boy's about to become chow!"
"Shut up!" He yelled back, but his voice hitched, cracking embarrassingly. Crap. The wolf charged again. He threw himself into a roll, pure instinct, the snap of teeth echoing exactly where his leg just was. This was bad. Real bad. His breaths were coming too fast, too shallow, like trying to sip air through a straw. His hands? Shaking like leaves.
'Okay, maybe I can't do this. Maybe I'm not cut out for this Hunter stuff. Just... some guy from the slums.' The thought was cold, slick with fear.
The wolf circled, a low growl vibrating in its chest. He could just make out the shadowy outlines of the guild masters in the high windows above. Watching him. Judging him. Probably laughing too.
'They think I'm a joke. Some charity case.' His mind flashed to Meg – her bright purple hair, that booming laugh, the way she shoved the crumpled bills into his hand. "You got a real shot, Fin," she'd said, serious for once. "Don't screw it up."
And home. The endless gray, the smell of damp and decay, the feeling of being trapped. He promised them. He promised himself he'd get out, get them out. But here he was, about to be turned into a glorified chew toy by a pissed-off dog.
"No," he grunted, the sound rough, scraping his throat. "Not happening."
The wolf lunged one more time, jaws gaping. Something inside Fin just… snapped. Fear, anger, the sheer unfairness of it all boiled over. He didn't dodge. Didn't even think about it. With a raw yell torn from his lungs, he launched himself forward, ramming the dagger into the wolf's side.
It sank in with a sickening squelch. But the wolf twisted, a blur of fur and teeth, and claws slashed across his already aching arm. Hot, searing pain flared, and blood welled up instantly, dripping down his fingers. He barely registered it.
"Get—off—ME!" he roared, wrenching the dagger free with a grunt and stabbing again, blindly. The wolf snapped at his face, saliva flying.
He dropped the dagger—idiot!—and grabbed its thick neck with his free hand instead. That familiar buzz, the thrum of his power, kicked in—but it felt weird. Wild, spiky, not the smooth flow he sometimes managed.
He wasn't controlling it; it was just happening. Strength surged into his arm, raw and overwhelming, sucking the wolf's energy into him like a jolt of pure fire mixed with electricity. It felt… wrong. Too much, too fast.
Using the sudden, unnatural strength, he flipped the surprisingly heavy wolf over, slamming it onto its back and pinning it. Its claws scrabbled uselessly against his vest. He was stronger now—way, way stronger—but it felt like riding a runaway train.
"You don't win!" he screamed, grabbing the fallen dagger again. He jammed it into its chest. Once. Twice. Blood sprayed, hot and sticky, plastering his face, his clothes.
The wolf thrashed beneath him, letting out a high-pitched whine. He didn't stop. Didn't think. Stabbed again. Then, dropping the dagger again, he just started punching its skull with his bare fist, fuelled by that borrowed, frantic energy.
Over and over, the sickening crack echoed in the small room until the bone gave way and the creature finally went limp.
He knelt there, panting, gasping for air that didn't seem to fill his lungs properly. He was drenched in blood—his own, the wolf's, who could even tell anymore? The room was deathly quiet except for his own ragged breathing. The wolf's body gave one last, small twitch. Then nothing.
He did it. It wasn't clean, wasn't skilled. It was ugly, brutal, and left him feeling shaky and weirdly empty, like the power surge short-circuited something inside him.
'Okay,' he thought, staring blankly at the absolute mess he made, 'some screws are definitely loose in there now. Fantastic.' His whole body felt like lead, the adrenaline crash hitting hard.
The door lock clanked loudly behind him, making him jump. He didn't move, just stared at his trembling hands, the blood already starting to feel crusty. The dagger lay discarded, still dripping red onto the floor.
Vance's gruff voice sliced through the daze. "Slum boy. Get out here. Now."
He pushed himself up, legs wobbling like jelly. Turning, he saw the group waiting outside. They were silent. No smirks now, no whispered jokes.
Red Hair's jaw was practically on the floor, and Muscle Guy looked like he might be sick. Bow Girl—Lila, he thought her name was—just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
He limped out, leaving bloody footprints. Blood oozed sluggishly from the cut on his arm. He met Vance's intense stare, bracing for a chewing out.
"Not bad," the instructor grunted, his voice rough but… not actually angry? "Messy as all hell, used way too much juice by the looks of it, but not bad."
Fin managed a weak, shaky grin. The effort made his face ache. "Uh… thanks?"
"Don't thank me yet," he said, hooking a thumb towards the observation windows above. "They're the ones watching. And judging."
Fin glanced up. Shadows shifted behind the tinted glass. Guild masters. Did that messy, out-of-control display impress them?
Or just confirm he was some kind of rabid animal? He had no clue. But he was alive. The wolf wasn't. For now, that felt like enough. His borrowed strength was gone now, leaving him feeling twice as exhausted as before.
"Next!" Vance barked, and the other recruits jolted back to life, shuffling nervously.
Fin sagged against the nearest wall, trying to catch his breath without falling over. Blood—his, the wolf's—was drying into sticky, itchy patches on his hands and face. His arm throbbed insistently, a deep ache settling into the bone beneath the slash. His legs felt like overcooked noodles. But yeah, alive. Wolf, not so much. Victory? Felt more like surviving a car crash.
He swiped at his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, accidentally smearing more blood across his face. "Ugh, gross," he muttered, shaking his head slightly, which was a mistake. Made him dizzy. "Seriously, walking biohazard here."
Nearby, the other recruits were starting to chatter again, the tension easing now that his messy fight was over. Some were bragging about their quick kills, others comparing minor cuts and scrapes.
Muscle Guy was back to flexing, pointing at a tiny scratch on his bicep like it was proof of surviving a dragon attack. "See this? That slimy frog-thing barely touched me!" he boasted, trying to catch Red Hair's eye.
"Right," Red Hair scoffed, fiddling with his knife again. "Pretty sure you slipped in its drool and face-planted into the wall first. Real smooth."
Muscle Guy flushed. "Hey! Shut up! Point is, I won."
Fin let out a quiet snort. He was too damn tired to care if they heard. Lila, standing a little apart from the others, caught his eye and offered a small, wry smirk.
"They're a noisy bunch, aren't they?" she said, her voice low but clear.
"Yeah," he managed, shifting his weight gingerly. His shoulder screamed in protest. "All bark, maybe some bite, mostly just loud."
She gave a quick, soft laugh. "Pretty much." She adjusted the quiver on her back. "I'm Lila."
"Fin," he replied, giving a curt nod that felt like a huge effort. "Nice work with the… uh, bat-thing. Three shots, done. Looked easy."
She shrugged, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Practice. Comes with the territory." She glanced at the drying blood on him, then back at his face. "You, though… that was something else. You just kind of… exploded on that wolf." She made a vague punching motion.
He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a flush creep up despite the exhaustion. "Uh, yeah. Kind of lost it there for a second. Wasn't exactly the plan." The power surge felt like a distant, weird dream now, leaving only aches behind.
"Didn't look like there was a plan," she said, but her tone wasn't mean, more observational. She was smiling faintly. "Still got the job done, though. Messily."
Before he could figure out how to respond to that, Instructor Vance's voice, rough as gravel, echoed through the training area. "Alright, you sorry excuses for recruits! Line up! Evaluation time."
A collective groan went through the group, but they shuffled into a semblance of a line, bumping and whispering. Fin peeled himself off the wall, feeling every single bruise, and dragged himself over, ending up next to Lila.
His borrowed boots squeaked again on the stone floor—loudly. Red Hair, a couple of spots ahead, twisted around to shoot him a sneering look.
"Slum boy's boots sound like they're crying for help."
"Still better than your face," he mumbled back before he could stop himself. Woah, where did that come from? Maybe exhaustion lowered his filter.
Lila stifled a giggle beside him, covering her mouth with her hand. Red Hair just glared but wisely shut his mouth as Vance started pacing in front of them, looking even more annoyed than usual.
"Can it," Vance snapped, his voice cutting off the low buzz of chatter. "You fought. Some of you were less terrible than others. Now, the guild masters decide who's actually worth investing in. They watched the whole show from up there—" He jerked a thumb towards the tinted windows high on the wall. "—and they've made their picks. If you get scouted, congrats, you get to join a real guild. The rest of you? You're stuck with me, scrubbing slime off the training dummies until you prove you're not completely useless."
Muscle Guy puffed out his chest again. "Totally getting scouted. Iron Fang Guild, watch."
"Yeah, they love guys who hug walls," Lila muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Fin to hear. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, which hurt.
Vance ignored them, pulling out a datapad from inside his rugged jacket. He tapped the screen a few times, squinting. "Alright, results are in. Listen up. When I call your name, step forward. If a guild picked you, they'll tell you where to report. If not, park your butts back on the bench over there."
The room fell silent. The air felt thick, heavy with anticipation and stale sweat. Fin's stomach did a nervous flip-flop.
'Scouted? Me?' The idea seemed ridiculous. He barely scraped through the initial screening. And that wolf fight... sure, he won, but it was a frantic, bloody mess. He lost control, felt that power surge through him like a tidal wave he couldn't steer.
'No way anyone wants that on their team. Too unpredictable.' He felt drained just thinking about it. Using that power felt like it took something out of him, leaving him shaky and weak.
Vance began reading names. "Kenjiro—" Muscle Guy swaggered forward, beaming. "—scouted. Iron Fang Guild. West corridor briefing room."
"Yes!" Kenjiro pumped his fist. "Called it!" He strutted off, flexing his scratched bicep one last time.
"Jace—" Red Hair stepped up eagerly. "—scouted. Crimson Blades. East corridor."
Jace let out a whoop, tried to flip his knife coolly, and promptly dropped it. "Whoops," he muttered, snatching it up before jogging off, face redder than his hair. A few nervous chuckles broke the tension. Even Vance seemed to hide a tiny smirk.
Name after name. Most got called. Scouted. Sent off to join some guild with a fancy name, swaggering like they just won the lottery. Fin watched them go, his tiny flicker of hope sputtering out.
'Look at them. They know what they're doing. Trained, confident... not like me, covered in guts and tripping over my own feet.' His power felt like a liability right now, not an asset. Something wild he couldn't control, that left him feeling like garbage afterwards.
"Lila," Vance called out. She straightened up, hand resting on her bow. "Not scouted. Bench."
Her shoulders slumped for just a fraction of a second, then she gave a small shrug and walked calmly over to the indicated bench, sitting down without a word. Fin frowned.
'Her? Not scouted? Seriously?' She was incredible with that bow. Smooth, precise, deadly efficient. What was wrong with these guilds?
Finally, Vance's gaze landed on him. "Fin."
He froze for a second, then shuffled forward, heart pounding against ribs that felt distinctly bruised. "Uh… yeah?"
He looked down at the datapad, then up at Fin, his expression unreadable, maybe a little annoyed. "Not scouted. Bench."
Fin felt his own shoulders slump. He managed a jerky nod and trudged over to the bench, sinking down next to Lila. The wood felt hard beneath him.
'Yeah, figures.' He won, sure, but it was pure desperation and a power surge he didn't understand, let alone control. Plus, he felt like he could sleep for a week. No guild master wants a recruit who looks like he just crawled out of a dumpster after losing a fight with it, and might accidentally drain his teammates dry.
The last few names were called. A couple more scouted, a couple more joining them on the bench. Soon, it was just Fin, Lila, and two others sitting there while the rest had vanished into the guild corridors. The big training area suddenly felt vast and empty. Depressingly quiet.
Vance tucked the datapad away and paced in front of the four of them. "Alright. You four. The leftovers. Wanna know why you're still sitting here?"
Lila raised her hand slightly, looking more curious than upset. "Actually, yeah. That bat creature? Three shots, that's all it took. Pretty clean i would say. What gives?"
Vance let out a short, humorless snort. "You're good with the bow, kid. Precise. Calm under pressure. Problem is, dedicated archers? We got plenty. Guilds want flash these days. Big glowing swords, guys who shoot fire from their hands, flashy powers they can show off. You're reliable, maybe even lucky. But you're not 'special' in their eyes."
Lila frowned, crossing her arms. "Lucky and reliable sounds better than dead."
"Try telling the recruitment reps that," Vance retorted, gesturing vaguely towards the windows. "They want potential stars, not solid backups."
Then he turned his sharp gaze on Fin. His eyes narrowed. "And you, slum boy. That wolf fight? Total disaster zone."
Fin winced. Yeah, he kind of knew this was coming. "I won, though."
"Barely!" He growled back. "And how? You were flailing like a fish on land one second, then you grab the thing and suddenly you're strong enough to rip it apart? That power of yours—Absorption, right? It's raw. Uncontrolled. You probably don't even know how you did that, do you?"
Fin stared at his boots, saying nothing. Vance was right. "And look at you now," he continued, gesturing at Fin's exhausted state. "Using juice like that probably burns you out completely afterwards. Guilds don't want a loose cannon who's useless after one big trick. Too risky. Too unstable."
Fin's cheeks burned. Unstable. Risky. Burned out. Yeah, that sounded terrifyingly accurate. He did feel completely wiped, way beyond just tired from a fight. And that surge… what if he couldn't control it next time? What if he grabbed a person by accident?
Vance clapped his hands together sharply, startling them. "Okay, pity party's over. You four are stuck with me and the main Hunter Guild. Starting rank: F. Rock bottom. That means grunt work. Cleaning monster cages, hauling supplies, maybe, maybe you get thrown a bone with a sewer slime extermination job if you don't trip over your own feet. Prove you can follow orders, learn some control—" he gave Fin a pointed look "—and maybe you'll climb the ranks. Or maybe you'll wash out. Up to you."
Lila let out a long sigh, leaning back against the bench. "Fantastic. From expert markswoman to designated goo-scraper."
Despite everything – the aches, the exhaustion, the rejection, the worrying lack of control – Fin felt a small grin crack his face. "Hey, could be worse. At least we're not actually wolf chow."
"Speak for yourself," she shot back, but there was a ghost of a smirk on her lips. "Give it time."
Vance glared at them both. "You two done flirting? Good. Your temporary gear? It's yours now. Don't lose it, don't break it, learn to maintain it. Tomorrow, report back here. Dawn. Sharp. Anyone's late? You're scrubbing the entire White Run sewer outlet. With a toothbrush. Dismissed."
He spun on his heel and stomped off towards a side door, leaving the four rejects alone in the suddenly cavernous room. Fin looked over at Lila. She was idly fiddling with the fletching of an arrow, looking thoughtful.
"Guess we're the official reject squad, huh?" he said, trying for a lighter tone. The effort cost him.
She snorted softly. "Looks like it. The Slum Rat and the Archer Nobody. Sounds like a terrible action-comedy duo."
He actually laughed then, a real, if weak, sound. "Coming soon to a dumpster near you."
She grinned, finally standing up and slinging her bow properly over her shoulder. "Right. Well, 'co-star,' I'm beat. Heading out to find somewhere to crash. See you at dawn. Don't be late, I'm not sharing my toothbrush privileges."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, slowly, painfully hauling himself to his feet. Every muscle screamed in protest.