Grrr! Grrr!
"Fuck!" Ren hissed, rolling sharply to the side as a vicious slash tore through the air where he'd just been. Dirt and leaves scattered from the impact, the claws of the monster leaving deep grooves in the earth.
Towering before him was a crimson fox—about the size of a lion—its sleek fur glowing like embers in the moonlight. Two tails swayed with deadly precision behind it, and its eyes burned with a supernatural purple hue.
Ren's memory kicked in immediately.
Crimson Fox.
A nocturnal predator native to the forests surrounding the Shadow Fang Sect. More dangerous at night. Stronger. Faster. Empowered by the dark.
He crouched low, his eyes locked with the beast's. Neither moved—just two killers, measuring the other, reading intent in every twitch and breath. The air was thick with tension.
His body still ached from the escape—bruised, bloodied—but some of the deeper wounds had begun to knit together. His regeneration had kicked in at last, sluggish but persistent. His severed arm... it was beginning to grow back. Slowly. Unevenly. Almost mockingly symbolic of the pain and rebirth he was enduring.
But he was still alive. And the beast in front of him would make sure that fact stayed temporary—unless he acted fast.
He wasn't seeing the beast—not in any conventional sense. Ren was blind. But ever since his body had changed, his senses had evolved into something... beyond human. He could read presences—shapes, intent, movement—like echoes on a still lake. It was strange, hard to explain, and even harder to control. But it was all he had.
He knew this creature. Not just from the crude outline it carved into his perception, but from memory. The scent, the pressure, the killing instinct—it was all too familiar.
He'd faced a crimson fox once before, during a mission with a team. If not for them, he wouldn't have survived. That encounter had seared the beast's essence into his mind like a brand. There was no mistaking it now.
But knowing didn't help him win.
And right now, he had no idea how to fight it.
His heightened senses were nearly useless here. The oppressive night and chaotic presence of the fox scrambled everything. He could only dodge—and even that wasn't guaranteed. The beast was clearly faster, its movements sharper than his instincts could follow.
Brute strength? Worthless. The fox was easily ten times stronger. Maybe more.
And worst of all... he didn't even know the damn thing's rank.
Was it a low-tier beast? Mid? High? Was this even its final form?
He didn't know.
"Fuck it all!"
"Just what the hell am I supposed to do?!"
"I can't die here!!!"
His heart pounded. His breathing quickened. But despite the fear, he lowered his stance and let the chaos settle in his mind.
Because if he was going to die…
It sure as hell wouldn't be without a fight.
The crimson fox snarled, its twin tails snapping through the air like whips. It pounced, claws gleaming under the pale moonlight that filtered weakly through the forest canopy.
Ren rolled—barely. The fox's claws missed his chest by inches, shredding bark and dirt in an explosion of force. He hit the ground hard, shoulder slamming against a root. Pain flared down his back, but he gritted his teeth and sprang up.
He couldn't rely on his strength. Couldn't outrun it. Could barely sense it.
But he could breathe.
He inhaled deeply, felt the beast's killing intent coming in waves. To an ordinary person, it would have been like staring into a storm of death. But to him, it was a rhythm. A violent, feral rhythm. Predictable if you danced with it long enough.
"Come on," he growled, blood dripping from his lips. "Let's dance, you red bastard."
The fox snarled again and lunged, tails sweeping in a wide arc. Ren ducked, spun, and kicked off a tree, using the momentum to twist midair and land behind the beast.
He reached for a weapon—realized he had none.
No blade. No bow. No sect technique.
Just one arm... and a whole lot of rage.
The fox twisted, faster than thought, jaws snapping toward him. Ren didn't try to dodge this time.
Instead, he stepped into the attack.
Time slowed.
The beast's jaws closed—on empty air. Ren had dropped low, knees cracking, and drove his severed arm stump—still raw, still barely regenerating—upward into the beast's exposed underside with all the force he could muster.
The bone cracked.
The crimson fox howled in pain as Ren's jagged bone spike—still forming where his arm should have been—tore into its flesh. It wasn't deep. It wasn't deadly.
But it hurt.
And it gave Ren an opening.
He surged upward with a roar, driving his knee into the fox's jaw. It staggered back, snarling, blood dribbling from its mouth.
"Not so invincible now, are you?" Ren spat, trembling from the effort.
The fox responded with rage, its fur bristling with crimson energy. Shadows rippled around it. The air grew heavier.
Ren's eyes widened—or would have, if he had any.
The beast was powering up. Its body pulsed with night energy. The real fight was just beginning.
And Ren had nothing left.
But he didn't run.
Not this time.