Kael sighed and stared blankly at the soul gauge counter glowing in the corner of his vision. Zero. Absolutely nothing. Zilch. Nada. The cosmic equivalent of a middle finger.
If soul credits were food, he'd be starving. And apparently, if he wanted to afford even the beginner-tier books—the cheap, discount-bin versions that probably came with smudged ink and terrible advice—he'd need twenty thousand credits. Twenty. Freaking. Thousand.
Kael let out a dry, mirthless laugh and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Because killing 20,000 creatures doesn't sound like a complete nightmare or anything," he muttered. "Totally reasonable. Just a casual genocidal jog through the countryside."
He exhaled heavily, then called out, "Eva?"
The ever-cheerful AI assistant materialized beside him, her usual light giggle trailing after like the world's least helpful wind chime.
"How does the soul-to-credits ratio work? Please tell me I don't have to slaughter and soul-suck 20,000 creatures just to afford a stack of glorified pamphlets."
Eva smiled sweetly. "No, silly. The stronger the creature you slay, the more soul credits you earn. Your system will display a floating counter over enemies to show how many credits a soul is worth. Weaker creatures won't get you much, but they can give you a steady stream of credits if you're consistent."
Kael actually sagged in relief. He might've even said a little prayer to whatever deity hadn't completely given up on him yet.
"Thank the gods and their heavenly spreadsheets," he muttered. "At least I won't have to spend the next six months hacking through glorified sewer rats."
With renewed purpose, he wandered over to the cluttered workbench. It looked like someone had spilled the contents of a demon's stomach all over it—three cracked Infernal Imp cores, four glowing Vex Mice cores, and a few Marsh Wolf teeth. He'd originally planned to offload the junk to the ARC Division hub for a handful of credits and maybe a sarcastic pat on the back, but now? No. He wanted to see what the forge could do with this stuff.
As if reading his mind, a golden HUD flickered to life. A smooth, waist-high pillar slid out of the ground with the quiet groan of ancient stone meeting purpose. The top was etched with a radiant glyph that pulsed softly—like it was hungry.
"Just place the objects you wish to convert and press the 'sell' button in the shop tab," Eva instructed. "The forge will handle the rest."
Kael nodded and dumped the contents onto the glyph like he was feeding a vending machine that ran on the souls of lesser monsters. He tapped the glowing 'sell' icon.
The glyph flared, and the materials vanished in a shimmer of golden light.
Ding.
His soul credit gauge ticked up. 670.
Kael blinked. Then his face twisted into a grin—a proper, teeth-showing one that hadn't appeared in a while.
"Hah! That's way more than those ARC vultures would've offered me," he said, practically giddy. "At this rate, I might actually afford my starter spell books before I die of old age. Progress."
His mind buzzed with possibility. He could do this. It would take time, sure, but not the hopeless eternity he'd envisioned a few minutes ago.
He turned to Eva, his tone leveling out with grim resolve.
"Eva, thanks for the tour and the existential awakening, but I need to head out. How do I get back here when I'm done murdering my way to literacy?"
Eva beamed and held out her hand. "Simple. Give me yours."
Kael squinted at her. "This isn't going to end in blood sacrifice, is it?"
But he still extended his hand, ever the masochist. Eva hovered her palm above his, and a searing heat suddenly bloomed across the back of his hand like someone branded him with a molten coin.
He hissed and yanked his hand back, shaking it furiously. "Ow! Okay, yep, definitely felt that one. You branded me? Seriously? What am I, a livestock now?"
A glowing sigil shimmered briefly on his skin—an intricate, design that pulsed red-orange before fading from sight.
Eva's tone didn't change—still upbeat, still maddeningly cheery. "That symbol is Pyrelune's mark—the essence of flame and will. One of the primordial crystals tied to this forge. It acts as your key to the Chamber of Echoes. Push mana into it, and you'll be teleported here. Same process gets you back out."
She clasped her hands behind her back. "You'll return to the exact place you teleported from, but to be safe, you can set up to three waypoints using teleportation glyphs. That way, you won't appear in the middle of a battlefield if things go sideways."
Kael's eyebrows raised. "So... Fast travel. I've got a built-in escape button." He let out a low whistle. "Damn. I might actually survive long enough to get cocky."
Then a thought occurred, one that yanked the hope right out of his throat.
"Wait—back where I came from. The ruined street was crawling with monsters. Am I about to pop back into a death pit?"
Eva's eyes gleamed as she accessed the data. She shook her head. "No. The creatures moved on. The coast is clear."
Kael exhaled, long and slow. "Alright then... Here goes nothing."
He didn't know what awaited him out there. But for the first time in a long time, Kael didn't feel like he was walking into oblivion unarmed. He had spells. He had the forge. And best of all?
Kael had options.
🐺⚙️"༒ The Howl of the Forsaken ༒"⚙️🐺
Kael reappeared in a flash of pale blue light, encircled by a glowing rune that fizzled out with a quiet snap of energy. No dramatic thunderclap. No fanfare. Just him, dumped right back where he'd teleported from. The familiar stink of rot and sunbaked blood hit him immediately, making his nose wrinkle beneath his mask.
The street was dead quiet—eerily so. He adjusted the mask over his face as the sun glared down like a vengeful god, baking the back of his neck through his black leather jacket.
The place looked worse than before. Like something had chewed through it, gagged, and then spat it out. Half-eaten carcasses of riftspawn were strewn across the asphalt like decorations for a really enthusiastic apocalypse-themed party. Pools of sticky blood soaked into the cracks of the road, buzzing with flies that had no intention of dying.
Kael didn't even bother scavenging for cores. Whatever was left had already been picked clean by other creatures. Nature's version of a soul-sucking loot ninja. That's how rift beasts climbed the evolutionary ladder—eat, mutate, repeat.
He scanned the ruins and shattered cars until a glint of metal caught his eye. There, lying half-buried beneath some rubble, was his rail gun. He trudged over, picked it up—and yeah, it was trash. The barrel was bent, the capacitor cracked, and half the casing had melted from... something. Rift creature stomach acid, probably.
"Perfect," Kael muttered, deadpan. "Could've just left me a sticky note that said 'screw you.'"
Still, all wasn't lost. With the forge, he could probably repair it. Eventually. Once he had the skill and the patience for it. He stored the broken weapon in his spatial storage with a flick of his hand and let out a slow breath.
"Well, let's do this," he said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's see just how badass I've actually become."
Kael started down the street, ready to pick a fight with something that didn't have a digestive system designed by Satan. But then—movement.
His eyes snapped to a collapsed building on the far side of the road, just beyond a patch of sunlight. A twisted grin spread across his face.
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. You're still here?" he muttered, already stepping into the light. "Let's see if you like fire as much as you loved trying to murder me yesterday."
The Blood Stalker. That oversized, carnivorous plant had tried to choke the life out of him. It had almost succeeded too, the viney bastard. But now it was stuck in place, rooted deep in the ruin, unable to move... and unlucky enough to still be in his line of sight.
Kael stayed in the sun, careful to avoid any patches of shade where the vines might lash out. The thing hated sunlight—one of its few weaknesses. As he got closer, he spotted its thick, fleshy body half-buried in twisted rebar and crumbling concrete. It looked like a cross between a Venus flytrap and a vampire squid.
Raising his hand, Kael called, "Identify."
A gold-hued circle flickered to life in front of the creature, scanning its form.
[Success: Blood Stalker — Lv. 15]
[Type: Plant/Vampiric]
[Soul Count: 150]
[Health: 1600/1600]
[Abilities: ???]
Level fifteen. Nearly double his own level. And of course the abilities were redacted. Why make things easy?
Still, Kael had read about these things. Big XP bags with anger issues. As long as you fought them in the daylight, they were all bark and no real bite.
"Time to test the new toys," he murmured, feeling the spark of adrenaline pulse through him.
He summoned mana, feeding it into his Bolt Lance spell. Lightning coiled between his fingers, snapping and hissing. The air thickened with static. He could smell ozone through his mask, sharp and electric. His heart thudded against his ribs, a half-nervous, half-thrilled rhythm.
With a grunt, he hurled the spell.
A jagged bolt of purple lightning shot forward, lighting up the street with a thunderous crack. The spell slammed into the Blood Stalker's torso, sending it into a fit of twitching agony.
[Direct hit! 1376/1600 HP]
The creature let out an unholy shriek as hundreds of writhing vines burst from the ruins, lashing toward Kael like angry whips. But the moment they hit sunlight, they recoiled, smoking and twitching.
[Sunlight Exposure! 1220/1600 HP]
Kael barked out a laugh. "Hah! That's what you get, you overgrown salad!"
But his amusement died fast.
The Blood Stalker's mouth—if you could call it that—opened wide, revealing rows of jagged thorns and a writhing tongue. Then it vomited.
A wave of thick, brown sludge sprayed in his direction. Kael dove behind a rusted-out car just as the gunk hit the ground where he'd been standing. It sizzled on impact, eating through metal and concrete like boiling acid.
"Acid?! Are you shitting me?" Kael cursed, eyes wide. "Why does everything puke acid in this goddamn world?!"
Another glob of death-vomit splashed against the car, melting through the hood like it was made of butter. Kael scrambled away, heart pounding.
"I swear," he hissed under his breath, "when I find the idiot who wrote the field guide on this thing and forgot to mention the acid, I'm going to beat them with it."
The Blood Stalker tensed again, its jaws yawning wide, ready to launch another stream of acid death. Kael didn't give it the chance.
He raised his hand, fingers curling as mana surged beneath his skin. The asphalt beneath him cracked with a deep rumble, sending spider-web fractures outward. Three jagged stone spears erupted from the ground, their tips gleaming like teeth as they twisted to face the creature.
"Open wide," Kael muttered, deadpan. "Dinner's served."
With a sharp flick, he released Gravel Shot.
The spears launched forward with brutal force, slamming into the Blood Stalker's gaping maw. One impaled through the tongue, another buried itself in the throat, and the last pierced straight through the upper jaw.
The creature shrieked—a high-pitched, wet, unearthly sound that made Kael's bones itch. But it wasn't over yet.
The real kicker? Acid, all the acid it had been storing, spilled from its wrecked mouth, running down like some awful syrup. The sizzling hiss was music to Kael's ears.
Apparently, the thing wasn't fully acid-proof.
[Critical Hit! 980/1600 HP]
[Acid contamination detected—10 damage/second]
"Oof. That's rough, buddy," Kael said with a mock wince. "But hey—on the bright side, you taste your own medicine now."
He could've just waited it out. Let the creature marinate in its own digestive juices until it stopped twitching. But Kael wasn't a fan of patience. Or mercy.
Mana surged in his palm again. Bolt Lance. Then Gravel Shot. He fired the spells in quick succession—lightning and stone, thunder and shrapnel—until the Blood Stalker gave one last pitiful whine. Then silence.
Its vines sagged, curling inward like dying flowers, and slowly decayed, melting into mulch that stank of rot and burned moss.
[Congratulations! You have defeated a Blood Stalker.]
[XP Gained: 4400]
[Level Up!]
[Level Up!]
Kael stared at the fading husk for a moment, chest rising and falling with the post-battle buzz still zipping through his limbs.
"Well," he breathed, a wry grin tugging at his lips, "that's one less homicidal plant on the menu."
He glanced down at his hand, where faint sparks of mana still danced across his knuckles. The forge had changed everything. A year ago, he would've been dead five times over. Now? He was melting acid-spewing plant monsters and stacking level-ups like loot drops.
Not a bad day. So far.
***
"PRIMORDIAN SYSTEM HUD"
📛 Name: Kael Bloodfang [20]
Health: 1030/1030
Mana: 910/910
Spiritual Energy: 770/770
🧬 Species: Hybrid (Human/Lycan)
💢 Class: Warbrand Summoner [Novice] / Primal Artificer [Novice]
📉 Rank: Omega Lycan [Novice]
📈 Level: 10 (2100/10000 XP)
🔰 Hunter Tier: E-Rank
📍 Location: Outer Edge—Ashgarde Reach City, Rift Zone 3
Attribute | Value | Buffs/Effects
🦾 Strength 102 [+6/3] | +6 — Lycan Strength
🤸 Dexterity 76 [+3/3] | +3 — Lycan Speed
🧠 Intelligence 65 [+3/3] | +3 — Class Bonus
🧘 Spirit 77 [+6/3] | +6 — Class Bonus
💠 Mana 91 [+6/3] | +6 — Class Bonus
❤️ Vitality 103 [+3/3] | +3 — Lycan Vitality
🧗 Cultivation 144 [+6/3] | +6 — Primal Artificer
Attribute Point Available: 20
Skill Points Available: 12
***
[Congratulations! Level 10 Reached!]
[Novice Random Passive Skill Unlocked!]
[Accept Gift—Yes/No?]
Kael blinked at the glowing HUD like it had just insulted his fashion sense.
"... Huh?"
A random, passive skill? Apparently, the system liked surprises. This one came gift-wrapped with glitter and an existential crisis.
He narrowed his eyes at the level bar on the corner of the interface, his golden irises catching the sun. That's when he saw it—and nearly shat himself on the spot.
"What in the actual divinity?!"
A second ago, he needed just 900 XP to hit Level 10. Now, to crawl his way to Level 11?
[Next Level XP Requirement: 10,000]
"Oh, come on!" Kael growled, throwing his arms up. "Who programmed this trash? Sadists?!"
Reality, ever the considerate jerk, clocked him square in the face with the weight of his new reality. No wonder most hunters never broke past Level 40—it was practically a vertical climb up a mountain made of nails and bureaucracy. Unless you had a rich sugar daddy or mommy funding your little hunter hobby, you were out of luck.
The elite got to zoom past the grind with power cores and custom-forged gear. The rest of them? Scraping by with duct-taped armor and prayers.
But Kael wasn't about to bend over for fate. Not now.
His stare burned into the glowing [Yes/No] prompt.
"I'll take my mystery box prize now, thank you."
He tapped [Yes].
Ding!
[Congratulations! You earned the passive skill: 'Noble Awakening']
Kael barked out a short, bitter laugh.
"Noble Awakening?" he snorted. "What's next, Royal Tax Evasion? There's nothing noble about me unless you count the cursed bloodline and crippling trauma."
Still, he tapped the notification to inspect the skill, expecting a mediocre reward wrapped in shiny UI nonsense.
[Noble Awakening [Passive Skill] [1/10]—Upgradable]
[Increases Health Points by +500]
[Increases Strength by +10]
[Increases Dexterity by +10]
[Increases Spirit by +10]
[Passive Health Regeneration +2 per second]
[Enhances all senses by 20%]
"... Okay, wow."
Kael read it again, just to be sure his broken brain wasn't sugarcoating the data. For a random passive skill, this thing was loaded. The bonuses were nothing short of game-changing. Especially the regeneration. He could already feel it humming through his veins—like a low, warm thrum beneath the surface of his skin. His breathing eased. Kael's limbs felt lighter. His ears even caught the soft buzz of flies from twice the distance.
His cynical grin tugged at his lips. "Guess the system's feeling generous. I'll take the handout and pretend I earned it through sheer skill and charm."
As tempting as it was to dive into his stats and obsess over every new number, he had a corpse to loot. Priorities.
He dismissed the HUD and stepped toward the Blood Stalker's decaying remains, a renewed strength in every movement. With a soft rasp, he drew his dagger, its metal catching the light.
It was time to claim his prize.
***
🚨🐺 ATTENTION, MUNCHIES OF MAYHEM 🐺🚨
Chapter 25 of The Howl of the Forsaken is dropping early over on Patreon, and you better believe it's juicier than a mutant alley rat marinated in mystery meat and blood debt.
✨ In this chapter:
– Kael heals a man with enough sass to power an entire sarcasm generator.
– Street kids almost stab him for a half-eaten protein bar.
– He threatens children with eldritch fire (gently, lovingly, as one does).
– And the Howling Grounds district gets revealed in all its terrifying, hyper-clean, "please don't fart or you'll be harvested for parts" glory.
Also, Kael singlehandedly proves you can be morally gray, emotionally repressed, and still the kindest damn bastard in a murder-soaked city.
If you're not on Patreon yet, I've got one question for you:
Do you hate happiness and good writing?
No? Then get your butt over there.
Because this chapter?
It's giving: cyberpunk guilt trips, dystopian gentrification, and trauma-powered philanthropy with a side of eldritch sass.
💀🔥🩸
Join now and unlock this early release before the alley kids steal it and sell it for spare change.
👉 [patreon.com/patreon.com/TheSassyScribe]
(Because Chapter 25 deserves to be read somewhere fancier than a graffitied alley with a tetanus knife.)