Chapter 8: The First Lesson
The Slasher didn't roar. It coiled, a spring of gristle and malice, and then unspat itself at him. It was fast. Faster than the Hounds. A blur of mottled grey that closed the distance in a heartbeat.
Kael didn't meet the charge. The Sentinel in him would have braced. The Berserker would have swung. The Stalker *evaded*. He pivoted on his back foot, the serrated bone-blades whistling past his chest, missing by inches. The wind of its passage stirred his grimy clothes.
As it passed, he struck. Not a wild swing, but a precise, thrusting jab with the rebar, aiming for the joint of its hind leg.
**Damage Dealt: 18.**
A pittance. Its health bar barely flickered: **132/150**. Its hide was tough, armor-like. The message was clear: weak points or nothing.
The Slasher whirled with unnatural agility, its lamprey mouth pulsing. It was learning, too. It didn't lunge again. Instead, it began to circle him, its many eyes blinking in a discordant rhythm, its bone-blades tracing nervous patterns in the air. It was testing him, looking for an opening.
From inside the store, a whimper escaped one of the survivors. The sound was a distraction, a split-second lapse in Kael's focus.
The Slasher exploited it. It feinted high with one blade, and as Kael shifted to block, the other blade swept low, aiming to hamstring him.
Kael threw himself backward, but not fast enough. The tip of the bone-blade caught his thigh, slicing through fabric and skin.
**Health: 74/100.**
A line of fire seared his leg. The pain was sharp and clarifying. *Don't get hit. The Stalker cannot afford to get hit.*
He regained his footing, his leg screaming in protest. The Slasher pressed its advantage, charging again, a whirlwind of cutting edges.
This time, Kael didn't try to dodge. He used his environment.
As the creature leaped, he dropped into a slide, passing directly beneath it through the grime and glass. He thrust the rebar upward as it passed over him, aiming for the softer-looking underbelly.
**Damage Dealt: 25.**
Better. Not a critical hit, but a solid blow. **Health: 107/150.**
He rolled back to his feet, his mind racing. A straight fight was a losing proposition. He was losing health faster than it was. He needed his skill. *Shadow Stride.* The cooldown had to be almost up. He could feel the potential energy of it, a loaded gun in his soul.
The Slasher was turning, frustrated, its hisses now shrill with anger. It was between him and the street, cutting off his cleanest escape route. It was herding him, forcing him toward the dead end of the storefront.
A plan, cold and ruthless, formed in his mind.
He backed away, limping slightly, putting on a show of weakness. He let his guard drop, just for a moment, letting the rebar dip.
The Slasher took the bait. It saw a wounded, cornered animal. It gathered itself for a final, killing pounce.
And in that moment, as its muscles tensed, Kael reached for the shadow.
It wasn't like moving. It was like *un-becoming*. The world muted, the colors leaching away to monochrome. The sounds of the Slasher's hisses and the survivors' gasps became distant, muffled, as if heard from underwater. He felt insubstantial, a wisp of smoke. **[Shadow Stride]** was active.
The Slasher launched itself at the space where he had been, its blades slicing through empty air. It landed, confused, its cluster of eyes darting around, unable to find its vanished prey.
Kael didn't move from his spot. He stood, a ghost in the middle of the battlefield, and watched the monster. He counted the seconds in his head. *One... two... three...*
The creature, bewildered, turned its back to him, scanning the ruins outside.
*...seven... eight...*
Kael raised the rebar. The world began to bleed back into color, the sound rushing in. The skill was about to end.
*...nine...*
He took one silent, solid step forward.
*...ten.*
**[Shadow Stride]** ended.
He materialized directly behind the disoriented Slasher. It had no time to react. He put every ounce of his Strength, every iota of momentum, into a single, vicious thrust, aiming for the base of its skull, where the spinal cord would be.
The rebar, driven with the full force of a Stalker's precision, punched through the tough hide and sank deep.
**Critical Hit! Fatal Blow! Damage Dealt: 89!**
The Slasher convulsed, a horrific shriek tearing from its circular maw. Then it stiffened and dissolved into a cloud of dark motes and a single, curved bone-blade that clattered to the ground.
**Victory! XP Gained: 150.**
Kael stood panting, the adrenaline receding, leaving the burning pain in his leg in its wake. He looked down at the **[Slasher's Claw]** now lying at his feet. Then he turned his head, his cold gaze landing on the three survivors, who were staring at him as if he were a demon or a god.
He didn't speak to them. He bent, picked up the claw, and stowed it. Then, without a backward glance, he turned and limped into the southward ruins, leaving them alive, unharmed, and forever marked by the lesson they had just witnessed.
The first lesson of the new world: In the calculus of survival, there was no room for mercy. Only debts, and payments. And he had just paid his in full.