For a long moment, nothing moved.
The world had gone quiet except for his own uneven breathing and the faint crackle of distant fires.
John glanced toward the man who was still staring at him with his sword hanging at his side. He looked stunned, caught between awe and confusion, the same mix running through John's chest.
"That was sick," John muttered, voice rough with disbelief, as if his body still had not realized what it had just done.
The words barely reached his own ears. His hands were trembling so badly that the shield slipped from his grasp and fell into the mud with a heavy thud. The sound rang louder than it should have, snapping through the quiet.
He looked at the fallen creature. The boar's bulk sprawled across the mud, its head nearly as wide as his chest. The spot where his shield had struck was caved in, flesh cracked and bleeding bad goo.
He had done that. Damn.
He could lift sacks of cement, sure, carry steel bars when he had to, but not this. Not enough to send a creature like that crashing down. His arms still burned from it, every muscle raw with the effort.
He glanced toward the man nearby and by the look on his face, whoever they thought he was, clearly did not have that kind of strength either.
He looked at the cards floating in front of his chest, faint light tracing their edges. He realized they had been there all along, hidden until his focus pulled them into view.
The more he looked, the clearer they became, their edges sharpening, faint light running along their borders.
Only one glowed.
The Ace.
Its black surface pulsed with a dim, steady red light. Lines of runes slid across it in restless motion, forming shapes that shifted faster than his eyes could follow. The rest of the cards stayed dark and still, waiting.
His gaze fixed on the Ace. The markings froze for a moment, then sharpened into words that burned white against the surface.
Boosted Strength and Agility (Passive).
His eyes drifted to the second card.
It was the Two of Flowers, faintly outlined against the dim air while the rest stayed turned over.
He hesitated. If the first one had done this, what about the second?
John reached out, unsure if he was touching light or smoke. His fingers brushed through empty air, but the card rippled, distorting like the surface of water. A pulse of light spread across it, brighter than before like it's activated.
Then the symbols shifted.
Counter Reflex.
The words burned white across the card, sinking straight into his vision.
"Your Highness!" a voice shouted. John looked up.
The golden-haired soldier was sprinting toward him, mud flying under his boots, arm outstretched as he pointed past John with wide, alarmed eyes.
The boar was moving again. Its massive body pushed off the ground, blood still streaming from its ruined eye. The other glowed bright gold, fixed on him.
"Oh, shit," John muttered.
He tried to move, but his legs froze. The sound grew louder, the ground trembling under each pounding step.
Then everything blurred.
John's body moved before his mind caught up. One moment he was staring at the wall of muscle coming for him, and the next the ground was gone from under his feet. The world spun. For a split second, he was weightless.
He landed behind his own footprints, knees bent, boots sinking into the mud. His balance held.
The air still rang from the roar that should have killed him.
He blinked hard, trying to steady the spinning in his head.
"Did I just backflip?" he whispered.
The boar's tusks plowed past, crashing into the dirt with a force that shook the ground.
John's pulse hammered in his ears. He looked down at his hands, then up at the card still hanging in the air.
The glow on the Two of Flowers flickered had faded.
"It's used," he muttered.
"Your Highness! "
John turned, eyes wide, and something flashed toward him.
A sword.
He barely had time to react. His hands shot up on instinct, and the hilt slammed into his palms, the weight jolting through his arms.
The answer came as another roar. The boar was charging again, half its face torn open, blood and sludge spraying with every breath.
John raised the sword out of sheer panic and swung, wide and clumsy, putting every ounce of terror into the motion.
The blade tore through half of the creature's face, cutting deep into its jaw.
He did it.
For a moment it should have ended there, but the beast's charge did not stop. The weight of its body slammed into him, dragging him back through the mud.
The impact stole his breath, his grip nearly slipping as the creature's thrashing mass carried them both to the ground. He crashed into the broken cart behind him. Pain burst white across his vision as a piece of twisted metal drove into his shoulder.
He gasped, the sound breaking out of him before he could stop it. His grip loosened, the sword slipping from his hand and clattering beside him.
For a moment he just sat there, pressed against the monster, breath ragged, the pain crawling down his arm. The warmth of blood spread under his palm, real and wet.
The soldier's voice broke through the ringing. "Your Highness!"
Four men ran in from the side, boots sinking into the mud as they grabbed hold of the beast's hide away from the prince. It took three of them to drag the massive body off him, their armor scraping and grunting with effort.
SCREECH.
That damn screech again.
He saw the deer in the distance but its milky eyes had fixed on him, the split in its jaw twitching as it drew a ragged breath. The front of its body dragged through the mud, but the rest still moved with terrible strength.
John groaned, trying to push himself up. "Damnit," he hissed.
One of the young soldiers turned at the sound, his face went pale.
"It's coming!"
The others turned.
Through the rain and smoke, the deer came bounding toward them, its steps heavy enough to shake the ground. Its eyes glowed like coals, fixed only on John.
The men moved without thinking, forming a line between him and the monster, shields rising in unison. Mud sprayed around their boots as they braced for impact.
John's heart lurched. He could feel every nerve in his body screaming to move, but he stayed frozen, staring past them.
What the hell did this body do to make these things lock on him?
The creature lunged. The man with golden hair met it head-on, the clash ringing sharp through the smoke. Steel carved into gray flesh. The deer screamed, the sound high and broken, its jaws snapping wide enough to show the hollow pit of its throat.
The man struck again, driving his blade across one of its front legs. Bone split with a sickening crack, and the limb folded under the weight of the creature. It hit the mud, thrashing wildly, kicking up blood and sludge.
John could only watch, clutching his shoulder, vision swimming.
The man pressed forward, cutting again, shouting something he couldn't hear.
John tried to stay awake. His head swayed, the edges of his vision darkening. The pain in his shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat, each pulse dragging him closer to blacking out.
He heard the man's voice somewhere through the ringing. "It's going berserk," he said, his tone shaking.
John forced his eyes open. The deer lay twisted in the mud, its front leg half severed. Then its body began to tremble.
Thick, black fluid seeped from the wound, bubbling where it touched the ground. The smell hit him first—sharp, metallic, and wrong.
The sludge clumped together, shifting and pulling until it formed something solid. A new leg.
"What the hell," John breathed.
The man cursed under his breath and raised his sword again, eyes wide. The creature's body was still growing, reshaping itself, the new limb pushing into the dirt with wet, sucking sounds.
John's stomach dropped. Even through the haze of pain, he understood what that meant.
They were in deep shit.
The deer shrieked and thrashed, its new leg digging into the mud.
"Protect His Highness!" someone yelled.
The deer lunged again. Its mangled body moved faster than it should have, half crawling, half leaping, the broken ground exploding under its weight.
Steel met bone. Sparks flew. The men fought hard, but it was clear none of them could keep it down for long. Every time a blade cut deep, the creature's flesh closed back over the wound, oozing black sludge that hardened into new armor.
John's breathing turned shallow. He could barely tell what he was seeing anymore. The world tilted in and out of focus.
"Captain! Get His Highness out of here!" one soldier shouted.
Then a voice cut through the chaos, deep and steady. "Hold it back."
The golden-haired man appeared through the smoke, his face grim. Blood streaked his cheek, his armor dented, but his eyes burned with cold focus.
He knelt beside John and gripped his uninjured arm. "Clench your teeth., your highness."
John tried to ask why, but the words caught in his throat.
Pain tore through him as the man yanked him forward from the metal. Hot blood burst down his arm, and he screamed before he could stop himself.
The edges of his vision darkened. The noise around him thinned until only his heartbeat filled the space, slow and uneven.
Light flickered above him. The cards appeared again, faint shapes floating over his chest, their glow cutting through the smoke.
A line of text crossed his sight.
Requirement met: Near death.
A laugh slipped out of him, low and cracked. "You don't say," he rasped, tasting blood.
One of the facedown cards turned over. Its black surface gleamed, symbols forming into the outline of a figure wrapped in torn robes.
Jack of Flowers unlocked.
The air grew colder. The card hung there, spinning once before it stopped. Its glow sharpened, revealing a skeleton in a tattered robe, a broken crown on its skull, both hands gripping a sword held upright before it. The blue light running along the blade pulsed like a heartbeat.
He might not die again. He reached for the card.
A sound split the air—a deep, crawling hiss.
John's breath hitched. The space in front of him cracked open, a thin line of light widening with a sharp snap. The air turned heavy, humming with a strange rhythm that pressed against his chest and made his skin crawl.
"Oh, fuck," he whispered, his voice shaking.
The golden-haired soldier holding him stumbled back, eyes wide, his face drained of color. "Your Highness!" he shouted, throwing an arm in front of John as the light flared.
But John barely heard him. Something rolled through the air, slow and pulsing, unseen. It brushed against his skin in waves, not wind or heat but something deeper. Each ripple pressed against him as if the air itself were alive, testing the shape of his body. His arms prickled, the fine hairs standing upright, and for a moment he thought it might be static, but it was heavier, almost intelligent.
He had no name for it. He only knew it felt vast, like the breath of something enormous that had finally noticed him.
From the tear, the figure stepped through.
It was taller than any man, its movements slow but dangerous. Bones gleamed faintly beneath the rags that clung to it, the crown crooked on its skull. The sword in its hands burned with pale blue fire, cold and alive.
John could barely move, his breath stuttering in his throat.
The thing's head tilted slightly, the fire in its eyes flaring once. Then it turned, dragging the blade behind it. The edge scraped against the ground, leaving a trail of blue fire that hissed and spread across the dirt like liquid frost.
That was the last thing John saw before the darkness swallowed everything.