Chapter Eighteen — On Fumes
—And thus began a very long couple of hours for Azeroth.
Four hours later—
"Alright. That's enough."
Garet's voice cut through the clearing.
Azeroth barely registered it.
He had been moving on instinct alone—lunging, stumbling, forcing himself back upright only to be knocked down again. His body had passed exhaustion long ago, running on nothing but habit and sheer stubborn refusal. Sweat and dirt matted his hair to his face. His chest burned with every breath. His limbs trembled violently, no longer fully his to command.
Garet exhaled slowly.
He'd meant to stop earlier. The spar—no, the fight—had only been meant to gauge Azeroth's current combat level.
But somewhere along the way…
He'd gotten carried away.
Azeroth swayed where he stood.
Those three words—that's enough—barely reached his fogged mind, but his body understood them instantly. Like a sentence lifted. Like chains snapping loose.
His knees buckled.
Whether he chose to fall, or whether his exhausted body simply made the choice for him, was impossible to tell.
He hit the ground a heartbeat later, too drained to even feel the impact.
A shadow fell over him.
Garet stepped closer, looming into view. A chuckle escaped him.
"Stop exaggerating," he said lightly. "I didn't even go that hard, did I?"
With the last of his strength, Azeroth cracked one eyelid open.
The past couple of hours replayed in his mind—on repeat.
Thud.
"Again."
Thud.
"Stand up."
Thud.
"Tsk. Such poor utilization of force. Again."
Thud.
A shudder ran through him—
⸻
Back to the present.
Azeroth stared up at the man above him, the easy smile on Garet's face doing nothing to loosen the tight knot in his chest.
On one hand, it was far too late to consider running.
On the other…
He absolutely did not want to be here—with this man—right now.
His gaze drifted past Garet toward the bonfire nearby.
Two corpses lay beside it, freshly killed. Cleanly bisected. Efficient. Hanging over the flames was the body of a fox-sized beast, slowly roasting as fat dripped into the fire with a soft hiss.
Azeroth frowned.
He didn't remember Garet killing them.
He must've done it while I was out, Azeroth concluded.
"Are you just going to stand there?" Garet called out.
He was already chewing on a chunk of meat, completely unbothered by its still-scorching heat.
Without waiting for an answer, something suddenly hurtled toward Azeroth's face.
Instinct took over.
His hand snapped up and caught it midair.
A limb.
Azeroth stiffened, staring at what he'd just caught.
"Here," Garet said casually. "Try it. You were passed out yesterday—you didn't get to eat."
Azeroth looked down at the limb in his hand.
It was heavier than he expected. Still warm, yet not as hot as he thought. Grease slicked his fingers as juices ran down his wrist. The scent was sharp and unfamiliar—wild and metallic— it was… perfect.
His stomach twisted.
Then rumbled.
Grrrrrrrrrr…
Garet chuckled. "Would you look at that."
Azeroth hesitated only a moment longer before biting down.
The taste hit him like a blow.
Dense. Rich. Almost overwhelming. The meat resisted his teeth—tougher than anything he'd eaten before—but his jaw worked through it instinctively. Heat spread through his chest, sinking deeper with every bite. A faint tingling crept along his limbs, like something inside him was stirring awake.
This… isn't bad, he thought mid-bite.
Before he realized it, the bone was bare.
Azeroth blinked, staring down at his hands.
"Oh," he muttered, genuinely surprised. "…It's finished?"
"Of course it is," Garet said, his smile twisting into a scowl. "You were too busy stuffing your face."
He eyed Azeroth. "And can't you chew any quieter?"
"Sorry," Azeroth mumbled, an odd grin tugging at his lips. At least he'd managed to wipe that irritating smirk off Garet's face.
He hesitated, then held up the bone. "Can I have more?"
"Nope. That's all you get."
"Huh? But—"
"No 'but.' If you want more, you hunt."
With that, Azeroth spent the next half hour in silence, watching as Garet finished the rest of the beast—meat, marrow, everything. How it all fit inside him, Azeroth had no idea. And strangely, he didn't even think to ask.
Then Garet stood.
"Good," he said. "Now let's continue the training."
Azeroth stared at him.
"…Right now?"
Garet arched a brow.
"Aren't we—" Azeroth gestured at himself, grimacing. "—taking a bath first? I'm covered in sweat and dirt and—"
Garet paused, gaze sweeping over him. For a moment, he looked genuinely puzzled.
Then realization flickered across his face.
"…Right," he muttered. "You only just evolved. You probably don't know how yet."
Azeroth frowned. "Know how to what?"
Instead of answering, Garet raised his right palm.
The air shifted.
Above it, a reddish-yellow clump of essence formed—like embers at dusk. Dense. Controlled. It clung to his palm like a second skin.
He stepped closer. Closer still.
Then brushed his palm across Azeroth's shoulder.
The dirt slid off as if repelled. Sweat followed. Then grime.
In moments, Azeroth's left shoulder looked as though it had never been in a fight—a one sided-beat down m.
—the right would strongly disagree.
Azeroth stared, slack-jawed.
"…That was so cool!" he blurted. "Why didn't I think of that?"
Without waiting for a reply, his own essence flared. A smaller, less stable clump formed in his palm. Mimicking Garet, he brushed it over himself, scraping away dirt and sweat piece by piece.
It took time.
Too much time.
Still, Azeroth nodded, satisfied. At least he wouldn't spend the rest of the day looking like that, he thought, eyeing the pile of grime on the ground.
And more importantly—
He'd learned something new.
He looked up at Garet, excitement bright on his face—
—and froze.
Garet was giving him a strange look.
"You know," Garet said slowly, "you could've just expanded your aura over your whole body at once instead of spending ten minutes doing… whatever that was."
"I could?" Azeroth asked, dumbfounded.
Garet didn't bother answering.
With a lazy wave of his hand, the bonfire died, embers snuffed out in an instant.
He turned back toward Azeroth.
"Enough chat," he said.
The clearing seemed to tighten.
"Let's continue from where we left off—"
Garet raised two fingers and curled them inward.
"Come on." He said. "Let's see how much you improved."