Velren sprinted across the rocky terrain, his lungs burning, his legs screaming in protest. He had fought beasts before. Hell, he had spent most of his life doing it. Tracking, waiting, and striking at the right moment—that was the essence of hunting.
But this?
This was not hunting!
This was getting confronted by an angry, half-buried lizard that refused to die.
The wyvern, a hulking mess of torn scales and blind rage, was barreling toward him like a runaway boulder, its broken wing flapping uselessly at its side. There was no patience. No control. No strategy.
Just a pissed-off murder-lizard that wanted him dead.
He was out of explosives. Out of cheap tricks.
But not out of options.
Velren skidded to a stop near a rocky outcrop, turning sharply as the wyvern lunged. He ducked, rolling to the side just as its jaws snapped shut where he had been standing a second ago.
