Kael dropped from the branches, his bare feet sinking into the damp earth beside the stream. Without hesitation, he plunged his entire head into the crystalline water, drinking greedily until his lungs burned for air. The cold shock cleared the last remnants of pain from his muscles, the water running in rivulets down his neck as he surfaced, gasping.
His eyes fell on the battlefield—the trampled grass, the dark stains where the stag's blood had soaked into the soil. Kneeling, he ran his fingers through the crimson patches, still tacky beneath his touch. The broken antler lay where it had fallen, its emerald glow dimmed but not extinguished.
This will do.
Hefting the antler in one hand, Kael searched the stream's edge until he found a flat stone, its surface worn smooth by centuries of flowing water. He placed the antler atop it, then gripped a fist-sized rock in his other hand.
First strike. The rock bounced off harmlessly.
Second strike. A hairline fracture appeared.
Kael gritted his teeth. Even with his Knight-tier strength, the mana-infused bone resisted. A plan formed—dangerous, but necessary.
He focused inward, feeling the molten river of power coiled in his chest. With careful precision, he fed threads of mana into the veins of his right arm, watching as his skin flushed crimson, the vessels beneath glowing faintly through his flesh.
Third strike.
The antler exploded into shards with a sound like snapping ice. Kael immediately severed the mana flow, hissing as numbness spread through his fingers—a warning. Too much. Too soon.
Among the fragments, one piece stood out—a jagged length as long as his forearm, its edge naturally tapered. A spearhead. He tucked it into his waistband, the cool bone pressing against his hip.
His stomach growled, a visceral reminder of his next task. The stream's bank yielded meager treasures: a cluster of rubbery brown mushrooms clinging to a rotted log, and beneath a mossy stone, a writhing nest of fat, white larvae.
Kael didn't hesitate. He swallowed the larvae whole, their bitter juices bursting against his tongue. The mushrooms followed, their texture like chewing on wet leather. District 9 had taught him this: Hunger is the only seasoning the desperate need.
As dusk painted the sky in violets and grays, Kael retreated to a towering oak, its gnarled branches forming a natural fortress. He wove smaller limbs into a crude screen, obscuring his perch from prying eyes below.
"Eva," he whispered, testing the antler shard's edge against his thumb. A bead of blood welled. "Can you mask my presence like before?"
The orb materialized, her flames flickering. "Temporarily. But higher-tier beasts will still scent you."
"Do it."
A shadowy aura emanated from Eva, wrapping around Kael like a second skin. The night came alive around him—hoots, chitters, and distant, guttural roars that vibrated through the tree trunk. This forest didn't sleep; it transformed.
Kael worked the antler fragment against his whetstone, each stroke honing it closer to a killing point. The rhythm steadied his nerves.
Tomorrow, he vowed, watching the first stars pierce the gloom, I hunt.