A Scum's Redemption

The howl fades, but it doesn't leave.

It rattles behind my ears like a thought I didn't ask for.

I stare at the slit in the ceiling for a long time, like maybe it'll answer me. Like maybe the light will shift and tell me it was nothing.

It doesn't.

The silence closes in again—thicker now.

Tighter.

I exhale through my teeth and get moving.

There's no sword. No dagger. Not even a rock with a sharp edge waiting politely by my feet.

So I make do.

I limp along the cavern's edge, one arm cradled in the sling, the other reaching—testing—digging. I find a half-splintered chunk of bone from something long-dead near the water's edge. It's jagged. Dirty.

But it fits in my grip.

A few feet away, I spot a fallen chunk of stone. Heavy, flat, the edge cracked enough to matter. I drag it closer to the wall, breathe deep, and start sharpening.

It takes time.

More than I can afford.

But time's the only thing I have in surplus.

Eventually, I end up with two things.

A makeshift knife carved from riverbone, still wet with moss and rot.

And a blunt rock blade, edges honed until they bite skin on contact

Neither will save me.

But they might buy Kai a few seconds.

That's all I can ask for.

He's still asleep. Still curled in the same sliver of light. His lips twitch once, like he's dreaming something too quiet to matter.

I hope he doesn't wake up for this.

I crouch in the shadows.

Eyes on the dark.

Waiting.

If they find a way in—

I'm not running. Not this time.

Nothing moves.

Just the river's slow churn and the pulsing ache in my shoulder.

Minutes stretch.

Time doesn't move here. It just sits—coiled and waiting, like everything else.

My fingers twitch around the bone knife. I keep my eyes above.

Part of me hopes it was just the cave.

Just echoes.

But deep down?

I know better.

The first sign comes quiet.

Too quiet.

A faint scrape—claw on stone.

Then paws.

They perch on the edge of the slit above, silhouetted in dull gray light—limbs tense, wrong, like they don't belong to anything natural.

A moment later, I see them.

Eyes.

Red. Flickering. Wrong.

They don't glow—they burn. Like coals left too long in the pit. No pupils. No life.

Just hate.

And then—they jump.

Two of them.

They drop like shadows with weight, slamming into the stone barely ten feet from Kai.

I lurch forward on instinct, shielding him with my body, raising my knife in a shaking hand.

The wolves don't attack.

Not yet.

They just stand there, watching me.

Breathing heavy.

Staring like they've already eaten me in their minds and are just choosing where to bite first.

They look like wolves.

But they're not.

Their bodies are wrong—too long in the limbs, too narrow at the waist, like they were stretched out and stitched back together. Their ribs press against the skin in unnatural angles, some poking through. Mangled fur clings to their backs in patches, slick with rot.

One's jaw hangs crooked—dislocated—tongue dragging, a low rattle in its throat with every breath. The other has no eyes. Just those glowing pits burned into the skull, like something hollow tried to remember how to see.

Their skin writhes in places—pulsing, like something is moving underneath.

Not wolves.

Not beasts.

Corrupted, is that what Gil called them?

Like the bear.

Like something that didn't just lose itself—

It gave up being what it was.

I swallow hard.

Raise the knife a little higher.

My legs want to shake.

My gut wants to run.

But all I manage is a dry whisper:

"Ugly bastards. You look like taxidermy done by a blind priest"

The blind one snarls.

The sound cuts too sharp, like metal on bone.

I plant my feet.

Knife raised.

Back to Kai.

If they want him—

They'll have to go through me.

They move.

No warning. No snarl. Just blur and force.

The first one lunges straight for my neck.

I swing the bone blade—too slow.

The other slams into my ribs like a hammer wrapped in bone. My back hits the rock hard. My weapons scatter. Bone. Rock. Gone. Like my effort meant nothing.

Useless.

Like me.

I roll to shield Kai. My shoulder screams. One of them pounces again—teeth flashing, body wrong in the air like it never learned how to move like a wolf.

I raise my arm too late—

Its claws tear across my side. White-hot pain. Blood.

I can't breathe.

The other circles—stalking. Flanking.

There's no room to think.

Only move.

I kick.

Miss.

Crawl.

Too slow.

A sound.

Scraping claws near the light.

I whip around.

One of them is creeping toward Kai.

He's still curled where I left him. Still unconscious. Still breathing.

Still helpless.

I move without thinking—sprint toward them—

But the second wolf crashes into me mid-stride.

Teeth, claws, weight—it slams me to the ground so hard the stone knocks the wind out of me.

I'm pinned.

Its jaw snaps inches from my face, fetid breath pouring over me.

I reach out blindly.

Fingers close around a stick—half-splintered, soaked, barely sturdy.

I jam it between us, push back with everything I have.

The stick shakes. Bends. Cracks.

The wolf bears down.

I scream—rage, pain, everything at once—and twist just enough to stretch my fingers toward the edge of the stone.

The sharpened rock.

Still there.

Barely.

I reach. My shoulder about to snap again.

It's inches away.

The stick cracks again. The wolf snarls louder.

I reach—

Grab.

And slam the rock into the side of its skull.

Once.

Twice.

It jerks violently—then drops. Collapses into a heap beside me.

I don't wait.

I roll over, covered in blood and dirt and shaking, and I see the other wolf—

Already mid-stride.

Heading straight for Kai.

I don't think.

I run.

Everything burns. My shoulder. My legs. My lungs.

But I run.

And just as it leaps—fangs bared, twisted body arching through the air—

I ram into it with everything I have.

We hit the water like falling stone.

The current rips us apart instantly.

I go under.

Cold punches into my chest.

I thrash. Claw my way up.

The surface feels miles away.

But I drag myself to the rock ledge anyway—coughing, gasping, blood spilling in my mouth.

I pull myself up, elbows shaking, soaked to the bone.

Behind me, the wolf flails—caught in the current.

It is swallowed up into the darkness with a final, broken howl.

Gone.

I collapse on the stone.

Breathing hard.

Alive.

I force myself to my feet.

And then I see it—

The other one.

Still breathing.

Still broken.

But waking up.

Eyes flicker open.

Red.

Watching me.

It stands, staring with a fire that still burns bright

It leaps.

I brace, ready to meet it head-on, stone gripped tight—

Then the water behind me erupts.

A shape bursts from the pool—massive, wet, armored in slick plates that gleam like oil. Claws the size of butcher blades snap out of the dark. One closes around the wolf mid-air.

CRUNCH.

Bone. Fur. Gone.

The wolf doesn't even scream. It just folds in on itself as the claw tightens—and then it's dragged down. Hard. Into the churning black where no light follows.

I stagger back, breath catching in my throat.

"What the hell—"

I blink.

"Did we piss off a seafood god?"

The creature rises.

No. Not rises—uncoils.

Segment by segment, it pulls free of the water like it's crawling out of a deeper world. Its body is plated in jagged shell—crimson and black, crusted with green rot that pulses like it's alive. Dozens of tiny legs skitter beneath its armored torso. One claw twitches—half again the size of my chest, soaked in blood and glowing faintly green. The other claw's cracked, dragging sparks as it scrapes the stone.

Its eyes—what's left of them—are milky and wide-set, set on stalks that twitch and sway as if sniffing the air. From its mouth, writhing feelers whip at the ground, searching. Testing.

It doesn't see me yet.

But it knows I'm here.

I take a step back—barely make a sound.

The head snaps in my direction. The feelers flinch. The eyes twitch. The whole body surges forward like hunger made real.

"Of course," I mutter, "because why the hell not."

I turn and run—limping, dragging my half-dead body across wet stone while the damn thing tears after me, claws smashing down with enough force to split rock. One strike misses me by inches—shatters a chunk of the cavern floor. Pebbles fly. My ears ring.

Another claw comes down. I roll—badly. My shoulder screams. My ribs crack against stone.

I can't keep doing this.

I shove myself behind a jagged outcrop, heart pounding in my ears. I can hear it scraping closer—those legs, that clicking. Like knives on bone. The bastard's hunting me.

I grip my makeshift stone blade.

Dull. Cracked. Useless against shell.

Doesn't matter.

It lunges—headfirst, claws wide.

I throw myself sideways again—just enough to dodge one strike. The other clips me, hurling me into the wall. My back hits first. Then my head. Then the world.

Blurs.

Flashes.

I'm up before I can think. On instinct.

It charges again.

I dive under the closest claw, slam my blade into a gap between its plates near the neck. The thing screeches—a horrible, wet-metal sound that rips through the cavern like pressure collapsing in a pipe. It thrashes. I hold on.

Claws flail. One catches my leg—tears through the flesh. I scream.

I lose the blade.

It skitters sideways, trying to slam me into the wall.

I twist, punch, bite—bite—anything to make it stop.

I find a soft spot just below the eye stalk. I jab my thumb in—deep, until pus floods around my hand. It convulses.

Slams down again.

This time, I'm not fast enough.

My vision flickers.

Blood runs from somewhere I can't see. My leg won't hold me.

But the thing is staggering.

It's twitching, shuddering, leaking something awful.

And I'm still breathing.

I crawl forward.

Grab a jagged piece of the shattered stone. Heavy. Sharp.

I don't aim.

I just swing.

Over and over.

Until the claw goes still.

Until the twitching stops.

Until the cave is quiet again—except for my breath. Shallow. Ragged.

I spit blood. Collapse next to the carcass.

Then mutter, barely audible—

"…should've stuck with the damn wolf."

Not dead.

But broken.

The beast shifts—one claw twitching, legs scraping weakly at the stone.

It tries to rise.

Fails.

Its milky, ruined eyes swivel toward me.

No fear.

No fury.

A creature shaped by hunger.

By rot.

By survival.

Not evil.

Just inevitable.

And for one breathless moment—

I feel it.

Not pity.

Not horror.

Empathy.

Because I know what it's like to be warped by the world.

To claw through filth.

To be starved of light so long you forget what warmth feels like.

To grow sharp and cold and monstrous just to stay alive.

I step closer.

It doesn't flinch.

Doesn't drag itself away.

It just watches me—head low, limbs failing, blood and ichor leaking slow from the joint I cracked open.

And I realize—

If the world had been a little crueler…

If I had stayed in that cellar a little longer…

If I had been born a little weaker…

This would've been me.

I raise the broken stone.

My arm trembles.

Not from pain.

But from understanding.

And I hate that I understand.

When I bring it down—

It's not justice.

It's not mercy.

It's not even revenge.

It's survival.

And that's what makes it hurt the most.

Behind me, something stirs.

A small sound. Soft. Groggy.

"Wha... what happened?"

I turn.

Kai's awake.

He's sitting up slowly, blinking through the shadows, gaze darting across the cavern—the blood, the broken body, the corpse not ten feet from where he slept.

His breath catches. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Just a small, shaking sound.

His eyes land on me.

And widen.

I smile. Or try to.

It probably looks like a grimace.

"You missed the fun."

He blinks.

His lip trembles.

I take one step toward him.

My legs give out halfway there.

And I hit the stone hard.

Too hard to move again.

Everything fades at the edges. Sound dulls. Light slips.

The last thing I hear is his voice—

Small. Scared. Breaking.

"Aren?"

"Aren!"

Then nothing.