Wonderful Insane World

The ground still vibrated, a bestial rumble echoing deep into his bones. Dylan took a deep breath, his lungs flooded with the humid, fetid air. The blade already felt too heavy, but he gripped it tighter, refusing to let it slip from his hands, slick with sweat and dried blood.

"Three against one. Not the worst odds I've faced… but it's damn close."

The first creature lunged, its maw frothing, fangs glistening with black slaver. Dylan pivoted to the side, the burning memory of Julius's barking still in his head: *'Dodge first, heal later!'* His feet slipped in the mud, but he held his ground, and his blade described an awkward arc that sliced into the creature's chitinous shoulder. Unfortunately, not deep enough. It roared, furious, more wounded in its pride than its flesh.

"I've known country butchers with more style than you, kid!" Julius called out, leaning nonchalantly on his staff as if watching a play.

"If you're not happy with the performance, come take my place!" Dylan retorted between gasps, a desperate grimace on his lips.

A second monster rushed him, stinger poised like a lance. Dylan retreated too late; the tail snapped, slicing his flank. Pain exploded, sharp and searing. His stigma vibrated in his veins, ready to seal the wound, but he suppressed it, willingly following the lesson. Let the blood flow, stay alert. Each throb of pain became a bell in his mind: *Move, or you die.*

He rolled on the ground, got back up, blade forward. The metallic smell of his own blood made his head spin, but a strange lucidity washed over him.

He remembered this wasn't a duel. Not an honorable parade. This was a pack. And he had to think like them. Strike when an opening appears. Nothing more.

The three beasts began to circle, encircling their prey. Dylan felt his heart pounding, his legs trembling, but a bitter irony rose in him.

"Three scavengers against a scrawny guy… I call that cheating. Even in my world, hyenas had more dignity."

"Shut up and breathe!" Julius snapped. "You think you'll win by talking? Inhale when they strike, exhale when you strike. Pace your blood, or it will drown you."

The first one charged again. Dylan took a step to the side—not back, not this time—and twisted his wrist as Julius kept repeating. The blade pierced the soft joint of the foreleg. The creature collapsed with a piercing shriek, off-balance. Dylan seized the momentum, rage in his throat, and brought the blade down again and again until a thick flow of dark blood gushed out.

A ragged breath escaped his chest. No technique. No elegance. But it was a kill.

He turned, ready for the other two. The beasts hesitated now, their eyes gleaming with newfound caution. Dylan spat into the mud, his breath shaky but his gaze hardened.

"One. What are you waiting for, you bastard crabs? For me to ask you to dance?"

Julius burst into a short laugh, almost genuine this time.

"That's it. Keep going. That's a fighter: you're pissing blood, but you're still insulting the enemy. That means you're not dead… Go on!!"

The two survivors growled, preparing to pounce together. Dylan felt panic rise… then pushed it back. He closed his eyes for an instant, searching his memory for the monster-infested woods he'd traversed. The howls, the claws, the sleepless nights. He wasn't alive because he was stronger; he was alive because he'd learned to adapt. To cheat. To strike when fear paralyzed everything else.

When he reopened his eyes, the fear was still there. But behind it, there was something else.

A flame.

He tightened his grip on the hilt.

"Come on. Approach. Let's see who walks out of here with their guts still inside."

The two creatures charged simultaneously. The ground erupted under their paws, spraying shards of stone and mud. Dylan didn't have the luxury to think: his body reacted before he could. He dove left, barely avoiding the sharp tail of one, but the other caught him full force with its chitinous shoulder.

The impact knocked the air from his lungs. He rolled in the filth, ears ringing. His ribs protested, a dull pain hammering with every breath.

"Get up. Dammit!!"

His clenched fingers found the weapon's hilt. He brandished it blindly, just in time to deflect a maw full of snapping fangs a hair's breadth from his face. The shock vibrated through his arms, but the beast recoiled, frustrated.

"Not bad," Julius grunted. "But stop backing up! You want to survive? Advance! Plant yourself in their breath!"

Dylan inhaled deeply, despite the taste of iron in his throat. His legs shook, but he forced his muscles to obey. The two creatures growled, seeking the moment to strike again.

He did what Julius said: he advanced.

A raw cry tore from his throat, a mix of rage and despair. He threw himself at the first one, blade forward. The steel hit the carapace, slid… then found a gap between two plates. Dylan pushed with all his might, feeling the blade sink into the soft flesh.

The creature screamed, shaking its body to throw him to the ground, but Dylan refused to let go. He planted his knees in the mud, pulling on the hilt to widen the wound.

Suddenly, a jet of dark blood sprayed him, blinding him for an instant. The beast collapsed in a spasm, its legs frantically hammering the earth before going limp.

One left.

The last monster roared, more furious than ever, and charged straight at him. Gasping like never before, Dylan took a step back, but Julius barked:

"Hold your ground, idiot! If you run now, it'll skewer you like a rat!"

Dylan's gaze met the beast's. In its yellow eyes, he saw neither fear nor caution. Just a raw, savage hunger.

He raised his weapon, too heavy even for an Awakened like him, his arms trembling with effort. His vision blurred, his ears buzzed. But one thought anchored him, clear as a shard of glass:

*If I fall here, it's over. So I might as well fall while taking a bite out of it.*

When the creature leaped, Dylan didn't evade. He advanced again, slid under its mass, and raised the blade with all his strength. The steel plunged into the tender throat with a wet crunch. The monster's weight crushed him to the ground, smothering him in the mud, but already warm blood flowed over his arms.

He stayed trapped, suffocating, until a brutal silence fell. No more roars. No more claws in the earth. Only the furious beating of his own heart.

The carcass finally slumped. Dylan pushed the body away as best he could and dragged himself out of the mud, covered in black and red blood, his lungs seeking air like a drowning man.

Julius approached slowly, staff still in hand, and observed the corpses. An almost satisfied smile passed over his lips.

"There. Three against one… and you survived. You're pissing blood, you can barely stand, but look at them. You're still alive. They're not."

Dylan looked up at him, trembling, unable to respond. His hands still clenched the weapon's hilt, white with effort, as if his fingers refused to admit the fight was over.

Julius rested the staff on his shoulder and concluded, in a dry tone:

"Congratulations on passing your first blood lesson."

Julius surveyed the carnage, the three corpses lying in a pool of mud and blood. A grunt of approval, barely audible, escaped him.

"You can be proud of that, I'll grant you. It's low-grade butchery, but it's *your* butchery. You survived."

From where he was sprawled, his body broken and drenched in sweat and blood, Dylan painfully raised his head. His bloodshot eyes met Julius's. Without a word, he raised a trembling hand and gave him the middle finger in the most explicit and threatening manner possible—a universal gesture that certainly wasn't pointing out the wind direction.

Julius burst into a short, sharp laugh, a real one this time, devoid of biting irony. It was the laugh of a man recognizing a fighting spirit, even one covered in mud and half-dead.

"Very good, very good. Keep that energy. That's what will keep you on your feet when your legs want to give out." He took a step forward and reached out his hand, not to help Dylan up, but to take the sword from his grasp. "Now, get up. All by yourself. And clean your blade. The next lesson starts in five minutes. There's still light left, and this forest is full of volunteers to give you a hard time."

He turned and added over his shoulder as Dylan began the slow, painful process of getting to his feet.

"And next time you flip me off, make sure you can hold it steady. That one was shaking like a leaf. It's insulting."

Dylan forced his legs to obey, every joint protesting as if his bones wanted to scatter in the mud. He straightened up, swaying, a bitter laugh caught in his throat at the thought of this "blood lesson" Julius had just given him.

The sword felt like a lead weight in his hand, and his numb fingers refused to open for a moment when Julius yanked it away. Pain shot up his arm like a jolt.

"Damn it…" he rasped, his voice hoarse, before heavily kneeling beside the first corpse.

The massive body gave off an acrid smell of iron and earth, the animal heat still evaporating into the humid air. Dylan placed his bloodied hand against the chitinous chest, feeling around for the fissure he'd opened with his sword.

His fingers sank into the soft, wet flesh. He'd gotten a bit more used to the sensation, but it was still nauseating.

And finally, he pulled out a gem, as large as his palm, pulsing with a density of energy that, without him even realizing it, twisted his face into a grimace. He shoved it into his pocket and moved towards the next corpse.