Lord Of The Lost

"You think you're finished with me, human? You have no idea the kind of ancient power you're provoking!"

The werewolf, despite lying in a pool of his own blood, clung to life with a terrifying resilience. His body had been ravaged; his chest punctured in multiple places, half of his bones shattered, and his skull cracked wide open. His limbs were twisted unnaturally, and the floor was slick with his blood. And yet, he struggled, muscles twitching as he tried to rise, refusing to give in to death.

The sight was both awe-inspiring and horrifying. Even with fatal injuries, his vitality burned fierce and unyielding, a testament to the primal force of the dark races.

William, panting and drenched in sweat, felt pain radiating through his own battered body. His clothing clung to him, soaked with his blood. Seven or eight deep gashes marred his torso, abdomen, and thighs; each wound a trophy from the vicious battle, deep enough to reveal bone. Despite it all, he forced a grin, baring his teeth.

"You're drenched in werewolf blood," the werewolf snarled, his voice thick with malice. "My kin will track your scent, hunt you down. They'll rip you to shreds and feast on your flesh. You'll die without even a place to be buried!"

"Wow, scary!" William mocked, feigning terror before bursting into laughter. "Too bad you won't be around to see it."

The werewolf's eyes blazed, fury tightening his jaw. "Mark my words, you'll die in the Misty Forest, human. You won't make it out alive!"

William raised an eyebrow, his tone shifting from mockery to a calm, dangerous confidence. "And what about you, beast? How many more of your kind are going to die? Is this really the right time for your tribe to pick a fight?"

The werewolf's fierce expression faltered for a moment. His crimson eyes, wild and beastly, narrowed in suspicion, locking onto William.

"Why come all the way out here to the border town? What's the real reason you risked the Misty Forest? Just to kill me? Somehow, I don't buy it."

A tense silence followed, the werewolf's snarl frozen in place. His eyes betrayed his thoughts, calculating.

"Since you've marked me for death," William continued, "why not go out with a bang? You can kill me, sure, but I promise you; I'll take everything your clan is after and burn it to the ground. Better to die fighting with glory than get caught running away like a coward."

A mischievous grin spread across William's face, his eyes gleaming with reckless defiance.

For the first time, the werewolf faltered, the human's words striking him hard. Could this mere mortal really mean it? Was he serious?

"You're insane," the werewolf muttered under his breath, shaken. Humans were supposed to value their lives above all else. How could this one be even crazier than the dark races themselves?

"You should flee now!" the werewolf growled, desperation lacing his voice. "Run to a place we can't follow. Head for the church or the capital. There's still a chance—"

"Run?" William burst out laughing, cutting him off. "So much for the mighty werewolves! I won't run. I'll see this through. Let's see if your tribe's grand plan clashes with my mission."

The werewolf's mind raced. Why had things spiraled out of control? He had only meant to frighten the human into submission, yet now this boy stood defiant, unafraid. A misstep now could ruin everything his clan had worked for, the delicate balance shattered by one wild, reckless human.

William grinned once more, daring the werewolf to make his next move.

The origin of the werewolves was far from ordinary.

William pondered the strange situation as he made his way through the dense Misty Forest. According to the whispers he had picked up, there shouldn't be any werewolves in the border town. Yet, here they were; dark, primal creatures lurking in the forest, just beyond the edge of civilization.

Why had they crossed the border? What was their purpose?

His thoughts drifted to the witch who was rumored to dwell in these woods. Could the werewolves be after her? It made sense; there were tales that tied the witch to ancient magic, power that might attract such dangerous beings. But still, William wasn't sure. Everything felt like an unsolved riddle.

And speaking of riddles, the toad prophet had been no help at all! "Bloody disaster," he had said, but had given no clear answers, just cryptic mutterings. William clenched his fists in frustration. If they kept moving deeper into the forest, they were bound to run into more werewolves. That much was certain.

"Couldn't it just be simple?" William muttered to himself. "All I want is the Fountain of Life! And I thought I had a luck buff to help with things like this!"

But as things stood, luck didn't seem to be on his side. He wasn't scared though; if anything, he felt emboldened, charging ahead with defiance. He barely even thought of the werewolves as a threat now, and thinking back to how one of them had shown weakness in the earlier battle, William couldn't help but scoff.

The werewolf, sensing the human's disdain, growled in anger. "Humans are insignificant! You are weak, pathetic, like a firefly flickering in the night. How dare you think you can destroy our ancient rituals? You are nothing but a moth flying into the flame. You'll die here, in the Misty Forest, like all the others who have tried!"

The werewolf's voice, cold and laced with menace, cut through the air. But more terrifying was the sight before William. Despite its shattered body, blood pouring from open wounds, the werewolf began to rise. Its ragged breathing was accompanied by a sinister aura, a dark energy that pulsed from its blood-soaked maw. The beast wasn't done yet.

"You think killing me makes you powerful?" the werewolf sneered. "Fool! I am the weakest of the eighteen werewolves who crossed into this borderland. Any one of my kin could tear you limb from limb without breaking a sweat. You may think you're the hunter, but in truth, you've walked right into our trap. We will devour you like prey caught in a spider's web.

You can't stop our ancient rituals!"

The beast's bloodshot eyes blazed with a curse. "I curse you with my dying breath, human. My people will hunt you. We will never stop until you are nothing but a memory... We will..."

Bang!

The sharp crack of William's spear smashing into the werewolf's skull echoed through the forest. The beast's words died in its throat, its head crushed into fragments. The body slumped to the ground in a pool of blood, but even in death, the werewolf's lips moved, barely a whisper escaping.

"Immortality..."

William stood over the corpse, tilting his head in frustration. "All that talk, and you couldn't say something useful?" He kicked the body aside, his mind replaying the werewolf's last words.

Eighteen werewolves. If what it had said was true, that was a dangerous number. A formidable force, no doubt.

William's thoughts were interrupted by a flicker of light in the corner of his vision. A system prompt. As he glanced at it, a series of messages unfolded before him.

[Hint: You are stained with werewolf blood and cursed by their kin. All werewolves now regard you as an enemy!]

[Hint: You have triggered the event – Wasteland Group Hunt]

The messages continued, filling him in on the gravity of the situation:

[Wasteland Group Hunting: When werewolves choose to hunt creatures stronger than themselves, they gather on the night of the full moon. Transformed into a pack, they hunt relentlessly and never fail. This ancient ritual, feared by beasts far more powerful than the werewolves, has begun once more…]

William's heart raced. This was no ordinary hunt. This was a full-scale, primal pursuit, a ritual that had struck terror into creatures far older and deadlier than humans. And now, the werewolves had set their sights on him.

For the first time, William realized just how serious this was. He had triggered something far more dangerous than he'd anticipated.

The conditions to trigger this [event] are pretty extreme.

William could sense it; this wasn't going to be some small skirmish. It felt like a massive event was unfolding.

"A group hunt in the wasteland… but why? Is it really aimed at the witch?"

He muttered to himself, thoughts racing. The witch had been in hiding for years, far removed from the world's troubles. And now, out of nowhere, werewolves were after her? What could they possibly want from her? And why hadn't Calcifer mentioned any of this? Didn't he know what was happening in the Misty Forest?

The weight of it all settled on him. The ritual itself, the group hunt; this was terrifying. William had barely survived his fight with a half-werewolf, and that alone had almost cost him his life. He could feel the wounds pulsing as he thought back to the battle. If a full pack of them came together, his chances were slim to none. The very idea of it made his skin crawl.

And worse, among that pack would be high-level werewolves, maybe even pure-blooded ones.

He refocused on the system prompts, trying to make sense of what he had just survived.

[Battle Tips: You have encountered a hybrid werewolf]

[Hint: You killed the hybrid werewolf, experience +40!]

[Experience value: 81/200]

William took a deep breath. The werewolf he had faced must have been around his level, probably a level 7 or level 8 unit. But the real reason it had been so tough wasn't its level; it was its sheer physicality. Werewolves had a unique build, just like those mine zombies with their freakish endurance. But unlike the slow, lumbering zombies, the werewolf excelled in speed, strength, and agility.

Its defense and jumping ability were unmatched.

Even as the creature lay dying, he had noticed its smaller gunshot wounds healing right before his eyes. That's what made werewolves so dangerous. They didn't just endure, they got stronger as the fight dragged on. Their ability to heal and sustain damage was nothing short of supernatural.

He had barely managed to come out of that fight alive. Without his weapons, combat skills, and bonus from his talent attributes, he wouldn't have stood a chance. The title of "Son of the Devil" had saved him as well, granting him extra physical resistance. Without that, the deep cuts he had sustained would have sapped all his strength long ago.

He shook his head, trying to calm himself. Still, the fact that killing this werewolf had netted him 40 experience points was unnerving. This wasn't some regular elite monster; this was the equivalent of a mini-boss!

And worse, this was just a hybrid werewolf.

He scrolled down further, another prompt catching his eye.

[Talent Tip: Your killing talent takes effect]

[Your physical value +0.6! Your mental value +0.3! Your energy value +0.4!]

A grin spread across William's face, one that he couldn't hold back. He felt a surge of power coursing through him, his body reacting to the stat increase. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself.

"I knew it," he said, kicking the lifeless body of the werewolf at his feet. "This werewolf was high quality."

And the talent feedback he received from killing it? Incredible. He couldn't believe how much his stats had increased from just one kill. The werewolf had been tough, no doubt, but it had been worth it. The value of the feedback was astounding.

But then, just as he was about to move on, William froze. Something was happening within him. There was a strange sensation in his body, something foreign, something... off.